[PoT] Good Dog (Damage Done 7)
Hi! I'm here with a new bit of a story you thought died five years ago! Just when you thought you were safe...
Title: Good Dog
Characters: Niou, Yukimura
Rating: PG
Notes: Damage Done 7, previous parts here. 1000 words.
They touch down in Cecina, Firenze's most equatorial port and also its largest. In Niou's mind Firenze is mostly sprawling ranches, forests for logging, open space and greenery, but apparently the bits that've industrialised have done it in earnest. Smog creeps between tall the buildings, thick and warm, so that the streets just seem to fade away into the distance, without end.
And the streets are packed. Maybe he's just not used to civilisation any more, Niou reasons, trailing in the wake of the rest of the crew, using them as a shield against the current. He's been cooped up on the ship for so bloody long, like an invalid. Or a headcase.
"You've got your instructions," Yukimura says, falling back, falling in step. Niou doesn't miss the twitch of his hand, an aborted gesture -- to touch Niou's shoulder, to tug his hair, who knows.
Damn him. Niou thinks that over and over, and never knows if he really means it or not. At least he had the fucking sense to stop himself, though.
"Yeah," he say, forces focus, forces his gaze onto Yukimura. "You only told me fifty times. Sure it's enough?"
"You never got on well with instructions. I prefer to make sure you can't claim you forgot anything."
"Watch me," Niou says, gives a half-hearted smirk. He feels out of his depth here, back in reality with the wrong person standing next to him.
"We've got other jobs to get on with. Be quick. Meet us back at the ship as soon as the job's done or..."
"What, you'll leave without me?"
Yukimura raises an eyebrow. "Don't tempt me. Sanada wouldn't miss you."
The subtext is too clear, the careful emphasis and the resigned expression on Yukimura's face. Niou doesn't think he can stand it any more -- gives a lazy salute and steps away into the crowds, losing Yukimura, losing himself.
He knew, half an hour ago, that he was going to get his job done grudgingly but efficiently, and be back on time. Yukimura was going to have that stupid relieved expression that he always got whenever Niou put some extra effort into his acting and they were going to just fucking get on with their lives. Right now he doesn't know anything. Maybe his legs will just decide to throw him under a truck.
He can feel the possibility, a sickening, dizzying pull that spreads through his body, as though it wasn't him deciding at all. He could be a doll.
But Yukimura is the one pulling his strings.
Damn him, Niou thinks again. His legs lead him to the target, and keep him steady on the pavement, slipping through the crowds.
Today the job is distraction and strategic removal of security systems and personnel. His instructions are non-specific as to which he should distract and which he should remove, so long as he is discreet about it.
It's a real job, and an important one; when Yukimura wants to test someone, he doesn't screw around. And a test is what this is. Experimental bail. A psychological assessment. Fuck knows what else. But Yanagi is definitely going to be assigning points.
Fine. He's on.
A remote centre controls the security for multiple locations in Cecina, all owned by the same corporation. Not entirely coincidentally, the corporation is a subsidiary of another corporation which can, with a little effort, be traced to the estate of one Sakaki Taro. Who is still, officially, not actually dead -- a fact which Niou feels like he should have a lot of opinions about, if he could just find the energy to even give a shit.
As it is he's almost surprised by how much it feels like any other job. These routines might as well be hard-wired into his head, he guesses; to trick locks into opening for him, move silently and floor people before they can make a sound. In this context it's fine that no-one has his back. This is a one person job anyway. It's a small centre, low priority and mostly automated -- and two just make more noise.
He stays put long enough to watch Yukimura and Kirihara make it in and out again, Sanada standing like a statue outside, watching from the shadows. Then he deletes the footage, and smooths over the gap just well enough to give whoever has to clear this mess up a headache as they try to figure out where the break-in was. Petty, but a source of at least five seconds' worth of satisfaction.
And then he has to go back. Well, shit.
"Good," Yukimura says when Niou slouches up the ramp into the cargo bay. "That's everyone." He sounds brisk and unconcerned and normal, and Niou doesn't fucking buy it for a second. "Good work."
Niou doesn't even try to stop the surge of anger at this, at Yukimura's studied display of normality. At the way Sanada is hardly even trying to hide his surprise at the sight of Niou, not beaten up, not chased by cops, back right on time. The way Kirihara can't decide who he's taking his cues from.
"Go to hell," he says flatly, and sweeps right past all of them, wishes he had a door he could slam. Hitting the controls unnecessarily hard is fine, but it's not the same. But he could lock the door.
He doesn't.
Stretched out on the bed, he counts the seconds until Yukimura follows him; thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.
"Is this belated burst of teenage temper meant to be making a point?" Yukimura says. "Because if so you're going to have to try harder."
Niou rolls over onto his stomach, stares up at Yukimura. "Fuck that," he says. "You were getting ready to give me a fucking treat, like a good dog that comes when you call."
Yukimura stares back, unimpressed. "Was I."
"Yes," Niou snarls. "I'm not your pet dog, I don't need a pat on the head, I'm just--"
"You're just doing your job," Yukimura cuts in. "Which, I might point out, is the minimum requirement for being a member of this crew, and not something I feel inclined to pat anyone on the head for. I suggest you stop projecting your expectations onto me."
Thank fuck for that. Maybe it's even true, Niou thinks -- and if it isn't, it's well enough played that everyone can run with it. Fine. That works.
"Good," he says. "I won't forget it if you don't."
A pause, and then Yukimura laughs softly, lets his shoulders fall, softening; not the captain, just a friend. Something like a friend, anyway. "You stubborn asshole."
"Well, yeah," Niou says, and lets his head fall forward onto the covers, and doesn't even move when Yukimura sits down next to him, fingers teasing carefully through his hair.
Title: Good Dog
Characters: Niou, Yukimura
Rating: PG
Notes: Damage Done 7, previous parts here. 1000 words.
They touch down in Cecina, Firenze's most equatorial port and also its largest. In Niou's mind Firenze is mostly sprawling ranches, forests for logging, open space and greenery, but apparently the bits that've industrialised have done it in earnest. Smog creeps between tall the buildings, thick and warm, so that the streets just seem to fade away into the distance, without end.
And the streets are packed. Maybe he's just not used to civilisation any more, Niou reasons, trailing in the wake of the rest of the crew, using them as a shield against the current. He's been cooped up on the ship for so bloody long, like an invalid. Or a headcase.
"You've got your instructions," Yukimura says, falling back, falling in step. Niou doesn't miss the twitch of his hand, an aborted gesture -- to touch Niou's shoulder, to tug his hair, who knows.
Damn him. Niou thinks that over and over, and never knows if he really means it or not. At least he had the fucking sense to stop himself, though.
"Yeah," he say, forces focus, forces his gaze onto Yukimura. "You only told me fifty times. Sure it's enough?"
"You never got on well with instructions. I prefer to make sure you can't claim you forgot anything."
"Watch me," Niou says, gives a half-hearted smirk. He feels out of his depth here, back in reality with the wrong person standing next to him.
"We've got other jobs to get on with. Be quick. Meet us back at the ship as soon as the job's done or..."
"What, you'll leave without me?"
Yukimura raises an eyebrow. "Don't tempt me. Sanada wouldn't miss you."
The subtext is too clear, the careful emphasis and the resigned expression on Yukimura's face. Niou doesn't think he can stand it any more -- gives a lazy salute and steps away into the crowds, losing Yukimura, losing himself.
He knew, half an hour ago, that he was going to get his job done grudgingly but efficiently, and be back on time. Yukimura was going to have that stupid relieved expression that he always got whenever Niou put some extra effort into his acting and they were going to just fucking get on with their lives. Right now he doesn't know anything. Maybe his legs will just decide to throw him under a truck.
He can feel the possibility, a sickening, dizzying pull that spreads through his body, as though it wasn't him deciding at all. He could be a doll.
But Yukimura is the one pulling his strings.
Damn him, Niou thinks again. His legs lead him to the target, and keep him steady on the pavement, slipping through the crowds.
Today the job is distraction and strategic removal of security systems and personnel. His instructions are non-specific as to which he should distract and which he should remove, so long as he is discreet about it.
It's a real job, and an important one; when Yukimura wants to test someone, he doesn't screw around. And a test is what this is. Experimental bail. A psychological assessment. Fuck knows what else. But Yanagi is definitely going to be assigning points.
Fine. He's on.
A remote centre controls the security for multiple locations in Cecina, all owned by the same corporation. Not entirely coincidentally, the corporation is a subsidiary of another corporation which can, with a little effort, be traced to the estate of one Sakaki Taro. Who is still, officially, not actually dead -- a fact which Niou feels like he should have a lot of opinions about, if he could just find the energy to even give a shit.
As it is he's almost surprised by how much it feels like any other job. These routines might as well be hard-wired into his head, he guesses; to trick locks into opening for him, move silently and floor people before they can make a sound. In this context it's fine that no-one has his back. This is a one person job anyway. It's a small centre, low priority and mostly automated -- and two just make more noise.
He stays put long enough to watch Yukimura and Kirihara make it in and out again, Sanada standing like a statue outside, watching from the shadows. Then he deletes the footage, and smooths over the gap just well enough to give whoever has to clear this mess up a headache as they try to figure out where the break-in was. Petty, but a source of at least five seconds' worth of satisfaction.
And then he has to go back. Well, shit.
"Good," Yukimura says when Niou slouches up the ramp into the cargo bay. "That's everyone." He sounds brisk and unconcerned and normal, and Niou doesn't fucking buy it for a second. "Good work."
Niou doesn't even try to stop the surge of anger at this, at Yukimura's studied display of normality. At the way Sanada is hardly even trying to hide his surprise at the sight of Niou, not beaten up, not chased by cops, back right on time. The way Kirihara can't decide who he's taking his cues from.
"Go to hell," he says flatly, and sweeps right past all of them, wishes he had a door he could slam. Hitting the controls unnecessarily hard is fine, but it's not the same. But he could lock the door.
He doesn't.
Stretched out on the bed, he counts the seconds until Yukimura follows him; thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.
"Is this belated burst of teenage temper meant to be making a point?" Yukimura says. "Because if so you're going to have to try harder."
Niou rolls over onto his stomach, stares up at Yukimura. "Fuck that," he says. "You were getting ready to give me a fucking treat, like a good dog that comes when you call."
Yukimura stares back, unimpressed. "Was I."
"Yes," Niou snarls. "I'm not your pet dog, I don't need a pat on the head, I'm just--"
"You're just doing your job," Yukimura cuts in. "Which, I might point out, is the minimum requirement for being a member of this crew, and not something I feel inclined to pat anyone on the head for. I suggest you stop projecting your expectations onto me."
Thank fuck for that. Maybe it's even true, Niou thinks -- and if it isn't, it's well enough played that everyone can run with it. Fine. That works.
"Good," he says. "I won't forget it if you don't."
A pause, and then Yukimura laughs softly, lets his shoulders fall, softening; not the captain, just a friend. Something like a friend, anyway. "You stubborn asshole."
"Well, yeah," Niou says, and lets his head fall forward onto the covers, and doesn't even move when Yukimura sits down next to him, fingers teasing carefully through his hair.