C'mon Jeremy, pick up, pick up...

the voice on the other end of the line sighed. I really hope this is important, and not another request to extend your credit limit-

Sir, have you seen the latest tournament listing?

No, that's your job, he replied crankily.

Dai tried to calm herself. Jeremy was dear to her, but she had obviously caught him in one of his moods. It was extremely infuriating to talk to him when he had this attitude. Okay, it was outside of office hours, and the man had a right to a family life, but he should know her well enough to know that she wouldn't call him if it wasn't important...

Kazuya Mishima is alive. Sorry to disturb you-

No! Dai! Wait! the voice boomed on the other end. Well, at least I have his attention, she thought grimly.

Are you sure? the voice said, sounding tired. Are you sure it's him?

It makes sense, Dai said resignedly. Why else would Heihachi put the whole of the Mishima Ziabatsu on the line?

But where has he been for twenty years? Jeremy pondered, sounding like he was addressing himself more than Dai.

I don't know Jeremy. But I intend to find out.

The voice remained silent on the other end for a few moments, before continuing. Dai...be careful.

I will Jeremy, she whispered, feeling a knot in her stomach. I will.

She ended the call and turned to return to the bar. Standing in front of her, arms folded, was Hwoarang.

What was that about? he demanded. She glared at him furiously.

What did you hear? she said, her voice icy cold.

Who's Jeremy? he asked. His voice softened. I want to know what's going on. Please.

She sighed. Ah, when intimidation fails, try cute and vulnerable-

Hwoarang hissed, not seeing the humour. I just want to know the truth-

I preferred you cute and-

Ah, forget it, he said, throwing his arms in the air. You know, I thought we were friends, but obviously not. I'll get my stuff from the hotel. Good luck in the tournament-

Dai stopped him as he want to storm off, grabbing him and lightly pressing him against the wall.

Hwoarang, I'm sorry. I really am. She looked directly into his eyes. I...you are my friend. And believe, that's something I rarely get the chance to say. She glanced down. Actually, I could count the number of true friends I have on one hand.

But the less you know, the better. It's for your own protection.

He brushed her cheek softly. I don't need protection. I need the truth.

She gently moved his hand away, her chin wobbling slightly, eyes watering. I'm sorry.

She walked away. Hwoarang let her go. What was so important, so dangerous, that she had to hide so much from him? She had walked away, wearing an expression of...what? Regret? He was convinced of her sincerity, and deeply concerned. Whatever organisation she was working for, it was apparently dangerous work. But if she couldn't tell him the full truth, why had she offered to be his travelling companion? Why was she helping him hide from his superiors in the army?

You are my friend. And believe, that's something I rarely get the chance to say...actually, I could count the number of true friends I have on one hand.

Was is it really that simple? The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became to Hwoarang; Dai, like himself, was used to being alone, having associates rather than friends. It was easier that way - there was less chance of being hurt. But it was lonelier, too...

Despite having known her for less than two weeks, Hwoarang felt closer to Dai than he had to any of his fellow gang members, or any of his army comrades. And, if he was truthful to himself, he felt that there was more than friendship between them. He had had girlfriends before, but they had been casual affairs that had lasted no more than a week or two. Dai was different; she was like a true kindred spirit. That was why whenever Hwoarang felt that she was being deliberately evasive or misleading, he felt hurt. And whenever he was hurt, he always acted the same way; he buried under layers of sarcasm and aggression - much like Dai did, he guessed.

There was certainly more going on than Dai had told him, and although he still felt that he had a right to know what was going on, he felt like a jerk for listening to her conversation. A small. stubborn part of his core cursed him for that - the part that hated being wrong, and despised apologies.

He sighed heavily. Things were so much simpler before....