Yay fanfiction!
This fic inspired in part by learning chemistry from a biology teacher, and too little sleep.
Thanks goes to auntie.mom and her l33t beta skillz, as well as to the Harry's crowd in general for being a great bunch.
She wasn't taking off her gloves, not when she was like this. She'd made that mistake before.
Her craft was acting up again, testing the limits of her mind. It wasn't that she was going to go mad any time soon, heavens no. Sometimes she felt like it'd be easier, though, to just feign madness and get on with dying. But no, her mind and conscious just wouldn't let her do it, would not relinquish that last thread to which her sanity clung, like a spider to a wisp of silk. Well, that wasn't an accurate description, a spider seemed to be in perfect control of its silk, and she hardly felt in control at the moment. She knew that the only thing that kept her from knowing the feelings of the last person that had drunk from this glass were the sheer silk gloves she rarely took off these days.
Smirking, she dragged a covered finger around the rim of her glass, idly wondering the reason for its last user's visit to Harry's. It was a fairly normal looking glass, with a bit of a ripple through the middle, presumably to make the grip more comfortable. She wasn't sure what she was drinking but, in her imagination, the last person had been drinking something fruity; maybe a Cosmopolitan. He, and, in her mind, it was indeed a he, was sharing the drink with someone, probably a significant other. They had quiet conversation, every once in awhile a giggle breaking the soft melody of their speech. She smirked as the wild image of a couple sharing a mixed drink through two straws flashed through her mind, like an American milkshake in the 1950's.
But that was ridiculous. Harry's was nice, but it was hardly a place for a date. Sometimes she thought that the STN-J was the sole supporter of Harry's, so rare was it that she saw others in here. Of course, she kept strange hours here; maybe everyone else came at a different time. Perhaps if she touched the glass, she'd come up with an image of Doujima, or, worse yet, Amon. They'd shared many a silent drink here, late at night when any other manager would have closed up and hauled out. Not Master. He had never thrown them out, any of them. Even now, as the closing hour was fifteen minutes away, he had replaced her drink without her even noticing that she'd finished it. She noted that he was very careful not to brush her hand with hers, and nodded at his effort, very grateful. With everything that had happened recently, his mind probably reeled as much as hers. Granted, he hadn't escaped death by a strange twist of fate, but he had lost three people he cared deeply for in the last few months. She had only lost two.
Maybe one of those two people had been the last to touch the glass. Maybe she could find a glimpse of Amon in here. Probably not, though, the Factory had been at least three months ago. Three months of nightmares, sorrow, and silk gloves. Still, it was all left to her imagination as long as she kept the gloves on. She relished that. It was delicious, to have to imagine things, to not know for sure. There was a time when nothing had been left to her imagination. Those days were long over, but it wasn't hard to remember them. A time when anything and everything would tell her their stories, good or bad. She smirked; if walls could talk. To her, they could. If they had something to say. Nearly every wall did. Walls had ears, and eyes, despite the cliché.
Of course, so did everything else, to her. It was part of the reason her own room was nothing but a mattress and sheets, all new, only laundered by her. She could only shop new; thrift store things or hand-me-downs sometimes had more stories than she wished to hear; more than she could block out when wearing them against her skin. When SOLOMON had been training her, they had realized this quickly. She had been given a used uniform for weapons training class, and had collapsed in her room when she put it on. The previous owner's leg had been broken by an arch rival. No one had known that it was intentional ... not until she had recovered, screaming 'Damn you to hell, Georgie, you psychotic bitch!' Words that they had never heard from her mouth along with a name that she didn't know. Getting the story straight had taken a while, but it was later discovered that 'Georgie' was dead; as was the previous owner of the shirt, each killed by the other in a 'misunderstanding.'
No, it wasn't vanity that kept her well dressed. It was necessity. It wasn't frugality that kept her apartment clutter and trinket free, it was a requirement. Hell, she couldn't even walk barefoot in her apartment at this stage without concentrating; her life had turned in to a bed of broken glass and hot coals.
She wondered vaguely when she had grown the calluses to walk that bed. Maybe, like children watching too much violent television, she had simply become desensitized to it. No. She felt emotions too well to say that. She had just lost faith in humanity then. No, that wasn't it either. She had seen beautiful things too. Things so beautiful that she woke from the short trance with tears in her eyes. She had brushed against a bible in a church once; the memory still brought her hope. So much hope and love had been placed into that slightly tattered, well-read book. People prayed to it, placed their hearts in what that bible represented. It had been used in countless weddings and infinite services. It had been used in funerals but, somehow, those had also translated to hope. Maybe it was the closure of the rite, the knowledge that God had taken the deceased and was now caring for them.
She smiled into her glass. Had she ever believed in God? Even now, she wasn't sure of the answer. Certainly, there was a deity, something that threw the dice when life hit a crossroads that could not be decided by mere mortals. Lord what fools these mortals be, she thought sardonically. Shakespeare had certainly echoed the thoughts of any God that existed in that one line. Either way, something had thrown the dice in her favor that night, and it certainly hadn't been her. She never touched dice; most had inevitably been somewhere unsavory.
She noticed that her drink was empty. How long had she been here, anyway? She glanced at the clock, only eleven-thirty. She'd been here for about two and a half hours; not too long. Of course, the fact that she'd been awakened at four o'clock that morning meant that she'd been awake for … nearly twenty hours. How had she managed that? The alcohol. That was probably it. Michael had said that another early hunt was not likely; they had apparently scared any other witches in that area into hiding for awhile. The Walled City had been surprisingly quiet, only one or two hunts in the last few weeks. That was probably why she had come in the first place, a drink or two while she could. Except that she suspected a drink or two had turned into a drink or four, perhaps even five. Rubbing her temple, she noticed Master gazing at her evenly.
"How many?" she asked, voice sounding tired even to her own ears.
"Five and a half," he said frankly, and picked up another glass to dry. "You may want to stop. I made the last two a little lighter, but it was probably a little much."
She cursed herself mentally. "I can't drive like this," she said quietly. Though surprisingly lucid when drunk, it didn't mean that she could operate a vehicle. Letting her head slip onto her fist, she contemplated how to get home. She could call a taxi, or simply go back to Raven's Flat. Michael still lived there; he could put her up for a night. But she felt a strange reluctance to reveal this side of herself, the side that was allowed to get so drunk that her knees wobbled, that thought deep thoughts while steeped in gin and tonic. No, Michael was still a little young, though his sudden freedom and the Factory had aged him considerably. He still didn't know how to handle a drunk. Especially her as a drunk.
"How am I going to get home?" she muttered to herself, draining her glass as if in defiance of ever getting home.
Master smiled, patting her hand with the towel around his. "It's all right. You looked about done, so I called someone to take you home."
Thinking he had called a taxi, she nodded her thanks and grabbed her coat, digging through the pockets. "I hope I have the money on me for all this and the taxi," she said, mostly to herself.
"What? I come all this way and you've gone and gotten a taxi?" a voice said from somewhere near the entrance of the bar.
She froze for just a moment, surprised beyond measure to hear another voice, especially a familiar one. There was movement behind her and, presently, Sakaki's head slid in to view, hair mussed from the helmet he held in his hand. She stared at him, dumbfounded, for a moment before looking at Master. "This is the 'someone,' I assume?" she asked, a hint of humor in her voice.
"Taxis are rarely happy places late at night," he said, smiling serenely.
Wondering why she hadn't thought of it, she struggled to get her coat on. "All right, but I'm not riding on that death trap of yours," she said, fixing Sakaki with a look that neatly cut off all argument.
Sakaki shook his head; she was a very sober drunk. At least she had the good sense not to drive. But that was Miho; good sense. Even when she's had six gin and tonics in three hours, he thought with a smile.
"Come on," he said, pulling a coat sleeve into place. She briefly gave him a look of gratitude, and then frowned slightly.
"I still need to pay," she said, making to reach in to her pocket. She swayed slightly.
Sakaki caught her and sighed. "I'm sure he'll take the pay when you come in tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep, you've been up almost a full day."
Touched that he had kept track somehow, Karasuma gave in and nodded good night to Master. The movement made her head swim. As they walked the small hallway, the thought occurred to her that she had had far too much to drink.
When she sat in the passenger's side of her car, it occurred to her that no one had ever sat here. After her car had been crushed by a witch, SOLOMON had given her another car. Sakaki had always had his motorcycle, and Doujima had found her own rides since then. It was nice, because the only emotion she picked up from the seat, when the back of her neck brushed against the head rest, was a slight relief. She assumed it was because the car had been sold. She settled into the seat and leaned her head against the window, blowing out her breath and trying to convince her stomach that, no, it did not want to turn out all it had been given in the last three hours. She succeeded, if only just.
Sakaki stood outside the driver's side for a moment before getting in. Miho hadn't told him yet, but he'd noticed the gloves she wore every day now; her craft was acting up. Thus it was imperative that he check his emotions at the door, so to speak. It was harder than he would have guessed. The woman in the car had been his partner for a year at least, and he had never once seen her any less than regal and in control. It was a side affect of her craft that she was so, he knew that with certainty, but it didn't take away from the fact that, for as long as he'd known her, she had been the embodiment of elegance. To see her so drunk she could barely walk was disconcerting.
A lot had disconcerted him lately, though; one more thing wasn't going to throw him off too much. He considered his plan of action. He really had no idea where Miho lived, though he suspected that the address was somewhere in her purse or pockets. Still, the thought of searching for it either on paper or coaxing it out of her mouth was not a happy one, and he discarded it immediately. Then it was settled, she'd just stay the night at his place. Staring into space, he caught a glance of her through the windshield.
Hold on, his mind told him, this is your partner; your female partner, who can sense emotion from the last who-knows-how-long-nowadays, and you are planning to take her to your bachelor pad. He sighed and gave a good thought to the passing of his time in his apartment for the last few weeks. The bed was immediately tossed out. He hadn't had a girl over the whole time he'd had the place (Hell, he hadn't even had a girl the whole time) but he was still human, and male. The floor probably wasn't such a good idea, who knew what she could pick up through his feet? He'd had a lot on his mind lately, and though he suspected she had the same thoughts on her mind, she didn't need reinforcement, obviously. The couch? Mostly he watched TV on it; when he actually had time to watch TV. That or played the odd video game, but again, that was rare. Yes, the couch was probably safe, with an extra blanket that had been in his closet since late last year.
Now. To tell her this plan. He fiercely reined in all his thoughts until he was focused on the plan, and then slid in to the driver's seat, mouth already beginning to form the first words of his explanation. The words died before their utterance though, when he turned to find her asleep against her own passenger window. Sighing, he shook his head and focused on the plan, she'd find out sooner or later. Glancing behind him, he put the car in gear and began to back out of the parking space.
Halfway home, she woke up, eyes sliding open to the sight of moving pavement. She wasn't sure what had woke her, but her fuzzy mind did remember that she was in her car, and Sakaki was driving. Wait …how is he going to get home? He didn't bring his bike. The thought crossed her mind sluggishly, her logic declining steadily as the alcohol was processed and she began to experience the hangover.
"Sakaki, you didn't bring your bike," she said, in an attempt to warn him. It didn't occur to her that he'd already thought it through.
Her partner started. It looked as if he hadn't thought of it, but he was just surprised she was awake. "I know," he replied evenly, "I locked it in back."
"How will you get home?"
He suppressed a groan. Of all things, she had to be a curious drunk. He had planned on telling her anyway, but it was more difficult than he'd originally thought. "You're actually coming to my house, Miss Karasuma. You can crash on my couch."
She was quiet for a moment, the ideas working themselves through the misty barrier of the alcohol before finally reaching comprehension. "Oh. All right." She brought a hand up and rested her head on it, staring out the window, lost in thought.
He wasn't sure what to do, so he babbled. "I didn't know where you lived, and you don't look like you're in much condition to remember, so I figured that taking the car to your house would be easiest. It's a little dirty, but I'm sure -"
She glanced at him, smiling, effectively stopping him in his tracks in confusion. "It's all right, Haruto, thank you."
He blushed faintly, ducking his head so she couldn't see. "Uh … no problem," he muttered, and focused on the road again, frantically beating down any emotion. This is harder than it should be, he thought to himself. It was hard not to think about something else, about the implications of their coming in to work together tomorrow. Doujima would have a field day, if she noticed. Michael would most certainly notice, but hopefully not say anything. He was smarter than that, and had enough problems of his own. The new girl wouldn't say anything, just flick her eyes from him, to Miho and back again, and then accept their story. Sakaki might have said she reminded him of Robin in that way, but she had not tried to be a friend, as Robin always had. Fuck, his mind said, that was a rousing failure. Way to make her feel better. He pulled up to his apartment complex, sighing. Well, he'd managed it for most of the way. Parking was interesting; he just took the spot of a neighbor he knew was away for the night. If the guy came back, it served him right; the guy always had his girlfriend over at night, and the noise kept him up.
Once parked, he went to help Karasuma from her seat, somewhat nervous that she might try to get out on her own and end up scratching the car beside them. Her good sense appeared to have won out again, though, she stayed where she was. Carefully, he opened the door and extended a hand to her, which she took, using it to pull herself up. He was impressed that she had such a good hold on herself, until she wobbled and fell against the car. He heard a sharp breath from her as he closed the door and locked it, and brought his face even with hers.
"You ok?" he asked as her eyes focused on him. She looked slightly green. "We can wait here for a minute before going up."
"I'll be fine," she said, swallowing. She steadied her hands against the dark car and let the cool air pour into her lungs, soothing the roiling of her stomach. She sighed as her vision swam and smirked at the irony. "Pathetic, isn't it? Here I am, most experienced hunter of all of you, and I'm the one skunked tonight."
Sakaki shrugged. "It's all right, after the year we've had; I'm surprised you haven't been skunked more often."
She smiled bitterly. "Never had time. Besides, I'm still not legal."
"Somehow, I think you passed the maturity level of a twenty year old a long time ago."
She hummed in agreement. She certainly felt a lot older than nineteen most of the time. It was strange that he'd mention it though. "You're a lot older then eighteen, after the Factory," she said quietly. "I think it's a curse of hunters, to grow up before our time."
"Probably." Sakaki said, leaning against a door. He glanced up at her when she shifted, trying to stand up properly. "You ready to try that walking thing again?"
She smiled. "Yes."
Moving towards her, he caught her arm and they began to make their way into the building.
Sakaki collapsed into bed that night tired and confused. It was nearing one in the morning, but his mind was still getting over the shock of the call he had gotten at eleven-fifteen. He had been half asleep, the early morning forcing him to bed a lot sooner than usual. At first he'd thought it was Michael, that there was another hunt on. The unfamiliar sound of Master's voice on the other end had made him sit up, and the news that Miho was incapacitated had him up and dressed within moments.
He was worried for her. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her that he was surprised at her sobriety through all this time, but it wasn't just that. As they'd made their way up the stairs, she'd revealed some surprising facts about herself.
"Can you get up the steps? I don't think the elevator is a good idea, even if it's just a floor up."
"No, you're right about the elevator." She took hold of the railing with her free hand and tried to raise herself up. It worked, but she seemed very drained for her effort.
Sakaki sighed. Moving one hand to her shoulders, he hooked the other under her knees and lifted her, trudging up the stairs and setting her down carefully at the top, breathing a bit harder than usual. Karasuma looked surprised to be at the top of the stairs, and the look of surprise on her face grew when she realized how she had gotten there.
"I could have …"
He smiled. "Pardon me, Miss Karasuma, but no you couldn't."
"I mean, if you hadn't … I might have … accidentally … ," she waved at her temple, and Sakaki shook his head.
"I wore long sleeves and gloves for reasons beside my motorcycle."
She seemed struck that he would think about that, pondering as he opened the door and gently showed her in. "It wouldn't have mattered awhile ago," she said, as he propped her up on a stool in his kitchenette. "The first time Amon and Robin disappeared, it felt like I was losing my powers completely."
Sakaki shook out the blanket he had retrieved from his closet and gazed at her shrewdly. He hadn't heard her talk about her powers so frankly since she'd explained them to him his first day. She continued.
"Since the Factory though, it's like I've awakened again. I see more, and it's hard to control when I see it." She put her face in her hands, leaning against the fake bar the apartment's designer had apparently thought was 'cool'. "It's frightening. I'm scared."
Scared? Karasuma Miho, scared? The thought wasn't foreign, but her admitting it to him seemed to be. Still, he was her partner, the duty fell to him to comfort her, or at least try. After spreading the blanket over the couch, he went and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I can't say much to help you," he said, and paused for a moment, choosing his words. "I'm … not nearly as old as you are, and I don't have your abilities." He sighed. "But for what it's worth, I'm here for you."
She glanced at him when he said this, looking mightily surprised and, after a moment of reflection, smiled. "It means a lot, to know that."
He smiled helplessly back, glad he'd gotten something right. "Good. Now, how about some sleep?"
She looked at the blanket and cringed. "I'll try …"
He helped her up. "It's all right, it hasn't been used since last September, I got a new comforter then."
She smiled as she sat down, still being careful not to brush it with her bare skin. Her legs were protected by her pantyhose, the rest of her by her clothes, but it didn't keep her from being cautious. "That was almost a year ago," she said softly, legs bent at odd angles against the floor from where she sat.
"Yeah."
"Before all this started." She continued, "Before Kate, before Robin, before the Factory…"
Sakaki paused. "Yeah," he said again, this time his shortness from sadness. That had been a simpler time. He used one gloved hand to move her head to look at him. "It'll probably be nice to sleep and remember that, won't it?" he asked quietly, neither of them noticing that this was the closest they had ever come to one another. She nodded, another smile sneaking out from her gloomy demeanor.
"Yes."
He nodded in return and turned from her, heading to his room.
"Haruto?"
He turned, his face curious. "Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He nodded, and went to his room, closing the door as softly as he could.
And that had been that. Now he was stuck worrying that he'd done the wrong thing in taking her here, that she'd somehow find a memory or emotion that disturbed her. Then there was worrying about her new power. What is up with that? he asked himself, first it weakens, and then comes back with reinforcements! She'd said it felt like a second awakening. Maybe the events at the Factory had triggered a new amount of power to open up, strong emotion awakened witches for the first time, who was to say that almost dying couldn't awaken them anew?
He sighed and listened carefully to make sure she wasn't shifting. He heard nothing and told himself to calm down. He needed sleep. Michael had told them all just to come in before noon that day, but if he stayed up fretting over Karasuma, who could certainly take care of herself, he'd be a mess tomorrow.
And so, turning over one last time, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
In the living room, Karasuma had been sitting up for what was nearing seven minutes. She heard Sakaki turn over and still again. She wanted to go to sleep, but that required touching the blanket. And though he'd told her that it hadn't been used for months, she was, nonetheless, apprehensive. Still, her head pounded, and she knew that she would fall asleep sooner or later, and making the contact purposefully would be better. Slowly, she laid down, putting her hand between cheek and couch. She sighed. Maybe she could fall asleep like this, and not have to worry about it. Her relaxation brought her neck down, though, and, ever so slightly, a piece of the blanket came in to contact with her skin.
It took a moment, but she knew it was coming, and braced herself. Old emotions, very old, she was amazed at her own ability, came to her like a broken record that skipped. Moving, new job, confusion … and then, suddenly, worry. The emotions no longer felt like a skipping record, these were fresh and new. She nearly panicked; Sakaki must have somehow touched it when he got it out! There was nothing she could do, but as the episode went, nothing more came. Just worry … worry for her, and a deep caring and control that she had never known he possessed. Even though she was feeling the emotions of someone she had known for a year, it felt like she was just meeting him again. There had been truth in her words, when she'd said he was a lot older than eighteen now. And not just some truth; the statement had been all truth.
She came up from the contact breathing a little harder than normal. It was done, and she lifted her hand up and pulled the blanket over her, knowing she'd get cold later in the night. She allowed her face to bury itself in the blanket, and, knowing that she could pick up nothing more than Sakaki's warmth and worry for her, she fell asleep.
Note: I have no idea as to the continuation of this fic. If I get a rousing call for a follow up, and an idea for said follow up, the follow up shall come.
Cheers!
-Zuri-