Until We Meet Again

It was just a regular night in New York City, with the brightly-lit bar about to close. A brunette calmly wished customers ‘good night’ as they walked out, others staging drunkenly, the female bar singer ending her song of the night. A Japanese came out from the backroom and asked the bartender for a quick fix, and the other employees set up their belongings and wished the head ‘good night’ before departing as well. In the venue remained two other customers, one with a scotch in his hands and the other with his legs crossed and reading the local paper.

As the door closed with a soft click, the female finished her song and the head bartender swiftly walked to the door, locking it and switching off the lights on the side, shutting down the lights on the outside, signaling its’ close. He then flipped the sign so it read ‘Come back tomorrow’, and pulled the indoor shutters down. Once this was done, he turned towards the four remaining people on the inside and cocked a brow.

“So what’s tonight’s agenda?”

The reign of Kira had continued since its start in 2003. Attempts to stop this man called Kira were unsuccessful, commonly resulting in death. The only people to ever come close were former members of the SPK, who had later died as a result. After that event, no one ever dared to stop the killer. People started worshiping, the nations’ leaders bowed down to him, and they were at his utter mercy.

Or so Kira thought.

Unknown to him, there were people who had resurrected the SPK.

“No updates so far.” The woman spoke, running a hand through her hair and sitting down next to a ginger man, who looked her way with a small smile. “At least, that’s what this ginger told me.” The man smirked, nodding at her words in agreement. “Nothing new. The bloody arsehole is still on the loose, and we haven’t quite caught up to him as of now.”

“So there aren’t any leads?” they all looked towards the older American fellow, whose graying hair was starting to thin. “Not a single one? Didn’t Daisuke hear anything about it?” at this, the Japanese shook his head. The man sighed. “Goddamn. We need to pick up new leads – fast – before anyone catches us.” At this, his blue eyes met the bartender’s, who glanced away quickly.

“Dad, nothing’s going to happen.”

“Your dad’s right, Paul.” Spoke Daisuke. “We really need to get new leads. You heard what happened to one man out in Jersey who tried to speak against Kira. They found him dead a day after.” At this, Paul grumbled and poured himself a shot of vodka upon reaching the counter. The woman next to the ginger asked for one as well, and he passed one to her.

She downed it and gave a heavy sigh after.

“Some kind of SPK we are. L would be disappointed.”

“Now, don’t say that, Ira. It’s usual for things like this to come up slowly,” spoke the older man. Paul glanced at his father and snorted.

“We’ve got two Top Ten ex-students of Wammy, a former member of the Japanese Task Force, and a father-and-son duo who have connections to the NYPD. And  things are supposed to come up slowly. I’d never thought I’d live to hear that.”

John sent a hard glare at his son.

“We’re all trying our best, Paul.”

“Then try harder.”

Everything fell silent at that. The air was a mix of strong alcohol and frustration, the weather dropping and chilling almost all, except for the two Americans who were used to the weather. After a moment of awkward, hushed silence, the ginger spoke.

“Jun’s going to call tonight. He’s been searching.”

“What?” Ira looked at the man next to her with wide, disbelieving eyes. “We’ve been wallowing in self-pity all this time and you only tell this to us now? Jesus Christ, Liam, you’ve got damn well excellent timing.” Her voice held only sarcasm, and Paul tossed a bottle of vodka, which she promptly opened and drank from. No one protested against her action – it was something they were all used to at this point.

“He wasn’t sure if he could make it,” he waved his iPhone around and smirked. “He only texted me just now. Calm down, Feline.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, but seemed to relax at his words.

Daisuke reached over and snatched the phone, scanning over Jun’s latest message. “We’ve got a few minutes,” he handed it back and folded his arms over his chest. “We should move upstairs before anyone wonders why there are possible voices coming from a closed bar.”

“And that only raises suspicion.” John got off his stool. “Head on up.”

* * * * *

“Want a smoke?”

“I’ll pass.” Liam then lit his own and smoked into the cold New York air, Ira right next to him with her alcohol in her hands. “But save some for me just in case I want to have a smoke or two.”

“Sure thing.” And it was quiet between them, he looking over the city and she just there, leaning against the wall and drinking. “I guess it’s one of those nights?”

“It’s always that kind of night, Liam.”

“I guess you’re right.” he turned to her, seeing her put the bottle down on the small table and close her green eyes. “Go back inside if you’re sleepy. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

A lot to do, a lot to risk.

He exhaled smoke, and yet took another drag.

“Correction: you have a lot more to do regarding this whole mess.”

“True.”

He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath the sole of his leather shoes, and walked to her, leaning beside her spot. She opened her eyes lazily, glancing at him before shutting them once more. “Sometimes I even wonder why we’re doing this. The SPK thing. Hunting down Kira and bringing justice like what was taught to us, when we can stay under the radar, be safe, manage a bar like what we seem to do under the general eye of New York City.”

“I guess it’s what we’ve been fated to do, Ira.”

“Fate schmate. That’s a bunch of bullocks.”

“I believe in fate. I was a lazy ass at Wammy’s, and look at me now. Patrolling and blending and actually going outside, even though I really don’t like it.”

“Get a new job, switch with Paul. Or Jun. And that’s not even fate, Liam. That’s some kind of miracle or development or whatever shit.”

“Hah.” He snorted. “Real funny. And to think you were such a sweet little girl with a stick up her arse back then.”

She looked at him blandly.

“If you think that was sweet, then have a taste of me now.”

He grinned, pleased at the invitation.

“Gladly.”

And he did it.

He kissed her, and she clearly kissed him back. It lasted for a few moments until she pulled away, her cheeks a little red and a light scowl on her pink lips.

“That wasn’t a request, smart ass. And stop smoking, you taste like nicotine. You might drop to the ground faster than Kira’s kills.”

“No can do.” He leaned in once more, backing her into the wall and chuckling at her visibly flustered expression. “I’d like another taste. How’s that for polite?”

“Screw you,” she muttered, but pulled him harshly by the collar of his shirt, giving him a rough and deep kiss. Liam could taste the vodka on her lips and hummed lightly, soon pulling away himself and giving a faint, faint smile.

“So, you want to give this a try?”

“If I were in another situation, I’d refuse.” She took his hand and smiled the slightest bit. “But given what we’re going through – what the hell, I’d even skydive if you’d ask me to.”

* * * * *

Terrible things had happened as the months passed, and it was just the two of them who remained. She stayed still, breathing calmly as she looked at the man right next to her, both of them strapped to chairs without a chance of escape. He had his hand in her own, a request he had asked before a higher power would take them away.

John Peters. Paul Moore. Jun Matsumoto. Daisuke Satou. 

All exterminated as the months went by.

And then it was the two of them that remained.

“It’s been a great time, Ira.” He commented. She cracked a small smile.

“We don’t need to use aliases anymore, Liam.”

“In that case, let me introduce myself before it’s too late. Mail Jeevas.” His blue eyes twinkled at her, those blue eyes she found herself in love with.

“Adrienne Maxwell. It’s been a pleasure to be with you, Mail.” And she looked at him fondly, with a look in her green eyes that he would probably never see again.

“And the same to you, Adrienne.”

He longed to kiss her once more.

The steel doors opened and two armed men came in.

The man and the woman could only look forward, holding hands and ready to embrace their fate.

“Goodbye, Ginger.”

“Goodbye, Feline.”

And fate had run its course.