A/N: A bit about the premise before we start. This is essentially a gang-AU, if you will. Noxus is the equivalent of the mafia in this story, so whenever you see references to Noxus, imagine Noxus as an organization, a gang with the history and reputation similar to that of the mafia. If you've read my other story, a warning: this fic is a lot darker, and definitely not a comedy, though there are a few references to Spinning.

Hope you enjoy!


Chapter One


They were testing out the new masks today. Traditionally, they'd just used refashioned ski masks for their operations. But ever since Xin Zhao had struck up that deal with Heimerdinger a few months ago, the Demacians had been getting a while slew of new toys to play with. Like these new masks. They didn't cover as much of the face as the old ski masks; they were helmets, really, with technically advanced hex-tech visors which left the lower half of the face exposed. The higher ups wanted to call them masks, perhaps in honor of the years spent actually wearing masks. Garen thought it was a little dumb, but it wasn't his place to question his superiors.

Whatever the case, the new masks left more of the face exposed, which meant there was more of a risk with wearing them; not much, but some. Security footage could have been an issue; that is, it could have been an issue if Lux hadn't disabled the building's cameras remotely by hacking into the security system a few minutes ago.

"Are you in position?" Jarvan asked over the communicators, or comms for short, which had been built into the masks.

"I'm in position," Garen responded.

"I've been in position for the past three minutes," Lux said, and Garen could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Good. One minute till go-time," Jarvan said. Garen took a deep breath, focusing. He adjusted his grip on his baseball bat, twirling it slightly in his hands before gripping it tightly with his right hand. His left edged towards the metal door handle leading to the back of the building.

A groan sounded from his feet, and Garen glanced at the man who was tied up on the floor of the back alley. The man was regaining consciousness, it seemed; that was bad. He might yell, attracting unwanted attention and tipping off the Noxians inside. Garen unholstered the minuscule tranquilizer gun on his hip and, with practiced movements, shot the man in the leg. The man went still again. Next time he knocked a guard unconscious, Garen would have to make sure the blow was stronger. He needed to focus. He'd botched the last mission; he needed to ensure there wasn't a repeat of that.

"Ten seconds," Jarvan said over the communicator and began to count down. Garen turned his attention back to the door as he re-holstered the gun.

"Three, two, one. Go!"

Right on cue, the lights inside the building went out, courtesy of Lux's hacking endeavors; cutting off power to a single building was child's play, for her. And in a building with few windows, confusion ensued. Alarmed voices sounded from inside, and they grew louder as Garen wrenched the door open. Immediately, a green light flashed on the upper right corner of his visor, and then the mask registered that he was stepping into darkness and activated its night vision, and Garen was able to see the dark hallway clearly. He closed the door behind him and listened intently to the sound of the voices speaking inside. He made his way towards them, turned a corner, and came upon two men, groping their way along the hallway walls towards the exit.

"What the hell happened to the power?"

"You tell me—I thought there were backup generators."

There had been. But Lux had taken care of those.

He could see them—but they couldn't see him. Garen lifted his baseball bat and, with careful aim, knocked it against one man's chest. The man flew backwards into the wall of the narrow hallway, out of breath and dazed. His companion heard the noise but was still unable to see, and Garen took advantage of his confusion by sending his free hand to meet the man's temple in a fist. The man was knocked down, unconscious, and the other man was only just regaining his senses and groping about in the dark, trying to find purchase on the wall to raise himself to his feet. Garen punched the man in the side of his face with enough force to send him to the ground, and the man stayed down.

Garen nodded to himself. Good. He was focused, now, for sure.

A blinking in the mask sounded to Garen's ears, and suddenly, the men's vitals popped up, confirming what Garen already knew. Status: Unconscious, it read above both men, and Garen let out a huff.

"Lux, how do I get the vital signs to go away? They're impeding my vision," he said in his comm to Lux. She had read the manual for these things, whereas he'd only given it a quick once-over, skimming through the contents. Her reply was quick, and Garen knew it was probably because she was bored to death.

"It should turn off automatically within ten seconds, but you can just give the verbal command, 'vitals, off,' and—"

"Vitals, off," Garen grunted, and the vital signs instantly disappeared, once more granting him clear vision of the hallway.

"—if you want it back on, just say 'vitals, on,'" Lux finished.

"Thanks."

"You're dawdling," she pointed out.

She was right. Garen shook himself—he was off, today. He needed to focus.

He jogged down the hallway, taking a left as Lux instructed him to do, and he came upon several more men. Their eyes had adjusted to the dark, but not well enough. Within a minute, Garen had rendered them all unconscious (he checked using the mask, just to be sure), and he proceeded through the rest of the building.

He met Jarvan in the center of the building, right in front of the door to the basement. Jarvan had knocked out just as many men as Garen had, and he shifted the metal pipe on his shoulder ever so slightly as he stretched his neck, cracking it. Jarvan flexed his fingers before tightening his grip on the pipe.

"Ready?" Jarvan asked. In reply, Garen tried to open the door, only to find it locked.

"I forgot a pick," Garen groaned. What was with him, today? First there was school, and now he was underperforming in the field. He really, really needed to focus.

"Damn, I didn't bring one, either," Jarvan muttered. "Guess we've got to do this the old-fashioned way."

Garen took a few steps back before lunging forward, shouldering the door. He grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, and his shoulder smarted—it would probably bruise—but the door gave, and they were in.

"Authorities are being alerted," Lux informed them. Upstairs, waiting outside of the building, she was listening to the channels, keeping tabs on every potential obstruction to their task. "Better hurry."

They raced down the stairs, coming to another locked door. This time, Jarvan brought it down, and they charged into the room. Not surprisingly, it was empty; the men upstairs were supposed to be security, enough. Too bad for them, Garen thought ruefully as he and Jarvan walked to the center of the room, where a small safe lay, the only object in the room.

Jarvan reached into his pocket and produced another piece of equipment they were field testing—the sole reason they were here. It was a small, unassuming metallic device, shaped like a half-sphere. The flat edge was a magnet, and Jarvan placed it directly above the handle to the lock. He pressed a small button on the object's side, and it let out a soft hum, the whir of hex-tech, the new brand of technology they'd gotten from Heimerdinger. A few seconds passed, and then the humming stopped, and the device plopped off the safe and fell to the floor.

And the safe's door opened.

Inside was a briefcase and a cell phone. Garen took both, putting the phone in his pocket, and holding the briefcase in the hand that wasn't holding his bat. Jarvan picked up the device that had opened the safe and gave it an appraising look.

"It works," he said. "Sweet."

"Authorities five minutes out," Lux warned them, and Garen and Jarvan shared a look—they had very little time to make their escape.

They raced up the stairs and left the way Garen had entered. It was a good thing they had taken out all of the men as they'd made their way inside, or else they might have been held up as they left. But they ran outside without meeting anyone. That… wasn't right.

It was only instinct that made Garen react in time. He tackled Jarvan to the ground just as a knife flew overhead, impaling itself into the door.

Garen rolled and in an instant had discarded his bat in favor of his tranquilizing gun, and he turned to face the new threat.

A masked woman stood before him, clad in tight, black leather. Her hair was mostly hidden under a black hat, but strands of red peeked out. In her left hand, she twirled a knife lazily; in her right, she held a gun, pointed straight towards him. His tranquilizer was aimed at her, but there was no question—if he shot, she would, too, and only one of them would make it out alive. Tranquilizers didn't kill.

She nodded towards Jarvan, who had regained his footing and had his hand on his gun.

"One move and your pal's dead," the woman said in almost a lazy drawl. Garen shivered at the sound. "Drop your weapons."

When neither man complied, a scowl appeared on her face, and green eyes flashed dangerously behind the black mask. "I said drop them," she said, her voice lower, and Garen hesitated until Jarvan met his gaze and nodded. They released their guns, and put their arms in the air. But Garen didn't let go of the briefcase.

"Drop it," she said, meeting his eyes. He glared back defiantly, though he wasn't sure if she could see his eyes behind the tinted visor of the mask he wore.

"No," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." Her finger pulled the trigger, and Garen dove to the side, taking shelter behind a dumpster. Jarvan had ducked behind it as well, and they heard the woman curse.

"Shadow, for fuck's sake," the woman yelled, and Garen turned in time to see a cloaked man drop down from the fire escape just behind them, the dangerous glint of steel flashing in the moonlight.

Garen was glad he had been focused enough to remember his spare tranquilizer gun. It was in his boot, and he pulled it out, took aim, and fired. He missed, as the cloaked man rolled to the side, but the action gave Jarvan the opportunity to tackle the man, and the two rolled as they tried to gain the upper hand in the grapple.

The woman hesitated, and Garen realized she wouldn't shoot her companion. He took advantage of her distraction and charged her, swiping the gun out of her hand before she could react. It clattered to the ground, and he kicked it out of her reach. She leaped backwards, out of range of his fists, and she tossed a knife at him. He was forced to duck, and then it was her turn to charge him.

She'd produced two more knives from somewhere, and Garen was forced to back up and use the briefcase as a sort of shield from her swipes. He couldn't aim his own gun at her, for she moved too quickly for him to aim properly, and he was too busy trying to dodge her knives to take proper aim.

"If you Demacians actually killed people," the woman taunted as she grazed his arm when he moved just a fraction too slowly, and drew blood, "this might have been a fair fight."

Garen grunted as a dagger impaled itself in the briefcase, and he realized that he couldn't win if this kept up. So he changed tactics. With a grunt, he tossed the briefcase towards her. She hadn't been expecting the move, and she ducked instinctively. For just a moment, she was distracted as she followed the briefcase with her eyes, and that was all the time Garen needed to aim his tranquilizer gun and fire.

The woman's eyes widened and she glanced down to see the dart poking out of her thigh. Brilliant green eyes met his.

"Fuck," the woman grunted before she slid to the ground, and Garen quickly turned his attention to the grapple between the cloaked man and Jarvan.

The cloaked man clearly had the advantage, as Jarvan was only barely evading a knife to his gut. Just as Garen began to move to intervene, the cloaked man surveyed the situation and, taking note of his fallen companion, acted faster than Garen's eye could follow.

Almost too fast for the eye to track, the man grabbed Jarvan by the shoulder, spun him around, and brought the knife to his neck.

"Give me the briefcase," the man growled. Garen hesitated until he saw the line of red that began to trickle down Jarvan's throat, and then he retrieved the briefcase, yanking out the knife that the woman had impaled it with and tossing the briefcase towards the man.

"Back up," the man said, and Garen raised his hands as he took a step back. The cloaked man nodded towards the woman. Then he whispered something to Jarvan, and they walked forwards until they had passed the woman's fallen form.

Garen was sure the man was going to cut Jarvan's throat regardless of their cooperation, but the sound of sirens pierced the night air. The cloaked man tensed, and Jarvan realized that this was his chance; the man's arm had gone slack just enough, and Jarvan wrenched the dagger away from his throat and stumbled away, out of the man's reach.

Garen and Jarvan ran, glancing over their shoulders to see if the cloaked man would chase them. While he took a few steps after them, the cloaked man hesitated before turning back towards the woman, clearly prioritizing getting her out of the scene rather than eliminating the two of them.

"One minute ETA," Lux's strained voice said. Clearly she'd seen the altercation take place over the security cameras, given the higher-than-normal pitch to her voice. But her warning made them both aware of how little time they had left, and the two young men increased their pace down the block, made two lefts, and then a right before their getaway car came into view. Lux was waiting for them outside of the vehicle, and when she saw them running towards her, she dashed inside and started the engine, and the two men threw themselves into the car, slamming the door shut behind them. They didn't need to tell her to hurry—she floored it, and they were off.

It was only when they were halfway back to the hideout that Garen realized he was still holding the woman's dagger in one clenched, sweaty hand.


Kat really hated needles. Not in the I'm-afraid-of-them way, but in the how-does-this-little-prick-hurt-so-much kind of way. And the needle that the Demacian had shot her with wasn't exactly small. It had knocked her out for a good long time, and she'd been mortified by her failure.

Absentmindedly, her hand traced the scar above her left eye, feeling the slightly raised, smooth flesh. She'd gotten it a few years ago, but sometimes, after a nightmare, she'd wake and feel it throbbing with a red hot, searing heat that made it seem as if it had just been opened, as if the skin had been sliced apart once more.

The sound of the person beside her clearing his throat made her start, and she left thoughts of her scar for another time. She scowled at the slightly wider than usual eyes of Garen Crownguard as he watched her.

"Did you do the reading?" he asked.

"No," she replied. After waking up from the stupid tranquilizer, she'd had to give a full report to her father and Swain, and then she'd gone downstairs to the gym and punched the living daylights out of the punching bag as a means of venting her frustration with her failure.

Technically, as Talon had pointed out, they'd retrieved the briefcase—so they hadn't failed. The documents inside could have revealed several of the High Command members as being involved in Noxian dealings—for the Demacians to get their hands on those documents and reveal them to the police would have spelled disaster for Noxus. While the crime syndicate would never fall apart even if it lost some of its members, it would have lost some of its most established leaders had that briefcase fallen into Demacia's hands.

She and Talon had been waiting in the building over, having been tipped off by a Demacian who regularly gave Noxus info for the right price. How Leblanc had gotten ahold of him, she didn't know. Katarina thought the man was despicable as well as greedy, but she couldn't deny his usefulness. Thanks to his information, they'd known to expect a small attack, and they had found just that.

Katarina's thoughts returned to the man who's shot her. She'd never been hit by a Demacian's tranquilizer before—she'd always been too fast, too quick. But he'd taken her by surprise, or perhaps she'd underestimated him. She'd seen his bulky figure and assumed, correctly, that he wouldn't be as mobile as her and that he'd either rely on hand-to-hand combat or his gun. But she'd also assumed that he was just some dumb, muscley man who wouldn't think to distract her with the briefcase. Needless to say, that assumption had proved incorrect.

She had to give the man some grudging respect. It was a gamble to throw it at her when she might have simply caught it and then killed him. Bold. Stupid, maybe, but he'd predicted her movements and her reactions well enough to know it would work.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about that Demacian. He'd plagued her thoughts in almost every waking moment since she'd woken up, and so no, she hadn't been able to focus enough to finish the reading she was supposed to be doing for this class.

Not that it really mattered. Her family had enough influence with the school that she'd pass no matter what. Just one of the many perks of being rich and coming from old money.

"Well, I managed to get a bit done. I always have trouble reading poetry, but from what I—"

"It's not poetry, it's a play," Kat interrupted. Crownguard was an idiot; Shakespeare wrote poetry, sure, but Romeo and Juliet was a play for Christ's sake. Everyone knew that. The teacher had even said that in class, so even if Crownguard hadn't read it, if he'd been paying attention, he'd have known at least that much.

"I... Right, sorry. I mispoke," Garen said, clearing his throat. Kat noticed the tips of his ears darkening in color and was amused to realize that he was embarrassed by his mistake. The former football star, a student perceived by the rest of the student body to be one of the most attractive and dashing young men at school—and he was the type of guy who was easily embarrassed. Even worse, the type of guy whose ears turned red when embarrassed. An endearing trait, really, on the burly teenager. Oh, this was hilarious.

"Well, as I was saying, it's... this kind of writing, this... older language... is complicated to understand."

"Who cares? Everyone knows the plot, it's not like you actually need to read the damn thing," Kat said, the sides of her lips quirking upwards at his horrified reaction to her words.

"Of course you need to read it!" he said, his eyebrows drawn together. "It's one thing to know the general idea, but a whole different story when you actually... read the story."

She snorted. "You're good with words," she said sarcastically. His ears turned another shade darker, and Katarina found herself unable to keep her grin in check.

She had seriously misjudged Crownguard—he was way more fun to mess with than she'd anticipated. Definitely a goody-two-shoes type of guy, but way more gullible and innocent than she'd expected. What a treat.

"You know what I mean," he muttered. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and slowly released it, and Kat felt her heartbeat skip a beat as his eyes opened and he met her gaze with a suddenly calm, collected one in return. "As I had been saying previously, while I had some difficulty getting through the text, I was able to compile a short list of themes and character traits for each character from the first part of the play." He flipped through the notebook that had been on his desk until he found a page filled with notes and lists, written in a tiny but untidy scrawl. "As I see it, we can go through these and perhaps select a few that we seem interested in, and then we can look through the text on our second read-through and keep those in mind, and mark passages related to them. Then..."

And on and on he droned. Boy, this guy had every step of the project mapped out, though he was missing the specifics. Katarina began shaking her pencil back and forth between her fingers out of sheer boredom, and eventually resolved to drawing lewd images on her own desk with her pencil before erasing the drawings off the wood. It was only when she heard her name that she looked up, away from a particularly hairy drawing, and noticed Garen frowning at her.

"You know, this is a joint project," he stated."That means we ought to be splitting the work evenly between the two of us."

Kat sighed and began twirling the pencil in her hand. "Seems to me like you've got it all under control."

"Katarina, you cannot dump all of the work on me. You have to do your part, too."

Like hell she had to. She'd always managed to avoid doing her part in group projects before, and she wasn't about to change that, now. She wasn't about to change her ways any time soon—especially not for Garen Crownguard.

"How about this, then," Kat said. "You do the research and outline, and I'll write the paper."

"I don't think so," he said, his voice lowering in pitch. "We will share the work—both the research and the writing."

Katarina thought about arguing with this annoyingly stubborn teenage classmate, and decided it wasn't worth it. So she'd have to actually put in a bit of effort for once—big deal. English had always been an easy subject for her; she could write her ten page essays an hour before they were due and still receive a passing grade. So this? This would be a walk in the park. Especially with the teacher, who was old enough to suspect that her family was tied to Noxus.

Nobody got on Noxus' bad side unless they had a death wish. Like those fucking Demacians. The problem with them, of course, was that—unlike normal citizens—they had public support and, likely, government support, as well. That's not to say Noxus wasn't able to influence politicians and the government; but if her father was right, Garen Crownguard's father, the police chief, was providing direct support to the vigilante gang, both in the ways of funds and equipment. And, according to Leblanc and her network—which, really, Katarina was never sure could be entirely trusted—there was a distinct possibility that he not only supported it, but was also a member of the group, as well.

Katarina couldn't believe that Garen knew about his father's involvement in the vigilante gang. This was the guy who had quit his promising football career to focus on his studies. This was a guy who refused to let other people copy off his homework, refused to run in the hallways, who was never late to class and who always turned in his assignments on time. He never broke any rules, if the rumors were true (and from what Katarina had seen, being in the same school as him for 4 years, now, they were), then Garen was a goody-two-shoes, and there was no way Garen would support Demacia, a vigilante gang which conducted illegal activities.

Granted, perhaps one could argue it was a robin-hood sort of group. Didn't change the fact that the vigilante activities the gang engaged in were illegal, punishable by jail time. The one thing Demacia had going for it was that they never killed, not a single person, though there were the occasional mishaps.

Katarina would have snorted if she weren't in school. 'Mishaps'—there were no mishaps when it came to gangs. People died because someone wanted them dead; people died because they were in the wrong place at the right time. Any figures Demacians had 'accidentally' killed had been those who were higher up in the ranks of Noxus, important people in High Command, the group of individuals who lead the crime syndicate. Like Sion; the businessman had been found dead in his home after a shootout with Demacians two years ago. He'd been known as an unstoppable force in the business world, and in the Noxian underground, he'd been known a ruthless and skilled fighter. Sion had been the only casualty on that night; convenient for Demacia.

And Garen Crownguard? He'd never approve of murder. Even the thought was so ridiculous, Katarina had to smile.

"Fine," she acquiesced. Garen nodded. "We split the work."

He flipped the page on his notebook and tore out the subsequent one, then handed it to her. It was a copy of the one he had, and Kat made a face at the realization that he must have spent quite a bit of time writing out both pages.

"The schedule I've made is located near the bottom of the page," Garen said, leaning forward slightly over her desk and pointing. Katarina caught the scent of what might be pine before he leaned back in his seat. He smelled nice, she noted.

Katarina glanced over the schedule and contained a groan. She glanced up and met his serious expression with disbelief. "Seriously?" she asked, picking up the paper and waving it in his face. It helped convey her disbelief properly, to do that. "Seriously? Two hours a day, three days a week, and four hours on weekends? Crownguard, this project is not worth that much time."

"It is, though," Garen said, frowning at her. He gently pushed the hand holding the sheet of paper out of his face. "This essay is worth sixty percent of our grade. It counts as a replacement for the final exam, as well. Besides homework and pop quizzes, which account for only twenty percent of our final grade, this essay and the final exam are the only grades in this class. In other words, if we do well on this project, we do well on the final, and we therefore do well in the class.

Katarina let him push her hand away, and as she listened to his explanation, she let her hand return to the desk. She couldn't exactly argue with that logic... But she still didn't want to waste that much time on this stupid project.

"I'll meet twice a week," Katarina grumbled. "I have… dance lessons on Wednesdays, though, so I can't meet then." She wasn't lying, if one considered the dance of her blades to be a type of dancing. On Wednesdays, she had special training with her father, and she wasn't about to give it up for some stupid project.

"But Monday and Friday are fine with your schedule?" Garen asked, uncapping his pen and carefully marking the changes on his own schedule.

"Yes," Katarina muttered. She folded up her schedule and stuffed it into her pocket. Father wasn't going to be happy about this, but there wasn't any real way she could avoid it. She'd be unable to take certain missions for Noxus, now, given the time she'd have to dedicate to working on this damned project.

"Wonderful," Garen said, capping his pen and offering her a sincere smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges, and Katarina realized that his eyes were a lighter blue than she'd originally thought. A shade of blue she couldn't quite tear her eyes from, until she realized she was staring and blinked.

"We'll meet tomorrow, then, at the downtown library?" Garen asked, and Kat reluctantly nodded.

"Yeah."

"All right," he replied. He opened his mouth to speak some more, but Katarina was spared from agreeing to doing any more work by the sound of the bell. Class was over—thank god.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Katarina," Garen said as they began gathering their things. Kat slung her backpack over her shoulder and gave him a once-over before smirking.

"See you tomorrow, Crownguard," she replied before walking away, navigating through the desks in the room, and out the door.

She had to admit, Katarina thought as she waded through the crowded hallways towards her locker, Garen Crownguard was... pretty handsome. That would make the time she'd have to spend with him a little more bearable, she hoped.


Katarina was beautiful, absolutely. In a purely aesthetic sort of way, Garen thought. Perhaps he had intentionally chosen an absurd number of hours for them to meet in part due to the realization that the two could get to know each other better. Perhaps it had been influenced, only slightly, by the fact that he thought she was... aesthetically pleasing. But it was only a small part, certainly.

Garen glanced at his watch. It was given to him by his father after his first mission; it had been given to his father by his own father, and to him by his. A tradition—to be passed down after the first successful mission. Garen had been sixteen at the time, and he had successfully apprehended three Noxian targets. His father, the police chief and one of the highest ranking officers of Demacia, was proud of his achievements, and declared that Garen was sure to be one of the finest members Demacia had ever seen.

Time had passed, since then, and Garen had tried to live up to his father's expectations. He'd made a name for himself among his fellow Demacians; they called him the Might of Demacia, for the strength with which he swung his trusty baseball bat, his signature weapon. He didn't dislike the name, but he wished he could have something cooler.

Lux, for instance, was known as the Lady of Luminosity. Garen wasn't exactly too sure on the specifics, but any time she hacked something, she apparently left some sort of signature with that title. Once the authorities had caught on, and the media caught wind of it, that was the name that she came to be known by. Garen had asked her why she chose that name, and she had shrugged.

"It sounds cool," she said by way of explanation. And he had to admit, it did have a nice ring to it. Not that his moniker didn't—he just felt that his title was a little... bland, by comparison. Oh, well, Garen thought. He was stuck with what he had. With a sigh, he glanced up from his watch towards the entrance to the library.

Katarina DuCouteau was late. Not extraordinarily late—she was only five minutes late, for now, though Garen had thee sinking suspicion that she might have blown him off.

Not that this was a date, of course, Garen found himself thinking. He felt his face warm up and his ears heat at the thought, and he tugged uncomfortably at one earlobe. This was not a date. It was a study session, an appointment, a study... date. Not a date date. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

Garen was not attracted to Katarina DuCouteau. Of this, he was determinedly sure. And that was the last he would even consider of the notion. He forced his thoughts back to the time, and glanced at his watch again. Only a minute had passed. He shifted in his chair, stretching out his long legs and leaning back in his chair, arms outstretched, in an attempt to relieve some of his restlessness.

"If you're not, careful, you might fall," a voice from behind him cautioned, and Garen very nearly lost his balance as he recognized it.

"K-Katarina!" Garen said, standing up and turning around to face her. "I didn't see you arrive."

Katarina swept her long hair over one shoulder and quirked an eyebrow—the one with the scar that stretched over her eye and onto her cheek. She was wearing dark jeans and a tight fitting black shirt, over which she wore the same jacket Garen usually saw her wear to class. He supposed it was a favorite. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder. He caught himself staring at her outfit and quickly re-adjusted his gaze so that he was looking at her face instead of... other places.

"I slipped in through the side door," Katarina said, walking around the table, dumping her backpack on the table, and sitting in the chair across from him. Garen had chosen this table because it was in sight of the front, where he assumed she'd enter from. He'd been wrong in that assumption, it seemed.

"Ah. Well, I'm glad to see you, Katarina. Thank you for coming." He couldn't help but feel relieved that his earlier fears about her not showing up had been unfounded. He lowered himself back onto his own chair and then carefully picked up the stacks of paper he had in front of him and shuffled through them.

Katarina seemed less than pleased at the sight, if her grimace was any indication. "The hell is that?" she asked.

Garen frowned at her and gave her what he hoped was a stern look. "Katarina, that sort of language is not appropriate in a library." He pointed to his right, towards the picture books section which was located nearby. "There are children present."

Katarina snorted and rolled her eyes, smirking. "Is 'hell' a bad word? Am I going to spoil their innocence by saying 'hell'?"

Garen frowned at the mocking tone, and he met her green eyes. She seemed... bored. He didn't know how he knew that—only that he was certain it was true. Perhaps she was picking a fight with him to alleviate that boredom. But Garen would not have it.

"I simply mean that some parents would prefer not to have their children repeat such phrases, so it is our responsibility to respect their wish."

Katarina quirked her eyebrow, but didn't make any more snarky comments, for which Garen was grateful. He cleared his throat and rustled his papers once more, and the smirk vanished instantly off of her face, replaced with a scowl.

"I've compiled a list of several resources and books that we ought to look into before we begin our essay," he said. Well, he'd compiled most of it; Lux had seen him working and enthusiastically offered a list of some of the websites and books she liked to use, so he'd included those, as well. "These are mostly short essays which analyze the play, and some are reference texts, and there are a few texts which can help provide historical context and the like."

Katarina groaned. "And you want us to read... everything on the list?"

"That is my hope, yes," Garen replied. "Though I'm not sure of the length of every text. So once we've gathered some, we can then divide them between us so that each one of us will read roughly the same amount."

Katarina let out another groan, and shook her head. "You're crazy, Crownguard." She leaned across the desk and pointed at the stack of papers in his hands. "You know, we've only got to read a few of those. Two, three? The paper's fifteen pages—we don't need a crapton of texts for that."

"Language!" Garen chided.

"I don't give a flying fuck, Crownguard. You're insane, you know that? I'm not reading a hundred books for this damned project!" she said. Though her language was even worse than it had been, she had switched to a whisper, so Garen took that as some sort of consolation. At least the children wouldn't hear her speaking those inappropriate words.

"Katarina, I must insist that we look at these texts for the sake of our grades—"

"I'm not reading all of those!"

"You won't have to," Garen said. Perhaps she had misunderstood the first time he'd explained. "You'll only be reading half of them—"

"Like hell I'm reading even half of that stack. I've got a life, Crownguard!" Her glare was icy. "I have other things to do besides read all day."

Garen frowned, and tried to school his features into a mask of impassivity. Inside, he felt his heart constricting in anger, and outrage. She had a life? Was she insinuating that he did not? Because out of the two of them, he most definitely had a far busier plate than she did. He was a straight-A student, and he was an active member of Demacia. Every night, he patrolled the streets, fought with Noxians, captured them, turned them in to his father; he ran from the police and Noxians alike in order to keep his identity a secret. During the day, he attended school, he took diligent notes, went home and hurried through his homework, then prepared dinner for himself and his sister, Lux. If he was lucky, he'd have enough time to watch a movie or watch some football, but rare was the day when he had any free time. His weekends were spent planning attacks on Noxus, working on homework, and sleeping.

Perhaps she was right, whispered some part of his brain. What he was doing—it wasn't living. He'd given up football for Demacia; Jarvan was the only friend he had; he'd never been out on a date with a girl. Perhaps she was right—and that made Garen all the angrier.

"I have other things, too. I don't like reading, Katarina—it's one of my least favorite activities. But I refuse to fail this class because of your unwillingness to participate in and contribute to this project."

"We don't need to read that many damn books," Katarina spat, "We only need to read a handful of them. And you don't even need to read the entire thing—just skim it for the important shit."

"Katarina, please, listen to me," Garen said, leaning forward, his hands placed on the table. "You are going to help me with this project."

She leaned forward even farther, until they were mere inches apart, and her brilliant green eyes narrowed, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his lips when she said, "And what if I don't want to?"

He felt his blood pound in his ears, felt his pulse quicken, and he narrowed his own eyes. Then he took a deep breath, ignoring the scent of what might be cinnamon on her as he leaned back. This time, it was his turn to smirk.

"Then we'll both fail."

Katarina's brow furrowed, and she drew back slightly. He leaned forward once more. "If you don't agree to my terms, then I will not help you with the project."

She smirked. "Like I need your help."

"You do. Mr. Blitzcrank has pop quizzes, and each quiz will have a question at the end of it: 'How is your group project coming along?' And I will answer: 'Katarina is making me do all of the work.'"

"I'll still turn in an essay at the end, and we'll pass," Katarina said, though her smirk had vanished.

"No. I will pass, and you will fail, because Mr. Blitzcrank doesn't like you." At her scowl, it was his turn to smirk. "But he likes me. And he'll believe me."

"Are you actually threatening me, Crownguard?"

"No," he replied. "I'm telling you what will happen if you refuse to contribute your fair share to this project."

"That's an outrageous amount of books to read!" Katarina said. She was seething—her eyes were burning, and her fists were clenched, and for a brief moment, Garen was reminded of the fear he'd felt the previous night, when he'd fought the two Noxian assailants. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Half. We read half of those books, not all of them."

Garen considered the bargain. It was not ideal to only have half of the reading materials... But if it would pacify her...

"All right," Garen said. He retrieved his pen from his shirt pocket and clicked it, then rapidly began crossing out names on the sheets of paper. Once he'd eliminated exactly fifty texts from the list, he nodded.

"Fifty," Katarina groaned. So she'd counted. "There are fifty left?" He nodded. "Fuck you, Crownguard," she muttered as she swiped the list from his hands and stalked towards the aisles of books. "Watch my stuff," she called over her shoulder, much to the chagrin of the librarians.

Garen offered the librarians an apologetic smile, and then let out a sigh of relief, sinking back into his chair and running his hands through his hair. Katarina DuCouteau was a handful, and Garen was sure she'd only relented so quickly because she didn't want to deal with his stubbornness any longer, not out of fear of receiving a bad grade.

It was rumored the DuCouteau family had long been involved with Noxus. They were old money, and they didn't work—yet they seemed to still have a source of income. His father didn't trust them, and according to hospital records, the scar Katarina bore on her left eye was the result of an attempted stabbing. He ought to be scared of her...

But there was something about her that made it hard for Garen to stop thinking about her intense emerald eyes.


A/N: And that's the first chapter. I'd originally intended for each chapter to be ~5k words, but this one went a little longer, since it's setting things up and doing a lot of intro stuff. I've been working pretty hard on this story, but since the chapters are of a longer length than I'm used to, I can't promise consistent updates, especially with classes starting in the Fall. It'll be my last year at college, hopefully, though, so perhaps after that I'll be able to write more often than I do currently. As for now, however, it's summer! So I can promise weekly updates until school starts up again, at the very least! Hope you enjoyed, and see you soon. Also, I'll be upfront, since some people are a little sensitive about this: there's probably going to be a side of Talon/Lux going on. And by probably, I mean definitely.