Work Text:
The trouble with being the power behind the scenes, Mamoru decided, was that it involved too much paperwork, a nagging guilt about authorising death warrants, and was far too sedentary. Living on chocolate and fast food had been one thing when he was working in the shop during the day and on missions at night, but it was quite another when he was sitting behind a desk from morning to night. He was getting quite self-conscious about his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The thing to do, he thought, unfocusing his eyes as he dived past the mirror and into the shower, was to get out from behind the desk, go on a couple of missions and show the new generation of Weiss he had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? Mamoru wondered, leaning against a wall and gasping for breath. He straightened up grimly as he heard the rest of Weiss clattering down the corridor. It wouldn't do to let them find the boss wheezing like an old man. He skittered down to the door of the main computer room and slipped inside.
"Shit," he muttered, gazing round. The mainframe had been thoroughly trashed, bullet holes arced across the far wall and there were bodies everywhere. A couple of programmers, a few guards and, sprawled face-down on top of a high cabinet, the target. Mamoru looked round disbelievingly. How could this have happened so fast? It had been the sound of gunfire that brought Weiss to this side of the building – he paused as one of the bodies moved and he realised he was actually surrounded by dazed enemies, not corpses. He kicked a pistol away from one of the guards as the target whimpered and tried to raise himself up. Mamoru lifted his crossbow and shot him through the throat, not bothering to watch as the body crashed down to the floor.
"Clean this up," he snapped as Weiss burst in, wide-eyed. "I'm going out to look round and to get some air."
The streets were quiet, so Mamoru kept his self-appointed patrol to a sedate walk. He could always pick it up to a jog if Weiss appeared. A flicker of movement caught his attention. He crept closer, then stopped dead as he realised it was a couple making out. Mamoru blushed as he saw it was two guys.
"Sorry," he muttered turning away fast. He stopped. He was sure he recognised the one facing him -- He turned back, cautiously. "Michitaka?" he said.
Michitaka's eyes drifted open lazily, then widened in shock. He pushed his friend back. "It's not what it looks like!" he said in a rush.
"Not my business," Mamoru said desperately. "It's really not my business. It's just – this area's probably not safe, we were supposed to carry out a mission round here, but someone else had already –"
"It's just I insisted on going along to supervise and I got in the way, and he got hurt making sure I was safe," Michitaka said wildly over him. "I don't make a habit of it or anything, it's just he was shot and I wanted to help him heal."
". . . what are you talking about?" Mamoru said.
Michitaka's friend took a handkerchief from his pocket, patted at his mouth and turned round to face Mamoru, smiling. He was a man of about Michitaka's age, wearing neat, frameless glasses. "You must be Takatori-san," he said politely. "I do apologise if you were inconvenienced."
"Uh?" Mamoru said.
"Mamoru, Kiyoi. Kiyoi. Mamoru," Michitaka said sulkily, taking the handkerchief Kiyoi offered to him. He pressed it against his neck, as if he wanted to wipe away the kiss.
Kiyoi held out a hand, still smiling. Wishing he'd just walked off, Mamoru shook it gingerly. Then he stood there, remembering his last conversation with Michitaka, staring at him pressing the handkerchief against his throat, and slowly registering just how cold Kiyoi's hand was. He pulled his hand back rudely, hoping his squeak of realisation hadn't been too obvious. Kiyoi turned a giggle into a rather convincing cough for someone who, Mamoru now saw, wasn't actually breathing.
"For someone who puts such stock in the social niceties you enjoy shocking people far too much," Michitaka said.
"I hope I haven't shocked you, Takatori-san," Kiyoi said, looking like he was thinking of outright laughing.
"I," Mamoru said. "Um. That is – " He tried again. "How is, is that --" he settled for gesturing wildly at Michitaka's neck, " – supposed to be less surprising than thinking you were kissing?"
"Michitaka, please don't give people the impression I go round kissing people in the street," Kiyoi said, sounding mildly offended. Stifled giggles floated down from the top of the building.
"I'm off," Mamoru said, not caring how rude he was. "Michitaka – just coordinate things with Rex next time. I don't want your, er, people, getting in Weiss's way again."
"Hey, the only way we could get in your way would be if you showed up a bit faster!" someone yelled down.
"Nice shorts!" someone else called.
Michitaka and Kiyoi's eyes dropped to Mamoru's knees in a way that suggested they'd been too polite to say anything themselves. No one at ground level said anything.
Mamoru gave up and stalked off. Suddenly the desk job seemed very, very attractive.