AN: This chapter references The Aquarium, which was originally published as a chapter in Distracting Drabbles and now lives as a stand alone.
May 9, 2008
The morning of the funeral was bright, clear, and cold.
It should be pouring down rain, Misaki thought, tilting her gaze upwards to watch a lone, puffy white cloud drift across the blue sky. The trees lining the temple lawn were leafing out, the grass a vibrant, spring green. Pumps had been a mistake; her narrow heels had already sunk a few centimeters into the soft earth where she stood.
At least there was still a chill in the air; it gave her an excuse to wear her dark rain jacket and cover up the fact that her dress uniform's skirt no longer zipped all the way up.
She'd chosen a place in the very back of the crowd of uniformed officers, away from the curious looks and scrutiny. No one in Sapporo knew her except for the local Section Four team - and those who recognized her from her televised press conferences. Only Detective Murai had caught her eye, and given her a polite nod. The others - Tou's friends and colleagues from Criminal Investigations - were complete strangers and thus generally ignored her.
Which was fine. She wasn't here for them.
The temple priest continued his speech, uttering the same platitudes that she'd heard at every police funeral she'd attended over her career. She'd been to far too many.
Misaki returned her gaze to the front row, where a skinny boy in glasses sat clutching a polished urn. He was flanked by an elderly couple, the man in a black suit that matched the boy's, the woman in a black kimono. Misaki wasn't sure if they were Tou's parents or in-laws, but the woman hadn't raised her head from her black lace handkerchief even once since the internment ceremony had started; Misaki had a pretty good guess who they were.
She watched as the elderly man reached over and gently squeezed the boy's shoulder, and was suddenly, starkly reminded of another funeral.
It had been snowing, then; just a few days after Christmas. Misaki's tenth birthday, in fact. Her father had tried his best to schedule the service for another day, but the temple hadn't had any other openings. It had been a hard year for a lot of people, apparently.
She sat silently in the front row, listening to the priest drone on; but all she heard was the snow storm blowing outside the temple.
The urn that contained her mother's ashes rested in the center of the altar, out of reach yet somehow consuming her entire field of vision. She had thought that she'd cried herself out over the past week, thought that it couldn't be possible for her eyes to hold even one more teardrop. Yet gazing at the pale blue urn patterned with waves - Mom had grown up by the sea, she loved the ocean waves - and knowing that the only thing left of her mother's smile, her laugh, her warm hugs, was a pile of dry gray ashes in a cold jar started her sobbing all over again.
Before the cremation, Misaki had placed a wooden ornament carved in the shape of a seashell in the casket, to be burned with her mother. She'd bought it with her allowance for the tiny fake Christmas tree that Dad had set up on the table next to Mom's bed in the hospital. It wasn't enough. How could a stupid Christmas ornament ever be enough?
Misaki wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her kimono in an attempt to stem the flood of tears. She didn't want her father to be worried about her; he had grief enough of his own. But it didn't help, and her great aunt tugged her arm back down to her side, quietly tutting about propriety. Misaki didn't care about propriety. She hadn't even wanted to wear a stupid kimono; a black dress would have been better. Mom wouldn't have minded if it wasn't traditional, but Aunt Mariko had insisted. Mariko had taken care of most of the funeral arrangements; her father had hardly been able to eat the past few days, let alone speak to anyone about business matters.
Dad was holding Misaki's other hand. He hadn't let go since the start of the ceremony, squeezing so tightly that Misaki could hardly feel her fingers anymore. But she didn't complain. She was just glad that he was there.
Her father. Misaki sighed, returning her mind to the present and wrapped her rain coat more tightly around herself. He hadn't spoken to her weeks, ignoring her calls whenever she tried to reach out. She knew he was alright; she checked in regularly with the security detail that was monitoring his activity while he was on house arrest. Everything was normal at his apartment. Apparently he just didn't want to have anything to do with her any longer. Or her soon-to-be child.
The boy's grandfather patted his shoulder lightly before returning his hand to his side, and a tear escaped down Misaki's cheek. She wiped it away hurriedly on her sleeve. Hormones; that's all it was.
Who would be there to comfort her nameless, faceless child at her own funeral?
Her breath came in a ragged shudder, and she pushed the thought aside angrily. Angry at herself for even considering the possibility.
It was time to go; she'd stayed too long. She shouldn't have come in the first place.
As the priest motioned the boy and his grandparents to come forward to receive condolences, Misaki turned away - and noticed with a start that another guest had positioned himself a few paces behind her, partially hidden behind an elm. A man. A man in a black overcoat.
For a brief, ecstatic moment her heart leapt. Then she realized that it was the wrong sort of coat; the wrong sort of build. Then she recognized Toda Toru, and her eyes narrowed. If she didn't belong here, he certainly didn't.
"Director," the reporter called quietly, "If I could have a moment -"
Misaki shoved her hands into her pockets, squared her shoulders, and strode past him without saying a word.
~~~~o~~~~
"Thanks for the ride," Misaki said as she shifted a stack of papers and an old fast food bag to the back seat before sliding into the passenger seat of Kanami's ten-year-old Suzuki.
"Sorry about the mess," Kanami told her, reaching over to help. "I've been trying to keep it cleaner, but work has been pretty hectic this week."
"You should see my car," Misaki sighed. "I'm pretty much used to it now. But I still could've walked - it's only five blocks home from the train station," she couldn't help adding.
She settled her overnight bag on the floor between her feet. This second trip to Sapporo had been less than twenty-four hours - an early morning red eye out and late evening flight back - but her dress uniform was far too uncomfortable to travel in. Especially now. She'd managed to get to the airport early enough to quickly change into some loose slacks.
Kanami waved a hand carelessly, pulling away from the curb and into the airport traffic one-handed. "Why walk when you don't have to? And the trains are always packed in the evenings; I don't mind."
Misaki leaned back against the seat. She was pretty tired, and her back had been aching this past week; it was nice to have a lift. "Wait, aren't you usually at Astronomics on Friday nights?"
"Usually, yeah. Akimoto is covering my desk tonight; I'm on call if anything comes up."
She said it offhandedly, but Misaki wasn't fooled. Kanami had just taken a full weekend away from the lab and her mediums to spend time with her girlfriend - a feat Sekine probably had no idea how difficult to accomplish - and now she was taking another Friday night off?
"I do appreciate the ride," Misaki said gently, "but you didn't need to. I can walk five blocks."
Her friend sighed. "I know. Indulge me, alright?"
A sour bubble of guilt rose up in Misaki's stomach. "Yeah. Alright. Hey, you're taking me home, remember?" she pointed out as Kanami swung her Suzuki left onto the route that would take them to her own apartment rather than Misaki's.
"Yep," Kanami said. "You're spending the night at my place."
"I am?"
"Don't argue. We haven't had a chance to really sit and talk in weeks, and," she added almost tentatively, "you've been extra stressed lately. I worry about you sometimes, spending every night alone. Especially with HG-139 still running around. He's been quiet since the Sapporo operation, but he's definitely back in the Tokyo area."
"He has no reason to come after me, personally," Misaki said. Especially now that they'd hit another wall in the investigation. Though sometimes when she was falling asleep at night, she could still hear that cold, rasping voice in her ear and a gunshot echoing through an empty tunnel.
"Sure. But even the possibility…" The car rolled to a stop at a traffic light, the red bleeding in through the windshield. Kanami propped her elbow on the window sill and leaned her head in her hand. "You're pretty good at not letting remote possibilities like that bother you. I'm not trying to mother you or anything, I promise - but you're always taking care of other people at the expense of yourself. You need to stop and take care of yourself sometimes. I just kinda feel like someone needs to be reminding you of that, you know?"
"Yeah." The light turned green. Misaki watched absently as the lights of the city rushed past.
"And I know that the doctor said that the spotting wasn't anything to be concerned about. But I know losing this pregnancy would devastate you, even if you pretend like it won't."
"Yeah," Misaki said again, a little surprised at how easy it was to accept the truth of Kanami's words. "I - I know." She hesitated. "I'm going to do a better job from now on. Yesterday I filed my paperwork with HR, requesting maternity leave for October and November. And on Monday at my meeting with Superintendent Kan, I'm going to tell him that I'll be reducing my time in the field."
"Really?" Kanami turned her gaze from the road long enough to beam at Misaki. "That must have been a tough decision - I'm proud of you!"
"It was. I'm going to go crazy, chained to my desk all day." She sighed, the sour knot still sitting in her stomach. "But it's necessary. I, um, had to go to the emergency room last week. In Sapporo."
Kanami narrowly avoided rear-ending the Datsun in front of them. "What? Misaki, what happened? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Overexertion." Misaki shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance. "I was pushing myself too hard. And in the end it didn't matter. Officer Tou still died."
"That wasn't your fault. You know it wasn't."
"Maybe it wasn't my fault, but that operation was my responsibility."
They'd arrived at Kanami's building. Neither one said anything more as Kanami pulled her car into her parking space in the garage and they climbed out. Misaki followed her friend upstairs.
Kanami's apartment was just as warm and cheerful as it always was, though there were some subtle changes. It seemed a bit tidier than usual - no clean laundry piled haphazardly on the sofa or empty takeout cartons stacked on the coffee table. Misaki tried to remember the last time that she'd been over. Probably not since the night of the Gate Relief Fund gala in late February, after she'd nearly died and Hei had killed a woman to save her. At least now she knew why she'd been so overly emotional that night.
A few new photos had been pinned to the wall above the television, Misaki noticed. She walked over for a closer look. There were five that she hadn't seen before, all featuring a woman in a cute pixie haircut who Misaki just barely remembered from the gala. In one of the photos, she was wearing the same hot pink cocktail dress as she had been that night, standing cheek-to-cheek with Kanami. Both were wearing huge smiles and even larger fake sunglasses, despite clearly being indoors.
"That was last weekend," Kanami said, coming over to join her by the wall. "The Science Museum threw a party to celebrate Greenery Day. We planted trees in the afternoon, then had dinner, cocktails, and dancing in the exhibit halls."
"The Science Museum?" Misaki had no idea that museums threw parties.
Kanami raised an eyebrow. "What? Hana's a doctor, I'm an astrophysicist - we're nerds!" She grinned. "Go put your pjs on, I'll make some tea."
Misaki had packed her pajamas - you never knew when a flight would be delayed or canceled - so she wandered into the tiny bathroom to change. The countertops were completely bare of makeup and hair accessories, something that Misaki had never witnessed in her entire friendship with Kanami. Sekine's influence, perhaps? she wondered as she pulled on her comfy, drawstring sweatpants. It was a little strange, seeing these small but significant changes in her best friend's life, triggered by a person Misaki barely knew. Like she was being pushed to the edges, supplanted by a stranger. She knew that that wasn't what was happening; but she couldn't help the feeling. Had Kanami felt this way about Misaki and Hei's relationship? It wasn't like the three of them had been able to spend any time together, get to know each other as friends.
She would make an effort to meet Sekine, Misaki vowed. She owed Kanami that much, at least.
Kanami had two mugs of tea waiting when Misaki emerged from the bathroom. "It's ginger," she said. "I know your morning sickness has pretty much gone away, but oh my god Misaki!"
"What?" Misaki said in alarm, but Kanami had her hand over her mouth, her smile spilling over the edges.
"I'm sorry," Kanami said, still attempting to hide her smile. "This is the first time I've seen you where you actually look pregnant! I can't help get excited…"
"Oh." Misaki self-consciously placed her hand on her expanding stomach. Her tee shirt, which had formerly been rather loose on her, now stretched tightly over her belly and she had a definite muffin top. "Do I really look pregnant already? I just feel…overweight." Though, Yuri had spotted it right away, in Sapporo.
"In normal clothes, not really - you do a good job of hiding it. But I can definitely see that baby bump taking shape, ooh!"
Misaki couldn't help smiling as she settled onto the sofa next to her friend. It was a strange feeling, knowing that someone was genuinely happy for her, when she had so much trouble being happy for herself. It was nice. "For someone who doesn't want kids, you get awfully excited about them."
"What, I love kids! And pregnancy is such a fascinating process, you know? I just don't really want my own body hijacked by another lifeform."
Misaki made a face. "Thanks for putting it that way." She sighed and settled back against the cushions. The mug of tea warmed her hands pleasantly. "So it sounds like you and Sekine had a good weekend?"
"Yeah, it was fun. It was the longest we've spent together so far, which is always a little nerve-wracking, you know? But things went well. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
Kanami took a long sip of tea before answering. "Hana got a little pissed at me, about halfway through the weekend. But it was my own fault. Anyway, we talked about it, and we're fine now."
"What happened?" Misaki was starting to get the sense that this sleepover was more for Kanami's benefit than hers, and felt slightly ashamed that she hadn't been trying harder to keep up with their friendship. It wasn't fair to place the burden of effort so much on Kanami.
"Nothing, really. I just…kept checking in with Astronomics for updates on HG-139. Hana had to apply for special permission to be relieved of on-call duty for those three days, because we were just supposed to be focused on each other. But I couldn't stop checking my phone. It wasn't fair to her."
"Mizuta was on top of things," Misaki told her. "There was nothing else you could have done; especially without a doll network in Sapporo."
"I know. But I can't help worrying, and when I'm worried, I need to do something about it." She sighed, and took another sip of tea. "I had this idea…I haven't really thought it through yet. I haven't had time. But I couldn't explain to Hana what was distracting me."
Misaki gave her a sympathetic frown. "You could have told her you were worried about the operation without giving the details - the fact that Astronomics tracks contractors' stars is public knowledge now, if not exactly how."
"But dolls aren't," Kanami pointed out. "And my idea…we're really limited to the network we have in place here in Tokyo. That gives us wide coverage, and high resolution - but real-time data is harder to come by, and we don't have a lot of flexibility, not like we would with a single reconnaissance medium. Someone like Yin."
Misaki did frown this time. "What do you mean?"
"If you could have taken a doll with you to Sapporo - Eunice maybe, she's coming along well now - maybe you could have tracked HG-139 without relying on his star. And caught him before he had a chance to hurt anyone."
That was an intriguing idea. Misaki had often envied the working relationship that Hei and Yin had, and wondered how it would change Section Four's operations if they had their own doll. But she'd never considered that it would actually be possible. Dolls were so fragile, and reconnaissance packages weren't cheap. A doll like Yin, though, who had achieved some measure of independence…
"I should have started working on this problem weeks ago," Kanami continued. "But things were picking up with Hana…I just can't get a handle on my priorities anymore. Hana has to leave her patients in other hands in order to make time for me; how can I tell her that I need to work overtime on programming?"
"Your patients are just as human as hers," Misaki reminded her gently. "And they need you. Even if it's just to write some new code."
Kanami sighed. "I know. But I can't tell her that. It's classified. I don't know how you and Li managed your relationship for so long, having to keep so many secrets."
Misaki squeezed the mug between her hands. "It helped after you found out about it. It helped a lot, actually." She paused, thinking. Sekine couldn't be told about dolls; she was a civilian without any kind of security clearance. But maybe hearing from someone else how important Kanami's work was would go some way to helping her understand. "I've been thinking - I'd really like to get to know Sekine better. Maybe we can set up a lunch or something soon?"
"Really?" Kanami's smile lit up her face. "I'd like that - and she wants to meet you too. I'll try and set something up - though it might be a week or two. She's moving to the day shift in a few days, and that'll throw her whole schedule off. But once she settles in it'll be easier to find time."
Misaki smiled. "That sounds good."
They sipped their tea in silence for several long minutes. Then Misaki said, "I wish you could have gotten to know Hei better, before he had to leave."
"Yeah, me too. I did have fun hanging out with him and Yin at the aquarium."
Misaki's brow furrowed. "Aquarium?"
"Yeah - I had Hiroshi for the day; we ran into them just as we were leaving, and went down to the water for a while so Yin could see it, and Hiroshi could catch crabs."
"Right. I remember him telling me that he'd seen you; he made it sound like it was just in passing though." She frowned. "He killed a contractor there."
Kanami blanched at that last comment; then her face suddenly lit up again. "I have something for you - I keep forgetting it! Hang on." She jumped off the couch and disappeared into her bedroom. Misaki heard what sounded like several books being tossed onto the floor, and tried not to wince. A few minutes later, Kanami was back.
"I managed to get this," she said, handing Misaki a four-by-six photograph. "I know, I shouldn't have taken it; and I shouldn't have printed it. But I thought you might like it."
Misaki gazed at the image in her hands, hardly able to breathe.
Hei was crouched at the water's edge. She recognized the little boy opposite him as Kanami's nephew - though he'd been half that size the last time she'd seen him. Hei's hands were cupped around Hiroshi's, an expression of wonder on the boy's face as he gazed at whatever he was holding.
It was the first time she'd seen Hei's face in two months. It felt like two years. Two decades.
"He was so good with Hiroshi," Kanami said. "The kid keeps asking about him - calls him crab man," she grinned.
Misaki couldn't tear her eyes away from the photo. His face was in profile; though she couldn't see his full expression, she could tell he wasn't smiling, exactly. But there was such a softness there that it was easy, so easy to imagine that it was their own son he was gazing up at.
"Oh, sweetie, come here." Kanami pulled Misaki into a hug as the tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she managed at last, sniffling. "Hormones."
"I know."