Archive of Our Own ^beta

MANY YEARS BEFORE THE RAIKOU MISSION...

Nobody has ever watched Bashou sleep before. Not since he was a child. The idea still fills him with dread: this crude and overbearing ‘partner’ is now closer to him than his own mother.

Attila.

Bashou doesn’t know whether that’s his real name. What he does know is that Attila is an overly-tanned gym addict who keeps his eyes hidden most of the time, and that he wanted something to break up the ‘monotony’ of his day job in debt collection. Bashou was told that he needed someone to compensate for his violent temper. He hoped that was a joke, but he’s already seen Attila talking with his fists.

“Debt collection.” That’s what they call it.

Sometimes, during their training expeditions, Bashou will disappear all the way into his sleeping bag, even though the thick mess of his hair makes it unbearably hot, especially in Kanto’s humid summer. That’s where he is now, just giving in to the haze of sleep, when a voice cuts through the quiet. It’s a rough voice, trying to be a gentle whisper, but only sounding menacing in the process.

“ Yo. Bashou. Got anything to read? I mean, anything apart from those college textbooks of yours. I don’t need to learn how to make a computer play chess, nothin’ like that. Happy to take watch if you’re tired, but I got no phone signal and I’m bored as hell. Need to stay awake somehow… ”

Bashou unzips his sleeping bag just enough to prop himself up on one elbow, and reaches for the grey suede messenger bag beside him. Barely opening his eyes, he retrieves a thin, dog-eared, softback book and holds it out. A moment later, it’s taken from his hand, and he sinks back into his cocoon. He hears the click of a small flashlight, followed by a low chuckle.

“ Poetry, huh? Thought you were a math guy. Sorry…I’ll let you sleep now. ”

*****

They’re such an unlikely pairing. They come from opposite ends of the organisation - the clean side and the dirty side, as people say - and they’re so different physically that it’s almost comical to see them together. Because of that, they’ve already caught some attention.

But although they might have drawn the spotlight for the wrong reasons, their work is already starting to speak for itself. They’re not manning the big guns yet - it’s way too early for that - but they succeed at everything they do. From the outside, they make teamwork look effortless, like they’re two halves of the same brain.

Despite this, Bashou is in turmoil, waiting for the moment when it all falls apart. He’s sure he won’t come back from a mission someday. Attila will snap him in half, throw him off a cliff, leave him for dead. Or he’ll report back that he isn’t happy, and he wants to have a tryout with someone else. Someone more fun. Maybe Bashou will end up a free agent, and the others will only ask to work with him when they want to take a punching bag on a day out.

So, Bashou has been doing what Bashou does best. He seizes control wherever he can, desperate to stake his claim as the brains of the operation. He’s not calling shotgun, he’s driving. He starts giving orders, wondering how far he can push his luck, almost treating his partner like a Grunt instead of an equal.

Deep down, he knows that Attila will lash out someday. He thinks that time may already be approaching. His partner has never uttered a word of protest, but now and again, there’s a deliberate slowness in the way he does things. He’ll glance at Bashou over the top of his eternally-present sunglasses, eyebrows raised, his mouth set in a knowing grin. Bashou thinks he knows what it means.

I’m not as stupid as I look, and you’re not as clever as you think, so be careful.

*****

The next day, as they’re packing up, a familiar book lands on Bashou’s rolled-up sleeping bag.

“ So, that’s where you got your name, huh? I’d heard of him before. Couldn’t have told you who he was, though. I’m always learnin’ somethin’ with you. ”

Bashou is momentarily baffled - and a little afraid - before he remembers the previous night. He glances down at his own book: a selection of Japanese haiku poetry. He bundles it into his bag with an air of quick nervousness, wondering whether it’s too much for another Rocket to know that he named himself after a long-dead poet.

Attila, oblivious to Bashou’s discomfort, continues to ramble.

“ Maybe I should do that. Get myself a neat new code name. Seems like all the agents got ‘em. Except for Tatsumi, he thinks he’s too good for that shit. But the ones that work in pairs, have you ever noticed they got proper duo names? Hey…do you reckon that’s so they sound good when people talk about 'em together? ”

It’s just like a silver agent to assume that someone will talk about them.

Bashou shrugs. He doesn’t care, nor does he want to be talked about. He only chose a code name so that he could conceal his real name, and this one was random enough that nobody from his past life might guess that it was him, if they heard it.

Because he’s a math guy.

At this point, Attila’s tone changes. His next words are delicate and unsure. “ So, last night, ” he says, “ I was thinking…I could be ‘Buson’. ”

Bashou gives a generic 'hmm’ in response, bundles his sleeping bag under his arm, and starts to swing his messenger bag onto his other shoulder, but the strap is caught mid-swing by another hand. Without a moment’s pause, Attila takes the messenger bag around his own neck like a millstone, despite the large camping rucksack already sitting on his back.

Bashou clicks his tongue. “ I can carry a bag, you know. ”

There’s no response except for a smile and a nod. Bashou leads the way towards the van, scowling deeply now that his partner is behind him and unable to see his face.

“ Why 'Buson’? ” he asks. Might as well humour the guy.

“ Well, the dude spent most of his life trying to follow Bashou - the poet Bashou, I mean - so I figured maybe I should take his name, since…you’re also Bashou, and I seem to be following you… ”

At this, Bashou stops walking. He stares at his own troubled face, reflected in the shiny black side of their vehicle.

“ Why…? ” He turns around and swallows hard, suddenly hyper-aware that they’re alone in the middle of a forest. Even the birds seem to have fallen silent, as though they’re waiting for something to happen. “ Why would you say you’re following me? ”

It takes a second for Bashou to notice that the other man’s arm is outstretched, holding out his bag, plus the keys to the van. With a slight bow of apology, Bashou takes the bag and slips it onto his own shoulder. As he does so, he realises for the first time that Attila’s eyes are brown, with faint wrinkles at the corners. For once, his sunglasses are pushed up onto the top of his head, almost hidden by his tousled hair.

“ Well, you don’t seem like much of a follower, ” Attila replies. “ And I guess I am. I get that it’s not meant to be like that, we’re equals and all, same rank, blah blah blah. But…whatever we’re doing, it works, yeah? And I’m serious about getting into this squad. I want this to work. Don’t you? ”

“ Yes, but - ”

“ Are you not taking the keys? ” Attila jingles them in his hand, like a trainer dangling a toy before a pet. “ You don’t wanna drive no more? ”

Bashou reaches for them, but withdraws his hand. “ I don’t mind. You can drive. ”

“ Sure thing. ”

Attila throws the keys up into the air and catches them, and starts to make his way around the front of the van, towards the driver’s side. Meanwhile, Bashou checks his own reflection again, this time in the nearby wing mirror. He still looks like a Stantler caught in headlights, with a sheen of sweat glazing his forehead.

“ Just so we’re clear as crystal… ” Attila taps on the hood of the van to draw Bashou’s attention. “ This is working out, buddy. We’re going places. And I don’t really care if that means you gotta act like you’re in charge, if that makes you feel better. Hell, you’re probably smarter than me when it comes to all the planning and whatever. So, you can wipe that scared look off your face. Unless you tell me to go find another partner, it looks like I’m following you, Bashou. ”