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A while ago, a good man mentioned that he was intrigued by the small bit that Jigoro played in one of my other stories about something that is wet and cold. I won't be posting that story here for various reasons (although it is on pastebin), but I wanted to see if I could expand on that. Anyway. This is what happened. I plan to have a prologue and four parts. And I want to clarify so it's not misleading, this story is as much about Hisao and Shizune as it is about Jigoro. That will become clearer later.


Blood Bank (Feels for Jigoro)
Prologue (this post)
Part 1




Prologue


The winter season always does wonders for business; it's common practice for folks of all kinds to want to come out of the cold and get a little warmth in their bellies. Look no further than exhibit A, the unmistakable figure of one Jigoro Hakamichi, striding through the doors with typical swagger. Hanging up his hat and thick winter coat, he glances at the jazz quartet in the corner with what might just be approval before making his way over to the smoky bar.

Most people would be intimidated by the sight of a surly bear of a man headed their way, but I've had years of practice with this one. In fact, even though his mood seems about the same as ever, tonight he isn't even swinging around that fancy sheathed sword of his, opting instead for what looks like an expensive umbrella. An interesting choice for the snowy weather outside, but you don't get very far as a bartender by judging people. Time to throw the smile on.

“Welcome, Mister Hakamichi. The usual?”

Jigoro nods as he takes his seat at the bar, and I reach for a bottle of our finest sake. It doesn't come cheap, but we cater to some of the finest tastes in all of Saitama, and cheap was never on the menu for Mister H anyway.

Normally you wouldn't want to give a foul-tempered, sword-toting man alcohol, but Jigoro isn't here to fight. Apparently he's been a regular for even longer than I've been working here, and that's quite a few years now. He just drinks, and sulks, and rants, occasionally grumbling about a business deal that fell through or various other things, like kids today. I seem to recall his daughter and her useless boyfriend being a favorite topic as of late.

Tonight seems to be a little different, though. Part of the art of bartending is being inconspicuous when the situation calls for it, and since Mister H is obviously in no mood to talk, I decide to give him space. Moods can change pretty quickly after enough expensive drink, though, and nobody comes to a bar to be alone. I have a feeling that, if Jigoro really wanted to sit somewhere and drink in solitude, he'd already be doing it.

My patron slams his empty glass down on the counter, loosening his tie with the other hand.

“Again, Ueda.” But the bottle is empty.

“Right away, sir.” I reach for another one.

Time passes, and the second bottle fares about as well as the first. Mister H can handle his liquor pretty well, but by the time the third appears, the seams are starting to show. His breathing is fast and shallow, and he's clutching onto that umbrella like the side of a liferaft. I hate having to cut customers off, especially the well-paying kind, but the way things are going, I won't have much of a choice soon. And he's being unusually quiet tonight, usually he'd have broken out into some rant by now. I decide to take a stab at conversation.

“Is everything all--”

“Do you have kids, Ueda?”

The interjecting isn't new, but the question is. Mister H prefers to keep the conversation solely focused on himself most of the time.

“Can't say I do, sir. Things never really fell into place, it would seem.” I try to make my answer as noncommittal but still sincere as possible.

Jigoro pauses, and I'm sure he's throwing together some venomous speech.

“You're probably a lucky man, then.”

I wait for him to go on, and am not disappointed.

“My oldest, she's in her third year of college now.”

“I remember. Going to school for business, right?” He nods and gives his drink a shake.

“She hasn't spoken--” Jigoro stops mid-sentence, then lets out a laugh that manages to be both hearty and bitter at the same time. Recovering, he takes a long drink. Recovering from that, he turns his head back to me, but his gaze is somewhere off in the distance, his eyes narrowed.

“She hasn't contacted me in two years.” He says it through clenched teeth.

I nod, unsure of just how supportive Mister H is expecting me to be right now. I really can't say I've been in his shoes, so it's either offer some cliched advice or hope he gets where he's going anyway. They usually do.

“But my son, she sends him a picture of her and her damn boyfriend at some school thing.”

He pauses for another drink before muttering something under his breath.

“Still wearing those goddamn sweatervests.” The disgust in his voice sounds like a force of habit.

“Anyway, my son, one of the few who knows how a man should act these days, he shows me the picture.”

“Does she look happy?”

“I'm going to need another drink before I even think about answering that question.” Jigoro growls, and I fill up his glass once again. Instead of continuing though, he glances around for a clock, the way his eyes strain another indicator that he may have had one too many.

“Is it midnight yet, Ueda?”

I look over at the clock mounted in fancy polished brass to my right, the only place that Mister H seems to have missed in his search for one.

“Just after, sir.”

Jigoro's eyes narrow even further, and he slams the umbrella on the bar counter, one hand gripping it tightly while the other does the same for his glass.

I'm trying to work out what could be causing my patron's strange behavior, and it takes a little bit for me to remember. We do have quite a lot of customers after all, with quite a lot of tales to tell, quite a lot of wounds to nurse. Scores to settle, if they're lucky. And scores they'll never be able to, if they're not.

Ah.

“It's come around again already, sir?” This has to be done carefully. Mixing the right amounts of respect, macho solidarity, and sympathy is just as difficult as making any drink.

Jigoro stars at the clock with disgust, as if simple ire could turn back time.

“Hit me again, Ueda.” He growls.

This is the bottom of bottle number three.

“Are you sure--” He turns that venomous gaze on me, and I comply. The customer is always right, after all. Until they're not. But we're not quite at that point yet, I think.

So bottle number three is snuffed out. Jigoro twirls the umbrella around in one hand impatiently as I reach for number four. The sound of the sake hitting the glass does little to fill the emptiness of the bar, even with noise of the other patrons and the entertainment. The jazz quartet slurs out quiet melodies that seem to reflect off the soft white flakes tumbling down outside the windows.

“So, in the picture...” I try to push things along.

“You know god damn well what she looks like.”

Ah.

A little bit early this year.

“They grow up so fast these days, I hear.” I try to tip-toe around an issue that I only even know exists because I've been working here for a long while. Jigoro nods.

“In the blink of an eye.” He rasps, the sake finally starting to take its toll. His skin is flushed, and his hands shake slightly as he rattles his drink around.

The conversation dies off again. I wave goodbye to a few rosy-faced regulars who begin to make their way into the dark, frozen night. It's starting to get pretty late.

In an effort to steer things in a more manageable direction, I fall back onto the painfully old standard.

“There's supposed to be a winter storm setting in tonight. Could be pretty bad out there.”

Mister H scoffs, as if frozen roads and pelting snow were things he could berate into nonexistence.

“Trying to get rid of me, eh?”

“Nothing of the sort, sir. It's just that if you had to stay here overnight, we might run out of sake.” I crack a grin in another attempt to diffuse the tension, but I don't think Jigoro's even listening to me anymore. He's staring into space, eyes narrowed. Maybe I'd rather have him argue with himself than with me.

Finally, he seems to come to a decision. He stands up, but too suddenly, and reaches for the bar to steady himself, looking more angry than embarrassed.

“Calling it a night, Mister Hakamichi?” Probably a good idea, the weather's only going to get--

“I need to see her.”

Uh oh.

“Your daughter? But isn't she studying in--”

“Not her.” Mister H's interruption catches me off guard.

Big uh oh. He radiates anger like a heater in a cold room as he throws a wad of money on the counter. Even after four bottles of sake, there's enough there for a generous tip. It pays to get to know your clientele, but right now there are bigger things at hand.

“Let me call you a cab, sir.”

“No need, Ueda.” Jigoro is already stalking towards the entrance on unsteady feet. I feel a slight swell of panic begin to rise in my gut. This is a first. And at a place like this, we don't like firsts.

“Sir, I really don't think you should be driving right no--” I begin to move out from behind the bar but Jigoro spins around and marches back to meet me head on, stopping only inches away.

“Do not tell a man what he can and cannot do, Ueda.” He snarls. His tone is all venom, but his expression doesn't quite match. He looks frustrated, sure, but not at me. His anger seems more directed at himself, something I'm grateful for in the moment where a muscular man wielding a blunt object glares down at me.

“Now, I am going to see my wife. Good night.” He whirls around, finding steadier footing this time. Jigoro collects his hat and overcoat, and then, just like that, he's gone.


I can't stave off a growing sensation of dread as I'm left there in his wake. Customers get too drunk to drive home all the time, but they've always either lived within walking distance or haven't had a problem with taking a cab. I can't help but think I may be partly responsible for anything that could go wrong now. After all, I did pour the drinks.

I make my way back behind the bar and begin preparing to clean up for the night, trying all the while to think of a solution. Then it hits me. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell phone, and begin looking through my list of saved contacts.

There it is. The number is one I acquired from one of Jigoro's rare drinking partners years ago, a well-dressed, rather androgynous young woman. A likeable girl, handled her liquor well. Most people came here to escape their jobs but when she was here with Mister H, she always looked like she was still on duty. I had jokingly passed it off as an advance being made when she gave me her number one night, but we both knew it was in case anything important might come up with our mutual acquaintance.

I glance around the sleepy, upscale bar. The entertainment is beginning to pack up for the night, and the other staff are waking up the few patrons who have dozed off, drinks still in hand. Excusing myself for a moment, I make my way out the back entrance and into the cold, frosty air of a midwinter night.
It's worth a shot. I dial the number.


No good, it's disconnected. I can't really be surprised, it must have been about four years ago since I first got it. And there had never been a need before now.

It's not uncommon for Jigoro to drink so heavily, especially at this time of the year. And he's not the type to get too drunk and do something stupid. But still, I have a bad feeling about this. I decide to try one more thing. Mister H might not be nicest guy around, but that doesn't mean I want to see him or some innocent bystander get hurt. Anyone stuck out in the cold on a night like this has it bad enough without getting run down by a car.

I pick another number in my phone and begin to dial. It rings this time, once, twice, click.

“Hey Kamikishiro . Yeah, it's me. Fine, thanks for asking.” I make the necessary small talk but try to hurry it along, the frigid night air is starting to chill me to the bone. I glance up at the sky, a sheet of gray and black, moonlight just barely peeking through the thick clouds that pour down snow. Here we go.

“Listen, I need to ask for a favor. Can you send a patrol car over to Sasagawa Memorial Cemetery?”

Hmm, interesting. I will wait to see how this story begins to pan out before I pass any judgments on it's content. Your technique is good, I can't really fault it. Keep up the good work.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.

Good Start

I reckon that the number Ueda tried to call first was Akira.

Thanks for your interest so far, guys. You'd be right about that one, bradpara. Also I don't really know if it's polite to respond to people and post the next part at the same time, but it's what's happening. Mild erotic content. Bet you didn't see that coming. Sorry if I should have given more warning in advance. Wasn't planned. These things happen.


Part one
Beloved Wife


“I think we were supposed to turn there.”
You think too much. We'll get there eventually.
“This is why you should have let me drive. You always get us lost.”
Lost? How can we get lost? That's one of the great things about living in this country. Drive far enough in any one direction and you'll hit the beach eventually.
Besides, I thought you didn't mind getting lost.
“Well. I wouldn't mind if you weren't such a scary driver.”
You're one to talk, woman. There's a reason I don't let you behind the wheel.
I still remember, when those kids on their motorcycle almost clipped us, you were shouting “Drive faster! I want to hit them with my sword!”



I must be crazy to be out here on a night like this. White, white, everywhere, it's all I can see. The winter air sinks its claws through my coat and grips me by my bones. It feels like a place I could die in, like if I just stopped, the world would stop with me, and I could let everything drain away in a sea of snow. Which would be appropriate, considering the rows of graves that surround me on all sides.

“I know I'm a little early this year. Some things have been happening. I had to come by.”

The words are almost drowned out by the silent march of the snow all around, as if there wasn't room for them in the air. I can barely make them out. Me and my partner Kirima exchange glances. The voice was more pleasant to follow than the trail of blood, but both led us in the same direction, away from the overturned car with the smashed out window near the entrance and here, deeper into the more expensive and elaborate side of the cemetery. The width and regularity of the red patches in the snow before us was beginning to make my stomach knot up as we crunched through the growing sea of white. But we're close now. I hope I'm ready for whatever lies in store for us. You see all kind of things in this job, lots of which you wish you hadn't.

“I don't have anything to say that you don't already know.” The voice again. The tone is angry, hesitant, and more than a little slurred. But there's a determination there, too.

“But I had to come by. I had to--”

“I had to see you.”

The two of us crest a hill, and the source of the baleful noise that led us here comes into view. It's quite a sight to behold. A large man kneels before a snow covered grave, clearing away the inscription with a clenched, trembling fist. It wouldn't be too out of place if the arm the fist belonged to wasn't bent at an unnatural angle and dripping dark blood.

He must hear us approach, but his eyes sink to the ground instead of raising to meet us.

“What do you want?” He growls. Next to me, I feel Kirima glance uncertainly in my direction. As the senior officer, the job of answering falls to me.

“Sir, I'm officer Saotome with the Saitama Prefecture Police. You need medical attention.”

“I don't care who you are.” He replies, and turns to look at me. His gaze is searching, trying to evaluate me even though it's clear his brain is clouded with pain and, probably, alcohol.

“I don't care that you don't care. But we're getting you out of here either way.”

The man scoffs and begins to stand up, but one leg gives out from under him and he collapses in front of the tombstone. By the time I reach him, Kirima is on the radio calling for an ambulance.

“Sir, are you alone? Was it just you in the car?” I carefully try to get him sitting up, but the damn snow isn't helping. I almost feel like I'm drowning in it or being smothered, or both at the same time.

“The car?” The man mumbles to me, but his eyes are locked to the grave beside us now.

“Yes, sir. Are you alone?” I'm trying to gauge him for stages of shock or other physical injuries, but it's obvious he's had more than a few drinks tonight.

He seems to think on the question for far too long. I realize it was a stupid one to ask given where we are, but one that had to be asked anyway. Finally, he seems to come to a conclusion, his eyes narrowing further.

“No, no I'm not. I'm not.” He reaches for the tombstone again to continue unearthing it, but his arm is trembling violently, and for the first time I see the dark patch of blood staining his thick, blue-black hair. In fact, there's quite a lot more blood than I noticed at first. I didn't think I could get any colder in this weather, but I somehow manage it.

“Sir, please try not to move.” I turn to shout to my partner, “Where's that ambulance?”

“On the way. Ten minutes.” Kirima replies, then, “Masami.”

I follow his gaze. The man next to me is slumped against the tombstone. His eyes are closed.

“Shit.” This one's going to make us work for it. “Get over her and help me, we might not have ten minutes.”

We manage to keep him breathing until the ambulance arrives. The paramedics look miserable, tromping through the heavy snow with a stretcher between them, and me and my partner help our unnamed friend onto it. He's unsurprisingly heavy given his size, but with some combined effort, we get him strapped in and they're off to load him up and be on the road.

It's out of our hands now. I can't help but feel relieved.

More than ready to get back to the station, Kirima and I begin the long walk back to the cemetery entrance. I've had enough red snow to last me all winter, and probably longer.

I glance back at the grave that had held the man's rapt attention. It's a fairly massive, obviously expensive piece, adorned with a statue of an angel with arms outspread. Despite his best drunken efforts, he had only managed to clear away the epitaph and part of the name, which I can barely make out in the dark.

“Hakamichi”.

The rest is buried beneath waves of white. It's not alone though. Just before I turn to walk away, I notice what appears to be a fancy umbrella, lying in front of the tombstone like an undying bouquet of flowers, barely visible beneath the snow that floats down, uncaring and indifferent.





The “incoming call” tone blares so loudly that it almost makes me jump, and I frantically search for the “accept” option on the screen, if only to make it stop. I still haven't gotten used to these video chats, even though I've been dealing them for a while now. A computer replacing a phone just never feels right to me, and I never even use my phone that much.

The webcam's feed pops up and I see her there, framed against the backdrop of what could be any typical college dorm room. A grin quickly spreads across her face and I return it, the tiny picture from my own camera in the bottom corner of the screen serving as proof.

Our conversation starts slowly at first. It's been a while since we've seen eachother, I guess things have been pretty busy on both ends and there just hasn't been time for little things like this. A classic symptom of getting older, it would seem. A text chat box sits, ignored, at the bottom of the screen. There's no need when conversing in sign has been such a big part of her life and now mine, our hands fluidly moving back and forth. Although I do notice that some of her gestures and mannerisms have changed a little bit since we first began talking like this. Evolved a little, like developing an accent from being somewhere else for too long. It brings a wistful smile to my lips. Things like that are inevitable, but they're also a reminder of just how much distance there is between us these days.

“[...are you paying attention?]” She motions, a playfully annoyed look on her face. I realize I had drifted off a bit, the difference between signing to someone standing in front of you and on a dull computer screen plain as day.

“[Sorry.]” I reply. “[This is a little harder to do over a webcam.]”

She nods, and starts poking tentatively at things off and around the screen, searching for something.

“[What if I do... here, does this...?]” She signs distractedly as she fiddles with the controls of her camera. It seems to do the trick, as a short burst of static assaults my ears and then a familiar voice rings out.

“Can you hear me now, Hicchan~?”

I sigh. Apparently I'm not the only one who doesn't have the hang of all these high-tech things yet. Life never slows down, does it?

“Loud and clear, Misha.”

“Whew! I thought you were just trying to test me on my sign language, and I get enough of that with my day job!” She winks cheerfully.

“Well what can I say, I learned from the best. I guess I'm not the only one who can say that anymore.” This elicits a warm burst of laughter, but her expression suddenly grows serious.

“Hicchan, behind you~!” I don't even bother turning. Even if I hadn't seen the figure emerging in my own camera feed in the corner, I could sense her presence. A slim, bespectacled face juts past my shoulder as I feel a pair of fingers form bunny ears above my head. I move to slap at the offending hand but it quickly whisks out of my reach in a blur of sign as Shizune greets Misha, smiling from ear-to-ear. I begin to slide my chair to the side so that she can take center stage, but she plops into my lap, scoots us back in front of the screen, and, all in one fluid motion, continues signing. I decide to withhold any complaint, instead peeking around her slender figure to make occasional faces at the camera.

Misha glows as she talks about her time overseas, the students and teachers that she's met, the places she's been and delicious foods she's discovered. Shizune responds with tales of her hostile takeover of her new university, and for a while, it's just like the old times. I'm reminded of those two friends I met on my first day at Yamaku, completely inseparable and unstoppable, taking on the whole world by themselves. They seemed so fierce and determined to overcome whatever life threw at them, even if that included a new transfer student, fresh out of the hospital, with a spirit as broken as his body.

Things have changed a lot since then, though. Nothing makes that clearer than when a strange voice calls out on Misha's screen, and I see her turn to look at someone. When she glances back at us, there's a look in her eyes that I know too well. It's one that the young woman in my lap wears often when we're together. It's called love, I'm pretty sure.

Misha spins us something about forgetting she had plans that day, and bids us a fond farewell, grinning the whole time. Even though Shizune couldn't have heard the mysterious figure on the other side of the screen, the look on her face says she hasn't missed a thing. A few years apart isn't enough to erase all the time they spent joined at the hip, apparently.

The video chat ends, and then it's just the two of us. With only a moment of reluctance, Shizune rises to her feet and turns off the computer monitor in a swift chopping motion. The banging noise makes me grimace, but she turns, a little too oblivious, and grabs a hold of my tie, pulling me up out of my chair and only inches away from her.

“[So, what about our own plans for the evening?]” I sign with some difficulty, pointedly ignoring the hand still clasping my tie and the look Shizune is giving me.

There's the glint in her eyes again. We'd barely stepped inside my tiny apartment when Misha had called. I'm surprised, but I shouldn't be. I can't say I didn't know it was coming from the moment she arrived. I'm not giving in so quickly, though. I stare back at her blankly, feigning complete ignorance.

She gives my tie a pointed tug. I cock my head to one side in bewilderment. Shizune's eyes narrow, and I feel like an antelope staring down a hungry lion. But, I've come too far to give up now. I bring up one hand to check my watch.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have taken my eyes off her.


I make some halfhearted excuses about the weather outside being awful anyway and she agrees vigorously, and then our hands resume our physical debate. I can't really complain, as her legs wrap around me and we sink onto the bed. These days, though, what time we do get to spend together, things like this seem to take up most of it.

Buttons, buttons, buttons. I don't remember there being so many, but suddenly the sheer number of obstacles before me is astounding. When once I would have fumbled, I now work with the precision of bomb disposal unit.

It's just... and, zippers, too... it's just, no pun intended, but we seem to spend most of our time together doing and never just being. Never talking, never... my lips caress her neck for a few moments, and then I find the time to bite, softly only at first. The ensuing gasp that escapes her lips brings a smile to mine. No, I can't complain. I just... Shizune manages to gain the high ground, flipping me on my back. She leans in for a kiss but jerks her head back just before I can deliver, a confident smirk on her face. She reaches over and turns out the lights with one hand, and I fully expect her to wield the darkness like a weapon.

I was anticipating a sledgehammer but got a needle instead. Shizune lays on top of me, the pure feeling of flesh on flesh and her scent overriding my senses. In the darkness, she looks into my eyes with a gaze that says “I missed you”. I return it with one of my own. It's something we've gotten good at after spending so much time together in situations where signing would be... inconvenient.

I love this girl. There isn't any doubt of that in my mind.

But there's something. There's a distance between us that hangs like a fog, and it gets a little thicker every time we part ways for a couple weeks. If she notices it too, she always tries to banish it with things like this. And it's not that her methods aren't effective, as her hands smooth down my sides, over my arms, and then entangle with my own.

It's like she's a photo that gets blurrier every time I see it. Here, like this, it's all simple and clean. Well, okay, simple, as our bodies meet and we sink into eachother. Suddenly, there isn't time for anything else. It's a frozen, miserable night outside, but we manage to keep warm. I think she's won this round.

I just wish it was clearer what rulebook we're using, and who's team we're on.


I wake up the next day to the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the snow that blankets everything beyond my window. Blinking away the remnants of whatever sleep I managed to get, I glance over at Shizune. She's on the far side of the bed opposite me, fast asleep, facing the other way. It bothers me, a little. I think. I mean, she's probably used to sleeping alone these days, although I wish that wasn't the case. I probably do the same thing, and I can't really expect that to change for the occasional night we get to spend together.

It frustrates me even though I know it shouldn't, and that only frustrates me more. Luckily, a distraction appears in the form of a loud, persistent buzzing noise. I look around for the source, and eventually locate the origin as the pocket of Shizune's pants, carelessly discarded as they were on the floor of my bedroom.

Still a little groggy, I manage to fish out my girlfriend's cell phone and flip it open. The background is a group photo of Shizune and some other people who must be her classmates at some fancy dinner event. I can't help but wince. The last time I'd seen it, her wallpaper had been the two of us in front of some monument, that time we'd gone to visit Misha overseas. Shizune always said that stupid things like borders couldn't keep the three of us apart.

Anyway. The buzzing is a text message alert. Receiving actual calls is kind of pointless for her, so Shizune only uses it for messaging. And even then, she still doesn't really like the thing, so for it to be making this much fuss it must be important. Thinking I'll relay the message to her, I click past the new message screen. It's from Hidaeki, and he says...

I almost drop the phone. I want to do just that and go back to sleep, maybe delete the message and forget anything even happened, but I know I can't. So I do the only thing I can, which is wake the sleeping, peaceful, beautiful figure lying next to me and inform her that today is going to be a very long day.

A long day indeed. The thing is, no real time will pass between the state now and the state beginning the next chapter for Hisao, but for us in the real world time marches on regardless. Hisao and Shizune's long day is going to be a long week, or fortnight, or whatever else for us. I've always found that to be the worst part about reading an ongoing story. But the best part is that your story is convincing me wait out that delay between chapters; this is something you should be proud of. I await part two eagerly.
Cheers, BlackWaltz.

This is good, I like where it could go.