Who: Victor Shou, Taro Yamada What: Talking over a few glasses of wine. When: Wednesday April 1 Where: Taro's apartment Rating: PG Status: Complete The elevator was out of order. It was Murphy's law, practice, and it got under Victor's skin like dirt under the fingernails. He wasn't ready to put the day behind him, but if his watch was to be trusted, that part would happen pretty definitely in about five minutes.
He twisted the key in the front door, wishing it was someone's neck instead. Anyone would do, he just needed an outlet for his anger.
Taro strode into the hallway, a skip in his step as he whistled contentedly to himself. He was in a wonderful mood, and spotting his neighbor just made his day even better. He wasn't dressed the part of a lonely businessman on the way home from work, but more the part of a roving bachelor who just arrived home from a social evening.
Instead of heading straight for his door, he just had to stop by and see what put his neighbor in such a sour mood. Though he already had a good idea what it was, and that he was most likely the cause. "Hello, Victor. Rough day at the office?"
The door slid open but Victor was distracted from stepping through. It was going to take some getting used to, this knowing his neighbors by name - and them knowing him - but it wasn't an adjustment without perks. Taro and his layers of challenges piled upon challenges were, if nothing else, a distraction.
He turned with a non-committal nod. "As Wednesdays are. Middle of the week."
"Today's Wednesday? I didn't notice," he smiled congenially and leaned against the wall near his neighbor's front door, "it feels like the weekend. Then again, I have reason to celebrate."
He held up a bottle of unopened wine, decorative giftbow still attached. Where he acquired it and what he did to earn it would need a revised retelling if the other man got curious. But Taro doubted that the man would even care. "I owe you a drink, and you look like you could use one. Interested?"
Victor looked from the bottle to the man holding it and smirked. "Depends. You tell me about your day and you don't ask about mine." He wasn't in the mood to share and he had to admit he was interested in the other man. It was a self-evident conclusion.
"If I tell you the grand tale of how I ended up at your door with a bottle of vintage wine, will it improve your mood?" Taro asked as he loosened his tie before pulling it off. "Probably won't, but that is what the wine is for. My place or yours?"
If it wasn't that he had the apartment furnished during the day, the option would have been out of the question. Yet quite like a child, once he acquired something new, he had the impulse to show it off.
The temptation was to say his own, but Victor resisted, curious. The comfort of the familiar warred with the likelihood that compromising materials could be lying arond. No guarantee, certainly, but it was possible.
"Yours," he ruled, and pulled his door shut. "You're all unpacked? It took me ages, when I first moved in." And there, that was his second lie of the night.
Taro gave an open armed gesture toward his door. "To tell you the truth, everything I have is brand new. When I was promoted they wanted me in Seattle right away, so I sold what I could. Once I got here I've bought what I've needed."
Taro unlocked his door and stepped inside. Though only a few days before the apartment contained only the basic furnishings provided by the owners of the building, the place was now richly furnished. The only thing that looked out of place was the desktop computer that was set up on the center of the living room floor. "Take a seat anywhere."
Victor rid of his coat, throwing it over the back of a chair. It wasn't warm enough to do without. Not yet. In a month's time, maybe. But in a month's time it was just a likely he wouldn't be here anymore, if Dr Jansen kept going at the rate she was.
"Nice," he noted, appreciative without overflowing with praise. The other man wouldn't be looking for it, not if Victor was right about him. He sat down at one end of a sinewy couch, too tired to relax.
Taro took off his coat and dinner jacket, folding both over the back of a chair to hang up later. He loosened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves before he went for the wine flutes. He went over to take a seat on the couch next to Victor. "Here you are."
He passed one of the flutes to Victor and set his on the coffee table. With a few twists he worked the cork off of the bottle with his bare hands. "Now you two options, you can hear the boring story about my day or I can test out my new sound system."
"What and be deprieved of the grand tale of how you ended up at my door with a bottle of wine?" Victor teased, half-hearted in his amusement but slowly feeling himself unwind. "Depends on your musical taste. I don't think I can take anything loud and angry. And the downstairs neighbors might object." He had no idea if there was anyone living on the floor below, nor cared all that much either way.
"I got out of my car, walked upstairs because the elevator was out, and there you were," Taro began as he poured liquid in each of the cups. "The wine I acquired from one of my clients, a thank you for a job well done. As for musical tastes, I like t listen to traditional music, mostly Chinese opera and Enka."
"You're too young to be so old fashioned," Victor chided, without heat or sincerity. "Any favorites?" He filed away the information about the wine and the professional success - it only seemed to set his own difficulties further apart through its patented perfection.
"Nonsense, age is really only a number. Considering the human race was going to die out, being young stopped being an excuse," Taro raised his glass in a mock toast and downed the glass before helping himself to more. "I'm not the type of person to play favorites to anything. Why limit myself?"
"Equal opportunities are only an illusion," Victor pointed out, holding out his glass for a refill. "Statistically-speaking, that is." He could feel the alcohol loosen his muscles and his sour mood start to shift. It had a long way to go before it abated, but it was a start. "Isn't it maddening to like two musical genres that essentially evolved to defend one against the other?"
"Not really, for me it all came about as an attempt to connect to my roots. I, apparently, have one Japanese parent and one Chinese parent. Apparently." Taro picked up the wine bottle and topped off Victor's glass. "Equal opportunities, like all of life, are only illusions. Either you can live in ignorant bliss, or make illusions of your own. Cheers."
"Cheers," Victor nodded and took a sip. He logged the information about his parentage into his memory, curious but loathe to press. "So, not a fan of ignorant bliss? I wouldn't have guessed."
"Ignorant bliss is for those too stupid not to know better," Taro grinned at Victor, "a surprisingly cynical view for someone with such a cheery demeanor? Looks can be deceiving, doctor."
"Oh, I have no doubt that the cheery demeanor is just an act," Victor chuckled, leaving it up in the air whether or not he was serious. "But since we're on the topic of ignorance, I'll confess I don't know much about enka. Is it as melodramatic as it's marketed?"
"Oh no, you've seen my true face, I should kill you," Taro teased lightly and helped himself to a little more of the red liquid, it would take much more for him to get impaired. For now he was merely enjoying himself. "Enka is very melodramatic. Some of the most beautiful enka songs I've heard were about suicide."
Victor took another sip of his wine, the glass fast emptying in his hand. "Well since you just threatened to kill me, I'll count myself immune to the influence.... Which of the suicidal ones is your favorite? Or do you like all equally?" Since he was all about equal opportunity, it seemed like a fair assumption to make.
"I have a favorite, but you'd have to be fluent in Japanese to fully understand my answer," Taro took a sip and eyed the man over the rim of his glass, "unless you speak it...ah, you're getting too close. I should be worried."
"You mean you weren't worried before?" Victor drawled and set down his glass. Was it half full or half empty? He wasn't sure anymore. "Ah, well, a late start is better than no start at all. Try me."
"I never worry about something that isn't a threat," And out of the two, Taro was sure he was the true threat. "I said I should be worried, I never said anything about having anything close to geniune concern. For all you know, I might be completely serious about needing to kill you someday."
And then he laughed heartily, because it was completely ridiculous to kill off someone who would be incredibly useful. "I'm not, just in case you're wondering."
"I'm not," Victor lied and made a mental note to run all of this by Dr Jansen. It was possible she knew something he didn't. "If you are planning to kill me, I recommend waiting until tomorrow. I'll be a more lively victim then."
"On the other hand, I might not be a potential killer at all. I could be someone sent to protect you from those who would rather be rid of you." He lifted the wine bottle and poured a little more in the doctor's half-empty glass, "If you're into conspiracy theories. It would make me more interresting than a broker, wouldn't it?"
"It would, but it would also assume someone wants to be rid of me. You really think I'm that important? I'm flattered." Victor watched the wine settle against the walls of his glass and tilted his head to the side in question. "Are you trying to get me inebriated?"
"Anyone who lived a life worth living has enemies, and if they don't they're deluding themselves." Taro asserted and filled his own glass. "I'm getting drunk, it would be rude to keep the imbibing to myself. You had a bad day, I'm making an attempt at making it less so."
"You're making the night shape up to be the least memorable," Victor threw back and steeled himself against the impulse to take another drink. "Temptation is a powerful thing and you already know I smoke. I'm terrible at pacing myself. It's never just one glass, one cigarette..."
"You cross the line," he reached over to teasingly brush his fingers along the nape of Victor's neck before withdrawing. "You set limits and break them. I'm not too far off, I remember the way you looked at me the other night." Which was something that Taro saw as an advantage to keeping the doctor in his company.
"I'm thrilled to know you have good memory," Victor replied evenly, unembarrassed about the other night's events but in no hurry to repeat the same mistake.
"When you say it that way, I almost believe you." Taro teased and picked up the glass that the other man had yet to pick up. "Don't worry, I have no ulterior motive for intoxicating you. If I planned to seduce you, I would have already done so by now."
"I'm not worried," Victor shrugged. "You don't strike me as the type to need props to do anything." Whether it was a compliment or a challenge, he wasn't wholly certain. He held out a hand for the glass.
"I've already had my share of seducing tonight, now I'm just drinking to relax," Taro parried as he passed the glass to Victor. "You're someone I truly enjoy talking to, and you are far too interesting to be another one night stand."
"Shameless," Victor chuckled and raised his glass in toast because it was polite. "But flattering. A better way to let someone down easily than most. I'll have to make a note to remember it later."
"My lack of shame makes me good at what I do, at work and at play," Taro lifted his glass in toast as well. "I'm shameless enough to say that you are not off of my to-do list. I did say I was looking for something worthwhile to chase after, seducing you now would take all of the fun out of the chase."
"Your honesty is refreshing." And probably all of it facade. Victor took another sip of his wine. "As is your confidence in your own abilities and the assumption that I would go along with whatever you have planned. Some might call that cocky."
"No one will buy something if the seller isn't confident in what they are pushing," Taro winked at Victor. "My assumption isn't without evidence that I can succeed. If I remember correctly, you made the first move. Not me."
"Any statistician would tell you you need more than one piece of evidence to draw a reliable conclusion," Victor challenged. "A seller's job is in the selling. I have no reason to think you're doing more than selling your version your events."
"I'm not a statistician," Taro countered without batting an eyelash, "my version of events aren't different than yours. Unless you can tell me how you can subjectively alter the events to differ with mine. If you can, I would love to hear it."
"Some other time," Victor sighed, conceding defeat, "when my best work hasn't gone up in smoke." Or rather, left on its own two feet.
"Oh? Is that a vague hint of the goings on of your day?" Taro inquired, trying to work some information out of the man without seeming suspiciously prying. "Come on, I've told you so much about myself, can't you share a little? Sometimes talking it out helps, so says the sage wisdom of my fortune cookie from dinner."
"Lousy fortune cookie if that's all it had to say." Victor passed a hand over his eyes. He hadn't meant to drop hints, but now that it was done, he had more interest in running with the tack than clamping down and potentially losing any chance to find out what, if anything, the other man was after. He wasn't quite so arrogant as to think lust was it. "What would you like to know?"
"What went up in smoke?" Taro pressed, the fact that the man he had released from the SAC the same day was not a coincidence, he was sure of it. What he wasn't sure of was how the all of the pieces fit together. Yet.
"Did an intern mix the wrong chemicals together and waste a day of work? The secretary press delete instead of send? I have no idea what research doctors do, so you'll have to help me out."
"One of our labrats was terminated," Victor replied in clipped tones, amending with a: "It was a top-down decision that by-passed my department entirely. It's rare, but it happens. Especially when you deal with something that requires this much testing. The pharmaceutical industry isn't the best employer for people in my profession for no reason."
"I didn't think you'd be the type to get attached to a labrat," Taro raised both brows to illustrate his surprise, "those things can get replaced, unless it proved what you were doing worked. I could see you be so down over that."
"It's not the rat I miss," Victor pointed out with a wry smile, "but the research. Labrats are replaceable. Results, less so." He wondered that the other man was interested at all. It wasn't exactly high profile work. "But it's over now. I should move on."
"Don't scientists have to take notes and record everything? If you lost the rat, can't you just get the same results with a different rat?" Taro queried, making a note to get a friend to attempt at getting their hands on those notes if they existed online. "If you'd want, I know of a guy who sells lab animals for a steal that I could hook you up with."
Victor smiled, but it was hollow. "Thanks, but ours are a special breed. There's more where that one came from." People who defied the law were a dime a dozen and not all had friends in high places. Just the ones who advanced his research.
"Results are recorded, but they can't always be replicated. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Like chemotherapy on a cancer patient. We can't always explain why that is. This was rat on which chemo happened to work better than on all the others." A shrug. "If you ever wanted something to chase, I'd say it would be the perfect target."
"If it was a person, I bet I could find it," Taro bragged, his tone teasing as even though it was close to the truth, he wanted it taken as a joke. Besides, he already knew where that particular labrat was hiding. "Too bad I didn't take up medical research..."
"Why? Do you have an affinity for finding lost effects?" Victor finished what was left of his wine, by this point more than a little tipsy and aware of it. It would be easy to make a mistake.
"I do. If the reward proves worthwhile," Taro grinned and finished his drink. Instead of refilling the glasses, he reached for the wine bottle and reaffixed the cork. "Anything for a profit."
"That makes you sound like a hired hand. Not a very flattering characteristic. What do you do when you've made enough profit?"
"Eat, drink, and be merry," Taro gestured to the bottle of wine, "what any self-respecting wealthy man would do. Then when the reserves are low, earn more. It is a fine balancing act, that I believe I've mastered."
"Is that right?" Victor smiled. He could feel his focus begin to slip and made to stand, both hands on the couch. "As much as I'd like to stay, I think it would be prudent if I made my way home... I don't even think today is today anymore."
"Today is always today, tomorrow is an illusion," Taro stood and placed his hands on the older man's shoulders to steady him. "Do you think you'll make it across the hall on your own?"
"If I don't, it shouldn't be an unforgettable opportunity to meet more of my neighbors," Victor teased, steadier on his feet than he'd anticipated. Good. It paid to pretend he was less sober than he felt and so he took advantage, hedonistically letting the other man take his weight.
"Come on, I'll escort you," he let the man lean against him as they walked across the apartment toward the door, "don't forget your coat." Taro reminded as he reached over with one hand to pick it up and dangle it in front of the doctor.
"Thanks," he drawled, holding back a smirk. Two could play Taro's game. He welcomed the help even if it wasn't needed, derriving from it an almost perves kind of enjoyment. He broke away once he'd made it to his door and opened it, slipping inside to lean against the doorframe. "Thank you for the wine."
"You're welcome, next time you can provide the alcohol," Taro grinned and leaned close, allowing the doctor his escape but only partway, "I apologize in advance for any hangover you may have."
"You're forgiven," Victor replied, smile mirroring Taro's. "In advance." There wouldn't be a hangover. The wine they'd drunk was good quality. At most, it would give him a dreamless night and he could use one of those.
"Goodnight then, doctor," he hovered half a second longer than he intended to, due to the influence of the alcohol of course, but his self-control willed out and he straightened to stand at his door.