FicWad

Takaba found a note waiting for him on his desk.

He's on a high from his first live coverage; a small slot, but on primetime news, and Takaba is glowing with delight.

The note is from Asami. But even that isn't enough to dent Takaba's good mood.

"Come over to dinner, tonight at 8? I promise no surprises this time."

He's known the man for almost a year now, a long eye-opening year, during which Takaba has learnt more about the world and himself than he once knew was possible, while Asami has become the pea he can't seem to sleep without.

The last time they tried to eat together, Asami wanted to use Takaba's chest as his plate. The night, unsurprisingly, did not end well and Takaba couldn't look at a pair of chopsticks without gagging for weeks to come.

The office is busy, bustling with life. There's civil war breaking out somewhere in Eastern Europe and information is streaming in from the sources without a pause. Takaba helps where he can and leaves before he gets in the way.

He gets to Asami's apartment a little early, but he's excited and wants to share his news with the man. Whatever their relationship, it would futile for Takaba to pretend that Asami wasn't part of his life; tormentor, lover, enemy and friend, all in one. Takaba discovers that he is dependent on Asami. For /what/, though, he isn't quite sure.

It's not so much the woman he passes in the hallway, but more her scent, which shatters the happy bubble into a million fragments. It's like being hit by an express train of sharp, cold shock. It's the surety of the scent, Takaba having an intimate knowledge of the source of it- he's had the liquid in his arse often enough; Asami's shower gel, spicy and heady and too intense.

He steps away from Asami's door, things knotting and hurting inside him. Takaba thinks that he might cry, that he might fall apart here in the hallway and never be right again. He feels pale and hollow.

Worse of all, he can't understand /why/, so he turns around and runs down the stairs and out of the building into the welcomed shock of the cold night air. Hours of aimless wandering and he's back at the television station.

War has broken out it seems, so big and so dangerous that even the Americans and major European players are trying to keep away from it. The country's television stations have all been taken out, the flow of information choked down to a thin, unreliable trickle. The station desperately wants someone in there, but with every last aid organization leaving the area, no one is willing.

"I'll go." Takaba volunteers suddenly, stepping out from the crowd, to everyone's shock.

His boss frowns, not liking the idea. "It's dangerous out there boy. You're too young to go." You might not come back, is implied.

But Takaba stands his ground. "I've handled worse," He insists. And it's true. Takaba has made a name for himself catching big names on camera, bringing down careers and crime syndicates alike. He's dangerous, in his own way, calculating and sharp thanks to Asami's tutelage. "And I can handle this."

They send him off with a rookie cameraman who is stupid enough to volunteer himself and then to act as though they are going on some sort of great adventure, joking and laughing all the way there. Off the plane, they get a jeep, weapons for self-defence and a guide. There's a list of contacts who'll be able to help them if they make it through the border and into the country first.

They find their contact quickly enough and they're broadcasting the next afternoon. Takaba gets to see things that are abhorrent and horrific without the barrier of the viewfinder to shield him.

By the second day, his cameraman isn't laughing anymore. They can't sleep with the constant bombing and the sirens going; so they play cards and catch footage of military personnel raiding a building, dragging out the occupants and executing them on the sidewalk; men, women and children.

Takaba throws up and can't move for hours. The corpses are still there when they leave. No one dares come out and claim them.

The number of foreign journalists in the country is severely limited. Most have had the good sense to leave and the rest are dead. But Takaba isn't afraid. He feels alive, addicted to the danger, the unfolding story, and the way the rabbit hole just keeps going and going and Takaba wants to bury himself in it.

They have all the satellite time they could want, and something new to report every hour. They dig and dig for truth, the elusive thing that it is.

Their guide goes out to buy cigarettes but doesn't come back. They find him two days later, bullet-ridden in a square.

They keep moving, hiding and reporting what they see. Takaba doesn't know that the people back home can see the bruises under his eyes, notice the weight he's lost and the dust that seems to have become a permanent part of him. The boss wants him home, but Takaba laughs and says, "I couldn't leave if I wanted to."

Four days later, on day twenty-two, Takaba loses his cameraman. He falls back on his own camera and pictures to tell the stories, emailing them to the station, making a few sound recordings when he has the time, or if his voice isn't too raspy.

He has a vague idea that the soldiers are looking for him. Have been for sometime in fact, but so far, Takaba has managed to evade them. He joins a group of refugees for a day but moves on to take more pictures.

He stumbles across some damn incriminating stuff the next day. Missiles. Big ones, with the flags of certain prominent countries painted onto them. Sold or stolen, Takaba isn't sure, but takes photos and tries to send them, except they won't go through.

In a desperate last attempt, he mails the pictures to Asami. "Please get these to the station, they're blocking my emails." He's only just finished when soldiers suddenly pour in from every direction.

They knock him down and beat him bloody. Takaba doesn't fight back. After all, this was the end he had been hoping for and accepts the eventual darkness with relief.

He wakes up cold, disappointed and in a great deal of pain. Not the type of pain he's used to waking up with either; this isn't the tingle of stretched and overworked muscles, this is the throbbing pain of a damaged body.

Takaba can smell blood; can feel it crusted in his hair along with the dirt and grime of the past weeks. Wonders if Asami will try to clean him once he gets back...

There are people speaking outside his cell, the language now somewhat familiar to Takaba's ears. Two sets of feet, heavy boots walking on the concrete. They said it was snowing outside. Takaba can't see it, but he can feel the cold seeping into his bones as surely as the blood seeping out of his body. He sleeps-

- And dreams of a warm body, hot demanding kisses and calloused hands running over his skin and soothing him.

He's brought awake with a rude shake and can't help the miserable whimper of pain that escapes him. Someone thrusts a bowl of food in front of him, but Takaba can't eat it. A man in uniform studies him with cold blue eyes before pouring disinfectant over his cuts and leaving it at that.

Takaba wants to cry, wants to shed the tears that have been weighing him down since that evening outside Asami's apartment, life times ago when he'd been upset because he'd walked past a women who had smelt like Asami. And now, here he was, cold and dying slowly.

There's gunfire outside. Voices shouting orders or crying in alarm and for a moment, Takaba feels a sudden rush of hope, so violent it hurts. "Asami?" He whispers dazed and confused. He knows it can't be Asami, because he's in a place, far, far away where even Asami can't get to him.

The gunfire grows louder, coming closer and closer-

Takaba slips into a dream.


*


"He's alive."

"I am?" Takaba asks. His voice is dry and raspy. His throat feels desiccated. He can't feel his body.

But someone presses a warm smooth palm against his forehead, and he feels that at least. "Yes, you are." The man says in English. "Don't worry, you'll be home soon."

The next time he wakes, he's in an infirmary. He sits up and panics, trying to untangle himself from the various tubes and wires. He sets off a machine in the process and in seconds there are people calming him down, telling him to lie back and relax.

He's in a German military base. The pictures he sent spurred the world into action and embarrassed a lot of people. The war has ended.

Takaba wonders why they couldn't have done that sooner. Like when he sent the pictures of the mutilated children.

"Who's Asami?"

They suggested Takaba speak to a psychologist. There's one in the camp, Japanese as it happens, so there's no escaping it.

"Someone." Takaba replies. It's easy to stay calm. After the things he's seen, Takaba isn't sure if he can be shocked again.

He can't even be sure if he'll ever be right again.

"It was the name you kept repeating. The soldiers who brought you in asked what it meant. Must be someone special."

Takaba shrugs.

"Takaba-san, I understand that you've been through a lot, but-"

"I'm fine." Takaba insists, even grins for the doctor's benefit. "I've been in worse situations than this. I'm just a little tired. I'll be fine."

The doctor smiled. "Everyone says the same thing, Takaba-san .You have nothing better to do and I haven't had the chance to speak Japanese in months. You could keep me company for a little while."

Takaba shrugs. "Alright."

"You have family waiting for you back in Japan?"

"Yeah. My parents, and...my friends. I didn't get a chance to tell them I was leaving." Takaba explained, wondering at the sudden jab of guilt that came through, strong and clear at the realisation.

"Asami...wouldn't happen to be Asami Ryuuichi, now would it?" Again, the guilt spiked at the question. An image of Asami waiting alone in his apartment, smoking by the window, then catching Takaba's first broadcast- because Asami's television is always running the news channel, unless Takaba is there, in which case it's turned off. Asami isn't one for dividing his attentions.

It would be so easy to feign indifferent to that simple query. It would have been the intelligent thing to do even, but Takaba couldn't help the sudden spike of curiosity that shot through him. "Yes. Why?"

The doctor shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "He's been doing everything he can to get Japan involved in the war."

Takaba swallowed. His body shook under the weight of his situation. He could remember the dull, hopeless minutes before his arrest when he hadn't expected to survive, hadn't been able to envision a life after the war and how his thoughts had cantered on the man, making him dream and hallucinate for nights on end.

"Get some sleep" The doctor says, "You'll need it.

Back home, they welcome him like a hero- and just maybe, Takaba thinks, that's what he is.

There are crowds and flowers and camera's flashing all over the place. Takaba wants nothing more than to hide under a blanket and wait for all this to blow over.

He's led through the crowd and into a car-

-Where Asami is waiting for him, looking some how less than himself, even with his crisp white shirt and perfectly styled hair; something about the strain in his eyes and the tightness of his mouth, both so out of character on the man.

"Asami?" Takaba whispers, surprised for an instant before he's caught and pulled roughly forward.

Suddenly he's in Asami's lap, being kissed breathless, protected from the crowd outside by tinted glass.

He'll fight. He'll fight Asami this time, because he's not just pissed off or angry, this time he's fucking hurt and Takaba doesn't like it one damn bit.

But right now, he's missing a part of himself and he needs Asami to make him feel whole again. So he let's Asami hold him and kiss him possessively.

He's disoriented when Asami lets him go. Or his mouth at least, because Asami's arms only tighten around Takaba's body. Like a safety net that Takaba just wants out of.

He pulls away as best he can.

"Asami- you- the woman- I saw her, so let go, alright?"

Asami looks startled for a moment, and Takaba takes what little pleasure he can from the reaction. But only for an instant, because in the next Asami's eyes narrow and glint dangerously.

"You stupid BRAT," He yelled, and Takaba felt a fear that had nothing to do with dead bodies or bombs. "Don't tell me you went off like that because you thought there was a woman in my apartment."

"No, of course not!" Takaba stammered while Asami's grip tightened. "Let go, you're hurting me dammit."

"No." Asami said, "You don't show up when you're supposed to and make me worry. The next thing I know, you're on the evening news, in Europe with bombs going off in the background. I almost killed your boss until he explained that you volunteered for the job. You drive me insane for weeks, with out a fucking call, then send me pictures of missiles you're practically standing on top of?"

"Did you send all of them?" Takaba asked quickly.

Asami's neat tie twitched. "Shut up, you idiot!" he roared. Took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself down, "And now you tell me you did all this because there was a woman in my apartment." He finished against Takaba's face.

Takaba blinked. Felt a shock of pure loss and disappointment go through him. If there was any hope that this had been a misunderstanding, then it was gone. "So she really was there." Takaba's voice quivered and broke on the words. There was moisture gathering in his eyes, thought Takaba couldn't remember why.

"Akihito." Asami's voice was hard and stern, "I'm gay. That means, no women. You probably saw the cook leave. I didn't want to order out again. She came, cooked and prepared everything, showered and left. That's all."

Something twisted inside Takaba and made him cringe. Takaba knows for a fact that Asami doesn't lie. He'll avoid questions and elude the truth, but he will not lie to you. The bastard takes too much pleasure in admitting guilt (though the definition of guilt is an ongoing debate between them).

But if Asami isn't lying, then he's telling the truth, which means-

Takaba collapsed, suddenly boneless and pressed against Asami's chest. The energy drained out of him, the trauma came back to him ten fold, and he realises that all of it could have been avoided.

He could have gone up to Asami's door and demanded elucidation. Shouted and screamed until Asami explained the situation. But he hadn't. Instead he'd taken a suicide assignment and spent weeks trying to get himself killed, cursing his body's survival instincts.

Because Asami meant something, dammit.

He had realised that during his suicide mission. Thought endlessly about his actions, thoughts, motivations, and could come up with nothing but the undeniable truth that he was just as possessive about Asami as the man had physically demonstrated, over and over again. It didn't make sense. It made every sense. And, he realised now, with something akin to despair, that he was still very confused. About everything. Everything except for the fact that Takaba wouldn't let Asami go, wouldn't meekly hand him over without fighting tooth and nail. The running had been a mistake, and he was paying for it now.

"Takaba-."

"I want to go home." Takaba whispered, too tired to raise his head and argue.

Which Asami didn't, demonstrating some tact at least. But he didn't let go either, for which Takaba was strangely grateful. He didn't even complain when Asami began stroking his hair.

Takaba wasn't surprised when he found himself in front of Asami's apartment.

The older man walked in, taking off his coat and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Takaba to move at his own pace.

Eventually, Takaba toed off his shoes and stepped inside, dragging his backpack behind him, dropping it carelessly against the kitchen counter.

In the kitchen, Asami's hair seems a little damp, as though he'd just washed his face. He's pouring tea into two cups, one of them unexpectedly familiar. Too familiar in fact, like 'I can remember buying that cup' familiar.

"How..."

There are other things he's only just beginning to notice. Like the PS2 by the television, the stack of games, Takaba's camera collection displayed in a corner and the photographs decorating Asami's formerly blank walls.

At his side, Takaba's fists clench.

This was...

This was...

Takaba's arm swung through the air, slamming into the cups, spilling hot tea everywhere. The cups rolled over to the edge of the counter and fell.

Stubbornly enough both refused to break.

"Asami." He snared, "This isn't funny."

"No, it isn't." Asami agreed. "You nearly got yourself killed."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Takaba's fist slammed onto the counter. "I went out there because I wanted to, alright? It was a good chance to prove myself and I took it. It has nothing to do with you. It's my damn life and you have no right to interfere."

"Stop acting like a spoilt brat." It was never a good thing when Asami's voice dropped so low. It usually meant that someone was going to be suffering, and soon. Takaba didn't like having that tone directed at him. "You scared everyone here. Your friends are worried sick, and your parents were going out of their mind."

"My parents? What did you do to my parents-"

Asami glared, "Do you think I could do anything to hurt them as badly as you did, Akihito? I put their mind at ease as best I could.

"Oh God." Takaba moaned, holding onto the counter for support. What had he done? To just leave like that- and Asami to clean up the mess behind him. Dammit, had he been out of his mind?

Of course he had been. So hurt and jealous he hadn't been able to think straight.

"They're alright. But you should call them." Asami's tone was assuring now. "Your friends are going to come over tomorrow. I thought you might want to rest today."

"Yeah." Takaba agreed, his body shaking and eyes glossing over with tears. "I... I... Asami I..."

And he can't say it. He's so grateful to the man he can't even put it into words. He wants to be honest, for once, because it's so hard to be honest with Asami, to admit need and want and defeat in the face of Asami's self confidence. Takaba wants to apologise, to say he's sorry for making everyone worry, for making a mess of things and spilling tea on the counter. But he can't.

Luckily for them, Asami has no trouble being honest and letting Takaba know exactly what he wants. He grabs Takaba by the collar, pulling him against and onto the counter so that hot tea soaks through his shirt, and holds him in place to be kissed breathless. Takaba reaches out and grabs hold of Asami's shoulders, digging his nails in like he doesn't plan on ever letting go.

He can't stop the tears when Asami lets go. "Damn you Asami." He mumbles against the other man's chest, "She smelt like you dammit! I thought you were sleeping with her. And I got upset. And...and...."

"And you didn't think." Asami offers, patting Takaba's hair again, rubbing his back to calm him down. "It's alright."

"No." Takaba sniffed, "It's not. It's not alright. I got mad at you and I forgot about everything. I stopped thinking and damn you Asami, you weren't supposed to mean anything! You weren't supposed to ever mean so much!"

"I know." Asami says, "It's alright."

Takaba sobs, "But-."

Asami's lips pressed against his temple. "It's alright." The older man assured, terribly patient by all standards, apparently content to stand there patting Takaba's hair while tea soaked through their cloths.

"You should call your parents." Asami says eventually. Takaba sighs and nods so Asami picks up his phone dials the number before handing the receiver to Takaba.

It takes a long time for Takaba to calm his family down, but finally he gets the chance to apologise and tell them all how much he's missed them, frowning a little at the realisation that Asami has wormed his way into the Takaba household. He plays down the whole thing of course, tells them that it really wasn't all that bad, that things must look a lot worse on television.

Asami's there to hold him again when he hangs up the receiver. Takaba leans back into the warmth the older man offers and sighs. "I need to wash."

"I could help you." Asami offers and Takaba can't help the shudder that runs through him. He licks suddenly dry lips and nods.

The bath is frustrating with Asami there naked, rubbing him down and rinsing the studs away, but making no move to take advantage of the situation and by the time they're finished, wrapped in thick robes and sitting on Asami's bed while the older man towels Takaba's hair, Takaba is hard and squirming restlessly.

"It's dry enough dammit." Takaba snaps, grabbing the towel and throwing it aside. "You're not going to fuck me, are you?"

"Not tonight." Asami admits, pulling Takaba up against him.

"Why not?" Takaba isn't used to asking for sex. It's always been offered, or forced on him. Always available and never denied.

"You need to get some sleep." Asami says and that's that. Before Takaba knows it, he's lying down wrapped around Asami and falling asleep.

He wakes up suffocating, clawing at the blankets and trying to dig himself out of an imaginary grave.

"It's alright." Asami sooths, rubbing his hands up and down Takaba's arms to calm him, but Takaba knows better; it's not alright and it might never be again. He reaches out for Asami and sobs when he feels warm skin rather than cool air: this isn't an illusion.

"Asami?" Takaba shifts, pressing himself closer, "Please. Please I need..." To know you're real. That you're really here, that this/ isn't a dream./

"Did they hurt you?" The dangerous edge is back in Asami's voice, ringing clear through the sleepy rasp.

Takaba thinks of the beatings, but decides that that's not the kind of 'hurt' Asami is referring to. "No." He says, pressing his lips to Asami's neck. "Not like that." He adds, because he feels it's important that he explain the cause of the few remaining bruises to Asami.

"They beat you." Asami says.

"A little." Takaba admits. He presses against Asami again. "I'm alright. Please just-"

"I thought you wouldn't come back. I thought I'd never see you again." Asami's voice is low, but Takaba feels it ripple over him and through the room. He dares to look up and reels back from the force of raw emotion in Asami's eyes.

It occurs to Takaba then, that Asami must have been afraid for him too.

He feels stupid for not having seen it before.

Now is the time to be honest.

So Takaba pulls himself up and presses his lips against Asami's, possibly shocking the older man. He's careful to be gentle, to keep his eyes on Asami's and watch the twirl of emotions as they drift through confusion, understanding and lust to settle on a heat so strong it makes something inside Takaba tighten.

Asami flips them over before Takaba has the chance to collect himself. There's a mouth on his neck, hands all over his body and pleasure building up inside him slowly. He almost sighs with relief when Asami sinks inside him and has to kiss the self satisfied smirk off the older man's face. Asami doesn't seem to mind though, which is just as well.

"If you ever, EVER, do that again Akihito, I'll make you sorry." Asami growls, teeth sinking into Takaba's shoulder and making him shudder. "VERY sorry."

Takaba nods enthusiastically and tilts his hips up just the way Asami likes it, and that's that.

The next morning, Takaba wakes up alone. There's a note next to the bed:

Your friends are coming over at 11. There's lunch in the fridge. Don't go outside."

Kou and Takato arrive at exactly 11 am. Takaba gets the feeling they'd been kept outside until the right time.

"Akihito!"

Takaba can't remember the last time he was tackled to the ground and hugged breathless and feels the sudden overwhelming urge to cry and laugh at the same time. The three of them end up sitting on top of each other on the couch, snuggled together like little puppies and watch television.

"Kou nearly hit Asami-san." Takato said, "Kicked his guard in the shin too."

Kou made a face, "You were the one who stormed up to the club and started screaming, dammit. Don't blame everything one me!"

"You're right." Takato agreed, "We should blame everything on Akihito."

They don't talk about where Takaba has been or what he's seen. They all seem to understand that this isn't the time or place for such a discussion. They're celebrating Takaba's safe turn and don't need to dwell on how close they came to losing their friend.

They have lunch and then sit down and put the PS2 to good use.

They're still playing when Asami comes home, but for some reason his presence doesn't ruin the mood and eventually, declining offers to stay for dinner, Kou and Takato leave.

"Did you have a good day?" Asami asked, filling Takaba's plate.

Takaba eyed all the food wearily. It's been so long since he's had regular meals that he isn't sure if he can stomach all the rice Asami is forcing on him.

A plane flies over head, and Takaba throws his bowls and dives to the side. For a moment, he hears bombs falling and, then finds himself on the thick carpet under Asami's dining table, instead of a rough rocky road.

"I'm sorry." Takaba mutters, picking up his plate and trying to collect all the stray grains of rice. His vision blurs and his hands shake.

Asami is there in an instant, moving much too quickly for a man so big. He takes the bowl from Takaba, setting it quietly onto the table and wraps one arm around Takaba's waist, pulling him back to rest against Asami's warm chest.

"Asami?"

"It's alright."

"No." Takaba shakes his head. "It's not."

"But it will be." Asami assures. Takaba wants to argue to the contrary, but Asami is kissing him and making him forget. It's hard to argue when you've actually forgotten your argument.

"Do you want to go out today?" Asami asks over breakfast the next morning.

Takaba nods his head and pokes at his breakfast, nibbling on bits and pieces. "I need to go work." It occurs to him suddenly. Yesterday had been a day of rest. Today, he had to go back into the real world and see what he'd missed. He had responsibilities after all. There's his job and his apartment and Takaba still has his cameraman's necklace and wallet to return to his family.

"Asami, my apartment-"

"You're not going back there." Asami says.

"But-"

"All your belongings are here. I had them brought over. They just need your signature to end the lease. You're staying here Takaba." Asami says. An order actually, like his word is law and there's no room for arguments.

This happens to be the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of Takaba's pride.

"Asami! You bastard, don't go making decisions for me! What makes you think I'm staying here, damn you?" Takaba snaps, jumping out of his seat.

Asami doesn't look at all impressed by Takaba's display or anger. He looks Takaba over once, eyes so intense Takaba feels naked and raw in front of them. "If you think I'm ever letting you out of my sight again, you're mistaken, Akihito."

There's cold comfort there, in those words. Asami's possessiveness isn't an issue that Takaba likes to dwell on, but he has to admit, that the older man often makes the right decision in situations where Takaba tends to lose his head and talk with his stung pride.

But even knowing that, it's not as though Takaba can meekly accept whatever decision Asami makes on his behalf.

"I'm not a thing." Takaba whispers miserably. "You can't just make decisions for me like that."

Asami puts the morning paper down and sits forward in his seat. "Would it have been better, if I'd asked you?"

"Yes dammit! Of course you should have asked-"

"Well then, I'm asking now. Would you like to stay here, Takaba?"

Takaba stares up at Asami dumbly. He can't say either 'yes' or 'no' and ends up choking on something in between. So, so, so very cruel of Asami to give him exactly what he's asked for.

"I..." Takaba tries to say, but his voice ebbs rather conspicuously.

Asami seems to understand his dilemma and at least gives Takaba a few moments before he intervenes. "Is it so hard to be honest?"

"It's not that!" Takaba snaps. Asami has a knack for bringing out the best of Takaba's anger. Some part of Takaba knows that the older man does it on purpose. "It's not that easy. You already know, dammit! You know/. But I can't just live here, /with you. I don't belong here." He says, but it feels like a lie.

Just looking around the apartment, Takaba can see the marks of his presence. And it's not just the photos or the cameras there either. It's not even the fact that his playstation is now plugged indefinitely into Asami's television, or that his cloths are all hanging in the closet, next to the older man's suits.

It has everything to do with the way Asami is watching him. Asami isn't asking Takaba to become a part of his life. No, Asami is asking to become a part of Takaba's life.

"I'll make a mess of everything." He mumbles, "I'm noisy and I never clean up after myself. I'll stay up all night and play games and you won't get any sleep. We'll fight all the time. I won't listen to you."

Asami's eyes soften and he smiles; gentle, and open and stealing Takaba's heart. "Good."

They have a busy day, going into the station first, where Takaba is welcomed back by the higher ups. Oh how they must have been shovelling in the yens while Takaba was running and people were dying...

Takaba can't swallow his bitterness then. It looms over him for the rest of the morning making him wary and very likely a dangerous man to speak with. He's intelligent and has a wicked tongue especially when his dark and cynical side is being egged on by his bitterness.

"Do we have time for a quick interview, Takaba-san?" Some one Takaba has never spoken to- a popular host on one of the morning shows- asks.

"Maybe later. I still have to visit Kaichi-san's family and give them my condolences." Takaba replies, deflating the atmosphere somewhat and feeling much better for it.

It's Kaichi's mother who accepts the remains of her son's possessions while his father sits silently.

"My apologies. I wasn't able to bring your son back." He says and feels amply inadequate. Asami would have known how to handle that situation much better than Takaba.

Another plane flies overhead and again, Takaba can't stop the fear that overwhelms him. "I'm sorry." He whispers, trying to clean up the spilt tea and best he can even though he's hands are shaking too badly for him to be of any use. "I'm so, very sorry."

Outside, on the street, it's even worse. The noise there is unbearable, every screech, every honk of an angry horn sends a chill of fear and pain down Takaba's spine. He sees things that aren't really there; imagines broken buildings instead of Tokyo's high-rise skyscrapers.

They have lunch at a restaurant with fine china and crystals and classical music playing in the background. None of it feels real to Takaba. He can't appreciate the food that's served and feels guilty that Asami is wasting money on him like this. He can't forget the silent anger in Kaichi's father's eyes.

It's the military who want to talk to him next. It's obvious that Asami must have been fending them off for as long as possible. Takaba gives Asami's hand a gentle squeeze and hopes the older man understand his gratitude for that.

It doesn't help that he's forced to think about and recite everything. To look at his own broadcasts and appreciate the scale of the war anew, to see himself becoming more and more a part of the background, fading more and more into scenery. And to think, that this was all he left his friends and family with.

It feels a terrible deal like an interrogation, especially when the American representative (because most of the missiles Takaba found had worn the US flag) pressed him for information Takaba just didn't have.

"Check your satellites." Takaba snaps eventually, "Or keep a better record of who you're government is doing business with." He's not sure where the sudden burst of self-confidence or the tone of authority in his voice come from, but the tall American backs down after that. Takaba finds his appreciation of the human race fading at a disturbingly fast pace.

Asami glares at the men who escort Takaba out of the conference room and Takaba smiles, knowing too well that someone important was about to have their dirty laundry aired, in the most disgraceful fashion.

They're being squashed by a mob of reporters when Takaba is struck by a moment of perfect clarity (though the moment of bright white blindness may have been caused by the flash of the camera that went off a little too close to Takaba's face to catch a decent picture).

"What is your relationship to Asami Ryuuichi?" The reporter asks. "Why did you e-mail him the photos from the missiles? There are rumours that this-"

Takaba doesn't give them the chance to go on. Whatever his relationship with Asami, it's for them to work out between themselves. But he does grab onto Asami's collar and drag the man down for a kiss. There's a silent gasp that Takaba enjoys. He looks into Asami's eyes when they move apart and notes the amusement there.

"I'm a mess." Takaba confesses.

"I can see that. It'll get better."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Well, then you'll need someone to comfort you every time you fall apart." Asami leers.

"Certainly something to look forward to." Takaba replies dryly.



"This could ruin you." Asami says, pointing to the television screen where the evening news is replaying the scandalous instant when Takaba allowed himself a small measure of honesty.

Takaba doesn't feel the need to reply. He moves instead, putting himself in Asami's lap- a move he would never have considered before, but is more than willing to initiate now.

In all honesty, who cared how their relationship started? Takaba was the only one with any rights to object, and he didn't really want to anymore. Asami had never been cruel to him, never hurt him and done everything in his power - some of which Takaba would likely never hear about- to help.

And now, the whole of Japan knew it too...

"I'm not sure what this is." He says, watching Asami's reaction carefully. "But I'm staying here, with you. And I'm not letting you go either. You're mine and I have a sore arse to prove it, so remember that next time you have a cook over."

Asami's eyes widen, then he smiles -his second smile in a day- and Takaba feels giddy.

"You finally figured it out." Asami mutters, pulling Takaba closer and kissing him.

Takaba curls his fingers through Asami's hair, so tight it probably hurts and doesn't plan on ever letting go.

He doesn't notice the next plane that flies over.