Work Text:
24.12 08:58
In the parking garage beneath the Shibaura precinct office, two minutes to deployment.
In the driver's seat, Shima completes final vehicle checks. In the passenger seat, Ibuki fastens his seatbelt, then glances at his watch. "9 a.m. Christmas Eve, to 9 a.m. Christmas Day. Got any Christmas plans, Shima?"
"I will be in my bed, sleeping soundly, and thanking the heavens that Unit 2 is on duty and not me."
"Typical." Ibuki tsks. "Well, I have plans."
"Oh?"
"If all goes well, that is." Ibuki pillows his head on his hands and stretches out as much as the passenger seat will let him—which isn't far, for a grown man in a compact car. "I'm going to ask properly tomorrow."
Ah. "Good luck, then." Shima turns the key in the ignition and shifts the car into gear as Ibuki picks up the radio.
"MIU 404 to No.1 HQ. Patrolling the Sumida precinct to support Unit 1."
The car accelerates up the garage ramp and emerges into the cold, bright Shibaura morning.
*
It's probably Hamu-chan, Shima thinks.
But let us rewind to the beginning of this logic chain.
Ibuki's phone buzzes a lot. Shima counted, once, out of a combination of boredom and annoyance. At the end of the 24-hour shift, in the back of his memo pad are 64 tally marks neatly grouped into sets of five, or an average of 2.67 notifications an hour.
"What's so interesting?" Shima asked, at the time.
Ibuki obligingly unlocked his phone to show him: a text conversation with Mugi-chan written across the top. Ibuki scrolled: pictures of roadside flowers, dogs walking with their owners, the view from the second floor of her preschool, or sunrises over the train station in Kikyou-san's neighborhood. Each message is dutifully replied or emoji-reacted to. "Hamu-chan takes pictures of everything because she's so happy that she can go out again."
"You two get along," Shima observed.
"You could say that," Ibuki replied, grinning.
There were other notifications, too, which Ibuki read and snoozed one by one. "Boring things like reminders to take in the laundry and buy dish soap. Ah, my rent's due, too."
"You use phone alarms for that?"
"How else would I remember?"
"A list?" Like a normal person.
"Well, it's my routine," Ibuki replied good-naturedly, put his phone away, and settled back in the passenger seat.
That day, Shima had added uses phone alarms as a to-do list to the mental bucket of things he finds incomprehensible about Ibuki, and put the matter of Ibuki's constant notifications to rest. But the point is: Ibuki likes cute girls, and Shima has witnessed his blossoming acquaintance with Hamu-chan. So if he's asking someone out tomorrow, it's probably her.
24.12 09:53
No.1 HQ to all stations. Traffic accident involving three vehicles in the Jingu area. Location: Kyoibashi intersection. Nearby cars, please respond...
"Too far?"
"Yeah."
Shima's phone buzzes at the same time Ibuki says, "Ah, my phone." At the next stoplight Ibuki shows him a new photo in the group chat: Kikyou-san and Hamu-chan at home with matching Christmas sweaters, smiling and making victory handsigns at the camera. Going from the angle and how it's slightly out of focus, it was probably Yutaka who took the picture.
[09:55:00] Hano Mugi: (Img001.jpg)
[09:55:03] Hano Mugi: We're going for lunch and an outing tomorrow!
"There, you're done for," Shima observes while Ibuki taps out a reply. "Hamu-chan already has plans and they don't involve you."
"Huh? Why would they involve me?"
"... Weren't you going to ask her out?"
Ibuki looks genuinely confused. "I already have! Several times! She always said no. I'm persistent, but I know when to give up. Hey, the light's changed."
Shima obligingly hits the gas pedal. "Wasn't it you who said that as long as she's not married, there's still a chance?"
"True," Ibuki says without conviction. "But this isn't about whether the chance exists or not. It's that I'm not going to take it. I'm not like you, who can carry a torch for nine years. I can't wait that long. I want to know quickly, so I can keep trying or give up."
Shima murmurs, "Eight and a half."
"Huh?'
"Eight and a half years," Shima repeats. He met Kikyou-san in the spring of 2011. Since then, he joined and left First Investigation, and she had a child and was promoted to captain. Two months ago was Etori, and then the incident with Kuzumi at Tokyo Bay; something changed at that time, though he can't say precisely what. "I also know when to give up."
"Hmm," Ibuki acknowledges, expression thoughtful.
"—It's really not Hamu-chan you're asking out tomorrow?"
"Nope, and I never said it was, which means that for once you came to the wrong conclusion, Shima."
"Then I wonder if this person actually exists."
"Hey, I'm serious. If something matters to me, I can be serious about it. I graduated from the police academy and that wasn't easy, you know." A beat. "You seem concerned?"
"Nothing of the sort," Shima throws back and pointedly returns his attention to the road. But as the patrol car continues down the street at a leisurely 40 km/h, he examines his unease. "Curious, maybe. About the sort of person who can get you to be serious."
"H~m," Ibuki hums, back to his customary grin. "In that case, if you really want to know, Shima-who-worked-in-First-Investigative-Department, I permit you to use your skills to try to find out."
"This is payback for last time, isn't it," Shima complains under his breath. About Kousaka.
Ibuki's ears are sharp. "Of course it is. Only this time, the only evidence trail to follow is me, and don't think I'll make it easy for you. Then, good luck, Shima~chan."
"Fine." If this Christmas Eve shift is boring, it'll at least be something to pass the time. Shima finds a stopping spot and pulls over. "Then you drive."
"Huh?"
Shima gets out of the car. "You drive now, and I'll drive the 4 a.m. covert patrol later. That way you can show up to your date looking presentable instead of like a scruffy mongrel. Now don't say I never did anything for you as your partner."
Ibuki perks up and bounds out of the car. "Shima-chan, you're so nice to me!"
While Ibuki adjusts the seat and mirrors, Shima takes a minute to stretch his legs. December in Tokyo is cold and dry, not yet cold enough for snow, but cold enough to bite. He pulls his coat collar closer against the wind and breathes in. The road before them stretches all the way into the city skyline, the morning sunlight sharp overhead.
9 a.m. Christmas Eve, to 9 a.m. Christmas Day. Most likely, it will be an ordinary shift. But things are rarely boring when Ibuki is in the picture.
24.12 11:05
MPD to all stations. Suspected theft at a corner store in West Musashino. Location: Hikishima intersection. Nearby cars, please respond...
Shima picks up the radio. "This is 404, on the way."
While Ibuki parks the car, Shima gets out and scans the surroundings. The storefront faces the road; there are multiple exit points without a clear line of sight. A single surveillance camera in the store, angled towards the entrance.
Miyano Fuka, 47, has cashiered for the confectionery shop for just over five years. Ibuki arrives just as she pulls up the security footage and describes the incident: a boy about high school age had made a purchase, then tried to process a return in order to buy something else instead. "... Then he said, 'Auntie, I paid 3000¥ already, and now I'm also giving back this item worth 3000¥, which makes 6000¥. So I've already paid for this other box, right?' After he left, I rang up everything on the register and it came up short. I still don't know what happened, but whatever he did, it's theft, isn't it?"
"Could be an honest mistake," Ibuki comments, at the same time Shima says, "Ah, an accounting issue." Shima pulls out his memo pad and starts writing. "The kid paid 3000¥ in money and walked out with 6000¥ in goods, hence the shortfall." He tears out the memo page and hands it to the cashier, then looks around. The kid is long gone, of course. "It could be an honest mistake," he acknowledges with a nod to Ibuki, "but we'll look into it."
Outside the store, Ibuki says, "Reasonable doubt?"
"Reasonable doubt," Shima replies. "Let's get this over to the precinct office."
According to the West Musashino precinct office, there is, in fact, an open case on a student-age shoplifter.
There were three reported incidents, and one set of security footage retrieved from a clothing and accessory store; officer Mukojima compares it with the newest tape and concludes from height, build, and mode of operation that this is very likely the same person.
Next to Shima, Ibuki fidgets. Shima steps in front of him, hands Mukojima the initial report and bids them farewell, then ushers Ibuki toward the door. Safely outside and out of earshot, Shima asks, "What is it?"
Ibuki springs up like a jack-in-the-box. "You also noticed, didn't you? The kid's a pro. He's done this a lot, just hasn't been caught before."
"No, I didn't 'also notice', because there's no evidence. That's speculation, not deduction." Then, "If you intuited something, you need to explain it."
"Man, I really can't say. Identical method both times, which means it's deliberate, but something about the method also reminds me of kids who steal from wet market shopkeepers."
"Wet markets. Where people count cash by hand," Shima considers. "People aren't naturally good with numbers. Talk fast enough and confidently enough and they might let a customer walk away, believing the numbers add up, when they actually don't. Counting by hand, one might never notice. But these shops use a computer and a cash register and will notice the shortfall."
"Yes, yes, that'd do it—"
"If there are easier targets, then why these stores? Sweets and accessories?"
"Overconfidence? Financial trouble of some sort?"
"Not enough information to know," Shima repeats. "Regardless, it's the West Musashino Youth Division's responsibility now. As for us, it's lunchtime."
24.12 13:37
Ibuki had wheedled the name of a local onigiri shop from Mukojima before leaving.
Now he walks out of the store, waving a translucent plastic bag, to where the patrol car is idling in a parking bay. He gets in the passenger seat and hands one of the wrapped rice balls to Shima. "Local flavor," Ibuki says happily. "Did you know they make these with simmered beef?"
"I do now," Shima says, unwrapping his own and tucking in. Ibuki volunteers to buy lunch whenever he can, because Shima, left to his own devices, might get the same convenience store lunchbox for a year.
It's not that Shima doesn't care about food. He grew up cooking for his younger siblings; he takes care in preparing meals, and takes pride in making food other people enjoy. But when it comes to himself, food is just necessary sustenance so he can go on living his life.
Ibuki, on the contrary, genuinely enjoys eating. Making use of the travel they do in the course of work, Ibuki goes out of his way to try local specialties and recommendations, and when possible, he brings back souvenirs for others in the Shibaura office as well.
Ibuki has stopped eating and is watching him, for some reason. "What is it?"
"Ah, nothing," Ibuki says, tone making it clear it is not in fact nothing.
Shima waits patiently.
"... I just think your food looks delicious. Can I try some?"
"You have your own, don't you?"
"I've got this one, but it's not that one."
"Then you should have bought two of this kind in the first place."
"Well, I wanted to try this kind—"
"Then whose fault is that," Shima returns, more out of habit than real annoyance. Exasperation at Ibuki is a constant low hum at the back of Shima's mind, but months of trading empty conversation in the melon bread van have so accustomed him to it that by now he finds the familiar refrain comfortable, even reassuring. Shima reaches for the glove compartment and retrieves a disposable fork, turns the rice ball over and scoops a piece from the uneaten side, then hands it over. "Here. Now stop drooling over my lunch."
Ibuki eats it in a single bite. "Oh, it's good. Thanks, Shima-chan, I knew you'd be nice to me."
Shima ignores him and keeps eating. But Ibuki is right about one thing: the rice ball really is good.
*
Several weeks ago, while delivering paperwork to the National Police Agency HQ, Shima took the chance to visit Kokonoe at his new placement.
"New car?" Kokonoe asked, by way of greeting.
"New enough," Shima acknowledged. "Thanks to apprehending Kuzumi, the new captain approved funding to get 404 a proper patrol car again."
"That's good. I heard that the proposition to reassign Ibuki-san was revoked as well?"
"Yes, well. All parties agreed there was no need to split up a working team."
"Including Ibuki-san? He passed over the opportunity for promotion, so that he could stay at MIU 4?"
"Seems that way." It hadn't occurred to Shima to think about it before now, but Ibuki had once said, If we work hard, one day, we might make it to First Investigation.
... Kokonoe looked like he wanted to say something.
"What about it?" Shima prompted.
Kokonoe lowered his eyes, a rare display of deference, and Shima instinctively braced for whatever was about to come next. "Have you considered, senior, whether Ibuki-san's reliance on you exceeds the norm?"
"It's important that partners trust each other."
"When we worked together, I trusted Jinba-san, and I believe he trusted me. You and Ibuki-san, however..." He paused. Shima waited. "It is said that the suspension bridge effect is not unusual among partners on the front line."
Kokonoe Yohito is intelligent enough to notice things, and young enough that he still dares voice them. Shima schooled his expression to neutrality and nodded. "Right. It's not unusual, so there's also nothing to be worried about."
"Yes," Kokonoe acknowledged doubtfully.
"But I'll take that under consideration, Kokonoe-san. Ah—I hear you finally got your placement?"
"Eh?" Kokonoe blinked, but thankfully followed Shima's lead. "Ah, yes, I'm currently on rotation in the Community Safety Bureau. I have a lot to learn, but the team takes care of me..."
12.24 15:25
"Hey, Shima. Who do you think did it?"
"Huh?" Shima glances at the passenger seat, and sees that Ibuki has retrieved the paperback novel Shima keeps in the glove compartment and is thumbing through it. "Oh, that. Every possible suspect is also already dead. So either the culprit hasn't been introduced yet, which is unusual for this author, or it was a murder-suicide."
"Ah, sounds tricky. Hey, is it true you can't keep a steady relationship because your bookshelf looks like a serial killer's?"
"... Who did you even hear that nonsense from?"
"Jinba-san. Ah, the light's changed."
Shima hits the gas pedal. "Tell him his gossip is five years out of date. No, it was because First Investigation works 80-hour weeks. And don't spoil it for me," he adds, because Ibuki has flipped to the back of the book and is reading the last two pages.
"Well, since that was years ago... don't you have more free time now in MIU?"
"Work one day, sleep one day, two days running errands, cleaning house, and, yes, reading books some people consider 'disturbing'," Shima counts off. "So, just as inconvenient." Something occurs to him. "That person, they're okay with the hours we work?"
"Don't know, haven't asked." Ibuki closes the book back up and stows it back in the glove compartment. "But their work schedule is also irregular. As long as our free time lines up, it's probably fine, isn't it?"
"I suppose," Shima concedes, and returns his attention to the road.
12:24 16:33
No.1 HQ to all stations. Hit-and-run involving one car and one bicycle in the Sumida precinct. Location: Musashino North intersection. Nearby cars, please respond...
Ibuki picks up the radio. "This is 404, heading over from Roppongi."
"Acknowledged, 404. Additional details: The car driver made the report. The one who fled was the cyclist."
"Odd," Ibuki comments.
Shima installs the siren on the roof. "We'll see when we get there."
The car is pulled over next to the sidewalk with the bicycle next to it, frame dented but intact. The driver who called in the incident is Okawa Shunsuke, a corporate manager who lives in Chiba Prefecture, clearly distressed. "This person rode straight out into oncoming traffic, against the signal. I was already in the intersection and couldn't stop in time. He picked up his things and ran off, leaving the bicycle here. I couldn't in good conscience leave..."
"If the cyclist got up and left, he must not have been very badly hurt," Shima observes.
"He was carrying a paper bag with a ribbon on the handle. It looked expensive,like a gift."
"Delivery driver?"
Okawa frowns. "I don't think so. He was wearing street clothes, not a uniform."
The traffic police have arrived. Shima relays the situation and leaves Okawa in their care, then looks around. "Have you seen my partner?"
"He ran off that way. Something about catching up to the bike owner."
Shima takes a deep breath and exhales. "Of course."
Dusk is falling. Shima moves the patrol car to a less obtrusive spot and calls Ibuki over the radio.
He finds Ibuki two blocks away, talking to someone: a boy, probably high school age. Dirt streaked all down one side of a light jacket and sweatpants, the one hand grazed and welling with blood. On the ground next to them is an elegant paper bag with a ribboned handle, intact.
In the falling dusk, Shima glimpses the kid's face: it's the high schooler from this morning's incident.
The boy's name is Kawasaki Yukito.
"Yanagi High School," Shima reads off the student ID he handed over then glances at the bag he's clutching in his good hand. "You've been shoplifting gifts for a girl? If you have to woo her under false pretenses, it won't last."
"It's not for me. My younger brother has a date tonight at the Café November three blocks that way. Let me deliver this to him and I'll admit everything. You can follow me—"
"Whatever is in that bag is evidence too," Shima says. Ibuki gets off the phone and reports that the West Musashino precinct detectives are on their way.
The kid shakes his head. "This isn't a gift for anyone. It's his lucky jacket."
Shima look. Beneath the layer of wrapping paper is a folded navy blue overcoat, well-worn, but he isn't convinced. "And the bag?"
Kawasaki's face is aghast. "Man, I was in a hurry and took the first one I found in the house..."
Ibuki looks from Shima, to the boy, to the gift bag too ostentatious for its contents, and seems to decide something. "Shima, can you take care of things here?"
"What are you—?" But he figures it out before Ibuki can explain. "Further investigation, got it. Go."
Ibuki nods, picks up the bag, and dashes off in the direction of the café.
Shima nudges the boy. "Let your brother know to look out for him. That guy's a fast runner and your brother will receive your good wishes. In the meantime, you need to come with me and talk to the traffic police."
Shima returns to the scene of the accident—the traffic police have cleared the area—delivers Yukito into the hands of the West Musashino Youth Division and relays the initial information, then doubles back.
Night has completely fallen by the time he arrives at the Café November. Ibuki is leaning against a nearby wall, hands empty; he must have delivered the package. Through the café's floor-to-ceiling glass window Shima spots a boy in a navy blue jacket, deep in conversation with the girl across from him.
"Got there in time?"
"Yeah. His date was running late anyway. He was concerned, you know. Asked me why Yukito couldn't come and if he was okay."
"Does he know? That Yukito has been arrested?"
"Didn't seem like it. I didn't say anything." The interior of the café is warmly lit, the couple oblivious to the world outside. The ribboned bag is neatly folded up, tucked under the table next to Kawasaki Hayashi's backpack. "Ah, behind every couple going out tomorrow, there's a story. What happened?"
"You can find out from the guys at West Musashino. They said they'd get us dinner and that we can write up the initial investigation report there."
12:24 19:47
Over a giant pan of yakisoba, they hear the full story from Mukojima.
"Single-parent family, not well off. Both kids started working part-time in junior high to help with expenses. The younger brother Hayashi is self-conscious about it, so this kid has been stealing to help his brother court this girl like an ordinary high schooler would. Accessories, expensive sweets, tickets to the amusement park, that sort of thing. Their mother is coming to pick him up. He's contrite, so most likely he'll get off lightly with community service."
Shima glances at Ibuki and adds, "If the family isn't well off, it's possible he's stolen other things and was never caught. Possibly food and necessities to help make ends meet."
"Yes, a social worker is being assigned to their case."
Outside the station, on the way back to the car, Shima says, "Back there, when you were talking to the kid. You put it together that quickly? That he was stealing for someone else?"
"Not really." Ibuki keeps walking, hands in pockets. "At the time the only thing on my mind was, anyone who gets in a traffic accident and gets up and keeps running has something very important to do. It doesn't sit right, though. That Yukito has been doing all of this and Hayashi doesn't even know."
"He might find out eventually, or he might not. It's not unusual for elder children to carry the obligation of care for their younger siblings. Including protecting them from the reality of the world until they grow strong enough to face it for themselves."
"I'm an only child, so I wouldn't know. Is that from experience, Shima? You have younger siblings, right?"
Shima gets in the passenger seat. "I was never in that situation, so I can't say, either."
12.24 21:58
Ibuki gets restless on long covert patrols, and on quieter evenings he gets out to walk the route while Shima drives. Going by Hinode Pier, Shima parks the car and leaves Ibuki to pace the boardwalk; he's idly scrolling SNS when Kikyou-san texts with a screenshot of a different message.
[22:01:45] Kikyou Yuzuru: > [21:39:07] Ibuki Ai: Captain, Shima says he's gotten over you.
[22:01:50] Kikyou Yuzuru: ?
Shima lets out a long exhale and pulls up the on-screen keyboard.
[22:03:47] Shima Kazumi: The wild dog's nonsense as usual. Please ignore.
[22:04:45] Shima Kazumi: Sorry for the disrespect.
[22:05:15] Kikyou Yuzuru: It's fine, Shima. I'm not the superior of either of you any more.
[22:05:50] Kikyou Yuzuru: From the position of a friend, if I may: it's good to move forward.
Shima stares at the words, black text on a white message bubble against a pale blue background. Nine years of acquaintance, and little by little Kikyou-san had pulled ahead of him until he was left watching her silhouette from behind. The awareness settles with a sense of finality; there is no disappointment in it.
Something else clicks into place. Shima pulls up a different contact.
[22:11:03] Shima Kazumi: Did Ibuki talk to you about his Christmas plans?
Ibuki is the only evidence trail to follow, but that doesn't mean Ibuki is the only person involved.
[22:19:02] Hano Mugi: Yes. He asked me for advice on asking someone out. It was cute. He's very concerned, you know!
[22:21:34] Shima Kazumi: What did you tell him?
[22:27:13] Hano Mugi: Considering the other person... I said, why don't you leave the door open, and see if they follow you?
[22:28:21] Hano Mugi: 😊
Shima puts the phone away. He gets out of the car, leaving the window rolled down so they can hear the radio, and pulls the collar of his coat closer against the chill.
Ibuki has returned and is leaning against the bumper, hands in pockets, line of sight trained on the city skyline inland. He moves to make room as Shima approaches. "Nice, isn't it? Like Hamu-chan said before, each of those lights is a person going about their life."
"I think it's the same as it always is."
"Well, I think it's nice. Okutama's population is 6000. At this time of night, there aren't lights any more. No signs of people living their lives, just the endless, constant noise of insects. I didn't let myself think about it at the time, but I really couldn't stand it."
Shima, who has lived in metropolitan Tokyo all his life, can't relate. Every night, without fail, has been made up of hundreds and thousands of lights, one in every window, every streetlamp, every car crossing the Rainbow Bridge. They glimmer over the water like fireflies. If a single lamp goes out, no one will notice.
(On August 8th, 2013, a lamp went out, and the city went on as always.)
Ibuki continues, "If the Captain hadn't picked my CV out of a pile, I might have stayed in that koban watching late-night TV for the rest of my life. So, thank you, Shima."
"It wasn't me. As I'm sure the Captain told you, there was a ranked list of individuals considered and you were simply the next name that came up."
"If you weren't here, I wouldn't be, either. So it's thanks to you, and Kokonoe, and the Captain," Ibuki insists. Then, quieter, "Now that I know what it's like to be here, with Unit 4, I don't want to go back there again."
"Is that a leading statement? Making me feel sympathy so I'll be lenient in your performance evaluation?" Shima says it lightly. Ibuki's probationary year will be up in the coming March, and there's no reason he shouldn't stay.
But Ibuki has now been quiet too long for their usual back-and-forth. Shima is weighing adding a clarification when Ibuki finally continues, "Nah. You'll do what you want to do, and if I really have to go back, I'll be fine, you know?" A pause. "Ah, I'm not sure, either. I just felt it was important to tell you, because I wanted you to know."
"... Your Christmas Eve confession?"
Ibuki blows out a breath. It mists in the air and dissipates into the velvet-black night. "Yeah, sure. Let's call it that."
Quietly Shima replies, "Consider it received, then."
12.24 23:36
The cupboards of Unit 4's temporary substation are still stocked with the gifts from Jinba-san's hospital stay.
Jinba-san and Suzuki are still out answering another call, but they left a pot of cooked udon serving four, still warm. Shima grabs bowls and utensils from the cupboard, hands a set to Ibuki, then helps himself. "Thanks to Jinba-san, Unit 4 hasn't needed to buy food for two months. Ah, not that the reason was at all a good thing, of course."
"Are you sure? I could've sworn I saw Kokonoe come by with gifts as a pretext to meet his successor..."
Conversation continues in fits and starts as they finish the meal, plastic-wrap the remaining noodles and ingredients for 401, then start washing up. Shima slots a bowl in the drying rack and asks, "Have you been to see Gama-san lately?"
"Still not taking visitors," Ibuki says over the tap. "Sometimes I wonder if it's just me he's refusing to see."
It is true, but only because Ibuki is the only person who requests to visit. "But you still go."
"Of course I still go. I want him to know I'm still here. I will always still be here." Ibuki turns off the tap and hands over the last bowl. "Ah, it's Christmas Day."
Shima glances up; the wall clock reads 12:44 a.m. "Ah, it is."
On the other side of the counter, Ibuki settles into his cot and reaches up to drop his glasses onto the countertop. "Get the lights, will you?"
Shima crosses the room to his own cot and flips the switch. The room goes dark except for the light of streetlamps outside. It filters through cracks in the blinds and throws sharp shadows on the opposite wall.
Nonprescription glasses, Shima thinks again. Ibuki says he wears them to look cool, and brags that the lenses are transition and anti-glare.
The thing is—the thing is. Ibuki's image is remarkably coherent. Nonprescription glasses to look cool, hoodies in bright colors and graphic t-shirts, a weakness for cute girls. Easy to pigeonhole: rulebreaker, troublemaker, wildly unpredictable, a hot potato people carefully wrap up and pass on under the careful nondescriptor of 'fast runner'. Ibuki Ai consists of a remarkably coherent set of ideas, and therefore, few people look past the presentation for anything else.
Behind the glasses, however.
Their first day as partners, when Shima rebuked him and then handed him a lost item to return, a flash of uncertainty quickly replaced by a grin. In the passenger seat of the melon bread van, professing to an old couple his complete, unbased faith in a fugitive. A tiny, well-maintained apartment, one wall occupied by a rack of running shoes, balcony door thrown open to the afternoon sun. Ibuki, drinking his way through Shima's beer to avoid talking about Gama-san. Ibuki, who still visits Fuchu Correctional Facility every second week, and who, on nighttime breaks, sometimes goes up to the precinct roof and looks out over the city.
At first, faintly alarmed, Shima had followed Ibuki up and lingered just inside the roof access door until he came back downstairs. Over time, Shima stopped going. Ibuki is not Kousaka. Ibuki's lifeline is long, and when midnight break is over, Ibuki always comes back.
With every crossed boundary and every misplaced remark, Ibuki makes himself heard, felt, remembered. Today, Ibuki has been carefully leading Shima somewhere. Shima is not yet sure what lies at the end of the road, but he thinks he might be beginning to guess.
Ibuki's voice, barely above a whisper, from across the room: "Hey, Shima. Are you still awake?"
Shima does not answer. The air-conditioning hums; the blinds cast sharp, moving shadows. Ibuki surely can't tell whether Shima is awake, whether Shima has heard. Can't know for sure.
"When I go out on the roof, do you know what I think about?" Ibuki continues. "I think about Gama-san saying, 'Even if it denies my career as a detective, I will not forgive you.' For a long time, I wondered what could I have done to stop him. If there was a way I could have been in time to stop him.
"But then something happened, and I started thinking differently. I started thinking about what made him do it. What the switch was that could make a career detective, the most upright man I know, step off the path. I thought about it and thought about it, and at last I understood. Gama-san knew it was the wrong road. Of course he knew. But to him, it was worthwhile."
The air conditioning clicks off. The room is quiet enough Shima can hear the wall clock. One tick every second, a mechanical heart beating. One day its own time will run out, too. Sharp shadows stripe across the wall. Shima can faintly hear his own breathing. Perhaps Ibuki, with his sharp senses, can hear it, too.
"Do you know what made me change my mind? At Tokyo Bay, I dreamed a very long dream, and in that dream I met my own switch, too. Even if was the wrong road, it was worthwhile. It still is. Even if it denies my career as a detective, I will not forgive."
Quieter, so quiet Shima isn't sure he's not imagining it: "The person I will not forgive is the person who kills you, Shima."
Suspension bridge effect, Kokonoe had said, but the NPA's most promising Assistant Inspector had, for once, gotten it wrong. Shima has been a career detective for more than a decade. If he is emotionally compromised now, then Ibuki is not collateral damage, but the catalyst.
"Shima," Ibuki asks again into the waiting silence. "Are you listening?"
Ibuki's lifeline is long. He can be depended upon. This disused-coffee-shop-turned-substation with TEMPORARY taped up on the door, its cupboards full of dried udon. Kousaka left. Kokonoe and Kikyou-san left. One day, Ibuki might, too.
Time cannot turn back. The people who are gone can never return.
In the future, there are still infinite chances.
Shima closes his eyes and says nothing. All around them, time flows on.
*
Only to himself, Shima will admit that he is cavalier with his own life. Occupational hazard, personal carelessness, self-destructive tendencies, call it what you will; it's simply how things are, on some level have always been, for him. But in that long, long dream at Tokyo Bay, when Shima knew for certain that this is the end of his road, he had felt, for the first time, truly afraid.
Not afraid to die, no. But afraid of the look on Ibuki's face. Afraid for what Ibuki might be about to do, and what might happen to Ibuki, after.
Since waking up from that dream, alive and well, Shima has been more careful to keep things that way.
12.25 03:58
In the parking garage beneath the Shibaura precinct office, two minutes to deployment.
Footfalls echoing through the silent lot. Shima narrows his eyes against the overhead lights and shakes himself properly awake. At some point in the day Suzuki had changed their 3:40 a.m. alarm to play Hatsukoi Shijou Shugi at full volume, and then laughed and laughed as the others scrambled awake, cursing.
In the passenger seat, Ibuki picks up the radio. "MIU 404 to No.1 HQ. Patrolling Kandazeki to support Unit 1." The acknowledgement comes and Ibuki replaces the radio. "Hey, Shima. You'll be okay driving?"
Shima starts the engine. "Yeah. Take a nap and leave me space to think in peace."
The car emerges from the parking garage. This time of night, the streets are deserted, streetlamps overhead throwing silent circles of light on the empty road. Overhead, the moon, a pale sliver against the velvet-black sky. The chatter on the police radio, turned down low, has slowed to a trickle.
Over the years, Shima has taken stock of the Rube Goldberg machine of his own life. Meeting and working with Jinba-san and Kikyou-san, and then going their separate ways. The two whirlwind years in First Investigation. Kikyou-san's invitation to be her personal driver, and the unspoken protection that position had provided. The labor reforms, the establishment of Unit 4, and Kikyou-san's report on Kousaka's case convincing Director Akito that Shima is fit to be reinstated to active duty. Kikyou-san told Shima, later, how Ibuki and Kokonoe convinced her to share the report with them.
Parallel to Ibuki's path, there were also countless switches that led Shima to this department, this unit, and this job. To car 404 where his partner dozes lightly, tall frame folded up in the passenger seat, head resting against the window.
In this moment, Shima thinks he can understand Ibuki's words: I want to treasure them.
6:16 a.m. First daylight hits the dashboard and Ibuki stirs, jacket rustling as he shifts in the seat. "Ah, it's morning. Good morning, Shima."
"Ah, morning."
Through the windshield, Shima watches dawn creep over the city skyline. Inexplicably, it warms him.
25.12 07:46
"Breakfast, breakfast! There was a Christmas Day special, buy two get one half off."
With a whoosh of cold air, Ibuki ducks back into the passenger seat with a paper bag in hand: two egg sandwiches, a paper cup, and Shima's tumbler freshly filled with hot coffee. Shima pops the tumbler lid and inhales gratefully before taking a sip. He sets it back in the drink holder and notices Ibuki watching him.
"Shima, you seem relaxed today."
"Eh? I suppose I am."
Ibuki's eyes sparkle. "You figured it out while I was sleeping?"
"Yeah, probably."
"And...?"
"Odd hours, someone we both know, someone you get on reasonably well with... It's Itomaki, isn't it?"
Ibuki chokes on air.
"I'm joking," Shima deadpans while Ibuki wheezes. "What do you mean, 'And?' You haven't even asked, so how can you expect an answer?"
"True," Ibuki replies, thoughtful. "I mean, that's reassuring. Well done, Shima~chan." He reaches out a hand to ruffle Shima's hair, which Shima dodges neatly.
"You're just going to take my word for it?"
"I trust you, partner." Ibuki taps his watch. "And we're still on shift. Ah, the food's getting cold and I'd like to eat."
25.12 08:59
No.1 HQ to all stations. Reports of a break-in at Setagaya East. Location: Midori Street 8. Nearby cars, respond...
"Are we close enough?"
"Maybe?"
Shima is still estimating distances when Unit 1 radios in a response; Ibuki returns the radio to the dashboard cubby. Shima reaches for his coffee and finds the tumbler empty. The strain of the shift is finally starting to catch up to him. All around him, the city is waking up to Christmas Day; the 24-hour workday is almost over. For some reason, he's anticipating it.
Next to him, Ibuki shifts, jacket rustling. "Hey, Shima. Pull over."
"What for?"
"Just pull over."
Shima makes a left turn into the parking lot of a copy store. "Okay. What for?"
"What time is it?"
Shima checks his watch. "9:00 a.m. exactly. Ah, shift's over."
"Finally." Ibuki unplugs the radio and hands it to him. "Merry Christmas, Shima. I like you. Will you go out with me?"