Another story, though it's technically a continuation. But don't worry. I'm getting around to all of my stories in turn. They will be completed.

In terms of the Pure Coincidence timeline, this falls QUITE SOME TIME after the end and the epilogue.

I will probably be editing that story as this one progresses. Reading Pure Coincidence first is advised, though not STRICTLY necessary. (Then again, nothing in the world of fanfiction is strictly necessary.)

Chapter 1: The worst timing in the world

Izumi woke up.

Izumi woke up at five o'clock.

Izumi very unhappily woke up at five o'clock.

Izumi very unhappily woke up at five o'clock...PM. The sun was just barely hovering over the horizon, shielded from view by a lone tree in the middle of the park. The rude neighbor upstairs was stomping on the ceiling in a vicious attempt to get rid of the paint that had gotten stuck there last night.

How did she know?

Less than twenty hours ago, that same neighbor had woken up most of the building's occupants by going door to door asking people to help him fix the damage. At this point, Izumi was tempted to run upstairs and teach him a lesson about common courtesy. There was the only thing she had missed about living with Kouji in his apartment – the wary respect that everyone had for his privacy. It had been easy enough to notice in Las Vegas, but in San José it was at least three times worse. She had enjoyed the convenience of always being left alone, but...

But in the end, she had been too independent to be completely comfortable under his wing. It had been surprisingly easy to convince Kouji to let her buy her own apartment. The three years of cat-and-mouse just to get her to agree to work with him must have worn him down. Or maybe he figured that it was always nice to have a backup place to crash.

Either way, she got her apartment, along with another host of other problems, including Kouji himself – although she had to take some of the blame for that. After all, she was the one who gave him a copy of the key.

She glanced at the clock and blinked. Five? Really?

"Why the hell did you let me sleep so long?" she mumbled accusingly, rubbing her eyes. Of course, no one replied.

It was a common theme of late. Kouji had been disappearing and reappearing at odd intervals for the past six months.

Suddenly cold, Izumi slipped out of the thin, rumpled comforter and stretched to her full height, wincing slightly when something popped in her back. Maybe she would take Kouji up on his offer to go on vacation for a few weeks. Then again, maybe not. He would probably bring her to Paris. She didn't want to go there until the paranoia about nuclear terrorism died down, mostly because barging into the middle of a rebellion was one of the easier ways to get shot. Kouji would probably find some kind of justification for it, though. He was good at that.

Izumi mused affectionately that her partner-in-crime hadn't gotten much better in the self-preservation department over the years. Really, how did he manage to survive this long without trying to survive at all?

Izumi didn't have the faintest clue.

Then again…she was a former government worker with a false identity that earned most of her money as a hacker in one of the most tightly regulated countries in the world. It was just as strange and miraculous that she had survived.

Before that fateful week in Las Vegas, she would've never expected her life to turn out like this.

Izumi pursed her lips and wondered if Kouji ever felt the same way. Then she instantly banished the speculation from her mind. It didn't matter anymore. She was stuck with him, and he was stuck with her. She couldn't care less about how they ended up in their current situation. There were more important things to worry about, like the ever-looming double threats of anarchy on one side and martial law on the other.

Just the other day, the powers above sentenced Las Vegas to lockdown because of the threat of radio bombs, following the example of New York, Mexico City, and Quebec. Every day, she half-expected to find San José on that list.

No one was surprised by the sudden outbreak of violence, except perhaps the politicians. No one really cared, either, except the media.

Izumi certainly didn't. Even when she had been working for the government, she had never been the most loyal employee. She had tried, of course, but...well, it was easier said than done.

She stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and swung her arms around lazily in a fumbling attempt to turn the lights off without opening her eyes. Since it was almost dinnertime, she made her way to the refrigerator and instantly noticed the pale yellow sticky note on the door.

"Check the news?" She slapped her forehead and groaned. "What did you do this time?"

Izumi pried the colorful strip away from the cool surface of the refrigerator and sat down at the table, where the newspaper was. Kouji had left her a capped and insulated cup of coffee on the table. It wasn't the brand that she liked, but she still appreciated the gesture…not that she would ever admit it to him.

The coffee was still warm. He hadn't been gone for long.

She picked up the neatly refolded newspaper and scanned it with a faint sense of dread. The headlines were nothing extraordinary: protests, revolts, mobs, and a random farmer from Greater East Asia who had broken the world record for longest mustache. Izumi was only surprised by the fact that there were still farmers in Greater East Asia.

Ah. On the last page of the newspaper, she saw an article about the bombing of an airbase near the house of legislature. Apparently, the damage had been severe enough to force the entire government to evacuate for a day or so. She mused that the world had to be seriously screwed up if this kind of thing didn't even make the front page anymore.

It probably wasn't something Kouji had done personally, knowing how much he detested leading military operations, but he must have been ecstatic. By his standards, anyway. Speaking of Kouji, where was he?

As if on cue, she picked up the coffee cup and blinked at the post-it note attached to its side.

Four,

It looks like I have to be out of the country for just a while longer. Be a little more careful than usual - I don't want to find a nuclear wasteland when I come back, understand? And knowing your luck, you'd find a way.

Please don't tear this up. I was just kidding.

In all seriousness, though, there's something going on in the Quebec center, and I need to fix it as soon as possible. You might want to keep a close eye on our little friends in San José.

Yours truly,

Thirteen

P.S. Check my mail, while you're at it. Expecting a drop-off today, and obviously I won't be in the country to receive it.

Deeply unsurprised, Izumi turned the note over and held back a childish snicker at the imprinted pen marks. Kouji wrote with such a heavy hand. He'd go through dozens of pens out of pure carelessness if she left him to his own devices. Admittedly, he could also spend entire months without touching a single piece of paper, so there wasn't much incentive for him to learn how to use writing utensils properly.

She dropped the note back on the coffee table and sighed.

He was within his rights, she supposed, if he wanted to vanish to another country for a while. They had agreed to be partners, but the terms of that agreement had been murky and ambiguous at best. And as for their personal relationship...well, she didn't want to think about that. The point was that she didn't have the slightest idea about what he was up to in Quebec, though she was almost positive that it was something she wouldn't approve of, and she had no clue how to approach him to ask. Well, if she even had a right to ask. He had given her free rein in San José; did that mean he expected the same in return?

Just thinking about it gave her a headache. She had the annoying feeling that Kouji actually needed her to be confused for his plans to work.

She glanced outside - it was already getting dark, and she still needed to check the mailbox. She stood up tiredly and left the apartment to hail a taxi. It didn't take long to get to Kouji's apartment. That was by design. Her partner had been completely fine with her leaving – well, not completely, but at least he didn't try to bring her back by force – as long as she stayed close enough to get to his apartment within ten minutes. Naturally, she chose a little place exactly eleven minutes away.

Even though she hadn't lived there for longer than three weeks, Kouji's building was an oddly nostalgic sight.

She walked up the stairs, all three flights, and remembered yet another reason she liked her apartment better. No fucking stairs. Not a single one.

The fourth floor mailboxes were situated right next to Kouji's apartment, which was also the door closest to the stairs, conveniently enough. There was a small brown package in Kouji's box that was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Minamoto. Rolling her eyes, she carefully looked it over – the return address was some place in Italy, which didn't even exist anymore as of two weeks ago - and started to open the package. Then she froze in place at the sound of footsteps behind her. A soft breeze hit the back of her neck.

A voice she didn't recognize warned, "Don't move."

Shit, shit, shit.

It didn't take a genius to realize that she had taken for granted that Kouji's apartment would be safe.

Kouji was right. Her luck was awful.