a/n: Some light angst in this chapter. You have been warned.

With a resigned silence, the two of them walked through the next room. He handed her glasses back, and she put them on without another word.

The tension was so thick between them that someone could have sliced it with a knife. Luckily, Sarutobi was far from subtle.

He wasn't quick enough to dodge the incoming kick to his stomach, and keeled over, wheezing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sarutobi - "

She picked his collar up with both of her hands, snarling. "Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that? Are you trying to seduce me, Hattori Zenzou?"

"Why is that any of your business?" he retorted, noting the bloom of rage that had spread across her face. "And anyways, do you seriously think I'm going to fall for someone like you? You know better than anyone that I'm not interested in pretty girls."

She flushed at the indirect compliment, letting him go without any more fuss. They were close enough that he could see the beauty spot under her eye. "Fuck off, Zenzou."

Still, she seemed to relax at his words, reassured that he felt the same as she did about the whole... situation. She'd been clearly uncomfortable. He wasn't going to push the matter any more than he had to.

As for him, he'd gotten to satisfy a matter of curiosity that had plagued him since he was a teenager - albeit in a pretty horrible, twisted way. For someone who stuck to eating the worst foods imaginable for breakfast, her breath wasn't that unpalatable.

"If they're asking us to fuck in this room, I'm giving you my express permission to commit seppuku before that ever happens," she said gravely. "And then I'll slit my neck after that too."

"Not funny," he mumbled, and rose to his feet. Sometimes her insensitivity hurt him in unexpected ways, both physical and emotional. Most of the time it was physical. "But I share your sentiment entirely."

He had to admit she had a point. This place was voyeuristic as fuck. And a pretty sick joke, if you really thought about it.

This sort of stupid escape room - or whatever it was - was better suited for actual couples. Couples who actually smiled at each other, held hands in the park, and actually wanted to jump each other at any given opportunity. Not two horrible colleagues who only shared a job in common served with a side dish of clear-cut antagonism.

Okay, so admittedly he had nursed a bit of a soft spot for her. It was a side effect of understanding her full capabilities - an acknowledgement of knowing what she had done to achieve her reputation as one of the strongest. That didn't actually mean he was going to admit anything to her. For one, he vastly preferred working with her over anyone else. Their sense of teamwork was seamless, especially when the stakes were high. Whenever she switched on Work Mode, things got done efficiently, the mission always accomplished without fail.

To jeapordize that kind of working relationship was more trouble than it was worth.

And to be completely frank, he knew he couldn't give her what she wanted. She wanted a fantasy. An illusion to project her carnal desires onto. Someone who had known her since childhood wouldn't be able to fill in that missing gap in her life.

Sakata Gintoki had given her that outlet, for whatever reason. Despite his continual rejections, she'd seen it as a challenge, convinced that some day he would see the light.

It came to absolutely no one's surprise that he'd picked someone else to be with. For all of his criticisms towards that no-good samurai, the man had correctly surmised that the wiser choice was to marry someone who was able to accept him unconditionally, warts and all. It was a common sentiment shared by most of the Edo population that she'd been far out of his league, but they seemed happy together.

The permhead had been annoying as fuck at the wedding reception. After he'd taken all the photos with his blonde bombshell of a bride - who probably was financing the whole ceremony in the first place - he had chosen to make a beeline towards Zenzou.

"You should take care of that," Gintoki said, pointing at a wailing Sarutobi, four fifths through a bottle of gin, lying face down on the ground. She was on the verge of becoming blackout drunk.

He had sipped his whiskey then, debating the pros and cons of carrying her back to her apartment, and had decided against it. "Nah."

He didn't really see the point. She was strong enough to handle her own problems; if he swooped in there like some sort of twisted Prince Charming, it would have come off as patronizing. It was Wakikaoru who'd put her into a taxi later that night, and checked up on her the next morning to make sure she was alive.

And in any case, Zenzou had absolutely no interest in becoming a mindless rebound. Not that he ever thought she'd be interested in the first place. You didn't stop hyperfixations after thirteen years of Shonen Jump serialization. And besides, even if there was a modicum of interest on her end, there were certainly reasons to not be romantically involved with such an emotionally volatile person.

He enjoyed life without any complications - or as much as one could, being so high up in the Bakufu, former head of the Oniwaban, and heir to the Hattori clan. Beyond the politicking that was expected of him, he simply didn't want any more trouble on his plate than was worth pursuing.

As most of her friends would attest, Sarutobi Ayame was trouble outside of work. Quite a lot of it, actually.

The third reason he had - and this one was probably the most potent of them all - was that at the end of the day, either he or she could be killed in their line of work. No tomorrows were guaranteed.

He'd seen it with his father and countless of his other colleagues, who had defended the late Tokugawa Sadasada against an attack from Jiraia and had consequently lost their lives or usage of their legs in one fell swoop. That had been the beginning of an end.

With such a betrayal coming from the Oniwaban, and the loss of trained shinobi who'd previously supported the Jouishishi overthrowing the Amanto, the organization had fractured. It would take years for them to build up that trust again. In the chaos, Sarutobi had been recruited into the Shimatsuya organization by Matsudaira Katakuriko when they were eighteen back then. Zenzou had fully expected her to die in a few years.

The fact that she had actually survived to this day, in spite of her terrible eyesight, was a miracle in itself. He wasn't interested in pushing her luck further than it had to be.

Said person's voice cut across his train of thought.

"Oi, you idiot, have you been listening to me?" She poked him in the chest, clearly fractious. "We have to ask each other questions now."

If she seemed relieved that they didn't have to fuck each other, he didn't hear it.

"What does the paper say?"

She handed it over to him. He read it out loud the same way she had in the last room. "Tell the person your three worst days of your life, or ask them three questions you always wanted to ask them but never had the courage to. You may ask a combination of them if you wish, as long as there are three questions answered per person."

Well, that was considerably easier than kissing someone who didn't want to be kissed by you. Maybe the overlords of this stupid escape game weren't actually porn directors in disguise - just reality TV show freaks with a twisted sense of humor.

Then he noticed something around his wrist. "Wait - when the hell did this happen - "

"I think they're lie detector tests," Sarutobi said. "Well, at least it says that on the bracelet. They somehow materialized on us without me noticing."

He tested it. "I don't have hemorrhoids."

A shock of electricity pulsed across his body, and the pain was enough for him to go down on his knees. Gasping, he lunged huge breaths of air. "Guess they actually work. Fuck. I hope they're using these in police interrogations."

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. "You're really hoping for that day, aren't you?"

"I'm an eternal optimist. Just as much as you were with that permhead."

"Shut up, Zenzou," she said, but it wasn't as vitriolic as he expected. "Which questions would you prefer?"

"Any of them are fine," he said. Figuring out that he'd been in love with her for years counted as the fifth worst day of his life, and she was far too vain to ever assume that she could ever be the object of his secret admiration. Though he wasn't one to gamble, the questions seemed relatively safe.

"What was one of the worst days of your life?"

"When Maizou called me in the hospital three years ago and told me that Shigeshige was dead." The second worst was when Takasugi Shinsuke had stabbed her in the stomach, and he was half-convinced that he hadn't been able to save her in time.

Something in her face crumpled, and instantly he regretted giving the answer to her question.

All the same, there was a fascinating beauty in watching her facial expressions transforming from annoyance into raw grief. Sarutobi had one of those faces that were naturally expressive, dynamic in motion. She possessed the kind of face where you could instantly understand what she was thinking at any given time.

He remembered one time, shortly afterwards when it was all said and done. She had been injured more severely than he'd been - she had suffered a puncture wound in her stomach, and yet had pulled a chair next to his hospital bed.

She had been worried that he would have died alone. When he'd woken up in a fog of pain, he saw she had dozed off at the edge of her bed, sitting on a stool, her head tucked under her arms.

Of course, she had snuck into the Yorozuya's hospital room shortly afterwards, but it didn't stop him from being touched all the same. He knew then that as long as she was happy, he could endure all of his sins in silence.

He watched her eyes well up in tears, and he handed her his handkerchief from his pocket without another word.

Some wounds never healed. Fuck, he hated seeing her cry.

"I still dream about him," she said, taking off her glasses, dabbing her eyes. "You do too, don't you?"

He nodded.

"He was so sweet," she said. "I remembered that he always cried at everything at first, but eventually, he learned to throw a proper kunai."

She crumpled up the handkerchief and stuffed it in her pocket, having regained equilibrium. He'd have to ask for it back later. "Right. Grandma wouldn't want me to live in the past. Your turn."

"Why Sakata Gintoki?"

Her face turned flaming red. "Why do you ask?"

Zenzou considered a wide variety of reponses to that question. The simpler, the better. "I'm just curious, that's all."

Or, more specifically - How does an elite ninja like you can be attracted to someone who never gave a damn about you in the first place? - but he wasn't going to say that. He wasn't a bone-headed samurai.

"He's hot," she said without any shame whatsoever. "Have you ever seen his d** - " and this was where Zenzou, quite deliberately, stopped listening to her, regretting having asked the question in the first place. Of course it was a matter of lust than actual love. Surreptitiously timing his Rolex once more, he assumed an expression of what he hoped was polite interest.

He didn't get the appeal, but then again, you couldn't throw stones in glass houses. Once upon a time, Wakikaoru had caught him staring at Sarutobi from a far-off distance and had commented, with some vehemence and not a little bit of jealousy, "I know you liked ugly girls, but that bitch is the ugliest one of all! How did that even happen, Zen-chan?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. There was a bee in her hair," he replied defensively. "Oh look - it's flying away already. See?"

The redhead, for the first time in which they'd known each other since the ninja academy, looked at him as if he had sprouted a third head. Then, she actually had the audacity to do the sign of the cross in front of him, ostensibly praying for his mental stability. Bitch.

(Not too soon later, he also started praying for his sanity to come back.)

At the ten minute mark - my god, who the hell could talk this long about one man's organs? - he finally clocked that Sarutobi was winding down her Yorozuya-induced rhapsody, and started to nod at appropriate intervals as if he had been doing so during all that time.

"My turn," she said. Suddenly, her expression grew somber. "Where were you when you left Edo for those two years?"

Ah. In retrospect, he should have expected that question.

"I was in the village," he said, and his fingers twitched. "I had some things that I needed to do."

"Why didn't you send me a single word?" she asked, and the hurt look in her eyes was starting to stab his chest. Damn her. "I tried to find you. But nobody ever spotted you - not even Gou, not even Shuwa."

"I didn't want to be found," he said tonelessly.

This was not a conversation he especially wanted to be having with her, ever. Fuck these assholes who decided it was a good idea to trap him and her in this weird room.

Her mouth twisted. "Of course you didn't," she mocked. "After all, you're the famous Hattori Zenzou, who works alone. Dies alone. Doesn't believe in working with others, because having bonds makes one weak."

He said nothing to that, quietly marveling at the fact that even when she was angry at him she still remained devastatingly beautiful. It was truly mysterious.

This argument - this one that they had for ages, stretching from when they were children, would forever remain unresolved, always bitter. It was the last and final reason why they would never be a perfect fit.

She would never understand him for who he was, or why he did things the way he did. And even though he was presumptuous enough to think he understood her more fully than she would ever understand herself, he wouldn't compromise his creed for anyone.

Not even for her.

She stuffed the paper into his hand with more force than necessary. They had this sort of argument enough times in the past that she wasn't going to argue with him about it any longer. "Your turn."

"Why don't you put your hair into a ponytail more often?"

The question caught her off guard.

"What?"

He repeated the question, and she shook her head, still bewildered. "I mean, why do you ask?"

"It just seems... kind of long. Like it would get in the way in missions."

"It doesn't." Her eyes softened. "A long time ago, there was a boy that I liked who said he preferred girls with long hair. I grew it out and I guess I got used to it."

He tried to remember who had a preference for long hair. Was it Gou? Or -

"Don't bother trying to figure out who he was," she said sharply, guessing his thoughts correctly. "Because he's gone now."

Morbid, but at least she was honest. "Fair enough."

"Speaking of hair, why do you cover your eyes? They're quite nice looking, you know." The anger seemed to have mostly disappated from her, making the mood a bit lighter.

"The old man had a nasty divorce with my mother when I was a kid. I think my eyes reminded him too much of her." Like Sarutobi, he'd gotten used to it. The plus side was that it was hard for people to predict his moves in combat.

"You should cut it."

"I dunno. I think it gives maximum impact to the SJW audience when the Gorilla decides to reveal my eyes, don't you think?"

The corner of her mouth lifted in response, as if she was trying not to laugh. He wasn't staring. He was not.

Last question. He was running out of ideas for the second category, but... this one, he couldn't quite resist.

"What do you want the most out of life?"

To his surprise, she blushed. "To be loved," she admitted. Her eyes were lowered, and then she stared daggers at him. "If you make fun of me, I'll skewer you into a thousand pieces."

Something in his heart twisted. A sudden urge to confess was pressing down on him, but he squashed it immediately. Filed it away. Burned it, for good measure.

I won't let you cry in front of me ever again.

"I would never," he said instead, because he was the same way.

As if on cue, another door opened. The bracelets around their wrists had vanished.

Zenzou gestured at it with his left arm. "Ladies first." She only smiled at that.

These rooms were going to kill him.

It was getting harder and harder over time to pretend he didn't want to kiss her again.

.

.

.

- tbc

.

.