Disclaimer: I do not own Get Backers, you know the drill. And yeah, suing me will not glean any profits as I am pretty darn broke.
A/N: Read without high expectations. Due to severe writer's block, this chapter is pretty awful and contrived. But thanks for reading anyway! (Gives away free ice cream.)
In the days that follow, Kagami continues as his usual unobtrusive self. If she notices the way his attentions are subtly shifted to her as she kneels on the hard concrete for hours at a time watching the monitors, or as she walks through the streets of Lower Town unaccompanied, she does not show it. Sometimes he wonders if he is overdoing the subtlety, but usually he dismisses it. After all, subtle is Kagami Kyoji's way of doing things. He is not one for all-out spontaneous confrontations or drawn-out, spur-of-the-moment attacks. When nobody is looking, he lays the way, preparing things so that they tend to turn out in his favour. Then when people finally begin to pay attention to him, he draws his net and gets them right where he wants them. It's sneaky, but it is effective. And Kagami is a firm believer in the principle of ends justifying the means.
Maybe she hasn't noticed it yet, the way he watches over her just as she watches over the people of Lower Town and Makubex and his organization. Maybe the way he looks at her hasn't caught her attention, an open, yearning gaze with desire and fear and desperation and determination all mixed up in his long-lashed eyes in place of his usual couldn't-care-less glance and enigmatic smirk. But it's the little things that bowl you over when they all add up…tiny stones that form an emotional avalanche. Maybe it hasn't hit her yet, but when it does Kagami hasn't quite become modest enough to believe that she won't reciprocate or at least be flattered and flustered. He has never really had to work to get something he wants for himself; after all, he already has a stunning face and the firmest ass in the country. But now that he has decided that Sakura and what she has to offer are things worth going through hell for…what's a little planning, right?
At this particular moment, Sakura is walking back to the base of Makubex's operations. She has just finished speaking to Gen and reassuring his granddaughter, who still has not come to terms with the fact that she is not real. With the caring arms of a mother and the soft voice of an angel, Sakura had said to her during a bitter, unhappy silence:
"It is not what you are that people love; it is who you are. And that is what really matters in the end, isn't it?"
Ren had looked up from her crying; a pair of warm eyes twinkled at her kindly. Kagami didn't even need to bother calculating to know that Ren would never betray Makubex's side again after her brief collaboration with Cruz Masaki. In two minutes, Sakura had her smiling and even giggling again, telling her about all her childhood with Juubei and Kazuki and how they were always getting into trouble, one way or another.
Sakura's statement struck a chord with Kagami. He wondered suddenly about what would have happened if he had been yet another failed experiment; just another mere human that was not beautiful enough, not strong enough, not fast enough, not perfect enough. Would the women who willingly fell into his bed still surrender themselves to him if he woke up in the morning with puffy eyes? Would the eager watchers who followed his every move obsessively still observe him so closely if he couldn't fling a sliver of glass accurately at things without turning to look at them? Would the Sensei have condescended to devoting so much time to him exclusively if his body had not been the exact right proportions to enable maximum speed and strength? Would everyone in Babylon City not turn to look at him if he hadn't been that perfect shade of blond?
It made him realize that maybe, in their quest for physical perfection and almost unreal beauty and hardihood, the people of Babylon City, his people, had forgotten that what was inside was just as important. Would any of them have been as devoted to their lovers as Fuyuki Shido was to his musician girlfriend if their lovers had been blind? Would any of his compatriots be as loyal and as willing to sacrifice as Kakei Juubei for his leader, if that leader looked like a goddamn butterfly? Would any of them be prepared to always be there for a man who harboured a destructive, unreasonable demon in him, the way Midou Ban was for Amano Ginji? It was a humbling experience for someone who had always been in absolute certainty of his kind's superiority. Suddenly, it didn't seem like he was a god above insects; he was just another pea in a huge pan of peas, pretending to be different just to preserve his self-importance when he was actually just like all the others, or worse, too proud to admit it.
Somehow, things like having hair that is never out of place, legs that went on forever, high cheekbones, fighting prowess…it all didn't seem so important anymore. What was the use of reflecting a beautiful, flawless image when all the glass and silver fell away, and there was nothing behind the mirror? There was something more beautiful than a cascade of silken hair; there was something that struck a deeper note than perfectly shaped eyes of brilliant hues. It was different; it was something he and his people had just been too ignorant (whoever would have thought that Kagami would use that word to describe himself and Babylon City) to see. Their nobleness and integrity, their innate goodness–it shone through the imperfect casing of their physical bodies, and its light blinded everyone to any flaws that they might have. It didn't matter how full your lips were, or how smooth your skin was. The beauty of what was inside made up for what the outside lacked and gave more. Once you saw it, all these little nitpicky details were just that; details. There was something more to look at than a mere surface, and by God, it was beautiful.
Heaven forbid he ever make the mistake of thinking these people were below him again.
The night sky lights up with a brief flash of thunder. Kagami watches as Sakura looks up and hesitates. At first he thinks she is going to hurry to get back, but she stops to watch the rain clouds gather. When the first drops hit the pavement with a silvery tinkle, she starts again, noticeably not hurrying. At first he simply follows her with his gaze as her hair becomes limp and heavy with rainwater; then he makes up his mind to do the boldest thing he has done yet.
"You don't mind the rain?"
Sakura turns sharply at the sound of his voice, her fingers ready and lightly grasping her shawl just in case he is some upstart gangster that thinks he can prove his manliness by attacking a lone woman. But when she sees him walking up to her, a shimmering dazzle of white in the darkness of the streets, she relaxes enough to let go and even smile in greeting. She politely waits for him to catch up with her before speaking.
"Why should I?"
Her tone is open, questioning; her wish to have a real conversation is unexpected, but welcome. Kagami is glad. He had wondered if she would be stiff and formal with him, uncomfortable with his sole company at night. But he was wrong about her. He usually is.
"Most people don't like being cold and wet."
To illustrate his point, he throws the glass that is usually his weapon up in the air. Some embed themselves in the wall of the building they are walking past while others join those to make a clear, fragile roof that shields them from the rain. The ones at the back detach themselves and join up with those at the front, again and again, so that they have a moving shelter. Sakura looks up and shoots him an amused glance, as if she is wondering if he wants her to compliment him on his cleverness. She doesn't, obviously. Not Lower Town courtesy, but he doesn't mind and she knows that. It's funny how she does, but it doesn't matter. Not much does, as long as she stays with him walking in the dark and waxing philosophical.
I am a mushy cheesecake! God.
"Don't you think it's good to be cold and wet once in a while? It reminds us not to become proud and egoistic, because no matter how much progress technology makes or how far science goes, nature is still more powerful than we are. One natural disaster could wipe out a civilisation thousands of years old. I think being cold and wet reminds us of this; after all, the rain is a wild, primal force that was here before man and his concrete walls and ceramic tiles and–" here, Sakura actually glances up at him with a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth while coincidentally causing his heart rate to go through the roof, "–glass roofs."
"Being humbled once in a while is probably a good thing," Kagami concedes. From experience, this is. He glances at her and sees her blinking rapidly in a familiar way. "But do you need to make yourself sick just to do that?"
"I'm not sick."
Not yet, anyway. Her nose twitches and she sneezes suddenly. Even he is feeling a little chilly. Biting his lip to stop himself from grinning and saying the old "I told you so" line, Kagami scatters more glass in the air, creating an invisible shield for them from the pelting rain and howling wind. Sakura is shivering and trying valiantly not to show it to prove her point, but she stops short of preventing him from doing it. Gallantly, Kagami puts his coat over her shoulders. Clichéd, yes, but he can't help that right now. It seems like the right thing to do.
She looks up and smiles in appreciation and gratitude. It feels good to be able to smile back and know exactly what she means and know that she knows exactly what he means too, as if inaudible words are drifting into their ears or invisible messages are appearing in front of their eyes. Neither of them says a word as they continue to walk back, but they understand each other perfectly. It's a casual, comfortable silence with its own tingling undercurrent of awareness and anticipation of what happens next that says so much more than poetry and song, and means a whole lot more than whispered promises and sweet compliments.
It's not hard to get used to.
He walks her home, enjoying the growing tint of her cheeks and vague fluttering in his chest as they get nearer. But he doesn't want to spoil it; slowly, rushing to the end is never a good idea. And anyway, he doesn't want to. After all, they have time. One step at a time, before another–building relationships with other people is similar to a good fight, and even a delicate dance. Even during near lightning speed battles, opponents are always waiting, always anticipating before they strike. You don't throw punches randomly and hope they hit someone. You parry, you block, you bide your time until you know enough of your opponent to predict what the next move will be–and then you strike. What he is doing now isn't quite so crude or violent, but the risks are just as high. Love is a dance, and if you and your dance partner are moving at different paces you either fall flat on your face or get slapped in the face for being an idiot. Either way, you make a fool out of yourself and lose. Not good.
He wants to take it slow. He wants this to last as long as it can. Not only because it will take longer for Babylon City to notice his new favourite recreational activity and then to take it seriously, but because the more time he has, the better he can lay the way so that it ends the way he wants it to end. Maybe he is being a romantic fool. Maybe he is being an unreasonable worrywart. But if anything goes wrong, he will just be another broken-hearted loser dreaming of something he will never have. Because with this, he only has one shot. There is no rewind/erase button for his life. He isn't in a game where he can restart the level. If he fucks it up, he'll kick himself for the rest of his life, because it's just too bloody bad. He had one chance, and he blew it. Why should anyone sympathise?
That's why he declines when she asks him in. That's why he lets her slip his jacket off her shoulders instead of doing it himself. That's why he settles for smiling and leaving instead of lingering and risking doing something he shouldn't do yet. That's why he doesn't kiss her goodnight, even if she's drawing him like a moth to a flame with as much effort as a magnet uses to attract paperclips.
There isn't really much to see inside the base. There is hardly a sound, except for the steady hum of computers behind the shut doors where Makubex takes the graveyard shift at keeping a lookout and the now barely-audible patter of rain hitting hard rooftops. Straightening his jacket, Kagami walks out again into the open, just in case anyone else is taking advantage of the heavy rain and static from the storm, that are no doubt obscuring some of Makubex's vision from his many cameras. It could be amusing to see who would be mad enough to go out into a full-fledged thunder-and-lightning cloudburst. Besides him, that is.
Kagami scatters enough glass to give him shelter from the elements. He walks along the wet paths in his moving glass room, right in the rain and yet going untouched by every raindrop. But he realizes that, despite his man-made sanctuary, he hasn't completely avoided getting wet. The rainwater, unable to flow away because it has overflowed the drains, goes right through his shoes and socks, soaking his feet. The water splashing up from the ground as he walks is wetting his trouser legs as well. He smiles.
No matter how much progress technology makes or how far science goes, nature is still more powerful than we are.
Even though he is the uncrowned prince of Babylon City and the epitome of everything they want in a person, he can't conquer nature. Kagami is willing to wager that nobody can.
He sends a single mirror sliver flying upwards, and upon contact it shatters the entire glass cage. The rain drenches him to the bone immediately, his hair hanging flat and dripping continuously as he walks on. The thunder roars in the distance, and every few seconds the lightning spears through the sky to relief the darkness briefly. And always, the rain, the rain coming down in sheets and stinging at first, then caressing softly as it slides down his body in a trickle. There is something brutal and honest and real about the storm. It is violent; it is raging as if in anger with the agony of a million souls. And yet, despite its lack of symmetry, its tormented writhing, it is beautiful. Or maybe it is because of it. Even if lightning doesn't strike in a perfect, straight line and even if raindrops are never uniform in size. When it brings life as it rouses seeds to growing and restores wilting flowers, things like that don't matter.
Sakura was like that, in his mind. She didn't have 'assets' like the mediator woman. She no longer had youthful exuberance and cheer like the schoolgirl he had seen at that little cafe during his little trip outside Mugenjyou. She couldn't keep going on sheer willpower like Kudo Himiko, whom he had to admire for being so bloody determined to be professional. She wasn't even as striking and eye-catching as the heir of the Fuuchoin, who wasn't even female. But all that was unimportant, because when it came down to it she possibly had the noblest soul of all, as he had found when he had found information about her in the Archives.
On a dark night lit by diamond stars, he had discovered so many things that he was surprised, and yet not all that shocked, to find. She was the one who had been mother in all but name to no less than four people, all young men as noble as she was now because of her. In the old days, she was the one who took Juubei home when he stayed outdoors too long, gazing into the distance as if hoping to see the tall, slender figure of his best friend coming back to see him. She was the one who comforted Fuuchoin Kazuki and lulled him back to sleep whenever he dreamt of his mother and woke up crying. She was the one who silently watched over Uryuu Toshiki during the days of Fuuga, offering her companionship and listening when he vented his frustration over supposedly being second to Juubei in Kazuki's mind. Now, she kept an eye on Makubex, helping to ease his burden and sticking by him through thick and thin.
She entered schemes she did not approve of not because she was afraid to voice her opinion or because she had no mind of her own to think with, but so that she would be there to help and hopefully to get her friends out of trouble when things went wrong. She did not go out and fight not because she could not help herself, but because she wanted to nurture, not destroy; to heal, not hurt. And she did all this not because of duty, or respect, or loyalty, or high-blown principles, but because she wanted to. And that was that. She did what she did because she wanted to, no other reasons. That was something that commanded his respect.
She challenged the mighty gods of Babylon City for the sake of the people she loved and cared about. He worked for Babylon City because he had always believed they were the stronger side, and possibly because if he hadn't, they would have killed him. In this sense, she is braver than him. Not to mention better.
Kagami admires her, something he usually reserves for people with greater physical strength or beauty than him. She touches something in him that no one else has ever managed to get deep enough to touch. As corny as it sounds, she completes him and at the same time changes him into something different, something good instead of just mean and narrow-minded. She makes him human, a person, a living being that is not just a soulless android with no path but the one its makers set it on.
He sees a vision of her as the wind whips in and out of the narrow streets of Lower Town and flows through the strands of his hair and the very fibres of his clothes. In this vision, her hair is a mess, floating around her like beautiful chaos, and a laugh is on her lips. He smiles in a tender way he never would have thought himself capable of. He cannot tell if it is love, never having loved before, but whatever it is, it's damn potent. And he actually finds himself crossing his fingers, hoping that she'll soon feel the same way about him too.
You're a fool, Kagami can imagine the Sensei telling him, shaking his head angrily while his grey-streaked hair shimmers as he does so. She is just a woman. And not even a woman worthy of spending the night in your bed. You are the living image of perfection. She is nothing but unrefined material, a crude genetic mess.
What he doesn't want to imagine, however, would be his mentor's reaction should he tell him the truth. Because that is what his reply would be.
No, Sensei. You are the fool.
A/N: Augh, I repeat: I am having a severe case of writer's block. (That's why this chapter is so awful.) But review anyway, if you wish!
