Convicted!
BY: MYLiFE'SBOAT
This is a disclaimer.
Summary: Kyouya is a normal investigative reporter with a million dollar Mercedes he worshipped, and a cute little house with large windows but with the curtains always drawn. He met a girl who mugged him with a pistol on a coffee shop and held him hostage in his own little home. Later on, he learned that she's a convict who fled the cops because she insists that she's innocent of armed robbery. He thinks otherwise. Kyouya tries to help, but he's not a damn lawyer who can sue the cops for negligence. And now, he's caught up with the law and his own little heart. Romance is a serious form of blasphemy.
A/N: Kyouya must be the perfect investigative reporter. XD He loves snooping around other people's business and enjoys invading other people's privacy by asking questions. Whoa. The papers must earn a lot of bucks with him around.
o-o-o-o-o
The busy mob flooded the streets of downtown Tokyo. It was half past nine and rush hour seemed to be ahead of time. Ootori Kyouya was stuck in the morning traffic with his Mercedes and a growling stomach.
He had phoned his secretary this morning and told her he would be late for the briefing. He was up late the night before as he finished with the last draft of his story. He barely made it to the bed and slept on the carpet for the remaining two hours before his alarm clock kicked off.
In his five years of service, Kyouya has never gotten himself so worked up for the Tokyo Times before. But he was working the front page news and they were meeting deadlines. Daily Gazetteer, he's heard, is sucking air but not for long so they had to beat them off before they flaunt their front page on the news stands with big shots.
It was 24th of September when a massive oil spill along a small part of the North Pacific killed a large portion of the marine life. The whole world was shaken, particularly East Asia. The fish market struggled, and the inhabitants near the coastline were stricken by diseases and epidemics the spill brought forth.
The shipping line responsible for the oil exportation denied answering questions. The oil company refused to entertain investigations. The people rallied and the government was frustrated. Someone had to be blamed.
The US offered its share with the investigations. The government sent their troops for full research of whoever was held responsible for the largest disaster East Asia ever had in four years. And after seven weeks of fumbling in the dark, a name came out.
The Takashima Zaibatsu is a small conglomerate, which operated mainly in Hiroshima. It is covered mostly of minor oil companies and it exports most of its upshots in Australia, Canada, and a couple of states in the US. Their business, it has been said, primarily controlled the black market in oil exportation.
Environmentalist groups, one of which is the Green Associates, were devastated with this and they hired big-time law firms to sue the bastards to hell. It was an uproar and millions of dollars were utilized for the trial, for marine habitat restorations and for resident relocations.
Takashima is a bulky fellow with a flat nose who dodged the trial twice before he decided to appear in court. It was a closed-court trial with the judge, the jury and the whole she bang when they let him go. It was just one hearing. The bulky fellow with a flat nose knew how to make his connections. The Green Associates were frustrated.
By the time they filed for an appeal, Takashima was gone within twenty-four hours. That was it. Cased closed.
But three months later, a young lawyer named Fukushima Akira dug up the case and asked a bounty for Takashima's head. Seriously, she would have it her way. The bulky fellow returned from his hiding place in the Caribbean and already had his neck buried six feet deep under Fukushima's shoes. Suddenly it became a hotshot in the appellate court and the media.
Takashima will eventually give in.
The story has been in the papers for five months and they're running new feeds. Tokyo Times had just caught a big fish and it spoke to the EIC, baby! They're running this wild and slick.
o-o-o-o-o
Half past nine and Kyouya sits behind the wheel of his Mercedes buried in the heavy traffic. If he would leave his car and park it illegally somewhere, he would be in the conference room of his office within five minutes through the train and fifteen by feet.
He wouldn't do that with his tweed jacket on. The car was worth three years of his salary and he literally worshiped it. No one would probably understand their very mutual relationship but he wouldn't give a damn.
His stomach protested with a loud growl and thank god no one else heard it. Perhaps a piece of bread and coffee will do to keep him from passing out in the middle of the briefing. He wouldn't risk fainting in front of his subordinates. He was famished and he hasn't eaten since last night.
Kyouya honked once as if trying to push the traffic on. The car in front of him moved forward for almost an inch and stopped. He sighed. A coffee shop stood only a few feet away. He killed the engine and stepped out of his Mercedes. He would grab a bite and try to blow his horn again to see if it's effective the second time.
o-o-o-o-o
The coffee shop was barely empty when he stepped inside. A tinkling sound hummed on his ears and a pretty girl behind the counter, probably on her late teens, welcomed him with a smile. He forced to return it but it was a weak attempt. He moved to the bar and ordered a black coffee, no sugar and a rotti. Take out. He paid with plastic.
Her name was Yuki. He saw on her name plate. It was a typical name and he didn't give another thought to it. She aimed another smile and disappeared to the kitchen. Kyouya settled for the nearest seat by the door, making sure his car was within sight.
For a capturing moment, he enjoyed the peace of the ambiance. He closed his eyes and listened to the hushed conversation of the groups near his table. It was his hobby snooping around, asking questions and listening in to conversations. He has been doing that for over a decade and he's a pro.
Ootori Kyouya is the youngest son of a large corporate owner, whose business focused mainly on the medical field. He grew behind the shadows of his two brothers ahead of him and he was subject to constant pressure. They expected too much from him and Kyouya tried to live them up. He tried.
But he wanted to prove that he has some different worth. He pursued a career in journalism against his father's will and promised that he would bear out a successful undertaking in the field.
The moment he completed his degree, New York Times phoned him for service and some time later, his name was printed under article headlines and front-page news. After a couple of years of kicking guts and exposing filth of politics and business in the US, he took a flight back to Japan to serve Tokyo Times and now, he's the EIC.
Yuki's voice pulled him back to earth. It was soft, with a hint of kindness behind. "Here's your order, sir." He was drawn with the smile.
"How old are you?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Twenty-seven in two months." He was thirty-four.
Kyouya caught the lie. Probably to whisk off pedophiles. He doesn't even look like a pedophile.
He stood up with a smile. He bowed in courtesy and snatched the paper bag from the table. "Well, I'll be going now."
Before he can hit the sidewalk, a commotion welcomed the crowd in the coffee shop. A girl with short brown hair, a pair of darkly tinted glasses and a tartan bonnet stepped inside with a pistol. A gunshot shook the walls of the small store and Kyouya yelled, "Duck!"
He pulled Yuki's hand and they plunged under the table.
o-o-o-o-o
He focused on his breathing. His eyes were closed and the adrenaline was still pumping on his ears. He could feel Yuki beside him and she was panting heavily. "Are you all right?"
He opened his eyes. Before he could glance around the shop to check if no one was hurt, a small hand grabbed his other arm and pulled him up.
It was the girl with brown hair. He let Yuki go.
And then, he realized the gun blast was just a warning shot from the cops. They surrounded the shop and were now demanding the girl to surrender. He was caught up with the wind. Dammit, Kyouya. Dammit. Dammit.
"Don't move!" She flung the pistol around and the cops winced. Think, Kyouya. Think. It's just a girl. A small girl. He can pin her down anytime, snatch the gun and throw it to the cops. An easy job. She's just a small girl.
Right. And after one wrong move, he'd be dead meat.
Kyouya cleared his throat. "Look kid, it's dangerous to swing a gun around people." And guns are banned in Japan. Where the hell do these cops get their guns from anyway? He swore he would file a lawsuit against the police if he would ever get away from this mess.
"Just shut up, will you."
No one has told him to shut up until now.
They were still for a moment, and so were the cops. There was a deafening silence until she inched closer to the door.
One cop yelled. "Don't move!"
She didn't give a damn. The girl swiftly pulled something out of the pocket of her jacket and threw it instantly to the police. It exploded with a puff of gas and they hurled, coughing. The next thing Kyouya knew, he was dragged out of the shop and they were suddenly dashing out.
The traffic moved faster now and Kyouya thought of his car. It was parked in the middle of the road, probably missing a couple of bumps from the other cars.
All of a sudden, the girl pushed him inside a cramped cubicle of a public restroom. They were too close, and the pistol was aimed a few inches from his heart. It felt like forever when she spoke.
"Do you have a car?" she pulled the bonnet and the glasses off with the other hand.
Dammit Kyouya, you're a strong man. You can take her down anytime. What are you doing? Dammit. Dammit.
"It's in the middle of the traffic."
"Good. Where's the key?" She handed out her hand. She unzipped her jacket and threw it behind him.
He wouldn't give a damn even if she blows up his brains. He inched away from her and he hit the wall.
"Where's the damn key?!"
Kyouya hurled and gave it away. One moment, he was one innocent investigative reporter who was trying to be cool and struggling his way through the traffic jam and now, he's bogged down between a toilet bowl, a crazy girl with a pistol and his precious Mercedes. This is full of shit.
"What do you do for a living?" She moved her pistol to his right chest. Well, that felt better.
"Investigative reporting."
"Which network?"
"Paper. Tokyo Times."
"Position?"
Heck, he's the reporter here and it irritated him to be subjected to the questioning.
"Editor in Chief."
The girl scoffed almost instantly. "Well, I got one hotshot."
Kyouya supressed rubbing his temples. He closed his eyes and cursed inwardly. This is seriously not happening.
"Look," the girl spoke and swung the pistol again. His heart skipped a beat. "You got to help me get out of this mess."
He raised an eyebrow and the girl didn't miss the gesture. "You're going to help me or I'll blow up the car."
Dammit. "What do you want?"
She smiled, not the same smile as Yuki's, and spoke. "We're going to step out of this cubicle and you're going to lead me to your car. Once the police see us, we're going to run. If you don't oblige, I'll shoot."
"Why would I do that?"
"What do you think?"
Stupid question. She had the car keys. She held his life. Kyouya had no choice.
o-o-o-o-o
He warned her twice about being careful. She was running a hundred and seventy six miles an hour. His limit is a hundred and fifty. What the hell.
The cops lost them and they were veering off random roads. Kyouya went hysterical at the last curb when the bumper missed the post lamp for only a few inches. He cursed twice.
"Give me a favor," the girl snapped. "Shut the hell up."
"You're crazy."
She hit the brakes and Kyouya's forehead almost hit the glass. She banged her sneakers against the gas and Kyouya cursed again. The girl smirked.
He was hysterical once more. "You're enjoying this! The moment you're turned in, I'm going to sue you for whatever case I can file against you little--!"
"Keep going. Keep going."
Kyouya groaned desperately. He's going to hire the best lawyers he could ever get quickly. She's going to rot behind bars!
His phone rang and the girl snatched it away. She punched the green button and put it on loudspeaker.
"Kyouya-san?"
It was his secretary. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I'm skipping work. Cancel the briefing. I'll send the article over as soon as I--anyway, I'll call."
Haruhi hang up. Kyouya turned to her. "You're going to put my business down."
"Is it big?"
It's the biggest story Japan would ever have in three years and you don't have any idea.
"Okay," she spoke. "I'll send you to the Times and drop your article off. You go back to me in ten minutes or I'll crash your Mercedes.
Oh, please.
o-o-o-o-o
Kyouya stepped out of his car and wished the moment he'd return, she would still be there with his car in one piece. She reminded him about the ten minutes and he cursed inwardly.
He ran to the front steps and devised some plan. He'd call the police. They'd probably arrive within five minutes and she'd be mugged down. Or perhaps he'd ask for his father's help. They'd call in some people and help him and his car out of this mess.
And what if she panics? Dammit. What if she panics, starts the car, and drives off like crazy? Dammit. This sucks.
He gave up on it when he stepped out of the elevator. He dropped the article on his secretary's desk, aimed some instructions and stepped back inside. He punched the button for the first floor.
He returned two minutes early.
"What a good boy," she complimented as he climbed in the passenger seat. The girl started the car and hit the road almost instantly.
"I'm gonna kill you for this."
"Thanks."
"That isn't a compliment."
"Listen hotshot." She turned to face him.
"Look at the damn road!"
"Give me your home address."
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Fuck off."
The girl closed her eyes and pulled her hands off the steering wheel.
For the third time that morning, Kyouya was hysterical. "Look at the damn road!"
She sat still and didn't give a damn. "I'll give it to you, just look at the damn road!"
The girl smirked. She won another round.
o-o-o-o-o
It was an avant-garde house and pretty in some way. Kyouya paid for the mortgage from his bank account and acquired a cleaning service every other day. He lived alone and he's a rich bastard who relies on others in housekeeping.
The house was designed by one of his buddies back in high school. His father was a business associate back then and they were good friends. Kyouya opened up about the house idea and after four bottles of beer, he agreed on doing it for free.
It was mostly windows. His room had a large window, which viewed over a large lake. When he would feel like working, he would pull the curtains down and work in dim light. When he would be under too much stress, he could draw them up and he would let himself drift off for a while. It was nice. It provided him solace.
The furniture was mostly European. It was picked personally by his girlfriend for two years before they broke up because she had to leave for America. He loved the couch and it reminded him of her. He would sit there most of the time while writing an article and the ideas just flow smoothly. When he'd be too tired to even go upstairs and jump to the bed, he'd just sleep there.
The back of his head lay against the back rest of his favorite couch. He was awake, but he found it difficult to feel at ease whenever she would hold the pistol and aim it to wherever she wants to aim it. He should be chasing a few hours in bed.
They were cuffed together, and to make it more inconvenient for him, she secured it around his left hand.
He just learned a couple of minutes ago that she was accused of armed robbery. Thank god it isn't for murder. She said she was innocent but he thought otherwise. She had a pistol, and she almost kidnapped his car.
She was taken in for a couple of days in prison and she escaped because the bastards in the station wouldn't even listen to what she had to say. She hated cops. In some way, he did too. But he would trade anything--but his Mercedes--just to make them catch her and wipe her off his face.
The television was on. The curtains were drawn but the lights were off. It was half past noon and the Mercedes was parked carefully on his garage. The keys of the handcuff and the car were stuck on the front pocket of her jeans. He could grope around anytime and steal the keys, but hell he'd be dead with a bullet before he could even touch them.
The girl had asked for his help. Well, he was in a pinch and he had no other choice but to comply. He said that if she was desperate for help, she could have just run straight to the law firms. It would have been easier that way.
She didn't trust lawyers.
They are the only people who can help, he told her. Eventually, if he would indeed assist her so he can get rid of this damned mess, they have to turn to lawyers.
"I hate lawyers. We're not going to talk to those bullshits in dark suits. We're not turning to lawyers." She punched a button on the remote and the channels changed.
"If you want my help, might as well cooperate." Kyouya jerked his left hand to his hair and the girl's right hand was yanked away. She glared but he didn't seem to notice.
"I'm not going to repeat myself."
"Then what do you suppose we should do?"
"How would I know? You're the investigative reporter. You tell me."
Kyouya groaned. He was tired and he needed rest. Somehow, he didn't feel as terrified when he first saw her with the pistol. But she's still foul and rude and stubborn. He didn't like her.
"I have to go to sleep."
He has never done this in front of anyone before. Hell, he has never even been hysterical for three times in a row in front of anyone before. Not even in front of his family. Kyouya is a composed man and normally, he knows how to handle situations, no matter how grave they may seem.
It appears to be different now.
"Hey, you have to help me. Think of something!"
The phone rang several times before the answering machine kicked off.
"Hey baby, talk to me." It sounded like a guy.
The girl shot him a glare. "You're gay?"
"Shut up." Kyouya stood up and prepared to drag her away if she won't get her stupid butt off the couch. She clung on the backrest.
"I said no phone calls." She tugged the gun dangerously and he obediently sat back down.
The voice on the other line continued. "I miss you so much. Your chick and I are hanging around Delport tonight and you should come. Seriously, when are you going to hit on this girl?"
It was Kyouya's best friend. He rolled his eyes. They both waited until he gave up and shut his mouth.
It took a moment before she caught up with Kyouya's words and recovered from the hysterics. "Hey, listen to me."
"Seriously! He sounded like a girl! Ha ha ha!"
"Tell me about it." He positioned a large pillow against his ear to drown her out. He would sleep until later morning, and then send her to the nearest law firm he could find. He wouldn't care if she bitches about it but if she wanted to clear her name, a lawyer could give her best advice. He would force her to understand. In the meantime, he needed rest.
o-o-o-o-o
Sunlight broke its way through the curtains and Kyouya pulled the pillow over his eyes. He cussed and threw it to the carpeted floor. And then, flashes of what happened last night got on his nerves for the second time and he cursed again.
He was deep in sleep and the lights were off when the girl poked him on the shoulder and screamed bloody murder right next to his ear. She couldn't find the key to the handcuff.
They fumbled for the lights, until Kyouya stumbled on the switch and turned them on. His house was a whole mess. He yelled at the top of his voice and demanded her out. She obediently stepped out of the door and suddenly, he found himself standing beside her on the porch. Damn, the keys. The keys!
They were missing. He asked where she put them. She told him she held them and thought of removing cuffs for a moment while he was sleeping because she needed to use the bathroom. But then, she forgot and slept on them and they were gone.
They searched under the couch. It wasn't there. Between the cushions. No keys. The carpet, negative. He gave up after a while because his wrist was already hurting and he was hungry.
Sometime later, she found it on her breast pocket and Kyouya almost banged his head against the wall. She un-cuffed them both and he promised not to call anyone, or bring the police in while she was sleeping, or sneak out, or steal the pistol. He always keeps to his words and he swore by the next morning, he would have her sent to the law firms and find her a lawyer.
And now, he had a big headache. Thank god she was nowhere near him or he could have strangled her to death. He's looking forward to getting rid of her.
He got up to the kitchen and stirred a coffee. Black, no sugar. He would go upstairs to the roof and enjoy the morning breeze. He'd find her later although, he almost wished she ran off somewhere and would be gone for good.
Wait--the Mercedes! Kyouya stuck his head on the window and craned his neck to the direction of the garage. The car's still there. Alive and unharmed. Thank god.
The top floor of his house is mostly storage. He keeps his old things there and once in a while, he'd go see if the floor needed some cleaning and he would call the agency for some service. A spiral staircase leads to a small trapdoor, which leads to the roof. Sometimes, he'd be there to breathe some fresh air, sometimes to unwind, sometimes just to wander around to bask in the morning sunlight.
He found her there and almost wished he should have made the trapdoor invisible. She turned around and stared at him for a moment, and then turned back to the view of the lake. It was beautiful.
"I made myself comfortable," she noted while stretching her arms wide.
Yesterday was a blast it seemed like a sudden blur.
Yeah, you made yourself comfortable with my t-shirt, he was just about to speak but found the strength to stop himself.
"Your perfume's nice," she continued when he stayed silent for a moment. "And the fabric is soft."
He was ignoring her.
"Kyouya-san, are you going to send me to the law firm today?"
Kyouya took a long drag from his mug before answering. "Yeah. Even if you trust them or not, they can still help you tremendously."
"I just don't like lawyers. They sued my father for robbery and they sentenced him lifetime imprisonment. He was working hard for me, you know. He's a great guy."
"He's probably still in prison?"
"He died of lung cancer three months ago. I never liked it when he smokes."
"I'm sorry." For one moment, he felt sorry for her. Perhaps she isn't that bad after all. She was a young woman, struggling to have a life. For one moment, he felt the pain of losing someone. He had lost a girl he loved before and it hurt. What more if it was a father?
"It doesn't matter. I'm moving forward."
"How about your family?"
Kyouya was the investigative reporter again.
"Well, he's the only one. My mom died when I was five and since then, he struggled to find a living for the two of us." A sad smile painted her small face. "He worked as an okama in a bar, you know."
He didn't speak a word. She turned to him and inched forward. "So, when are we going to hit the streets?"
"Just let me finish with the coffee."
o-o-o-o-o
They arrived in front of a building with about ten floors and they hovered on the lobby. Kyouya was thankful he had the Mercedes back.
He would leave for work momentarily, after he says goodbye. He already made an appointment with a lawyer named Torakibuto Akira and words spread that he's nice and a really good hotshot. She personally picked the name and reasoned out that 'Akira' simply sounded sexy and strong. She could feel the power he held within the name.
They lingered on the foyer for a moment until he spoke. This is goodbye. "I'll take my leave now."
The girl smiled. It was the first time he saw it. "Yeah. Thanks for your help."
"Don't mention it."
They were silent for a while. The girl edged her way to him and held up her hands. She brushed the front of his tweed jacket with a playful smile. Kyouya didn't miss the sudden gesture. He bent down for a kiss.
Their lips met for a flitting second and he pulled away. It was a sweet kiss, which he never had in the last few years. Mostly they were intense and ravenous. This one was different. He pressed his forehead on hers and smiled. She ran her fingers to the collar of his shirt up to the mop of black hair and smiled back. Kyouya pulled her for another kiss. It was longer this time, and felt quite intimate. They enjoyed the moment.
They pulled away. "Really, thanks."
The girl handed him the gun and he winced. When he held it, it felt light. "It's a water gun."
He blinked once and tried to register her words. Kyouya bent his head down in embarrassment and smiled. "Seriously?" A chuckle vibrated form his throat. He suddenly remembered he hasn't laughed in over a month. It was comforting.
The girl finally waved her hand and gave him a last peck on the cheek when she turned to her heel. He waved back as she made her way to the double doors of the elevator. She probably didn't notice.
She almost disappeared through the metal gates when he forgot something. He dashed to the elevator and flung his arm inside. It opened just in time. "I missed your name."
She looked up, quite surprised, but her smile was overwhelming. "Fujioka Haruhi."
"Yeah, thanks. It's Ootori. Kyouya."
"Well, nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too." He looked at her eyes. They were hazel brown. "Bye."
"Good bye."
With a last smile, Kyouya pulled his arm back and waited for the doors to close. He changed his mind halfway. He stuck his hand in again. "I swear this is the last one."
"What?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You're the investigative reporter."
He took a deep breath. "I was just wondering why you picked me as a hostage."
She pondered for a moment, and Kyouya thought she looked like a small child. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and said. "You were closer to the door."
And you look kinda cute.
"Well, thanks for the answer."
This time, he stepped completely outside and Haruhi disappeared through the metal doors. He looked up and waited for the floors to change. It chimed on the fourth.
o-o-o-o-o
END
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