Work Text:
Even NOCs need sleep.
It’s a truth Akai, who is at heart is nothing if not pragmatic, has come to accept. He’s learned to make up for the 6-8 hours a day he loses to sleep by setting automatic internet searches and paying for newspaper clippings and reviewing CCTV footage on high speed.
He’s also come to accept that Rei, who at heart is anything but pragmatic, hasn’t learned this lesson. His younger, more impetuous lover still believes that hard work can overcome any obstacle, even bodily necessities. That sweat and blood and tears, rather than sleep or a hearty meal, are what get the job done.
Rei, unlike Akai, is also still burdened with a double life – his position as Bourbon, as well as his role as Zero within the PSB. And, as if that weren’t enough, he’s expected to be working regular minimum-wage shifts at a coffee shop where he pulls in high school girls with his charm and serves orange juice to elementary school students. It’s not unusual for him to get off-shift and spend the rest of afternoon and evening working at one of his two other careers before rising again at 6am to start his day over again.
But this week has been different. A staffing crisis within the PSB aligning with a recent leak of information from the Black Organization has Rei working at all hours, and still pulling shifts at Poirot. Akai estimates he’s been averaging two hours of sleep a night, while practically main-lining caffeine during his waking hours to keep up productivity.
Over the past few days Rei’s texts have become shorter and shorter, each terser than the last. Finally when Akai texts: Come by for dinner – work won’t get done on an empty stomach, and Rei churlishly replies with: Go away, Akai decides to take matters into his own hands.
He knows Rei won’t be tempted by his cooking, so he makes a stop at the basement of the local department store to pick up Chinese dim sum: various steamed dumplings and vegetables with fried gelatinous water chestnut squares for dessert. He also brings a bottle of scotch.
Rei’s block of flats is relatively new, with keyed access to the front lobby and mail box area. Akai, equipped with a key of his own, makes his way through to the elevator and up the 6 floors to the flat supposedly occupied by Amuro Tooru. It’s pricey for a man working on minimum wage but cheap for the actual salary earned by Rei, a salary which is deposited into a bank account he can’t touch.
Akai gives the usual knock at the door, then unlocks it and steps inside, toeing off his shoes. Rei is sitting at his small kitchen table, his computer in front of him and a cup of coffee at his side. He looks up as Akai enters.
It might just be the blue light pouring off the laptop’s screen bathing him in an unhealthy glow, but he looks like death warmed over. His eyes are shadowed by dark smudges; his usually-impeccable hair hangs limp and lifeless. He’s slumped in his chair, perfect posture nowhere to be seen.
“I’m not interested in socialising, FBI,” he says as the door shuts behind Akai. His pupils are dilated, the blue of his eyes just a thin ring around the inky darkness.
“I’m not interested in playing delivery boy to a recalcitrant sod, but here we are.” He steps in, comes over to the table, and puts down his bags filled with cardboard boxes, packets of soy sauce, and bamboo chopsticks. He reaches out and closes Rei’s laptop. “You need to eat.”
“I was working,” begins Rei, bristling like an angry cat.
“And when the exhaustion catches up and you start tripping up? You can’t run on caffeine forever.” He steps over to open the garbage can and reveal the heap of damp coffee grounds in it. “When did you last sleep?”
Rei’s eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s time for lectures now, is it?”
Akai pulls out a chair and seats himself, beginning to unfold the boxes into flat white surfaces. “I think it’s time for some well-meant concern.”
“I should listen to advice on emotional well-being from the man who’s approach to courting me was to make me believe he’d killed my best friend?”
They don’t talk about Scotch these days. Not except to remember the better times – the times before his cover was blown, before that night on the roof, before the gunshot that forcibly and irreversibly separated the past from the present. The years in between then and now are considered no man’s land, a no-go zone enforced by both parties. There’s still too many unexploded mines planted in those fields.
Akai looks up and holds Rei’s eyes for a moment; the PSB agent looks down first. “Sorry,” he says, and then sighs. He puts his hands on the smooth surface of the laptop, palms down, and stares at them. “Maybe I need to ease up,” he admits. He accepts a pair of chopsticks from Akai and pokes at the side of a shrimp ha gow, testing the consistency of the semi-transparent dumpling skin.
“You must have mopped up the messes by now,” says Akai, scraping slivers from the end of his chopsticks. “It’s been nearly a week.”
“Things are falling into place. But there’s always more to do. Always.” Rei’s eyes slide closed momentarily, his chopsticks slipping down to rest on the cardboard mat.
He’s practically asleep on his feet, Akai realises. Drained by non-stop days and nights of endless, pressure-filled work. It’s a pace any NOC can keep up for a few days, but beyond that…
“Take tomorrow off from the café. Rest up.”
Rei nods, eyes opening. “Maybe I will,” he agrees. Then, looking to the bottle of scotch, “Are you going to open that?”
***
Workaholic that he is, Rei does insist on kicking Akai out after dinner to continue with his work. But he commits to resting up the following day.
Akai, whose days are far less structured – all he’s saddled with is ensuring no one tries to assassinate a 7 year-old biochemical scientist – wakes up the next morning at his regular time and checks his camera and mic feeds to ensure nothing untoward occurred overnight at Agasa’s house. He then showers, dresses and applies his make-up, and waters the Kudou’s garden. He comes in for coffee and reads the morning papers online, idly completing the sudoku. At ten he goes out to a local bakery, intending to stop by Rei’s flat with some freshly-baked goods.
But when he texts the PSB agent, his phone sits idle for nearly twenty minutes before the response comes: On shift at Poirot; Azusa had a family emergency.
Akai frowns. The annual earnings of the coffee shop are a rounding error to the PSB; one day’s worth of losses isn’t even worth contemplating. Not at the cost of their best agent’s health. If Rei can’t find someone to cover, he should close.
But then, Rei’s never listened to anyone else’s opinion. He lives by his own internalized sense of justice, and if to keep the job that’s giving him access to Mouri Kogorou he decides to risk his health, that’s a decision he would gladly make.
But it’s not one Akai can condone.
He considers his options for a while, the pastries growing cold and condensing slightly in their paper bag. He still hasn’t had breakfast, and it’s nearly time for lunch.
He can eat at Poirot, he decides. He’s not checking in on Rei. He’s just hungry.
***
Rei usually works the morning shift, 6-3, so he can be there to bake the morning’s breakfast foods and prepare the day’s confectionaries. Arriving at 11:30, Akai is confident he’ll be in the swing of things, activity likely heating up as they come close to noon.
However when he walks through the door, bell sounding above, there’s a line of customers but no sign of Rei. A couple of the clients are on their phones; the man at the front of the line is tapping the counter impatiently. Two tables are uncleared, the remains of meals still littering their tops. Rei’s clearly been AWOL for a while. Akai feels his heartrate rocket, hands clenching.
A good agent is never unarmed. Although Akai didn’t bring his sidearm to the café, he does have two knives on his person; he slides one into his shirt cuff for easy access and pushes past the door into the back room where the baking and food preparation is done. There’s a long counter with a full western oven, a fridge and freezer, and a table and chair for breaks and filling out order forms.
On top of the table is a tray of cookies, freshly baked. And, sitting on the one chair with his head pillowed on his arms just a few inches from it, is Rei. His blond hair is mussed, his back rounded. Akai can hear him breathing softly, evenly.
Asleep.
He sighs and slips the knife back into his pocket, heartbeat slowing. Stands stilly watching Rei for several moments, debating his next move. It would be easy to wake him. Easier still to usher the waiting customers out of the shop and close it.
But Rei has been determined to protect his job here, ensuring his access to Mouri Kogorou and, more importantly, Edogawa Conan. Closing the café to take an unreported afternoon off would torpedo that job.
So Akai picks up a spare blue apron from a peg on the wall, puts it on, and goes out to start serving customers.
***
He worked his share of minimum-wage jobs while in the States, and although Poirot’s till takes him a few tries to master, busing tables and pouring drinks isn’t a challenge. Most of the lunch meals – such as the soups and sandwiches – have already been prepared, and for the rest he’s able to issue apologies on behalf of the establishment and suggest ready-made alternatives.
It’s been a long time since he wore a mask of politeness, and by the afternoon it’s wearing thin – thinner than his Okiya Subaru face. He’s fetched and cleaned, poured drinks and cut sandwiches and mopped up after an unruly toddler. How Rei puts up with it every day he has no idea.
He’s just checking the clock when he hears the door to the back room open. Rei comes bursting out, eyes wide and panicked, hair rising in an ungainly cowlick at the front.
He catches sight of Akai behind the till giving change to a young woman and presenting her with her boxed piece of cake, and skids to a halt.
The doorbell rings as she leaves, and Akai and Rei are alone. “What,” demands Rei, staring, “are you doing?”
Akai leans back against the counter. “Working a part-time job for minimum wage,” he answers dryly. “Or can’t you tell?”
Rei runs a frustrated hand through his hair, flattening the cowlick. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you’re dead on your feet. It was either let you sleep now or watch you go face-down into a bowl of soup later this afternoon. And fun as that would have been, this seemed the kinder option.”
Rei stalks up to Akai and shoulders him out of the way, pressing the button to open the till and eyeing the bills stored in its maw.
“Think I’ve been filching from the till?” asks Akai wryly, crossing his arms.
Rei shoots him a glare. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“I’ve been scrupulously honest in my dealings with your customers. Although I did offer a discount for those who were unable to obtain their preferred meals.”
“A discount which will be coming out of your pocket,” replies Rei, closing the till with a clatter.
Akai’s eyebrows climb. “Convince me,” he says.
“With, for instance, a blow to your windpipe?”
“With your promise to go home and go to sleep.”
Rei opens his mouth, doubtless to argue, and the doorbell rings as Azusa flies in. “Amuro-san! I’m so sorry!” she gushes, running over only to pause and look at the stranger behind the counter in surprise. “This is?”
“A friend of mine – Okiya Subaru,” replies Rei easily. “I was showing him around the kitchen and didn’t want to get his clothes dirty,” he adds, explaining away the apron.
“Pleased to meet you.” Azusa smiles at Akai, then turns back to Rei. “I can take over now – you should go home. And I’ve called the manager to arrange coverage for tomorrow so you can have your time back.”
“Is your father alright?” asks Rei, with touching (and perhaps even real) concern.
“It was kidney stones – the doctor said he’ll be fine with fluids and rest. Thanks for covering for me.”
Rei smiles. “Anytime, Azusa-san.”
***
They walk back to Rei’s flat together, stopping in a conbini on the way so Akai can pick up something for his very delayed lunch.
“I could cook for you,” says Rei, offer made less in the spirit of tenderness than in disgust at the appearance of the prepackaged conbini food.
“You are going to bed,” replies Akai.
“And the reason you’re coming along is…?”
“To make sure you do.”
“Are you going to tuck me in with a kiss?”
Akai smiles. “That, or a blow to the windpipe. We’ll see which appeals more.”
END