A/N: So, hey Hei. This took a while. Like it?
Yin doesn't smile, but he thinks she gets a kick out of making him frown.
Which is probably why she randomly calls out certain areas of town that a certain law enforcement officer frequents.
At first, he ignores it. But she starts doing it with an alarming frequency (mostly calling out restaurants or crime scenes with the occasional batting cage or random rooftop) that he can't help but wonder what it means when the doll suddenly stops.
So when he decides to take a look around the financial district for kicks, it's not because it's the last location Yin told him. There's a restaurant he's been wondering about. The portions are much smaller than he's used to having, but he's not really trying to attract attention so he mostly picks at his meal to pass the time.
Yin's accuracy is in question when there's no sign of dark hair and blue rim glasses. But his persistence pays off by the fourth visit he makes.
He barely recognizes her at first.
Her hair is down. No hairpins or barrettes or anything. No glasses, either. He misses seeing them on her. Reflexively, he pushes back a random image of taking them off her.
She's wearing a dress a dozen shades lighter than he's ever seen on her. It's blinding...happy. Or something. And strange, although not unpleasant because it complements her. Annoyingly, he finds his eyes drawn to her legs.
It's been months since he's seen her. The last glimpse he caught of her was when she chased him down a street, eyes full of questions as she called out his name before he picked up altitude and swung the fuck out of there at high speed. The only thing he could do at the time was to evade her. The motions were easy, automatic even. But he sometimes found himself wondering about her.
Yin didn't have to say it, but probably noticed more than he did of all the barriers he put up to keep out everyone at a distance. But often, he found his mind slipping back to the night when he'd seen the uncertainty under the veneer of a confident woman. And lately, he kept revisiting that late night trek to her apartment after fighting off another one of the Syndicate's assassins.
He watches her sit with a man in a pinstripe suit. It's a blonde who looks suspiciously like November 11, except for the obnoxious laughter.
She's smiling though it looks a little strained, even though he's sitting six tables away and can only see her profile from the way she's seated.
He can't make out the sound of her voice over the din of conversation and movement of waiters shuffling plates and silverware. But he watches her as she laughs and leans into the suit a little more a bit at a time. When the angle of her head changes, he can't bear to look and abruptly asks for the check so he can make his escape without her noticing.
She doesn't.
Her movements are easy to trail without Yin's help after all. Not that he was asking for it, anyway.
It kind of makes him wonder if she's given up police work after all. Her days consist of waking up late, going on shopping sprees and eating out at fancy restaurants with lousy morsels that would take two bites to eat though she lingers for more than an hour at a table.
There's a glint of metal when she opens her bag to pull out a wallet for a purchase. It tells him her instincts aren't completely dulled even if she wears uncomfortable clothes and eats trendy food in miserable portions. Smart girl, he thinks approvingly.
While on her trail, he comes across information on her companion (he refuses to call the blonde her boyfriend). Despite using Yin's' talents, not much is there when he decides to poke around for no real reason. He ignores the odd slant of Yin's mouth when she tells him about Misaki's companion.
There's nothing significant or menacing about the dull idiot after all.
Reluctantly, he waits.
Yin breaks the silence weeks later by unexpectedly grabbing his arm.
"Wait," she breaks in.
Her nails dig into his sleeve as she attempts to clear up the image she's seeing.
Warehouse district on the waterfront.
Without thinking twice, Hei runs for it.
Yin falls back into the chair and feels a familiar soft weight drop on her lap. Although Mao doesn't speak anymore, he likes it when she scratches behind his ears. He meows while flicking his tail at her arm.
"I think so, too," she replies.
He paws at her fingers, inciting her to carry on with the scratching. She complies and is rewarded with purring.
Misaki holds a neutral expression better than she can fake smile for extended periods of time.
She's not sure how her team can determine her moods, which don't vary much except from irritation and extreme concentration. Kanami is only one who can get away with talking mess to her, but it's only because she's known her for so long.
She's not sure what expression she's showing with a gun shoved against her temple, but it's the closest to pissed off she's been lately. Undercover missions have never been her strong suit since she's always been the hands-on type, earning her way into operations and intelligence missions.
The gunmetal is cold and she's not good at looking scared, so angry will have to do even if it doesn't help her leave a beautiful corpse behind in a few seconds of life she's got left.
Before she knows it, there's enough of a distraction with a loud blast there's no way for her to account because all of her tracking devices have been confiscated. She's been off the grid for about an hour and it's not enough time to pinpoint her location for any kind extraction operation.
It gives her the time she needs to dodge a bullet, which embeds itself into a bag of cement. She rolls onto her back, kicks at her would be killer's arm. The hitman is startled enough to drop the weapon, which she manages to kick further way and then lands the sole of her shoe on his jaw, forcing him backwards into an empty vat they planned to dissolve her remains.
The lights conveniently go out once she's managed to stand up despite the cuffs. The layout of the warehouse isn't terribly complicated when she sticks to the first corridor that leads to an opening. She moves low to avoid the shots that are seemingly being directed elsewhere. She's too panicked to give much thought to who might be helping her escape. One look back at her almost killer, she can't see much and decides it's a good sign no one seems to be chasing her.
If she can make it outside, the specters can pick up her location. Kanami has added more dolls lately, which have increased their search capabilities. Her captors were smart to keep her away from reflective surfaces and electrical items. They even bound her wrists with plastic restraints instead of metal cuffs. Clever boys.
Stooping down, she kicks off her shoes and maneuvers one leg over her bound wrists. She's grateful for a bit of privacy since the stupid skirt is getting on her nerves, riding up whenever she moves. It takes her at least three attempts to curl up her body in the right position to get hands in front of her. The cuffs aren't as difficult to break as forces down her raised fists in one fluid movement.
Unfortunately, she's still unarmed, so rushing into the fight doesn't make sense. She slips her shoes back on and decides finding the exit is the best course of action.
She rams a door open with a shoulder.
"Kirihara!" she hears.
Instinctively, she turns around, reluctant to face her impending doom. She closes her yes with a hard blink, sets her jaw firmly and spins around.
Then, she feels the air rush out of her lungs in one long exhale.
He's arrived at her door on several occasions. Sometimes, he's there when she's not even home. During these house calls, she only notices because he leaves food in her fridge. His visits are always unexpected, but she's more irritated that they're never completely unwelcome.
The times she is there, he's mostly passed out, much like the first time.
This time isn't much different. Mostly passed out, heavy clothes disguising any bleeding. She can't tell if he dropped into the harbor or if it's rain soaking his clothes. The lights have conveniently gone out in the entire building, but she still catches a whiff of something metallic and wonders about the damage.
"We have to stop meeting like this," she sighs, setting him down on the floor. She's a bit more prepared this time with replenished medical supplies in a kit near the door and presses gauze against a new scrape.
"And how are you even getting in here?" she wonders aloud. "It's not like I keep a key under the rug."
He's conscious enough to hear her, and wise enough to keep his trap shut about not mentioning the times times Yin has mentioned her. He's not even completely sure why he's there or why he keeps returning. The intel on her doesn't indicate her learning about any other immediate danger. The only thing he's figured out from these repeat visits is that she isn't a threat.
As usual, Misaki's hands run through his hair. One day, he'll stop her in mid-movement. Except today's that day because he's caught her wrist and presses her palm against his face.
Her face heats up immediately, which is ridiculous because it's such a simple gesture to get such a reaction from her. Unless he has heat vision, she figures she's safe.
"So, you're awake?" and it comes out more curious than intimidating.
"Barely."
She doesn't know how to respond without sounding giddy or expectant and mouths a response to herself.
"Are you OK?" he asks.
It's the moment when the power is finally restored, exacerbating her blush. Her doorway isn't completely blinding, but it's enough to see her expression.
"Mostly," she admits.
He squints in the brightness, his hand releasing hers as he takes in her wrapped arm where a bullet grazed her and traces the bandage under the soft cotton of her shirt. She bites on her lip to bite back the urge to tell him how he bruised her ribs and scraped her knees when he slammed into her, knocking her off the dock before getting shot. While he got her out of the way in time, he wasn't gentle about it, but she's doesn't want to complain.
"Good," he exhales, looking tired.
"What about you?" she asks.
"I don't need stitches."
"You're still bleeding."
He sits up, shrugging off his coat and carefully hauls off his shirt. Misaki unconsciously licks her lips as she assesses the damage: a few scrapes and a cut on his shoulder. He sits still as she cleans up his wounds.
A hard knock on the door disrupts her concentration, making her turn around and him to look at her.
"My room," she informs him curtly to which he nods.
When she peeks through the peephole, she's relieved at first, then irritated, feeling her eyebrow twitch.
With a huff, she opens up the door.
"Saito," she says by way of greeting.
"Good evening, Chief," he says, looking instantly sorry for knocking on her door.
"What can I do for you?" she asks.
"I came to deliver the preliminary report on today's incident," he informs her, shuffling through a briefcase for a few minutes before handing it to her.
She takes the offering from his hands, opening the folder and scanning the dossier.
"Thank you," she adds before moving to close the door.
"Wait," he breaks in.
"Yes?"
Even though she's a head shorter than him, she easily intimidates him with that steely stare. It's effective even when she's in pajamas.
"We just wanted to know how you were doing, Chief," he says.
Her expression softens just a touch.
"You guys don't need to worry," she assures him. "I'll be fine after getting some sleep. See you all in a couple of days. Thanks for the info."
He nods.
"Right. Good night, Chief."
"Good night."
She locks the door, then stashes the file away before taking the first aid kit with her. When she goes to check on her uninvited guest, she finds him sitting on the floor trying to slap a bandage on his side.
"Here," she interrupts. "Let me do that."
He looks up at her though wet bangs. She careful lowers herself to her knees and gingerly attaches the bandage over the wound.
"Shoulder," she announces.
Her touch is gentle, even though the antiseptic stings when it comes into contact with the cut.
"Not that I'm grateful, but how'd you find me?" she wonders as she wipes off some lingering fibers.
Very few people knew about her cover and none of them had any ties that would raise red flags.
"A hunch," he lies.
"Right," she answers sarcastically and presses the gauze a little harder.
He doesn't grimace, but she does catch the way his eyes narrow just so.
"I thought you contractors were more rational than that."
She presses two clean layers of gauze over his cut and proceeds to press medical tape on it to hold it in place. It doesn't stick when she tries it the first time, so she cuts another piece. He shifts, sitting up further.
"Doesn't mean we're not human," he shoots back.
"Hold still," she orders.
Misaki finds herself too preoccupied with her own breathing as she smooths out more tape over his skin. Then she finds herself drawn to his gaze, realizing how blue his eyes really are.
"You're blushing," he tells her as he gently slides off her glasses.
She finds herself tipping her face to one side to meet him as he leans into her, tangling his fingers in her hair for a change.
Misaki isn't surprised when she wakes up alone. There are never any satisfactory explanations when it comes to him, so she chalks up the unexpected visit to the earlier near death experience. And yet, she can't imagine falling into something like this with anyone else.
Despite making the first move, he was being cautious with her at first until she attacked him. She shifts to one side a little too fast since she's rewarded with a smarting pain that reminds her of her rib injury.
She collapses back on the pillows and she can faintly smell him on her sheets. She sighs at the memory, recalling brief glimpses of him in the dark with curious hands wandering over her.
"Damn it," she mumbles.