Sentimental

Had it already been a half a year? Fushimi didn't remember that much time passing, but, if anything, the world had become just a little bit quieter without Suoh Mikoto.

It wasn't the end of the world - Fushimi maintained that he had no love at all for the man, and he was sure everyone in Scepter 4 shared his sentiment. There were, however, much to Fushimi's annoyance, more cases of gang fights, now that Homra had faded out from the picture. And this meant more paperwork, and field investigations, and more of getting yelled at by that irritating woman.

At least he was better off than Homra. Izumo had struggled to maintain the mountain of grudges piled up against the gang, and then, barely a month past Mikoto's death, on the day his beloved bar counter shattered as a result of an over-enthusiastic Yakuza member with a baseball bat, called for a disband in the ruins of the once-proud bar.

Close to nobody had objected. Apparently power was needed to survive in a dog-eat-dog city like Shizume. And by close to nobody, well, really only Yata had tried, the miserable creature.

"But - Kusanagi-san! Guys! We can't just do this! Mikoto-san wouldn't have wanted us to! Come on, guys!" His hand was clenched into a fist, knuckles turning white.

"Neither would Mikoto have wanted us to fall into this. All ya lives are in danger. D'ya understand? This will be the last time ya walk through the door of this bar, d'ya hear me?"

The silence that ensued radiated some sort of finality, and everyone seemed to understand.

Everyone else except Anna turned and walked out of the bar, heads bowed as if in homage. Izumo took a long breath, and then let it out in a sigh, walking back into the bar, his quiet footsteps tapping on the wooden floorboards. Reaching into his pocket, he lit up, puffing almost absentmindedly as he gazed at the bar, split in half like the Titanic. When he turned his head back, there they were, several proud figures, lit by the red of the dying sunset. Only one lingered, standing in the street, his expression eclipsed by shadow. As Izumo watched, he flipped his skateboard over, jumped on, and disappeared.

...

Awashima was a terribly busy woman these days, but after half a year, she finally found time for a quiet, red-bean-paste dominated drink in Homra. Or what used to be Homra. When one day she walked onto the corner and found the bar abandoned, with its windows smashed in, the stairs broken and the beautiful bar counter - the pride and joy of Izumo - destroyed, she immediately raced to his apartment.

"Kusanagi! Open up!"

The door swung open, and there he was, a large smile on his face, leaning nonchalantly on the doorframe.

"Well, ya certainly quite a pleasant surprise. What brings ya here, Seri-chan?"

She didn't even bother telling him not to be so informal.

"Your bar..."

He cut her off, his smile now sad and gentle.

"Shh... I know. It's been this way for a while. Why don't ya come inside? Then I can make ya a drink."

Hesitantly, she followed him inside his small but cosy apartment, and at his invitation, sat down slowly on the sofa.

"Aren't you going to tell me it's dangerous to come inside the apartment of a man who lives alone?" She joked halfheartedly, as she watched Izumo work at his kitchen counter, a bartender without a bar.

He turned back towards her.

"But I ain't."

"Excuse me?"

"Not alone. See?" He gestured towards the sofa, and it was then that Awashima noticed a small figure curled up between red blankets.

"You-"

"She has nowhere to go." He came out with her drink, which he set down on the coffee table. Awashima stirred it, mixing the enormous lump of red bean paste that sat on top of the drink in so it turned a nasty maroon-red, and Izumo made a face. Awashima chose to ignore him, sipping her drink mildly and tracing a meaningless pattern in the condensation with her other hand. Izumo sat down next to her, crossing his legs and leaning forward, his head resting in the palm of his hand.

"Spill."

She stared at him, confused.

"Ya must've come to me for somethin'. What is it?"

Awashima opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.

"You wouldn't understand, but-"

"Go on."

"It's Captain Munakata."

"No doubt the man would be stressed out in times like these."

"It's not just that."

"Ya worried for him?" Izumo's smile bordered on teasing.

"He's my superior. And he hasn't been sleeping for weeks on end. Something serious will happen to him if this continues."

"Huh, don't worry about it too much... Hey, if ya have anything ya can always talk to me. I'm always free nowadays."

He would be, Awashima supposed, after what had happened, and for a moment she felt sorry for him.

"Stay a while, won't ya?"

"I guess I can... But I'll have to be at work by two."

"Heh. Ya too fixated on work, Seri-chan. Ya should learn to relax a while, yeah? Ya know?"

She had the distinct feeling he was as lonely as she was. His hand crept forward, fingers lacing with hers. Her palm felt cold against the warmth of his skin. Her common sense urged her to pull away, but she didn't. Instead, she moved her other hand, slipping her fingers into his soft hair, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

When she pulled away, his gaze was regretful, as if he was a puppy that had bitten the hand of its owner and realised its mistake. Awashima blsuhed, turning her head away.

There was silence.

"Well then, I'd best get back to work." Awashima broke the silence matter-of-factly, not wanting to embarass Izumo any further. He looked very much like he wanted her to stay, but got up to open the door. He understood. Awashima followed, grateful, and slipped on her shoes at the doorway.

"It's a real pity, you know. You shouldn't just abandon it like that."

"I'll think about it."

She hoped he would.

...

Munakata closed his eyes, rubbing tired fingers around them.

"This is the end, Munakata."

He put aside his finished paperwork, picked up another case file.

There was a gigantic sword, falling to earth.

Another sword, smaller than the first. A sword that pierced flesh and blood before the first could. A sword that had ended a life.

Those quiet, last words.

Words that were not meant for him.

Words that had transcended time and space, haunting his mind.

What time was it? He didn't want to know. Couldn't fall asleep. Couldn't let this monster break through his barriers.

What have you done to me...? You selfish bastard.

His head dropped.

The quiet tinkle of metal frame and glass lens sounded against mahogany wood.

...

Awashima's high heels clattered up the stairs. "Captain?" she called, knocking on the door. A lack of response greeted her.

"Captain?"

Still no answer.

"Captain, I'm coming in!"

After waiting impatiently for thirty more seconds, Awashima pushed on the door. It swung open, revealing an empty chair, an open window, and on the fine mahogany desk, a pair of glasses.

...

"Fushimi-kun!"

"Here."

"Immediate Royal Blue alert! Mobilize search and rescue personnel!"

"What?"

"Captain's gone missing. He left his glasses. You know what that means!"

Shit.

"Yes, Vice-Captain."

"I want you to move out, too. You'll be in charge of the harbour area. Go now."

Damn that woman!

"Yes, Vice-Captain."

Fushimi moved quickly along the harbour. He hated it. It smelled of sea and fish and goodness knows what other wet and slimy things besides. Leave it to Awashima to put him in a post both he and she knew he absolutely detested. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Squad, report!"

"Akiyama here. Central's clear."

"Benzai reporting. East is out."

"This is Camo. South, too."

"Domyoji. He's not in the West Side."

"Enomoto here. We've swept the North, and there's no sign of him."

"I'm Fuse. He hasn't been seen anywhere near the airport."

"Goto reporting in. The borders are out, and so are the train stations."

"Hidaka reporting. We've checked the harbour. Unless he's hiding in a net, or in a crate of fish, he's not here, or on any of the outgoing boats."

How could Munakata have escaped their security net? They'd done a sweep of the city - even crossed the borders into neighboring areas.

But wait - there was a place they hadn't checked yet. Could it be...?

Fushimi's gaze lingered over the bridge, on which the monorail that ferried students in and out of the island school, Gakuen-jima, moved, the sun glinting off its expansive glass windows, the silhouettes of students inside chattering happily. If there was even a possibility...

5 minutes later, Fushimi stepped off the monorail, heading towards the front gates of Ashinaka High School. The sun was just setting over the crests of the pine trees in the distance, and he figured he'd better find Munakata quick, before something bad happened. The rare past instances when Munakata had been without his glasses had turned out to be very horrifying.

With quick steps he walked towards the security post, flashed the Scepter 4 badge. "Code Royal Blue."

The guard fumbled for a pass-card, and soon Fushimi was through.

He searched the compound, the cafeteria, then, deciding that Munakata, being Munakata, would go somewhere quiet, somewhere with nobody to disturb his thoughts. Fushimi turned towards the pine forest, his footsteps silent. The upward-leading steps seemed endless, but finally the edge of his shoe met blackened, burned-out soil. Fushimi had never been to the site before, but had been told by Awashima that this was where it had all ended.

Where it had all started.

Where Suoh Mikoto had died.

He couldn't help but stifle a chuckle, filled to the brim with the recognition of irony. It wasn't grand, something like the Kagutsu crater. For all his unlimited power, the Red King's death-place was nothing spectacular. It just looked empty, unsightly, hollow. Like something was missing.

A noise brought his hand to his belt, tightly gripping the hilt of his sword. He paused, listened for the sound. There it was.

It was... It was laughter.

Fushimi peered round the edge of a tree, and there sat Munakata Reisi, his head thrown back in continuous, maniacal hysterics.

"Aha! Ahahahahaha! Are you happy now, Suoh?" He appeared to be talking to something... Or someone.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Huh?"

No... Wait. There was nobody else there. He was talking to himself. Unkempt, he was a mess, his coat ripped, belt loose, and sword hanging, a wild light in his eyes, burning like they still reflected the light of Suoh Mikoto's last blaze.

"Now you're dead. I killed you. I killed... hahahaha... you..."

His laughter died, his head lolling to the side, and then, as Fushimi was about to move out of the trees towards him, his head snapped back up again, and he sat up straight, talking in a very business-like manner.

"You see, Suoh. Now look what happened to your clansmen, especially that little girl, the one you care so much for, Suoh. Anna, is it?"

He kept talking, though he received no reply.

"If I thought it was bad with you barbarians, watch what will happen when Kokujoji gets his hands on her. She'll suffer, you know? He'll put her in a dog cage and do all sorts of things to her. You wouldn't like that, now, would you, Suoh? Hmm?"

He slumped again, and when his eyes opened, they were different, terrible and devastated, his voice much softer, so that Fushimi had to scramble forward a few trees to hear what he was saying.

"Suoh... Now that you're gone, who will drink with me? Who will I stumble upon in the sauna? None of my subordinates will... They're too busy with other things... Hah, as you can see, nobody but Fushimi-kun went with me to the end-of-year party. Besides, they're all scared of me. See how they keep their distance?"

"It's an organisation, Suoh, and organisations are meant to be organised. Never informal. I will never be close to my clansmen the way you can, Suoh. Am I jealous? Perhaps. I must always keep my distance, because they need someone to took up to, someone with no feelings, no bias. I can't be to my clansmen what you are to yours, Suoh. I couldn't be that to you either. That conflict between my work and myself runs deep, see?

"I think you understood... Somewhat. Because then again, you were the only person who ever understood me. And now that you're gone, who else is there? I'm lonely now without you, Suoh, lonelier than before. Awashima-kun's right. Kings tread a lonely path. That path may run parallel to their clansmens', but it is never the same. It may be blocked by trees and brambles, and before you know it, your paths diverge and you're standing, alone, in the wilderness. "

"You could have stayed just a little longer... Both of us knew your time was running out, I suppose. But you forced my hand."

He stopped, wiped his eye with his sleeve.

"I'll have you know I never wanted to do that to you..."

He sighed, shifted a little, looked up to the sky.

"Do you know just how much you meant to me?"

He fell silent, and only the clouds of evening birds returning met his cry.

"Answer me, Suoh! Answer me, you selfish bastard!"

Then, exhausted at last, Munakata Reisi slumped to the ground.

Fushimi looked at the bare clearing of earth, the scarred, broken soil. It wasn't a crater, something large enough to show up on an atlas, to cause topography to change, to forever be remembered in history books. It wasn't the way Suoh Mikoto had once looked at the map and said he wanted to go. He'd died, leaving not a mark on the world but a scattering of blood. Fushimi stepped forward, and lifted Munakata, leaned Munakata against his shoulder as gently as he could.

"Come on, Captain. Let's go."

The sun was crimson, spilling smears of red like blood onto the clouds.

As he turned to leave, something caught his eye, buffeted in the breeze, its leaves defiant, small, but proud. It was a green pine shoot, sprouting from the remains of a tragedy. It was life, springing from the powers of destruction that Suoh Mikoto had always, always viewed with a certain grudge, a simmering, resentful, but grudging hatred.

The clearing wasn't a death, wasn't an erasing.

It was a rebirth.

Epilogue

Kusanagi Izumo grunted with the effort of pushing open the door of what had been Homra, and coughed loudly, sputtering in the cloud of dust that puffed up from every movement he made. Wiping sweat away from his forehead, he leaned hard against the door for support - perhaps just a little too hard. The weakened hinges gave way, and Izumo found himself with his backside planted firmly on a dusty wooden floorboard, covered in broken glass and splinters of wood. As he moved his hands to push himself back upright, his fingers swiped across the surface of the floor, leaving his fingertips blackened, and he sighed. He remembered days when you could see your reflection on that floor.

But that was going to happen again soon.

Because Homra was coming back.

-END-