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“Someone has guts to come knocking at my door.” She lit up a cigarette because god knows she’s gonna need it for what’s coming. It was no longer gonna be the regular slow Wednesday night she had hoped for.
Her ghost from Christmas past was leaning against her always open door, holding his shoulder and bleeding profusely on her floor that frankly has seen worse. “It’s against my will Shoko.”
Against his will? Did that mean he wasn’t planning on visiting her even if he was back in the country? She could just punch him right now. She took a long, long drag of her cigarette. It wasn’t the same brand she used to smoke back when they were still friends, and they’d share cigarettes after a mission. Did he still smoke Marlboro? Maybe he wouldn’t want to share her Camels with her anymore. Though cigarettes are cigarettes, does brand really make a difference?
God, how long ago was that? It felt like at least a hundred years. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
“Shoko, you’re too cruel, I already have a bullet in me.” He smiled at her. Polite, fake, plastic, accommodating, agreeable, charming, calculated. It was the same smile as always and at the same time she wanted to hug him and vomit on the floor. Had he changed at all in these seven years? She didn’t know if she prefered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for an answer.
“And yet you’re still here running your mouth, Suguru. A medical miracle indeed.”
“I expected you could pull of one of those for me tonight.” He stumbled to her, dirtying her floor with more pools of blood, but she didn’t move, she simply waved at her worn down sign indicating how much it costs for her to fix a bullet wound.
“Sure. My fees are here. I accept only money or bank transfers.”
“C’mon, don’t you give credit anymore?” He kept trying to charm her, but she didn’t budge. Was he low on cash? If so, he shouldn’t have come, this was a hospital not a charity.
“Credit implies the customer will live long enough to pay me back, which is not your case.”
“He’s that bad, uh?”
She sighed to herself, a bit in pity for Suguru, a bit guilty for being too harsh on an old friend. She knew what he was actually asking about. About the reason he was still alive, even if he had to flee the country after the shit he pulled with the last boss in the syndicate. It was the same man that put a bounty on his head, dead or alive. The same man that saved him from certain death, but now have been hunting him down through all the country and wherever else his clan had influence. The man that Suguru loved. And Satoru loved him back just as much.
Back then their love was the stuff out of Hollywood movies, out of epic romance poetry, out of legends of souls reincarnating together in the Sansara. Anybody could tell their devotion to one another was not normal. And Shoko had the privilege to be best friends with two of the most amazing men in this world, to see them love each other, see them grow, pushing one another to become legendary.
Then Suguru had to go and fuck it all up.
“You should know all about that already, you’re the one with a shot to the shoulder not me.” She threw the butt of her cigarette on the floor and stomped on it because fuck it all, the floor was a mess already and one of the people she loved most in this world, a brother to her, was here again after seven years and she had bigger shit to deal with than cleaning the floor. “C’mon, let’s get you fixed.”
She waved him to follow her to one of the stretchers and he was lucky she was the only one at the hospital tonight or he’d be dead by now. He was panting, losing a lot of blood, and she’d made him wait long enough.
“Still... don’t you have something for me?” She knew he was still asking about Satoru, but she ignored him in favor of cutting his shirt open.
What goddamn fucking mess. Now she understood why Suguru had come to her. This wasn’t a clean bullet wound by any means, otherwise he’d have handled it himself out there. She pushed down the mask she had just put on again and patted the pockets of her coat for another cigarette. Major vessel damage, bullet still lodged inside, splintered collarbone, key muscles for arm and neck rotation pierced. Great. Fucking great. Goddamn fucking great.
“Shoko?”
“They almost succeeded in the ‘dead’ part of the ‘dead or alive’ uh?” She joked while rummaging through her scalpels and clamps. She didn’t want him to see her trembling hands. What a fucking disgrace of a doctor she was.
He chuckled lightheartedly as if he hadn’t almost died just minutes ago, as if he almost never got to meet Shoko again, as if he didn’t almost abandon her again. “His people were always the best.”
“Yeah… I’m guessing you don’t have the time for me to patch you up for good?” She asked while cleaning the area and pressing some iodine on it.
“If you could take care of the more pressing damage… I need to get going after… you know.”
She knows.
“Quick and dirty then.” She broke a lidocaine ampoule and grabbed a syringe. “It will be just local anesthetics and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”
“Consider me warned.” Suguru hissed as she started applying the anesthetic to his skin. It couldn’t be too much, or he wouldn’t be able to use his arm for some hours, meaning he couldn’t fight or shoot. And she needed him in his best form if he was going to make it out of this hell.
She noticed the ashes on her cigarette had accumulated as she burned through half of it already, so she just spitted it on the floor as her no longer trembling hands worked deftly with motions she repeated a thousand times before and could do with her eyes closed. She almost lost Suguru for real. She never noticed how the knowledge of him being out there in the world somewhere alive was comforting. Facing his almost death again shook her more than she expected. But then again, what was her friendship with both Suguru and Satoru, if not those two idiots getting into life and death situations and her patching them up time and time again? It was almost comical in a way, in the sense that nothing’s changed even though everything’s changed.
But it’s ok. She’s gonna fix it. She needs to fix it. She’s the only one that can fix it.
Suguru let her work in peace, thank fuck. She couldn’t be having heart-to-hearts with his life on her hands. Her mind was wandering enough already, to those simpler times, when they were sixteen and just rookies in the biggest crime syndicate in Tokyo, and there were no clans, no politics, no resentment, no mass murders yet. When she thought she could maybe be happy with her best friends, and her beautiful girlfriend and she thought she wasn’t asking for too much. It was. It was greedy of her. Life is not like that.
“How’s he been?” Suguru managed to ask again with a broken voice when she started closing and cauterizing some vessels, after she did all she could under her circumstances. If his voice was broken by his physical pain or by his own demons she doesn’t know.
“How do you think? Crazy, obsessive, lost, batshit insane, in dire need of a grippy sock vacation, if only I could prescribe that to him.” He chuckled at her joking despite their dire situation.
“He was never that normal to begin with, was he?”
“Were we?” She shrugged. Sure, you could say that about Satoru, but it’s not about him, it’s about them.
“Fair enough. Does he… ever talk about me?”
Shoko had to hold her lips not to smile. This sounded so much like their teenage years again, with she acting as both cupid and shrink for the two idiots in love. And Suguru’s tone was so unsure and longing, she just wanted to laugh at his desperation. She was desperate herself.
“No.”
“Fuck Shoko, help me out.” Suguru whined. He whined even when she was sewing up his skin. And was so teenage Suguru like, she felt nostalgic before her too practical side brought her back to reality and she sighed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
“I’m helping you out, you’re getting a 10% family and friends discount, is the best I can do for you.”
“Not like that I meant-“
“I’m helping you out by not calling him the moment I saw you as per his orders.” She declared monotone in a serious voice. Suguru should know better than to whine and joke when he was already getting much more help from her than she should be giving. She was only doing it because it’s him, and Satoru won’t kill her. Too horribly. Probably.
And if he does kill her horribly, fuck it, she’s been living on borrowed time on this earth for too long already.
“Those are the orders? Kill at sight?”
“Yep.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Suguru’s eyes were narrow at her, gauging her reaction. It occurred to her that he took a gamble by coming here. She could have been one of the people more than ready put a bullet between his eyes to collect the very generous bounty. There was no reason for her misplaced loyalty in a friendship that ended seven years ago with treason. What was this shit? Was she becoming sentimental? At the ripe age of thirty? Jesus fucking Christ.
“You know I don’t like guns. I like to get up close and personal.” She lied with a joke as she nodded to her scalpels.
“Be real Shoko.” Suguru’s tone is tight and anxious, though his eyes are a bit fond, and she can’t hold his stare.
“The hospital is no man’s land. Everybody knows you don’t start a shootout in fucking Switzerland.” She settled for a half truth. It was true, she wasn’t one to deny any patients, even if she was expensive and always collected her charges. But she didn’t swear loyalty to the Gojo Syndicate as their official doctor, even if she favored them immensely on her medical services and drug dealings with real hospitals and clinics. But how couldn’t she? When the Gojo clan was this powerful and big? When it was Satoru asking?
She didn’t spoke the rest of the truth out loud. That Suguru didn’t have to gamble coming here. He could be sure she would help him. She’s always had, always will. They’re like brother and sister. Even if he was a traitor, she wouldn’t go after him, they were friends.
She was reminded of the last time they met. His hair wasn’t this long, his back was straighter, his fake smile brighter. But the eyes were just the same, even if like her, he had even bigger dark rings under them. Cynical, tired eyes hiding a lot of hatred. Before Suguru snapped, Shoko was constantly talking to Satoru about this, about the life draining out of Suguru’s eyes, about how his moods were becoming worse, how he didn’t care about anything anymore, how hollowed he looked. Satoru waved her off, she still doesn’t know if he wasn’t worried or if he was afraid to admit how worried he was. Utahime tried to comfort her, telling her not to worry too much about Suguru and stop blaming herself for not being of any help.
When he called her to meet him after the blood bath he did, he looked better than she’s seen him in months, and worse at the same time. She brought an old car with a fake plate, a bag of money and the false passport Satoru cooked for him. He would skip town, use a fishing ship to get out o Japan to god knows where, Satoru had it all planned for him after he failed to fulfill his father’s orders of killing Suguru.
“Need a light?” He joked when he approached her from behind and lit the cigarette on her mouth. She chuckled, unable to believe this guy.
“I’ll go ahead and ask, any chance the charges are false?”
Suguru didn’t answer, he just turned to look at the sky. They sat on the hood of the car saying nothing and sharing Marlboros, watching the sun dipping into Tokyo Bay. When it was night, he got up and said a simple:
“Thanks, Shoko.”
“Thanks, Shoko.” He said with the same small sad smile from back then, that she knew was truthful, uncannily alike all those years ago.
“I don’t take words, I take cash.”
“Still.” He shrugged at her, expression not failing, still soft.
“You better wait before you say those words to me. I’m still gonna call him as soon as I’m done with the stitches.” It was the truth, she needed to, or Satoru would really kill her horribly for hiding Suguru.
“It’s only fair, I wouldn’t want you to put yourself at risk for my sake.” Oh Suguru, always with the martyr complex. Fucking idiot.
“Do I look like someone that does anything for someone else’s sake?”
He had the guts to laugh at her. “You don’t.”
“Great.” She moved to grab her needle and sutures. “It was Nanami that shot you.”
“Yeah, how did you guess?” He answered her half question.
“His aim is good, the bullet was five centimeters from your carotid, and his bullets are stylized.”
“I guess he can spend money on that since he almost never uses his gun. He’s from the knife team like you.”
Shoko snorted because calling Nanami’s gigantic meat cleaver a knife was amusing. “Nothing wrong with looking at the eyes of the person you’re killing, it’s common courtesy.” But then again, she didn’t need to tell Suguru that, of all people. Not the man that killed a whole clan with one single katana.
“Mei Mei is like that too.”
“A lot of people prefer knives.” She shrugged away, though in Mei Mei’s case it was an axe. What is this? Suguru was out of the country for seven years and now he wanted to catch up with everyone? Get on with the latest gossip?
“How’s Utahime?”
Oh. That’s where he was getting at. Well, they had their hands full already discussing only Suguru’s ex, no need to bring her ex into the conversation too.
“In Kyoto.”
“I asked ‘how is she’, not ‘where is she’.”
“In Kyoto.”
“I see.” Suguru mumbled and turned to look at the ceiling again, dropping the subject easily.
She tied some bandages tightly around his arms and neck the best she could considering the difficult position of the wound, making Suguru grunt. “Alright, you know the drill, antibiotics for three days, if you think you can make it that long.”
He laughs pulling his jacket back on his shoulders even though his expression scrunched up in pain and took the pills from Shoko’s hand. “I’ll try my best.”
“Try harder than that.” She declared with finality, crossing her arms. Suguru was one of the best, but his best is not enough to survive the Gojo clan’s whole army. His eyes softened more as he trained them on her, and there was something there. Something of young Suguru, something akin to hope, if they were allowed to feel shit like that in their line of work.
“Thanks Shoko.” Suguru suddenly hugs her on a weird display of genuine emotion instead of his typical plastic smile frozen on his face. Shoko tried to fight it, but she hugged him in return. He was well and alive for now. She fixed him up the best she could, for now. Everything was still fine. For now.
If only she could fix the rest of this shitstorm.
He let go of her and headed to the front desk. She couldn’t help but saying. “Welcome back Suguru.”
She didn’t know why she said it. Was he coming back to his death? To face his past? To prove his loyalties? To find his long-lost love? Was she glad for that? Wouldn’t it be better for her almost brother to be safe and sound somewhere far away?
Fuck if she knows.
“Glad to be back.” He smiled again in that fake way that she has always despised and slammed bloodied notes on the table. “Think you can give me a ten-minute head start?”
“No.” She determined grabbing the cash and counting it.
“No problem, it’s good to see ya, you look good.” He turned back to the door giving her compliments over his shoulder.
“Empty flattery won’t save your ass.” The money was all there. He didn’t even take her 10% family and friends discount. Idiot.
“It’s not empty.” He turned walking backwards to the exit, shooting her a beautiful smile that had no soul under it.
“Your better get going.” She showed him her phone with the name Gojo Satoru on the screen, the call already connecting and Suguru gave her a small sad smile. A real one. She could tell, he had never been able to fool her.
When Satoru picked up after a few beeps Suguru was already gone. “Shoko! My dear friend, my favorite corpse processor, to what do I own this-“
“He’s here.”
His always sickly-sweet voice was interrupted. She had to wonder if Satoru learned how to mask his emotions like that from Suguru or the other way around. Her boys were two fucking morons.
The moment of silence hanged between them, dragging out. She knew that he knew who ‘he’ was and why Shoko would have seen Suguru before Satoru. It meant he’d been to the hospital, he’d been injured. Maybe Satoru thought Shoko called him to tell him that Suguru is cold and dead on her surgery table, how upset would he be about that? More than by the fact that Shoko fixed Suguru up and let him go instead of bringing him to Satoru on a silver platter? No way of knowing. They weren’t the same kids from seven years ago, she didn’t know Suguru and Satoru anymore, not like that, not like before. She never learned what went down between them that fateful day. She’d changed too, had become tired and bitter, and talking to Suguru just made all these feelings of wrongness become more obvious.
“In the hospital?” Satoru’s strangled voice asked her.
“In Tokyo.”
“He just left the hospital, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. Satoru was freakishly intelligent. Both her boys were.
“In Tokyo.” She repeated herself.
“Thanks, Shoko.” Satoru’s voice softened considerably, a tone of fondness she hadn’t heard from him in years. He was always playing a role, the clan heir role, the biggest crime boss in town role, the prodigal son role, the insane father killer role, the sweet psychopath role. This voice wasn’t any of his roles. This wasn’t Gojo Satoru. This was Satoru. And he sounded grateful.
She hung up before Satoru started to get emotional with her too. She turned to seat at the hospital’s front desk, already tired even if it’s still only 1am in the morning. Soon Nanami’s people would start pouring down at the hospital just like the rain outside. She fucking hated monsoon season. She served herself some whiskey and lit another cigarette so that her hands could stop trembling. Usually, it was from the lack of either nicotine or alcohol. Today it was that, plus something else. Maybe she was also getting emotional.
Nanami and his people got there when she was lighting up her second cigarette on her first.
“Ieiri-san!” He sounded breathless. She knew why, obviously, but she didn’t move not one centimeter from her seat.
“Nanami.” She greeted simply flicking her old cigarette towards the entrance somewhere, favoring a drag from her newly lit one. Nanami’s people were carrying patients and settling them on stretchers for her to take care of later. She’d get to that. Eventually. Maybe once she finished her glass.
“Where’s Geto-san?” Nanami asked with a hard stare and a cold voice.
“Who.”
“Geto. Where is he?” He wasn’t known for his patience and lesser men would have cowered under his tone.
“Don’t know him.” Nanami knew it was a blatant lie and stepped forward clearly annoyed at her nonsense.
“He was wounded, he was seen coming here.”
She looked at Nanami’s angry, frustrated face for a few seconds, then at her blood covered floor, blood covered coat and blood covered hands before lazily bringing her cigarette to her mouth again.
“I must have missed him.”