Pierre's shop was just about walking distance from Ino's apartment – at least, close enough that driving there would take twice the time in New York traffic and parking would be a hassle.

As Deidara and Ino made their way towards Fifth Avenue, a wolf-whistle pierced the air. Ino ignored it, just as she ignored the many wolf-whistles and catcalls that accompanied her steps through the city every day.

Deidara did not have the same habit: he turned, irritated, to glare at the homeless man who had whistled.

"Don't pay attention," said Ino, gripping Deidara's sleeve and pulling him forwards. "It's what he wants…"

The homeless guy called to Deidara as he was being dragged away. "My man…"

"What?" said Deidara.

"If she ain't your sister," wheezed the homeless guy, "you doin' alright…"

Ino felt the tension disappear from Deidara's arm as his irritation turned amusement. He winked at the guy and said, "Not my sister."

The hobo gave Deidara a gap-toothed smile. Deidara gave him a double thumbs-up.

As for Ino, she sped up her pace and pretended that neither of them existed.

Deidara caught up to her in a couple of steps. "Hey. Did you hear? I'm doing alright."

"Ew," said Ino. "Maybe in your wildest dreams."

"In my wildest dreams?" repeated Deidara with vexation. "Yeah, no. In your wildest dreams, maybe."

"I don't even know what I'd have to be hopped up on to have that kind of dream about you." Ino hooked her arm into Deidara's and speed-walked along. "Speaking of hopped up, if you'd stop getting side-tracked by hobos on LSD, we'd be there by now…"

Deidara shot a doubtful glance over his shoulder towards his hobo-friend. "LSD? You think? I didn't get that vibe…"

"He was obviously on some kind of hallucinogen to think we could ever be related."

"Real funny. But you're right. I'm way too pretty to be related to you."

"…I think you have that backwards," said Ino.

"I think I don't."

Ino's hand in the crook of Deidara's elbow tightened into a pinch.

"Ow!"

"Oh, sorry, I stumbled," said Ino, making a show of regaining her footing. "Thank goodness for your strong manly arm keeping me upright."

"You little—"

"Look, we're here," interrupted Ino, pulling Deidara to a halt beside her. "We're a few minutes late but Pierre will forgive me…"

Deidara rubbed at his arm as he studied the storefront and its gold-on-black sign: Pierre Leblanc. Tailleur-Couturier. Textiles de France.

"I'm not going in this snotty-ass place," he said as he eyed the tuxedoed-up mannequins in the window.

"Why?"

"It's too fancy."

"So what if it's fancy?"

Deidara stared at the four- and five-digit prices listed beside the mannequins. "…I can't pay for this shit."

"I'm paying for this shit," said Ino.

"I don't want you to pay for my shit."

"We'll take it out of the ten million, then," said Ino. "Come on, we don't have much time…"

"No," said Deidara.

"Let's go," said Ino, snatching his arm.

Deidara pulled it out of her grasp. "I don't want to go in there."

"I need you to look respectable." Ino reached for his arm again. "Come."

Deidara kept his arm well out of her reach. "Can't we just go to, like, Century 21?"

"Century 21? That's, like, one step away from a consignment shop, isn't it?"

"No it's not, you snooty little brat, it's where normal people go—"

"I don't have time for this. I'm on a schedule." Ino gripped Deidara's belt buckle and started to drag him. "We're going here."

Deidara dug in his heels and tried to pry her hand from the front of his pants. "We aren't."

"Excuse me, ma'am," came the voice of a policeman who had materialized out of nowhere. "Is this man bothering you?"

Ino looked carefully at the officer to make sure it wasn't Sasori again before releasing her hold on Deidara. "No – no, we're fine, thank you."

"Are you sure?" asked the officer, who was now staring Deidara down.

"Yes, quite sure, thank you…"

"Alright," said the officer, still watching Deidara like he was about to commit some crime right there where he stood. "You just let me know if there's anything. I'll be over here…"

It took a few more gracious smiles and thank-yous on the part of Ino to convince the policeman to walk away. He did eventually, with many suspicious looks over his shoulder at Deidara, who just stared at him with his mouth half-open.

As soon as the officer was out of hearing range, Deidara spat out his bottled-up incredulity. "What the hell? I was the one being pulled along by the front of my pants? And he asks if you need help?"

"I make a prettier damsel in distress," said Ino.

"Seriously, though? I mean, for all he knew you were dragging me into an alley to have your way with me—"

This suggestion was interrupted by Ino's magnificent scoff.

Deidara readjusted his pants with a black look. "Jeez. You're the one pulling me where I didn't want to go, and I'm the bad guy…"

"You are the bad guy. You abducted me." Ino considered the policeman's distant figure among the crowds on the sidewalk. "He's got better instincts than he knows, that officer…"

"Not so loud, goddamn," said Deidara, making hushing motions with his hands. "Anyone could hear…"

"Then come," said Ino, pulling open the door to Pierre's shop, "or I'll tell him you kidnapped me."

"Okay, okay…"

VVV

"Just think of it as a challenge," said Ino in her most cajoling tones as Pierre looked down his nose at Deidara and confirmed all of the latter's suspicions about the snotty-assedness of the place.

"Mademoiselle is not giving me much time or substance to work with," said Pierre, surveying the grungy fashion disaster before him.

"Yes, because Mademoiselle is in a bit of a hurry," said Ino. "Come on, Pierre. You've never failed me before…"

"Very well," said Pierre, still looking down his nose at Deidara. "Given Mademoiselle's timeline, it will have to be something from our ready to wear selection. My preference would have been bespoke, of course…"

"Of course," said Ino. "But we need something for tonight…You can take the measurements for a bespoke piece for later, yes?"

Pierre raised one of his eyebrows at her – and with reason, because what the hell was Monsieur Yamanaka's stunning daughter doing dragging a tramp into his store and wanting to dress him up so urgently?

Ino was grateful that Pierre was too discreet to ask such questions out loud.

Pierre sniffed and gestured to Deidara. "Very well. If Monsieur would care to follow me and remove these…'clothes'…"

Deidara gave Ino a dark look before he was shuffled into a back room to be measured and suited up.

"I want black," called Ino. "Double-breasted. You carry shoes, right, Pierre? Can we do black leather oxfords? Let's civilize him a bit. And cufflinks, please…!"

"Oui, Mademoiselle," came Pierre's voice.

A few minutes later, Pierre's assistant, Claude, returned to the storefront holding up a bag. "I 'ave the gentleman's clothes here. Pierre has asked if you would like them to be burnt?"

Ino laughed and was tempted to say yes, but saner thoughts prevailed. "Leave them with me. I think he'd kill me…"

She heard some raised voices in the back of the store, and then there was silence broken only by orders barked out in French and Claude popping in and out of the storefront looking increasingly harried.

Ino wandered about, bored, for almost an hour, until a stupendously good-looking man made an appearance a few aisles down from her: sharply dressed in black, great body, rocking long blond hair…

…Oh holy shit, it was Deidara.

Ino choked out something inarticulate ("Gurk") but was able to assume an appropriately neutral expression by the time he reached her side.

"All done?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Deidara, though there was something mutinous in the word.

"Why're you so grouchy? Did you see yourself?" Ino tugged him towards a floor-to-ceiling mirror. "This is a definite improvement. You're, like, Cinderella'd up…"

Deidara examined himself in the mirror with a sulk.

Ino sidled up to him. "Stop pouting. Look at you. The fit is just beautiful. Oh my god, look at your shoulders. And look at your thighs through these pants, I want to bite them. Soo much better than those baggy things you wear. No tie? That's fine, keep the top button undone, like this. There. Classy, but less formal. I would've gone with silver for the cufflinks, but gold – gold probably suits you more…"

Ino's show of enthusiasm seemed to alleviate most of Deidara's sulk, though he did his best to appear grumpy when he said, "Don't bite my thighs."

"This is perfect for tonight," said Ino, pulling herself against Deidara and studying their reflection in the mirror. "Look at us."

It was no wonder, really, that the homeless guy had thought that they might've been related, these two pretty things with their blond hair and their eyes of variable blue and the bloom of youth on their cheeks.

But, as she observed herself and Deidara in the mirror, Ino realized that they were alike, and yet not. Where she was pale, Deidara was tanned – and inked up everywhere else. Where his hair caught the light in sun-worshipping honey, hers was a moon-kissed blonde so light it approached white. Even their bangs fell on opposite sides – his parted to the right, and hers, the left – so that each saw the world with a different eye. An eye that was, in Ino's case, a shade of frost so pale it almost wasn't a colour, and in Deidara's case, the relentless blue of the sky at the height of summer…

Ino hadn't realized she'd sunk into a daydream until Pierre's arrival jolted her out of it. He popped up over Deidara's shoulder looking unhappy, like he was offering an inferior product despite his best efforts.

"Désolé, Mademoiselle – this is the best we could do," he said, flicking something invisible off of Deidara's arm. "I decided on the Burberry, you see. I thought, first, the 'Ugo Boss, or the Brioni – but this slim fit was, I thought, more appropriate for Monsieur's figure…with these trousers tapered like this, you see here…"

"He's perfect, Pierre."

"But, Mademoiselle – perhaps you could intervene – the gloves, Monsieur refuses to remove them. But with this ensemble…c'est ridicule…"

Deidara now had his gloved hands shoved in his pocket (very much ruining the lines of the suit), and, judging by the tightness of his jaw, he was ready to blow a fuse if pressed on the issue.

Ino put a hand on his arm and turned to Pierre. "He has to wear them," she said with a shake of her head. "Eczema, you know…"

She saw Deidara's jaw clench further and squeezed his arm harder; if she had to pose as a prostitute for a night, he could definitely handle sudden-onset eczema.

"Ah," said Pierre with a sad nod – not like the eczema was sad, but rather, it was sad that the outfit would not be perfect. "May I propose some alternatives, then…?"

Deidara shook his head no, but Ino said yes. Pierre gestured to Claude, who disappeared and reappeared with a flat box containing, nestled among white tissue paper, gloves of the softest black leather.

"Italian, of course," said Pierre. He peeled away the tissue paper and proffered the gloves to Ino. "They do not do many things better than the French, but leather…Leather is another thing, you know. These are from my supplier in Florence."

"Gorgeous," said Ino, running her fingers along the leather and admiring the craftsmanship of the stitching.

"Is the gentleman interested?" asked Pierre.

"No," said Deidara.

"We'll take them," said Ino.

Ino handled the bill and didn't let Deidara see it because she didn't want him to faint. Then, thanking Pierre effusively for his miracle, she pulled Deidara out of the store.

"Worst experience of my life," said Deidara.

"Maybe," said Ino, "but you sure clean up pretty…"

"Shut up."

"It suits you …"

Deidara stalked along beside her with his hands shoved into his pockets. "I'm sorry, was that a pun? It was terrible. Don't talk to me. I'm dressed like a nerd."

"You're dressed like a rich, successful little bastard," said Ino. "Which is perfect, because I'm about to pit you against another rich, successful little bastard, to find out if he's being extra bastardly and plotting to kill my father."

"Great. I'll make sure I talk to him about jetted pockets and half-break trousers…and maybe we can duel with our pocket squares…"

Ino took his arm. "Ooh, you know the lingo now. I must congratulate Pierre, he civilized you in, like, an hour…"

Deidara looked down at her with a fresh degree of irritation. "That guy. Almost got into a fight with him."

"With Pierre? Why?"

"He asked me, how do you dress, sir…"

"And…?"

Deidara looked at Ino askance. "Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, it's which side your – um – your junk hangs…"

"How did you know that?"

"I don't know, it's just common knowledge…"

"Well I didn't know what it meant, so it can't be that common. So I said, how do I dress? I use my hands, yeah? And Frenchie back there sniffed like that was, like, a funny failed joke, or whatever. And he asked, which side, sir. And I'm left-handed? So I said, left?"

Ino raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh…"

"And he's like, coming at my crotch with this measuring tape, to measure the – the inseam, or whatever. And he's like, are you certain, sir?"

Ino bit her lip. "Oh my…"

"And I was like, yeah? And he's like, no, I believe Monsieur is mistaken, and I'm like, I think I'd know more than you, buddy, and he's like, zen what is zis…"

Ino pressed her fingers to her mouth.

"And he took his measuring tape," said Deidara, "and he poked my dick."

And Ino dissolved into shrieks of laughter.