JPs, two days earlier
"Aubertin-san? Can you help me with this?"
Rosaire Aubertin peered up from his pile of psychological evaluations, raising an eyebrow at the soldier who'd spoken. They were in a corner of JP's cafeteria, both having taken their lunch breaks at the same time; though the former was reading and the latter had apparently found something interesting in the lab.
"Hmm?" he asked, neutrally. He liked Mariko—the soldier was smart and competent, not to mention easy on the eyes—but the woman didn't tend to talk to him unless she had a reason. Most of the soldiers didn't, really; too intimidated by his reputation, even after all this time. Rosaire didn't mind that. It made things easier on everyone.
"The bean bag," Mariko elaborated, drawing Rosaire's attention to the bulky object she'd rolled out of its container, evidently because it was too large to lift. "I need someone to help me bring it down to level four."
Rosaire glanced at it. "Why do you need a bean bag?" he asked, still not moving.
Mariko rolled her eyes at him. "Why would anybody need a bean bag? Because they're comfy."
Rosaire gave Mariko a flat look, and waited.
"Fine," said Mariko, sighing. "So there was this girl on level four. Himamori Amu; she was brought in with grade one mental abrasion. Thirteen years old if you can believe it. And normally that would be it—if we were anywhere else, I mean—but she woke up after a couple of days. Even walked out without needing therapy."
Rosaire glanced down at his pile of folders again, frowning. "You know I'm not responsible for those kinds of cases, right?"
Mariko laughed. "You think I'm telling you she's physically damaged? Aubertin-san, you should see her medical report. There's not a single sign of brain damage." He had, but unlike the woman in front of him, he didn't gossip about those details. Mariko leaned closer, her tone lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's not normal. Not for unmitigated abrasion. I'm telling you this because I'm fairly sure you've been talking to her classmates."
"It seems likely," Rosaire admitted. "Though obviously-"
Mariko waved her hand through the air dismissively. "Makoto?"
"Does patient-client confidentiality mean nothing to you?" He asked archly.
"It does," said Mariko, folding her arms behind her back and cocking her head at Rosaire with a hint of amusement. "But the Chief makes a point of telling us when we have visitors who might be dangerous. Which is part of why I'm telling you about Himamori-chan."
Rosaire sighed, but couldn't fault Mariko's logic. "Why does it matter?"
"You don't read the newspapers," Mariko told him with a smile. "The Himamori girl was one of the kids who held the line until the boss could get there. Without her help there'd have been more casualties. More fatalities as well. Chief Hotsuin isn't likely to forget that anytime soon, you know."
Rosaire nodded, turning this over in his mind and wondering where Mariko was going with this. It was true that Hotsuin would not have forgotten something like that; but-
"A lot of children died that day," Mariko said. "Or ended up in hospital. It's not the kind of thing you want to have to see, but- anyway, the Himamori girl was friends with one of those who did end up here. Yamabuki Saaya. The one with grade five abrasion." Mariko's voice darkened on that last point; Rosaire winced internally at the thought. Grade five was about as bad as it got without resulting in death; and that was a question of terminology. No one had ever recovered from grade five abrasion.
"And?"
Mariko's grin widened. "And this is where it gets good. I didn't get to meet the Himamori girl when she was here, but... her parents were here every day, and half the time they brought her little sister. One of your colleagues is due to meet her soon, I think?"
Rosaire crossed his arms. "Seriously. Does confidentiality mean absolutely nothing to you people?"
Mariko waved her hand in the air again, chuckling slightly. "Himamori Ami—seven years old—visited her sister once every other day, accompanied by her father or mother, sometimes both. The girl was surprisingly upbeat despite her sister's condition." She leaned down to examine one of Rosaire's evaluation reports. "Isn't that what it says on-"
Rosaire pulled the file away before Mariko could read it; Mariko shrugged at him unrepentantly.
This was the downside of accepting JP's offer. Mavericks and monsters and all the reasons he was here were one thing, but it seemed like one of the reasons they had so many specialists on call was because it gave Hotsuin a convenient excuse to spy on everyone they interacted with. He never went so far as to overstep Rosaire's professional boundaries, but given all his coworkers-
He cleared his throat and pressed onward. "Is this gossip going anywhere?" he asked Mariko pointedly.
"Yes." Mariko's voice lowered again; it was almost a whisper now, but Rosaire could see the eagerness on her face without even trying. "So one day after they'd visited their daughter, the Himamori parents got into an argument with the nurse." Mariko's eyes narrowed at the memory, her emotions taking a dive towards 'bitter' for a moment before bouncing back up. "On the subject of Yamabuki, whose parents haven't been here even once.
"Her father works in the Diet, you know. You'd think he could spare ten minutes from his day to take the elevator down and pay his daughter a visit." Mariko shrugged again, her expression darkening. "Anyway, little Ami-chan was left alone with us for fifteen minutes while her parents went to yell at somebody in charge. And that's where the bean bag comes in."
"The bean bag," Rosaire repeated, deadpan.
"Yep!" said Mariko cheerfully. "She wasn't happy with the chairs, you see. Too tall, all of them. So she stared at the air for a while, and then there was this flash of light-" Mariko's voice trailed off. "Honestly it's weird, Aubertin-san. None of our detectors picked up anything, but there it was. Right in front of her." She coughed, suddenly embarrassed. "And nobody wanted to poke the bear, so when her parents came back she was napping on top of it. It disappeared when she left, but two days later she did the same thing again, and that one stuck around. Though that was right before the doctors decided her sister was fine, so she never had a chance to use it."
Rosaire gave the innocent-looking bean bag another look; his brow furrowed. "That sounds..." he began, trying to think of a word that wouldn't be too worrying.
"It's not an O-O-P," Mariko assured him, misunderstanding Rosaire's concern entirely. "Perfectly normal bean bag, except it doesn't have an inside. Kanno had a look at it." Mariko tapped the bean bag with her foot. "She wanted it for testing, but..."
Rosaire returned his attention to Mariko, frowning.
"You stole it from her lab."
"Nope!" Mariko told him brightly. "I had permission! There was even a form and everything, I got one of my guys to fill it out." She nudged Rosaire with her elbow and grinned at him. "Cleanup duty. Trash disposal. Call it what you want, Kanno wouldn't get back to it again. If she wants it, it'll be in the break room."
Rosaire fought back a smile and failed miserably. He knew better than to take Mariko seriously when she said something had gone through proper channels. Kanno wasn't a bad woman—at least Rosaire didn't think so—but Mariko was right about her current state of distraction; she probably wouldn't miss it for weeks.
"In any case," Rosaire said, rubbing his temples and trying not to let Mariko distract him. "I'll have another look at their documents. That's what you wanted, yes?"
Mariko beamed at him. "Yep!" she said, happily. "You're the best, Aubertin-san." She rolled the bean bag around. "Plus some help moving this thing wouldn't go amiss."
"Do I look like a pack mule to you?" Rosaire asked her. Mariko's response was a very convincing attempt, albeit futile, at puppy dog eyes.
Rosaire considered the woman for a few breaths, then sighed and gathered up his reports. He tucked them into the embroidered shoulder bag at his feet, tapped it gently, and pushed his chair back from the table.
"Alright," he said. Mariko gave a little cheer, one that cut off abruptly as she recognised he wasn't done. "But I get something out of helping."
She opened her mouth, a sly smile tugging at her lips, and Rosaire didn't need to be himself to tell what was about to come out. "So we'll be taking this beanbag to level three, instead. I was looking for one for my public office."
"But what if some poor girl needs a beanbag on level four?" Mariko asked, her eyes wide, expression aghast.
"Then you can have one of your guys fill out a form to get another one." Rosaire smiled beatifically, picking up the edge of the beanbag opposite the now glaring Mariko. Mock glaring, though, he could see the way her lips were twitching.
"I'll ask Ami-chan," Mariko decided. "The next time she visits."
"Don't make me report you to Sako for abusing a young girl's goodwill and/or magic," Rosaire told her. But he was almost smiling too. "Now come on and lift. This beanbag won't move itself."