You threw the fight.

Hwoarang's tone wasn't accusatory, but it certainly wasn't a question. It was instead a statement, although he did sound (and look) confused. Dai smirked.

That's scandalous gossip. I'll have you for slander. She winced as she moved her arm, and glanced at the medic. Can you do me a favour and pop my shoulder back in?

The medic shook his head. You're going to hospital.

What for? Dai asked. Just pop it back in. I don't need painkillers, I just need my shoulder to stop jutting out at a funny angle.

The medic sighed. If you insist.

Dai grunted as her shoulder was relocated to its correct position. She rubbed it, still wincing, and stood up. The medic looked relieved.

You know, I was there at that guy's last fight, he said shuddering. We didn't know if she was going to pull through, but she's stubborn.

Must be the luck of the Irish, Dai chuckled. How is she?

Still under observation, but she's through the worst. Her brother's been there every day...I think it's her brother, anyway, plus a Chinese guy. I think he fought in the last tournament. The medic stopped, as if he suddenly realised that talking about other patients was a tad indiscreet. Uh, are you sure you're okay?

You're the medic, Dai grinned. But I'm fine, really. A bit sore, and my pride's taken a beating, but I'm fine.

Well, kid, Paul said, ambling over to them. You can't win em all. There was a strange, knowing look in his eye, and for once Dai looked uncomfortable.

she muttered. Hwoarang folded his arms.

You...threw...the fight, he said emphatically. Go on, deny it, but I'll know you're lying.

I'll leave you kids to it, Paul said diplomatically. I've got to see a man about a bear.

Once they were alone, Dai sighed. What do you want me to say?

I want to know why, Hwoarang said. Did you get the tracer on him?

she said frankly. It...broke. Have you ever heard of plausible deniability.

Of course, I'm...I was assigned to the military special forces, he said. I don't care about that. He stroked her cheek. You were on form today, you could have beaten him. Why did you throw victory away?

Because, Hwoarang, she said tiredly. There are some things that are more important. You feel that fighting Jin is something you have to do. She shrugged. Besides, if I beat Jin, then I would have to fight you. If you've been pugging for the past two years because Jin spoilt your unblemished record by fighting you to a draw, I'd hate to see your reaction when I comprehensively whup your arse-

Hwoarang protested, although in his heart he recognised the truth of her words.

You'll have to put a tracer on him when you fight him. After you've beaten Kazuya.

Hwoarang nodded, pushing his hair back. I just...I can't believe you did that for me. Thank you.

Dai said thoughtfully. No pressure or anything, but....don't screw up! I'm counting on you to win! When I get back home, I'm probably going to be facing a list of disciplinary procedures longer than my arm...I'd like to think that it was worthwhile.

No pressure', Hwoarang repeated sardonically. He wondered what he would do with the vast wealth of the Ziabatsu...could he bribe his superiors into letting him go without court martial? Probably not, he thought with a grimace. It wasn't something he liked thinking about; how could he and Dai be together, if he was facing sentence, and she was being punished, in whatever way secret organisations punish their members? Suddenly a lump formed in his throat, as he realised the enormity of what she had done; she had chosen him over the job she had pledged her life to, over people she had known since she was a child...she had done it all for him. When they had first met, she had suggested that her boss would perhaps be able to smooth things out with the army for him; instead Jeremy had taken offence at their relationship, and threatened the opposite. Hwoarang smiled at her.

I'll win. I'll do it for you.

*******

Across the other side of the globe, Jeremy Martin ran his fingers over his telephone. His desk was pathologically neat, ordered...it was a visual indication of his way of doing things. He had a belief that, with enough research, all eventualities could be predicted and prepared for. Recently, however, his faith had been shaken. It was, he reflected, surprising that his faith wasn't tested more often in his particular line of work. Perhaps it had been, but he had ignored it, but now...

Now everything was falling apart. Kazuya Mishima was alive, having been a willing guinea pig for G-Corp. Now the Mishima Ziabatsu was in possession of much of the research that had resulted form that liaison; not all of it, but enough to give them a head start. And if that wasn't bad enough, his best agent had become emotionally entangled with some street punk that was running away from the army.

His best agent, his little girl...he looked at the numbers on his list of contacts. If he phoned the Korean embassy, his contact there could have Hwoarang back in Korea before he could blink...

But Dai was quite besotted with him, Reiko had cheerfully announced. She and her husband, his colleagues and best friends, seemed to think that it was a good idea!

Unbelievable, just simply unbelievable.

He looked at the photo of his family. He wanted that for Dai, one day...but her work was simply too important. He pulled a face as he sipped at his tea, which was rather tepid after nearly half an hour of neglect.

Was he being fair? Was acting in Dai's best interests...or his own? The fact that he couldn't quite tell, even when he was trying to be honest with himself, was damning in itself. But the case against Hwoarang, against his appropriateness as a suitor, was compelling.

After a few more minutes, Jeremy sighed and reached for the phone.