Michiru spun, her eyes wide and she raised the sword to strike in surprise, but a burst of pain hit her in the side of the head before the sword could even slice downward. She saw stars, the sword escaping from her hands as she fell unconscious.


The room spun as she felt herself coming to. Her breath came in gasps as pain surged in her head. She willed herself to open her eyes despite the throbbing ache behind them. The ceiling was white, a ceiling fan creating most of the light in the dump of a room. Immediately she grasped for her sword only to find it gone.

Suddenly, there was movement beside her and a face peered down at her, obscured by shadow from the dim light above. "Better be careful. I hit you pretty hard."

Michiru frowned, then felt anger well in her gut and forced herself up, backpedaling into the coffee table. The blonde woman stood, her brow knit. Michiru winced, fighting to keep conscious. The woman let out a breath and extended her hand, a glass of water in it, two aspirin already dissolving in the bottom.

The young girl flicked her eyes to where her father's sword lay on the orange carpet. "Don't even think about it," the blonde warned. "Do you even have any idea how to wield that thing?"

Michiru's vision began to focus thoroughly and she found her voice, croaking out. "You killed my father."

Pausing, the blonde almost seemed surprised. She straightened into the light, and Michiru could see now she was young-ish, only looking to be around 30, but there were bags under her eyes. Well, one eye. The other eye was covered by a patch, her furrowed brows making her look grumpy and old. Her blonde hair was shaggy, falling into her face. She wore a grease-stained denim button-up and a pair of gym shorts, seeming to be way past laundry day. She was thin, but her face and stomach were a little filled, presumably from heavy alcohol consumption. Michiru frowned, and so did the woman. "You think that?"

"I... know it." She said with a voice that shook. Her hands didn't quest for the photo, knowing now that this was the woman.

She hesitated, then moved to Michiru, her footsteps heavy. The teen winced, bracing herself, then blinked as the glass with aspirin was set beside her head on the coffee table, the blonde moving into the kitchen. Michiru heard the fridge open and close, then heard the hiss of a pop-tab. The tall woman walked back out with a beer. When she saw Michiru watching, the blonde frowned and looked away. "Don't look at me with those eyes of his," she said.

Michiru frowned. Anyone good enough to kill her father should have killed her within an instant too, unless this woman was planning to kill her later. As the blonde lit a cigarette and puffed on it greedily, Michiru began to seriously doubt it. She sat up slowly. "You knew my father well," she stated.

After another slurp of beer and another drag of the cigarette, the woman nodded. "Matsumo and I were good friends."

"Were," Michiru said. "Until you killed him," she pressed.

The blonde threw down the can, beer spilling everywhere. "I didn't kill him!" She snapped, her grey eye angry, turning a glare at Michiru, who flinched at her tone. "Who the hell do you think you are anyway? Coming in here with the sword I gave him like you know anything!" She yelled, then turned away, her back rising as she inhaled on the cigarette.

Michiru blinked, then felt pity for the woman. "I'm sorry. I can tell I'm wrong," she said, her voice soft. "My name's Michiru."

The blonde snorted and turned to her, her eye looking the girl up and down. "I know who you are. Your dad sent out cards at Christmas until you were 6. I could never forget your hair..." Her eye flickered and she sighed. "Have the aspirin, it'll help."

Michiru frowned, then took the glass and drained it, her head still aching, but at least her eyesight was stable. "Who are you?" she asked when the glass was empty.

A cat strode into the living room, stocky and black with orange flecks. It mewed to Michiru, then rubbed against Haruka's legs. The blonde's eye turned into compassion and she leaned to rub the cat's fur, not answering until Michiru repeated herself. "My name is Haruka. Haruka Tenou." She looked to her. "Your father and I came here, to America, together. We both wanted to get out of the business..."

Michiru gasped and sat up, a little too fast. She hissed and leaned back against the coffee table, managing to groan, "You're an assassin then!"

Haruka grinned. "Born and bred. But, no matter what you think, I didn't kill your father. He was my dearest friend."

"Then what happened? You have to know!" Michiru pressed and slowly sat up, holding her head. An aluminum bat lay on the floor. Haruka pushed it sheepishly under the couch.

"I don't know, to be truthful. At least... not entirely."

"Tell me what you know!" she demanded.

Haruka set her beer down after draining it and moved to the couch to sit, smelling of that night's alcohol. Michiru's nose wrinkled, but she crawled to sit beside her, her eyes scanning the couch for any throwing stars or sharp blades of death. The blonde watched her, seeming amused. Michiru expected her question answered when the blonde began to speak.

"Where did you train anyway? Your skills are..."

"I taught myself."

"Non-existant."

Michiru scowled. "It wasn't that bad."

"Did you ever even fight someone?"

The teen's scowl increased. "It's not that simple! Someone killed my father, what was I supposed to do? Go into the police station with my learner's permit and say I wanted to learn how to yield deadly weaponry?"

Despite her crude exterior, the blonde cracked a smile. "You remind me of him."

Michiru blushed despite herself, then finally turned her eyes to the apartment. The furniture had a certain charm under all the bottles and cans. The TV was old and dusty, and on it sat a bottle of wine and a framed picture of a group of people, her father and Haruka included, as well as an elderly man, a young adult man, and Lady Anouke, looking much younger than she was just a few months prior. Michiru got up to look at it, frowning, then looked to the gruff blonde.

"I... thought you killed him because someone left this photo." She took out the polaroid and passed it to the assassin, who looked at it.

"Ah. This was when I completed training. I was 16 then. The youngest graduate in my class. Your dad was 20 then, if I remember. We were inseparable. Wing-men til the end," she laughed, and Michiru's heart melted for her, feeling sorry for her and wanting to comfort the friend of her father's. "This was just a year before you were born."

"You saw me?" Michiru asked. She moved to sit again, her headache fading, leaving a dull murmur of an ache in the side of her head. She forced herself to think clearly, knowing little about her own past. Perhaps it had just been her father's nature, but he so rarely talked about her mother or himself.

"Saw you, ha! I helped raise you til you were two years old. After Kana...," she shook her head and looked to Michiru. "You've really grown up."

Michiru frowned, having so many questions, but one pressing to her mind above all. "Can you teach me how to be an assassin?"

Haruka blinked, then chuckled. "Just like your father. So eager. Well," she paused. "It can't be here. People tend to notice when you go grocery shopping covered in cuts and bruises." She laughed.


Michiru looked uncertainly to the old station wagon as Haruka loaded some duffel bags into it the next morning. The blonde today wore a pair of tattered jeans, a cream colored button-up that may have been white at some point, and an old brown blazer, a cigarette in her hand. "I thought that assassins got paid well?"

Haruka looked to her. "Are you doubting the reliability of old Jo?" She patted the car, which creaked. Michiru looked skeptical. Haruka sighed. "I don't have much left."

"Well... can't you just go knock off some Mafia leader and get some more?"

Haruka looked to her and blinked, then chuckled. "No, kid. Not anymore. I'm retired."

"You're, like, 33," Michiru said.

"I'm retired," Haruka snapped and Michiru pursed her lips, watching her go back inside for a few more bags and the cat. Michiru sighed and put her backpack in the car. She bit her lip, then slipped $10,000 into the blonde's bag from her own. She smiled just a little and went to get into the car. When the blonde emerged, she put the cat into the backseat of the dirty station wagon.

"Where are we going anyway?" Michiru asked as Haruka climbed into the driver's seat.

Haruka looked at her, then grinned and slid sunglasses down over her tired-looking eyes, the sun rising above Sacramento. "The desert."