The suites they'd been given were spacious and luxurious, though a little smaller than they were used to. Kazuya barely gave the place a glance over as he entered. He moved straight to the window, divesting himself of cufflinks as he did so and loosening the tie at his neck. He made no attempt to acknowledge the porter who brought up his suitcase, or the room service request asking him what refreshments he required. He did fancy a drink, but he had a greater desire not to communicate with any other human beings. It was more amusing to see the hotel staff hovering in the corner of his vision, clearly both afraid to do a poor job of attending him and imposing on him.

"M-mr Mishima?" the timid request came again.

Beyond the window was a divided city. Bright towers and humming neon, a floodlit strip of nothing, and grey dreary concrete blocks beyond. The Iron Curtain was falling and Berlin had been chosen as a home for the next international arms convention – a sign of a new chapter for globe's most powerful corporations. In reality, this was more an attempt to grab new deals out of the hands of weakened ex-Soviet companies.

"Get him a double whiskey. Gin for me."

Kazuya slowly drew his eyes from the window at the sound of that familiar voice. He turned to see his brother leaning in the doorway, flyaway silvery hair flipped artfully over his face, a pale, slightly crumpled suit clinging to his still-gangly body. He had yet to fill out as Kazuya had.

"It's not their fault the plane was delayed. You can't go taking fate out on hotel staff," Chaolan said, abandoning his cool pose to poke around Kazuya's room. He wrinkled his nose and fell back into a sullen pout that reminded Kazuya of their younger teenage years, "your room's bigger than mine…"

Kazuya ignored him and picked up his suitcase from where the porter had left it next to the door. He tossed it onto the bed and threw the lid open. Chaolan flopped down on the bed next to him stretching out his arms to take up as much space as possible. Kazuya spared him an irritated glance.

"And your bed's more comfortable. I bet father gave them a memo," Chaolan put on a deep serious voice that still sounded nothing like Mishima Heihachi, "I want the best for my sons! But make sure you give Kazuya the actual best. Everything Chaolan has has to be this much worse." Chaolan emphasised the tiny difference by measuring the gap with his thumb and forefinger and shoving it in Kazuya's face. Kazyua batted him away sharply, but not before a slight smile had escaped him. "Ah! I knew you weren't really mad. You were just messing with the hotel staff, weren't you, sadistic bastard."

Kazuya at last turned to his brother, and regarded him sprawled across the bed.

"Go and unpack. Get changed. Read a book. Take a shower. I don't care. Stop bothering me."

"I like bothering you."

"And I like trying out creative new fighting techniques."

"Oof." Chaolan rolled into a sitting position and crossed his legs, "at least let me wait for my gin."

Kazuya gave Chaolan another look, and for a moment he could see the uncertainty on his brother's face. He relaxed his infamously furious glare slightly and immediately saw the change reflected in Chaolan's expression. He'd always been good at reading Kazuya.

"Thanks!" Chaolan said brightly, and promptly puffed up the pillows on Kazuya's bed and made himself comfortable. He kicked off his loafers and stretched out his legs, careful to avoid upsetting the suitcase. Kazuya elected to go back to ignoring him, and began tossing clothes into the hotel draws, and hanging up the shirts that needed to stay uncreased.

He could feel Chaolan's eyes on him as he unpacked. Kazuya could tell from his restless movements that something was on his mind. His brother was never once for staying quiet for long, so Kazuya waited for him to spill his concerns rather than bothering to ask.

"Why am I here?" Chaolan said at last. There was an edge to his voice, like there always was when he felt he was being passed over in favour of Kazuya.

"To advise me as I secure a business deal," Kazuya returned flatly.

"Why do I have to be the adviser? Why can't I secure the business deal and you be the adviser?"

"I'm better than you." It was childish, but they were only recently not children. It was fun winding his brother up.

"At fighting. Maybe. And I'm not even saying you're definitely better at that." Kazuya was, but Chaolan could still give him a good run, and bested him occasionally. "But what does that have to do with securing business deals anyway? Your people skills are just glaring. You can't just glare people into signing things. That's not how business works, Kazuya."

"Works for me."

"You have to charm people. Butter them up before cutting them down. You couldn't butter a slice of bread."

Kazuya raised an eyebrow at him, not deigning to give that an answer. Chaolan flipped his hair then folded his arms. There was real frustration there, under the slightly playful tone.

"What am I even meant to do?" Chaolan huffed, "it's not like you listen to me anyway. Or should I just hang about in your shadow as always, wear something pretty and distract people with smiles whilst you diddle them out of their probably illegally-gained cash."

"Sounds good."

Kazuya didn't miss flash of hurt on his brother's face. It was covered up with a haughty glare elsewhere before it could be exploited though. They had both learned long ago never to show any weakness. Kazuya had always found that lesson easier to drill however. Learning to hate and mistrust every authority figure in his life by the tender age of five probably had something to do with that. Chaolan had always struggled to maintain the balance between emotionlessness and the desire for recognition. Kazuya could understand that. After all, recognition from their father was the only sure means to avoid his wrath and sporadic temper.

Kazuya took out a set of files from the bottom of his suitcase and set them on the dresser.

"I want you there to observe people. To know their backgrounds and who they have history with. To know their ulterior motives and dirty secrets. To set them at ease whilst I carve up everything they have and take it for the Mishima."

Chaolan shivered at the change in Kazuya's tone of voice, but smiled. It was a hopeful smile, and just a little bit cruel.

"Also to get me out of social situations when I can't stand them any longer," Kazuya added darkly. Chaolan laughed out loud at that. "This is the secret handsign that means I no longer want to speak with someone and wish to be extracted." He flipped his middle finger up and this time couldn't help join in with a little of Chaolan's infectious laughter. Chaolan's eyes has gone all affection and gratitude at not being sidelined in this operation. Their lives were so full of ruthlessness that it only took a fraction of sensitivity to break through Chaolan's rainclouds. Kazuya would never admit to having that ability, but the bright look on his brother's face was a testament otherwise. "Anyway," Kazuya continued, tossing the suitcase aside now that it was empty, "I got you off the family estate. Isn't that enough?"

There was a knock at his bedroom door. As he went to answer it he saw the joviality already fading from Chaolan's face.

Kazuya took the drinks from the room service waiter wordlessly then kicked the door shut in their face. He handed a glass to Chaolan then sat heavily on the edge of his bed. Chaolan held the glass between tense fingers. He crossed his legs and hunched over a little, looking smaller and younger, and reminding Kazuya of the frightened orphan boy his father had brought into his home many years ago.

"Thank you," Chaolan said quietly, ostensibly for the drink, but they both knew better than that.

Kazuya relaxed his shoulders and downed his whiskey, knowing his body language would push his brother out of his melancholy and fear.

"Five days without him breathing down our necks. Longest holiday of our damn lives."

Chaolan gave him a wince of a smile, the colour that had left him slowly returning to his cheeks. He sipped at his gin.

Chaolan talked a lot to form a thick armour that insulated him from the world. The closer one got to the real him, the quieter he got, as if the years since he'd been adopted into the Mishima family had only succeeded in growing an adult-shaped facade around a frightened child. It was a vulnerability Chaolan allowed no one else to see. Kazuya knew he was only privy to it because Chaolan was a mirror of himself.

Kazuya set his tumbler down and collapsed back onto the bed.

"What a mess," he murmured.

"Us?"

"Mm."

"I guess." Chaolan drained his glass and set it next to Kazuya's. He hugged his knees to his chest and glanced out the long window on the far side of the room. The sky was grey with the first fine mists of rain starting to spatter against the glass. Kazuya had folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. "I can't wait until he's gone," Chaolan rested his cheek against his knees, his voice was quiet as he spoke.

"Me neither. It's going to be great. I'll be the head of one of the most powerful corporations in the world and you'll be my personal secretary, running around with a notepad and pen."

Chaolan kicked him in the shoulder, not hard enough to start a fight, but enough that Kazuya sat up and grinned.

"I'm being serious!" Kazuya's eyes glittered.

"I fucking know you are," Chaolan grated. He reached over to the beside cabinet to where he'd seen Kazuya place his cigarettes earlier. He tore the box open and stole one, waiting patiently as Kazuya pulled a lighter out his pocket and lit it up for him, "which is why I'mgoing to make sure I inherit the family Zaibatsu." Chaolan's face was sullen as he blew out a plume of smoke.

"Uh huh. Right." Kazuya's amused disbelief sent Chaolan's face into a deeper frown. Chaolan was brighter again though, and the ghost of Heihachi that plagued them even when he wasn't present was finally lifting from the room. "Let me know how that goes for you."

"I won't need to let you know, Kaz, you'll be looking up from the floor after I land the final punch and succeed to the empire," Chaolan flipped his hair out of his face, "can we get room service to bring dinner to our rooms tonight? I really don't want to face anyone just yet."

"Nope," Kazuya stood and flexed, entertained by how quickly Chaolan went from discussing grand plans for world domination to pouting about dinner, "we're expected this evening. We're meeting informally with Mr De Rochefort for dinner. You're meant to know this: you're a shit secretary."

"I'm not your secretary, Kaz."

"Not yet."

Chaolan gave him a black look but left the argument. He folded his arms and tried to not look at Kazuya's grin of satisfaction.

"What's an informal meeting anyway? We're not allowed to talk any business?"

"Buttering but no cutting. Your chance to shine, little brother."

Chaolan threw him another dirty look then swung his legs off the bed and stretched.

"I better go get ready. One of us has to be prepared to host polite conversation and look the part."

"No fishnet tanktops."

"I didn't even bring one with me, thanks."

"And dial down on the lurid purple."

Chaolan gestured expansively to the door,

"Want to come and pick out my personal wardrobe, Kazuya?"

"You were thinking of wearing something outrageous to piss me off, don't bother denying it."

Chaolan's face went through stages of indignation before he abruptly shut his mouth and scowled. The thought had definitely crossed his mind and gotten half way to fruition before Kazuya shot it down. He plunged his hands into his pockets and stalked out the room.

Chaolan had donned a white suit for the occasion with only a mildly lurid purple tie. Kazuya came out all in black.

"Who died?" Chaolan fell into step next to him.

"Lee Chaolan. Because he didn't know when to shut his mouth."

Chaolan gave him a sparkling smile as they stepped into an elevator, but immediately started tapping his finger restlessly against his arm as they made their slow descent to the ground floor.

"Stop fidgeting, idiot."

"Make me."

Kazuya gave him a look that intimated he was ready to do just that. Chaolan backed down and sighed,

"I was reading about this Mr De Rochefort before I came out. He seems too perfect, too nice. I can't work out what his sinister motive is. And he does have one, I assure you. What oil baron doesn't."

Kazuya folded his arms,

"That's what tonight is for. We'll make him spill his secrets."

"I like that you make a friendly chat over smoked salmon and tequila sound like a torture interrogation."

"We're not getting tequila. You'll be out like a light before seven P.M. and then I'll have to do the damn talking on my own."

Chaolan nudged him,

"Look at you sounding all responsible! Who are you and what have you done with Mishima Kazuya?"

Kazuya glared into the elevator mirror. A swarthy bulky apparition looked back out at him, with thick, dark eyebrows pulled into a murderous scowl. He glanced away. The face in the mirror reminded him too much of his father.

"Need I remind you that we have to secure this Rochefort oil deal? We already have the factories being built to run on it. We can fuck around any other day that we're not talking to Rochefort."

Chaolan's playfulness died and his whole body wilted. Kazuya hated seeing him drained of his enthusiasm. He didn't seek to reassure his brother though, some things were more important than their comfort and happiness. Most things, in fact, according to Mishima Heihachi.

The restaurant was located on the ground floor of the hotel, so they at least didn't have to walk far. Jetlag and attrition in the face of their general situation had them both exhausted, though neither would admit as much. Floor to ceiling glass windows gave them a view onto a dark street lit with the sliding lights of traffic passing in rain. Inoffensive classical music meandered through the low hum of the restaurant. Tables were small and intimate, and the lighting was pleasantly ambient. They were shown to a waiting area – all low leather sofas and bespoke coffee tables. They ordered drinks then lit up cigarettes the instant the waiter departed. They spoke in soft tones, bickering lightly and passing almost-jokes between one another. The waiter who returned with their drinks asked them if they would please put out their cigarettes whilst indoors. Kazuya ignored her, whilst Chaolan said something ridiculous about it being necessary for their health and by the way they were very wealthy businessmen.

They were left undisturbed after that until a waiter came to inform them that their table was ready, and that Mr De Rochefort had arrived. They were stubbing out their cigarettes and still murmuring amiably to one another when Kazuya caught sight of the man at table they were being led to. The restaurant was relatively empty, it being just after 6PM German time. This left them with a clear view of the only occupied table in this corner of the restaurant. He was barely Kazuya and Chaolan's age, heavy eyebrows, warm brown eyes, thick spectacles, with a chocolate hairdo that looked like it had come off a 50s record cover, and a grey suit that that looked like it had recently walked out of a Soviet boardroom meeting.

Kazuya grabbed the elbows of both the waiter and Chaolan.

"Who is that?"

"Mr De Rochefort," the waiter supplied warily.

"Does he have a son?" Kazuya directed this at Chaolan.

"No children on record."

"What is this? Rochefort's our age? Was this on file?"

"I didn't exactly… I mean it wasn't the first thing I thought to check when I-" Chaolan wilted under Kazuya's glare. "Only one way to find out," Choalan covered. He broke out of Kazuya's grip and strode towards the table. He bowed ostentatiously to Rochefort. "Lee Chaolan, pleased to meet your acquaintance."

The young man pushed his glasses up his nose and beamed. He extended a hand to Chaolan,

"Marcel De Rochefort, the pleasure is all mine Mr…" The brown eyes faltered, "I do beg your pardon but-…"

"Mr Lee," Chaolan gave him an understanding smile and shook his hand, "the name order confuses many of our business colleagues, but I like to think it breaks the ice a little."

"Oh, yes…" Mr Rochefort agreed a little uncertainly. He looked up with interest towards Kazuya who was still standing a way off looking like thunder. Rochefort's enthusiasm wavered. He remained standing, awkwardly waiting for Kazuya to approach. Kazuya just stared at him.

"Aaand my esteemed older brother, Mishima Kazuya," Chaolan gave a sweeping introductory gesture, catching Kazuya's eye as he did so and jerking his head towards the table.

Kazuya remembered himself and strode towards the table. He ignored Rochefort's outstretched hand and instead gave a curt bow. Rochefort looked put out for a moment, then a dawning expression appeared on his face and he returned the bow before sitting.

"So pleased to meet you, Mr Mishima, I've heard so much about your family! My contracts were all tied up with Russian government before, but now I have an opportunity to make new friends."

Chaolan and Kazuya exchanged a look. So much for no business at the table.

"You are Mr De Rochefort? Founder and owner of Rochefort Enterprises?" Kazuya said by way of greeting.

"Not quite what people are expecting, right? But that's me." Rochefort picked up a menu and began scanning it, mostly to avoid intimidating eye contact with Kazuya as he chatted, "I'm a self-made billionaire! Of course, it helps that I inherited a couple of million, but it wasn't just inheritance that got me where I am today. As a high school student I put my money where it was safest," he looked over his menu and the rim of his glasses at the brothers, "that would be investing in majority shares in Soviet oil fields and then selling it back to them, and well, the rest is history, as they say."

Kazuya stared at him,

"So you're the sole CEO of the enterprise? It's all yours?"

Chaolan kicked him under the table.

"That's right," Rochefort smiled, "nothing as impressive as the Mishima Zaibatsu, but I like to think of it as my own humble slice of heaven. Talking of which he put up a finger and the waiter came over. Shall we get some drinks, boys?"

Chaolan's face fixed itself into a smile and he placed a deliberate hand on Kazuya's arm. Kazuya was seething at the term of address.

"Drinks would be charming," Chaolan said, hoping it sounded less stiff than it felt.

"Shall we start with a Bordeaux? Can't go wrong with that."

"Let's," Chaolan squeezed his brother's arm again and whispered to him as Rochefort ordered the wine. "Snap out of it, Kaz. You're the one who said we needed this deal. Start playing nice."

As Rochefort turned back round, Chaolan removed his hand and instead poured over the menu. He squinted at it and ran his finger down the items, struggling with the foreign language.

"So, how are you enjoying Berlin?" Rochefort turned to Kazuya.

"We arrived four hours ago."

"Ah, I see. Well, I do hope you get a chance to see the city whilst you're here. I realise this is a weapons convention, but some of us do enjoy a little culture on the side! I actually consider myself a bit of a pacifist, believe it or not. What about you Mr Mishima, I know you're interested in purchasing oil, are you here in Berlin for anything else?"

"Selling weapons." Kazuya's eyes bored into Rochefort's.

Chaolan cover his eyes with a hand.

"Oh," Rochefort looked put out for a moment. Then he laughed a little awkwardly, "well, I suppose someone has to do it! We all have our little eccentricities." He touched his tie and fiddled with the menu between his fingers. "I, for example, actually have passionate interest in the welfare of our planet and its precious ecosystems. I know what you're thinking – odd coming from an oil magnate!" Kazuya hadn't been thinking that. He'd been thinking about casually punching Mr Rochefort's glasses into his skull. "But I don't like to stop a thing like that from preventing me caring about what really matters in life, which is why 1.3% of all Rochefort Enterprises' profits go to environmental awareness and protection agencies."

He beamed at the brothers. Chaolan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Shall we order, Mr De Rochefort?" Chaolan said, summoning his patience from a deep well within him.

"Oh! Of course."

"I hate him," Kazuya said, once the dinner was over and they were leaving the restaurant.

Chaolan gave Rochefort a small wave goodbye over his shoulder. His smile dropped as soon as he turned around,

"Really. I hadn't noticed. You had such an angelic disposition all evening."

"Fuck oil and fuck him."

"Kaz…"

"He can drink it for all I care." They entered the elevator and Kazuya punched the controls to take them back to their floor. As soon as they were alone Chaolan grasped him by the shoulder and turned him towards him.

"We have to make this work. Please, Kaz. Like you said, I can't go back to being cooped up on that estate under his eye all the time. He'll never let us represent the Zaibatsu again if we screw this deal up." Chaolan set him with desperate eyes. Kazuya looked away from them quickly.

"He won't send you back to the estate."

Chaolan withdrew his hand as if stung,

"What… what do you mean?"

"He's got plans. For you. America. Universities. Turning you into a proper businessman. Learning about his rivals on the other side of the Pacific."

Kazuya could see Chaolan was trying to school his face. It was almost convincing but his bottom lip trembled.

"I… I see. And…. And what about you?"

"I am to stay and perfect the Mishima Style Fighting Karate under him."

"I see," Chaolan said again. Kazuya could hear all the hurt in his voice.

The elevator binged as it reached their floor. Kazuya headed straight for his room.

"You'll have to train with him alone then? Just the two of you?" Chaolan said to his back.

Kazuya turned and gave him a signature half smirk,

"Worried for me, Chaolan?" Chaolan didn't answer. Kazuya grinned in the face of that telling silence. "You should worry for the old man, not me."

Chaolan dropped his eyes, not sharing the humour,

"Goodnight, Kazuya."

Once the door shut behind him, Kazuya's pretence fell away also. He balled his fists up, breathing hard through his nose. A strand of his hair had escaped the copious amount of gel he'd slathered on it. He glanced into the mirror to fix it. When he saw his reflection his lip twitched. He punched his fist straight into the glass. The mirror shattered into silvery fragments that tinkled as they fell. This time when he looked down, he could only see his own face in the disparate shattered shards spread across the floor.

Author Note: This is a strange shortish thing (about 9 chapters probably) exploring Kazuya and Chaolan's relationship as brothers and their survival under Heihachi. It's a bleak thing set in 1990 with lots of post-Cold War vibes, has a number of punchy fights in it and an excessive amount of Kazuya glaring at people, but that kinda goes without saying for Tekken.