Chapter Text
Goro’s return to work is unremarkable.
Just as autumn descends on Tokyo, so too does he return to the natural cycle of things, to routine and rote.
Each day provides a structure, and with it a chance to recapture inner balance.
There is beauty in each morning spent in quiet watchfulness over Arasaka-sama, and a clarity won from the afternoons of long meetings coordinating protective details and contingency plans for upcoming events. Outside, the deepening colors of the leaves signal the passage of time, there will be the Lunar New Year to plan for, countless excursions, and he remains busy.
But each night is a torment, and what peace is wrought in sunlight unravels with shameful ease in the dark.
Looking at the full moon, at the bright roundness amidst the velvety dark, Goro wishes for some measure of that ageless serenity to be his. Because it has been almost a month, and he has noted the passing of each day with grim awareness.
Each day is marked with a pang of what feels like loss.
The weakness is his.
He has lived to see a lifetime’s worth of faults in others to recognize this one as his own.
It is unbecoming a soldier of Arasaka, unconscionable in the man responsible for defending the Emperor.
And yet, the counting continues.
Such habits remind him uncomfortably of his childhood, before self-control and training freed him from those bonds.
He misses her .
That morning in the tub, he had suspected he might. But now the loss seems to cut like a knife. Not even the stoutest logic seems capable of blunting its edge.
They had both known the parameters of the weekend, there had never been room for misunderstanding. They had carried themselves with all the decorum one might have expected.
When they had parted at the shuttle pad he had accepted such certainty and she had left without a backwards glance.
Was that the issue?
Goro stands at the edge of the courtyard surveying the tranquility of the manicured landscape, and wonders if the bite of chill in the air will drive out the strange sentimentality that two weeks of torrential rain could not.
If he focuses he can almost taste her in his mouth, can smell the hotel shampoo in her hair, hear her laughter and -
Disgusted with himself, Goro turns to exit the compound, needing more space to prowl than the courtyard allows.
“Takemura-san?”
“Oda.” The edge in Goro’s voice betrays him as he turns to spot his protege walking down the path towards. The other man is not fooled by the contemplative clasp of his hands.
“It is unusual for you to be restless.” The words are curious rather than accusatory.
“Indeed.” He’s tired of pretending otherwise.
“You have a meeting with Hanako-sama tomorrow. I was to inform you that the location has changed. She will see you in the lab rather than her office.”
“I appreciate the notice.” The words are serene as he can make them, but Oda hesitates.
“Was there anything else?” Goro asked dryly.
A hand clasps his arm, briefly but with intensity.
“Be well, Takemura-san.”
And for just a moment, Goro is reminded of the little boy he had met those many years ago. Time has changed them both, hardened them and shown them the darker facets of each, but their bond was a rare thing, a true thing.
“And you, Oda.”
Goro leaves the compound for several hours, to walk the grounds and reflect on his thoughts, but it is another sleepless night.
XX
Goro leaves his meeting with Hanako the following morning in such a state of unrest that he finds himself back at his rooms rather than the training yard as is his custom. The appointment had actually required very little input from him in the review process, but the content....
The results they had reviewed were certainly about him. But the commentary had left him feeling hounded in the strangest sort of way.
“Your cortisol levels are the lowest they’ve been in years.” the physician had announced with admiration and pride, “There’s also been an uptick in overall dopamine and oxytocin levels which we’ve used to improve your overall range. This should normalize in the next week or so, but additional activity in that same vein, should continue this positive trend.”
The irony wasn’t lost on him, neither was Hanako-sama’s keen interest.
He had seen that look from Arasaka-sama at one time or another during his tenure as bodyguard, but his daughter was better at hiding it.
Hanako's smile was pleasant, calculating as she glanced between doctor and bodyguard, “I would consider that particular service a success then.”
“Indeed.” The physician bowed, “I will leave the rest of my report here for your full review, but I recommend a quarterly recurrence at a minimum, to maintain levels.”
Saburo’s daughter smiled as she watched the other woman leave, “I shall keep that in mind.”
No sooner had the doors slid shut when Goro spoke up.
“Forgive me, Hanako-sama but I will have to disagree with the doctor. The experience was singular but I have no interest in another...vacation.”
“Not at all?” The Arasaka heiress frowned, folding her arms as if she did not like what she was hearing, “Or should we revisit this conversation in a few months?”
“At all. I prefer to focus on my duties.”
Hanako’s pale eyes watch him unblinkingly before her perfect brows arch up in a measure of surprise, “Do you?”
And for a single horrible moment Goro wondered if she knew , if somehow she had guessed at the attachment he felt for that irreverent woman from Night City.
“I take my responsibilities to Arasaka-sama very seriously.” He said stiffly, “I do not require much else.”
“Of course, Takemura.” Hanako-sama’s voice was cool, soothing in its understanding, “I appreciate your candor as always.”
But he was not certain that he had received equal transparency in return, and the echo of that conversation follows him as he slides open the door to his adjoining office, seeking some focus for the chaos of his thoughts.
It is the lack of sleep, he reasons as he sits down to review long neglected paperwork. He owes it to Arasaka to find another outlet or approach another doctor for a sleep aid. But clearly this has gone on too long.
And that’s when he sees it, an envelope perched in the middle of his desk like a small bird. Plain and unadorned, he picks it up to find the paper of fine quality and crisp. There is no seal on it.
Guard your secrets and disguise your most cherished things with simplicity.
His throat tightens as the example of his own words stares back at him.
Slipping it open, he draws out the matching card a moment later. It is unsigned and bears only three words.
For your box.
The other side of that simple card is blank.
And so he returns to the envelope, gently cracking open the small sleeve to find a single scarlet something at the bottom.
Gently shaking it out onto the surface of his desk, he finds himself faced with a maple leaf barely the size of his thumbnail. Covered in some sort of protective coat, he picks it up to find it as delicate as ever, but perfectly preserved.
He knows immediately where it comes from, can still remember the moment with searing clarity.
He contemplates the meaning as he cradles the little leaf in his palm, wondering if Valerie knows the significance of what she had gifted him, believing that she must have.
Patience. Hope .
Until they met again.
If they met again.
It would have to be enough.
XX
It had been two months.
Four weeks is an eternity in counterintelligence, and Valerie returned from the weekend to find herself landed with one shitstorm after another.
It gave her focus, providing a distraction from the aching hollowness in her chest.
Her productivity had never been higher, but it had not meant much, not when Jenkins had been his usual dismissive self. The man had been her boss for little more than a year, and Valerie understood him to be more of a blunt instrument rather than a finely calibrated weapon.
No doubt the company needed both, but if she had her way, there would come a day when she was no longer reporting to him. His lack of finesse seemed more a liability than a strength. His lack of subtlety didn’t help either.
“Did you do a job for Abernathy I don’t know about?”
Glancing up from her work, Valerie paused, trying to understand what Jenkiins was going on about. There was a box in the man’s hands, and an irritated frown on his face.
Her brows rose, “I didn’t realize we had that sort of relationship. Should I have asked her for my recent promotion instead of you? Maybe I would have gotten more stock options.”
“Don’t be glib.” Terse, Jenkins set the box down, folding his arms impatiently when she made no move towards it. Given that he had been made to deliver it, Valerie was not surprised at the attitude. It was a slap in the face, and one she expected Abernathy had dolled out with a smile.
“Since when do you play errand boy for her?” She wondered aloud, knowing that the question would needle and thereby distract Jenkins from the real value of the box.
“I. Don’t.” Teeth gritted in a fierce sort of expression, Jenkins looked enraged, “But the Director was there, and she was more than happy to volunteer me.”
His grumbling gave her time to observe, to trace the fine woodwork of the box that sat with perfect symmetry on her desk. Almost golden in color, she could see a faint line around the top that suggested a lid, but it otherwise looked completely smooth.
Glancing up to where Jenkins was still huffing, Valerie winced in real empathy, “I guess she hasn’t forgiven you for the fuck up in Mexico.”
He grimaced, “Don’t I know it. Now open the box so I know what the big deal was. ”
And so she did, lifting the lid to reveal a small white card nestled at the bottom, one she recognized.
Controlling the expression on her face, Valerie glanced at the card before showing it to her boss.
“It says... seven . “ Suppressing her amusement, her dry commentary is met with a scowl, “Any chance there are six other boxes you still need to get me?”
“I don’t get it. Is this maybe some sort of code?”
“With one number?.” Valerie gave her boss a properly bland smile before closing the lid, shoving it behind a stack of papers with a sort of easy negligence meant to suggest she was disinterested in pursuing the topic further.
She would go over every inch of that box, but not here.
Not where curiosity and speculation would follow.
Not when it felt like her heart had crawled into her throat.
“Must be some sort of thank you I guess.” She dismissed, turning back to her terminal.
“Any idea who gave it to you?”
“I mean, you said Abernathy.” Her brows raised “Do we even want to know any more than that?”
The pointed question was enough to make her boss walk away. As with all things at Arasaka, some questions were just not worth answering.
XX
It takes her almost three months of dedicated and meticulous effort before the box gives up its secrets. The first three steps had been easy enough to figure, but after countless nights and more than a little research, Valerie had only managed another two steps of progress before finding herself well and truly stumped.
Seven steps , and she was stuck at solving the sixth.
It may have taken Goro two years to solve, but Valerie is quite convinced that she will go mad if she cannot work out the solution in a fraction of the time. Jenkins might be no codebreaker, but she had always had a knack for puzzles. At a minimum her pride wouldn’t be able to survive the blow.
Or maybe it is something even more fragile that feels as if it is on the verge of breaking.
Her inability to resolve it bothers her, chafes against her good mood until she feels like even her carefully constructed corporate persona is on the edge of shattering beneath the strain.
Desperate for a distraction, for anything, she takes a high risk operation on the outskirts of Night City to channel some of the frustration and finds that the volatile situation suits her nicely.
Two days after a particularly invigorating firefight against Militech smugglers, Valerie finds that she has the solution in hand.
The mission is closed in short order and she returns to her apartment the following day to assess the seventh step, the final piece of the puzzle.
The night she manages it, Night City is in the midst of a torrential downpour, the likes of which are rare. She doesn’t mind either the dark or the sound of the rain hitting the wide wall of windows, but the lightning makes her pause.
There’s a charge in the air, of that there is no doubt.
Running her hands over the now familiar box, she is struck by how very tactile it is, solid but startlingly warm.
Like him .
Inhaling roughly, she tries to focus on the task, to suppress the wave of emotions that has, for months, seemed to drift too close to the surface. Pads of her fingers skimming the final challenge, she pauses when another particularly brilliant bolt of lightning arcs through the sky.
But it is the soft click of the final piece slipping into place that seems to thunder most loudly in the cavernous space of her condo.
And when the bottom of the box opens to reveal the small compartment beneath, Valerie exhales the breath she had not even realized she had been holding.
There’s something inside, something real .
Glinting in the dark, she leaned forward to examine it before curious fingers gently pried it loose. Having left the lights off deference to the roiling lightshow of the storm, Valerie walks closer to the window to get a better look.
A delicate gold necklace, and at its heart, a tiny maple leaf shaped pendant.
What beauty, this gift.
She is touched by his thoughtfulness, charmed by his sense of poetry.
It is only once she’s put it on that she feels it, the electronic tug that prompts her to open her cyberdeck, the digital handshake that occurs before she has time to truly understand.
The pendant warms, because of him.
The barest hint of him is returned to her.
And that is when she knows, truly knows, that she has not been alone in her affections.
Sagging against the window, she presses her hand over her mouth as the tears spring from her eyes. And when the grief crashes up over her with an intensity borne of months of suppression, she very nearly chokes on her sobs.
She misses Goro.
And whether it made sense, or was correct or was in keeping with company policy had no bearing on the fact that somehow, someway, he had come to feel the same way.
And into the dark of the night drifted the memory of that long ago evening, the quiet hours where they slept side by side, curled around one another like lovers, her hand upon his chest, his heart.
Hand on pendant, she swore she could feel the flutter of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
Until they met again.
If they met again.
It would have to be enough.