Disclaimer: Kazuya Minekura owns Wild Adapter. I do not.
Warning: Language and general ick.
Note: Writing this made me sick to my stomach. I'm not sure why yet.
Beretta 4
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June 2009
He almost seems surprised to see you, but then again Sanada isn't easily surprised. Or impressed. Or amused.
He arches an eyebrow at you as he closed the door to his office and doesn't bother to reach for the light switch. You both know that under the glare of the fluorescents you'll find you and him and your gun aimed at his chest, and you think that perhaps you wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger and end this stupid fucking game he's had you playing for the last two years. And if you shot him now and left him to bleed to death on this expensive carpet he would simply be replaced.
And you wouldn't make it out of this building alive.
You understand that you're still alive today by his grace and mercy, and that knowledge is hard to swallow, but you will because right now it doesn't matter. What matters at this exact heartbeat in time is the cruel smile on his lips and the Glock in your hand and this business proposition that you've brought him.
"Kubota-kun, to what do I owe the pleasure of this little rendezvous?" he purrs, his voice velvet-covered barbed wire.
You don't return his smile. "I heard that you needed a new youth group leader."
Sanada's eyes flash with anger but it's quickly suppressed. He'll never lose his temper in front of you. It just isn't his style. "Actually I'm in need of a new youth group. All forty-three of my men were involved in a rather unfortunate debacle at sea. It appears that there is some truth to the myths of a monster in Yokohama Bay."
That does bring a quirk to your lips. You lean back in his leather desk chair and stretch your legs out under his desk. As long as he remembers that he baited that monster out of its lair, perhaps you do have some leverage here now. You want desperately for him to stop underestimating you and fully comprehend that you are capable of destroying Izumo single-handedly. It isn't a desire born of a need to be respected but a need to ensure Tokitoh's relative safety.
"Funny coincidence, that. It seems that I need something from you."
The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on but you won't bring yourself to look away from him. He's probably one of the only people you've ever encountered who can actually spark real nervous apprehension in you. You're almost positive that he knows it. "What," he drawls in amusement, closing the distance between you until he's standing just on the other side of his desk, leaning against the polished oak surface with his palms, "Could you possibly need from me, Kubota-kun?"
You decide that you don't like the way that you name rolls so easily off of his tongue, or the superior expression etched into his handsome face. You've come to admire Tokitoh's infectious grin and his almost-whiny 'Kubo-chan' much more.
Ignoring this, you lay your gun down on the desk and lean back in his chair and sigh up at the ceiling. "I need to reach some manner of agreement with you."
Sanada nods as if this makes perfect sense and sits down on the edge of his desk. "Concerning what?"
"My cat." You notice the barely perceptible frown that creases his forehead and the way that he snorts rudely. You decline to comment though.
"Ah, Kubota-kun, I haven't forgotten your fondness for animals. It does seem, however, that you've forgotten how things are done in the Izumo. One can't simply murder forty or so of my employees, break into my office, and then start asking for favors."
The threat in his voice is very real but it doesn't scare you. Sanada is, after all, only one man, and he bleeds the same color as you. He's mortal, just like you. In the end he'll die just like you. "When I left Izumo I did everything that you asked of me," you remind him gently. "You brought this to my doorstep."
"Indeed I did. But you have something critical to this organization's future endeavors, and it's my job to ensure that we have every advantage over Tojou. Sekiya went after your cat first, did he not? It was only a matter of time before they stole him right out from under our noses and then where would we be?"
The man has a point. It doesn't do much to lessen the homicidal impulse that floods through you when he leans across the desk and smiles at you, but the man has a point. "Kubota-kun, I won't deny that I was very disappointed when you left us, and this little cat-and-mouse game that we've been playing for the last two and a half years has been very entertaining, but I didn't order my men to kidnap your pet out of spite. It was necessary."
You don't bother to suppress the wry, dangerous smile that curves your lips. Necessary to bind his hands with piano wire? Necessary to beat him so badly that he passed out? To drug him and torture him and shoot at him and scar him for the rest of his life? Perhaps you've lost touch with the Yakuza definition of the word, but none of that seems necessary. Then again, you are a little biased.
"That's neither here nor there," Sanada sighs. "You came here today because you needed something from me. I'm going to be rude and assume that you are seeking my word that I will not harm your cat?"
You nod and hold his gaze and wonder why he's being so fucking pleasant about this whole thing. You half-expected him to shoot you on sight, but then again you've come to understand that you and Sanada have a lot more in common than you're really comfortable thinking about, and perhaps he never intended on killing you at all. You're a challenge to him, and in a business where resistance is met with bullets and knives a challenge as difficult as you doesn't present itself very often.
"And what can you offer in exchange?" he asks smoothly. He moves around the desk carefully, never taking his eyes off of you, and stops between your sprawled legs, pulling you closer with one hand on the back of the chair. Two years ago you were entirely apathetic to this man's advances, but now Sanada's proximity triggers a revulsion in you that burns like bile in the back of your throat. A lot can happen in two years. Tokitoh happened in two years.
"My word that I won't kill anymore of your men," you say quietly.
He leans closer and you can smell the vanilla on his breath, on the expensive suit he's wearing. "Not good enough," he chuckles.
Your only advantage right now is that you could break his neck in less than three seconds if you had to, and that knowledge allows you to sit by passively as he runs one hand through your hair and tilts your head up so that he can look at your face in the ambient city light filtering in through the enormous picture window behind his desk. "I want your loyalty," he breathes against your lips. "You were such a good dog before you left. Obedient mutts are hard to find these days."
He's mocking you quietly, trying to get a rise out of you, but these subtle jabs at your lineage and your pride aren't as important as what you came here to do. "What do you say, Kubota-san?" he kisses you. "Are you my dog?"
You can just imagine the look of shock and anger on Tokitoh's face if he ever finds out about this. You aren't in the habit of keeping things from him, but this is one of those random incidents that you will take to grave. It seems that you're making a habit of letting men assault you today. "Whatever you say, boss," you murmur against Sanada's lips.
The leader of Izumo pulls away. He looks down on you with something approaching pity in his eyes and smiles. "He's really that important to you, Kubota?"
It takes you a moment to register that he didn't use that annoying little nickname of his, and for a moment you think that he's serious. And when he doesn't smile and make another clever remark you're sure that he's actually interested in this foreign concept of you caring for anything. But you aren't interested in sharing your fucking feelings with him. So you meet his eyes and keep your mouth shut and wait for him to take the hint.
"I see," is all that he says before kissing you again briefly and standing to his full height. Sanada is a handsome and well-spoken man, but his hands are dirty and his soul is black. At the end of the day he has nothing that interests you but many qualities that make you nauseous. "I suppose then that it's safe for you to have your uncle release him from the police station."
You aren't surprised that he knows exactly where you sent Tokitoh. The Yakuza has eyes and ears everywhere. "Your apartment won't be touched again. I'll give my men orders to stay out of your way." He turns from straightening his tie and shakes his head, sighing. "I am going to need a little display of trust from you, though."
You arch an eyebrow at Sanada. "You'll be marked as an Izumo. My secretary will make the arrangements. And I want to speak with your cat."
Every fiber of your being screams out in protest to this. You want Sanada near Tokitoh like you want a bullet in your head. This man is dangerous. So is your roommate. "Only in my presence, and I'll warn you now that he has a nasty temper," you smile to hide your apprehension.
Sanada reaches for the doorknob to his office and chuckles. "So am I, Kubota-kun. So am I." He leaves as quietly as he came, closing the door behind himself and not bothering to ask you to leave. You let out a deep breath and stare up at the ceiling for a moment before getting to your feet and exiting the dark room. You feel like you just made a pact with the devil. Perhaps you did.
His secretary is waiting for you when you approach her desk, eying you warily. You note with no small amount of amusement that she recognizes you from your murderous rampage through this very office five days ago. The walls have been repainted and the carpets replaced, but the lobby still carries that metallic tang of blood in the air. She hands you an envelope and a small cellular phone before closing the glass divider with a shaking hand.
You wave at her and shove the phone into your jeans pocket before opening the red envelope. Inside you find a stack of cash, a business card to a tattoo parlor in Chinatown, and the phone number and address of a restaurant near your apartment. Your pay, your mark, and your new office.
As you exit the building and duck out onto the street you loosen your grip around your gun in your pocket and fish out a cigarette. You want the taste of Ark Royals out of your mouth, but as you light the Seven Star between your lips you think that maybe even Tokitoh might not be enough to drive out the vanilla on your tongue and the bile in your throat and the shame crawling under your skin.
