He may not always be the most patient man, but Sui Zhou has come to be good at waiting. He has taken well to the lessons Tang Fan has taught him.

He Xuan had been ready to leave the desert well before Shi Qingxuan had finished her little investigation. It wasn’t the sun, or the sand, though both were unpleasant, but Crimson Rain’s stupid voice on the private communication array: « Oh, sorry, are we walking in on something? If I knew there was a dress code I would have gotten done up. » And if it wasn’t that, it was the tinkling of jewelry in Shi Qingxuan’s hair as she moved, or the meaningless asides that were disorienting in the scale of their inanity: “Isn’t this fun? I love having fun with you.”

Distantly, she hears footsteps approaching, and looks up in hope, praying that it’s the paramedics arriving–but it’s just Higgins, shockingly normal in his suit and tie, asking, “Rebecca, someone heard shouting–” and then he sees Rebecca crouched over Ted’s prone body and gasps, the file folder in his hand fluttering to the floor.

“Leslie,” Rebecca chokes out, “Ted’s collapsed, I need you to go downstairs and wait for the ambulance.”

“Yes, yes,” Higgins stutters, “But–”

“Go,” Rebecca orders, and Higgins stumbles over his own feet, rushing out of her office.

(Futurefic, set seven years after s1.)

It was always hard with him. You couldn’t get anything of substance by asking for it directly. Taichi had remembered how irritating that could be, but now he felt along with the annoyance a rush of irrational fondness. It was what Taichi used to like about him. What you got out of him, you felt like you earned. Not because you worked for it, but like he’d seen something in you that was hidden from yourself and decided he could humour you for a while. It was probably too much to hope for that he still would.