Archive of Our Own

The capture of Akechi Goro was not planned, but the rebellion is not going to complain about taking one of Shido's best men off the field. Futaba looks down at him, the young man leaning heavily against the wall of his cell, leg chained to the wall with just enough length for him to be able to reach both the sink and the toilet. The guards must have been thorough, because his hands are also bound, straining the hastily wrapped wound on his shoulder. 

He doesn't look dangerous when he's barely able to hold himself up, but Futaba knows him to kill ruthlessly and messily, torturing his victims until they cough up the information his master needs—victims that include her own mother. The sight of him brings that grief to the surface of her mind, and all the fantasies of revenge she's had since the day Isshiki Wakaba's body was found play behind her eyelids. 

Her fists tighten at her sides. 

"Well?" Akechi drawls, but his voice is raspy and weak despite dripping with poison. 

"Nothing," Futaba grits out, trying to control her anger. Akechi's words have always been as sharp as his blade, and Futaba knows that she cannot give him any openings. "Just verifying the report." She casts her eyes to the side, fixing her gaze at a crack in the concrete wall. "I didn't think you were the type to be caught off guard." 

Akechi doesn't rise to the bait. In fact, he doesn't reply at all. 

"What, nothing clever to say?" Futaba asks, glaring down at the prisoner, at his dull red gaze and dirty grimace. This close, she can see that one of his eyes is clouded, and that it's not quite focused on her. She wonders when that happened. 

"Where's— where's Joker?" He says at last. The question catches Futaba off guard, and she immediately narrows her eyes suspiciously at him. 

"Disappointed we didn't even need him to catch you?" 

"No, fuck's sake-" Akechi is cut off by a harsh cough, blood splattering on the stone in front of him. "I need— I- shit-"

He's pathetic, gasping and curled in on himself as far as his restraints allow. The Akechi they've been chasing all this time was surely nothing like this, and Futaba is almost disappointed. 

"I don't think so," she says, and turns around to leave. She thinks she hears a wait before she slams the door behind her. 

Venturing out of her own quarters is not something Futaba does often. The hallways are too long and there are too many people milling about—if she hears another joke about how rare it is she's seen away from her computer, she's going to scream—and there's no point when she designed most of the infrastructure here herself to account for her reluctance to leave aforementioned quarters. 

On her way back from the holding cells, she writes a gibberish email on her phone just to look busy so nobody bothers her. The walk isn't long, but it gives her enough time to think about the encounter. 

She didn't know what she expected when she went to see the hitman that's been a thorn in their side since before they became a rebellion, back when they were just petty thieves trying to do some good in the world. Back when they were just kids. 

Akechi was a killer even then—he's just more open about it now—but she remembers his TV appearances, all sweet faced and delicate mannerisms that belied the violence and coiled muscle. He still has a disarming smile, but everyone knows he's the one Shido sends when a job needs doing. Futaba has seen footage of his interrogations and the aftermath of his questioning. It's a good thing he does not leave survivours in his wake. All but one, that is. 

Akira. And Akechi had asked for him. 

Of course he would, Futaba reasons: Joker is the face of the rebellion and their leader, and Akechi is no doubt bitter that the only person who has survived him has grown to be such a powerful force. There's always been something electric between the two of them when they caught each other on the field, strong enough for Futaba to notice the energy from the control room. Akira has this look of intensity that Futaba privately calls his Akechi Face, eyes steely and lips pulled into an inscrutable smile so sharp it promises to cut whoever came close. 

She sighs as she unlocks her door, throwing herself onto the bed. The little stars that Yusuke helped paint on her ceiling stare back at her, and not for the first time, Futaba wishes that the end of this stupid war would come faster. She misses her friends, who are all so busy managing their own parts of the rebellion that they rarely see each other. 

As it is, there's only Makoto at the base with her at the moment. The rest of the Thieves out on missions with their own squads—and that makes it all the more surprising that Akechi was caught in the first place, with just Queen's unit. Futaba rolls over, pulling out her phone to send a message to let the older woman know that she's visited the prisoner.

Makoto doesn't reply immediately and her status remains offline so she's probably still sleeping. 

Instead of waiting for a response that could take hours to arrive, Futaba makes her way over to her computer, unlocking it and checking the status of their squads. The earliest they can all meet is in two weeks' time, with Akira expected back last from a pickup in Hokkaido. Sending them all a coded message isn't beyond her abilities, but Futaba finds herself hesitating on whether she should even do that. The capture isn't relevant to them, and she doesn't want to distract them from their work. 

Besides, there's something bothering her about Akechi. He was strangely docile, even if he's exhausted—he has managed to squirm away from tighter situations than a little tiredness before—and there was a foreign glint in his eyes that bothers her. Not a surrender, but words held back and a bitten tongue. 

Or, maybe he's playing her, coaxing her walls down so he can escape. She's not going to make the mistake of underestimating him, but she's also not in a rush to see his face again any time soon. It brings her a small sense of satisfaction to put him lower on her priorities, to show him that here in the Thieves' Den, he is as small as he made her feel when her world collapsed the first time.

She has more important work to do; there's more freedom for the rebellion to act if Akechi is in their grasp, and it may finally be time to push Shido off his throne once and for all. 

Makoto looks exhausted when she comes by later in the afternoon, but that's everyone's default state these days. She had already given Sae her debrief that Futaba attended to remotely, and now in the less formal setting of Futaba's office-room, she explains finding Akechi on her way back to base. It really was an accident—she had spotted a familiar figure while taking a shortcut through an alley near their base and managed to get a good shot at him before he noticed her presence, and that was apparently that. 

"It's strange," Makoto says, crossing her legs as she perches on one of the mismatched chairs in Futaba's room. "You noticed when you went to see him, I presume? His left eye." 

Futaba hums in acknowledgement, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah. I had a read of all the reports mentioning him while you were asleep—no such mention of an eye injury; last time he was even seen was a few months ago, when he cut off Skull's evac in Nagoya." She pauses at the memory; it was messy, and while they managed to move a fair few people, the lives that were lost weighed heavily on Ryuji. The current escort mission he's on is the first he's taken since then. "Whatever happened to it wasn't from anything we did."

"I was lucky to catch him in his blind spot in that case," Makoto says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you told anyone yet?"

"No." Futaba shakes her head. "I don't think we should tell anyone who doesn't need to know." She pauses, then adds; "That includes the other thieves— at least, while they aren't here." 

Makoto's expression stays impassive and she doesn't respond immediately, giving Futaba time to grow uncomfortable, thinking she's suggested something bad. She's about to justify herself when Makoto speaks. "I agree it would be disruptive to tell them while they're away from base." 

Futaba lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief at Makoto's approval. 

"He's a... Difficult subject." The older woman grimaces, and Futaba is inclined to agree. Difficult is putting things lightly.  

She must be pulling a face, because Makoto's expression shifts to worry.

"Are you okay, Futaba?" Makoto asks, changing the subject with the grace of a bull, which is to say none at all. It's endearing, and Futaba appreciates the concern. "He didn't upset you when you went to visit, did he?" 

"Yeah, no, I'm all good! Well, not good good but— you know," Futaba fumbles through a reassurance; they're in a war, and she's one of the people in charge of making sure everyone is connected properly. Stressed doesn't even begin to cover what she feels knowing how many lives are under her fingertips, when just a little delay in transmitting a message could be the difference between life and death. All that is old news, though, and Makoto is likely just asking for anything Akechi related, so Futaba sticks to the topic of their prisoner. "He didn't say much; just asked to see Joker." 

"Unsurprising," Makoto shrugs. "I'll speak to my squad about keeping quiet— I'll also handle interrogating him, since my sister..." 

"Yeah," Futaba agrees. Sae usually handles interrogations, but Akechi is a sore subject for her. She isn't compromised—she wouldn't be in charge of logistics if she was—but her proximity to Akechi as his mentor before everything kicked off puts her at a disadvantage, and it is an unspoken rule to tread lightly when it comes to the older Nijima sister. "Alrighty, I'll let you deal with it." 

"Thank you." Makoto stands with a barely-covered yawn. 

"Yeesh, go nap," Futaba says, making a shooing motion with her hands.

"I'll nap after updating my squad, like I said." She pauses at the door, pinning Futaba with a worried look. "You get some rest too."

"I will, mom," Futaba lies, spinning back around on her chair to face her desk.

"I mean it," Makoto says sternly. "Things are coming to a head." 

Futaba keeps her eyes on the screen, navigating to check that Makoto's report has been added to the directory. It has. "I know." 

The next week or so is busy: Ryuji and his squad are a rowdy bunch and their return after a successful mission means that suddenly there's a lot more activity in the base, and then Ann returns briefly, only to leave again to make contact with their spy, Sumire, who has requested an early information exchange. Ann is given orders to extract Sumire if necessary, with the possibility of Shido getting antsy over his recent losses putting her position in danger. They lost Kasumi early, and Sumire has never quite been as careful with herself as she should be without her twin sister to ground her. 

Then, Haru returns. 

She already knows about Akechi, something which Makoto only texts back a 'my bad' to when Futaba asks why Haru has requested access to the East Block cells before she's even entered the base. Futaba grants her access anyway—she deserves to face her father's killer as Futaba deserved to—with only a warning that they need Akechi alive, and she'll be watching in case he tries anything funny. It's only half a joke, since Haru has something of a sadistic streak despite her kind demeanour. 

Futaba has been avoiding looking at the camera in Akechi's cell, mostly because of all the emotions just seeing him evokes; a grief so strong it steals her breath, hollowing her chest, and with it an anger she does not know how to control. She doesn't like these nasty feelings, and she doesn't have time to pick them apart with a rebellion on her hands—it's easier to just ignore the problem, and ignore Akechi. 

He's also a boring prisoner, spending most of his time propped against the wall and staring at the ground. Futaba was expecting more evil plotting and anger, which could still be happening in that head of his, but definitely more yelling and swearing at the very least.

With Haru on her way, though, curiosity wins and she pulls up the feed. There is a plate of untouched food near the door, and Akechi is in the same position she last saw him in, half curled up with his back to the camera, holding his injured shoulder. She zooms the lens in and out, just to check that the thing is still working, and when it responds, she drags the window to the side and returns to the more important task of combing through the updates from Fox. Three screens doesn't feel like enough lately. 

Movement catches her attention on the video some time later; Haru has arrived. The woman flicks her eyes to the camera as if acknowledging Futaba's presence, and Futaba resists the childish urge to wave.

There's no sound capture so she doesn't know what they could be talking about, but Haru seems to be getting more agitated at Akechi, except— no, there's something wrong, because Akechi is so very still. Futaba leans in with a frown as Haru approaches Akechi and shakes him. The man slumps against Haru, his head lolling back and exposing a pale neck marred with bruises. Only now does Futaba realise that despite everything Akechi has done to make him seem like a monster, he is still as human and as fallible as the rest of them.

Part of her thinks that the world is better off this way. The likelihood that he says anything of use under interrogation is low considering how loyal he is to Shido, and this way none of them need to stain their hands with his blood. 

No, Futaba thinks, this isn't fair. He's tormented them so much, he doesn't deserve to die quietly without having to face any of it. 

Makoto hadn't even gotten around to questioning him yet, and if he did talk, because he's a shitty person with no sense of loyalty, that precious information is gone. Information that could save lives, gone, because of something stupid like neglect.

On the screen, a guard has entered the room as well, standing awkwardly against the wall as Haru unlocks Akechi's restraints. She looks to be yelling something, and Futaba watches helplessly as she picks up Akechi's body and carries it out. 

Futaba feels faint. There's a reason she isn't out there on the field, more than being proficient with technology, and she hates this weakness. She closes the video feed with shaking hands, and forces herself to continue working. Haru will update her when she can, and she cannot afford to take time away from her duties just because she doesn't feel well.

Akechi is not dead. Haru herself delivers the update to Futaba, before being pulled away to give her debrief at last. It doesn't feel like good news, but it is. 

The bad news is that his presence is no longer a secret. Futaba has locked down access to the medbay, though it is a half-hearted attempt; it sure would be a shame if someone were to get in and something happened to Akechi, truly. Ryuji himself is understandably upset about not being told, especially since he is the only one of the Thieves in the base and unaware. Futaba takes the coward's way out and puts Makoto in charge of explaining. 

Fox's Squad returns amid this, and Yusuke accepts the news with grace—or, rather, as much grace as he can while wounded. He's occupying a bed in the medbay near a comatose Akechi Goro, who is hidden from view by modesty curtains.

Futaba spends long hours keeping Yusuke company; her with her laptop and Yusuke with a sketch pad, and for a small amount of time she feels normal, as if they're just doing homework assignments like they should be if it wasn't for Shido's rule and the rebellion. Yusuke is a balm on Futaba's nerves, and talking to him is easy—he has a way of putting things into perspective, of talking around Futaba's worries until they're more manageable. 

There's this friction everywhere now, and it is evident when the other Thieves drop by to visit Yusuke. They can't talk about their plans, not with Akechi so close—even if he's unconscious—and not without everyone present. They've always made big decisions unanimously, and they're veering dangerously close to Extremely Big Decisions that will likely determine how the fighting ends. Futaba isn't sure how long this tension can last, though—it's in the bruises under Makoto's eyes, in the stiffness of Haru's posture, even hiding in the corner of Ryuji's smile. 

Shido's most staunch supporters are gone now, and the man is starting to get desperate—Yusuke's injury is a direct result of that, helping victims of a seemingly random bombing on his way back from supporting a counter-campaign in Okinawa. He's lucky to have gotten away with just a concussion and a broken leg.

Futaba is working quietly when Akira bursts into the medbay, waking Yusuke up with the commotion.

"Where is he?" Akira asks, still armed to the teeth and rumpled from days of travelling. 

"Akira? You're early! Not that I'm complaining," Futaba stutters, brain racing to catch up with Akira's appearance. She hasn't received anything from Sae, so he's likely bypassed all their processes and run straight here. "You'll be glad to know that Yusuke's in one piece." 

"Hello, Akira," the taller boy says slowly, voice rough from sleep. "Though I do not think it is I that he is looking for, Futaba." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Akechi," Akira breaths in lieu of an explanation, or, Futaba realises with some horror, as an explanation. His eyes are wild and— worried? She can't tell, not when he rushes off without so much as another word as soon as Yusuke points in the direction of Akechi's bed.

The interaction is lead in her stomach. She expected Akira to at least greet her—and Yusuke, who is injured—rather than dash off to check on someone who has caused them so much pain. She watches him disappear behind the curtains, numb, until she hears a cough beside her. 

"Apologies, Futaba," Yusuke says calmly, "I had informed him of the situation." 

This was exactly why she had wanted to keep things under wraps. Akira, especially, has never been particularly level headed when it came to things Akechi related, though she had always thought it was some kind of dick measuring contest between the two of them because Akechi is evil and Akira is all that is good. They were a classic hero and villain—black and white, the forces of good versus bad. Of course they would be a little weird about each other. But not like this.

"Why?" She asks, turning back to face Yusuke. 

"Why did I tell him? Or why did he react in such a way?" Yusuke asks back. "The answer to the former is connected to the answer to the latter, though I do not know of the details, and could not be sure of until now." 

"What does that mean?" Futaba presses, knowing that she is being bratty, but she needs confirmation of what he's implying.

"I mean that Akira cares for Akechi," Yusuke replies patiently, looking over to the curtained off section of the room where the subject of their discussion is exiting. 

"That's—" 

"I'll explain later," Akira interrupts loudly, leaving no room for further discussion as he walks over to join Futaba at Yusuke's bedside. "Sorry Futaba, Yusuke. It's good to see you both." He reaches over to hug them, which Futaba allows despite her growing discomfort because Akira is still her big brother and she's missed him. 

"It's good to see you well, Joker," Yusuke smiles. The men have a silent exchange over her head, something which they know infuriates her, but when she raises her eyebrow questioningly Akira only shakes his head. 

"How are your injuries?" He asks instead, directing the conversation firmly away from himself. 

"My head is more or less better, and I should be free to return to my own quarters in a day or so, though my leg is to be trapped in this cast for a while longer." 

"That's good to hear," Akira nods. "Are we allowed to sign your cast yet?"

"Not yet," Futaba answers before Yusuke can; he has told Futaba of his plans to paint on his own cast before he lets his friends loose on adding their own flair to it. "But I get first dibs!" 

"There you have it; the oracle has spoken." 

"I want seconds, then," Akira says, pouting playfully.

"No can do, Joker. Skull has already claimed the second 'dib'." A pause for dramatic effect. "You may have the third, however." 

Akira pretends to think it over. "You drive a hard bargain, Fox, but l'll take what I can get." 

The conversation falls to light chatter before Akira gets a phone call from Sae to get his ass to her office for a debrief. Once he's gone, Futaba levels Yusuke with a look, wanting to continue the conversation from earlier. They can't say much in public, but they're far enough from the other patients to get away with things if they talk quietly. 

"About Akechi," she says, carefully, "you... You said Akira cared. But he's our enemy." He killed my mom, she wants to emphasise; he killed Haru's dad. He robbed thousands of futures from innocents in Shido's name.

"I wonder about that," Yusuke hums, even quieter. 

Futaba bites down on the urge to yell, or curse, or say something she will regret. She doesn't get angry at Yusuke very often—he's understanding to a fault but always willing to entertain the other side of the coin, and this is too far. 

"Do not get me wrong, I have no doubt that his hands are stained far darker than what we know," he continues, looking a little distant as he does, "but he has also had plenty of opportunity to do worse." 

"What does that mean?" Futaba hisses, unintentionally raising her voice. "Just because he- I don't even—" 

"I mean, he has had the chance to kill me before, and did not." He says it plainly, not bothering to hide the severity of his words. 

"What?" She breathes, suddenly feeling very light. They're leading a rebellion, true, fighting a war for freedom against a megalomaniac that controls the country, and death has always been a very real danger for every single one of them. It's not that she isn't familiar with loss, either, but the Thieves are different—they've just somehow always overcome the odds and survived. 

She thinks about losing Yusuke, and her chest constricts painfully. 

Yusuke reaches over and puts a warm hand over her own. He's still here. He's solid. "I do not mean to scare you, Futaba," he says gently. "And I will be honest; I was not particularly lucid at the time, and it was a few years ago now, but I remember him pulling me out of rubble at the gallery." 

"Was this at Madarame's? When he brought down the building?" She remembers the panic when she heard the explosion, the screams, and losing contact long enough for her to start fearing the worst. It was a miracle that those present—Yusuke and Akira—made it out.

Yusuke nods. "I came to a little distance away from the building, out of sight of Madarame's men." 

"And you're sure it was Akechi?" 

"His eyes are a rather distinctive shade." 

Futaba blinks, unsure of what to make of the answer, but accepts it nonetheless. 

"I mentioned it to Akira, who assured me I was simply imagining things. I figured he wanted to keep it a secret for a good reason, so I let him believe that I thought myself mistaken. That said, I may not be as proficient in a fight as Ryuji or Makoto, but my eyesight is very good." He smiles, his eyes glittering. Futaba knows this already—Yusuke is an artist, and though he is fighting, it is because he believes it is the right thing to do rather than what he wants to do. In a better world, his hands would be stained with paint rather than gunpowder. "Anyway; I don't expect you to change your mind on him," Yusuke squeezes her hand, grounding her. "I simply wish to remind you that there is more to him that we are aware of."  

"Right," she says slowly, flicking her eyes over to the curtains behind which Akechi lays. Conflict wraps its tendrils around her, and she isn't sure how to feel at all knowing that someone who has killed so many just so happened to decide to spare one person. It doesn't make things right, but Yusuke is important to her, and that complicates things. 

She pulls her hand away from Yusuke and wiggles her fingers on the trackpad, waking her laptop up and effectively ending the conversation. Yusuke simply lets her, picking up his own sketchbook on the side, and they return to doing their own activities in a comfortable silence. Futaba appreciates his ability to sense when she needs to take a step back, but the thought is tainted by a voice that reminds her this company could have been stolen from her years ago.

Futaba works late that night—Akira had brought back a huge drive full of what looks like a shockingly recent instance of Shido's own personal computer, complete with a note containing his passwords and cached pages of sites he frequents. She is a good hacker, but she can't astrally project herself into his office to access the intranet and the stuff kept onsite, so this is a godsend. From what she finds, it's clear that the man is getting desperate. He's making more and more mistakes, lashing out at his own allies, and it fills Futaba with satisfaction to see how hard he is scrambling to keep his control. 

Between combing through reams and reams of data, she thinks of the way Akira said Akechi's name; the same three syllables bouncing around her head and persisting long after the other Thieves have gone to sleep. She's never heard him sound like that—desperate and something to the left of anger, raw and unrefined. It feeds the conflict that is quickly growing into something unwieldy and too big to think around. 

Futaba is a woman of data, putting the world into statistics and tangible figures that can shape into something she can understand. Emotions, therefore, are not something she excels at dealing with. It's difficult to put such things into quantifiable numbers, which is precisely why she does her best to bury everything until it's safe to examine. 

Half a decade into Shido's rule, she's running out of space to bury things. She tries anyway. 

Ann and Sumire also return ahead of schedule, and Haru organises a dinner for them all to share for what feels like the first time in years. The food isn't anything on Sojiro's curry, but she hasn't seen Sojiro since they sent him abroad as a safety precaution when the laws started getting stricter. She misses her dad like something fierce, especially when they're gathered the way they used to in Leblanc, but it puts her heart at ease to know that he is safe. 

After eating, Yusuke declares his beautifully painted cast ready for signing, and as promised, Futaba gets to draw on it first. It almost feels like a shame to go over Yusuke's expressive acrylic brushstrokes, but she knows that he designed it with the intention of the Thieves adding their own flair, so she unashamedly takes up a huge chunk for her well wishes. Watching the others take their turns after her tugs at something in her chest, and she finds herself aching once again for the kinder life that they should have had a chance at having. 

Like this, it's also easier to see just how the fighting has taken its toll on everyone. Nobody is unscathed, and the teenaged optimism of their early years is all but gone. It's still a nice evening despite that, and Futaba is sad for it to end, knowing that tomorrow it will be back to their duties as the leaders of the rebellion. 

"Go rest, Sumi," Futaba says, taking the used plates from the taller woman's hands. "I'll sort this out."

"Oh! If you're sure," Sumire replies, "I don't mind doing it." 

"You've just come back; let me," Futaba insists, and Sumire relents. She looks relieved despite her protests, and Futaba can see just how tired she is in the dark circles under her eyes. She's more gaunt, too, and her red hair is roughly cut to her shoulders instead of the length Futaba remembers it being. 

"Thank you, Futaba," she says, and Futaba gives her an easy smile before taking off to the kitchens with their crockery. 

When she returns for another batch, most of the Thieves have already dispersed but Sumire is still there, talking quietly to Akira, both of their expressions sombre. Futaba hesitates, not wanting to interrupt by barging in, but she's not virtuous enough to not eavesdrop their conversation. 

"... think he would go that far," Sumire is saying, "I didn't even get to see Akechi afterwards." 

Futaba sucks in a breath; they're talking about him. 

"You did what you had to," Akira replies, drawing Sumire into a hug. "It would have been worse if you were discovered as well." 

"I just wish I could have done something to help. I never got used to- to the torturing, but I could separate myself from it if I had to. I... I couldn't, god, Akira, he made an example of him in front of us." 

Futaba watches Akira's face twist into anger. This expression she is familiar with, but to see it be on Akechi's behalf is like grinding mismatched gears together. It's wrong; Akechi is the enemy. 

"He'll be okay. He's strong, Sumire." 

Sumire murmurs something that Futaba can't hear, and Akira's only response is to hold her tighter. A spike of jealousy lances through Futaba, the feeling of being left out stronger than ever. She's the intelligence—she knows everything, or is supposed to, and she doesn't like being blindsided like this. The presence of Akechi has messed everything up from what is supposed to be a simple matter of apprehending the villain. 

Akira looks up to make eye contact with her and she stumbles in, pretending to have only just arrived. His expression remains neutral, giving nothing away on whether he believes her act or not. 

"Sorry for interrupting!" Futaba declares a little too loudly, prompting Sumire to detach from Akira and rub at her eyes. 

"You're not interrupting anything," she smiles, but it's a shaky thing and rimmed red with tears. "I- I must be more tired than I thought." 

"Take it easy tonight, then. We're going to be busy from now on." 

"I will," Sumire nods, standing. "I'll, I'll see you both tomorrow." She bows politely to each of them, scampering off. 

Futaba is a little hurt that Sumire is so quick to run, clearly not trusting her as much as Akira, but she takes advantage of being able to catch the older man alone. He's been avoiding her since the encounter in the medbay, making excuses not to talk. 

Now, he knows he's cornered, and she knows him well enough to see that he's nervous despite his relaxed posture and easy smile.

"Akira," Futaba crosses her arms over her chest. 

"You were listening," he says plainly. It doesn't sound like an accusation, but Futaba feels scolded nonetheless. This is stupid—she's an adult, and what's more, surveillance is literally her job. 

"You need to explain." Her voice isn't as steady as she hoped it would be, and the look Akira gives her is conflicted. If guilt will force him to fess up, then good.

"I was going to go over this with everyone tomorrow, if you're willing to wait," he tries one last time to talk his way out, but Futaba is not having any of it. She's never been one for patience, too used to having the world in data at her fingertips, and though she has a better idea now with what she just overheard, she still needs to know how deep this goes.

"Please, Akira." 

He sighs, running a hand over his face. "You're smart, Futaba; surely you've already worked it out. G... Akechi has been spying for us."

Futaba's eyes narrow at the slip, but her focus is on her fears confirmed. They made decisions as a team, and this is the first she's heard of Akechi doing anything 'for us'. She's willing to bet that none of the other Thieves—the original Thieves, which excludes Sumire—knew about this either.

"How long?" She demands. Akira sags under her scrutiny, exhaustion quickly bleeding into his posture. 

"God, years. It was just before Shido took seat." 

Futaba inhales sharply. She's going to be sick. 

"I reached an agreement with him, when I was captured that time we tried to use me as bait." 

Futaba laughs, startling both of them; it's been that long? Fuck. The plan Akira refers to was stupid and naïvely constructed, but they were young back then and quickly running out of time to act. Even if they did turn Akechi into the police, what good could that have done? Shido still had a good portion of the force in his pocket before his ascension to prime minister, and their plan to damage his reputation would have been futile against the grip he had on the media. 

The biggest betrayal, though, is Akira. She didn't think that he could keep something from her for this long. He is practically her big brother, and she trusted him with everything— evidently, that doesn't go both ways. 

"Did they have to die, then?" Futaba asks, suddenly furious. Her mom was killed too long ago, before Akechi had seen the light or whatever, but Shiho, and Mika, and Kana. "Why did he kill them, if he was on our side?!" 

"He didn't have a choice," Akira hisses. His eyes flash dangerously, bright as a glint of steel, and Futaba flinches. She's not used to having the intense gaze turned against her, and she's reminded that there's a reason he is the leader of the rebellion. "He did what he had to, to keep Shido's trust." 

Futaba thinks she's starting to hyperventilate. "Why, though? Why go so far?" 

"Because it was expected of him." Akira sounds angry now, as if Futaba is the one being unreasonable, but Futaba just wants to understand. Why would anyone want to stay as Shido's personal hitman unless they actually enjoyed it? There were surely other things he could have done that didn't include cold blooded fucking murder. He continues, despite her lack of response. "He's saved a lot of people by passing on Shido's plans." 

Saved? Futaba doesn't believe even an inch of it. If he had saved anyone, then there would be evidence somewhere other than in Akira's words. "Your reports never mentioned him-"

"I couldn't! You of all people know how dangerous it is to leave a trail." Akira stands, interrupting her and forcing her to take a step back. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Sorry," he says, almost growling. "You don't have to like him, Futaba, but don't disregard what he's done. He's had to make difficult decisions just like the rest of us to make sure Shido goes down." 

"He's- he's not a good man," Futaba stutters weakly. Akira's outburst scared her, and she hates that he would go this far to defend Akechi. Even if he's done good, his actions have still dealt irreparable damage; it is not possible to unshoot someone, and the dead remain as great, yawning absences in the lives of those that loved them. 

"No," Akira says firmly, "but I'm not, either." 

The silence is thick between them. Futaba wants to argue, but she knows just how heavy a burden it is he carries. Every injury and every death sits on his shoulders, and though he is no longer the twig of a boy he was when this mess started, he is not Atlas. Futaba has wondered on multiple occasions if the next loss would be the one to break his back, and each time it isn't, she wondered if the next one will be. 

They're on the right side of things, though—heroes fighting a dictator for a better future. As thieves they avoided physical confrontation where possible, but they're a long way from where they started. The day that changed was when Ann, armed with somebody else's gun, had aimed for the head of the hitman chasing down Makoto and her bullet struck true. 

She had been sick afterwards, but it was one less person out for their blood, and the rest of the Thieves agreed that it was the right thing to do. Without her, Makoto wouldn't still be here. A life for a life. 

So the way they operated changed. The lives they were forced to take are justified, because they have to be. Futaba doesn't know how she could live with herself if they weren't, knowing just how deeply stained her own hands are. She isn't on the field, nor is she the one to pull the trigger, but she writes the missions and points the sight at every corrupt politician, every arms dealer, every disgusting human whose death was necessary to help free Japan from Shido. 

And Akira gives the orders.

She wonders, now; was Shiho a necessary death? Was everyone else caught on the wrong end of Akechi's gun a death for our cause? 

Akira side steps her, taking her silence as the end of the conversation. Futaba can hear him gathering the rest of the dishes behind her, and walking out without another word. She stays in the same spot long after Akira has gone, rooted by the conflict that has outgrown her body and is starting to suffocate her. 

The group meeting is early the next day, and Futaba has not slept. She crawls her way to the war room after giving up on the idea of sleep and sets the coffee machine going with the intention of having the first pot to herself. She settles into her corner, connects her laptop to the hub, and starts organising her files, pulling up information she thinks will be important to talk about. Makoto sent her an itinerary yesterday evening with things she wants to discuss, so Futaba makes her decisions based on that. 

The Thieves trickle in some time around her second pot of coffee, starting with Makoto and Haru, whose concern Futaba bushes off. Sumire arrives next, then Yusuke with Ryuji's assistance, then Ann, and finally Akira, who slips in quietly minutes before the agreed starting time of the meeting. He would look remarkably put together if not for the dark smudges under his eyes and the fact he is wearing the same clothes as yesterday—not that Futaba can talk, she hasn't changed either. 

Makoto leads the discussion, letting Futaba function on autopilot, throwing up information onto the projector when required. 

It's strangely mundane, except they're discussing storming the Diet building to kill Shido. The man has long proven that any other way will not stop him; his connections run too deep, and at this point the only way to even start to fix things is by razing everything to the ground. They've been working towards taking him down for so long—cutting off his supply of arms and knocking his influence out of powerful seats until all that's left is the man himself—it almost doesn't feel real. Things could end as early as next week, and the faster they can get the ball rolling, the better; the information they have is already over a week old, and it will only get less accurate the longer they wait.

The entire time, they talk around the elephant in the room, carefully avoiding the topic as if touching it would detonate it. It's in the background of the discussion, a silent 'what about Akechi?', until it's impossible to ignore. Futaba isn't even sure who brings it up first.

Everyone's eyes turn to Akira at the mention of him. Futaba watches the reactions of the Thieves as Akira explains in similar points that he did for her last night—Haru's lips pressed into a tight, furious line, Makoto's hand clenched around her pen. Ryuji is struggling to even face Akira, and Ann is openly crying. The only person who isn't shaken is Yusuke, and here Futaba thinks rather uncharitably that it is because he had no more family to lose. She surprises herself with the thought, and guilt immediately brings a flush to her cheeks even though she did not say it aloud.

"Akechi helped me a lot when... With Shido," Sumire says, picking up after Akira. "He's serious about bringing an end to this." She pauses, glancing at Akira for support. "I have no doubt that he's on our side," she finishes firmly.

"I get why you'd say that, Sumire-chan, but you've spent a lot of time with him..." Makoto says what everyone else is thinking. Sumire is young, had come into their fold late, and Akechi is a shameless manipulator and liar. 

"I- no..." Sumire shrinks into her seat. "He wouldn't," she says meekly.

"And how do we know he's not going to just run back as soon as he gets the chance? He's-" 

"Ryuji," Akira warns, cutting the blond off before he can shove his foot in his mouth. Ryuji backs down with a frown, and ever the good boy, he obeys without complaint. "Futaba has even verified his intel, right?" 

"Uh." Caught off guard, it takes Futaba a few seconds to reply. She nods, though she didn't put the pieces together until just now; the hard drive Akira brought back must have been Akechi's doing. The first thing she did was cross reference the contents with data she scraped herself from Shido's servers, so she knows that it's legit. It's just that Akira didn't tell her it was from Akechi, and the knowledge stings like another betrayal. 

"He's not an enemy," Akira repeats. "I trust him." 

"B-besides, it's not like he can go back even if he wanted to," Sumire says, her brows pinched and mouth twisted downward in- worry? Upset? ... Guilt? Futaba is frustrated that she can't tell. 

"What do you mean?" Makoto asks, frowning. 

"Oh you didn't— I thought—" Sumire stutters, her eyes darting wildly around the room until they land on Akira. "They don't know?"  

The man shakes his head. "Akechi didn't say anything when he was first captured. I didn't... It doesn't matter, does it?" Then, to just Sumire; "he's here, safe." 

... Safe?

Futaba only hears because she's closest to Sumire. The choice of words makes Futaba's breath catch, and with it the horrible sinking realisation of what it means. She looks around at the others, but they don't seem to have put the pieces together, and only Futaba has the advantage of the conversation she overheard last night.

"He was discovered, wasn't he?" Futaba says. She feels both Akira and Sumire's attention snap to her like a magnet. "That's why he was already injured when Queen found him." 

"... Yes," Akira confirms softly. So he was on his way to the base anyway, for sanctuary—not that he would have been granted it without Akira. "I was too far. It was bad timing." 

They sound like excuses. Futaba wonders if Akira is trying to console himself.

Sumire looks ready to cry again, staring intently at her own hands fisted tightly on her lap. Akira offers no more words on the matter. 

It could still be a trick, Futaba thinks, and judging by the expressions on the other Thieves, she is not alone.

A long silence stretches over them. It's thick, suffocating, and utterly unrelenting. Futaba hates it. She hates that their group has splintered into Akira and Sumire as one unit against the rest of them. It's not fair.

Surprisingly, it is Haru who breaks the silence, clearing her throat to get everyone's attention. "Regardless of how we feel about him, it would be foolish to waste this opportunity." She speaks clearly and evenly, but they all know her well enough to sense the warning in her words. "We can deal with Akechi after we deal with Shido."

Makoto is quick to agree, and just like that, the chokehold Akechi's presence held them in disappears; they are back in familiar territory with a common goal within their grasp. The tension is still there, murmuring in the undercurrent of their conversation, but it no longer hogs their attention, demanding the hows and whys of the situation to be addressed.

By the end of the meeting, Futaba is melting into her seat. Even coffee can't save her at this point, the caffeine going straight to her jittering limbs rather than prodding her brain awake. Sumire and Akira leave together, making no secret of their next stop, and curiously enough, Ann follows them. Futaba narrows her eyes, the feeling of jealousy rearing its head again, but she is truly too tired to snoop.

Well, she has the whole place bugged. If she's really curious, she can just check the recording later. 

Haru gives her another concerned look, but Futaba shuts her laptop and shuffles away without acknowledging it. She's exhausted, emotionally and physically, and she's asleep before her head hits her pillow. 

With the data all deciphered and formatted into a more readable format for Sae and Makoto to turn into an action plan, there's not much left for Futaba to actively do. She's carried out maintenance on all her equipment, double checking the more expensive tech like her drones, and set all of her scripts running to monitor if anything changes in Shido's security system. So long as she's available to clarify any questions that Sae has over the timeline or Makoto has about what is actually feasible for their tech to do, her time is her own.

Of course, she uses it to pore over the surveillance that she's been saving from the medbay. The first few days are uneventful and the camera doesn't even show Akechi thanks to his bed being behind curtains, but she does see Tae walking in and out at regular intervals— and, surprisingly, Sae. 

The day after Akira returned to base, Futaba planted a microphone under the guise of helping Yusuke's release, and adjusted the camera so that it's centred on Akechi to properly monitor him. He looked rough from the brief moment she had to see him to put the bug in its new hiding place, but she hadn't thought much of it at the time. 

Now, she is faced with hundreds of hours of Akechi, still as a corpse, swallowed by the white sheets he lays on. 

Not wanting to just stare at him the entire time, even with the video running at thirty-two times speed, she pulls up his medical record, dated on the day Haru brought him to Tae, and connects each injury to a line on it: infected knife wound on right thigh. Lacerations on back. Bruising. Damage to windpipe. Six cracked ribs. Bullet wound to right shoulder.  

Then she considers the other notes, the ones without visible wounds; underweight. Partial or complete blindness in left eye—possible untreated head injury. Allergic to latex. Evidence of...

Futaba stops reading, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the last few seconds of her memory to vanish. Her stomach turns as she struggles to wrap her mind around what the words mean. She knows that Shido is not a good man, but this—Akechi—is one of his own, traitor or not. She had seen him like this, and spoken to him. 

Akira is on the screen when she rips herself out of her thoughts. She had missed his entrance, so she stops and rewinds to watch it properly. The timestamp shows that it's almost midnight of the day she moved the bug. 

"Idiot," Akira's voice crackles through Futaba's headphones as he kneels at Akechi's bedside. His hands clasp Akechi's, and he rests his forehead on them so Futaba cannot see his expression. "You're a fucking idiot, Akechi Goro."

Futaba holds her breath, suddenly feeling like she's intruding—of course she's intruding, that is the point— but this is an Akira stripped back, exhausted and wrung out and vulnerable in a way that she hasn't seen him display before. A new, uncomfortable realisation is starting to unfurl in her mind; a pale sprout of a truth poking through acrid and infertile soil. She recognises this grief as the same one that took Ann in the fraught days where Shiho was still alive but barely, fading away faster than Ann could beg the gods to let her stay. The blonde had been a desperate thing with claws that burrowed tightly into anything and everything Shiho touched, never leaving her girlfriend's side, and when her tears ran out the hollowness that swallowed her was worse than the crying and begging. 

Akira has never been as expressive as Ann, but this— this stillness is just as loud as it is uncharacteristic for him. He does not say anything else the entire hour he is there, holding onto Akechi's hand with both a fierceness and gentleness that should be impossible to exist at the same time, and yet, the tight and delicate and ever-so-slightly trembling grip manages to convey more than words could. 

Swallowing, Futaba skips forward half an hour at a time, no longer in the mood to simply let it play passively in the background as she does something else. She's trying not to jump to conclusions over Akira's behaviour until she sees more of it. He killed your mom, she tells herself; but does that make him deserving of all this?

Akechi's next visitor is Sae, who Futaba expected, but it's still a surprise to see the normally stoic and stern woman display softness when she sweeps Akechi's bangs from his face and adjusts the blankets around him despite how there isn't much to neaten with only Tae's checks to disrupt the sleeping man. Still, she treats him with care, and Futaba is reminded viscerally of the amount of time it's been since someone had touched her with such wordless affection. Her mom wasn't the type and was away for work often, but Futaba had found family in Sojiro and the Thieves. They taught her how to be tactile, and for those short years she took for granted things like warm hugs or a firm hand on her shoulder. With the fighting, there hasn't been time to sit and just enjoy someone else's company, and she didn't even realise how much she's missed it until now. 

She just— She never thought she'd be jealous of Akechi of all people. 

Futaba skips forward in the footage again, stomping down the emotions her traitorous flesh has decided to inflict on her; she'll just ask someone for a hug next time she sees them, it's not a big deal. It's not.

Akira appears half an hour before midnight again, but this time he sits next to the cot, leaning against it. For a while, he just stares at the ceiling with a blank expression, and then—

The small Akira in the video lowers his head, burying his face in his palm. "I told you so," he says, "I told you, Goro, but you never listen to me do you?" His voice cracks, and Futaba chews on her lip as the guilty sensation starts to crawl back into her conscience. 

She should stop. 

But she doesn't.

"You said we'd have all the time in the world once Shido was dead. I still have to show you Japan— the world— or, if you're not up to that, we can just have a holiday in that shitty little safehouse in Fuefuki where I caught the flu and you stayed the entire three days until I could take care of myself again. The water tasted funny but you looked perfect in the dawn when you'd get up to give me medicine..." Akira trails off, his shoulders shaking, and Futaba realises that he's choking on sobs. 

She skips forward an entire day. 

"... Feels weird being able to see you. I'm so used to you being out of reach-" 

She skips forward again, this time to a scene with Sumire and Akira present. She's frazzled, caught off guard by the assault of emotion, and has to brace herself with a deep breath before pressing play. The timestamp puts this at midday, meaning it's not long since the woman returned. 

"Ann said she needed some time before she could see him," Sumire is saying as they walk onto the screen.

"Tell her not to force herself; I'm not expecting us all to get along." 

"She wants to."

They come to a stop at Akechi's bedside, and the conversation ends abruptly.

"Will he be okay?" Sumire asks, hiding behind Akira as if not looking at Akechi will make it less real. 

"I hope so," Akira says, and they just stand looking at Akechi for a few long seconds before Sumire cracks with a wail, folding over herself to try and contain her grief. Akira draws her into a hug, and Futaba watches Sumire break down in his arms, pulling both of them down to the ground, her sobs turning into gasping and hiccuping. 

Futaba's own eyes start to sting, and she stops the recording to try and blink back tears. This makes no sense because she hates Akechi— but she feels their grief as if it is her own. It is claws dragging across her chest, brambles closing around her lungs, the taste of blood because she's busted her lip by gnawing too hard on it. She wraps her arms around her middle, squeezing to simulate the sensation of an embrace, but it's not enough. And it's not fair. 

Akechi Goro is a killer, a heartless monster who wears her mother's blood, but here Futaba is crying for him because Akira of all people has deemed him worthy. Fuck him for being human, and fuck him for having people who care if he lives or dies. 

On the day of the operation, hours before they are set to leave, Akira is missing and Futaba knows exactly where he is. She offers to find him, because while she still feels guilty about watching the tapes, she hasn't managed to confess to that yet, and she figures now is as good a time as any in case anything happens on the mission. That, and to tell him that while she doesn't like Akechi, she is willing to try to tolerate him, maybe. Probably. It depends.

She enters the medbay to the sound of murmuring, so she deliberately makes her footsteps loud to herald her arrival. When she pushes apart the curtain, Akira jumps anyway, springing away from the bed and— 

"Oh," Futaba says intelligently, "you're up." 

Akechi nods. He looks like shit. He's been looking like shit the entire time, to be fair, but it's different when he's in front of her rather than a picture on her screen. 

"Hello, Sakura-san," he rasps, and Futaba sees Akira frown down at him. 

"Don't talk," her brother admonishes, but Akechi only pulls a face. 

Futaba stares.

It's awkward. It's really awkward; Akechi is clearly having trouble staying upright, leaning heavily against Akira's chest, and his good eye keeps darting around the room looking at everything but Futaba. He's being more awkward than she is. 

"Uh," Akira says, "I'll be... I'll be ready to go soon." 

"It's— it's fine." Futaba shuffles on the spot. All the things she wanted to do, the things she wanted to say—they went out the window the moment Akechi made eye contact with her and she recognised the look in his red gaze as fear. 

God save her, she was ready to be angry at Akira and Akechi but now she feels like she's just caught her brother making out with the local delinquent. It's mortifying.  

"Just— don't be late!" She yells, way too loudly judging by the way Akechi winces, and turns tail to leave. When in doubt, get out.  

Behind her, she hears Akira laugh; a real, genuine laugh that she hasn't heard in years.  

"See, that wasn't so bad was it?" 

"Speak for yourself, Ku-" Akechi gets cut off by a fit of coughing. There's some scrambling. 

"Shit, that's— that's blood, is there supposed to be so much blood?" 

"You're asking a lot-" another cough "-a lot of questions for someone-" cough "-who told me not- not to talk." 

Akira laughs again, the sound deep and affectionate. There's still a lot they need to talk about, but Akira's so happy and... And she thinks someone who can coax a genuine laugh from her big brother can't be all bad. 

Futaba leaves the medbay with a small smile, a little less conflicted than before.