Chapter 2: Yumeutsutsu - Dream and Reality

Yuusuke scrubbed dishes, trying to remember being dead. He didn't remember much about it. In fact, he didn't remember it at all, either time it had happened. Just a vague blurred impression of pain, and Ichijou's voice shouting his name, but even that fading away... and, the first time, heat. Then nothing until he woke up again.

Doctor Tsubaki had told him that both times he'd flat-lined and needed to have a defibrillator used on him. The first time it hadn't been enough, and he'd been declared dead. He had been dead, for several hours. Except somehow Kuuga's belt had held him in suspension while he healed, and he'd woken up only knowing that there was that Grongi out there somewhere and he had to get to it before it hurt anyone else... and he'd gotten to it just in time, just before it would have gotten to Ichijou.

Every life was important, he knew that, but somehow the detective from Nagano had rocketed rapidly onto Yuusuke's short list of Very Important People. He thought it was maybe because Ichijou had trusted him despite thinking Yuusuke wasn't serious, was going to get himself killed. And somehow, in between being Kuuga and learning just what he could do with the armor and how far he could push himself, Yuusuke had figured out that knowing Ichijou had changed him. He'd decided he liked that change. He liked being serious about something. He liked that feeling of determination, that knowledge that he was actively making a difference in the world with his own two hands...

Knowing Ichijou had taken Yuusuke's general good-heartedness toward mankind and distilled it, purified it, boiled it down to the knowledge that there were things worth protecting, and that he would protect them no matter the cost to himself.

He wondered if Ichijou knew that, if he realized that Yuusuke had meant more than just the physical change into Kuuga when he'd asked Ichijou to watch his transformation.

He'd been willing to die, if that had been what it had taken, to defeat the Grongi. But more than that, he'd wanted to live afterwards. Yuusuke supposed it could have been seen as running away, the way he'd left after destroying Daguba, but he'd needed it. He'd needed time and space, quiet and the presence of people who didn't know him to ease the pain that fighting the Grongi had inflicted upon him. He'd needed to heal, to cast away the dark shadows of what he'd never wanted to become, never wanted to do. He'd needed to see them dissolve into light, and he'd needed to do it alone.

He wondered if Ichijou would understand that. The detective always seemed so serious about everything, so dedicated. So alone, like a house cat hiding its wounds for the sake of pride. Yuusuke had a bit of that himself. So surely not everything was work, work, work for Ichijou too, but finding out what wasn't was tricky, and Yuusuke had always had to come at it sideways. Still, he thought he had a pretty good idea of who Ichijou was and wasn't beneath it all.

Yuusuke wiped the dishes dry, stacking them neatly on the counter while Oyassan swept the floor, humming snatches of a pop song from thirty years ago. "Right, that's it," he said, stashing the dishes in their cupboard and pulling the apron over his head. "Oyassan, I'm done. Is it okay if I head out?"

"Sure, sure," the older man said with a genial flapping of his hand. "Just don't run into any more of those Brongi."

"Grongi," Yuusuke immediately corrected, hanging the apron up. "And I don't think I will."

"What's the rush?" Oyassan asked, watching Yuusuke.

Yuusuke flashed a grin. "I think I've got a date." And headed for the door.

"Oh, well, I hope she's a nice girl," Oyassan said as he reached it.

"It's with Ichijou-san," Yuusuke replied over his shoulder.

There was silence for a second as the door swung shut behind him, but Yuusuke heard, as it closed, "Well, I suppose the detective's a nice man."

Ichijou blinked as he opened his door, seeing Godai Yuusuke standing there, white plastic grocery bags in either hand. "Good evening, Ichijou-san," Godai said. "Can I come in?"

"Please," Ichijou replied, stepping back as Godai came in and took off his shoes, momentarily setting his bags on the floor. "I thought we were having a dinner out?"

"But cooking's so much more fun!" Godai enthused, standing back up. "Besides, I haven't found any good Mexican places yet, and I learned this recipe I think you'll like. Not that it was easy finding masa in any of the supermarkets, but..." he rambled on.

Ichijou had to smile. "All right," he acquiesced, reaching for one of the bags and taking it from Godai. "What are we making?" And as Godai gave him a list of equipment he found himself searching cupboards for pots and pans, knives and cutting boards, and finally...

"Do you have a vase, Ichijou-san?"

"A vase?" Ichijou asked, turning where he knelt to see red roses in Godai's hands. He blinked, something twisting up inside him. "Godai..."

"I passed a florist's along the way, and I thought your apartment might need something to brighten it up," Godai explained. "Is something wrong, Ichijou-san?"

Ichijou stood slowly and took two steps, reaching past where Godai stood, pulling a tall vase out of the back of an overhead cupboard. He'd gotten it when he'd been shot and in the hospital once, he recalled; the entire department had sent him a floral arrangement with a get-well card. Even after the flowers had wilted he'd never thrown the vase away in case he might someday have a need for it. "It's nothing. Just... Number B-1."

"Ah, the woman with the rose tattoo?" Godai asked.

Ichijou nodded. "She incapacitated me a few times with red rose petals." He busied himself filling the vase with water from the tap.

"Do you have sugar?" Godai asked, turning away. "They'll last longer with some sugar in the water. Ah, here it is." He shooed Ichijou away, to the other side of the counter, expertly stirring a few spoonfuls of sugar in, stripping the bottommost leaves from the roses, cutting their stems underwater and plunging them into the vase, arranging them with unconscious skill. "But Ichijou-san... there've been red roses around long before you met her, right?"

"I know it's silly," Ichijou confessed. "Still, they remind me of her." Of how she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Of how he'd wished she was human. Of how he'd wanted her not to be evil.

"Mmm, I guess that's something you can't help," Godai admitted, adjusting one last stem. He lifted the vase onto the counter between them. "Still, there are other meanings to red roses too, aren't there?" he asked. "In Europe and lots of places, they say red roses mean love."

Ichijou's breath caught, the tips of his fingers just barely touching Godai's where he was taking the vase from the other man. "Godai..."

"Isn't that right, Ichijou-san?" Godai asked with a smile, and Ichijou honestly didn't know if Godai had meant what he'd implied, if he was even conscious of his flirting...

He pulled himself back under control. "Yeah," he replied, nodding. "I suppose so." He took the vase of flowers and turned away, setting it on the dining table, adjusting it for a second before turning back to look at Godai where he bustled around Ichijou's kitchen.

In some ways, though, B-1 wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. That was someone else, the rose's beauty disappearing in the face of the sun in its clear sky...

Godai's cooking was, as to be expected, excellent, and Ichijou surprised himself by deciding he liked Mexican food. He'd always heard that the palate of Mexican cuisine was too alien to Japanese tastes and so automatically had assumed he wouldn't care for it. Once again Godai had managed to surprise him and broaden his world.

"And so on the Day of the Dead, they cook a feast to be shared with their ancestors' spirits and dress up like skeletons and play music and sing to keep their spirits happy in the afterlife," Godai explained, toying with the bottle of beer held between his two hands.

"Not so different from our Obon, then," Ichijou said consideringly.

Godai shook his head. "Not so different at all. I kind of wish I'd stayed to see it."

And participate, no doubt, cooking up mole and sopapillas with ease, Ichijou thought. "Why didn't you?"

Godai shrugged a little. "It felt like it was time for me to come home."

"I suppose you could always go back, if you want to see it," Ichijou mused. Part of him couldn't believe he was actually suggesting that Godai leave again already. The rest of him was comfortable, talking in his home with a good friend, the remains of their meal scattered between them, both of their shirt sleeves rolled up from where they'd worked together to make the food, Godai teaching him how to stretch the dough thin to make tortillas.

"Maybe," Godai said. He smiled. "You could always come with me, Ichijou-san. There's a whole world out there to explore."

"Me?" Ichijou had to laugh at the image, shaking his head. "No. Thanks, but I don't think I could fit into your world like that."

Godai laughed too. "I suppose not. I couldn't be a police officer either, so that's only fair." Then he fell quiet for a moment, index finger tracing the grain of the tabletop. "Still, if you ever change your mind..."

"Godai," Ichijou felt compelled to say, serious but not imperative, "what do you want in life?"

"For everyone I care about to be happy," Godai replied easily.

Ichijou nodded. "I'd say you spent a year taking care of that. But Godai." He leaned a little closer across the table. "Isn't there anything you ever want for yourself? Something just for you?"

Godai's eyes met his. He was smiling slightly, but there was old care in his eyes. "What about you, Ichijou-san?" he questioned softly. "Isn't there anything you want for yourself, more than anything else?"

"The things I want," Ichijou replied carefully, "I can't have. Not in this Japan. So I make the things I can have into the things I want."

Godai nodded once, his gaze never leaving Ichijou's. "Sometimes we can't have the things we want," he agreed. "Not if we're not willing to reach for them."

His words stole Ichijou's breath away, like a Grongi hitting him in the chest, the force of its blow throwing Ichijou across a room. Godai looked at him for a moment longer, then stood, gathering dishes into a stack to take to the kitchen.

"Godai," Ichijou said abruptly, grabbing Godai's arm as he rounded the table. Godai's bracelet, with its knots and beads, was rough under his fingers. "The things we want-- do you really believe, if we work hard at having them, that we can?"

Godai nodded once again, smiling just a little again. "Yes, Ichijou-san," he answered.