Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain, it fell in torrents around him, drops of water pelting uneven grounds with a chill lasting a thousand miles. It clawed watery fingers through his hair and undefined his surroundings, what being once clear lines and sharp angles of the manor's marbled square dissoluting into a misty painting splashed in green-blue-white. 

Or maybe that's just the handiwork of his fading vision. 

Agent Jones laid on his side, beneath an overcast sky the stormiest grey, the centre of a hundred-metre radii of bodies strewn left and right. Feeling the weight of his fallen friend pressed into his back. 

He'd let his guard down. It was quite silly, really, how the mercenaries managed to ambush them. 

They'd been on a field investigation, the two of them. Two weeks in and out, little hassle, even less risk. Map the estate in the middle of nowhere spanning half a forest. The drug lord's secret hideout , their sources reported. It's usually vacant save a couple of their servants. 

Investigate, confirm and verify , were the orders given. 

In and out, quick and simple. 

And so off they went. 

But someone must've tipped the other side off, likely a mole planted in the local police force. Alfred wondered if it's the cute brunette who'd been a tad too eager to show them the way out of town. Just as law enforcers have their sources, so do law breakers; it's always been like that, a tricky game of cat and mouse. 

Plus this drug lord would've killed, literally , for a chance to rid of his long-term headache. Alfred lost count the number of that cartel's scrummy dealings they'd foiled over the years. 

Anyway. 

One minute he was trudging behind his friend, surveying the edge of the open square, and the next there were five men leaping out of some bushes, the row of shrubbery clouding his blind spot. Instinct had him successfully dodge four out of five– 

Only to charge right into the ambush of another wave. Two pricks, and he'd been jabbed. Tranquilisers , that's what he'd bet his consciousness on. His traitorous, gradually-seeping-away consciousness. 

Not that it'd stop him, of course, but it's tough putting up a fight with an oozy head and steadily loosening limbs. Adrenaline blockers rushing through his veins. Slowed reaction time, numbing nerve endings. Felt like he was floating thirty minutes into the brawl, already pushing his personal record. Never had the drug resistance his companion claimed possession of, and there and then, it proved a bane. And from the looks of it, deadly too. 

When his vision cleared sufficiently to make up for the full-body paralysis – courtesy of the wondrous chemicals – the scene greeting him was… Dismal, to say the least. 

Yao stood with a gun to her head, the unfortunate focus of an entire military. Crowding the both of them in layers, were countless men donning colours of patched grass and ocean foam. Countless firearms trained upon the two intruders, ready to riddle them with bullets. 

Men like them, men who kill for a living… Anyone with some shred of sensibility would know the bloodthirst in mercenaries are not to be trifled with. 

Awareness drifting in and out, only fragments of his teammate's ongoing conversation made its way to Alfred's ear. 

Just fragments, but sufficient. 

"My, my… Who do we have here?" 

It's the man standing before Yao. He took one step forward, gunbarrel brushing skin. The extra strip on his sleeve was self-explanatory; he's the Captain-equivalent of this bunch. 

Even paralysed as he was, Alfred had to actively suppress a growl. 

"..." 

"Not speaking, are we now. But don't worry! I know very well who you are… Agents ." 

How'd they know? 

Though he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised , Alfred thought. They always have their ways.  

The man's contemptuous drone drifted back into his head– 

"... There's no need for this to develop into anything further than what we have now. You wouldn't want to fight us, doll. Wouldn't want to mess up that pretty lil face, eh?" 

"..."

"How about this, we'll cut you a deal…"

If the drug lord's hired arms were dealing with any lesser person, they would've gobbled up the offer on the spot. 

But as it was, they're not just up against anyone . 

"... Fight?" 

In the pin-drop silence, the dark-haired agent swivelled her head, very slowly, to survey their general direction. Emotionless. Mechanical. Refined. Indeed, not unlike a finely polished doll . 

(Bloodthirsty, even.)

The icy chill in his comrade's voice, made Alfred – however oozy he was in the head at that instant – want to gulp. 

" You want a fight? I'll give you a fight! " 

And that set it off. 

Chapter Text

Somewhere in the middle of the melee, it'd started to rain. 

Somewhere amidst the clings and clangs, a once cloudlessly empty blue had turned moody, low-hanging, grey tuffs circling overhead, threatening to join the fray. 

And join the fray they eventually did, a thunderous boom announcing their entrance. 

Alfred lost track of when the rain had soaked his suit, and when the water had gotten into his hair, too morbidly mesmerised by the brawl before his eyes. What limited angle he was granted given his odd posture when he was dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, anyway. 

The patterned marble tiles busy pressing pretty imprints into his cheek. 

Yao cleaved her way through the mob like a dance. 

A waltz with death, perhaps. 

Again and again, he watched her get struck down. And again and again he watched her get back up, rain-soaked hair, loose from a stray bullet, plastered to her face. 

He watched her stand her ground atop puddles, thin, rippling films of water, sploshing surfaces reverberating from the downpour and clashing weaponry alike, against multiple silhouettes sailing through air, guns out, as they lunged at a single, fleeting target. He watched her flitting reflection in disturbed waters, from where he was stuck incapacitated and bleeding mortally on the rough gravel, as she flung herself, teeth bared, claws out, at the armed figures, a battalion of experienced fighters out for blood – theirs, specifically. 

Turn, twist, flip – 

She leapt, one foot raised high in a spinning kick, water trailing a silvery arch. From the ground to the heel of her boot, droplets flicking in all directions. Touch and go. 

It fell two mercs, the one whose jaw her heel connected with knocking into another as he was sent sprawling several yards out. 

Bouncing on her soles as she landed, Yao wasted no time as she launched towards two other men in greenish-blue camouflage wear, her own dark coat a misty blur. As though it's been run through the filter of a camera's lens. 

Damnit, damnit why would his body move… ?! 

Al gritted his teeth. 

(Figures popped in and out, sprouting like young mushrooms in a forest. Fresh after a light spring drizzle, plucked the very moment they dared raise their head.) 

Under the harsh sky, he thought he could hear the remnants of a song lost to the winds… 

The song belonging to Yao's dance of Life. 

She stood, then, in a supreme state of unsteadiness, one knee still wobbly from being kicked out just moments earlier. Chains dropped from her wrists, her usual choice for critical defence; blood which would've stained the shiny metal crimson otherwise washed away by a storm that was taking no hint of ceasing. Swiping a hand across her face to clear her sight, she did, flyaway hair weighed down by rainwater, dark as grief and blending seamlessly into the equally dark uniform shoulders down.

When backed into a corner, you would surely choose to fight till your last breath too, wouldn't you, Al? 

Alfred thought he'd forever remember how she dealt with the last one. 

He'd burnt the image into his mind; that of his teammate tackling an enemy twice her size, her knees on either side of his neck, movements jerky as she wrestled for the upper hand, already horribly exhausted from the hours-long attrition; a fight that'd started out a battle – then brawl, then melee – before finally diminishing into a scruffle. 

(How she's still alive and fighting was beyond him, but given his sustained incapacitation, Alfred's seriously beginning to fear for their survival.) 

Fingers twitching, Al stared at Yao, bearing silent witness to her shaking hands, forcing the other party into a bow, then a kneel.

Tightening her chains, hair hiding her face, a snarl, a wring with a might worth her weight in gold, a sharp Snap! – 

The man dropped to the ground between her feet, dead. 

Trembling, straightening with strained difficulty, Yao gasped, the wet sound of her breath troubled; she managed a few steps forward out of reflex, legs moving on their own accord, swaying dangerously. On the brink of losing balance, more inertia propelling her weight along and instincts preventing her from falling, than the conscious concept of active walking . 

Fingers continuing to twitch, Alfred's baby blues followed her every move, up until she stumbled to a neat spot somewhere behind his head, lost completely from his field of vision. 

Rustle. 

Plop. 

He gathered, from the two consecutive soft thuds – the second barely louder than the first – that she'd fell to her knees in the small plot of empty space beside his hip. A sudden added weight on his back told him – she'd fallen further into a mimicry of his own posture, propped sideways against him. 

Back to back. 

Shoulder to shoulder. 

Head to head. 

Heartbeat to heartbeat. 

"'M sorry, Al. Promised Vanya I'll bring you in safe…" He heard her mumble. 

Me too, Yao. 

I promised Arthur I'll bring you back safe. Think imma break it. 

I'm sorry. 

Why wouldn't his body move?! 

To make matters worse, silhouettes seemed to decorate the far ridges of surrounding hills. Closing in. 

Whoever they're up against… They came prepared. 

"Na, Al…" He thought he heard her voice crack. He wasn't sure if he hallucinated the sniffle. "... I really want to live." 

"..." He has to get up!

"So 'tis the end, it seems. Funny huh, much sooner than I'd've thought… Never imagined it's you I spend my last bit of life with." 

"..." Get up! GET UP!! 

"Glad to have fought alongside you, Alfred Jones… " Her voice, it weakened by the breath. 

"..."

"天要黑了。。。晚安。"

(It's getting dark… Good night.) 

The weight against his back felt unbearable. 

WHY COULDN'T HE GET UP?!! 

And then, silence. 

Is this it? 

Is this really the end? 

Alfred opened his mouth to scream. 

Then – 

CRASH. 

Thunder. Far away in the distance. Once. Twice. A dull boom growing closer and closer by the minute. 

(Thunder?)  

Except it wasn't thunder. 

(He looked closer.) 

The distant silhouettes, they continued closing in… Only this time, sudden gaps begun appearing at random in what was previously a pristine line of attack, giving way to – 

An imposing figure, with a bazooka over the padded shoulder of his fur-lined coat. 

Agent Ivan Braginski. 

(Alfred screamed.) 

Chapter Text

There was one time, the Special Ops Team was set to tail a man, a suspected contract killer hired to take out the incumbent Minister of Defence. 

Intel support tracked activity of Suspect 404 – Codenamed 'Error', courtesy of Elizabeta's odd sense of humour – along Outer Beach Road 12 Crosswalk 2.0, due to turn left into Road 11 and North of a local shopping mall, per their prediction. 

At the time of report, two agents had already been stationed along the stretch of road, with two more planted at a separate location one block away, on standby, not-quite-patiently awaiting further orders. 

Within a minute of receiving command, the stationed two were dressed and casually lounging at a roadside cafe in preparation for interception, shades on and a cigar in Alfred's mouth as he sat in the open air, basking under the morning sun, newspapers spread out in hand. Opposite him was Ivan, all smiles and closed eyes as he slipped his morning drink, which, quite curiously, reeked of alcohol. 

A figure in dark passed them, stopping by the traffic lights leading to Outer Beach Road 11. 

Alfred tapped under his hat as soon as the lights turned green. 

"Callo to Anwa, Callo to Anwa. Error headed your way, aim to resolve. Over."

"Received. Roger to resolve Error. Over."

Alfred tapped his hat again and turned to his partner. 

"Time to have fun. You ready, Vanya?" 

Vanya's smile widened, ever so slightly. 

"As ever." 

"What do you mean, he's gone into the arcade?!"

" He turned, and then he was gone! The crowd's disappeared him! "

"Crowds don't just randomly disappear people, least of all active targets of Special Ops ! You sure you're not just finding excuses for your incompetence?!" 

" But he did disappear! "

"Because you didn't manage to keep a close enough eye on him!!"

" Oh, are you saying it's my fault now? "

"Damn right it is!!"

"Guys guys, stop it, guys. Arcade, you say? You sure he went into the arcade?" 

"As sure as I am of the horror of Arthur's cooking!"

" Excuse me?! " Agent Kirkland – Back-up Support Member A – voiced his annoyance. 

"Got it! Confirmed report-" " Excuse me??!! " "-of target entering enclosed civilian area. Permission to breach, Colonel?" 

" Risk estimation? " 

"Low, ma'am. Target did not appear to be armed." 

" Alternative options? "

"We could wait for 'im to leave, but we might risk losing tail. It's a messy crowd, suspect could change disguise anytime he wants without us realising." 

"Also – crashing an arcade sounds fun, boss."

" We are on an active field mission, Al!! " From outside the mall – the designated active area of said mission – and for the first time since the operation, Yao's voice cut in through the intercom. 

"Chill, princess. Plus, you and Artie are back-up this time round, so just relax, sit back and leave it to Betty and us four to put up a good show!" 

" Excuse me, what did you just call me, Jones?! " 

"Sorry, boss."

"That's more like it. I've drawn up the live feed of the arcade surveillance. Goal, apprehend target, minimise collateral, no casualties allowed. Go green and breach, team." 

" Roger, boss! "

" Three o'clock, Anwa, Code Green and moving. " 

At the sight of suspicious dark clothing, Matthew turned and zeroed in on an old-school arcade machine placed innocently before the turn of a corner, obstructing his view of the layout beyond. Focus shifted, the Colonel's ongoing orders in his intercom waned into subconsciousness. 

The crowd jostling them about was less than friendly to their goal, and the blonde agent paused to briefly wonder where'd all these people come from. 

It's daytime, it's a weekday, and they've got all these folks flocking to an arcade like moths to a fire, half of them youngsters of schooling age. Does this count as addiction? 

It's terrible. 

Matthew was beginning to ponder the necessity of having a chat with local school authorities after this was over. 

A sudden movement to his right drew his attention, just after turning the corner, and upon closer look, spotted a tall and thin man snaking his way towards the closest exit. 

" Stop right there! " 

Matthew struggled to suppress a groan. 

Yes, Al, go ahead and order a known suspect to stay on the spot. I'm sure it'll go exactly the way we wanted. 

As expected, the figure sped up. 

But the very next moment saw a change of course – Ivan had moved in to barricade the way out – and the suspect attempted to give them the slip by veering away. 

A scream sounded to his left, followed by some more, and Matthew turned again. To his dismay, the crowd dispersed, but not for the right reasons. 

In the middle of the cleared space stood Alfred, a claw machine lifted above his head. 

" Minimise collateral! No casualties!! AL!! " 

Amidst his own screams, the heavy equipment was sent sailing through the air, a graceful arc broken only when it crashed into a couple of race car simulators. Which in turn fell over upon the flat platform of a strength tester, whose colourful number column lit up in glee. 

Perfect Score! Cheery music blasted over cracked glass. 

Miraculously, no one was hurt. Seems like in the face of grave danger, people at least had the presence of mind to duck. 

Matthew gulped, dreading Elizabeta's reaction on the other side of the surveillance feed. 

" Oh my god, the compensation, Roderich's gonna kill me! " 

True to his guess, their Colonel didn't appreciate their antics very much. 

Appreciation or no, it doesn't solve the issue at hand. Matthew watched with a hand over his forehead as Ivan stomped past two dance machines – beeping loudly over consecutive missteps – in active pursuit of the escaping silhouette, as opposed to Alfred's blockade from the other end. Add to the fact Francis's closing in from the side, he dared to dream, just for a second, if this would be one of those god-blessed instances where everything goes without a hitch. 

Apparently God was on leave that day (again), because even with all the right people at the right places at the right time, all it takes was one wrong person at the wrong time and place to put a decently dealt set of cards in jeopardy. 

Sir Error proved himself a worthy opponent, weaving his way between staggered rows of claw machines, knowing it would be sufficient effort for two of the agents on his tail to emulate given their size. And the moment he left the narrow enclosure, he had his hands on a teen girl, an unsuspecting young brunette in school uniform with her hair in twin-tails. 

"Nobody move! Any movement, and I'll stab her in the throat. Let me leave, and she'll stay unharmed." 

Silence. 

A bundle of fright the girl was, frozen in place, eyes wide open as she allowed herself to be dragged towards the exit, an effective damper deterring all agents within sight from stepping forward. Which unfortunately, at the moment, included all four on the main team. 

" What's going on? Didn't you say the suspect is unarmed?! " Elizabeta's voice buzzed back into Matthew's consciousness once again. 

He blinked. 

"Uh, yeah, he wasn't, but the hostage was …" 

" What do you mean?! " 

"He's using the sharp metal feather keychain on the hostage's bag as a knife…" 

" ... Idiots. "

The silence grew awkward as it dragged on, and the air, stuffy. The crowd stood back and watched, perhaps shocked into inaction, as Suspect 404 made his escape, inching his way slowly towards the door. 

Slowly, slowly… 

Out of nowhere, a large metal vase sailed through the air, graceful as the claw machine earlier, the perfect arc broken only when it collided with the back of his head. 

Sir Error fell, immediately, releasing the hostage, and giving way to another figure in dark standing a few metres behind, arms still outstretched from the throw. 

Crisis averted. 

The figure – Agent Wang – straightened, dusting her hands and raising a brow. 

" Sit back and relax , huh? Some team of four you guys are." 

Chapter Text

The topic came up, one-sidedly, during one of their covert missions into a human trafficking syndicate. 

Sometime between midnight and dawn, the two undercover agents made it back to their hotel room, stopping every now and then to check if they're being followed. Gunpowder on their fingertips and traces of soot on their clothes, the smell of blood and accompanying bloodlust strong in the air. The breath they were holding only released once the door was closed and locked secure behind them, stable barrier against the outside world. 

Yao turned to Arthur. 

"Status Report?" She watched intently as he closed his eyes and keenly evaluated his physical condition in two breaths. 

"Green. You?"

Yao copied his actions, shutting her eyes to channel her focus solely to the condition of her physical wellness. Starting with her head, from the topmost point on her scalp, to the crown, her face, her chin and neck, feeling light bruising near her left jaw where she got punched, but that's all. Moving downwards, her torso, no internal injuries as far as her self-assessment could tell, though the compression on her chest was starting to feel oppressive. Brushing it aside and sweeping her attention to her extremities, a quick sense gathered a small lesion above her right elbow, from the flick of a switchblade when she intercepted a syndicate member's sneak attack on Arthur, a strained muscle in her left foot from a misstep following that, and nothing more. 

Her eyes reopened. 

"Green." She must have sounded a little breathless as Arthur didn't look very convinced. "All clear." 

He eyed her torso. Your bindings.

She eyed the bathroom. You should wash up first. There isn't much of night left and we need as much sleep as we could get before dawn breaks. Again. 

He eyed her doubtfully. You alright taking them out on your own? 

"I'll holler," she said simply. If I need help, that is. Now go. 

Arthur gave her one last lingering look before disappearing behind the bathroom door, and if she didn't know him any better, Yao might have thought he was worried .

— 

Fresh out of shower and dressed in just a bathrobe, Yao plopped herself on the empty space beside her sleeping partner, stretched out facing down, ignoring how the binding bruises dotting her chest hurt under pressure. Propping her chin on one curled knuckle, calves swaying to and fro in the air, she stared entranced at Arthur's face as he slumbered on peacefully, unaware of the longing gaze currently tracing his countenance. From the sharp cheekbones to the well-defined jawline, from the straight nose to the light blonde curls grazing his forehead. 

Even in sleep, an air of disdain surrounded him. 

"I envy you." Yao told the dozing Arthur. "To be able to speak without being doubted. To be assertive without being labelled rude. To have people listen to your words as they are and not twist them to fit their own narrative. To take one look at you, and see the uniform rather than a pretty face. It's nice, to have your voice heard without having to fight tooth and nail for it." 

She reached a free hand forward to brush his hair. 

"When people look at me, they see only a woman, a forceful, overbearing oriental woman, who doesn't know her place in society, always voicing her thoughts on important matters at the most inopportune times. Important matters, that she should have no say in, since she didn't deserve her title in the first place anyway." 

"Do you know, there's a betting pool amongst the lower ranking officers, on how many men I had to sleep with to get to where I am today?" She chuckled softly. "They'll be sorely disappointed to know the number remains zero. Well, there's you, but I don't think that counts. Your graduation score didn't even come close to mine." 

"And meetings with the military, my god! The whistles and catcalls. Army boys, scanning me up and down as though I have a barcode stamped somewhere. As though I have a price tag indicating my worth like some display on the market shelf. And that was the friendlier half. I think I heard one or two call me a siren. Or a witch. They probably want me burnt at a stake. It's better when you guys are around - especially Alfred and Ivan - they tone down a lot in fear of incurring your wrath. But when I had to attend those sessions alone…" She trailed off, and was quiet for a moment. 

"I don't expect you to understand. It's not fair to ask you to, either. You don't need to, because it's never going to happen to you. The world is rarely fair, I know that, so I should probably stop complaining and just do my job. But, it's just that, watching you, all of you, from the sidelines… How easy it is for you guys to be seen and heard… It's hard. It makes me see a potential I could never have." 

"I wish I could be like you sometimes, you know?" 

"It's difficult being me. It's exhausting." Yao sniffed, but her voice remained steady. "I envy you, so much. I really, really do." 

She sniffed again, eyes dry, before rolling over silently to lay her head on the pillow, body aching too badly to care about the covers. 

When her breathing evened out into the expected slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep, the figure previously prone beside her sat up. Emerald gaze on his partner soft and warm and unbelievably, unbelievably sad. He reached for the covers folded neatly at the foot of the bed. 

I'm sorry. An expression of perhaps unneeded sympathy whispered in her ear. 

Arthur laid the duvet gently around Yao.

Chapter Text

" Come join us , he said. It'll be fun , he said."

Matthew's mutter was disdained, disgruntled, the base of one palm kneading the juncture between his neck and left shoulder as he trailed behind the two suited figures up front, transversing a narrow alley, spray of wavering shadows upon granite path, on their way to some shady underground exchange with a locally famous arms dealer. 

He stared mournfully at a rat scuttling across the drain cover to his diagonal front. 

He nearly missed the cue from his pals as they turned, doubling back to catch up with them as the two disappeared into a mysterious space between two jutted out pillars, swallowed by a panel of door almost too narrow for a full-grown man. 

Matthew wondered how Ivan managed to fit. 

The garage they entered into was spacious, artificial white light beaming down and bringing sight to those within. Barren walls, grey concrete, couple of stocky vehicles sitting quietly in the corner. 

A balding, muscled man waved them over, tattoos sprawled all over the section of forearm exposed under rolled-up sleeves. He looked about as gruff as one would imagine for someone in this profession. If you could call it a profession , that is. 

He tapped once on a stack of sheets resting on the hood of one idling car, before jerking a thumb towards a closed door – 'Authorised Personnel Only' – behind. A signal which Matthew interpreted as, 'Read the Papers, I'll be back with the Goods in a bit.'  

Sounds good. 

That was, until they flipped the blank covers open only to come face to face with their own photos. 

Worse yet, their Special Agent profile shots. 

What's the meaning of this? 

Alfred's wail registered vaguely at the back of his mind, and he's simultaneously inclined to both agree with the proclamation and hurl back a retort of his own – Isn't it obvious? It's a decoy, we've been busted!  

Click , went the door; by the time they realised something was off, the bald man had already slipped. 

Keen as his ears were, Matthew thought he heard a ticking sound beneath the mechanical hum. 

Miniscule movement caught out of the corner of his eye alerted him to the timer wired to the engine beside him. 

A bomb . 

Seriously. 

"Save us, Mattie!" The enthused pat on his back nearly dislodged something. 

"Wha…?"

"Don't 'wha-' me now, buddy! Now's your time to shine!" 

"..."

"After all, we brought you along exactly for this specific reason!"

" Excuse me, Al? "

"If big brother cannot defuse, big brother can just detonate." Ivan's quip sounded way too preppy for what the man's suggesting. 

"How's it goin'?"

"Please be quiet, Al."

Snip, snip. 

"It's the red one, isn't it? They always cut the red one."

"That's the one to avoid, dumbass. You always keep the red one. No wonder you struggled with Defusion class."

Snip, snip. 

"Yeah? Like you're any better, Classroom Bomber Vanya. And it's Defusing, not Defusion!"

"You're one to correct me. At least I speak better English than you, primary-reading-level-educated Comrade Al." 

Snip, snip. 

"Why you-"

Snap!

"Wait did it just- Holy maples! "

"That's not what I think it meant, is it?"

"Retreat, retreat!" 

"Oh, no. Here it comes." 

"I repeat, retreat !" 

Before them stood a massive crater. In its full, destructive, expensive glory. 

Fortunately, there seemed to be no casualties. 

Unfortunately… 

Naw , went the voice in Matthew's head, the one sharing a frequency with Alfred. Elizabeta isn't gonna be happy with us. 

Two towns away, the Colonel sneezed at the stack of paperwork on her desk concerning the coming year's budget. 

Chapter Text

The meeting ended, but Elizabeta remained standing by the door. 

"A minute please, Agent Wang." The Colonel's demeanor was genial. But an order is an order, and any soldier would know it allowed no room for dissent. "In my office." 

Yao followed her in without question. 

They stood before Elizabeta's desk, classified documents layering over each other. 

"A shrine maiden?" 

"We have intelligence indicating that this particular shrine is the hideout for the Yakuza group 「ミコトの真実」 (Mikoto-no-Shinjitsu) under the guise as a place of worship." 

"Me? Seriously?" 

"Yes, you, seriously. Yao, you're the only one out of all of us who'll fit the bill. Besides, you have Kiku."

The way she suggested Kiku was effortlessly nonchalant. 

"I'm taller than the average Japanese!"

"There are tall Japanese people, too! By the way," the corner of Elizabeta's mouth twitched, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I can mark you down for discrimination over that comment." 

"Whatever," Yao couldn't be bothered by such juvenile threats at this point. "I'm not stepping into a Shinto shrine."

"And we're not asking you to worship any gods or deities," Elizabeta bobbed her head in understanding. Her voice was placating, almost gentle. "We're merely requesting your help to rid the mortal demons who plague the world of the living. Think of it as dropping by the neighbours." 

"For Amitabha's sake, why can't we send Kiku in instead?"

"Besides the obvious, which is that he is not the special agent on our team, and you are," Elizabeta humoured her, amused, "I doubt a wig will be convincing enough." 

"And really, I hate to say this, but he isn't nearly as pretty enough."

Elizabeta looked way too happy for a Colonel briefing her reluctant subordinate. 

Yao groaned. 

" Colonel. " 

Elizabeta returned the favour without hesitation. 

" Agent. "

Agent Wang stood there, silent. Head bowed before the Colonel's table, staring at the neatly laid out documents mutedly. 

"I'm going to anger the gods."

That seemed to give Elizabeta a pause. She tilted her head in contemplation, a finger on her chin. 

"Nah. You have the Northern Star watching over you."

Yao threw her hands in the air. 

"Okay. Fine. But don't blame me if a sudden earthquake strikes Tokyo and Mount Fuji erupts!"

Elizabeta grinned, gathered the documents swiftly and chucked them into Yao's arms before she could regret her decision. 

"Deal."

Yao sat before the vanity mirror in her room. Not the standard issued sterile room in the military dormitory cluster, but the one back home, in the house she shared with her siblings. Her family. 

"Huh." She tugged lightly at the white sleeves, pulling the cloth taut. "They put in effort, the clothing department. This miko attire is legitimate ."

Behind her, Kiku pulled his older sibling's hair into red and white washi paper, tying the bundle together with deft fingers. 

"Aiya…" Yao let her voice trail off. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to look ridiculous." 

The image of Kiku in the mirror looked up, then, staring at her from across. Dark eyes silently marking the curve of her cheek, the delicate tip of her nose, eyes like a doe's, lips painted the hue of fresh rose petals. 

He didn't speak. 

Beneath the thick cloths of the white kosode , under his gaze, her scar tingled. 

" O-Inari-san will be pleased to see you, にーにー (Nii Nii) . He miss His old friend." 

"... You think so?"

Kiku leaned forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Yao's ear. 

“綺麗ですね、御姫様。”

(You look beautiful, my lady.)

Chapter Text

"It's still there, isn't it?" 

"I'm afraid so, yes." 

Alfred let out a miserable, resigned groan. So much for playing hero. Now they're stuck in one of those forgotten agency outposts, snowed in with a broken heater, him with a bullet in a hole in his leg and Ivan with a couple of bruised ribs. Up for some quality, two-person time. 

But hey, at least Agent Braginski's brains are still intact. 

"Goddammit!"

Ivan hummed in a way more annoying than placating. The tweezers in his hand glinted ominously. 

"Mm, that's right, you are pretty damned by the gods."

Alfred hissed as the cotton bud soaked in rubbing alcohol glazed open flesh. 

"Why, you– AHHHHHH–!!!"

With great expertise and precision, both in terms of time and space, Ivan dug his hand in, with a tad too little care, straight where it hurts in the bullet wound on Alfred's thigh, cutting off his partner's to-be rant right at the start. 

As the screams died off, a reddish-gold metal pellet glinted between Ivan's fingers. 

"There, perfectly pretty in red."

(Bonus Scene) 

Agent Jones huffed, his glasses misting. 

"I'd like to see you do that on Yao next time."