GinSherry was a Thing, pass it on.

Sherry’s collected, almost cold inquiry made him pause. Gin had expected tears, weeping and wailing; he’d been prepared to comfort a pain he didn’t know nor would ever experience himself. And yet… Had he been wrong about Sherry’s affection for her sister? Had he miscalculated the grief Miyano’s death would cause? For a moment, Gin entertained the idea that all the hard work he’d invested in getting rid of the cursed woman had been unnecessary in the long run—but no, it couldn't be. Too easily could he recall how Sherry’s face tended to soften whenever she spoke of her sister with honeyed warmth in her voice. Those rare little moments when she would let him in on memories he wasn’t part of.

Gin’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. No, being rid of Miyano was many things, but not a mistake. It was just that Sherry’s apparent lack of devastation threw him off, if only just. In the end, tears could always be dried with some pretty lies. This calmness of hers, however, was sharp, demanding truths he couldn’t possibly give. Ever. And yet it was no use playing dumb now, either. Forcing down the urge to light another cigarette, Gin wet his lips. He had to mind the road.

“I’m on my way to you. Talk to you then,” he said, cautiously matching the tone of her voice. 

There was a moment of silence before Sherry ended the call without uttering another word. Gin figured he would have to adjust his plans. 

He found her waiting inside her office at the lab about an hour later. Sherry sat at her desk, straight back turned towards him, hair messy from running her hand through it one too many times. Underneath her lab coat, she wore the same clothes from last night, picked up from his bedroom floor in a hurry earlier this morning. It was a familiar sight to him—Sherry being immersed in her work, getting the Organisation one step closer to their goal with every calculation and experiment she conducted. 

Today, though, her computer screen remained noticeably dark; her paperwork neatly stacked an arm's-length away, obviously untouched. Except for the soft rise and fall of her shoulders, Sherry was eerily still. It didn’t seem like she’d even noticed his presence.

Silently, Gin took in the sight of her a while longer, unknowingly committing it to memory. Only much later, when the world had already been shaken to its core, would he come to realise that this very moment had been the silence before the storm.

Gin gave the door frame a soft knock upon finally entering the room. The young scientist stood at once, facing him. Although she was a little paler than usual, Sherry’s face didn’t betray any hint of emotion. Only her unexpectedly dry eyes were looking straight at him in a way that always made Gin’s skin crawl. It was a look Sherry usually reserved for particularly stubborn mathematical problems she was set out to solve, mercilessly dismantling them bit by bit until she found the solution. And no matter how complex the task was, she would get there one day, inevitably. Still hoping that day was somewhere in the far-off future, Gin evaded her gaze. He would have to tread very carefully. 

First, he needed to know what information Sherry had so far. How had she found out about Miyano’s death in the first place? Had someone told her? What could she possibly already know? He’d actively kept her off the news for the past couple of days and he doubted that someone inside the lab had made the connection between the bank robber Hirota Masami and head scientist Miyano Shiho, let alone approached her about it. Knowing Sherry, she certainly already suspected the Organisation to be involved in Miyano’s death—but to what extent? Having too little information to assess the situation properly, Gin waited for her to break the silence first.

“How long have you known?” Sherry asked at last, again in that oddly detached manner of hers.

Gin stepped closer to her. That was an easy enough question. It had been three days. Three days since he’d put a bullet through Miyano’s heart. Three days of bliss. But he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he extended his hand towards Sherry’s face. Before his fingertips could even brush against her skin, though, she turned away, stepping out of his reach. 

“How long?” she repeated, louder this time, but not less composed.

Miyano was dead. What did it matter how long he had or hadn’t known? It didn’t change a thing, did it? Compared to Sherry’s original Why is she dead? it was an uncharacteristically stupid question to begin with. Why had she changed her approach? Gin considered her blank face for a moment, then let his gaze slowly wander over her body. It was then that he finally saw it—the first sign of emotion. Sherry’s right hand, stiffly resting against her upper thigh, was trembling ever so slightly. Was it from held-back sadness? Anger? Both? What could possibly be going through her head?

“I found out yesterday,” Gin lied, deciding it was best to humour her for now.

Sherry gave a curt nod before putting another step between them. He watched as she leaned against the desk behind her, the way her fingers curled around the edges of the sterile tabletop on each side of her hips. Under different circumstances, it might’ve looked like an invitation, but Gin knew better than that today. 

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell me since then,” Sherry stated flatly, fixing him with that persistent stare of hers. The accusation in her words wasn’t lost on him.

They both knew she wasn’t wrong, of course. Between dinner and bed there had been some time to break the news to her, but telling her then would have ruined the mood for the evening quite a bit. Not that Gin had planned on telling her at all—at least not for a while. If things had gone according to his plans, Sherry would’ve first gotten worried about Miyano in a month or so, when one too many calls between the sisters had fallen through; when Miyano’s answering machine had been so full of unheard voice messages that it couldn’t have recorded any more. When Miyano would’ve failed to contact Sherry for Christmas, New Year’s and eventually her birthday... Only when Sherry’s worry would have turned into outright distress would he have offered to inquire about Miyano’s whereabouts—and ultimately find out about her tragic, unforeseeable death. By then, Sherry would’ve come to terms with reality, grieve for a little while and eventually go on with life. Her untimely confrontation with her sister’s death was indeed an unfortunate turn of events… 

Since Sherry couldn’t back off further, Gin dared another step towards her, then another. She lifted her chin, still watching him like a hawk, reminding him that he was under close observation. Now that Sherry was back within reach, Gin let his knuckles run gently down her cheek, if only to have her ever-alert eyes stray from his for but one second. Sherry didn’t turn away from the gesture, nor did she lower her gaze. He could tell that his touch against her heated skin wasn’t as welcome as usual, but it would have to make do for now. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Gin admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind Sherry’s ear. The best lies were closest to the truth.  

She nodded again, lips pressed into a thin line. They remained like this for a moment, until her body eventually shifted away from his touch, leaving his hand hanging awkwardly in the empty air between them. 

“So you just let me find out like this?”  

A loud rustle went through the room as Sherry shoved a bunch of paper against Gin’s chest. It only took him one look to recognise yesterday’s newspaper, crumpled and stained as if someone had pulled it from the trash. He groaned inwardly; Miyano’s face had made the front page that day. 

“Why?” Sherry demanded, arms crossing over her chest.

Why, indeed. Why did Miyano have to let a rat sneak on board only to then try and jump ship with it? Why had Miyano, unimportant as she’d been, done anything to endanger her sister; ruin the Organisation’s uttermost goal? Why had this traitor—his thief, this witch!—had to exist in the first place and make Gin’s life this damn hard? 

Gin grabbed the newspaper, pretending to read the front page as if he hadn’t seen it before. Sherry was studying him like a tome, looking for something—anything—that might give him away. She would find nothing; he wouldn’t give her anything to doubt him. When Gin looked up at her again, he finally met her gaze. 

“There was some talk that she wanted to desert…” he mused.

Now it was his turn to observe Sherry closely. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but he knew from experience that blood tended to be thicker than water. Who knew… maybe Sherry hadn’t been as ignorant of her sister’s plans as he’d gambled on. Maybe she’d long been onto them—Miyano and him—playing dumb, now that her way out of the Organisation had gone up in flames. It would even explain this peculiar behaviour of hers, this false calmness; maybe Sherry had— 

The genuine surprise on Sherry’s face lifted a long-accumulated weight off Gin’s shoulders. She really hadn’t suspected a thing. And how could he have doubted her? Sherry was a woman of the Organisation—his woman, no less. He shouldn’t ever have questioned her loyalties!

Gin watched as Sherry opened her mouth only to close it again, struggling for words. It didn’t make sense to her. It was apparent that no matter how she twisted and turned his words inside her head, she couldn’t put the puzzle together. Sherry’s eyes darted away from his, looking around as if the answers to her questions were written somewhere on the walls of this small office. Gin could almost hear the gears turning high-speed inside her head. 

“She…” Sherry reached for the dirty newspaper in his hands, but eventually dropped her arm before her fingers could brush against his sleeve. “She wouldn’t have left.”

Gin’s heart skipped a beat hearing her voice begin to shake. How he wanted to embrace her then; dearest Sherry, naïve little pet. If only she knew! All this time he’d kept her safe from Miyano’s lies and intrigues, her vicious attempts to get them both killed. A part of him wanted Sherry to know, to appreciate what he’d done. The other part of him—the one guided by professional instinct—thankfully kept his mouth sealed shut. As long as he lived, Sherry would never know what had truly happened to Miyano Akemi. 

Gin took one last look at the utter confusion written all over Sherry’s face before laying his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her against his side. Instantly, she nestled her cheek against him; Gin could tell her breathing only remained somewhat even by years' worth of hardened discipline—but discipline only reached so far. Ever so slowly, Sherry began to tremble. Sweet, precious little thing—she would break any moment now. In the end, Gin hadn’t been wrong about Sherry’s affection for her sister, the devastation Miyano’s death caused. Satisfied, he let his chin rest on Sherry’s head, slowly breathing in the familiar silken scent of her hair.

“She wouldn’t have left without telling me, wouldn’t she?” Sherry asked almost timidly, her question muffled by the fabric of his coat. 

Had it been anyone else but her, Gin would’ve thought this beg for reassurance pathetic. Today he would indulge her, though, because Sherry had lost the only person in the world bound to her by blood—for some time, at least. But Gin would make it all better, he promised, silently. He could make it better—fuck, he already had made it better! Hadn’t it been for his foresight, Sherry would be lying next to her sister, abandoned in some dark morgue, her body forever unclaimed. He’d saved Sherry from that very fate. Now that she was all his, she would never be alone, never have to worry. Gin pulled Sherry even closer, basked in her warmth. He’d done everything right—he had been in the right. Gin pressed a kiss against the crown of Sherry’s head. He had saved her.

“You mean that woman wouldn’t have left without you.” 

Later—in those too long, half-sober nights—Gin would try and fail to reconstruct his catastrophic blunder time and time again. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? What had gotten into him? Why hadn’t he been more careful? The words had escaped him by accident, they’d never been meant for Sherry’s keen ears. He’d made a mistake, he’d—

Gin could feel Sherry’s body go rigid against him the moment the words had left his mouth. He, too, stilled. There were a few seconds of heavy silence between them before Sherry withdrew from his embrace, taking her warmth with her. He’d fucked up.

“What are you implying?” 

Watching Sherry’s eyes narrow, Gin weighed his options, fast. 

“Well, we can be glad nobody thinks you’re involved in this,” he said, frowning as if she were foolish for not seeing the issue herself.

Gin hoped it would be enough to put some appropriate concern into her; a reminder to be extra careful for a while. Yet, the only thing Sherry did was tilt her head. That was how Gin knew that the only thing he’d given her was a new problem to deconstruct. 

“Why would they think that? What do I have to do with—” 

Sherry’s face turned ashen as some sort of realisation struck her. Maybe she’d finally understood that nobody had given a shit about Miyano as long as the woman had kept her mouth shut. Nobody would’ve even cared had she just run off. Miyano had known next to nothing about the Organisation, she had been nothing. Now that she was gone, her absence couldn’t even be felt. Had she only been willing to leave Sherry behind, she could’ve lived a normal life. But Miyano had chosen differently.

“Tell me what really happened.” 

Whatever form of composure Sherry had mustered so far crumbled before Gin’s eyes, and if she’d been suspicious before, she was now positively alarmed. Watching the hurried rise and fall of Sherry’s chest, Gin could feel a massive headache incoming. He’d been a fool for thinking he was anywhere near prepared for this conversation. 

“I don’t know. I’m going to ask around—”

“Liar,” she hissed, suddenly, deep blue eyes round with a temper he hadn’t seen all too often before. He only knew it was no use speaking to her like this. 

Exasperated, Gin turned away from Sherry, crumpling the old newspaper in his hand. He pointedly ignored Miyano’s coffee-stained face that somehow still managed to stare back at him. Even from the grave did this pest of a woman make his blood boil, but he couldn’t let his anger get the best of him now. He needed to clear his head, regroup. At the moment, the most important thing was to appease Sherry. It would be best to get her home, sit her down in peace like he should’ve done from the beginning. Gin could just put the blame on that rat Akai—it probably wasn’t even too far off from the truth, he was the root of this misery after all. It was as good a plan as any; if he put his mind on it Sherry would believe—

The noise of breaking glass ripped Gin from his thoughts. He’d only let Sherry out of his sight for one second, but one damn second was all it took for hell to break loose. Later, Gin would identify this amateurish mindlessness of his as his biggest mistake, the point where it had all gone wrong. He should’ve never let go of her.

Gin turned just in time to see Sherry swipe her paperwork off the desk. Folders and loose pages went flying about the room, slowly floating down, down, down, coming to a halt on the floor where the heavy computer monitor already lay broken. Gin was on Sherry in an instant, grabbing her by the upper arm.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?!” 

She struggled against his grip, which earned her little more than an irritated look. Sherry stood no chance against him, but that didn’t keep her from thrashing about.

“Tell me what happened or I swear I’m tearing this damn lab down,” she spat, reaching for any object she could get hold of with her free arm. 

Even without the Petri dishes shattering somewhere on the floor behind Gin, it was evident that Sherry meant what she’d said, which did nothing to ease the building pressure behind his temples. Neither did the burst samples around them, for that matter—he figured their fumes weren’t all too healthy to breathe in. With more force than strictly necessary, Gin dragged Sherry out of the office into the too-brightly lit hallway. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he glared, caging her between the wall and himself. 

“Tell me,” Sherry repeated, either unimpressed by or simply ignorant of his rising anger, “Just tell me what happened!” 

It was as if the woman didn’t even hear him! Gin had half the mind telling her right then if she so insisted. He would tell Sherry how it had been her fault Miyano was dead, that all this trouble could’ve been avoided hadn’t she been so attached to her sister—they would see how fast that shut her up… Instead of saying even more things he might come to regret, though, Gin took a deep breath. At least one of them needed to keep a cool head.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see a small group of scientists gather down the hallway. Like rats they’d crawled out of their little holes, curiously looking over at their head scientist and the darkly clad man they generally knew to avoid. The last thing Gin needed was some no-name lab rats to go tattle about Sherry making a scene, but what could he do? Gin considered her for a second, her clammy forehead, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The woman had gone mad! Like a wild animal, she pressed her back against the wall, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. Gin needed her calm. Now.

Sherry’s hands were ice-cold to the touch when his fingers curled around both her delicate wrists, holding her arms still. She wheezed, glassy eyes linked with his. It was as if she didn’t see anything but him. 

“Why did nee-chan have to die?” she demanded again, her voice growing hoarse, never stopping her struggle against his grip. 

Even now Miyano was the only thing on her mind. Gin was stunned at how one single death could arouse such a hefty reaction from someone. Clearly, Sherry was overreacting. She was making this so much harder than it needed to be. She was… in shock. The moment this occurred to Gin, he could clearly see the signs. He’d been a fool for not connecting the dots earlier. But now that he had identified the issue, he could work with it. Everything was going to be fine.

Bit by bit, Gin eased his grip on her wrists. It was a sign of goodwill on his part, and to his satisfaction, Sherry calmed down enough for him to lean closer without catching her elbow with his face. Sherry looked at him, expectantly. 

“Listen to me,” Gin said gently, enclosing her hands with his to bring some warmth back into her fingers. Any hint of his irritation was hidden behind a mask of understanding, sympathy, even. “You need to get yourself together until we get home….”

It was no use. The second Sherry realised he wouldn’t tell her anything on the spot, she shoved against him again, viciously enough to force him a step back.

“Tell me!” she cried out.

Gin’d had enough of her temper tantrum, then. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled Sherry aimlessly down the hallway, away from prying eyes. 

“If you don’t stop this nonsense at once, I won’t be able to help you,” he tried again after they’d rounded a corner. This time Gin wasn’t able to hide his frustration any longer. Why couldn’t Sherry see that he only wanted to protect her, if need be from herself?

“I don’t need your help, I need the truth!”

Sherry couldn’t handle the truth. This crazy behaviour of hers was confirmation enough, and it was about high time she came to the same realisation. Gin stopped abruptly, never releasing Sherry’s wrist. Like the sensible person he knew Sherry to be, she finally stopped struggling against his grip. They stared at each other for a moment, both somewhat out of breath. 

“It’s confidential,” Gin urged in a tone that marked the discussion as over.

Sherry scoffed, clearly waiting for Gin to say more. When he didn’t, her tensed face relaxed a little, although her lower lip started to quiver. Coyly, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Tell me what happened,” Sherry breathed, reaching with her free hand for his. “Please.” 

Wasn’t she a crafty little vixen? Gin might be fond of her little games, that was no secret, but that didn’t mean he would fall for some girl’s tepid manipulation. 

“They don’t want you to know,” he snapped, pulling his hand away.

Sherry’s eyes darkened at once. Whatever suspicion she’d had, he’d just confirmed it.

“Then they can go to hell.” 

Gin let go of her then, taking a step back. His eyes only left Sherry’s glassy stare when he took an inconspicuous look around, listening into the silence. They were still alone, unheard. But even now they couldn’t afford to say shit like that; Gin didn’t—shouldn’t—need to remind her of that. Sherry had behaved like a proper maniac the moment he’d stepped foot into her lab, but now she was about to overstep a line. Once she’d crossed it, there was little he could do for her. 

“Watch out, my dear,” Gin said, his voice much calmer than he actually felt. “They might start to question your loyalties after all.”

Sherry had the cheek to not even look sorry for what she’d said, and that’s how Gin knew she’d really lost her mind. Holding his breath, he waited for her to take her words back. She did quite the opposite, though.

“They might be right to do so,” was all she spat. 

It was enough.

Sherry gasped in surprise when Gin’s fingers locked around her jaw the moment the words had left her mouth, yanking her so close towards him that his nose almost brushed against hers. His voice dropped dangerously low.

“This is treason.” 

To her credit, Sherry didn’t back off once, didn’t even fight against the firm hold he had on her.

Unfazed, she stared straight into his eyes. “So be it.”

Gin counted his heartbeats. One, two, three, he waited for Sherry to finally back down, apologise for what she’d said and done. It was one last chance for her to come to her senses. Saying she didn’t mean it was all she had to do. Everything else could easily be fixed. But Sherry didn’t say anything at all. 

Gin nodded his head, understanding that she’d made her decision.

“As you wish.” 

Exhaustion had long caught up on Gin when he descended the stairs to the lab’s boiler room with heavy steps. While he had expected this day to be somewhat challenging, he hadn’t reckoned it to turn into a straight-up disaster. It had taken professional backup from Vodka to encourage the other scientists to keep their mouths shut about Sherry’s little faux pas, while the woman in question, for her part, had reinforced her unfortunate decisions with persistent silence—which had actually been for the best, Gin supposed. There was only so much he could choose to not hear, and Sherry had said rather enough as it was. In fact, silent or not, he hadn’t been able to even look at her without fuming. Even now, hours later, the unnerving air of indifference that had surrounded her still infuriated him—mostly because Gin had no clue how to keep the woman in check should she still prove unreasonable. It was a perfect predicament. Same as earlier, the idea of threatening Sherry into compliance seemed rather contra-productive in her already unstable condition and Gin didn’t want to burn any bridges. He could only hope that his short-term solution had been enough to make her come back to her senses. And he’d had to put his foot down somehow, hadn’t he? Now that Sherry had revealed her potential to act up, he simply had to make her understand the severity of her actions, lest she didn’t take him nor the Organisation any seriously.

Gin’s migraine flared up when he thought about how Sherry had walked down the same set of stairs mere hours ago, prim and proper like a little doll, and just as mute. She’d acted as if the entire situation was none of her concern, either not caring about any consequences or trusting that Gin would clean up after her mess. He didn’t know which option bothered him more and he was, quite frankly, too tired to ponder on it. 

However, after everything was said and done, it was as true as ever that Gin still wanted to protect Sherry. He’d come so far, had already eliminated the biggest threat to their lives—their future. He couldn’t give up on Sherry now, not over something that could still be fixed. Punishment, unsavoury as it might have been, was just a necessity to keep her safe. 

Leaving Sherry in the boiler room to reflect on her actions had been the right call, that Gin was certain of. In places like that, one could easily come to figure out what really mattered in life, especially when chained to a wall… which Gin had only done for her own safety, of course. Sherry’s calmness was not to be underestimated, as he had come to learn. And if she needed to be restrained to not hurt herself, so be it. That the click of the handcuff closing around Sherry’s slim wrist still echoed in Gin’s ears didn’t matter at all. It had been inevitable. It would be okay. It had to be.

Gin reached the bottom of the stairs not knowing what to expect to find within the dark boiler room. The best case scenario was a reasonable and collected Sherry, ready to be guided back home. That was why Gin wasn’t worried when nothing but silence greeted him from behind the door to Sherry’s temporary dwellings. In fact, he welcomed the silence as he unlocked the heavy metal door. And even if Sherry had spent the last hours wreaking havoc in the protective isolation of her prison, she surely would have been exhausted by now. In either case, silence was good. Silence was safe.

So why was ice-cold dread winding its way up Gin’s spine? 

It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t just silence that made him hesitate to enter the room. Rather, it was the lack of human sound whatsoever, the quiet of the dead that Gin knew all too well. It was the palpable absence of Sherry’s presence.

Stiffly, Gin stared into the sparsely lit space. Sherry’s name weighed heavily on his tongue although it remained unuttered. What if he didn’t receive an answer to his calling? What would he find around the corner? Scolding himself a fool, Gin didn’t allow the images inside his head to take on proper shape and stepped forward. There was no way Sherry could have escaped the room. There was no way she could have done the unspeakable. There was no way she wasn’t within these walls. A couple more steps and Gin would find Sherry sitting on the floor, overcome by exhaustion; it had been a long day. 

And Gin’s day would be even longer still. 

The small water bottle he’d brought fell to the floor, disturbing the silence. Against all odds, there was no Sherry waiting for Gin where he’d left her. Not at all. In fact, the only sign that she’d ever even been there were the handcuffs hanging empty around the same pipe Vodka had locked them around hours ago—that and the faintest scent of Sherry’s perfume that still lingered in the air, taunting Gin further. 

Dumbfounded, Gin looked around, but no matter how hard he looked, the room remained empty. Gin wet his lips, listening.

“Shiho?” 

As he’d feared, silence was his only answer.

Gin’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as he accelerated the car, racing through rain-drenched streets. There had been nothing in that boiler room. Nothing. Not even a hint of where Sherry might’ve gone. It was as if the woman had simply vanished, dissolved into thin air! Taking an intense drag from his cigarette, Gin went over his facts again, coming to the same conclusion over and over again. Sherry’s absence was impossible.

Gin could swear the handcuffs that had shackled her hadn’t been tampered with, and even if Sherry had somehow managed to get them off, there had been nowhere for her to go. There were only two exits from the boiler room—Gin had made it a point to check the building’s blueprints himself. There was no way Sherry could’ve left via either of them, not when one was a trash chute no grown woman would ever fit through and the other a locked metal door to which only Gin had keys. And yet, as impossible as it was, Sherry was indeed gone. 

Gin dared a look at his watch. He’d given himself another hour to find Sherry by himself, but he had a feeling that hour would likely turn into the entire night. There were still a few more places he could go to look for her, he reassured himself. As of now, nothing was lost. But still, he had to admit that Tokyo was a very big city and Sherry a rather small woman…and if Gin hadn’t found her by morning, she wasn’t the only one who was well and truly fucked. With a trembling hand, Gin lit another cigarette, cursing foully. He was fooling himself. This was bad; the worst possible outcome. He’d lost the Organisation’s head scientist and didn’t even know how it had happened because Sherry couldn’t have left that damn room in one piece!

Gin tapped his fingers against the gear lever. Of course, he’d considered other options since he’d left the lab. No matter how he twisted and turned the facts inside his head, Sherry couldn’t have escaped the boiler room, not on her own—which only left one more possibility open. Someone had helped her. But who? Who could’ve possibly stolen her from right under Gin’s nose? And how would he get her back if that was the case?

…And how could he protect a traitor from the Organisation’s wrath? Did he even want to protect Sherry if she’d abandoned—

Gin slowed down. There was no use catastrophizing. One way or another, he would find Sherry before word about her absence got out. Everything else could be sorted out after that. He only had to focus, keep his eyes open. It would be fine.