Katou (![]() ![]() @ 2021-04-05 16:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | angel sanctuary: yue katou, star trek: benjamin sisko |
Who: Katou and Sisko
What: Sisko counts Katou dumpster diving
When: Early March
Where: Sisko's
Rating/Warning: Low/some vague mentions of drug use
Status: Complete
Dumpster diving wasn’t always a first resort for Katou. Sure, it turned up some prizes sometimes, but even when the food was still alright to eat, it often had that lingering dumpster smell attached that just kind of made everything taste like…. Well, like garbage. Especially if the food wasn’t packaged in sealed plastic containers or wrappers.
Still, it wasn’t like Katou had much of a choice right now. He was still smarting from the fight he’d gotten into the other day; his lip was busted and his eye was black, and there was a bit of a limp in his step. It wasn’t the kind of look that was conductive to being ignored in grocery stores, which made shoplifting actual, fresh food nearly impossible.
Sisko’s was usually a good place for dumpster diving. The food that went into the garbage was typically good, and a lot of the time it had enough spice to it that it overpowered the smell of trash. And so, here Katou was, earbuds blasting the punk music from his old iPod classic, standing on a milk crate with the upper half of his body bent over the rim of the dumpster, hoping to find something edible to take home tonight.
Sisko typically looked the other way when someone went dumpster diving behind the kitchen. Most left over food either went home with the staff or ended up at a nearby soup kitchen, but usually he'd do what he could to make sure that anything actually edible was on top.
Tonight, however, he actually came out when someone was there, a selection of uneaten food in cardboard cartons. The door closed shut loud enough that maybe even someone in headphones might be able to hear it.
Katou jumped when he heard the door slam behind him, nearly falling off the milk crate. He whirled and jumped off the milk crate, facing the man from the restaurant but making sure there was nothing between him and the opening of the alley.
He should have run straight up - the last thing he needed was for the cops to show up and arrest him - but the man was carrying a bunch of take-out containers that looked like they’d make for a decent dinner. That, and Katou hated running in general. If he had to run, Atheist Anthem was probably a good song to run to, but it was still a level of physical exertion he didn’t want to make if he didn’t have to.
Instead, he stood, eyeing the man suspiciously, posed to run if he heard sirens or if the guy looked like he was gonna try to chase Katou away.
Sisko raised an eyebrow, then set the containers on another crate, “You know, if you come a little closer to eleven, that’s when we’re packing things up for the shelter. You’re more than welcome to help yourself to something warm.”
When it didn’t look like the man was either going to call the cops or start chasing after him, Katou relaxed, pulling his earbuds out of his ears once he started talking. He frowned, stepping closer to the food he’d put down. Damn, did it smell good. Not even a hint of rancid garbage.
“What kinda stuff you giving to the shelters?” he asked, reaching for the closest take out box to see what was in it.
“There’s a lot of stock and gumbo left over a lot of nights. Sometimes just veggies that won’t last more than a few days that I know will get used quickly. I try to make sure nothing is actually bad.” Ben smiled, “Probably a sight better than what you’ll find in that dumpster.”
“Veggies, gross,” Katou muttered, though he didn’t especially mean it. If vegetables were cooked right, they weren’t too bad, but all Katou had in his squat was a hot plate and it was more trouble than it was worth to prepare them. Gumbo though, he wouldn’t mind some gumbo.
“Hope you’re not the marketing guy for this place,” he said. “‘Better than the dumpster’ ain’t exactly a selling point.”
“I’m the chef,” he replied, grinning at Katou like this was somehow the best conversation he’d had all day. “So I think I speak with authority that this is the best gumbo you’ll ever have.”
He glanced around all casual like, “Dining room is empty, if you’d prefer to eat where it’s a little warmer.”
Katou tensed just a little, frowning. It was weird enough when a stranger his own age, like Caleb, would show up out of the blue and offer him help. It was unheard of for an adult. In Katou’s experience, there were three kinds of adults who’d give him the time of day - there were teachers, who were paid to put up with him. There were the one’s who’d run him off or arrest him when they saw him skulking about.
And then, there were the adults who expected something in return, and in Katou’s experience, what they wanted was always more than they were willing to give. Katou’d pay the price, more often than not, because he wanted what they had, but he wasn’t sure if eating warm food in a warm building was really worth it.
“Maybe,” Katou said, frowning. “What’s in it for you?”
“Conversation,” Sisko replied. Katou seemed to be a little older than his own son, and Dad Instincts were active, “And not even that if you don’t feel up for talking. Does that sound fair?”
Katou frowned, still not sure if he could trust it, but then he shrugged. Fuck it, Katou could handle himself, and honestly, the idea of getting to sit at an actual table in a warm building sounded nice. Katou’s own squat didn’t have much in the way of furniture, other than an old mattress and a couple of pillows to sit on.
“Yeah, alright, sounds fair,” he said.
Sisko nodded, smiling comfortingly at him as he turned back to the door to lead Katou inside. “Make yourself at home in a booth or table. What would you like to drink? Water, soda?”
He should push the healthier option but frankly this wasn’t that sort of situation.
“Guess it’s too much to hope for some booze,” Katou said, with a bit of a half-grin that made his split lip ache. “Whatever’s fine, I ain’t picky.” He took a look around, finally settling on a booth where he could lean his back up against the wall, his feet spread out on the rest of the seat. “Your boss gonna be alright with you letting vagrants in off the streets?” Not that it was Katou’s problem, one way or another.
Sisko chuckled, bringing him a bottle of coke. It was even a glass bottle in an old fashioned style; he thought the extra cost was worth it for the aesthetic, and glass was easier to recycle anyway, “I’m sure the bossman won’t mind, seeing as you’re looking at him.”
“No shit?” He paused, frowning. “So, is your name Sisko, or do you just really like the Thong Song?” he asked, taking a sip of Coke.
“Sisko is the family name, and we had it first,” Ben replied, rolling his eyes in a manner that indicated that wasn’t the first time he’d heard that one. “Been a long time since I heard that one mentioned.”
Katou grinned, swiping under his nose. He wasn’t surprised it’d been a while since Sisko had heard it; the song was older than Katou, after all.
That, and it was terrible.
“Well, it’s making a comeback y’know, so I guess you’d better get used to it again.”
Ben prayed Jake wouldn’t find out that song existed or that he actually knew the lyrics, “Lucky us.”
Shaking his head, Ben disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a bowl of gumbo, “Afraid the only dessert I’ve got is pie, but there’s always some gumbo left over.”
“Glad there ain’t no one famous over here with my name,” Katou said. And Katou wasn’t necessarily an uncommon name in Japan, so even if there was someone famous with it it wasn’t any more likely that people’d equate his last name with them anymore than it was likely someone with the last name of ‘Stewart’ was likely to be equated with Patrick Stewart.
“I ain’t got nothing against pie,” Katou said. He actually had a rather large sweet tooth; if he could live solely of chocolate and pastries, he probably would. He also had nothing against more gumbo, either. It had been a while since the last time Katou’d been able to eat like this.
Somehow, Sisko could tell and he brought back more gumbo as soon as Katou’s bowl was mostly empty. “As the sign says, I’m Sisko. What’s your name, son?”
There was also the promised pie, which he set down on the table as well. It was a pecan pie, baked by his excellent sous chef who was frankly better at that part than even he was.
“Katou,” Katou answered, and then frowned, pausing for a moment as he wondered if it was worth it. Evidently, he decided it was. “And I ain’t your son.”
Free food was all well and good, but the last thing he wanted to be called was ‘son’ when his own father had probably never used the word to describe him.
He grinned widely when the pie was set down as well, and abandoned what was left of the gumbo to dig into that. “This ain’t bad,” Katou said after he’d shovelled a couple of over-large mouthfuls into his mouth.
“Fair enough.” Sisko nodded, grinning to himself when Katou went after the pie. Reminded him of himself at that age; though he still had a hard time resistant a pecan pie.
In fact he resolved to have a slice before he locked up for the night, “Glad you like that one, I’ll make sure my sous chef knows it was a hit.”
“Times like this makes me miss having an oven.” It’d been years since the last time he’d done any baking - or any real cooking, for that matter, but there’d been a time when he’d been a kid trying to win his father’s approval that he’d rather liked it. “Having pie on demand is dope.”
“You bake?” Sisko asked. An idea started forming in his head.
“Not no more I don't,” Katou shrugged, washing down the rest of his pie with the coke. “I haven’t had an oven for a few years.” He hadn’t done much baking in the years before he’d run away, either, not since he realized there was no point to it. “Usedta a lot when I was a kid though.”
“Want to try again? Oven is usually free on Saturdays, if you’re interested. Hell, we could always use more help. I started as a dishwasher, you know. And now look at me.”
Katou frowned a little. Was he offering him a job? Katou could have nearly laughed. If this guy was offering jobs to random degenerates who dug around in his trash bin, it was kind of amazing the food here was edible at all.
“Are you offering me a job? That sounds like way too much work,” Katou said, and then added airly, “besides, I already have a job.” It wasn’t exactly a legal job, but it got Katou what he needed.
“Well, if you need any extra money and have the free time, you can ask,” Sisko replied, already half way towards figuratively adopting the kid.
Katou frowned, eyeing Sisko again with incredulity. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Katou asked after a moment. “For all you know, I could be some good-for-nothing junkie who’s looking to rob you blind as soon as you turn your back.” All of which was true, of course, except for the last bit. But that, Katou told himself, was just because robbing Sisko seemed like it would be a lot of work for not a whole lot of reward at this point.
“The way I look at it,” Sisko explained, leaning back against the booth nearby. “You could be all of those things. But that doesn’t really matter. You’re still a person, a human being. Maybe my helping you can help you find a direction or a way out of the hole, or maybe it won’t, but I’d be a pretty terrible person if I don’t at least offer a hand.”
For a moment, Katou almost let himself believed him, and the hurt and vulnerability and hope was plain on his face, making him look like what he was: a seventeen-year-old kid that just wanted someone to give a fuck.
But then he got ahold of himself and remembered how the world actually was. No one ever helped anyone - especially not a fuck-up like him - without getting something out of it. His teachers got paid, which is why they tolerated him. His friends got the perks of being friends with the school drug dealer, and he knew if that well ever dried up, they'd find somewhere else to be. All his father wanted from him was his death, and his mom acted like she cared but Katou'd always known that she'd been happy that Katou's dad had found someone else to take his wrath out on. And his sister…
Well, Katou had burned that bridge pretty good himself. She'd never want anything to do with him again.
His face snapped close, a mask of perfect indifference. "You're so full of shit, old man," he drawled, sliding out of the booth,upending the still half full-bottle of Coke and bowl of gumbo for good measure. And then he was heading to the door.