knives, fights and strawberry ice cream
AN: This work is dedicated to my lovely friend Yili, aka starlightrabbit on Tumblr. It's her birthday today so head over there and wish her a wonderful day, because she deserves it. As for this story, it will make more sense if you take the time to read part 1 of the HA-crew!verse first, but you don't have to. Enjoy!
The first time Mikan Sakura spots the Black Cat, she hides behind a counter.
Now, to her defense, she is unarmed and in the middle of a long surveillance mission, but she still curses her reaction to hell and back when she realizes that she, a trained operative in a successful crew, is currently sitting on the floor of an ice cream parlor to avoid being seen by some hotshot guy. Wiping her hands on her waitress uniform, she gets up just in time to the Black Cat saunter into the parlor, wearing a smug grin on his handsome face.
When she says handsome, Mikan of course means "utterly average, not at all pretty" but her brain malfunctions sometimes. At least, Hotaru always says it does and since Hotaru is usually right, that must also be what's happening right now. Besides, even if she does think the guy is handsome, that in no way changes the fact that he is dangerous and has probably killed people and might blow her operation and oh, is currently talking to her even though she has no idea what he's saying.
"Excuse me, what?," Mikan asks.
"Strawberry," the Black Cat answers. "I'd like some strawberry ice cream, unless of course you only have that on display as decoration and don't actually serve it."
"Oh, we serve it," she hurriedly says and scrambles for the ice cream scoop. "Sorry, did you want that to-go, or…?"
His lips curve into a smile that is entirely too handsome for a man of his profession. Entirely to harmless. Harmless is the word she is looking for. Exactly. Harmless.
"To-go would be perfect."
So she hands him his strawberry ice cream and he hands her the money, the tips of his fingers brushing her own as she takes the cash from him. And that is that: The Black Cat leaves, taking his ice cream and stupid grin with him, never to return.
Except he does, of course, return.
After three weeks on a mission to surveil a rich business man and his company across the street, Mikan finds herself growing bored. For one, nothing is happening. Sure, there are men in suits walking into the building and men in suits exiting the building. One thrilling late shift she even gets to see a pizza delivery guy arrive!
But there are no shady meetings with known members of criminal organisations, no crooked figures walking in and out, heck there aren't even hot extramarital affairs happening inside of highly expensive cars. Nothing but boring, everyday life.
"Do you think Reo could give me a different mission?," she complains to her best friend. Hotaru looks up from her peach flavored ice cream.
"Reo won't give you any missions ever again if you don't stop shouting," she hisses. "Seriously, Mikan. Keep your voice down."
"Or what?," Mikan exclaims, gesturing to the empty ice cream parlor behind them. "My non-existent customers will hear me? That's the worst thing, by the way," she slumps down onto a chair. "I can't even do this waitress thing right. Yesterday I gave a guy five scoops of ice cream for free because he promised to come back and pay me later. Guess what: He didn't!"
Hotaru swallows another spoonful of ice cream. "Shocking," she remarks drily. "Truly shocking."
Mikan rests her head on the table.
"I'm going through a crisis here, Hotaru," she murmurs. "A true crisis. What if I can never figure out Mr. Hokade's sinister secret by working in this ice cream parlor? What if Reo demotes me to a low level agent because I didn't follow the plan?"
"I guess then you'll have to look for a new best friend," Hotaru says, "Seeing as I only surround myself with level A operatives such as myself."
Mikan makes a sound that is half whine, half groan and Hotaru sighs. Patting her best friend's head with one hand, she finishes the ice cream with the other before getting up.
"Look, you'll figure out how to do this job," she says. "Where's your optimism?"
"It's in the trash can I'll have to live in once Reo throws me out of Z," Mikan says dejectedly. She watches as her best friend gathers her things to leave. When Hotaru reaches the exit, she turns around to shoot Mikan one last look.
"Stop whining," she says in a commanding tone. "Get to work."
Over the next few weeks, that's what Mikan tries to do. She spies on the office building using binoculars and perfects her ice cream scooping in the meantime. Sometimes, she finds her thoughts wandering to the Black Cat and his curious one-time visit to her ice cream parlor. Of course, those thoughts are entirely professional in nature - the thing she's wondering is whether or not he knows her identity and whether or not he will sabotage her work, not whether or not he has nice eyes. His eyes never come up, not even once.
She's just about ready to banish the Black Cat from her mind when the he returns. He just show up out of the blue one day, leaning against the counter and winking at her.
"I'd like some-"
"Strawberry, I know," Mikan interrupts him. "And here you go, strawberry you get, one strawberry to-go, thank you, goodbye."
She half grabs, half yanks the money out of his outstretched hand and shoves his ice cream at him. The Black Cat raises one dark brow in amusement.
"Actually," he says. "I'm eating this one right here."
With that, he sits down comfortably on one of the counter chairs and starts to eat.
He does the same thing the day after, and the day after that, until she is pretty sure he's making ice cream eating at Mikan's part of his daily routine.
The first few times, his presence puts her on edge. Other members of her crew told her horror stories about the Black Cat, showed her his picture and whispered warnings into her ear. She can't help but fear him. So Mikan does what any sensible woman would do: She keeps a knife hidden next to the ice cream scoop, ready to stab him at any point. But nothing malicious ever happens - Well, nothing except his constant comments about the state of the ice cream parlor or the way she wears her hair or the size of her scoops. For a secret agent known for his aloofness, he truly doesn't shut up.
Mikan wants to tell herself that she is annoyed by his presence, but for some reason she isn't. Once her fear lessens, she finally finds the time to truly observe her newest customer. He's more than just a pretty face, that's for sure. Whenever he shows up, he does so with a newspaper, reading it front to back while he eats his ice cream. He always arrives at the exact same time, staying for thirty minutes before vanishing to god knows where. Some days, Mikan contemplates following him, but something inside her rebels at the thought of completely unravelling the mystery of the Black Cat.
Eventually, she has to admit she likes having him in the parlor. When she tells her best friend about that, Hotaru laughs.
"Aw, you like him," she drawls. "How cute."
Mikan puts down the lethal lipstick invention she was testing to glare at her friend.
"I do not," she clarifies. "I just think it's nice that he comes by every day. He's…"
"Sweet? Hot? Husband material?"
"Annoying," Mikan says forcefully. She ponders whether she should throw the lipstick at her Hotaru's head but decides against it. Who knows, the thing could blow up. "But he's good for business. You should see how many more customers show up just to longingly gaze at him. It's insane."
"Mikan, Mikan," Hotaru says, never once looking up from the invention she's tinkering with. "You almost sound...jealous."
This time, Mikan does throw the lipstick, effectively ending all talk of the Black Cat. For a while, her enigmatic customer is a forbidden topic at the apartment she shares with her best friend. It stays that way for weeks - him showing up every day and her relishing his visits. In a way, her encounters with the Black Cat have become routine part of her mission. They are a constant, they are normal. At least that's what they feel like until the car blows up outside of the ice cream parlor.
It happens on a peaceful wednesday, around noon. The Black Cat has just left and Mikan is busy cleaning the counter. Technically, that is the job of the the guy she is working with, but he's far too busy making googly eyes at a dark haired girl who came in with her group of friends a few minutes earlier, so once again it's up to Mikan to save the ice cream from turning into a disgusting, dirty mess. She's cursing her coworkers name under her breath when the street outside is rocked by an explosion.
Her instincts kick in before her brain does, and she drops down to press herself against the floor. Peering out from behind the counter, Mikan tries to catch a glimpse of what is happening outside. There's fire on the street, and some sort of fight is happening. Seven men, no eight, all armed, all far too fast to be civilians. She narrows her eyes and pulls herself up, making sure to wear a placating smile on her lips as she rummages around to find her knife.
"Don't worry," Mikan calls out to the customers once she's found it. "I'm sure the commotion outside can be easily explained. If you'll excuse me, I'll go check."
Her co-worker, instead of trying to stop her from being killed by what could very well be a gang fight, practically jumps out of her way when Mikan walks past him to get to the door. She makes sure to roll her eyes at him before stepping out onto the street.
The situation outside is messy - literally. A trash can must have exploded when the car did, because there's garbage everywhere: On the sidewalk, on the windows of the ice cream parlor, hell even in the Black Cat's dark hair. Speaking of the Black Cat, he is holding his own well, given that the fight is seven against one. Still, no matter how good he is, there are too many guys swarming him from every angle.
It's a setup. The realization feels like a block of ice at the pit of Mikan's stomach. In her world of gangs and crews, there is one rule everyone knows: You chose, at the beginning of your career, whether you want to be a visible or an invisible agent.
Invisible agents such as Mikan specialize on jobs that require a discreet approach. Infiltration is her strength, and doing that is impossible when the police knows your face. But there are also those like the Black Cat - those who rely on brute force and fight their way in and out of every mission, those who are known and feared and most importantly, hated.
If you're a visible agent, you spent your life laying low. That means having a top secret hide-out, steering clear of the public and never, ever, frequenting a certain place.
The Black Cat has broken the last rule many times over in the past few weeks, and although Mikan doesn't know why, she can't help but feel responsible. Nevertheless she hesitates to jump into the fray. This is how you go from a covert operative to a known one - By butting into another crew's business. But isn't that exactly why she took this job in the first place? To make other people's business her business, to help them out when they needed her to?
The Black Cat finally spots her, and his face goes a little bit pale when he does.
"Leave!," he yells at her, fending off to attackers as he does. "Hear me waitress? Leave!"
She rolls her eyes at him.
"You don't get to give me orders outside of the ice cream parlor."
With that, Mikan grips her knife a little bit tighter and jumps to his defense. The Cat's red eyes widen in almost comical surprise, but he doesn't ask questions. Side by side and back to back, they finish off the attackers. When the last one falls, she grabs his hand (it's almost scorchingly hot, but not in a bad way) and, ignoring his protests, drags him away.
They stop running once the ice cream parlor is far behind them, once there is no more smoke in their noses and no police sirens in the air. They're in a small city park. It's a peaceful place: A couple of cherry trees provide shade and the grass is sprinkled with colorful flowers. Mikan lets herself fall down onto a bench, heaving a sigh of relief.
"That," she says. "Went better than expected."
The Black Cat is watching her from a couple of paces away, seemingly hesitant to join her on the bench.
"So you're clearly not a waitress, huh,?" he comments. Mikan pouts.
"Excuse you, I'm absolutely a waitress. Do you have any idea how hard I had to practice to become one?"
"Alright, ok. You're not just a waitress. Better?"
Mikan leans her head to the side, thinking about his words for a bit before nodding.
"Yup, that's better!"
He watches her for a few more moments, clearly torn, before shaking his head in a half exasperated, half fond manner. In two quick strides, he reaches the bench and sits down next to her.
"By the way," the Black Cat says, "You didn't save my life or anything. I was doing alright."
Mikan snorts.
"Sure you were, Mr. 'I'm bleeding and surrounded but totally OK'."
"That's not my name," the Black Cat comments.
"Well, what do you expect me to call you?," Mikan asks. "Mr. Cat? Black? Blackie? Kitty? Oh," she bumps his shoulder with hers. "Can I call you kitty?"
Her most regular customer shudders. "Please never, ever call me that again."
"Alright, alright," Mikan promises with a giggle. She leans back on her outstretched palms to watch the cherry blossoms, but the movement makes her wince in pain. The Black Cat sits up straight, gesturing for her hands.
"Hey, let me see that," he demands.
"It's fine-"
His touch startles Mikan. Gently holding her hand in his, he turns it around to look at her palm. There's a wound there, about three centimeters long, its jagged red edges cutting her skin into two. He traces it with his fingers.
"I'm afraid I don't have a handkerchief to romantically wrap around your injury," he says. "But to be honest, I'm starting to think you don't need me to take care of you."
Just for a second, the feeling of her hand in his freezes her mind and she can muster no reaction except an embarrassingly slow blink. Then she pulls her hand back as if burned and hides it in her skirt.
"You're right about that," she says, forcing a smile before changing the topic. "So, I guess you owe me one, right? That's great, actually."
"Wait, I owe you one?," the Black Cat asks. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Why, I blew my cover for you," Mikan explains. "That means you have to help me finish my own mission or I'll tell everyone about that one time the Black Cat needed a nameless operative to save his ass. Obviously."
His lips quirk into a smile. "Obviously," he repeats.
Filled with renewed energy, Mikan jumps up from the bench.
"We'll meet here tomorrow, 6am sharp. Don't be late, kitty!"
"It's Natsume, actually."
"What?"
"Natsume. That's my name."
She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Mikan briefly wonders whether that truly is his name, whether he just gave her the most important piece of information an operative can give to someone. Then she decides it doesn't matter. Maybe what Natsume introduced himself as is just as important as the name he has on paper. She turns to go and he watches her leave with watchful red eyes.
"It's a shame you have to quit your job," he calls after her just as she's about to walk out of earshot. "I liked you in that maid outfit."
Mikan doesn't let him see it, but his words make her smile.
The very next morning, he joins her five minute past six. She's just about to complain about his tardiness, when he presses a pre-packaged popsicle into her now bandaged hand.
"I got it from the corner store," he offers up as an explanation. "It tastes like strawberries."
Once more, Mikan is too stunned for words. They sit side by side in silence, eating their popsicles as the sun comes up. She might lose her job because of her reckless actions, but Natsume's shoulder is warm against hers and the morning sun is making his eyes look like a wildfire.
(And just for that moment, she doesn't mind admitting that he's the most beautiful thing she's seen in years.)