There is not enough money in the world to make rescuing this pain in the ass worth it, Tangerine thinks to himself ruefully, the only real value is his life in all of this, not willing to throw himself on a sword in front of The White Death because he couldn't cope with his asshole Son. Lemon makes it marginally more bearable. Marginally. Only because if he's off on a tangent about Thomas and Friends, The Son isn't talking at all. Fucking microbial miracles at this point, but he'll still take them.
"You're not even listening to me," Lemon's expression deadpans, train-adorned sticker sheet still in one hand.
"Can't imagine why," Tangerine offers dryly, almost on instinct, the banter between them as easy as breathing. Lemon sours, but tucks the sticker sheet back into one of his inside pockets. Thomas & Friends safe and sound next to someone else's blood stain, he must have missed that episode as a kid.
The Son is still looking at the door.
Maybe he's planning an escape, is Tangerine's first thought, but the kid's uncharacteristic rigidity doesn't exactly scream confidence, or even a desire to get closer to whatever's caught his attention so dramatically.
That's probably not a good sign.
"What's wrong with you?" Finally Tangerine breaks the silence and tries to follow The Son's gaze, "look like you've seen a ghost or something." The door, and the window to the other side, look exactly as barren and nondescript as every other door in the room, but still this guy is transfixed.
"Big fan of doors, are you?" Lemon glances over his shoulder too now. At first sarcastic, he does follow it up with, "the Shinkansen's interior really is quite sleek, I'll give it that."
A nerve in Tangerine's cheek twitches.
Thankfully, the way The Son's mouth began to mimic a gasping fish, opening and closing for several long seconds without ever making a noise quelled their impending squabble. Very suddenly his mouth closes and he's glancing suspiciously between the Twins; that's almost definitely a worse sign.
"Penny for your fuckin' thoughts?" Tangerine's lip curled derisively, leaning into The Son's space. Not enough money in the world, he again thinks when The Son just blinks, deliberately being obstinate despite Tangerine's intensity.
"It's probably nothing," the kid fucking shrugs like it isn't a big deal. There's something in his voice, however, like he doesn't quite believe that.
"Not according to the look in your eyes just a second ago," Lemon, just as unconvinced as Tangerine, doesn't let him out of it that easily. The Son starts to buckle under both their scrutiny, clinging to his nonchalant act as he looks instead to the window.
"It wouldn't make sense for it to be who I thought it was," he mutters tersely.
"And who exactly did you think it was?" Tangerine asks. The Son's glances at him out of the corner of his eye for just a moment, then to Lemon, and finally to the door.
"She has a lot of names," finally, he relents, looking back to the window, "she works for my father," then, quieter, almost as if sulking, "it's not her."
"And why," Tangerine, voice venomously low as he remains unconvinced, flowers at The Son's desperate attempts to not look at him, "would it be a problem if it was her?" This time The Son bites back, turns and meets Tangerine's gaze and energy with malicious ease.
"Because it means my father set you up to fail."
Silence; The Son is all barred teeth, fear and fury, and Tangerine feels his own anger rise at the implication.
YOU ARE READING
it's in my nature {Tangerine | Bullet Train}
FanfictionTangerine doesn't say that he's still feeling a smidge of guilt on the off chance he thinks about that civilian he inadvertently got killed back in New York, because he doesn't feel guilt. Maybe he feels a bit responsible; she was targetted because...
