Mmmm?
Oh.
It's morning again. There's too much light and my head hurts and this is not my bed. It seems to be a couch; my face is pressed uncomfortably into the arm cushion. I'm still dressed.
"Wake up."
I'm still Kudou Youji.
"Wake _up_."
My life really, really sucks.
Muttering, I open my eyes and see grey leather, a grey hotel room, and Aya standing over me. Is he all right? Will he or won't he?
Last night I analyzed the situation logically, from the strategic retreat point of the couch. A PI has to be able to look at all the possibilities in a detached way; since we solved a lot of cases, I must have been good at it.
Possibility A: Aya won't remember that I was in the bedroom.
Possibility B: He will.
If A, then either
If B, then either
Possibility B3, talking about it, seems about as likely as our targets handing us a party platter of drugs and asking nicely to be stabbed. Most of the other outcomes have the words "kill me" in them, not a combination I favor. It was nearly sunrise before my mind would stop chasing in circles.
Maybe it was Asuka who was good at analysis.
The seconds are passing, slowly. Cold metal fails to pierce me anywhere. Finally I sit up, rubbing my eyes blearily, and look at him.
Aya promptly looks away. He's already showered and dressed; there are damp splotches on the shirt, where he must have tried to clean up from last night. His hair is darker when wet, almost black against the pale skin. Without seeing his eyes I can't read him.
"It's late. We each have places to be."
Yes! A1 or B2, I'm not sure which yet.
"Mmm," I agree neutrally. "...Are you all right now?"
"Aa."
Aya walks over to the kitchenette and leans on the counter with his back to me. This lets me stand up and stretch without looking at him. "Uh, I'm going to shower. Do you need a lift?" I edge towards the bathroom.
"Hn."
Inside I start to undress, then pause. For some reason knowing that Aya is in the next room matters. Cursing myself for a fool, I lock the door, and turn to salvaging the Yamada-san suit.
Why did I have to sleep in it? The pants and shirt are wrinkled, the jacket is hopeless...aha! The Luxengen would never let its patrons languish without an iron and a full-size ironing board. Setting them up requires going back out to the main room, though.
I unlock the door and peer out. Aya is still in the kitchen, staring at the wall. Get a grip, Kudou. He's seen me mostly naked before; all the team has, missions don't allow for a lot of privacy. I spare a brief thought for what Ken will do the next time he has to change in front of Omi, and snicker.
It's not funny when it's _me_, though. Gritting my teeth, I stalk through the suite and grab the ironing board. Fortunately Aya seems to be trying out his death glare on the wall; he doesn't even look up at the creaks and thumps.
While the iron heats up I take a fast shower, mindful of possible cameras. God, I want to get home, out of these clothes and away from these stupid vicious people. Not that the next mission will be any different. Not that home is really all that comforting.
When did the Koneko start to seem more like home than my apartment? It's warmer, at least. And there's almost always someone there, Ken clowning around or Omi on the computer or Aya coiled up in the biggest chair with a book and refusing to move or let us watch TV. I insisted from the start on having my own place, and I like it; everything where I want it and no questions about where I go or who I bring home.
Is that where things went wrong?
My reflection looks tired. Today Yamada-san is going to be a cranky little pusher who slept on the couch and didn't get laid and has dark circles under his eyes. I took up wearing sunglasses about the time I stopped sleeping right, two years ago. They come in handy more days than not.
Enough lazing. I open the bathroom door and blink at the ironing board, which is - not there. Instead my clothes are resting on the back of a chair, neatly pressed. Aya is still trying to out-stare the kitchen wall as though he'd never moved.
How does he do things like that? I didn't hear a sound.
Neither of us says anything on the way out of the hotel, or in the car. Aya motions me to stop a few blocks from the flower shop, and I pull over.
"Tonight?"
"Aa. ...Don't get killed."
"Hn."
He disappears into the crowd, and I watch until the last glimpse of red hair is gone.
Monosyllables are actually kind of soothing, when you think about it.
* * *
The receptionist knows my face now, and waves me on into the elevator. Yesterday's flower definitely had an effect - the attendant girl keeps ducking her head and gazing at me with half-shut eyes. She's hoping for a date, but I can't; anyone this close to a mission is off-limits. One of my personal rules, along with "no girls under eighteen" and "no girls in love with me".
No manager waiting for me this time; instead a doll-like secretary bows and shows me to the conference room. Following her down the hallway I try to predict how many samples Biji will actually give me. We'll raid the office when we hit it tonight, of course, but drugs are easy to hide or destroy. Five, seven? Enough to save lives?
Bowing again at the door, the secretary leaves. I smile at her and step into the room. Empty.
No, a faint scent, over there...
Aiko. Even across the room I can see the claw marks on her prone body, the blood on her nails. Whatever they gave her made her try to scratch her skin off.
One more. Aiko, sweet, the baton twirler role is taken, but you can still walk me to hell, in your minidress and bad eye makeup. I don't even have a flower for you.
A tiny sound behind me. I'm turning almost before I hear it, kicking out hard at eye level. My foot meets a face and someone crumples, blood pouring from his nose. Biji.
The man behind him doesn't move, or fire the gun he has pointed at my head. I freeze.
"Kudou-san," says Hashimoto Ukyo, target number two. "It is good of you to be on time."
* * *
On to Part Ten
Back to Part Eight
Tell Marith she writes too many cliffhangers