Hawks - Keigo

Keigo hates spring. Absolutely loathes the three months of misery, especially the week that he's bed bound during his rut. He's had to sit through countless lectures from his handler and even Madame President herself, telling him his instincts are wrong and that he just needs to get over it and get back to work. As if. He can't just get rid of the depression that comes every spring, nor can he ignore the strain his body goes under when he tries to work through it.

He's physically weak during spring because he's alone, but does he complain about it? No. He works through it because that's how he was trained, that doesn't mean his work is going to be perfect. If they wanted perfect they'd let him go out and find a partner.

His handler must have finally had enough, because she calls him in on the second day of spring. He knows better than to be late, so he drops what he was doing–paperwork. Ugh.–and flies over. He touches down in front of the Safety Commission's main headquarters, his wings drawn in tight.

What in the fuck could his handler possibly want from him? Besides lecturing him about his piss poor work, obviously. The second he walks inside two guards escort him to the elevator, their expressions stoic and unreadable. Okay–that's fucking weird. His handler has never had him escorted to her office. This is fucking fishy.

The elevator dings and the guards lead him–not to his handler's office–but to a conference room. Fuck. Not good. The two men stand stalk till at either side of the door and he takes that as his invitation to enter. He plasters his PR trained smile on his face and walks in, ready for the verbal beating he'd been anticipating. He stops dead in his tracks as his eyes land on the person standing between his handler and Madame President. What?