Chaolan lay on his stomach on the bed in silk lilac pajamas. He had a side light pulled next to him and a pair of tweezers in his hand as he carefully pulled flecks of glass out of Kazuya's knuckles. Kazuya sat upright with the pillows behind him, in baggy comfortable trousers, with an itinerary Chaolan had drawn up in hand.

"I can't believe you slept with glass in your hand."

"I can't believe it took you so long to draw up a plan for the week."

Chaolan squinted and turned his brother's hand toward the light trying to catch sign of any glints of shards remaining.

"The Expo doesn't start until noon, want to explore the city till then?"

"No. I want to train. I saw there's a gym here. We can get a few hours in before lunch."

"We? What if I want to explore the city?" Chaolan ran his thumb over the injured knuckles, checking for any lasting edges of glass. Kazuya gave a slight hiss at the contact. "All done. Maybe take out your anger on something softer next time."

"Or someone, perhaps."

"Very funny," Chaolan stood and disposed of the napkin filled with winking bloodied glass. He briefly looked at the tweezers before tossing them in the bin too. He meandered to the en suite bathroom and washed his hands.

"Use your own bathroom," Kazuya said without looking up.

"Thank-you, Chaolan, for removing the hotel mirror from my hand. I, Mishima Kazuya, was an absolute fool to pick a fight with such a superior opponent."

Kazuya gave him a bored look then beckoned him over. Chaolan approached warily. Kazuya turned the itinerary so they could both see it.

"The fuck is this?"

Chaolan leaned closer. Mishima Zaibatsu Presentation was scheduled for two days time.

"Slot for a presentation. Raising the profile of the corporation, saying how great our weapons are, you know the drill."

"Am I expected to do this?"

"Well, you're the one with the Mishima name," Chaolan said, just a fraction bitterly. "Anyway, you've done loads of stuff like this. Father is always taking you off to soirées across the globe."

"Yeah to stand at his side and shut up."

"You mean you haven't spoken in public before?"

"Of course I have," Kazuya snapped, snatching the itinerary away, "just… not in front of an audience."

"That is what's entailed by public speaking, Kaz," Chaolan threw up placating hands when Kazuya snarled in response to that. "But it's fine. We've got a couple of days before then. I'll write up a list of things for you to cover, then you can practice in front of the mirror – oh wait." Chaolan gave him a nasty smile.

Kazuya leapt up from the bed. He'd been listening attentively before that last jibe. He reached a hand to grab at his brother, but Chaolan darted out the way of his grasp.

"I'm going to get dressed. See you for sparring soon?" Chaolan blew him a kiss and backed out the door whilst he still could.

Kazuya growled in frustration and threw the itinerary onto his bed. He ran his hand back through his hair and looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and breathed more slowly. He grabbed a flattened sportsbag from out of his suitcase and threw in a few items: loose clothing, sparring gloves, a towel, a bottle of water. He glanced back once at the itinerary before putting that in too.

Kazuya stopped and stared when he opened the door to the gym. Chaolan put his chin on his shoulder to see what the fuss was about.

"Oh."

The room was filled with treadmills, weight lifting equipment, rowing machines, benches and bars – all high tech and emitting faint lights and beeps.

Chaolan could feel Kazuya's already frayed temper mounting.

"I've got this, don't worry." Chaolan clapped him once on the back then set off quickly to the hotel reception desk. He leant on the polished wood and placed a hand on his hip letting the violet tank he was wearing show off his body. He pushed a pair of sunglasses up into his hair. "Hey there," he smiled at the receptionist, "Mr Lee from room 1204. Does this establishment by any chance have a ballroom?"

The receptionist looked at him from over the top of red rimmed glasses,

"A… ballroom, Mr Lee?"

"Mmhmm."

"There's a ballroom on the fifth floor, but it's in use this evening, sir."

"Ah, excellent! That means it's free presently. I'd like to hire it for this morning. Would about four-thousand deutschmarks cover it?"

"I… what?" The receptionist blinked at him, "I'd need to check but that might be possible-"

"Good man, bill it to my room. Fifth floor you say?"

"Y… yes," The receptionist was halting and flustered. Chaolan gave him a wink and a thumbs-up then returned to Kazuya.

"Follow me, I've got us a place to train."

The ballroom was lit by French windows that allowed the sunlight to pour in. An enormous wooden parquet floor stretched gleaming before them. A narrow balcony ran about its edges complete with an ornamental parapet, giving the place a grand, imposing presence.

"Better?" Chaolan smiled knowingly.

Kazuya made an inarticulate noise of assent and dropped his sportsbag down to one side. His stiff shoulders finally relaxed as he breathed and took in the space. It wasn't quite the dojo back home, but it was a good deal better than that cramped hotel gym. He was glad he'd manage to persuade their father to let Chaolan come with him on this trip.

He inspected his raw knuckles briefly, then pulled on his red sparring gloves, binding them tightly to his wrist. He pulled off his shirt, then threw a couple of light punches. Chaolan was already stretching in front of an enormous mirror running down the length of one of the walls. Kazuya joined him.

"No punches to the head," Chaolan said, looking at him via the reflection, "I don't want to go to the Expo with a black eye."

"Have a little faith in yourself," Kazuya gave a cold smile, "I'm sure I'd never be able land such a move. No need to change up the rules over such slim possibilities…"

Chaolan flashed him a sullen look. The black eye Kazuya had given him last week had only just gone down in the last day or two.

"No punches to the head," he repeated. "There'll be press photos."

Press photos that their father would end up getting hold of. And more help them if they didn't look professional in the public eye.

"No punches to the head," Kazuya conceded.

Chaolan smiled, stretched once more, then raised his fists.

"Shall we?"

Kazuya lifted his guard, eyes fixing on his brother. Chaolan's face changed from playful to serious in an instant. He stepped forward, testing the distance between them. Kazuya matched his footwork with a step to the left, piercing stare hunting for the first opening. Chaolan pulled his guard a little closer, drawing his upper body back slightly. He kept his legs planted though, maintaining the illusion of distance. He tried not to let his smile show when Kazuya took a predictable step forward. Immediately he shifted his weight, and was in Kazuya's face, his left punch took care of his brother's guard, fast enough to make Kazuya blink, then his right followed up and hit Kazuya squarely in the chest. He heard the air expel out of his brother, and afforded himself a split second grin at the first hit. He realised his mistake a moment later. With the rule they'd enforced on no punches to the head, what would have been a stunning blow to the jaw was now just a straight punch to the chest. The split second he might have had in an ordinary fight was stolen from him. He heard more than saw Kazuya's fist. It came in sharp straight to his chest – first one, then two, three, four, Chaolan brought his forearms up to block the blows but Kazuya ploughed straight through them. Five, six, seven, eight. Chaolan dropped low and threw himself backwards, righting himself and pulling free of striking distance.

"You bastard," he spat, heaving for air. "You let me make the first hit because you knew you could take it. If I'd punched you in the head-"

"They were your rules, Chaolan," Kazuya smirked.

Chaolan breathed heavily, chest stinging from the blows, as he tried to regain his shattered posture. Kazuya saw him buying time and came in again.

Kazuya broke the distance between them with a front kick. Lee blocked it with one of his own and immediately raised his guard, knowing Kazuya always used that open to bring in a flying punch. The punch came and Chaolan side stepped it, knocked it aside and countering with one of his own. Kazuya brought his left arm across his chest, clearing the space in front of him before bouncing off the blow to strike his fist into Chaolan's chin. He managed to hold most of the force back from it, but Chaolan's face still burst into a glower at the breach to their rule. He dropped low and swept Kazuya's feet from under him, pulled his leg back into chamber lifted it high then dropped it onto his brother. Kazuya crossed his forearms and caught the kick between his fists. He grabbed Chaolan's foot and spun it, throwing his brother to the ground. Chaolan leapt up, careful to keep the distance between him as he regained his footing.

"No strikes to the head," Chaolan huffed through laboured breathing when he had a moment.

"I pulled it short."

"It was still a strike to the head!"

"I think an axe kick to the head also counts as a strike to the head, Chaolan."

"Not my fault your head was somewhere it shouldn't have been. You were lazing around on the floor."

Kazuya's eyes twinkled,

"I'll be sure to remember those amended rules."

Chaolan hesitated,

"Kaz, wait. That was my bad. I'll be more careful."

Kazuya said nothing, his footwork began to circle Chaolan.

"We good?" Chaolan asked.

"We're good," Kazuya returned, though his eyes were already dissecting Chaolan's guard.

Chaolan watched him warily, keeping Kazuya in front of him. Chaolan closed the distance between them with a side kick, stamping his foot towards Kazuya, forcing him to drop his guard to block. Chaolan planted his foot then came in with a powerful kick carving in from the side. It connected with a thwack straight into Kazuya's ribs. Kazuya gave a grunt, pulling his guard compact as he struggled to catch his breath. Chaolan took a step back, choosing not to press his advantage – the closer territory always favoured Kazuya.

Kazuya regarded him from under heavy eyebrows. He was breathing hard. A cold smile curled onto Chaolan's face. He could see a temper starting to flare in his brother's eyes. Kazuya was never so rash as to let his anger consume him, but Chaolan knew the fractions between Kazuya's moves would be that little less premeditated. Like just now for instance, when his mind would see this as another reset and a chance to find an opening to pay Chaolan back for that solid kick to the chest.

Chaolan slid half an inch forward pulled his knee up as if for a front kick, but then snapped it high at the last moment, unleashing a blaze of high head kicks that Kazuya had to block with both arms. Chaolan pulled his leg down. Then came through with his back leg so high and close that Kazuya didn't have a chance to see it. He caught Kazuya's head and locked it behind his knee, pulling his brother down. He slid his foot to the other side of his brother's face with masterful control, and used the full momentum of both their bodies to swing back the other way and hurl Kazuya to the ground.

This time he pressed his advantage. Kazuya stopped only him from laying a backfist into his face by propelling a punch straight into Chaolan's gut as he drove himself off the floor. There was a livid look in Kazuya's eye now, all hate and rage. Chaolan darted back, but Kazuya matched him. He had to pull his entire body out the way of Kazuya's punches as well as blocking. His brother was putting enough force behind each attack now that Chaolan wasn't sure flesh and bone would be enough to stop those blows landing. Kazuya caught him in the chest with a knee, then a straight jab cross into his chest, then a second knee, and suddenly the string of punches were blinding Chaolan's vision and it was all he could do do keep his guard hugged close, trying to fend off the worst of the damage. Chaolan took a full uppercut to the chest that lifted his feet clean off the ground and straight into a round punch to the face that floored him.

He saw black for a moment. His vision flickered between black and white like a television between channels. He could hear his heartbeat in his own skull. It was pounding so loud that the world felt like it was pulsating. The was a familiar taste of blood in his mouth. A shadow fell across him and he curled up defensively, not yet able to bring his body to do anything else.

"Chaolan?"

Chaolan blinked. He squinted up. The silhouette of his brother was above him, framed by the onslaught of light from the ballroom windows.

"You're bleeding onto the hotel floor."

"Right, sorry," Chaolan said automatically. His voice sounded far away. He sat up slowly, a dazed expression on his face.

"Fuck," he heard Kazuya say. Then suddenly Kazuya was in front of him, face all sharp angles and dark shadows. Chaolan instinctively pulled away from him. "Come here," Kazuya took his face in hand. Strong fingers gripped Chaolan's chin and turned his cheek. "Shit," he heard Kazuya mutter.

"Another beautiful black eye?" Chaolan inquired wearily. His senses were slowly returning to him as his breathing and heartbeat slowly steadied.

"Why did you launch into all those high kicks like that? You knew I'd respond in kind."

"Ah," Chaolan winced as pain somewhere, possibly everywhere, sparked through him, "saw a chance that was too good to pass up. Just had to… had to do it."

"It was a pretty good move," Kazuya conceded, "definitely wasn't expecting it to be a throw. But the press this afternoon…"

"It was worth it," that came out just a little terse.

Kazuya didn't press him. They both understood. When they fought, the rest of the world faded, and everything became an outlet for hidden bottled up things all stifled inside. Chaolan had seen a chance to beat him and taken it. That was all that mattered. That was all that ever mattered.

Kazuya stood and extended a hand down to him. That was never permitted in the dojo at home. Chaolan took it gratefully and was pulled up. He wavered on his feet for a moment, keeping hold of that hand for support until he was ready.

"All good," he gave a weak smile. There was still concern in Kazuya's eyes. Chaolan gave him a thumbs up, "a prime opportunity to try out my excellent new sunglasses this afternoon!"

Kazuya's frown was still in place but it at least lessened a little. Chaolan wondered how far he could push that worry.

"To make up for beating up my beautiful face, can you get me hot riceballs for lunch and can they come to my room so that I don't have to move from the shower for the next hour?"

Kazuya glared at him. Like he was actually contemplating that request.

"Fine."

"Really?" Chaolan couldn't quite believe his luck, "wow. You must have messed me up really bad. Guilty Kazuya is my new favourite kind of brother."

"Don't push it. You got what was coming to you." Kazuya's nose wrinkled in pain as he stepped towards the door. His hand went to his side where Chaolan had landed a full roundhouse kick. Chaolan gave him a smirk but the movement made his head ache. He touched his fingers to his temple. His left eye was starting to water and narrow as the skin around it puffed up. Chaolan sniffed and dabbed his fingers at it, feeling the bruising skin as it rose.

"Ow," he said as he poked it, "ow," he prodded it again to try and get a feel of how big it was. He meandered over to the wall-length mirrors. A huge purple welt claimed the left side of his face, and was intent on blowing up to obscure his vision. "Hey it's going to match the tie I was thinking of wearing this afternoon!" He looked back over his shoulder and enjoyed the slightly guilty expression seeping back into Kazuya's features.

He walked back to his brother and pulled a bottle of water out of his bag. He drank deeply, then poured a liberal amount on his face, letting it seep down his neck and already-sweat drenched clothes.

"You've made a fucking mess of this ballroom."

"Eh, someone'll clear it up. I offered them four-thousand marks to rent the place."

Kazuya's eyebrows raised,

"How much? That's Zaibatsu money we have to account for!"

"Kaz, it's like a speck in the ocean. Father's not going to know."

"He's not going to know because I'm going to go down there and knock it off your bill. This room should be provided free of charge after that lame excuse of a gym."

"You can't just go ask for a refund."

"I won't be asking."

"Drama queen."

"Go get ready or no hot riceballs."

"Okay! I'm going! For future reference, positive motivation works really well on me, much better than threats."

"Chaolan."

"I'm going!"

Chaolan let the hot water beat down on him. He noticed new bruises every time he cracked an eye open in the steam flooded room. Enormous heaving sighs expelled from him with each passing minute. He tilted back his head to let the pins of high pressure water burst again his face and caress through his hair. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt this free, this at peace. The weight of fear was so far removed from its customary place on his chest that he felt like he was breathing for the first time.

When he stepped out of the shower he felt like a new man. He wrapped himself in fluffy towels and shambled into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. His muscles ached pleasantly. There were no riceballs waiting for him, but there were a half dozen still-hot spicy wurst sausages on a tray with sliced fresh bread and butter. He rolled onto his stomach and picked at the food, retracting his hand when he burnt his fingertips.

It was quiet in his room. There was a faint drum of rain on the glass and the distant sound of car horns on the street. Somewhere an ambulance siren was crying. Somewhere else a couple of cats were yowling. So different from the utter silence of the Mishima estate. His hotel room was half the size of his one at home, but it still felt too big and empty. It was sparse enough to give his mind space to think and wander and play through scenarios. His thoughts would reel through conversations, trying to perfect responses and gestures and expressions to lessen the likelihood of incurring his father's anger. He could feel prickles of dread already returning to him. His gut was turning at the thought of returning home at the end of the week.

He jumped up quickly and rifled through the wardrobe until he found an oversized pastel blue dressing gown. He picked up his tray of food and shuffled out of his room. He knocked lightly on Kazuya's door.

Kazuya opened it gruffly. He didn't seem surprised to see Chaolan, and neither did he bother throwing a customary insult.

"Weren't any riceballs," he gave.

"These are good." Chaolan seated himself on the foot of the bed and began eating. "You eaten?"

Kazuya jerked his head toward a plate demolished of everything but crumbs. A new standing mirror had been placed in the room. Kazuya stood in front of it now and buttoned a navy waistcoat across his chest.

"Does it go?"

"Go with what? You're only wearing black."

"Well, what am I meant to wear?!"

Chaolan stuffed a sausage in his mouth and strode to the wardrobe, he flicked through his brother's clothes. He wiped his fingers on his dressing gown, finished his mouthful, and glanced back.

"Can I persuade you to wear purple?" He pulled out a violet dress shirt.

"I'm not wearing matching outfits, Chaolan."

"I solemnly swear only to wear dazzling silver, white and midnight blue whilst you're monopolising this part of the rainbow, dear brother."

Kazuya scowled at him but held a hand out for the shirt. Chaolan passed it over, and threw a black pinstripe waistcoat on top. He sat back on the bed and finished eating, watching Kazuya struggling with the buttons.

"Looks good. You're going to be amazing. So amazing you don't need me. I could sleep for a thousand years right now." Chaolan stretched and yawned. Kazuya gave him a face full of thunder. Chaolan winced. "Kidding. I'll come even though my face looks like a melon. Promise me you'll at least try and get on with people though. Would make my life so much easier."

Half an hour later they were making their way down to the first floor of the hotel where the Expo was being held. They strode out of the elevator and down a corridor flush with printed signs and filling slowly with voices. Chaolan's pace slowed. Kazuya turned to him,

"What?"

Chaolan's face was half hidden under enormous aviators but Kazuya could still read his anxiety through it.

"If there have to be photos… can you make sure they don't get the left side of my face? I just don't want to take any chances and-"

"If someone comes up to you with a camera, I'll deck them."

"Kaz,…-"

"End of discussion."

Chaolan smiled despite himself. It hurt to smile. He combed his fringe into his face more and walked a step behind his brother.

They strode into a long carpeted hall filled with stands, posters, people in grey and blue slim suits with white pocket squares at their breasts, waiters in penguin suits carrying flutes of champagne, journalists with press cards and cameras hanging from their necks, and too-bright lighting that immediately made Chaolan feel like he was having an aneurysm. He was infinitely glad for his sunglasses.

"Lets go straight to our stall. Check the buffoons haven't put the signs upside down or set off an intercontinental ballistic missile."

Kazuya smirked at his brother's irritated tone. Crowds naturally parted around Kazuya. Some mixture of his physique, presence, and the scornful scowl fixed on his face meant paths just opened up for him. This unfortunately meant he also drew the eye of the room. Including shoal of journalists who began pressing their way towards him. Chaolan ducked his head and kept to Kazuya's shadow, trying to flatten his flyaway silvery hair over his face as he did.

"We got any full face helmets that we're modelling at our stall?"

"You look fine. No one can tell."

"Shouldn't have given you that purple shirt. You look suave as fuck. These cameras are going to swarm you."

A genuinely amused smile cracked on Kazuya's face.

"You're much more entertaining when you're paranoid."

"You're much more of a dick when you're enjoying the limelight."

Their stall was an elaborate three tabled affair staffed by low level Mishima Zaibatsu lackeys that neither Kazuya nor Chaolan could remember any of the names of. An enormous, dramatic poster of Mishima Heihachi was behind the desk. His arms were folded across his chest and his hair shot out of his head like proud antlers. Kazuya and Chaolan both stopped stock still, momentarily frozen by the life-size representation of their mutual tormentor. Chaolan broke their shock with a thin hollow laugh,

"Never one for half measures, was he."

Kazuya's light humour was gone, and a black look was on his face. They might not have known the lackeys manning the stall, but judging from the adept way in which they skirted Kazuya and gave him space, they certainly knew exactly who the brothers were.

Kazuya turned away from the poster and inspected the stall. A crate lay open with the latest Mishima rocket propelled grenade propped idly in its hard foam case. Kazuya turned his eye over the display, glancing over a list of everything for sale.

"Do we have prototypes with us of everything we're selling?"

"Almost everything, Master Mishima," one of the lackeys said quickly.

"I want a list drawn up detailing which prototypes we have with us. Have it sent to Lee. I trust everything we have with us is in full operational order and can be demonstrated if required?"

The lackey hesitated. Most weapons with them were high-grade and long range – battlefield weapons not particularly conducive to being shown off in central Berlin.

"They… could be fired if one had the right testing grounds to do so, Master."

Kazuya's eyes narrowed but he nodded. Kazuya beckoned Chaolan over then whispered in his ear,

"Stay here and sell shit. If I have to spent another minute in the presence of that damn poster…"

"No way you're leaving me here. You're the one people want to meet, you can't lump this off on me."

"I'm going to go look around. Meet people. Look at neat stuff that explodes."

"I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are."

"What're you going to do, punch me in the other eye?"

Kazuya glared at him but relented. They both slunk off, leaving the proud laminated face of Mishima Heihachi to glare down at all his potential customers alone.

They wound their way in and out of self-congratulatory businessmen, laughing over the rims of their glasses. Chaolan glanced at a stall advertising blast diameters on aerial missiles. This really wasn't his kind of scene. He'd much rather be out discovering the nightlife of the new city than observing photographs of shelled out model villages.

"How about, for every photo we see of a bloke smiling next to an explosion, we go to one gay bar tonight."

"Fuck no. Why do you want to go to gay bars anyway?"

"Because this is Berlin? And there's hardly any at home? Good to get some diversity in when father's not around. Besides," Chaolan nudged Kazuya, "you might see something you like."

"I don't like anything."

"You're going to die a bitter, grumpy, and alone."

"You're going to die with two black eyes in Berlin 1990."

"You're zero fun, Kaz." Chaolan frowned when he caught sight of movement over his brother's shoulder, "press heading this way."

Kazuya followed his gaze, then quickly led them on, weaving between suits and stands. Chaolan grabbed a flute of champagne from a waiter as they moved. He took a large gulp and accidentally slammed into Kazuya's back as he stopped abruptly. He spluttered and held his hand over the rim of the glass before it could spill on their suits. He peered round his brother's bulk. An elderly gentleman in a maroon suit and cummerbund had placed a knobbly hand on Kazuya's lapel.

"Now this must be the young Mishima Kazuya!" The elderly gentlemen gave smile and withdrew his hand to proffer it in a handshake. Kazuya took it a long moment later and with obvious reluctance. Their hands had fortunately disentangled by the time the man added, "I'd know that look anywhere – you're a splitting image of Heihachi when he was you're age!"

Chaolan's face paled and he glanced anxiously at his brother. Kazuya had fixed a crocodile smile and his whole posture was ridged. The old man seemed not to have noticed the predatory quality of that smile, which Chaolan thought quite a feat, given that Kazuya was practically radiating hate. Instead, the old man merely smiled back at Kazuya, then turned to Chaolan.

"And who's this charming young man?"

"My brother," Kazuya grated, trying to pull his manners back out of the ashes of an incinerator.

"Ah, another Mishima. Well, the world always needs more good businessmen."

"Oh-" Chaolan's face suddenly heated up, "I'm not-… I mean, I'm – uh-"

Kazuya watched him stutter and stumble over the painful barb. Despite having being adopted into the family for over a decade ago, Chaolan had never been permitted by their father to take the Mishima family name.

"This is Mishima Chaolan," Kazuya cut through the bumbling mess, "he's here as my advisor."

Chaolan immediately shut up. Kazuya saw him swallow, barely paying attention as the elderly gentleman introduced himself, chatted vaguely about his flight to Berlin Schönefeld and the poor weather today, before excusing himself to go pick at some vol-au-vents on a doily.

Chaolan turned slightly to Kazuya, his face still a painted smile, but his voice hissing,

"What the fuck are you doing, Kazuya?!" Kazuya shrugged in response. He snatched a champagne flute as a waiter with a table passed by. "I-if father finds out-"

"He's not going to find out."

"B-but if he does?"

Kazuya glanced over at the naked fear in his brother voice. He shrugged again and sipped his champagne,

"Then I'll take the fall. It'd be worth it just to piss him off."

Chaolan's fingers twitched at his side and he shifted his feet in agitation,

"You can be a real bastard, you know that! Why'd you always have to stir things up!? Can't you just make life easier for us for once?"

Kazuya raised his eyebrows, sipped his drink and said nothing. He didn't miss the way his brother's cheeks glowed with pride when the elderly gentleman returned later and addressed him as Mr Mishima though.

Kazuya was still smirking when Chaolan turned back to him after a lengthy engaged conversation.

"Shut up," Chaolan muttered, face reddening with embarrassment. Kazuya caught his chin between two fingers, a gesture that might have been interpreted as affection. Chaolan knew better, reading it as assertive manipulation. "What do you want?" he asked, subdued.

"The Mishima Zaibatsu stall is still down one charismatic salesman."

"Alright." Chaolan pulled out of Kazuya's grasp, "don't leave me there too long though."

He turned and moved away through the milling crowds. Trust Kazuya to make him feel guilty over something he'd initiated. It had sounded good though when that old man called him Mr Mishima. Chaolan hadn't expected such a small thing to affect him so much. He sighed as he wound he way back to the laminated gaze of Mishima Heihachi lording it over his catalogue of armaments.

Kazuya's eyes sharpened as soon as he was alone. Chaolan's banter was always a welcome distraction at formal events, but this affair was a little different. This was the first time he was at a convention without the eagle piercing gaze of his father hovering over him at every moment. This was an opportunity for Mishima Kazuya, and not Heihachi, to gain allies. There would come a time when it would pay to have his own contacts and not just rely on his father's reputation. Like for example, when Mishima Heihachi was in an early grave, and Kazuya ran the Zaibatsu. The thought of that power and freedom sent tendrils of warmth through his chest. Patience. He schooled himself. Patience, patience, patience. Like a panther waiting to pounce. His time would come.

His eye was caught by a lonely looking stall devoid of interest, hosted by an older, balding man with wispy white hair. The man was twisting agitated fingers and, as far as Kazuya could see, was the only person to turn up to the convention in a labcoat rather than a suit. Kazuya thrust his hands in his pockets and slouched over. There were no weapons on show at all. In fact, the stall consisted entirely of A4 pages spread with intricate diagrams and Cyrillic in a font size too small to read at a glance. Kazuya frowned and sifted his fingers through a few of the pages: cryogenics, genetics, robotics. These were all areas that might interest a weapons manufacture, but only a very long-sighted, and optimistic one. Kazuya glanced at a name badge fixed to the old man's lab coat. Dr Bosconovitch. Another experimental scientist from the USSR then. There were a lot of them about now that all the Soviet state research divisions were collapsing. The ones with less wacky projects had already been snapped up, the rest were wandering homeless in an academic wasteland. Kazuya was surprised that one had been invited here. He had no qualms about saying as much.

"What're you doing here, old man?"

Dr Bosconovitch didn't seem put out by his tone.

"The future," the doctor said calmly, "one day the world will scramble for my findings."

"Uh huh," Kazuya flicked over a few more pages of incomprehensible research. "Who let you in?"

The old man's face fell. He gave a sigh,

"A courtesy. I once helped develop some of the advanced weapons in the world. The pre-nuclear age was younger, more innocent place. We did not have quite so much pessimism and we had not yet realised to what depths humanity could sink. I think this invitation was extended to me in the hope that I'd leave my current line of research and return to producing weapons of mass destruction."

"And what exactly is your line of research?" Kazuya glanced carelessly over the seemingly random sciences spread before him.

"Why, simply the aim of all science since humanity ever begun." He gave Kazuya a serious but slightly secretive smile. "To stop death," he said quietly, "and to bring back those who have been so cruelly taken from us."

Kazuya hesitated for a moment, then a cold smile slowly spread over his features,

"Strange place to promote such a thing, Doctor."

Dr Bosconovitch shrugged,

"Weapons manufacturers are the only people with spare money in this day and age." He tilted his head, "are you interested, Mr Mishima?"

"You know me." It was more an observation than a question. The doctor nodded. Kazuya gave a thin smile, "then you know I am here not representing my own interests but that of my father's corporation."

"Is that bitterness, I hear, Mr Mishima?"

Kazuya's eyes narrowed,

"The Mishima Zaibatsu has no interest in the work you're doing here."

"But you do?" Dr Bosconovitch asked.

"You will know if I do," Kazuya returned a little ominously. The doctor fell silent at that. Kazuya picked up a few pages from the desk and began to read them. The doctor watched him for a while, then put in tentatively,

"I hear the Mishima Zaibatsu have bought up many Soviet research facilities." Kazuya said nothing to that and kept reading. "A word of warning," the old man put in, "the USSR may be falling, but there are many who resent what you are doing."

"Ex-Soviet," Kazuya corrected, "and those facilities would have collapsed if we hadn't bought them. You should be thanking me for keeping them open."

"I am thankful, Mr Mishima, but there are many who are not. My people are proud, and there are many factions who wish to see those research centres stay Russian owned."

"Old fashioned ideas from another era. Corporatism is the future. Or rather one corporation in particular." Kazuya continued to scan read the papers in his hands.

"All the same, Mr Mishima, it is no small thing to come to this city and buy up all the main research and development of a country that has not quite fallen."

Kazuya looked up sharply,

"Are you threatening me, Doctor?"

"Of course not. I am cautioning you. These are volatile times and your company is making itself a target."

"They can't target my company if we own all their weapons, Doctor." He tapped the papers in his hand then set them back on the table. "You're work is aimless and undisciplined. With a little direction and firm guidance, something useful could be made of this though."

The doctor gave a heavy sigh. He regarded Kazuya from over the rims of his round glasses,

"Unstifled research and the space to pursue my own projects is what has allowed me to make breakthroughs in the past, Mr Mishima. I'm not looking for my work to be streamlined into some new weapons technology." The doctor's voice had a hard edge to it now, and his body language had become much more wary. "And my work is not in the least bit aimless. I have a very precise aim in fact."

"Let me guess. Some lost loved one you want to return from death," Kazuya smiled coldly as the doctor's startled expression confirmed his guess. "Sentimentality and weakness. The dead cannot return, Doctor, and wishing it so only wastes precious energy that must be expended in making ourselves stronger. You look backward when you should be looking forward. How do we improve ourselves. Make ourselves impervious. Now that is a research worth pursuing."

Doctor Bosconovitch looked at Kazuya. He had sad, contemplative blue eyes,

"It sounds like you have lost someone you were close to as well, Mr Mishima."

Kazuya snarled and slammed his hands onto the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor and the doctor took a few steps back. Kazuya seized hold of his temper, aware of the faces that had turned his way. His voice dropped to a growl,

"Keep your speculations to yourself, old man. You do not want to test me. I can bury you so deep you'll never see an ounce of funding for the rest of your life."

The doctor was impassive for a moment, then he dropped his gaze,

"I apologise, Mr Mishima. I meant no offence."

Kazuya set his teeth together. He swept the papers off the desk as he left, leaving them to tumble around Dr Bosconovitch like new snow.

He was seething as he stalked back to the Zaibatsu stall, lost in his thoughts of bitterness and revenge. He was so occupied that didn't notice his brother until he'd practically thrown himself into his arms.

"K-K-Kazuya…"

Kazuya took Chaolan firmly by the shoulders,

"What? What is it?"

"I only took my glasses off for a second! Only for a s-second! And some b-bastard photographer got all up in my face! Kaz, if they use it to make the Z-zaibatsu look bad-…! Father's PR office are like hawks with picking up that stuff, I'm going to be-… Kaz, you said you wouldn't let anyone-"

Chaolan's body was trembling. Immediately Kazuya's fury increased tenfold. Some idiot out to make a few extra bucks would have no idea of the painful consequences their scoop could mean for Chaolan, and by extension probably Kazuya as well.

"Who? Show me who." The stall had a number of journalists still snapping pictures of Heichachi's poster and the display weapons. Kazuya realised he'd left Chaolan in the lurch after promising him this would not happen. The white light of camera flashes clicked and flared all around the Zaibatsu stall, one of the most powerful companies in the world after all. Chaolan pointed a shaking finger into the crowd, his other hand still trying to to shade his face in case he was targetted again.

An orange haired young man with a large camera about his neck and a pen behind his ear saw the finger pointing in his direction. He made to break away casually from the Zaibatsu stall. Kazuya strong-armed his way through the crowd, shouldering people out the way. He yanked the man round.

"You taking pictures of my brother without his permission?" he practically spat in the journalist's face.

The journalist looked a bit put out at being caught up with, but recovered from it well, and didn't seem too intimidated the furious Mishima before him.

"You run one of the world's largest corporations, Mr Mishima. Photography in this instance is in the public interest. I can take all the photos I please."

"Can you now," Kazuya stepped closer, pushing his face into the journalist's space. The ginger man's expression wavered a little now. "Maybe I can take all the photos I please too." Kazuya grabbed the camera from round the man's neck and threw it to the floor. He brought his heel smashing down into the thing, startling people nearby. Cracking glass, and flying plastic shattered under his foot. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and brought out his wallet. He rifled through a wad of bills and dropped a few onto the destroyed camera. "Stay away from my family," he hissed and stalked back to his brother. "Come on, we're going upstairs," he said softly to Chaolan.

Chaolan shook his head,

"W-we have to stay here. The Expo goes on all afternoon, and someone has to-"

"Don't argue with me."

Just as Kazuya was about to led Chaolan away from the stall, someone in a brown suit approached the stall buoyantly.

"Mr Mishima! Just who I was hoping to see! I'm a big fan of your company's work. Very reliable, good quality workmanship. I was actually hoping we could talk contracts for-"

Kazuya pushed a business card into the man's face,

"Make an appointment."

Chaolan winced in apology at the surprised client's face, then allowed himself to be led out of the Expo and into the elevator.

"Th-that was a client, Kazuya." Chaolan still felt sick. His breathing was shaky and his head hurt.

"More important things require my attention at present."

Chaolan glanced sidelong at his brother. Kazuya was always reserved with anything that might look like kindness, but his stiff awkward attempts to shield his brother were always received as the deep affection Chaolan knew them to be.

When they were back in Kazuya's room, Chaolan finally took off his sunglasses. Kazuya was surprised he'd been able to see anything at all. His face was so swollen and purple, his left eye had closed up completely.

"Sorry for overreacting," Chaolan sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Kazuya pulled his cigarettes out of the draw, he put two in his mouth, and lit them both with a single flick of a lighter. He passed one to Chaolan who took it gratefully, heaving deep breaths and filling the room with smoke.

"It wasn't an overreaction." Kazuya said around the cigarette. The unspoken consequences of one erroneous photograph hung heavy on the air between them. Kazuya returned to the centre of the room, folded his arms and looked out the window. The sky had finally stopped drizzling and the clouds were attempting to roll back into something like sunshine. "Stay here and get some rest."

"B-but the Expo-!"

"I will go back. Take the afternoon off. Then we can go down town tonight. Get food and try out some of those nightclubs."

Chaolan's face went radiant, even if he had to wince at the pain smiling caused him. He coughed slightly on smoke.

"I would like that," he said quietly, then gave a small, still-vulnerable laugh, "and sleep does sound good. I'll go back to my room and stop smoking out yours."

"You can sleep here." Kazuya took another draw of his cigarette then stubbed it out in an ash tray even though he'd only got half way through it. "Catch you later." He opened the door and walked out.

Chaolan took another breath and shaky smile. He kicked off his shoes, and shimmied out of all his clothes that would crease until he was just in his boxers. He hung his shirt and trousers up in Kazuya's wardrobe, then extracted a black turtleneck and pulled it on. It was a little oversized, since Kazuya was taller and broader, but oversized felt good just then. He slipped into bed and pulled the duvet over him. He sat with his knees draw up, smoking silently and regarding his trembling fingers.

Kazuya's room had always felt safer than his. When Chaloan had first been adopted into the Mishima family, Heihachi had done all in his power to foster hatred and rivalry between the brothers. To a large extent he'd succeeded, but when it came matters concerning Heihachi himself, Kazuya and Chaolan became a united front, fortified in their common hate.

Chaolan still recalled the first time he'd fallen afoul of his adoptive father's rage. That night he'd retreated to a corner of his room and curled up, trying to stifle his sobs. He remembered the way his room had been etched in moonlight. It was larger than anything he'd ever had before, and every item within it was finely crafted, exquisite and expensive. He was more unhappy just then than he'd ever been in his life.

He recalled the way he'd sucked in his breath and tried to be absolutely silent when his door slid open. Kazuya had stood in the doorway. He would have been about nine at the time. Despite Chaolan's best attempts to become invisible, Kazuya had come over and crouched down before him. Chaolan had stared at him with wide eyes, terrified his new brother would go and tell Heihachi of the weak tears shining on his face. Instead, Kazuya had said a strange and odd thing that had always stayed with Chaolan ever since:

"Make sure to only hurt in one place at a time. You can either hurt in your head or hurt in your body. If you do both, you crumble like charcoal and all your fire goes out and you can't get back up. So make sure you only hurt in once place at a time. You can come and sleep in my room when it hurts in your body, that way you won't have to worry in your head or be afraid, because I will stop anything from coming through the door."

And it had been true. The world did not feel so empty and so frightening in Kazuya's room. Chaolan would curl up asleep on the futon next to him and it really did feel like Kazuya would keep away anything that could frighten him further. It cleared his head enough that he could lie still and think only of the places where his body was bruised and battered and eventually drift into a sleep of sorts.

They never spoke about their mutual pain after that first night, but neither was there a need to. They could be strong even whilst saying nothing. There was a comfort that came from just knowing that there was someone close by who was as hurt and suffering and furious as you were.

Chaolan stubbed out his cigarette and pressed a remote control that brought down the window blinds. He snuggled down under the soft covers and let his eyes drift into a gentle, content, safe sleep.

Author Note: Smash camera and throw notes on it is an ode to the Godfather. Kind of going for some of that vibe in this humanising look at two fairly unpleasant people. Cheers for reading and thanks for the support. Fiction writing in this fandom seems to be a pretty small affair, but that's never stopped me before and I'm enjoying myself over here.