Chapter Text
He blinks.
His knee is grinding down into the back of a frantically struggling woman as he fights to lock one of her wrists into a pair of Strain-suppressing handcuffs. Heavy rain soaks everything stupid enough to be outdoors, with barely enough light coming from the city’s flickering street lamps for him to even see the woman he’s dealing with. He can barely make out her limbs through the lenses of his water-beaded glasses. His throat feels strangely raw, his entire body weak in a way he’s furious to be feeling again.
The strange mental blur of blankness fades quickly, and now he remembers a few things, the most obvious being his identity (Fushimi Saruhiko), followed by the fact he’s been chasing this escaped Strain for two days now. She scares the shit out of everyone because she has the ability to, as she put it, take away what you love most.
So, Fushimi lost his powers, and now he’s probably going to catch a cold because of it.
In another fit of flailing, she manages to grab his hand. The Strain digs her fingernails into his skin with a sound of triumph.
When nothing happens, Fushimi rolls his eyes and yanks his hand out of her grip, finally cuffing both of her wrists. “You already did that,” he tells her, quickly growing bored. From the dazed look of her, she probably gets the same weird amnesiac blur that she inflicts every time she uses her ability.
“What – are you serious?” the Strain asks, turning to look at him like he’s told her something impossible, like ‘I’m letting you go with a warning.’ “You only truly love two things? That’s it?”
Two things? Well. Blue powers, red powers. That makes sense. He can vaguely recall the first time he caught her, sharp fingernails shoved against his cheek and electric pain and screaming at the feeling of loss, and then moving on.
Nobody else stood back up after she touched them. She put four people into emergency psychiatric care, under 24 hour suicide watch. The Strain has a nasty habit of making people lose their reason to live.
But Fushimi’s always been a heartless bastard, so he doesn’t bother replying. He pulls out another pair of cuffs from his coat and locks her ankles together too, just in case she decides to run even while powerless, and then gets his phone out to call in the people who are actually in charge of doing shit like this. Fushimi has no idea why he was chasing after her all by himself, and it’s got nothing to do with amnesia.
“You really need to get some help,” the Strain says, and looks genuinely concerned about him needing backup. So Fushimi leaves her right there in the middle of the alley as he finds a little bit of cover from the rain by standing beneath a nearby fire escape.
Scepter 4 sends a squad to haul her away at swordpoint, using long staves to get her in the back of the waiting transport. They’re still afraid to touch her.
When Fushimi finally gets into a car, he’s already sneezing, his supposedly waterproof boots making a gross muddy squelching noise with every step. Doumyouji is in the driver’s seat, and hands Fushimi an emergency blanket from who knows where with a concerned frown. “Are you alr – uh. Did she…did she touch you?”
With a miserable pathetic sneeze, Fushimi weighs his options, and decides there’s no point in not telling him.
(There’s no point to anything, including you, that voice in the back of his brain says, but he’s used to that.)
He nods, and Doumyouji looks scared for some reason. He thinks it’s scared, at least. Either way, it’s ridiculous. “She took my powers,” he says, and starts trying to dry off.
“Oh,” Doumyouji says, audibly relieved, and starts the car. “Well, the Captain can fix that right up. I’m sure he’ll want to see you when we get back to headquarters anyway.”
There’s a strange sense of loss, probably at the prospect of being only Blue. Power is power, no matter how loathed the source, so obviously he’d miss it.
With a grimace and yet another sneeze, Fushimi manages to get one of his boots off, pouring the water out and onto the car floor instead.
“Would you mind if we made a stop before heading home, Fushimi-san?” Doumyouji asks.
Fushimi frowns, because he wants his powers back and then his bed, in that order. “Where?”
“Somewhere with cold medicine,” Doumyouji says.
And he really can’t say no to that.
----
Munakata always smiles at Fushimi. His entire face is a lie, and Fushimi wishes he wasn’t so damn impressed by that. Fushimi is an amazing liar, but the Blue King is a lie, in some ways. He lies and smiles all the time, but his eyes, that’s where the cogs are turning.
He’s an asshole, and Fushimi likes him. It’s probably because of moments like this, when Munakata is looking at him across the desk with a ten billion piece puzzle on it and is almost visibly plotting things in his mind.
Not that Fushimi is really getting that good of a look at his manipulative King plotting world domination or whatever, since he’s busy having a sneezing fit and hating his life.
“Fascinating,” he says at the end of Fushimi’s report. “Excellent work, as always. You said the Strain grabbed you twice, the first time being much more intense than the second, and the third having no effect. Each of these included a moment of…how did you put it? Temporary amnesia?”
Fushimi manages to nod, pulling yet another tissue out of the box Doumyouji insisted he buy along with six different types of medicine. Their side trip was a pain, but useful. Plus he can throw the used tissues on the floor and watch Munakata try not to twitch. Fushimi will pick them up later (mess turns to filth turns to infestation turns to having to find another place to live), but he takes what small enjoyments out of life he can find.
“Are you certain that your powers are all you’ve lost?” Munakata asks.
“Everyone else knows what they lost, and the only thing I know I lost is my powers,” Fushimi says, and tries to ignore the indignity of trying to talk with a stuffed up nose. Eberyone else knowbs. He wants his powers back now. Particularly the enhanced immune system, because Fushimi’s is absolute shit. He remembers getting sick over and over, but then he’d…
He frowns.
He can’t remember. There’s a blank space in his memories, which is weird because Fushimi remembers everything.
And Munakata wouldn’t ask a question like that unless he knew something.
Before Fushimi can demand Munakata tell him what he’s trying to say, he’s struck by another disgusting sneezing fit, this time accompanied by a wave of dizziness that makes him drop the box of tissues. He’d forgotten this, how anything could get him sick and he’d go from healthy to shivering in bed in less than an hour.
Hands grab him by the shoulder, and Fushimi gasps, feeling power rush through him. Where the Red King burned you alive, searing your soul along with the mark on your chest, Munakata is drowning in a flood of bitterly cold ice water that leaves Fushimi shuddering as it turns from that monstrous inundation, to a welcoming thaw, and then it’s like being submerged in a warm spring.
Red Aura always felt like a sauna – hot and sticky and overwhelming, and he wanted out. Blue feels like a pool, and he could float for days.
I swear to serve my King, Munakata Reisi, the Fourth and Blue King.
He’d spoken an oath aloud for Mikoto, gritting his teeth at the pain and grinding the words out.
Now he doesn’t even have to say it. He feels the oath, and it’s a connection so solid Munakata could probably yank him around with it. That wasn’t there last time, but somehow, he doesn’t mind. Maybe it’s what happens when you go from empty and powerless to the right kind of power. He breathes in the Blue.
“Was that helpful?” Munakata asks, amusement in his voice as he keeps Fushimi upright through it all.
There he goes again, always asking a question he already knows the answer to. Fushimi barely manages to scowl at his (honest?) smile.
“Perhaps we should postpone this conversation until you’re feeling better,” Munakata says, sounding damn near chipper as his re-sworn King shove-carries Fushimi out of his office. He’s probably getting off on Fushimi’s misery. “Remember that maintaining your health is an essential-”
“Excuse me, sir,” Fushimi manages to say before Munakata really gets going, and starts picking the tissues off the floor.
After that, things start to blur.
----
He’s sick for one day, pathetic and recovering for another, and then he’s back on duty, serving his King and doing his paperwork. He feels…empty. Emptier than usual. Ever since he lost his powers, he’s felt like something is missing, and it leaves him scowling at his keyboard, trying to convince himself that feeling actual loss because of losing his Red Aura is pointless. There is literally nothing he wants from Homra, and he’ll find some way to compensate, or maybe that weird connection thing he felt with Munakata is actually more power, or maybe-
“Reports of Jungle activity, they appear to be moving in on the Red King’s territory,” someone (Doumyouji, maybe?) shouts, and Fushimi lets out a long sigh, because it’s not even nine in the morning yet. He’s been at his desk for literally twenty minutes.
Awashima is immediately on top of it, of course, and apparently there’s standing protocol that Scepter 4 will always go fight anything they possibly can, even if Homra should be in charge of its own damn territory.
Then again, their new King is a twelve year old girl, so there might be a point to that.
He stands up and grabs his sword, slouching his way out to where everyone is assembling. Bored.
“Are you feeling better, Fushimi-san?” Akiyama asks when Fushimi gets into the truck along with everyone else. He’s frowning. “Perhaps you should rest more. You seem…low on energy.”
Everyone else in the truck immediately starts nodding.
“I’m fine,” Fushimi states, and shuts his eyes, doing his best to ignore everyone on the journey. This, at least, they’re used to, and don’t bother him again.
They’re going to fight, so he tries to look forward to that – violence is one of the few things that he can feel. Physical pain, physical effort, adrenaline rushing through him in a blur of movement and raw power, all of it combines into a burst of…of something. Pain is reliable for when things get too numb and empty, a quick flash of a fix that leaves him itching for more, but a fight, that’s a shot of primal emotion that’ll keep him going for a while.
There’s a racing heat in him when he makes someone bleed, in the power of it. Homra is always good for a fight, and Jungle is…well, they’re often cannon fodder, but sometimes they’re a spectacular fight, and oh, he hopes now is one of those times.
You have to pay attention in a fight, or you might end up dead. If it feels boring and empty just like everything else, he’ll die right along with the last chance at having a feeling, and that’s always been a nice thought.
When they reach their destination, he opens his eyes, and everyone looks much more relaxed, glancing towards him with bright eyes. It takes Fushimi a moment to realize it’s because he’s smiling just the slightest bit, which is kind of weird because it’s nowhere near a nice smile.
Red and Green are already bursting across the street when they step onto the asphalt – and before the welcome rush of excitement can start up, he finds himself blinking in surprise, because Munakata is there. Why is a King here, when Scepter 4 is basically being riot control in someone else’s territory?
“I’m just here to observe, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata says easily, smiling. “Performance evaluations are coming up, after all. Please continue with your duties as if I’m not here.”
One of these days Fushimi is going to punch that ever-knowing smile off of his asshole King’s face. He wants to ask what Munakata is waiting for, what he’s planned, why he’s really here, but it would get him nothing but aggravation. But he knows, and even if Munakata already knows he knows (obviously), Fushimi still gives Munakata a long assessing look before clicking his tongue and moving towards the battlefield with the rest of Scepter 4.
Technically they’re there to repel Jungle, which he’s delighted to see is actually putting up a fight, so he considers the battlefield for a moment, and then charges forward in a flash of blue, slamming into a green-clad not at all a ninja person, who barely manages to avoid getting his(? Statistically, probably male) head sliced off. He also deliberately went into the middle of the fight, which means he gets to dodge an incoming blow from his side, stabbing forward in the process and getting a scream from his assailant as the blade pierces through his armor and into his shoulder, and pulls a knife out to blast away another approaching Green, and his smile grows and grows.
Fushimi pulls his sword out of the man he stabbed, feeling the rush, and turns to his next victim. He dodges and slices and shoves and stabs, laughing as another member of Jungle falls, and Fushimi smashes his hard-soled boot down on the man’s chest, raising his sword for one more glorious fatal strike-
“Saruhiko!” someone shouts – no, roars, and it’s such a shock that he stops, turning to find the source just as Awashima shouts, “Enough, Fushimi!”
Right, right, people don’t like him actually killing people. (They expect it, you’re trash and they all know it, and Fushimi ignores the voice. As ever.) With a frustrated sigh, he releases his target, only then noticing that Jungle is retreating into the alleyways around the street.
The second his foot is off his lucky victim, the man’s up and zipping off as quickly as his weak little Green Aura can let him.
The second after that, Fushimi is getting attacked by some Red kid with a skateboard. He’s fast, too, startlingly so, particularly for someone new to Homra. He’s fast enough to get a fist full of Fushimi’s shirt, almost casually batting away the knife Fushimi draws on instinct.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Saru?! You don’t kill people in a fight like this!” the kid shouts at him with a burning glare that Fushimi frowns down at, confused. He shoves the kid (hypocritical; they’re probably the same age) back, sheathing his bloody sword.
Skateboard guy looks just as confused as Fushimi feels.
“It’s nice to know my reputation precedes me,” Fushimi says, since it’s an obvious answer to an impossible question. If he doesn’t know Fushimi, he knows of Fushimi.
“What the fuck,” someone says. It sounds like Chitose.
He turns to look at Awashima, ignoring the skateboard guy. “Are we done?” he asks, and starts to walk away, but the skateboarder grabs his arm with a tight grip.
“Look at me, Saruhiko,” the new Red says, something unpleasant and shaky in his voice.
Annoyed, he glares back at the skateboard guy. “Let go, or I’ll make you let go.”
Skateboard guy’s eyes light up with…something, he can’t even guess. Fushimi has no idea how to read this guy and it’s weird. “I’d like to see you try, you traitorous-”
Somehow, skateboard guy didn’t know this knife was coming, his free hand smoothly drawing a blade out and pressing it against the base of the guy’s ribcage, just hard enough to draw blood. And where did that speed go? What happened to being able to slap the first knife away without a second’s thought? That had been tottering on the verge of truly interesting, but now? He looks down into the guy’s downright heartbroken eyes, unimpressed.
The guy doesn’t let go. He doesn’t look away from Fushimi’s bored eyes for a second, searching for something Fushimi doesn’t have.
Not until he hears Kusanagi say, “Yata, step away for now.”
“But…” Yata says, obviously torn between obedience and his apparently burning desire for Fushimi to stab him.
“Should I count to three, do you think?” Fushimi asks the air, musing with the idea. But no, it’d be easier to just stab him, and the guy’s had at least two warnings, so Fushimi mentally shrugs and-
A brilliant blue barrier is the only thing his knife hits, flashing into life around Yata, and Fushimi scowls, stepping away from the now frozen Yata. “He wouldn’t die from it,” he mutters, turning to glare at his seemingly innocuous King.
His definitely not smiling King.
“What?” Fushimi snaps, immediately defensive, because he doesn’t know what he did wrong and that’s always when he fucked up the worst. And the entire population is gaping at him, Homra and Scepter 4 alike, and it makes him want to drown something. “What? Is this a shock somehow? What’s-”
“You’ve known Yata Misaki since you were twelve,” Kusanagi says, deadly serious.
Fushimi freezes.
Are you certain that your powers are all you’ve lost?
Slowly, Fushimi turns to look at his King, Munakata Reisi, newly re-sworn, because he knew. He meets Munakata’s eyes, taking an unintentional step towards him, and thinks, you knew. You knew, and you had me swear total loyalty when I’d forgotten something important. That burst of a connection had felt so new and strange when he pledged loyalty, hadn’t it?
“True,” Munakata says, to all of it. To everything. Fushimi can’t even get angry, because Fushimi’s the one who stepped right into that perfect little trap.
And if he’d forgotten this Yata guy, that meant he what, loved him? Fushimi twists around, stalking back towards the now-frozen skateboarder and staring at him, circling him and fighting the urge to snarl. “He’s…no. This isn’t what I’d forget. This brat-”
“You’re the same age,” Kusanagi provides oh so helpfully.
(The voice laughs, breathless in delight.)
“Not helping,” Awashima says sharply, and then steps forward. Fushimi just keeps staring at Yata, trying to wrap his mind around not only loving someone, but loving this guy? This yappy little punk? He loved Yata Misaki more than anything in the world? He’s some sort of blend of cute and hot, maybe, and that burst of speed from before had promise, but-
“Okay, let’s break it up,” Kusanagi says extremely loudly, clapping his hands together, and just like that, Homra is moving again, shaking themselves out of their stupor. Kusanagi immediately heads for Yata, smiling at Munakata. “If you’d release Yata when I have a good hold on him, just in case-”
“Of course,” Munakata says graciously, and when Kusanagi has Yata in a hold more like a humanoid straightjacket, he unfreezes.
“Who the fuck are you calling a brat, you stupid amnesiac monkey?!” Yata immediately shouts, and then Kusanagi adjusts his hold to slap a hand over Yata’s mouth. It doesn’t keep him from yelling, though the words are muffled and unintelligible while Yata does his best to scramble out of Kusanagi’s hold.
And…okay, Fushimi can kind of see the appeal. He finds himself smirking, and smirks even more when that just makes this Yata guy flail more, until Kusanagi yelps and pulls his hand away for a second. Yata bit him.
“-shove you down a goddamn elevator shaft, you son of a bitch! I’ll rip your fucking-”
The hand goes back over Yata’s mouth.
Fushimi tells himself he isn’t disappointed.
He pivots, and walks straight towards Munakata, entire body jittering, high on adrenaline in a way that’s nowhere near enjoyable. “I’m going to punch you,” he decides.
“That would be fair,” Munakata says, unbothered, so then Fushimi can’t punch him, the bastard. “May I suggest we have this conversation somewhere less public?”
When Fushimi nods, Munakata waves for Awashima to join them as he heads for the cars and a ride back to headquarters.