Notes: Last update before I go back to school.

||6. clouds on the wind

Electric blue lights, flickering and buzzing, proclaimed the establishment's name as 'F VER' – the first E having sadly ceased functioning at a time prior to their arrival. A thundering bass spilled through the ratty back door, boisterous yet unaccompanied, leaving Ginoza to guess at the kind of tune it carried.

Tsunemori's hand was tucked inside her jacket as she eyed the door swinging shut. Her face was lit by the muted aqua glow of the Dominator responding to her touch, and as she pulled her fingers away from the shoulder holster the light died, leaving her face in shadow.

In his shadow, to be precise. According to Kunizuka, Fever was reasonably popular as an after-work hangout among young adults living in the area; it was located furthest from the other event spaces which were indefinitely seedier, and somewhat selective about the bands that were allowed to perform on their premises. For those reasons, Fever would have been among the last event spaces that they investigated had they not been tipped off.

None of them stood out too much on their first infiltration attempt the day before, when he scoped out the nightclub with Tsunemori, but today Kunizuka and Inspector Shimotsuki went in with hologram costume devices. The other two remained close by as backup.

Though remaining inconspicuous while loitering beside a doorway was easier said than done.

"Just a tip: no one looks too closely at drunken people making out," Kunizuka had said in response to his concern, while fiddling with the settings on the compact.

Ginoza flushed scarlet. Thankfully, it wasn't too visible in the dark. Probably. "Wha— what are you implying?"

She raised an eyebrow as the device activated itself, replacing her suit with a sleeveless top and denim shorts. "I was merely suggesting what the Inspector and I tried yesterday. I wasn't implying anything," she stated, with a meaningful stare that said 'but you've implied plenty yourself.'

Inspector Shimotsuki, clad in a fitting hologram dress and shawl, clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh, unsuccessfully. "So… so gullible…" she gasped between giggles. Still grinning, she took both of Tsunemori's hands in her own. "Congratulations, Tsunemori-san."

"Um… Thank you?" Tsunemori glanced at him, her expression simultaneously exasperated and amused.

… Alright, so he did fall for the bait, but they hadn't planned to keep it secret to begin with. Was it?

And Kunizuka's advice was precisely how he came to be standing with his face inches away from Tsunemori, his palms on the gritty brick wall either side of her, trying to resist the urge to laugh nervously or retreat from their awkward (and doubtlessly unconvincing) pretense. Or both.

The door swung open once more, with a strained creak audible over the suddenly loud bass. Tsunemori's hand shot forward and grabbed hold of his tie, giving it a good hard tug. Unprepared, his mouth collided clumsily against her cheekbone. She didn't notice; her eyes remained fixed on the widening gap between the door and doorjamb. He strained to do the same, but it was considerably more difficult to see anything from his angle.

A painful slam followed the creaking. The music receded to being background noise.

"Ginoza, did you really take it seriously? I was joking." Kunizuka's characteristic deadpan rang through the darkness.

Tsunemori sighed and released him. He immediately straightened up and took a step back, surreptitiously fixing his tie.

The problem with Kunizuka, he decided, was that it was nigh impossible to tell when she was joking, or when she was anything but dead serious. In that way, she was worse than Karanomori when she was teasing.

"Did you find anything?" Unlike him, Tsunemori was all business.

Inspector Shimotsuki reached inside her pocket, her real pocket, causing the hologram to ripple and break into pixels. Swiftly, Kunizuka's fingers locked around her wrist. "Not here."

They left the vicinity of the club and returned to the car park three streets away. Ginoza heard a distinct sigh from the backseat as the car started and cool dry air filled the interior.

"So, what did you find?" Tsunemori asked as they left the district and its flickering lights behind. She was perched on the edge of her seat, ignoring the road and turning back as far as she could.

Kunizuka deactivated her holo-costume and handed the compact back to Tsunemori. "We didn't find any evidence that the club is connected to the disappearances, but there's definitely some form of organized crime going on there."

"Drugs and falsifying documents mostly," Inspector Shimotsuki agreed, also deactivating her costume device. She reached into her suit pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag. "They were quite willing to sell us some of their wares."

Ginoza scrutinized the small bag of tablets pinched between Inspector Shimotsuki's fingers. It was similar to the ones at the pharmacy used to package medicine, except that this one came with no labels. "How did you convince them that you two were genuine customers?"

"A few drinks," Kunizuka replied flatly.

"… You let a minor drink?"

"Ah, no!" Inspector Shimotsuki waved her hands around, a placating smile on her face. "We ordered the same drinks, and Yayoi-san switched our glasses when hers was almost empty. It was amazing, I didn't even notice at first."

One of the simplest tricks in the book, and yet Inspector Shimotsuki sounded so enamored of it. Her comment was reminiscent of the way Tsunemori once looked up to Enforcers, his father and Kougami in particular, not so long ago. Subconsciously, his gaze flicked over to her. She had been listening to everything without saying a word, idly turning the baby pink compact over in her hands.

Again, he couldn't help thinking that if they were still around, progress would be much faster. But then they weren't, and lamenting their absence wasn't going to change anything. As the one left behind, he had to make up for their loss.

"And what about the drugs?" she asked, noticing the silence.

Kunizuka shrugged. "They called it 'Concealer' and that was the only name I got out of listening to their conversations. Most likely, it artificially clears clouded Hues, but I'll have Shion run a test on them in the morning just to be sure."

"Do that, please." Tsunemori resettled into her seat. "Depending on the results, we might need to investigate the place more thoroughly."

It sounded as if all she already had something in mind, a hypothesis of sorts that she just needed to confirm. He had one of his own as well, but he was curious if it aligned with hers.

"Should I ask Shion to look out for anything?" Kunizuka inquired.

"No, thank you. I don't want to contaminate the results before they're out," she replied distractedly as she finally slipped the compact into her pocket.

They arrived at the Bureau basement at half past one in the morning, by which Inspector Shimotsuki was falling asleep on Kunizuka's shoulder. Upon being woken, she was apologetic; Tsunemori waved it off and chided her about going home immediately to get proper sleep.

Ginoza expected Tsunemori to leave directly from the basement as well, but she didn't, instead trailing along as he entered the building with Kunizuka. Until Kunizuka peeled off to leave the drug sample at the lab so Karanomori could start work first thing in the morning, leaving them to pad through the silent corridors on their own.

He didn't need to be escorted back to his quarters. He hadn't ever needed to be.

"There's something you want to talk about," he prompted.

She gave him one of those smiles – a bit sheepish, a bit enigmatic, some teasing, and contentment tying them all together. "I can't walk my own boyfriend back without a reason?"

Apart than the fact that it should have been the other way around, with him walking her home after a late shift, saying their good night's and goodbyes at her door… Too late for that now.

And was that what he was now? It was a big step to take, but he couldn't deny that he wanted it. Wanted her, wanted to belong to her on a personal level.

Noticing the change in his demeanor, she hastily returned to the topic. "Well, I just wanted to know what you thought about… this case." Her voice had quieted, her smile muted.

"I don't think my suspicions are too far from yours," he answered carefully. "They're organized, but there seems to be a lack of reach for a criminal syndicate. I can't say until we know more, but it doesn't look like one."

"Mm…" Tsunemori wore an expression of deep contemplation. "I agree with you on those counts, Ginoza-san."

"What are you unsure of?"

"About that… We'll find out when Karanomori-san runs the test tomorrow." She took the last few steps to his door with renewed vigor, darting ahead of him and stopping to face him fully. "Can I ask about one more thing?"

"What is it?" She was between him and the door, which felt oddly like a sign that he didn't have a choice to begin with.

It probably wasn't directly related to the case since she had brightened up considerably, like she was a few minutes before. "You were very uncomfortable back there, outside the club."

Oh. He'd rather not talk about that. In fact, he'd rather not remember most of it, like how half a step forward would have her pressed flush against him and how unbearably curious he was about that particular feeling. They might have been only pretending, but it felt like he was toeing a thin line between pretense and reality.

Tsunemori laughed, a light tinkling that shattered his train of thought. "I found it a bit fun, actually, but you were too stiff to be convincing. Maybe we can try something else tomorrow."

He gave her an apologetic look – though what he was apologizing for, he wasn't exactly sure. When did a straightforward job become this confusing? Probably about the time Tsunemori was assigned to Division 1.

She lowered her eyes to her hands, twisting aimlessly. "Um, it's late," she said, pink coloring her cheeks, pink that stood out vividly under the stark white lights. "Good night, Ginoza-san." Quickly, she raised herself up on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek.

He couldn't help thinking that it really should be the other way around as he caught her wrist, stopping her from leaving. "Wait." She tensed up under his touch, and he almost reconsidered it – almost, but didn't before he pulled her close so that her back was against his chest.

"Gi— Ginoza-san?" Uncertainty and worry made her voice brittle, and she remained a tense ball of nervous energy in his arms. "Is there something you need?"

It was late, she lived a distance away from the Bureau, and they were still expected at the office later in the day. He was aware of that, knew that he should let her rest, and yet he didn't want to let go. All those concerns were selfish and irrational – and insignificant compared to the comfort her presence offered.

Ginoza buried his face in her short hair and murmured, "Can you stay for a while?" Under the smoke and decay and whatever else they'd picked up out in the field, he thought he recognized the synthesized scent of apples clinging to her.

One slight hand reached up and rested upon his arm, lightly, so much so that he could barely feel the pressure of her fingertips. "Of course," she breathed, letting her body relax against his gradually. "Always."

The Comprehensive Analysis Laboratory was already open for business at ten in the morning.

Ginoza still had an hour before his appointment with the prosthetist, and he thought he'd stop by to check on the results of the analysis beforehand. Now that he was actually standing outside the lab, it brought to mind Karanomori's ultimatum. And her usual undying curiosity.

On second thought, he could spend the morning tending to his plants. That was a safer option.

As the possibility crossed his mind, the doors to the lab slid open, revealing a cheery Karanomori on the other side. "How nice of you to stop by, Ginoza-kun! Where were you yesterday?"

Too late to retreat now. Far too late. He let Karanomori hustle him into the lab and while she made herself comfortable with a cigarette, he spied the packet of white tablets lying on a sterile metal tray.

"Is the analysis done?"

Karanomori, in the midst of lighting up, gave him a blank stare. The lighter clicked once, twice, before understanding dawned on her. "Oh! You mean that thing Yayoi brought back," she exclaimed with her teeth still closed on a tiny cylindrical stick, muddling all her consonants. Frowning, she lowered the lighter and pulled the cigarette out of her mouth with her free hand. "I ran the test first thing this morning, and there's something interesting there, but before that…"

He suppressed a long-suffering sigh, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Karanomori, we've been working on this case for a while…"

"All in due time." She grinned at him. "Now, did you make up with Akane-chan?" She kept an expectant eye on him as she replaced her cigarette and brought the lighter to the end for the second time.

"… Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"I knew it! That's our Akane-chan!" Karanomori looked pleased, even more than he was about it. "So what happened after that? How far have you gotten? Oh, it can't be very, surely, you're such an herbivore… But then Yayoi said… mm…"

It was amazing how, in less than ten seconds, she managed to imply a whole host of things including, but not limited to, his being a relationship with Tsunemori, that it resulted more from Tsunemori's effort than his, that he was taking things slowly, and that his admission was absolutely redundant because she already knew about it. It was amazing, and irritating.

"Why do you ask when you already know?" he groused, but he wasn't entirely serious. It was just Karanomori, and he got used to it long ago.

"… Ah, and I should talk to Akane-chan about guys soon…" she trailed off, taking a drag on her cigarette. "Don't be like that, Ginoza-kun. You didn't even have the courtesy to stop by yesterday and let me know that you two made up. I was waiting all day." She pouted mockingly and swung her chair around to face the massive screens. A finger tapped idly on a key without entering anything. "It's not the same hearing it from someone else."

Ginoza had nothing to say to that. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that was the end of it, so he waited.

"Does she know yet?"

The sudden change in direction threw him off. Karanomori was still focused on her screens, but her eyes were glassy and her index finger still tapped unceasingly at a single key.

"Know what?"

"That you're in love with her."

She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and in many ways it was. Before this moment, he hadn't even dared to view it – view them – as something so binding, so final. And despite that, he was sure that was what it was for him. Binding, permanent and final.

"… I guess so." Interestingly, traces of crushed white powder lined the edges and vertices of the metal tray. Cleanliness was clearly not a priority here.

He heard a drawn-out sigh. "Because you told her, or are you assuming that she does?" No reply was forthcoming, and when she figured that out she sighed, longer and heavier than the first. "Men," she muttered, the word disparaging and condescending and sympathetic all at once. "Well, at least it's not something either of you take lightly."

She continued mumbling to herself, absentmindedly tapping at various keys when pop-up windows demanded her attention. Ginoza waited for a few moments before clearing his throat, causing her to look up and regard him with puzzlement.

"The analysis?"

"I sent it to everyone this morning," she stated nonchalantly, without any trace of guilt. Her behavior could have been predicted, in hindsight. Another pop-up at the bottom of her screen started flashing, and her typing went from absentminded to focused, precise. "The last part will be what you want, I should think."

"Thank you." There didn't seem to be anything else to discuss, work was streaming in for her at a steady rate and she would most probably not appreciate his presence, so he quietly made his way towards the doors.

"Ginoza-kun?"

He paused, but didn't turn. "What?"

"I don't think I need to say this, but treat Akane-chan well, alright?"

She had that right – she didn't need to say it. He intended to do that from the start. All the same, Karanomori only meant well.

"I'll do my best," he promised.

There was still some time left before his appointment, but not enough to justify making a detour anywhere else. The prosthetist had an anteroom where he could wait, and it was as good a place as any to browse through the report. He called up his inbox on his holo-device. Karanomori's message was right at the top and he tapped once on the projected screen to open it.

That was one change he didn't notice until much later, when the discomfort of living with a prosthesis had faded into something he thought about once a day instead of once every hour. The holo-device that was given to Enforcers served the same functions as the ones that Inspectors used, with the exception of making unauthorized calls and communicating over the internet. And it was difficult to remove, because it was meant to track an Enforcer's movements. The inconvenience of having one extra piece of lightweight metal locked around his wrist paled in comparison to having his entire arm replaced by metal and plastic, at first.

Ginoza didn't think of it often. While it was exceedingly difficult to remove the holo-device unaided, he never doubted Kougami's resourcefulness. The other runaway from Division 2 managed it in the middle of a riot, much less him. Why was he even thinking about it now? It wasn't important, and more than that, it wouldn't change anything.

Shaking his head slightly to rid himself of those thoughts, he started on Karanomori's report. The first three quarters of it were dominated by a systematic breakdown on the chemical components: mass, percentage mass of individual elements, chemical composition and concentration of the active ingredient. He flicked past the statistics with only a cursory glance; they might mean something to Tsunemori, with her background in science, but as far as he was concerned he was in no position to interpret the data.

Abruptly, words replaced the numbers and letters, and he had to scroll back up to begin reading the analyst's comments from the top.

-artificially clears Hue, inefficient compared to other drugs
-composition varies among tablets, likely from two or more batches
-significant margin of error for percentage composition of active ingredient, not lethal
-likely to be manually produced instead of manufactured
-non-addictive, absence of relevant compound

Her comments were concise but covered all the relevant points. The results confirmed what he suspected up till now: that the organization was small-scale and that their activities did not include profiteering. Leaving politics as the other possible motive, specifically anti-Sibyl objectives.

It complicated matters, especially when Tsunemori seemed to have her own issues with the System. Himself, he was not so sure. On one hand was justice, the other mercy. He had his time on both sides to know that the aftermath of pursuing one, whichever it was, would bring misery to someone, somewhere.

"I am aware of your busy schedule, Ginoza-san, but I'll need to arrange a second appointment next week."

He felt a faint prick of annoyance at being told this at a time when they were making a critical breakthrough in the case. "Does it have to be next week?" he asked, barely keeping his displeasure from his voice.

"The sooner the better," the prosthetist confirmed, scanning through his medical file and stopping occasionally to add a note.

Of course the prosthetist would know best as a trained professional, but it sounded like a waste of time. "What is it for?" he tried. If it wasn't that important he could try to postpone it, maybe indefinitely.

"Your prosthesis needs to be replaced."

"Replaced? Why?" He had only been using it for five months, more or less. On the other hand, in his eight years of working in public safety, he never saw Masaoka change his prosthesis even once, and he kept closer tabs on his father than he would have admitted.

The prosthetist picked up the digital file he had been perusing and brought it over. He displayed it in its entirety before tapping on various figures and numbers to enlarge them. "Well, as you know, at the current level of medical and engineering technology, all grades and categories of myoelectric prostheses come equipped with auxiliary power sources. Generally, a patient who has adapted to his prosthesis will not have to check in unless it malfunctions, which is not often."

"However, while technology can maintain it," he continued, this time selecting several figures and producing a graph, a stark yellow line that rose gradually on blue background, "the initial fitting of the prosthesis requires human impetus and judgment. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

If there was a point to his explanation, Ginoza didn't get it at all. He indicated as much in response.

"Well, to put it simply, you need to have it refitted. It's to be expected, of course, what with your first fitting arranged directly after being released from isolation."

This much, he did understand. In short, his prosthesis was now lighter than his natural arm. A minor decrease in balance and its implications were hardly at the top of his priorities, especially when he was already used to it.

"Is Friday afternoon a good time?" Catching sight of Ginoza's stubborn expression, he added, "I should hardly need to remind you that there are medical consequences to using a poorly-fitted prosthesis, and as your physician I am telling you that you should get it changed as soon as possible. It won't be as long as the first procedure since the implants will be reused."

The first procedure had taken a day. He felt the need to ask how long.

"Four hours, barring any complications."

Four valuable hours, lost just like that. He didn't become an Enforcer to be dead weight, but he was still easily the weakest link in the group.

Maybe the prosthetist read his mood, or he was simply doing his job. Either way, he said, "I'll put your appointment on Friday afternoon. If anything happens and you can't make it, inform me when you can."

Ginoza mechanically thanked him and left the clinic.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on it. Whether he was dead weight or not, he still had a job to do and that would have to be enough.

Bleak and lifeless, with too-clean floors and walls. The isolation facility hadn't changed since the first time she set foot in it. It was still a thoroughly miserable place.

The first time Akane stepped into an isolation facility alone was in the weeks following Makishima's death. The CID was a mess, Division 1 was in tatters and work was no longer the refuge from uncertainty that it once was. Recruiting new Enforcers was one of her many responsibilities, one that she put off for as long as she could while a myriad of issues leaked in from everywhere.

Recruitment meant visiting the isolation facility, and the isolation facility meant reminders of the first time she was guided through one, reminders of a latent criminal who had grown up in a place as loveless as it was lifeless. Reminders of how the fragile civilization she lived in was predicated upon violating the rights of a minority group who were innocent thus far – judged by another group who had, among them, members responsible for the crimes that latent criminals were imprisoned to prevent.

The irony made her want to laugh. Or throw up. It was sickening, and the only thing more repulsive than that was how fundamental it was to maintaining order.

And no one could know of it, so she pasted neutral smiles over her disgust and went on with life, until she almost convinced herself that the normalcy she faked was how she always was.

She'd visited Ginoza first, to complete the administrative procedures that his demotion had initiated. And out some feeling of obligation, she supposed. She only had to meet him once – then it became twice and thrice and beyond that, because it was easier to watch him come to terms with the society that cut him off, tossed him aside and forgot about him, than to reconcile the abhorrence she harbored for the system with the daily act of protecting it. Even if sometimes she just wanted to scream the truth of the Sibyl System at him, scream at him not to speak of it so agreeably, she kept coming back. Back to the stronghold of despair and misery and boredom.

Until one day, he left with her.

The interactive screen by the door read her Hue and turned from red to green; the heavy metal doors slid apart, letting her through yet another layer of security. She thought about the young mother who had tipped them off in Kitazawa – she would have been sent to a place like this if caught, taken away from her child. Akane made the conscious decision to let her walk away even knowing she was a latent criminal, and nothing terrible had come out of it.

Insignificant things like that made her feel like she might actually live to see the day that they turned off the Sibyl System. It was a good feeling, especially coming so soon after her newly-established relationship with Ginoza. And about him… she made a mental note to take him with her the next time she came back to the facility, if he was willing. She wanted his opinion on the potential new addition to their division.

One more set of doors, one more Hue check and she would be out in the sunlight again, away from the oppressive optimism of the timed announcements and the hopeless uninterested stares of the prisoners. Out in the world where a trap of contradictions awaited instead.

The screen turned green. Warm air, carrying the scent of newly-cut grass, gusted in.

Akane stepped into the midday sun, took a breath of fresh air, and felt a stab of pity for those who couldn't.

End of chapter 6