[Outside, Sumio crushes a cigarette into a dark smudge under his foot. He hums thoughtfully and says nothing otherwise. It's so quiet now that the scrape of his heel seems to ring through the whole night: a stark contrast from today's endless series of interviews and investigations, yes, but a welcome one. For as well as they worked together, neither he nor Abbacchio were much for idle chit-chat. Not after their first few cases-- certainly not after their first few years.
Which is precisely the problem in a situation like this. They barely talk. The second he opens his mouth, Leone'll be expecting something he's actually got to give a damn about. There's no way that Sumio can slowly lead his partner to his real purpose at the Heinous Crimes Unit: he's got to gamble on it. All or nothing.
It's his own fault. He had a dozen contingency plans to throw off a partner he didn't trust, and nothing for one he did.
Sumio glances up at the building they've parked outside, lingering. He purses his lips, feels his mouth itch for another cigarette. If he turns around, he's sure he'll see his partner bitching at him to finish up and get in the damn car so they can go home. He's taking too long here-- even as he debates with himself in quick-time-- but tonight might be his best shot to explain this all. Whatever 'this all' still is, if Sumio even still knows what his plot's supposed to be; whether it's even worth the risk to try to win his partner over to begin with. Enough navel gazing. He steps off the sidewalk and walks around to the passenger's side of the car.]
Hey, Leone. I'm curious about something.
[he says, outside the car, but fuck, he can't see his reaction. Without waiting for the answer he opens the door, sits down, and pulls it shut.
His suit still smells like smoke. He meets Abbacchio's eyes, decides it's too suspicious, and glances lower to watch the other man's lips, anticipating his answer.]
Humor me for a minute.
a dude cover of style by taylor swift is playing, it seems appropriate
[Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he's paranoid. Maybe staring at Sumio's back for full minutes longer than he ought to, as this smoke break stretches on past absentmindedness and into avoidance, doesn't mean anything at all.]
[Except they've known each other for years, and it does. He knows it does. The way Sumio stands, shoulders just a hint tenser, spine just so much straighter than usual — it'd mean nothing at all to most people, but him, he's seen too many smoke breaks, too many stomped-out cigarettes. Too many bad moods and quiet moods. He's seen too much of Sumio, period.]
[The night's dark. Through the cracked car window, he can smell his partner's shitty cheap cigarettes, the ones he used to complain about in earnest and now does out of habit. The scent's become a guilty comfort. He steals them sometimes, except it's not stealing if Sumio lets him, and he's pretty sure Sumio does know.]
[So — yeah. Something's up. It is. But Sumio's gonna tell him. He has to trust in that. And just as he thinks that, Sumio speaks, opens the door, slides in next to him.]
[Leone. Eyes on his lips, which press together in a moment of self-consciousness before going carefully relaxed. He can't figure out where to look. Leone. It still doesn't feel right.]
. . . Yeah. [Voice low, he dips his chin in the briefest of nods.] I'm listening.
[And Sumio behaves as if he is always listening. When you share space with a man for this long, his presence becomes something as assumed and expected as the voice in his own head.
(Ironic, that he's never really heard Abbacchio's.)
He follows the motion of Abbacchio's nod, waits to see that he is indeed listening, then cants his head a bit to the side. He was going to bullshit him with some dumb metaphor, but Abbacchio would see right through that-- if he wants him to cooperate, at least to look the other way from this whole affair, he'll just need to be straightforward.
Still. Sumio speaks deliberately, as if he is selecting his words with care: he is always careful, but so with the tenseness, the just-too-squared shoulders, there's something more there.]
When you were younger, did you always want to be a cop?
[A sober smile tugs at his lip in an attempt to diffuse the weight. Mostly, it just looks like a grimace. As willing as his partner is to go along with this line of questioning, he can't afford to scare him off too quickly.]
Did you want to uphold the law, or did you want to play hero? Or... were they the same, in your eyes?
[This moment feels off. Slightly weird, like somebody took a photocopy of the real world and slapped it overtop and expected it to pass muster. Not deja vu, but close. What it is, really, is that he feels like he's being conned.]
[The thing with Sumio—]
[The thing with Sumio is, he isn't sure he'd care enough to stop him. If somebody's gonna con him, if somebody's gonna use him for their own ends, he'd rather it be Sumio. He trusts Sumio, for better or for worse. He'd be used for something right, or at least close to it. Or at least just in Sumio's mind. That's good enough for him.]
[All the bleakness in his mind can't prepare him for the question that comes, though. Uncharacteristically, a faint flush rises high on his cheekbones before he jerks his chin up and looks away, fingers twitching on the steering wheel. Not because he's embarrassed, although he is; no, because he's very obviously being fucking mocked.]
What the hell kind of question is that? I know what our job is, just like you do.
[A farce. A fraud. A front. Just like Sumio, his eyes are wide open.]
What I wanted when I was a stupid kid doesn't have anything to do with anything.
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Which is precisely the problem in a situation like this. They barely talk. The second he opens his mouth, Leone'll be expecting something he's actually got to give a damn about. There's no way that Sumio can slowly lead his partner to his real purpose at the Heinous Crimes Unit: he's got to gamble on it. All or nothing.
It's his own fault. He had a dozen contingency plans to throw off a partner he didn't trust, and nothing for one he did.
Sumio glances up at the building they've parked outside, lingering. He purses his lips, feels his mouth itch for another cigarette. If he turns around, he's sure he'll see his partner bitching at him to finish up and get in the damn car so they can go home. He's taking too long here-- even as he debates with himself in quick-time-- but tonight might be his best shot to explain this all. Whatever 'this all' still is, if Sumio even still knows what his plot's supposed to be; whether it's even worth the risk to try to win his partner over to begin with. Enough navel gazing. He steps off the sidewalk and walks around to the passenger's side of the car.]
Hey, Leone. I'm curious about something.
[he says, outside the car, but fuck, he can't see his reaction. Without waiting for the answer he opens the door, sits down, and pulls it shut.
His suit still smells like smoke. He meets Abbacchio's eyes, decides it's too suspicious, and glances lower to watch the other man's lips, anticipating his answer.]
Humor me for a minute.
a dude cover of style by taylor swift is playing, it seems appropriate
[Or maybe it isn't. Maybe he's paranoid. Maybe staring at Sumio's back for full minutes longer than he ought to, as this smoke break stretches on past absentmindedness and into avoidance, doesn't mean anything at all.]
[Except they've known each other for years, and it does. He knows it does. The way Sumio stands, shoulders just a hint tenser, spine just so much straighter than usual — it'd mean nothing at all to most people, but him, he's seen too many smoke breaks, too many stomped-out cigarettes. Too many bad moods and quiet moods. He's seen too much of Sumio, period.]
[The night's dark. Through the cracked car window, he can smell his partner's shitty cheap cigarettes, the ones he used to complain about in earnest and now does out of habit. The scent's become a guilty comfort. He steals them sometimes, except it's not stealing if Sumio lets him, and he's pretty sure Sumio does know.]
[So — yeah. Something's up. It is. But Sumio's gonna tell him. He has to trust in that. And just as he thinks that, Sumio speaks, opens the door, slides in next to him.]
[Leone. Eyes on his lips, which press together in a moment of self-consciousness before going carefully relaxed. He can't figure out where to look. Leone. It still doesn't feel right.]
. . . Yeah. [Voice low, he dips his chin in the briefest of nods.] I'm listening.
[He's always listening.]
its a cop story baby just say crimes
(Ironic, that he's never really heard Abbacchio's.)
He follows the motion of Abbacchio's nod, waits to see that he is indeed listening, then cants his head a bit to the side. He was going to bullshit him with some dumb metaphor, but Abbacchio would see right through that-- if he wants him to cooperate, at least to look the other way from this whole affair, he'll just need to be straightforward.
Still. Sumio speaks deliberately, as if he is selecting his words with care: he is always careful, but so with the tenseness, the just-too-squared shoulders, there's something more there.]
When you were younger, did you always want to be a cop?
[A sober smile tugs at his lip in an attempt to diffuse the weight. Mostly, it just looks like a grimace. As willing as his partner is to go along with this line of questioning, he can't afford to scare him off too quickly.]
Did you want to uphold the law, or did you want to play hero? Or... were they the same, in your eyes?
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[The thing with Sumio—]
[The thing with Sumio is, he isn't sure he'd care enough to stop him. If somebody's gonna con him, if somebody's gonna use him for their own ends, he'd rather it be Sumio. He trusts Sumio, for better or for worse. He'd be used for something right, or at least close to it. Or at least just in Sumio's mind. That's good enough for him.]
[All the bleakness in his mind can't prepare him for the question that comes, though. Uncharacteristically, a faint flush rises high on his cheekbones before he jerks his chin up and looks away, fingers twitching on the steering wheel. Not because he's embarrassed, although he is; no, because he's very obviously being fucking mocked.]
What the hell kind of question is that? I know what our job is, just like you do.
[A farce. A fraud. A front. Just like Sumio, his eyes are wide open.]
What I wanted when I was a stupid kid doesn't have anything to do with anything.