Chapter Seven – Gi Ayuru, PI
Miaka wandered downstairs to meet Nakago for breakfast. After he left, she had cried a little more, feeling guilty for caring more that it could have been Nakago than that somebody was actually dead. It scared her to feel that strongly about any one person. She felt that way about Yui, of course, and she had about Tamahome and her other Seishi, but for so long she had cared only about a tight-knit group of people that adding somebody else into, especially when that somebody was Nakago, was frightening.
Granted, she had known she had thought of Nakago as a friend and wanted to protect him. Ever since their last adventure in the book, he had been a protector and friend, any maybe even somewhat of a confidante. Still, she hadn't felt this strongly about a man since Tamahome, and before that it had only been Yui. She wanted him to be safe and the thought of anybody hurting him made her more than scared; it infuriated her.
Nakago was speaking with the chief of investigation when Miaka entered the dining hall. He stood at the bar, a cold, blank look on his features. His blue eyes slid to her smoothly and he excused himself from the conversation, walking toward her, hands in his pockets. He casually walked past her.
"I thought we would eat on deck," he said to her.
"Oh, that sounds nice," she agreed and followed, walking by his side. She glanced up at him, just looking at his profile for a moment. She had never noticed before how graceful the arch of his nose was... She looked away when his gaze moved to hers. He smirked and looked forward again.
"What were you talking about with the investigator?" Miaka questioned, trying to hide her embarrassment at being seen staring.
"They're holding Muji until further investigation can be done. He's suspect because he is the only one that had any contact with Kanu before she died. I am working on getting him out."
"Oh no! Poor Muji!" Miaka said, dismayed. She knew it wasn't him no matter what anybody said. She could tell just by speaking with him that he was a kind and genuine person. "It wasn't him!"
"I know," he said. "But do not worry, I can be most persuasive," he smirked again.
They sat down at one of the little tables. They were beneath a large, red and white striped parasol, shading them from the sun's bright morning rays. Nakago took off the tailored jacket he had been wearing, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his loose, white shirt. Miaka blushed lightly and picked up the menu, hiding her face. She wondered if he knew he was being sexy or if he was simply too warm, and unaware of how blatently sexual his whole person was.
"I think I'll have the waffles," she decided, setting the menu down. "With eggs and bacon. And strawberries."
Nakago set his menu down as well and waved the waiter over. "I will have the sausage and shitake omelet."
"And for the lady?" he inquired politely.
"Waffles with strawberry topping, as well as a side of eggs and bacon," he informed the man, who curtly bowed and scurried away. "You know, you eat more than I do."
Miaka huffed. "Well, I actually do things, unlike you, Mr. Get-My-Coffee-And-Do-Everything-For-Me!"
"I do plenty for myself," he said shortly. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was pouting.
"Like what?" she challenged. "I work and go to school full time. What do you do?"
"Prosecute a goodly number of high profile criminals, do background research on them and their victims, do research on laws, loopholes that could be a threat... for each case. And, of course, pursue an active social life."
"You poor baby," she cooed. "I have a big appetite, okay?"
Nakago smirked lightly, shrugging. It was so fun to tease her.
"So, Muji," she changed the subject. "You will be able to get him out, right? I mean, we know he didn't do it; why would he want to kill you?"
"Jealousy?" he suggested off-hand.
"Jealous? Of what?" she blinked slowly.
"You are so naïve," he shook his head. "The boy is crazy about you, and along comes a very rich, very handsome, very powerful older man, snatching you away – or so one would think."
"But you're not..." she protested. "Besides, I don't think he would do something like that even if he was jealous. He seems the type to give up."
"I agree," Nakago nodded. "Which is why I do not suspect him. I do think jealousy was behind it, however. It was a very personal crime."
"Personal? How?" she blinked.
"Do you not have eyes, Yuuki?" he questioned.
"Enlighten me, then," she urged him.
"The room was immaculate, meaning the person didn't want to get their hands dirty. A crime of rage or passion, or even insanity, would have left more clues. This was well planned – a bottle of expensive wine. In fact, a type of wine made only by very exclusive companies, one which, I shouldn't have to point out, Kanu or myself might very much appreciate and enjoy."
"So the murderer knew about the target," she said slowly.
"Not only that, it was tied with a ribbon, but no note. The person wanted to leave an ambiguous clue – one that made it obvious it was a calling card, but not obvious enough to tip us off. In some way, our criminal wants to be caught."
"Guilt?" she asked.
"Possibly. Or perhaps he or she simply wants others to know what he or she can do."
"Maybe it was intended for Kanu..." Miaka reasoned.
"Go on."
"Well, it was planned out, right? Everybody knows that Kanu is rich – just look at those diamonds. And for all intents and purposes, you're her lover," she blushed a little as she said it. "You're staying in the same room, you're on eachother's arms in public a lot... Maybe this person didn't want to kill you, they just want you."
"That doesn't bring into account the fact that the bottle was addressed to me," he pointed out.
"Well... maybe they had it delivered at a time they knew you'd be gone. We had been together all afternoon, so maybe the criminal decided that it was the perfect time to strike."
"It seems difficult to fathom such a coincidental chain of events. But perhaps we are off base. It may simply have been a jealous rival for Kanu's business who wanted to scare her away by poisoning me. If the person you're contracting with dies, it hardly leaves a good impression."
"That does seem more likely," she agreed. "Is there anybody on board that you know is a rival?"
Nakago suddenly realized something. There was a woman who was his rival. She was powerful and ruthless, but her business was slowly dying. She had been a competitor for Kanu's account, but he had shamelessly flirted with her until she chose their company. Without Kanu the business was likely to fail. It suddenly occurred to him that she had a son.
"Miaka, what is Muji's last name?" he questioned.
"Um... I think it was... hmm... Tse... Tsa... Tsomething..."
"Tsubara?" he asked.
"I think that was it," she nodded. "Why?"
"Because there was a company that my group put out of business... and the owner has a son named Tsubara Muji."
"Muji?" she gasped. "No way! Why would he admit to bringing the package to your room if he did it? Wouldn't that have been kind of stupid?"
"Guilt, perhaps," he suggested. "I do not know, but this requires further investigation."
Miaka nodded slowly as her waffles were placed before her. The bright sky, the warm morning air, and even the steaming, crispy waffles before her couldn't make her acknowledge that possibility. It couldn't by Muji... it simply couldn't.
Nakago stood. "I am going to look into this." And he was gone.
The former Shogun of Kutou walked slowly toward the office area of the boat, logging into the computer system. It greeted him in a friendly, electronic way, and he accessed the internet. Nakago wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he had a hunch that whatever he was looking for had to do with his job. He had, in fact, received death threats several times before. His firm was a large one, and he was their top prosecutor. He loved his job, but it was risky. If the person he was presecuting, by some small chance, escaped conviction they tended to be a bit angry at the one who tried to send them to jail. Aside from that, he was a part of a unique group of prosecutors that was not only employed by the government, but was also a member of a firm that contracted to prosecute in lawsuits, which tended to be highly enviable positions, meaning many people vying for few positions. Intense competition which he usually won. Needless to say, he had acquired a goodly number of enemies over the years.
The former Seiryu no Seishi logged into the system of his firm, looking at recent competitors and high profile cases. None stood out to him especially, but as he scrolled he noticed that he had indeed won out over Tsubara Mei's group for the bid on Kanu's lawsuit. He may not have found any new evidence but at least he had confirmed one thing: Tsubara Muji had motive.
It wasn't until evening that Miaka saw Nakago again. He had disappeared into the ship's business center and not returned for hours. She had not, in fact, seen him until he burst into her room, dropping his pants and muttering something about damned circular mysteries. Miaka sat down on the large bed. Nakago was walking around in his white shirt and boxers, brushing his teeth and pacing at the same time. She watched him carefully. It was odd how casually he would walk in front of her in his underwear. She almost felt like he was teasing her by doing it.
"Shh," he burbled toothepaste down his chin. "I am thinking."
Miaka giggled and pointed and he looked downward. He went to the sink and spat, splashing his face and rinsing his mouth. He stared into the mirror, still leaning over the sink with his toothebrush in hand.
"My instincts tell me it is not Muji," he concluded.
"But?" she asked.
"But the evidence does," he finshed, straightening and leaning casually against the wall, his eyes staring off into the distance vaguely. "He delivered the package, his fingerprints were on not only the package, but the bottle. He is the son of a woman I put out of business, and he is fairly in love with you. He has all the motive in the world to want to kill me."
"But he acted so surprised... can anybody act that well?" she asked. "Besides, Muji is poor. Even if he did manage to scrape up some money, that was a really expensive wine, right? He couldn't afford it in a thousand years."
"He could have stolen it from the kitchen," he pointed out.
"Places like this keep inventory, especially concerning expensive things like aged wine. It's not easy to steal a fork, let alone a bottle of wine."
"How would you know?" he asked, a little surprised at her insight.
"I worked at a high end restaurant in Yokohama for a summer," she explained. "It was very exclusive. I only got the job because Yui's mother knew the manager from college. They searched me every night before I went home! And they had different people do the inventory than they had working. With expensive things like that, they don't mess around."
He made a soft sound of exasperation. Nakago did not like mystery. He was a stiffler for cold, hard facts and he did not enjoy solving these circular puzzles. His job as a lawyer was not to solve cases but to create arguments. He threw his shirt onto the chair where his pants rested and sat down beside her, looking at the floor.
"Still, something doesn't seem quite right about all this..." he mused.
Miaka blushed and scooted over slightly. "You're not really sleeping here, are you? We have another bedroom."
"If somebody is trying to kill me, especially if they succeed, I would at least like a witness."
"So you'll put me in danger?" she asked. "You jerk. Chivalry my ass..."
"If you wish," he poked her bottom playfully, causing her to sit up straight suddenly. She slapped his arm and then laughed softly.
"Actually, there is a chance," he said, sliding to the far side of the bed and pulling the blankets over his large, well developed form, "That this was a random attack and that they are attacking the people residing in the VIP suites."
Miaka considered his cryptic words for a moment and then blinked. "Are you...?" she turned suddenly toward him. "Are you trying to protect me?"
"No."
Miaka smiled and laid down as well – on top of the covers. "Well, I wasn't worried that you might have died. There, now we're both liars."
"Mule," he muttered, throwing the blankets from himself and onto her, pulling her eggrolled body against his own.
"What are you doing!" she shrieked suddenly, surprised.
"Keeping warm," he said simply and closed his eyes.
Miaka struggled for a few minutes and then gave up. "Jackass," she replied and closed her eyes. "I better not find your hands in my blanket when I wake up."
Miaka awoke, curled against something large and warm. She felt arms encircle her gently and smiled. "Tamahome," she murmured. She nuzzled underneath his chin and wrapped her arms around the form at her side.
The girl slowly opened her eyes, warm and comfortable and content, and what she saw she did not expect. Where she expected to see Tamahome; his turquoise eyes and sea green hair, she instead saw ice and a blonde halo of rumpled, slept-in hair. He looked down at her silently.
"You shifted," he said softly.
She stared at him for a moment, lost in his blue eyes, frozen against that wonderful, beautiful body. She gasped, realizing herself. "You jerk!" she reached up and slapped him, pulling away from his grasp, moving to the far side of the bed and turning away from him. She began to cry softly, her narrow shoulders shaking.
"Pardon me for sleeping," he said sarcastically, looking at her narrow shoulders quivering quickly.
"Shut up," she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Disappointed that you awoke to find me instead of Tamahome, I suppose," he said more wistfully than he intended.
"You... don't... know me as well..." she hiccupped and coughed, "as you think you do..."
"Enlighten me, Yuuki," he said, sitting up and looking down at her with interest.
"Don't call me Yuuki," she ordered harshly. "My name is Miaka... I don't call you Gi or whatever your last name is."
"That's because you don't know it."
"Don't treat me like somebody you don't even know!" she yelled.
"Fine, Miaka," he punctuated her name in exasperation. "Tell me why you are crying, then."
"I felt so warm and secure... and then I opened my eyes, and it wasn't Tamahome, it was you..."
"You wished it was him," he said simply. "It is understandable."
She shook her head slowly. "I'm crying..." she whispered so softly he had to lean in to hear. "I'm crying because when I saw you... I didn't wish it was Tamahome."
Nakago looked at her carefully. He could easily gather her implication, but he wasn't sure whether or not he believed it exactly. He watched her carefully, and then slowly, very tentatively, reached out and touched her bare shoulder. She flinched at first, and then turned to him, crying softly against his chest, her tiny form completely enveloped by his massive frame.
"I should have wanted it to be him, but... but I didn't... I was thinking 'wow, he sure is gorgeous...' when I should have been thinking about how nobody is as great as Tamahome was... how I should have been missing him, and wanting him... instead... I was happy I was with somebody like you."
The blonde stared down at the quivering ball of young woman resting against him. She had been glad it was him? He was not entirely sure what to make of that.
"What do you mean?" he questioned.
She shook her head slightly. "I think... I'm moving on... I'm starting... I'm starting to think that maybe... he was replaceable. I loved him so much... I don't want to think like that. You can't replace a person who's died... I know you can't replace a person who's died... so why... do I feel..." she trailed off. "Why don't I miss him as much when I'm with you?"
Nakago held her silently for a while, staring at the wall across the room, letting her cry. Slowly her sobs trailed away and she turned her back on him again, hiding her face in the pillow. "And now I've made an ass of myself in front of you of all people."
Feeling uncharacteristically as if he needed to say something, the former Shogun pulled her small body against his own gently, wrapping his arms around her, and said: "Those who leave us would not want us to mourn their deaths forever; they would want us to live on. Tamahome has simply let go of you in the next life, so that you can be happy in this one."
"I don't want him to let go," she whispered.
Nakago looked down at her slim form resting against his own muscular body. She really was tiny, he realized. He cupped her naked shoulder. She was wearing baggy pajama pants, but her top was a tight, spaghetti strap tank top, and one of the straps had made its way down her arm. He noticed on the top of her shoulderblade a very faint scar. He touched it lightly, and she shivered.
"Where did you get this?" he asked. "Perhaps my doing, in Hokkan?"
She shook her head. It didn't occur to her that he was referring to Hokkan, the place where he had nearly raped her, while holding her gently in a bed. "My father," she said quietly.
"Your father?"
"My father... he liked to drink. When I was little... two or three maybe, he would get drunk. He wouldn't work, so mom worked all the time, and Keisuke took care of me. Well, he had school, so I was home with him. One day, I spilled juice on the carpet. You know in apartments that they take a deposit for things like that... well, he had had plans for that money after we moved, I guess, so when I ruined the carpet, he got angry..."
Nakago was watching her profile intently, absently stroking the little scar.
"He threw his beer bottle at me, and it knocked me into the coffee table. I fell through the top and broke all the glass. It gave me a concussion," she said to him. "And that scar, where the glass lodged into my shoulder."
"Your father abused you?" he questioned.
"Not long," she shook her head. "He beat me up a couple of times, but then he died. I thought it was my fault," she laughed softly. "Because I wasn't smart enough or good enough; because I complained about mom being gone."
"Did your mother know?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head. "He always said I got hurt in the park, or climbing on high things, because I was so clumsy. I was clumsy... it wasn't a hard lie to drive home. I guess that's why I always act cheerful when I'm not; then it was so she wouldn't find out about what he did and now it's habit."
"Do you have others?" he asked.
"Scars?"
He made a soft sound of affirmation. She sat up slowly. "Yes... they're faded now, though. It's really no big deal. They're really fine because he..." she trailed off. Slowly, she pushed the straps of her shirt down, letting the material fall away from her body. Nakago stared at her creamy white flesh. It was beautiful, and yet, with the sunlight coming in through the window, with the closeness of her body to his eyes, he saw dozens of tiny scars on her back. They were faded into near nonexistance, and they were very fine, almost as if cut by a knife or a razor, but they were there.
"See, it's not that bad. He always made sure mom never saw, and if she did when changing my clothes or giving me a bath, he would always say that the cat scratched me or something. It really wasn't that bad... I mean, at least I knew my father for a while, unlike Yui."
She tensed when she felt his surprisingly soft fingertips tracing the pale etching on her skin. The light sensation tickled and unnerved her. She sat there, her arms covering her chest, and he looked at her back, covered with healed wounds. She tensed further when she felt him get to his knees behind her and wrap his arms around her tiny frame.
"What are you...?" she asked softly.
"You are quite remarkable, Suzaku no Miko." Her scars, in a way, were an outward representation of her life, and in some ways, of his. The reminders of the abuse would never completely disappear; the memories would always be there, because they happened, but eventually they would fade until they were just another part of who she was, and of who he was.
Nakago was quite aware that he had been wounded many times throughout his past life, and even a fair amount during the current. He had, at times, felt shame at his wounds, at what they had forced him to become. He knew he couldn't blame what he had done on what had been done to him, but he knew that the person he was was a result of his past. However, Miaka had battle scars as well. She had not always been the perfect, cheerful girl that she appeared to be, but she had moved on. Perhaps she held the secret to healing his own wounds.
Silently, he pulled her onto the bed so she faced him and brushed the loose russet strands away from her pale face. She looked up at him and suddenly felt very warm as his hands gently grasped her neck and his lips met hers. Her hazel eyes widened in shock, but his hands, so delicately stroking the nape of her neck, his lips, soft and heated comforted her in a way she had missed since Tamahome's death. Before she could think any more, her eyes slipped shut, and her mouth opened slightly, and she knew that something very important had just happened.