Chapter Text
1.
“Regrets collect like old friends,
Here to relive your darkest moments.
I can see no way, I can see no way.
And all of the ghouls come out to play.
And every demon wants his pound of flesh,
But I like to keep some things to myself.
I like to keep my issues drawn;
It's always darkest before the dawn.”
Florence + the Machine – Shake it out
Sendai had really changed over fifty years.
Oh, well. That was residual from the kid; of course the city had changed, had gone through all the normal changes a city could go through over half a century. But the skyscrapers clashed with fresh memories of quiet hills, creating a contrast which was still a bit hard to get used to. The flashes from the kid were diminishing, but were still there every once in a while.
Have fifty years worth of memories back all at once and be functional at the same time was proving to be more difficult than he thought. Annoying, too.
He was still dissociating from the kid. It was dangerous, maybe, but how can you concile the behavior of a ten year old with yourself once the amnesia's over? He had all the kid's memories, they were his memories too, but sometimes he cringed at recalling something said or done by the kid, sometimes he asked himself whether he really had been like that when he had been ten. It was a strange experience: it was like having two parallel sets of memories, and comparing the first months spent with Romulus with the months spent at the school really put things in perspective. Who would have thought it took so little to change so much? Ah, not that he thought that Romulus had forced him towards a certain path like the Apocalypse brat had said; no, certain characteristics had stayed in the kid, and that had been enough to prove that he wasn't a construct, that he was his own man. He didn't regret the things he had done.
Walking Sendai's streets, Daken realized he had no idea where he had lived. It wasn't just that the city was much bigger now; it was that even with the kid's fresher memories, he couldn't pinpoint a single landmark. It had been on the plains, of that was sure; and the Hirose-gawa had flown near the house. That still left an area which was enormous. It didn't help that he had always avoided to come back to the city.
This was a fool's errand.
He had been to two cemeteries already, but it was entirely possible that he had passed the tombs without even noticing. What exactly was he doing? He didn't even know if they were here. For all he knew, they could have been taken and brought somewhere else. He wouldn't have put it past Romulus.
But he was set on doing this. He owed it to the kid.
No; he owed it to himself. It was only right that it would have ended where it had began; that it would have begun anew where it had ended. He had always been a man of strong gestures, after all.
Once again, he asked himself what had he said at the facility. Laura – finding her there had been both annoying and queerly comforting – had seemed to be walking on eggshells when he had woken up. But apparently he had only monologued about Romulus, without going into details about Logan and the things that had happened in 1977, the instincts Romulus had rooted in him, what had happened when he had left the school, so he had decided to let it go, for his own peace of mind at least. God knew what sappy self-deprecating things he had said.
Shaking his head, Daken reached the third cemetery. He remembered quite clearly blabbering about dramas and then having much too vivid flashes of Romulus' masterful manipulation in Herat, but thankfully it was all hazy from then on. Apparently the kid – the kid's thoughts – had slipped through. It wasn't surprising, nor was he surprised at what had slipped. Had he said something more Laura would have insisted more fervently than she had, her quite obvious maternal instincts kicking in, so no worries on that, too.
He knew he had done the right thing at leaving.
Hell. The right thing. It was such a strange concept. He shivered still at the thoughts he had been having and the shiver itself was proof enough that something – what? – had changed within him. Really, this was ridicolous. No need to have an existential crisis. And yet – Was this what wanting to protect someone felt like? He was no stranger to possessiveness, but this concern in and of itself was – different.
He kept walking through the cemetery. Another failure; this was really a fool's errand –
He recognised Akihira's family name out of the corner of his eye and stopped dead on his tracks. He realised he hadn't really given much thought to this, thinking perhaps he would have never found anything, but as he checked quickly the headstones, names of Akihira's ancestors matching with his memories, he realised that now he had to actually do what he had come here for.
And that was – what?
And there they were. His traitorous heart – residual from the kid, no doubt – skipped a beat.
He reached the two headstones and stood in front of them, hands in his pockets. Well. Here he was. Now. Now what?
He had never understood the need for this kind of thing, for people to go on a sorry trip down memory lane and dig up the past. People died, and that was all; people died, while he carried on untouched, and the only person he had cared about in his adult life had had a similar lifespan.
He realised he was rocking slightly on his heels, uncertain on what to do. He had thought this would have been easy, a piece of cake after Weapon X, after his confrontation with Logan, but there wasn't anything easy about confronting this kind of loss. Could he be as sloppy as he had ever been and call it loss of innocence? He had never been innocent, but there had been a time when simple things were enough even for him, when he was enough, when everything was simple and normal. When he and Akihira and Natsumi had been a family. Then he had grown up and the servant boys had gotten nastier and the pheromones had showed up and all had went downhill.
Natsumi. Ah, Natsumi. Grimacing, he turned slightly towards her tomb, dealing with her easier for now. He knew what uncontrolled exposure to his pheromones did. He knew, on an intellectual level, that he had slowly driven her mad. That she had hated him not because of something he lacked or because she was a bitch, even if she was, that was undeniable, but because when he was around she wasn't in control of herself and that had scared her, of course. He had childishly clung to his hate for her, and Romulus had taken great care to fuel it, twisting it, attaching it to his craving for his real mother.
Oh, he had worked on all his weakest points exquisitely, carving what had already been there to a form of his liking.
He had worked on his fixation with Akihira – the very reason Daken had then pulled that ridicolous stunt with the Brotherhood, after all. He hadn't been in his right mind when he had concocted that plan, that much was clear, his thoughts clearer now that he had went through the amnesia. The Heat had fucked with his brain, had showed him things he had thought deeply buried; his death-and-revival from the bomb in New York had done the rest, and he had kept to himself and his thoughts for way too long after that. It had been ridicolous, and desperate, and ludicrous to say the least, but realising after years of telling himself lies that he would have never, never rid himself of his fixation had thrown him off.
Romulus had worked on his fixation with Akihira, had twisted it and destroyed it and Daken would forever hate him for that. Had it ever crossed Romulus' damn mind that he could have had Daken wrapped around his little finger without burning him so? If he was honest with himself, Daken knew that had Romulus acted as a parent, without the sexual spin, he would have still fallen for his schemes like a baby, too desperate for acceptance to think. It would have been fake nonetheless, yes; that much was true. He would have never loved him. But it would have been different, healthier maybe.
But Romulus had wanted him damaged, had wanted him gullible, had only prepared the road for what he was already thinking of doing, entangle him with Logan.
Damn him. Damn him to hell. Here he was, in front of Akihira's tomb, and he was soiling it with Romulus' presence, and Romulus still managed to fuck with his brain, the craving for his love a motioning force that engulfed and spinned and burned everything around him.
Akihira – had been a good father. Yes. He hadn't abandoned him. He had taken him into his home, a western bastard in post-war Japan, and when it had become clear that he was half-breed, not even once had he lashed at him about it, not even once had he said something. He hadn't abandoned him. Even in his last moments, he hadn't stopped loving him. His suicide hadn't been a selfish act, but rather selfless. He could have taken him down for killing Natsumi, for killing their baby; he should have done it. By all accounts, he should have. It would have been his right. He should have done it, he himself – Akihiro – Hiro had known that. He hadn't failed him, he hadn't been weak, he had – set him free.
Daken realised tears were streaming down his face, that he was sniffing hard in this buddhist cemetery, some kind of revelation coming to him. This easy propensity to tears since Hiro was starting to grate on his nerves. He half-snorted, half-huffed, drying his tears with a handkerchief.
When he was sufficiently calm, he realised there was someone in the vicinity. He half-turned, saw an old man looking at him, hands on a cane. As he looked at him, the man shook himself and began taking uncertain steps towards him.
Annoyed, Daken turned his attention to the tombs again, thrusting the handkerchief in his jacket's pocket. Nosy old man.
“Forgive me, young man,” said the man, his Japanese slow and clear, whether for his benefit – he did look western to eastern eyes, after all – or his old age. “Are you lost?”
“No, I'm not. Thank you.”
“Forgive me for insisting, but are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Perhaps you have mistaken this tomb for someone else's,” said the man gently.
“No. No, I belong here.” Daken cleared his throat. Belong. He almost grasped his chest.
The old man hesitated. He really was too nosy for his own good. “This family's tombs have been deserted for years,” he explained, gentleness in his voice, “That's why I'm asking. Perhaps you've confused the kanji somehow? They can be difficult to understand.”
For a foreigner, he meant. Yes, he had taken him for a western-bred half-breed, or maybe even a gaijin. “I'm family,” Daken said, equally quiet. He understood the truth of the words as he spoke them.
“This family's bloodline died out in the Fifties.”
Oh, of course he had to be approached by a scholar. Or maybe just an old man who spent way too much time among the tombs, studying the deads and their stories.
“Blood doesn't make a family. They're my grandparents,” the lie came easily; he figured the old man wouldn't have let this go till he had an answer.
The old man's breath caught in his throat, his hands gripping his cane. Daken furrowed his brows at the reaction. The man continued to stand beside him, silent for a while. “Are you Akihiro's son?”
Shocked, Daken whipped on his heels towards the man, looking, truly looking at him for the first time. Bald head, wrinkles all over his face, slightly hunched. He had taken him for being older than he was; he could have easily been sixty. He knows me, he thought, staring at him.
“Yes,” he managed to say, “I'm Akihiro's son.”
The man's face twisted, his head turned towards the tombs again. “We never knew what happened to him. We thought he was dead.”
“He survived.”
The old man fidgetted with his cane. Old man? He's – Daken had never felt self-conscious about his own age before. But standing here beside him was someone who had probably known him, talked with him.
There hadn't been many kids his age around. That narrowed the man's identity down to a few that Daken would have preferred not to stand beside to.
“How is he, then?”
“He died,” Daken said simply. “A few days ago.” The utterance passed from lie to truth in a matter of seconds, enclosing itself as he closed his lips. Am I coming full circle, then?
“Oh. I'm sorry for your loss.” The man didn't look at him. “Did he ask you to come here?”
“Something like that. He never got to.”
“That's a beautiful thing you're doing for your father, then.”
Daken almost laughed hysterically there and then. “I'm trying. Did you know him?” Now he really was curious about what the man could have had to say.
The man's hands gripped his cane again. Ah-ah, jiji, I caught you. Have you been very bad, then?
“I – knew him, yes.” The man's shoulders hunched, his head lowered. “Children are cruel, you know.”
“Oh, I know it well enough.” Did the man think he could just confess like that to a complete stranger and wash himself off of his sins? Daken felt annoyance at his frail body, annoyance at his own thoughts. He felt vicious. “Are you Junichiro?” Oh, now Hiro's fresher memories could really come in handy. “No? Hachiro, then?” The man stiffened, wide eyes drawn to him. “Aoi, perhaps?” No, he had killed Aoi, chocked the bully to death. “Nobu?”
“Did he remember us, our names? I never meant for any of it, I – I would have never wanted to affect his life this way –”
“Nevertheless, you did,” he said. He didn't tell the old man that their names had never been that powerful, that they hadn't been that important, that he only remembered them because of Hiro. They had been utter bastards.
“I'm Hachiro,” said the old man quietly.
He didn't fucking care who the hell he was. Hachiro. The fat one, yes. He scoffed.
“Please allow me to apologise to your father's memory –”
“Why?” He snarled. “So that you feel better with yourself, jiji? I don't think so.”
The old man stiffened at the change in his speech pattern, at his disrespect. “Age leads to regrets. You'll understand eventually, young man.”
Fucking – this would have been so damn funny if only he had been in the right mind to fuck with him. As it were, he was getting far too heated and for what? What did he care about the old man? “Regrets? What do you regret? Being cruel to a little boy who only wanted to be friend with you and didn't understand what he was doing wrong?”
“Yes –”
“Ah. Cruelty, jiji? That wasn't cruelty, that was stupidity. Cruelty is a different thing entirely. You weren't cruel. Don't think so highly of yourself. You were weak.” The man was obviously annoyed at his disrespect, but was probably blaming it on his supposed western upbringing, or even on grief. And yet he was listening, hands on the cane, eyes fixated on the tombs. “He was a living, daily reminder of the bombing of this city, of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You hated him for what he represented, for the things your parents said. You were too young and stupid to know what you were doing.” The old man was shaking and Daken suddenly felt so tired, so very tired. This wasn't funny, this was exhausting. Was he even talking to the old man? “Don't wallow in self-hatred over something you had no control over. Don't think he would have forgiven you had you stumbled on your knees and begged forgiveness. The truth? He would have laughed at you and kicked you.”
“It seems to me he was a cruel man. A sad little man, with an empty life.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
“He had you, though. He found a semblance of happiness, did he not? With your mother?”
Daken snorted. “My mother died in childbirth.”
“I'm sorry. But nevertheless,I'm glad he had someone for a while. We all need someone, no matter what we say.”
About to answer with some biting jibe, he froze at the thought of little hands squeezing his. No! Daken stiffened, I'm not Romulus. I'm not! He needed to get out of here. He didn't want to think about that . I left. I left. He turned on his heels, a last lingering look on Akihira's tomb, and fled.
“I've upset you. I'm sorry –”
He turned towards the old man. “You haven't. I have things to do. Goodbye, jiji.” He was looking at him as if he knew everything about him, as if he understood something Daken hadn't yet. Seething, he fled out of the cemetery, reached a road, walked, walked, walked.
Think about something else. Something else.
He wasn't Romulus!
He wasn't, because he had left, left without ruining it all. Cut all the ties, escaped like a coward, because he was too afraid of staying and trying, trying and ruining it all. Because everything was a game, everything could have been used, and he would have ruined it somehow, and he knew it.
He had been thinking about how to spin the situation to his advantage already, worked a few scenarios in his head and they had been all so interesting. So useful.
And they had all entailed taking advantage of the boy. Not even sexually; god, no . Somehow the thought had made his stomach churn. No, but befriending him, making him think that he was his friend, that he was so grateful for him helping the kid –
And then he had thought that he didn't want to. That it wasn't right . That he... cared about the boy? That the boy hadn't truly wanted anything in return, that he had helped him out of the damn goodness of his heart, and that would have normally made him laugh and use it, but not this time; he had been so damn grateful to see he was fine and well, and he had thought that he didn't want to harm him, that he wasn't Romulus, that he didn't want to act like Romulus.
The realisation had made him flee like a coward; he had renounced to a golden opportunity only to protect the boy from himself. Was there something more ridicolous? He had told himself that he was leaving only to avoid talking to Logan, but he had been lying to himself and he knew it.
Quentin. What the hell have you done to me?
And then, well, he had ended up confronting Logan anyway. He had stopped and listened and talked and given up. Given up everything . Logan knew now. Logan knew, and it had been liberating. He felt as if floating now, as if something heavy had been lifted off him.
It was night already. Had he spent so much time walking the city? Where was he? He looked around; he seemed to be in the outskirts, dressed far too incongrously for it with his two-piece. He should have returned to the hotel and work on his plan. With Victor in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands, this would have been relatively easy indeed. Oh, oh, how had it been satisfying to shove everything down his throat at the Jean Grey School. After the stress he had subjected him to, Victor had really brought it upon himself.
But Daken wasn't finished yet. He had something to build, after all, and what better place than this?
Shoving it up Victor's ass was a nice bonus, of course. He and Mystique had taken Madripoor from him while he was recovering, but who cared about that stupid island anyway? Plus, taking Madripoor had seemed such a good idea at the time, but it had always smelled like something to spite Logan and he didn't want that signature on his work anymore.
Ah, no. He had different plans. He would –
Quiet crying in the distance. Who cared? He shrugged and kept walking.
The street wasn't packed, but there were a few people around. Was no one going to do anything?
Traitorous thoughts. Ah, stop it. He should really stop projecting, that was counterproductive.
The crying was louder. Was he closer?
No; it wasn't his heightened senses anymore. It was faint but clearly audible.
And that is your first lesson, my beautiful boy.
No one cares. No one –
Stop it. He clenched his jaw. A residual from the kid, obviously. The kid had been forced to relive a good many of Daken's most dire memories. Stop it. It was only natural that this would distress him now. Even at the school, seeing that man above the little Apocalypse had made him seethe.
This had nothing to do with him.
It was a girl, and the noises were unmistakable. She was being raped.
Stop it!
Who the hell cared anyway? It wasn't as if he had ever cared about something like that before. He had killed kids before, tortured them. He had walked past atrocities, unconcerned by them. He had soaked himself in blood.
I never did this to kids, though. And I know perfectly well why.
He was no hero, he had no interest in this.
Why the hell was no one doing anything?
He realised he had stopped in the middle of the road. Passerbies kept walking, quick, heads lowered. Where the hell was he?
This was not of his concern –
– Romulus dragging him in a dark alley. This will do; I'll show you the extent to which no one cares.
But I understood that perfectly well, Romulus, he had said, reminiscing their talk not a hour prior in the hills above the city. It had been sunset back then, the sun on his face had been so warm, and he had been so childishly happy that Romulus had found him after his murdering Natsumi, after Akihira's suicide. Nothing had prepared him for what had been about to come.
Master, Romulus had shoved him against a wall, From now on you'll call me master.
Oh, he had been so stupid. Master? But –
You still have this naive idea that you're different. And you are, but not in this. You have so much potential it's a pity for you not to exploit it due to silly fantasies. Romulus had trailed his nails over his face and Daken had stilled, terrified for the first time. He was naive, but his newfound sense of smell hadn't lied to him, no more than the expression on Romulus' face could have done. I'll take good care of you, but you'll have to allow me to do it, you'll have to trust me. Romulus had been so close. So close. You'll have to let go of everything. And you'll become so much more. So much more.
I want to be more. So bold. He had been like this, Hiro hadn't been so different. He had sensed this was a one-time-only opportunity. He hadn't known whether he was willing to pay the price. But he had been too young to understand what he would have to pay, hadn't he? I trust you.
I know. But to transcend you'll have to understand that no one cares. Not even me, boy.
Romulus had –
Oh. Oh. This was ridiculous. He had no time for this, for the nausea hitting him still, so many years after it.
Daken had screamed. No one had come, no one –
The girl was crying.
Oh, shove it. Shove it! Gritting his teeth, Daken reached the alley.
It was so dark even he had to wait a moment for his eyes to see something. The animal was all over her, thrusting and keeping her down. Daken felt bile surging up his throat, fury burning in his veins.
Reach him in a few quick steps, kill him while he was still inside the girl?
That would have traumatised her.
Did he care about that?
Yes, surprisingly.
Make him remove himself from the girl first, then. Gently.
He took a step in their direction. “Let her go,” he said in English, with a tremulous voice.
The man stopped, threw an annoyed glance at him from over his shoulder. He seemed a thug. Daken faked a shiver, took a step backwards, and repeated, sending a puff of pheromones, “Let her go!”
Oh, come on. Am I not a far more interesting prize? American and alone and rich and so blindly stupid. A wannabe hero. Remove yourself from the girl. Now. Now. He sent another puff of pheromones, conveying supposed terror.
“Fuck off.”
“Let her go or I call the police!” Get out of her, you bastard. Give me some space to work. He took a step towards them again. The girl was crying. What the fuck am I doing? This is like a bad Z-movie. This is ridiculous. “I'm calling the police!”
The thug slid out of the girl and went to his knees. “Fucking stupid gaijin,” he snorted. “Goodbye.” He took a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at him, but he had already given Daken what he wanted: Daken was on him as he fired, kicked his face, shoved him on the wall, slit his throat with a claw. The man slid down the wall. Daken turned towards the girl.
She was covering herself, staring at him with wide eyes. She could be twelve, maybe.
He stayed where he was, as far away from her as possible, and crouched low, sending soothing pheromones. What was he supposed to say now?
He hadn't expected her to speak.
“Stupid gaijin. Run.” She clutched her clothes and muttered, in Japanese, quick and urgent and low, “Get out of here before he wakes up. He'll kill you. Stupid, stupid gaijin.” She turned to English again, staring at him. She had a swollen lip. “Run. He kill you.”
Wasn't this interesting. Here she was, almost naked, a kid, just raped, and she was worrying about him? So resilient.
“He's dead,” he said in Japanese, and she started and clutched her clothes and shuffled backwards. “He won't hurt anyone.”
And he hadn't, truly, he hadn't expected her next words. “Oh, you've done your daily good deed!” She practically snarled, covering herself, “So heroic of you. Thank you!” She was terrified. “You've killed him? What are you, a killer with a heart of gold? What shall I do to thank you?” She was dripping sarcasm, but she was scared. He realised he didn't know what to do. At the school he had overwhelmed the little Apocalypse with soothing pheromones, but this didn't seem to be working now.
Well, of course. This girl had been raped, whereas the little Apocalypse had avoided that.
He should try to comfort her, but he knew that being touched after it was out of the question. He wasn't fit to do this. Why was he still here? The thug was dead, he could have gone away, why wasn't he going away? He wasn't even good with kids.
“Go back to your boss! Do you know what you've done?” She was in hysterics, but she was speaking quietly, harsh syllables low in tone. “Oh, you're in trouble. Big trouble. Don't you know who this is? Was. Oh.” The girl managed to pull up her panties. “And why? So that you could feel better with yourself?” She laughed hysterically, little giggles. She kept covering herself and cowering. “I can't believe this. They'll hunt you down and kill you. Go away, I won't tell anyone, I'm sure they've seen you but it's so dark... Go away!”
He hadn't expected something like that. He stared at her. Why are you doing this? Why are you behaving like this? It wasn't normal behavior, was it? He had been a sobbing mess the first time.
He realised he had moved a hand in her direction only when she shuddered and backed away.
“Don't touch me! What do you want? You want a prize? Go away!”
“Stop it,” came out of his mouth, harsher than intended. He was so confused. Aftercare. That was what she needed, aftercare. Right.
She flinched. “Go away, go away – I'm not your ticket to redemption, asshole!”
“Shut up,” he snapped. She flinched again. No, no, no, he had to use a quieter voice, calm her down. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
“Whatever! Who do you think you are? You have no idea what you've done. You're doomed. Go away, oh fearsome hero.”
Oh, he liked her. “You're strong,” he said quietly, “But you're trying too hard. Don't show that strenght. If a stranger sees you as weak, use it.”
“And he gives advice!” The girl snorted, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was trying not to show she was sobbing.
“Stop it,” he repeated, “I won't hurt you. Can I bring you home?”
She hugged herself, probably not wanting to give her address away. “I have no home.”
Oh. He had been so focused on her that he hadn't really smelled her, looked at her. She wore rags, she smelled of street. A street urchin. A nobody.
“All right. Your refuge, then. Where do you sleep?”
“You think I'd tell you? I'm grateful, really, but go away. It's for the best. I'll manage –”
“No,” he said.
“They'll hunt you down and kill you.”
“Or maybe I'll kill them, mh?” He cocked his head, pushed the soothing pheromones.
“You're crazy.”
“I've been told that. A common misconception.” He pouted. Ah, she was giggling in real amusement, finally. It was just a hysterical reaction, but at least it meant she was lowering her guard a little. “Now. You don't want to tell me where you sleep; shall I bring you to a hospital?” Maybe he should have said that first.
“Why? It's not like I'm pregnant.” She pressed her thighs firmly together. Oh, she was prepubescent still? That fucking animal. He should have killed him more painfully.
“You need a hospital.” Or at least he guessed so. Free food, a bed, people tending to her.
“No. They'll shove me somewhere and I'll never see the sun again.”
“Well you can't stay here.” Not with her rapist dead. It appeared he wasn't just a nobody and she would have to face consequences.
“Why do you care?” She asked, hugging herself still. She was a kid and she was bleeding and she was terrified. He was projecting. He knew he was projecting. The darkness, the alley, her young age, his recent musings about Akihira and Romulus – He should stop, right now, right this second, leave her here and go away –
Dealing with that question meant dealing with the fact that he didn't know what to say. Because he had wanted to? There was no refined reasoning behind it, he had acted on instinct.
Like he had done at the Jean Grey School. He had opened his eyes and seen Quentin and all those kids and – there had been Victor there, Victor had been intent on something that wouldn't have been pretty.
Quentin had tried to comfort him. Without insomuch as a sliver of concern for himself, Victor looming near them, and Quentin had been about to chant a fucking tanka.
And then he had told himself he had wanted to make Victor pay for trying and fucking him over, but that wasn't true. At all. He had just thought that he had wanted to help those stupid kids.
And it hadn't been a residual from Hiro either, even if he had told himself that, too. He had told himself that he was doing it to repay his debt to Quentin, then. But that hadn't been true, either.
He – he didn't know.
That was fucking annoying. He had to understand why he was doing these things. There was something at the back of his mind, but he didn't know. He needed to understand. He wasn't a slave to his instincts.
“Mister?”
“Because I want to,” he said, a passe-partout to questions for now. Logan hadn't questioned it, hadn't insisted. Oh, he had had his own ideas, probably. “So. What can I do for you?”
He saw it her eyes then, he saw the flicker of a decision, heard the thought forming in her mind, heard her utter it. Ah, no. No, kid. No way.
But she seemed intent on surprising him still. “Do you need a guide?”
“A guide?” He had been sure she was about to ask to be allowed to trail behind him. Well, this was a variation of it, but she was trying to bargain, too. She had quick thinking even after what had just happened to her. She was resourceful, that much was clear. “And why would I need a guide?”
She held her chin high, this girl who had just been through hell and back, and stared at him. “You're new here. Your accent isn't from here, and you didn't know this place is off-limits. You aren't worried about being punished by your boss because you have no boss, and you aren't worried about stepping over the feet of someone powerful because you are powerful on your own. You're an assassin and you have things to do here, but it's not a job, or you wouldn't dally around. You came to the city unprepared because you wouldn't have come here dressed like this if you had. You dress well, so you're rich.” There was a challenge in her eyes. Had he lowered his guard so much that he was so easy to read or was she a rare pearl? Either way, she had him officially intrigued: she wanted his help, but on her own terms. He waited. “You've come here in the middle of a mess. A lot of different groups are scrambling for power. Something must have happened to the higher ups.” Well, something had; Victor was out of the picture and would have been for a long time. He had taken control in Japan a while ago, but apparently his grip hadn't been that stable if his absence was enough for little men in every city to try and seize power.
“And?” He prompted her.
“I can tell you who is who and where people gather. I can tell you who is important and who only thinks they are.”
“Tempting. Who are you, that you know all these things?”
“Me? I'm just a street urchin,” she flashed a smile. Ah, no. She was an informant for one of the groups, and the rape had been a punishment from the people she worked for, or a warning from another group. And now she wanted to use her savior. If a stranger sees you as weak, use it, indeed. She had played him and was showing her cards now.
She was all alone and so young. Stop. Projecting. She was smart. And he had put her in a dangerous situation. Didn't he owe her?
“And how shall I pay you for your services?”
She placed her hands on her lap. There was blood on her clothes. Was this even the first time it happened to her? She was far too casual about it; this spoke of habit. “I want clothes, and food, and protection. I want to learn how to fight. How to defend myself.”
She was selling herself to a man she didn't know, someone who could hurt her. Didn't she see that?
I'm not Romulus, though.
Damn. Was he really thinking about this?
No. No. He wasn't Logan, with his evergrowing army of stray little girls. And he had other things to do, he had to stay focused.
“You don't know me. You don't know what could I do to you. I could hurt you. What makes you think I'm to be trusted? What makes you think I'm different from your boss, from this man?” He tilted his head towards the thug. “I've hurt kids. I've killed kids. Not so long ago, in fact.” Shatter her hopes and get out of here. Catch her and bring her to the nearest hospital and get the fuck out of Sendai, find another city and work from there.
“I'm not that naive. I don't trust anyone, certainly not someone I've just met.” So shrewd. Oh, he liked her. “But you cared about what was happening to me when no one had, so you would be a better boss than most. I'd prefer to risk my life out of the streets than dying alone in an alley. And I know a lot of important things, I would be useful. I'm not asking for pity, I work hard.”
Of course, she could be lying just to convince him. But she could also have useful intel.
She would slow him down.
She was bargaining in such a situation.
She was a kid. Kids were annoying.
She was a kid. She was alone.
Too many complications. He had always been alone.
He couldn't just leave her alone after what had happened!
Why, why was he caring about something like that?
He needed to investigate the situation. He could have used this to understand what was happening to him.
And she needed a place to stay. She needed to be taken care of.
He could just teach her a few things to survive, then leave her on her own. That wasn't so difficult.
Keep telling yourself that.
The universe was laughing at him.
“All right. Let's go, then.”