Chapter 2

"... the match ended with a crushing victory for South Atlas, scoring 7-2 in the final match-up of the pre-season. Starting next week, we will have full, nightly coverage of each night's Grifball games, so stay tuned to see if Vale can turn things around. We turn now to newly-elected Chief of Police Nathan Steele, who spoke today about the incident last night that hospitalized four police officers and brought in one of the most notorious criminals in Vale. Olivia Winde has the story."

"Thanks Hem - Chief Steele spoke just a few hours ago regarding the capture of Roman Torchwick, a small-time criminal wanted in connection with multiple robberies in the last couple of months. Now, the circumstances surrounding the arrest are still being kept under wraps but what we know is that Chief Steele is marking this as the start of a new crackdown on crime here in Vale, one that couldn't come soon enough as violent crime rates spike to an all-time high in the wake of an escalating conflict between two local crime families. We'll have more on this developing story as it unfolds…"

Roman's chest felt like he had been kicked by a horse as he sat up slowly, rubbing the burning suns flanking his sternum on either side. Groggily lifting his shirt, he swore at the sight of two perfectly-burned holes where the police's advanced stun weapon had hit him. The hair underneath the shirt was singed slightly, and everything stung like a hundred angry bee stings.

And the physical pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment he was feeling right about now. Taken in by a bunch of amateur-hour cops while chasing a little girl with pink and white hair? Fucking brilliant - the press would have a field day.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he tried not to think about how they only sleep he'd gotten tonight came after being tazed by a trigger-happy bozo who likely would've slammed a bullet into his aura, had said aforementioned bozo not just finished getting his ass whooped by a little girl with an umbrella. Speaking of whom...

She was perhaps the only person whose mood was worse than Roman's at this moment. She was sitting in a cell identical to his straight across the walkway, legs crossed as she eyed him with palpable disgust. He sat up a little straighter and brushed off the front of his shirt. He returned the glare to the young woman, scowling along with it as he patted his shirt pocket and found that (of course), the police had relieved him of his lighter and smokes.

"Well, I hope you're happy," he said roughly. Her expression conveyed that she was anything but. "Y'know, I was riding high as a fucking kite yesterday. Had my money, my booze, my smokes and who knows - might've had somebody to go home with had I not set my sights on *you.* She scoffed but didn't speak and Roman shook his head. "Did they cut your tongue out when they taught you how to professionally fuck up people's days?"

She chose to ignore him and instead he scratched his chin, regarding his simple surroundings with distaste. It was a local police precinct, though he was sure he'd be seeing a much more secure facility before long. Even as he had the thought, a pair of officers came to the cell across the way from him and whisked the young woman away, slapping a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and taking her off in the direction Roman figured led to the interrogation room.

Time passed. Roman's watch had broken when he smashed through a dilapidated building the night before, and as such he had no measure of how long he had been here. Eventually the two police officers returned and put the girl back in her cell, and it was his turn. The cuffs were too tight and he complained loudly about as much before being sat in a chair and cuffed upside the head. The metal table separating him from his hosts had a pair of braces into which his hands were shackled, and the cops took up places across the table from him. A two-way mirror gazed back at him as he looked to his right before staring both the cops squarely in their smug faces.

"Love what you've done with the place," he stated casually. The officers looked at each other as though they heard this spiel every day before turning back to Roman, acting as though they hadn't heard him at all.

"We have a fair number of details regarding last night's incident, Mr. Torchwick, but your friend in the pink and white didn't give us many answers regarding the two of you. What were you doing there, and what did you do to piss off a little girl like that?"

"She's not a fan of ruggedly handsome rogues like myself, I guess. Probably not into guys at all, if I'm honest - she had that look about her, y'know?"

The other officer - the one who hadn't spoken yet - leaned in on the table. "Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? Four cops in the hospital and you're cracking jokes about her choice in men? Listen here, you piece of shit, I worked for five years in Vacuo. You know what we did to cop killers there? We'd take 'em out into the square, and we'd-"

"Enough, Tan. Go wait outside if you need to, but we're here for answers, not a goddamn PR scandal." The other officer slowly pushed his compatriot aside and took his place leaning on the table, looking at Roman. "Listen Torchwick, you've been in the system before, you know how this goes: give us what we want and maybe you don't get locked up for so long. For all we know, you were a victim of circumstance back there at that bar. Destruction of property and street-fighting are more serious crimes than petty larceny. You're looking at five, maybe six years if you confess and at least ten if you don't. It's not a hard choice, Roman."

Roman smiled, white teeth flashing in the fluorescent light. "No officer, you're right. It isn't. I'll tell you everything you want to know. Where would you like to begin?"

Bron slammed his fist down on the table, the violent action shaking the ash from the end of his cigar to where it fell in a dirty pile on the hardwood desk. Before him, the messenger shook visibly. When he spoke, his voice was low, controlled and dangerous.

"Tell me again what happened," he said. He hadn't heard the first time through the blood roaring in his ears. The man nodded slowly but did not speak. "Spit it out!" Bron burst out suddenly, the messenger pailing perhaps even more that he had already managed to.

"W-well th-t-t-there w-w-was a f-fight at a bar downtown - the girl and, and Torchwick were there but the cops, well, they got the jump on them and- sir, Torchwick and the girl are both incarcerated - they're in jail." There was a lengthy pause as the man shuffled from foot to foot, Bron chewing his cigar discontentedly. This was a wrench in the spokes for damn sure; he knew he should've trusted his gut over rumor about that girl's prowess. Roman getting captured though… that hadn't happened since before he picked the ginger bastard up off the streets - given him a life and a family. And now not only had he betrayed him, he'd proven himself incapable of surviving for long without the same protection he had chosen to give up.

He might laugh, if he wasn't so goddamn pissed.

He waggled a finger, tucking his cigar into one corner of his mouth as he spoke. "This is a bad deal. I don't trust either of those two not to rat, and I can't afford Roman selling me on any of our business. That damnable Chief Steele is already cracking down, I can't afford any more squeeze from the cops with the Xiong's on our doorstep and ringing the bell." He pointed to the man with his cigar, his voice deadly serious.

"I want you to go find Silan Leaward. Tell him Bron Haler is cashing in on the favor he owes me, and that I want two idiots in the south-city jail dead. I don't care what he has to do, but I want them in the ground. Their silence pays his debt - you tell him that. Get out of here."

The man scurried off and Bron rubbed his temples. He had tried to tie off a loose end and had only ended up making the knot worse.

Her scowl deepened as they returned Torchwick to his sell, setting the smiling criminal down on the bench and undoing his handcuffs as they walked away, discussing the recent interrogation. As soon as she saw his expression, she knew he had squealed. Pathetic, she thought. No wonder Haler wanted him dead.

Still, she was tiring of this cell. She didn't plan on going to prison, one way or another, and she still had a contract to fulfil.

She spent the next few hours contemplating the best way to escape her incarceration when she heard some sort of a commotion coming from the front desk. Standing and walking slowly to the cell door, she peered down the corridor as best she could, and noticed Torchwick doing the same. A moment later there came the sound of shouting, several gunshots and bodies hitting the floor. She looked sharply at Torchwick who merely raised his eyebrows and smirked. A moment later there came the sound of footsteps down the hall and she saw a man in a dark coat making his way down to where the two jailbirds watched him intently. A rifle was slung casually across his chest, and he wore a confidant smirk on a chiseled - but scarred - face.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth as a gravel driveway, "here's our prodigal son." He addressed Torchwick, never turning his back on her. "You've gotten yourself into quite a pickle, eh Orangey? And you," he said, rotating only his head to face her. "With a reputation like yours I was expecting… more. Oh well. 'Spose they won't be singing your praises much longer, one way or another. Now, if you two could just hold still, that'd be swell." He rotated back to Roman and raise his rifle. He was left-hand-dominant, she noticed, and his shoulder swiveled as he raised the rifle to his shoulder to fire.

It was the last mistake he would have a chance to make.

Summoning every bit of aura she could muster, she backed up only slightly and threw herself at the bars, expending her aura in a single burst as she did. The world around her seemed to warp and phase, and as a thousand light flickered into existence around her she felt the bonds of reality slipping away - cast off into the void like leaves in a storm.

She felt solid ground beneath her feet again, moments before she slammed bodily into the man prepared to shoot her quarry while he sat in a cage like an animal. The man stumbled slightly, his rifle cracking and the shot blasting sparks up around the lock on Torchwick's cell door. The former gangster swore and she swooned backwards from the man she had just hit as he rounded on her. His rifle howled again and she leapt out of the way, regaining her sense just in time to feel the rounds soar within feet of her.

She rolled through the narrow space, the bullets kicking up shattered chunks of concrete around her as she thought of some way to tackle this foe. Unarmed, she was at a disadvantage. More police would be arriving on the scene in minutes - there was no way they hadn't heard all the gunfire. The hail of gunfire stopped and she saw Torchwick - having vacated his cell through the door after the lock was blown apart - grappling with their assailant. As she watched, the man threw Torchwick over his shoulder like a doll and slammed him into the ground, raising the rifle to fire point-blank.

Oh no you don't, you son of a bitch. This is my contract, and if anybody's going to kill him it'll be me! She leapt forward, twisting in the air and relishing the impact as her foot struck solidly in the top of the man's chest. His rifle flew from his grasp and skittered across the floor and he toppled backwards before recovering a growling.

She landed nimbly on her feet and, looking at her target on the ground, decided to deal with the more pressing matter first. She eyed the upstart with palpable distaste as the man shook his head, drawing a long knife from his belt. "You had to make it difficult, didn't you?" Before he even finished speaking, he lunged forward, leaping over Roman's prone form and slashing the air where she had been a moment before. Instead, his swing met empty air and he felt a stinging pain as he cascaded through the air, her knee striking his exposed flank and knocking him higher into the air as he passed by.

He slammed into the ceiling, dropping heavily as Torchwick rolled out of the way. He came to his feet and found himself face-to-face with her, and she blinked several times at his confused expression. He seemed genuinely perplexed in relation to something other than the homicidal maniac trying to kill them both. She strode across the space, past Torchwick to the prone man. Planting one heel on the small of his back, she applied pressure until she heard a series of pops and the man cried out.

She heard a scurrying of boots on concrete and knew that Torchwick had made a run for it, but that didn't matter. As soon as he was gone - or as best she could figure - she broke her cardinal rule: speaking to a contract. Though he wasn't *really* a contract, she supposed. Nonetheless, she was going to kill him as soon as she was done.

"Who sent you?" she asked quietly, voice flat. The man coughed through his compressed lungs and began to speak.

"Maybe he was right. You're not bad. Wouldn't be doing half so well if Torchwick hadn't come to your rescue. Should've figured you didn't have the b- AGH!" He cried out in agony as she balanced on the small of his back for a moment while her other foot swiveled and slammed into the side of his chest. She responded by landing - feet out of his reach - and reapplying the pressure.

"Who sent you?" she asked again a little more fiercely. The man coughed again, retching as she pressed down with her boot, crushing the very life from his lungs and enjoying every moment of it. This bastard had tried to kill her, and rob her of a contract. That, she would not abide. But she was getting tired of waiting. If he wouldn't tell her what she wanted to know, she'd pull the answer off his corpse.

She relieved the pressure just barely and was about to restate her question a final time when she felt the man writhe beneath her. Despite her best efforts she staggered, if only for a moment, and he seized the opportunity. He lashed out with his hand, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down. She slammed into the floor and saw stars as her head struck the concrete, the man righting himself and swinging viciously at her face. She raised her hands to block as best she could and attempted to fight back as he rained down blow after blow.

"He was right," the man said as he continued pummeling her, every blow causing her strength to wane a little more. "You weren't worth the price you ask-"

A gunshot exploded around her and she recoiled as the man atop her crumpled, half his head blown away by the unseen shooter's bullet. She panted heavily and looked up slowly to see Torchwick standing ten meters away, the attacker's rifle perched in the crook of his arm as he lowered his eyes from the sights. She moved quickly away from the dead man and stared Torchwick down as he kept the rifle at the ready.

She didn't need to speak - he seemed to sense the question she was asking. "You saved my life," he said. "Now we're even. See you… never." He took the weapon and headed toward the door but stopped as a voice boomed through the station.

"Put your hands in the air! Lay down the weapon or we will shoot!"

She swore inwardly and dashed forward, peering around the corner. Torchwick stood in the center of the blood-soaked atrium, surrounded by dead police as a dozen officers aimed their weapons at him from the street outside. Torchwick shot a glance out the corner of his eye at her. They both knew how bad it looked. In that moment, a dozen thoughts went through her head. The man she was hired to kill was right there in front of her, vulnerable as the day he was born. Why wasn't she acting?

She knew why. The words of the dear man still echoed in her ears. "You weren't worth the price you asked." He never finished, but that was what he was going to say. That man was hired by Bron Haler to finish what she had started - killing Torchwick - and get rid of her in case she snitched. Haler had double-crossed her.

And that she would not abide.

Dashing forward, she grabbed Torchwick by the collar and yanked him backwards, her aura pool physically draining as she threw up an illusion of them both. Moments later, gunshots blasted the image to fragments, but she and Torchwick were gone. A back door provided their out, the police sent to watch that exit rendered unconscious quickly by the fleeing pair. As they made their way to the rooftops and ran, she checked back over her shoulder occasionally to make sure Torchwick was still following. To their mutual surprise, he still was, and so she kept running with her former mark hot on her heels.

By the time they reached the safe place, noon was settling over the city of Vale. The building was nondescript and nestled firmly in the middle of Vale's residential district. They dropped down from the roof via the fire escape and within moments the woman who had saved Roman not once, but twice had the window open. She hopped nimbly inside and beckoned for Roman to follow, the criminal shaking his head in amazement. What have I gotten myself into?

He followed, more and more certain by the minute that the crazy bitch was just leading him to his death. Something kept his feet going forward though - more curiosity than anything else, at this point. He found the woman fishing a key out of a potted plant and quickly unlocking a door on the right side of the hall. Again she gestured impatiently for Roman to follow, and as he stepped inside she locked the door behind them. Instantly Roman went on the defensive.

"I knew it - you fished me out of there just so you could kill me yourself. Well? C'mon. Try me." He stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands up like a boxer for several seconds before realizing that she was only looking at him skeptically. He lowered his guard (but only a little) and raised an eyebrow. "So maybe you're not actually planning to kill me at this point… what's your game? We were square and even - you could have waltzed out of that police station and been gone with the wind, so why didn't you? Why'd you help me?"

He saw her brow furrow and she bit her lip for a long moment. She was obviously grappling with something, and his confusion at the whole situation just grew while he waited. Finally, she shocked him into literal silence… by speaking.

"I… that man who was there he… he was sent by the same man who hired me. To kill you. I mean, the same man who hired me to kill you hired… him to… kill you. Um."

Taking a moment to scrape his jaw off the floor, Roman put on his best airs. "So you can speak. And you were hired to kill me? Hired by who?"

Again, he saw the turmoil on her face, but this time it passed much more quickly. Obviously this was something she was much more certain of.

"Bron Haler. He offered me a hundred thousand lien to make an example of you. For the others in his organization." Zipping her mouth again, she walked to a table by the window where a stack of papers were assembled with colored tags and everything. She withdrew an off-orange labelled bundle and handed it to Roman, and he scanned over a packet of papers that told him everything he needed to know about… himself. Birthdate, criminal record, medical details (outdated - Roman hadn't gone to see a doctor in years), frequent hang-outs…

"This is how you knew to find me at that bar," he observed as he leafed through the papers. She merely nodded. At the bottom of the packet he found a manilla envelope containing 20,000 lien in unmarked notes. He whistled softly before she snatched the money from his hands. He raised his arms defensively and backed off a step before giving a cursory glance to the other papers on the table. There were a lot of them, and if every one was details on a hit this chick had carried out…

"You're obviously busy. Why was taking a contract to hit me so important?" She shrugged but did not speak. He sighed. Back to this. "So you still haven't answered my question: why are you helping me?"

Instead of immediately answering, she walked to the window and gazed out at the streets six stories below. Her mismatched eyes roved constantly and finally she sighed, stepping back from the portal and turning to face him.

"I've… been doing this for a while. I'm good at it. But I don't like being cheated. Haler offered me a contract to kill you… but as soon as things looked unfavorable for him, he backed out and sent… that other guy to kill us both. Tie off loose ends."

Roman nodded, starting to understand. "You want payback. Bron screwed you, and you want to get him back." He smiled - a small, but meaningful smile. It was the first genuine one he had given anybody since the club the previous night. "And you want me to help you."

She took a deep breath before nodding. "Haler told me about how you… used to work for him. I figured if anybody knows how to mess up him and his operation, it's you."

Roman gave a short bark of laughter. "So three hours ago you were busy trying to kill me, and now you want my help in fucking up the guy who hired you to do me in? Is that it?"

She stood for a moment, tight-lipped and silent before giving a single nod. Roman exhaled heavily. This was proving to be an interesting day indeed. And surely bound to get more interesting, if what he said next was to be any indication.

"Alright. Let's do it. Two conditions though - first off, when we find Haler, I want his organization dismantled. He's on the brink of war with the Xiongs - if we leave them be, they'll tear each other to pieces. I've got dealings with the Xiongs though, it's in my best interest that they come out on top. So, we're going to rob, ruin and murder Bron, but I want his money and his assets. You can have the pleasure of killing the fucker, that doesn't matter to me… but his bankroll is mine."

She considered for a moment before nodding. "Fine. But I get the rest of my hundred thousand that I was supposed to get for killing you."

Roman grimaced but nodded. He supposed that a hundred thousand wasn't too bad - not for someone like Haler, at least. She still looked uncertain though.

"What's the second condition?"

Roman smiled, relishing his next words and picking them carefully. "You have to tell me your name."

He saw that she was taken aback, and enjoyed that fact for a moment. However, she soon developed a cocky smile to match his own, and she took a step forward, crossing her arms and gazing up at him as arrogant as could be. She barely stood up to his shoulders, and he had to crane his neck downward to meet her gaze.

"Sure thing. We have one piece of business to take care of first, though."

The analyst was alone in the shot-up police precinct, trying to ignore the bloodstains as he rifled through the files behind the front desk, looking for information that could help with the shooting. The pair of officers assigned to help him were outside having a smoke, and the man cursed his luck. He was out of his element here - where was his nice, comfy desk when he wanted it the most?

He heard footsteps behind him and half-turned, expecting one of his colleagues. "Finally decided to come help? You can give me a hand sorting through this prisoner belongings box." As the person sidled up next to him, he marveled at some of the stuff he was digging through. Cigarettes, a Dust-lighter, a cane, an umbrella… whose shit was this, anyway? He hefted the cane, noticing that it was entirely metal when the officer next to him clucked his tongue.

"I believe that's mine," the man said and the analyst started, turning slowly to face the ginger man squatting beside him. "Hullo," the gent said amiably and the analyst nearly fainted. He knew this man's face - the same one that had been on the mugshot lying out on the desk. One of the prisoners who had…

Oh, why did it have to be him?

Slowly, hands shaking, he passed the cane to the man, who accepted it gratefully while also grabbing the cigarettes and lighter. The analyst picked up the umbrella and began to hand it to the fellow before he stopped him.

"That one's not mine. It's… hers."

Hers?!

The analyst turned slowly just in time to see a flash of pink and white before darkness enveloped him like a blanket. He crumpled into Roman's arms, snoring softly and the criminal shook the man off as he stood, getting readjusted to the comfortable and familiar feeling of his cane beneath him. He smiled and turned to the woman, who twirled her parasol playfully before settling it into the crook of her arm and exiting through the back door. Roman followed, chasing her briefly to catch up.

He ambled alongside his petite companion and whistled for a moment before looking at her sidelong. "So…?"

She scoffed quietly before quick-stepping forward, rotating to face him and flipping open her parasol. She gave it a quick twirl and let it settle for a moment, and Roman only then noticed the scripted characters blending naturally into the lacy canopy.

Neo.

AN - As if there was any doubt. Heh, getting pumped for what's coming next. I don't expect this fic will be very long, but if there's a positive response and people really seem to enjoy it I don't mind carrying it on. I love both these characters and have so many headcanons surrounding them that I'd hate to let it go to waste. You could say that doing such a thing would be… criminal?

Heh… heh…

Mhm.

Sorry.

Seriously though, thank you (as always) to everybody who favorited and followed this story, feel free to do the same if you haven't already and please leave a comment or review. Thanks for reading!