Happy Holidays, guys! I'm so sorry for the delay. I haven't abandoned this story, no. I'm just a total loser who can't write. In any case, I'm sorry again. Regardless, thank you for taking the time to read the story! Here's to 2014!
Disclaimer: I do not own Free!. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Enjoy!
In a way, the silence in the house was the most deafening sound in his mind.
Haru could hear his own breath, escaping his parted lips, the creak of his bones as he walked, the thuds of each step. It sounded like a countdown.
He ducked in and out of the shadows of the house, slipping quietly down the hall until he reached the end of it, where quiet shuffling noises could be heard in the kitchen. Steeling his nerves, Haru took a deep breath and took a loud, deliberate step forwards into the light.
The Pirate was standing by the island, a long kitchen knife held against Rin's exposed throat. The swimmer's arms were tied tightly behind his back and he was gagged with a long strip of cloth. There was a deep gash on the swimmer's forehead that bled sluggishly, but Rin seemed otherwise unharmed.
Haru leveled his gun— and finally looked into the face of the serial killer he'd been hunting for the last four years.
His heartbeat almost faded away in his chest.
"You," he growled out, unable to stop the anger from seeping into his voice. It was no surprise that the Pirate had been under their nose this whole time, but Haru would never have dreamed that he already met the killer twice.
"Me," Masutaro Asahara replied with a serene smile. The light-haired journalist from the Iwatobi Daily had a peaceful expression that did not reach the coldness in his eyes as his grip tightened around the knife at Rin's neck. "It's nice to meet with you at last, Haru-san."
He raised his gun a little higher. "Let go of him."
Asahara smiled thinly and forced Rin upwards with his knife. "No."
"You're not doing yourself any favours acting like this. Let Matsuoka go."
"And yet, you're in no position to throw around any threats, not when I've got this trump card on me," Asahara noted thoughtfully, digging the edge of the blade into Rin's neck. "So, let's talk, Haru-san. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."
Haru glowered. "I'll be very through with you once we're back at the station."
"Ah, but I don't like interrogation rooms," Asahara sighed, shaking his head. "Such a stifling atmosphere completely removes from the essence of conversation."
"You use such fancy words. Looks like somebody really did graduate top of their class in University. I'm not wrong about that, am I?"
"Oh, good," Asahara said, brightening. "I knew you were capable, Haru-san. You did figure out my true target and came racing back. But then again, you were wrong at the start."
"I assure you I won't make the same mistake again."
"We'll see," Asahara grinned. "Did you find Rei Ryugazaki?"
Haru glared. "If anything happens to Rei, it's not me you'll have to answer to."
Asahara scoffed. "Who, your little blond assistant who's got a thing for the cop? Sorry, Haru-san, but he's not even in our league."
"Don't speak as though we're the same," Haru gritted out.
"Oh, but we are," Asaraha interrupted, his face twisting slightly in offence. "We're much more alike than you think, Haru-san. I'm sure you're interested in my story."
"Not in the slightest."
"No, we're going to talk," Asahara snapped, his voice suddenly harsh. "Nobody likes an unfinished story. So let me tell you about a little boy, who lived peacefully with his mother and father. But one day, the boy's father got into an accident at his workplace because the money-hogging, irresponsible owner of the company wanted to save money and cut corners on the safety features when he himself was already swimming in money. And guess what happens afterwards?"
"Humor me," Haru growled, and Asahara curled his lip back.
"My father, a factory worker, was caught in the machinery. It shredded both his legs and he eventually died a pitiful, painful death in the hospital. If there hadn't been for those rich, uptight assholes trying to cheat workers, extort more work hours, scrape together every last cent for themselves, none of that would have happened. My family didn't even get insurance from the incident; all these corporations and companies are interconnected. They won't sell out one of their own. My mother worked herself into an early grave because of this, and I suffered for it."
"I don't see your point in this story," Haru cut in, glancing discreetly at the direction of the kitchen window. Where was Makoto? He could only stall for so long.
"Point is, Haru-san, we're both victims of circumstances," Asahara answered in a patronizingly patient voice. He pressed the knife tighter against Rin's neck, and the swimmer let out a muffled hiss.
"I am not a victim of anything," Haru retorted. "You, on the other hand, murdered a lot of innocent people."
"Those bastards were never innocent!" Asahara roared, and his voice was like a canon shot in the house. "Those rich bastards only ever cared for themselves. I'm doing the world a favour by getting rid of them, believe me."
"The only thing you're doing is creating more dead bodies," Haru argued. The house creaked ominously, but he ploughed on. "You've got an awfully delusional sense of justice. What do you hope to achieve by yourself, killing people? You're doing exactly what those money-hoggers are doing, just in a more direct way."
"I am not!" Asahara shouted. "I am not, and you of all people should now that. I looked you up, Haru-san, I did. It's a compelling and sympathetic life story you have. Your suffering and loneliness was a result of criminals as well, or did you forget how your father died?"
"Enough," Haru said, and in the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow creeping up on the wall a little ways behind the Pirate. His stomach clenched, and then Makoto stealthily appeared from around the corner.
"We're the same," Asahara whispered, his voice trembling slightly. His eyes gleamed brightly— he looked frighteningly unstable. "We're the same, you and I. Both lost boys, both smart, both dedicated to their fields. We don't need anybody by our side, least of all assistants or helpers. You can do so much better than those poor excuses of officers and detectives working with you, Haru-san. You just need to break away from them and embrace solitary."
Makoto took a soft step forward, his gun raised.
Rin's chest rose up and down, his breaths uneven.
Haru shook his head.
"No," he answered quietly. "I'm not like you. I don't look for revenge. I may have held ridiculous grudges in the past, but I learned to look beyond that by the very people you called weak. Associates, partners, friends, they're important to me in a way you won't understand. Now for the last time, Asahara. Release. Matsuoka. Now."
The Pirate took a shuddering breath and backed up, tugging Rin along. Haru advanced, his throat tight, and Makoto moved swiftly forwards to compensate—
And then, the uneven floorboard creaked.
Asahara's eyes bulged, and Haru lunged.
Asahara violently shoved Rin off him, sending the redhead crashing into Haru. As the two of them collided into the edge of the countertop, Makoto bolted headlong into Asahara as the man spun around with a yell and violently thrust his knife into Makoto's chest.
There was a horrifying moment where time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl. Rin slid to the floor as all the strength left Haru's arms. Makoto's eyes went wide, his lips slightly parted in a soft exhale, and Asahara's whole body seemed to vibrate with unrestrained energy.
Then, the serial killer twisted his knife and tore it back out in a splatter of red, and Makoto crumpled to the floor.
Haru raised his gun and fired.
The resounding bang deafened him in the enclosed space. The bullet cut through the air and struck Asahara through the head just as he was turning around to face the detective. The light-haired man collapsed instantly, eyes rolling up into his head as he dropped. Haru didn't know why the journalist had decided to face him again— was it to gloat? To taunt him even more?
But he wouldn't know anymore.
The Pirate was dead.
Legs like lead, Haru staggered forwards and grabbed his partner. "Makoto," he stammered, voice shaking beyond control. "No, no, no, no—"
The brunet's head lolled from side to side, his body a dead weight in Haru's arms. The wet, rattling noise and the gaping wound in the Private Investigator's chest confirmed his worst fears: it was a punctured lung. Haru swallowed hard, forcing bile back down his throat.
"No," he said again, his voice hardly above a whisper, and his hands seemed to move on their own as they pressed against the wound, barely helping stem the blood bubbling sluggishly out.
"Mrrrf!" Rin mumbled, dropping to the floor next to Haru. The redhead shook his head aggressively and finally slipped the gag off.
"Plastic wrap," Rin panted. "In the draw above your head. Cover the wound, quickly."
With shaking hands, Haru scrambled to yank the drawer open. He shifted through papers, cutlery and paper towels before locating the rolled up wrap. Tearing a sizeable section off, he pressed it over Makoto's chest again. His hands were already soaked with blood.
"Can you untie me?" Rin asked unsteadily. "Just yank on the string, it's not that tight."
Almost robotically, Haru lifted a hand and tugged hard on the rope with numb fingers. After a few tries, it slipped off Rin's wrists and the redhead straightened himself.
"Call an ambulance," Haru said, his own voice sounding very far away. "Quick. Do it now."
"I know," Rin said, stumbling away from the two of them as he grabbed the cordless phone with trembling hands. Haru pressed harder on the wound, barely holding back a moan of fear.
"Makoto," he whispered, and his voice cracked pitifully. The brunet lying on the cold tiled floor was pale and limp— almost lifeless. It terrified Haru. "Makoto, please, please, you have to hang in there. Don't leave me alone. Please, Makoto, stay with me… stay with me."
Don't leave me behind again.
He couldn't take his eyes off his friend. There was far too much red. Some time must've passed, because the next thing Haru knew hands were reaching out to him and pulling him away from Makoto. He fought them, fumbling at first, then harshly, twisting this way and that in his resistance. He vaguely recognized his mouth forming Makoto's name, and then Nagisa's disheveled blond hair obscured his view as his assistant forced him back with surprisingly impressive strength.
"Haru-chan, you have to let Mako-chan go," Nagisa sobbed, pushing Haru right out of the front door. The street was lined up with police cars, ambulences and officers along with a crowd of curious neighbours hovering beyond the yellow tape. "Haru-chan, please, please, please calm down, don't hurt yourself—"
The sun was beginning to set. It painted the sky with a brilliant mix of red, orange and yellow, streaking over the wisps of clouds in the horizon. He made a pained, hurt noise on the back of his throat. Makoto, where was he now?
"Nagisa," Haru choked out, reaching out a bloody hand to grasp his friend's shoulder. "Nagisa, I'm going to pass out right now."
The blond looked up with watery eyes, and then wiped at something running down Haru's face.
Tears.
He was crying.
"It's okay, Haru-chan," Nagisa said, his voice muffled in the remnants of Haru's consciousness. "I've got you."
The last thing he remembered was pitching forwards and the sight of the ground rushing up towards him, but arms wrapped around him before he could hit the pavement as everything faded to black.
Waking up in a hospital generally wasn't a good sign of one's health.
Waking up to your esteemed boss reading The Avid Knitter's Patterns Magazine at your bedside probably wasn't something that happened often either.
"Sasabe?" Haru asked, and winced at the hoarseness of his voice. The Commander looked up, surprised.
"Oh, good. You're awake."
"Where am I?" Haru groaned, rubbing at his eyes. They felt gritty and frankly quite disgusting.
"The Iwatobi General Hospital," Sasabe answered, folding down the corner of the magazine. "You've been asleep since yesterday. I thought I'd pop by this afternoon to check up on you, but I became ensnared by this fascinating magazine."
"You don't knit," Haru deadpanned, sitting up gingerly. His head ached, his mouth was dry, but otherwise nothing else felt out of place. "What day is it?"
"The 11th," Sasabe answered, picking up the water pitcher and a plastic cup. "It's fifteen minutes past noon. I recommend you drink a bit of water, but avoid the Jell-O at all costs. Tastes likes liver, in my opinion."
"Right," Haru mumbled, accepting the drink. "What's happened while I was out?"
"Well, they've removed Masutaro Asahara's body from the Matsuoka residence. Rin-san stayed overnight at the hospital as well, just to ensure he didn't get a concussion, and his sister came to visit. He was discharged this morning, and Nagisa has arranged for them to stay at a nearby hotel. Rei's doing alright as well, just resting up here. Meanwhile, Makoto's in intensive care at the moment, but he'll be moved out soon. The wound was large, but no longer life-threatening." Sasabe shot Haru a faint smile. "He'll be okay."
Relief like he hadn't known before crushed him with staggering force, and Haru simply nodded, his throat tight.
"It's unprofessional of me to ask of this, but can I go see him? Makoto?"
"I don't see why not," Sasabe shrugged, grinning a little. "You did just nab one of Iwatobi's most dangerous serial killers, if I'm not mistaken. I think you need a bit of a break. The nurses told me you're almost underweight, you know? Grab a proper meal before you leave for home, and come into work tomorrow. Nagisa's handling the press and write-up like a champ, so don't you worry."
"Right," Haru nodded, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and jabbed the button for the nurse. After a quick check up and deemed as healthy as he could be in his current state (a lecture on proper nutrient intake was also included) Haru changed into a fresh set of clothes Nagisa had dropped off last night. He ducked into the bathroom to freshen up and almost winced at the sight of his face. Dark eye bags hung under his eyes and his skin was a ghastly white.
"This way," Sasabe said, leading Haru upstairs, down several halls, and finally into a quieter section of the hospital. People shuffled past them, all of them looking tired and downtrodden. Haru swallowed, and Sasabe snagged a nurse to open up the door for Makoto's room.
The Private Investigator looked— peaceful.
It was a strange way to describe him, but that what the only thought that passed through Haru's mind at the moment. Makoto was even paler than he was, had a bunch of tubes stuck in his arms, layers of bandages over his chest, a heart monitor clipped to his finger and a plastic oxygen mask obscuring his nose and mouth, but he no longer looked like the limp, bleeding man lying on the floor of the Matsuoka residence. Sasabe held the door open for him as Haru took a step forwards, slowly and hesitantly until he reached the brunet's bedside. Haru gently curled his hand around Makoto's, feeling his chest constrict.
"You idiot," he said quietly, squeezing Makoto's hand as he reached up to brush a couple strands off soft hair aside. "You better wake up soon. We've got a lot to talk about."
Makoto didn't move, but the heart monitor's steady beeps were, if anything, good enough to ensure Haru of his friend's continued survival. He took another breath, and released Makoto's hand.
"I'll come back," Haru sighed, tucking his hands away into his pockets as he backed out of the room. Sasabe was waiting by the doorway, tactfully pretending to examine the hand washing safety posters on the walls. "Wait for me."
The door closed behind him with a small click, and Haru nodded stiffly at the Commander. Sasabe gave him a fond smile and clapped the detective on the back.
"You did good, Haru," Sasabe said quietly. "Things will be alright."
Throat tight again, Haru nodded, and gave a tiny smile back.
In the hospital room, Makoto's fingers gave a tiny twitch, as though seeking the warmth that had once been around his hand.
This was originally going to be the last chapter but I'd rather spend more time with the emotional writing before uploading it, ha ha.
Thank you for taking the time to read, once again! And thank you for being patient :')
Cheers, Laurie.