wow did i make you guys wait for this one! these past few months have brought on both a new lifestyle as i entered university and a severe drought of my writing ability. i spent a long time worrying this would be ooc considering how long it's been since sinbad or ja'far had appeared apart or together in the manga but here we are. hope you enjoy!

i listened to Rev 22:20 (Dry Martini Remix) while writing the final scene, if you want something to listen to while you read that part.

Perhaps it is pure luck instead of skill that drives Ja'far to the ground faster than the shot that nearly splits her skull open, sinking the bullet into her shoulder. Her howl is loud and nearly inhumane, a screech as she launches herself at Rob to wrap her slim hands around his neck. His smile is gone; instead replaced with a pale pallor that Ja'far is much too accustomed seeing pointed in her direction, which causes a deep-set shiver to pass through her bones. Her grip tightens.

"You think you taught me shit," she snarls, pressing their foreheads together and watching him, eyes flat like a viper, poised to strike a dagger straight into his spine. "I surpassed you years ago."

And it is the pain that propels her forward as her dress becomes smudged with sticky blood, the adrenaline that gives her enough energy to slam his body against the pavement with a sickening crush. Two times her weight gives under the palm of her hand and it is like she is young again, high off the thrill of a successful night in a backroads alley, exchanging secrets for blood.

She allows herself to revel in it, for a moment. Thinks of Sinbad. Thinks of home.

"You're gonna regret this, bitch," he gasps and the heel of her shoes digs deeper into the curve of his back. His grunts are almost up themselves, meaty hands grasping for concrete. This has to be quick. "No one escapes Capone."

"I did," she growls and Rob could swear in that moment, she is girl turned devil's spawn, white hair eerie against the rabid twist of her eyes. "Come near Sinbad and I'll make sure the first thing I cut off is your tongue."

Her blade is only stopped by the sharp bark of a man, flashlights creating a stretched shadow of herself against the concrete wall. Ja'far is immediately in motion; dropping her blade and his arm, allowing it to go limp against her belly. She screams and scrambles backwards, launching herself onto the ground again with a painful crack.

"Help," she cries, lifting her arms to cover her face in a flimsy attempt at protection. She doesn't have to fake the pained expression on her face, the bullet wound in her shoulder creating enough of an effect. The police swarm the alley-way, two already picking off the two men she'd tossed from the floor, a taller figure kicking Rob to the ground when he tries to get up.

"Oh thank god," she breaths, clutching the fringe of her dress. Not too dramatic, just enough for a defenseless rich woman. A little more pretending and she could go home, see Hinahoho to get her shoulder treated off the books. The last thing Ja'far needs is her name on a hospital bill, glaring evidence of the encounter. She grabs her shawl from the floor and pulls it over her shoulder, concealing a muffled groan at the movement. "I was horrified-"

"Cut the act," a voice says, roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her up. Stars burst into her vision from the harsh twist from her shoulder but she bites down the sob. Looking up, the tuff of blurry red hair is enough to tell her how fucked she is.

"Nice to meet you, Ja'far."

And before he can wretch her arms behind her back with swinging handcuffs, she falters, landing in a heap onto the concrete.

"I have a few questions." Ja'far turns her head away, staring at the speckled ceiling of the dingy hospital she's been escorted to. She could've afforded more than this even when she and Sinbad had been living off a meager show girl salary but Officer Ren had never been particularly generous. Although they'd never met, she'd spent enough of her time learning how to avoid him that she knows his type. Young, relatively successful, a prohibitionist. Arrogant and simple. She can hear him sigh loudly next to her and she switches her gaze to the IV in the soft part of her arm. She tries to lift it with no avail, her muscles flimsy with the cool haze of pain medication. She's surprised they work on her anymore, but it could also be the handcuff chaining her to the cot that is preventing her range of motion. Kouen continues leafing through a rather large file, attached to a metal clipboard, where Ja'far is sure her name is scrawled enough times to forge an biography.

"I told them to pump you twice," Kouen says and Ja'far snorts, using her free hand to pick at the bandages wrapped around her shoulder. "Your file says—"

"Your file's bullshit," she interrupts, rolling her head lazily to look at him. "Do you have a reason to handcuff me?"

"You killed one of those thugs."

"That's a heavy accusation," she says, staring at her knife as it rests in his briefcase, wrapped in plastic. A nurse passes by and swats her hand away from her wound, adjusting the tape to apply more pressure to the blood-soaked bandages. She counts the number of times the nurse unwraps and rewraps gauze around the sewn up wound to keep busy.

"The evidence is obvious," Kouen continues, undeterred. Ja'far finds herself remembering long nights spent drinking gin in her living room, Sinbad complaining about the few times she'd been face to face with the man herself. Usually it was Drakon who had the unpleasant task of keeping not only Kouen but all the Rens firmly in their place; away from the business and down the straight and narrow, whatever that may be. Considering his siblings fallible morality from the case files she'd had Drakon sneak away from his filing cabinets, she didn't suppose they were angels themselves. Sinbad has once summed the Ren family in plain terms, the warmth of liquor making her feel more perceptive than usual. Insufferable, impervious to scrutiny, and delusional. She could deal with all three. "The bullet wound in your shoulder, the blood on your blade which we've confiscated—"

"So I'm being detained for defending myself against my attacker?"

"Please," he scowls, clearly losing his patience. He drops his clipboard onto the table where Ja'far's dinner should be and looms over her, foot tapping against the linoleum. "As if I don't know they were from the Outfit? And that you were once their most profitable killer?"

"As you can see, Officer Ren," she says, blinking owlishly. "I'm hardly a killer if I let a bullet injure me enough that I needed to be sent to the hospital."

"Let's not play games," he continues, jaw set so that his awful goatee twitches as his teeth clench. She'll have to remind her boys never to grow anything like it. "I'm a reasonable man but I'm not an idiot."

"Debatable," she says mildly.

Kouen lets out a low sigh, more of an exhale than a hiss, and Ja'far idly watches as he regains composure.

"Let's get to the point, snake. You work for Sinbad."

"I'm just a secretary," she replies and it's less of a lie than he seems to think. After all, Ja'far does not fight or kill nearly as much as the rumor mill likes to suggest in Kouen's circles. If anything, she sends more time in dusty rooms counting numbers than sinking her blades in anyone at all.

"An important one. I'm sure she'll come beating down the door any minute asking for you to be relocated." Ja'far has never thought Kouen a stupid man but he is a predictable one.

"Or she'll send our lawyer." Kouen hums and the noise makes Ja'far grate her teeth together.

"Ah, you're right. She's likely too busy, working and drinking. Or maybe she's on her back for Judar at this very momen—"

He is interrupted by the slam of Ja'far's hands against the bars of her bed, palms turned white from the strain. Her eyes flash and dilate, aching to reach over and snap his neck in two, lids heavy from the pain that explodes in her shoulder as she moves forward. Kouen keeps his face composed but his eyes betray the cool feeling of amusement deep in his chest.

"Ah, did I hit a nerve?"

"I don't know how your wife can stand you," she hisses, fingers clenched around the bars, replacing them with his throat. "Or do you still call her cousin? I'm sure either is fine."

Kouen's face shuts down, lips drawn into a tight line.

"I'll make sure you rot in a cell one day," he says, gathering up his things with barely concealed annoyance. Ja'far works on keeping herself calm; knowing her slip was ill-advised. She would've chastised Sinbad for making that kind of comment, even in private.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," a voice chimes in from the doorway, smooth and absolutely unwelcome. Drakon hunches behind Sinbad in a way that would be imposing if her presence didn't overflow the room and any advantage of height Drakon had. She looks angry but Ja'far can tell she is more relieved than dangerous, the rise and fall of Sinbad's chest visible to her observant eyes. Kouen looks less than excited at her arrival, knowing his time to interrogate has come to an end.

"Sinbad."

"Officer Ren," she grins, baring her teeth. "I heard you're unlawfully detaining one of my employees. You know you're supposed to take your concerns with anyone in my company to my lawyer."

"I'm afraid your secretary is part of an open investigation."

"And yet she's handcuffed," Drakon says, slipping past Sinbad to extend his hand. "The key, if you please."

Ja'far watches, eyes flat and face composed, as Kouen reaches into his pocket and pulls out the slender key. Drakon doesn't uncuff her right away, instead studying the wound on her shoulder. Sinbad is much less patient.

"I want her out of here in an hour. I'm sure that won't be a problem?" Really, Ja'far thinks it's a miracle Kouen isn't cowed by the sheer pleasantness of Sinbad's voice. Instead he holds his own, looking through his notes like he has all the time in the world.

"Officer Koumei will likely have some questions for her in the future."

"Considering she's nothing more than a victim, I can't imagine how she'd be any help. Right, Ja'far?"

"I can't even remember their faces," she says on cue, her eyes closing briefly as Drakon carefully moves her wrist out of the cuff, the vibration causing her shoulder to ache. "It was terrifying."

Kouen knows he's being played. He'd have to be daft to not notice the smug look on Sinbad's face, even as she smiles amicably and extends her hand towards him. He takes her invitation with more firmness than he'd planned and she returns the force with a lingering squeeze. He wonders briefly if he's ever been more annoyed by a group of people who seem to know exactly that they're doing it. His family has always been a volatile one and yet he's never felt this mind-numbing irritation all directed towards a single person.

"Of course," he says, stuffing his clipboard into the lining of his open briefcase. He doesn't spare Ja'far a glance, lest the look on her face prompt his blood to boil with its impassivity. "I anticipate I'll be seeing you again soon."

"On better terms," Sinbad agrees, motioning for Drakon to call for a nurse. "I'll be having a benefit next weekend; I'm sure Kougyoku would want you all to join her."

"I'm sure." As if he needed the reminder that his little sister was acting like nothing more than a common moll. He takes his handcuffs as the nurse rushes in along with discharge papers and Sinbad attention is immediately turned to Ja'far once he leaves.

"We'll take you to Cook County—." Ja'far raises her hand and Sinbad immediately falls silent, heels digging into the floor.

"Just call Hinahoho and take me home."

"Want a smoke?"

Ja'far doesn't turn Sinbad's way but finds herself nodding, hand reaching out for a cigarette that drops into her palm like a feather. She'd spent most of the day with a towel in her mouth as Hinahoho stitched her wound shut; the fabric only ceremonial because Ja'far hadn't even let out a whimper as he cleaned the tacky blood from her shoulder. Sinbad had spent most of the day by her side, both worried and questioning, insisting on hearing about the encounter twice over until Ja'far snapped at her to stop hovering. After that, Hinahoho had gently kicked the older woman out of the room and she'd spent the rest of the evening with their friends in the living room, the absence of Yamuraiha and Sharrkan leaving a bad taste on Sinbad's tongue. Since when had her people been so separated: two brooding in their own houses, one nearly unconscious on Sinbad's office table because Ja'far had insisted against getting the bed sheets dirty, the rest anxiously picking at their fingernails or in Pisti's case, drinking some hooch.

"I need a Wonderlite," Ja'far says with the filter between her teeth. Sinbad rustles in her pocket and lights it quietly, allowing Ja'far to continue avoiding her gaze. And this is what causes her to cave, the quiet knowledge that Sinbad has always given her space when she needed it, and their years together haven't made that change.

"How long have they been following you?"

"Maybe a month? It was sloppy sending Rob after me but maybe they thought I'd still have some kind of—I don't now, familial affection."

Sinbad scowls, tapping her fingers on the metal railing. "As if that bastard is family, after what he did to you."

"I don't want to pull you into my problems," Ja'far says quietly, inhaling and holding the smoke for as long as she can, a quiet punishment against her lungs. "We have enough of those already."

Sinbad lets out a small noise of concession before lighting a cigarette for herself. "So I'm allowed to drag you through my mud but you can't ask for my help with your own demons? Seems unfair." She leans back against the railing, arching so half of her body is almost in midair, teetering close to the edge. Ja'far doesn't stop her and focuses on her throbbing shoulder, cursing when her cigarette burns out. Sinbad glances over and plucks the roll-up from her own mouth, dropping it into Ja'far's open lips with gentle hands and hooded eyes. Her gaze flickers to Sinbad's open robe and Ja'far inhales through her nose, exhales heady smoke.

"It's not you I'm worried about," she mumbles, fingers itching to pull Sinbad away from the open air but refraining. "Spartos, Yamu, Pisti, all of them. God forbid, Aladdin. Everyone is in danger the longer this goes on."

"My sanity is in danger if you keep talking like you plan on leaving."

"Don't be dramatic," Ja'far needles, moving away from the balcony in favor of leaning against the sliding door. She turns to look at Sinbad and is startled by the look of sheer determination in her eyes, just as bright as it had been when they were homeless children, clinging to each other for warmth in the cold sting of autumn air.

"I'm being honest." And it is the words that remind Ja'far why she's dedicated her life to this storm of a woman, whose open arms have always touched her deepest wounds.

"We do things together," Sinbad continues, aware of Ja'far's eyes on her and stretching further anyway. "We make decisions together."

"You mean you make decisions that I sometimes agree with."

"I don't think you'd ever do something you didn't want to do, love."

That's because I'd do anything for you. The thought should be scary but Ja'far finds she has reached a point where her devotion is much too unconditional to even bother being distressed. It is a part of her the way the scars on her legs have never fully healed or the way the memory of metal on her thighs has been replaced with the warm kiss of a lover.

"What's your idea?"

Sinbad shrugs, walking towards her until she can smell the shaky scent of smoke and soap that she has learned so well. "I think Capone should realize I am not a force to be trifled with. Me or my people."

"I think he knows and is choosing not to care. You're in his territory; if he heeds, he looks weak."

"If he doesn't, he'll look weak under my foot," Sinbad plucks the cigarette from Ja'far's mouth and replaces it with her thumb. "Or under your blade."

Ja'far can feel where this is heading, the tinge of Sinbad's skin against her face a stronger sedative than anything the nurses had given her for the pain. She doesn't fight it this time; parting her lips to let Sinbad's thumb slip into her mouth, tucked between her teeth. The older woman exhales, managing to look unsurprised while still pleased, and lets Ja'far create their pace. She takes her time testing out the rough feel of her tongue on Sinbad's skin.

"You don't know how beautiful you look right now."

Ja'far snorts, unable to help herself, fingers reaching to undo her overcoat. "You don't have to sweet-talk me; I'm already undressing."

"Regardless," Sinbad says, somehow smiling while still looking ready to eat her whole, hand tucked under her chin. "I could wax poetry about the look you get when I touch you."

Christ. That shouldn't make her knees wobble the way they do; she's heard Sinbad say much more ludicrous things to the women and men she brings to bed. And yet, her fingers work at the buttons faster and she doesn't pick up the coat when it falls to the floor, kicking it aside in favor of grabbing the thin silk of Sinbad's robe and pulling her close. Her shoulder aches and she welcome the pain as it mingles with the cool feeling of the night air and Sinbad's breath on her skin.

"Stop worrying," she whispers, lips skimming the smooth skin of Ja'far's neck. "We'll deal with it in the morning."

"Putting off work as usual," she laughs, a breathy noise as Sinbad's teeth find a sensitive spot on her collarbone. Even as she sets their rhythm she finds herself being completely overwhelmed by Sinbad's warmth, the feel of her hands on the base of Ja'far's back. She has always been too much for the younger girl, enough that Ja'far can hardly keep up with Sinbad on her best days.

Sinbad leads her to her bedroom without asking, knowing Ja'far prefers the privacy of their apartment to her own tendencies, which would've included pressing her against the sliding glass door until Ja'far melted in her hands, a puddle of tremors and moans. Instead she sets Ja'far down into the mattress, spreads her legs, undoing her dress and kissing her way down the valley of her breasts. Her fingers trace every scar: the ridges that cross around her ribs, the smooth marks on her shoulders, the jagged line of her thighs, pressing a touch then a kiss to each one. Ja'far arches at each brush of Sinbad's hand, past pretending she doesn't want it just as much as Sinbad insists.

"You gave me quite a scare today," Sinbad mumbles against the skin of her thigh, teeth catching on the lace of her stockings. Ja'far laughs and digs her fingers into the mattress, ignores the slight catch of desperation stuck to the edge of Sinbad's voice. Instead she focuses on the sound of her underwear sliding down her curved thighs, the feel of too much heat and not enough breath trapped in her chest, and the hitched words that neither of them said but lingered between them like a tethered thread.

"As if something as simple as a bullet could take me down."