lawly

by footfungus

lawly

43. Chapter 43

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

Utahime watched the blood drain from her young partner's face when her eyes landed on the crime scene. Detective Kasumi was a bright girl, which was obvious from the way she'd made detective at such a young age, but Utahime didn't think the homicide division was a good fit for her. Honestly, looking over her, she didn't seem like a good fit for any division on the police force, but Utahime didn't question her new partner's decisions.

Still, as she gaped at the horrific murder, Miwa might be questioning them herself.

Allowing the younger detective a little more time to get a hold of herself, Utahime lifted the crime scene tape and slipped underneath. When a beat cop stepped forward to stop her, she flashed her badge, along with a quick smile, and the man backed off. She was fully aware of the fact that she didn't look like much – short, lithe, and a bit dainty, Utahime looked closer to secretary – but she'd been a cop for ten years, a detective for three of them. She'd tear that idiot apart.

Nonetheless, Utahime knew when it was time to fight and when to be polite. You caught more flies with honey than a swatter, or so she told herself every time she had to bite her tongue over some sexist bullshit that came with the job. She'd probably been held back more than once because of her mouth in her youth, so she'd learned to be more...pleasant. It was annoying, but she'd use whatever was at her disposal to do her job.

And right now, her job didn't involve getting into an argument about discrimination in the workplace. It centered on the dead woman propped up against a brick wall in an alley. Stopping in front of the body, she glanced up at the apartment building, taking note of the nearest windows to the scene, and then to the sky. At least it wasn't raining like last time. She used to love the rain as a child, thinking it sounded magical as each droplet struck the roof, but now all she could think about was how much evidence was washed down the sewers.

Pulling a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket, Utahime slipped them on and crouched down to the same level as the body. She made quick, basic observations first: dark hair just past the shoulders, naturally pale skin, probably around her mid-twenties. The woman appeared to be in relatively good shape, save for the fact that she was dead. Her face was clear of makeup, but upon lifting one of her hands, Utahime found that her nails were painted. It looked new, maybe no more than a day or two old, although some of her nails were chipped and broken, like she'd put up a fight.

What stood out the most, of course, were the long deep cuts along the skin, making her look like a cracked porcelain doll. They were sewn up with thick black thread, the stitching uneven, but there wasn't an ounce of blood on the skin. It was unnerving.

"Any ID?" Utahime asked politely.

The beat cop standing nearby, a seemingly bored Officer Mai Zenin, shook her head. "No, but that figures."

"She's a sex worker?"

Mai scoffed. "Well, with that outfit in this area? Of course."

Utahime frowned up at the officer, and Mai's face went blank again. She hoped that the female officers in her division would at least be better about such things, but it was a hard ideology to shake, especially when they came from Vice as Mai had. Utahime had come from there herself, having transferred to Homicide when she made detective, but she liked to think she'd learned her lessons.

" If she's a worker, she'd probably have a purse or clutch on her person," Utahime pointed out, returning her attention to the victim. "It's not like you can hide money in your bra or underwear if you plan on taking it off with your next client."

"Don't need to take off your shirt for a blow job or quickie in a car," Mai muttered under her breath, which earned her another quick sharp look from Utahime. Assumptions like that were exactly how evidence was missed and cases went unsolved. Mai rolled her eyes and added in a more professional tone, "We haven't found one yet."

"Keep looking – stretch out the perimeter if need be," Utahime ordered as she examined the victim again. "There might be an ID for us to find there or some clue about her most recent whereabouts."

Officer Mai nodded and left to bark the new orders at other officers. She was good at telling people what to do. She might've become something more if she showed an actual interest in anything instead of just contempt for those she protected and served. Utahime sighed, her gaze soft on the woman before her. In truth, she didn't expect to find a purse belonging to the victim, not when this was clearly a body dump, but it wouldn't do good to cut corners.

Even worse, it had all the markings of posing.

The very first thing Utahime noticed, above all, was the woman's face. It stood out clear as day to her. Although the stitching looked messy, it would've taken a lot of time to do. Even in a desolate area like this, the killer couldn't have done that here without being spotted multiple times. A lot of people that lived here worked second and third shifts. Cops weren't trusted in these parts. She could see people peeking out between the curtains of their windows, not even turning on the lights, but risking interruption or civilian intervention would've still been too great.

Plus, her face was so clean, as if she'd been washed after death. A worker would've worn some sort of makeup. It was a difficult life, one that revolved around putting a mask to cover up the sins. Where was the bright lipstick and bright eyeshadow to make her look young and vibrant? The dark lipstick and smokey eyeshadow to make her look sultry and tempting? Her skin was too clear. She lacked the lines of someone that worked the streets, the telltale signs that Utahime had learned to memorize when she worked in Vice.

The woman's clothes didn't fit either. The short skirt, camisole, glittery jacket, and high heels looked like something a sex worker might wear – in a movie or television show. Winter was still clinging to the city. Sometimes, the rain turned to slush or flurries midway through the day. She wouldn't have lasted ten minutes out here in that outfit. The women and men that worked the streets this time of year knew how to protect themselves against the weather at least, if not for the people that picked them up.

She carefully picked at the woman's clothes, opening up the jacket to see if there was anything else hidden on the body, but it appeared clean from what she could see. The pockets were empty, which made sense. If the clothes were put on the victim post-mortem, as they appeared to be since they were so clean and wrinkle-free, then the only evidence left behind would've been from the killer, likely on purpose. A price tag would've been helpful at this point.

Utahime propped her forearms on her knees and sighed as they gazed at the body, fighting the urge to rub the scar on her face. That habit, one she'd forced herself to drop a few months after receiving the scar, came crawling back ever since the previous victim had been found. This wasn't going to make it any easier. The precinct psychiatrist would probably want to pull her in for a session or two, but she wasn't overly fond of the idea, even if she pressed its importance to her younger colleagues.

"Oh, what do we have here? Is that Detective Iori I see?"

Utahime instantly tensed up at the sound of that voice, especially when she heard her own name. She twisted her head around, only to press her lips into a thin line when she caught sight of none other than Satoru Gojo, the last person she ever wanted to see again. His tailored suit, which fit him perfectly, along with the nice watch peeking out from the sleeve of his suit jacket screamed Major Case. He ducked under the crime scene tape and strode toward her with a level of confidence that dove past the line of arrogance, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He looked good, and even worse, he knew it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Utahime," Gojo quipped cheerily.

Utahime bolted upright. "What's he doing here? This isn't in your jurisdiction."

"Isn't it?" Gojo tilted his sunglasses down, peering at her innocently, but anyone that wore glasses when it was still dark outside had to be an asshole. "Oh well! Guess I'll just have to tell the Chief of Detectives that he was wrong."

Her glare turned more suspicious. "What?"

"I'm sorry!" Detective Miwa burst, appearing from behind Gojo. She looked flustered, her cheeks dusted pink with blush, and her eyes darted from Gojo to Utahime as if she didn't know where to look. Utahime couldn't fault her. As much as he annoyed her, Gojo drew everyone's eyes to him no matter what. "He showed up with his partner and waved his credentials – not that he needs any because he's Detective Satoru Gojo – and then his partner said they'd been called to the scene."

"No," Utahime said flatly. "No, no, get out." She jerked the latex gloves off her hands with a snap and shoved them into her jacket pockets, stomping toward him as she did so until she was right in front of him. "This is our case! This is not your jurisdiction. Maybe you were Homicide before, but why don't you go back to playing the mayor's lapdog, huh?"

"Aw, c'mon, Utahime," Gojo teased. "Don't be like that. We can be friends, can't we?"

Utahime narrowed her eyes. "No, we can't. You made that very clear."

"Did I?" Gojo scratched his chin.

Before Utahime could figure out how to skin him alive with her words and get him the hell out of her crime scene, a young man's voice piped up, "Um, Detective Iori?"

"What?" she snapped, spinning around to find the next person to interrupt her. She softened when she found a young beat cop looking back at her. He'd startled at her snappish response, standing upright with wide eyes. "Oh, you were the first officer on the scene."

"Yeah, I, um, I found her," the officer said awkwardly. He looked like a good kid, although it was hard to tell these days. Young, fresh, and judging by the way his eyes darted to the body and then back to them, obviously wounded by this experience. She had planned on searching for him next to pull any details out of him, but Gojo had interrupted her thought process. "About Detective Gojo… We were actually radioed a few minutes ago and told that Major Case would be taking over."

Utahime stared back at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"Wow, I guess this is my jurisdiction now!" Gojo exclaimed in mock-shock.

"Don't be so rude," his partner scolded as he met up with them. Detective Nanami was more formal, his suit less expensive and his shoes more practical. Unlike Gojo's handsome, windswept hair, his was neatly done, as if he hadn't been pulled out of bed at such an odd hour. Holding out a hand to Utahime, he continued, "My apologies for my partner's annoying behavior. He gets a kick out of stealing cases from under people's noses, but that's not what we're trying to do here. We're simply responding to orders that were given to us."

While she certainly wasn't happy about it, Nanami's more professional manners managed to soothe Utahime's wounded pride, so she shook his hand. "What's the reason? It's not like Major Case is called to take over a supposed sex worker's death. I would've expected Special Victims before you all." Utahime narrowed her eyes and retracted her hand. "Unless she's tied to someone important. Don't tell me one of her clients is someone in politics. We don't even know her name yet."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Nanami explained carefully. "This...isn't the first crime with this kind of specific MO."

"I know." Utahime folded her arms across her chest, looking at both Nanami and Gojo. "I caught the first one four months ago, which is another reason why this is my case."

"The second one," Nanami corrected.

That knocked Utahime back for a second. "Second?"

"And this is actually the fourth one of its kind," Nanami continued. "The fourth in a series of murders that are very likely connected."

Utahime paled, raising a hand to her mouth. "You're not suggesting…"

"I am," Nanami confirmed, nodding solemnly. "We might have a serial killer operating in the city." His gaze drifted behind her to the victim. Normally, they would've been loaded into a vehicle to be taken to the medical examiner's office, but Nanami must've told them to wait. "The first potential case was caught around seven months ago – same MO and everything, down to the stitches and change of clothes."

"You already noticed that then," Utahime surmised.

"Just checking all the markers of the previous cases," Nanami said. "And with the potential for a serial killer, once the Chief was alerted, we were called in."

Shit. That definitely changed things, but it didn't change how Utahime felt about this case. She'd been on the force for longer than Gojo and Nanami, and while she might not be a detective in the prestigious Major Case squad, she still felt an obligation to this case. A copy of the file for the previous murder was currently locked away in a file cabinet in her apartment so she could pour over it whenever she struggled to sleep. She didn't have the same amount of solved cases under her belt as them and currently had a rookie for a partner, but she couldn't just let it slide.

"You tried your best," Gojo sighed. "No need to be a sore loser about it, Utahime."

"This isn't about winning or losing, you arrogant asshat!" Utahime snapped, that anger bursting to life inside her all over again. "Can you stop being inappropriate for one minute? I don't expect you to respect me, but please, for the love of God, show some respect for the victim. I don't care who she was and what she did for a living. She lost her life in a horrific way."

Gojo held up his hands in surrender. "Of course, of course. This is a tragedy." He dropped his hands, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "A very interesting tragedy, for sure, but one nonetheless."

Utahime threw her hands in the air. "I don't know why I even tried with you. Nothing has changed."

"Aw, c'mon, Utahime, you know it's not like that." Gojo pocketed his hands and rocked on the heels of his expensive shoes, his eyes flickering to the dead woman behind Utahime. "This job is so damn depressing. If I don't crack some jokes, I might actually lose it. We all handle the stress of the job differently. Where's your infamous compassion?"

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Utahime stared back at him for a few seconds before she finally conceded. Taking a deep breath, she held up a hand and then turned away, unwilling to look at him a moment longer. Gojo wasn't wrong. Everyone handled the job differently, even if there were some similarities along the way. The precinct psychiatrist had pointed out more than once that Utahime took to drinking whenever a case particularly rattled her. Seedy bars always brought her back to her Vice days.

For however fucked up they'd been, she had understood her assignment back then. Now that she was in Homicide, she just felt like she was in an endless cycle of death.

"May I?" Nanami asked, nodding to the victim. A handful of techs from the coroner's office were hanging around awkwardly, not quite sure what to do as the case changed hands.

Utahime gestured vaguely and stepped aside. "No need to ask me anymore, I guess."

As Nanami made his way to the victim and began to conduct his own examination, Utahime hung back, feeling her heart sink. She could already hear the request to send over her file for the other victim she'd caught four months ago. Some cops were loath to share, feeling territorial, but Utahime had never understood that. The case wasn't about her; it was about the young woman who hadn't yet received any justice. She'd do anything to give that to her, even stepping on her own ego.

"You know, this is kind of more your world, isn't it?" Gojo piped up.

Utahime eyed him sideways. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you worked these streets – as a cop, I mean," Gojo pointed out. "You're familiar with what it's like out here – for the women, the men, the kids. It's not something that neither Nanami nor I would understand immediately, although I'm sure Nanami is ready to research."

Planting her hands on her hips, Utahime flatly demanded, "What are you getting at, Gojo?"

"Your input could be valuable to these cases," Gojo stated, staring down at her without blinking, not even when she widened her eyes in surprise. It wasn't like Gojo to compliment people. He was a rude, arrogant bastard – and he normally had the right to be so. "Not to mention you're already involved since you worked the second victim's case." He pulled off his sunglasses, twirling them around between his fingers. "I could perhaps see if you could...work the case as a consultant."

"A partner," Utahime corrected. "I want to be on equal footing."

Gojo whistled and leaned back dramatically. "I dunno about that."

"Fine, whatever, I don't care," Utahime said heatedly, stepping closer to him. "I want to remain on the case. Label me as a consultant – don't even put my name in the documents."

"Hm, no, I think you're worth more than that," Gojo mused. "I'd hate to waste your talent."

Utahime resisted the urge to slap him across the face. She knew he was waiting for her to retaliate, as she had done so many times before when they first crossed paths, but she wouldn't do it. She'd grown since then, hence why she'd been able to make detective and transfer to Homicide. She was worth more than that, and she had to work twice as hard as any man to prove that. She could survive her ego being bruised a little.

And if one thing was for certain, she could survive Gojo. She'd proven that once already.

Gojo held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

It was so innocuous, but Utahime felt like shaking his hand might be akin to shaking the devil's. He was a better man than that, sure, but he was annoying as hell – and she had told herself that she would never deal with him again, much less work alongside him once more.

Nonetheless, Utahime bit her tongue and shook his hand. "Deal."

A grin tugged at Gojo's lips. "Together again. I missed this."

Utahime jerked her hand out of his grip. She hadn't.

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

"You're holding something back."

Gojo blinked and raised his eyes from the notepad in his lap to his partner across their desks. Nanami wasn't even looking at him, focused on his laptop as he finished typing their report. It was early in the morning, too early in Gojo's opinion, but it wasn't like they could go home now. Last night's murder had dragged Gojo out of the comfort of his bed. If not for the rain and the fact that he'd found out a certain Homicide precinct had been called to the scene, he might've shown up in his silk pajamas out of protest.

He wouldn't say that he had kept tabs on Utahime even after they went their separate ways, but he couldn't help but be interested whenever he heard her name. Would he tell her that he had smiled when he found out that she'd moved to Homicide from Vice and been promoted to detective? No, but he hadn't wanted her to not succeed. He knew she was one of the more compassionate cops he'd crossed paths with.

As much as he'd teased her at the crime scene, Gojo hadn't taken any amount of joy in stealing the case from her, especially when he realized just how important it was to her. Despite it being one of his favorite things about her, Utahime's compassion for victims could also be one of her downfalls. Vice was different from Homicide. She'd spent a lot of years working alongside marginalized people, but most of them, while placing themselves in high-risk positions, were still alive.

Dealing with those people only after death took a toll on a person. The Homicide Division was considered one of the most glamorous – the one that people talked about in the news, wrote books about, starred in movies and televisions about – but it was one of the hardest as well. He'd seen the look on Utahime's face while she examined the victim before realizing that he and Nanami were there. Her heart went out to the dead girl, and that kind of care would only hurt her in the end.

Shit, or maybe he was just a callous bastard after dealing with so many awful cases.

To hide that fact about himself, Gojo tossed his partner an oblivious smile. "Holding something back? What do you mean?"

"We've worked together long enough that I can read through your bullshit." Nanami finally looked away from his computer screen, swiveling in his chair slightly to focus directly on Gojo. "In all my time as your partner, you have never once suggested teaming up with another division or precinct. In fact, you typically rub it in their faces, hence why so many people hate you, but it's because you do your best work alone." He rested his arms on his desk and leaned forward. "But you invited Detective Iori to work the case with us."

Gojo shrugged. "As the original detective for the second case, she has impertinent information that could help us."

"You didn't invite the original detectives from the first and third cases," Nanami pointed out.

That smile didn't leave Gojo's face. "They weren't as pretty as Detective Iori either."

Nanami huffed and sat upright, glancing at his computer again. "If this is just a ploy of yours to get in her pants, I would advise you to do that outside of work. I'm not going to allow you to jeopardize this case because you want to hook up with an ex-girlfriend."

Gojo coughed. "Say what? I would never do that – and she's not my ex."

"Well, she's something to you," Nanami countered. "Her hatred for you was more personal than just another cop you rubbed the wrong way with your enormous ego."

His smile transformed into a pout. "Well that's just rude. Detective Iori doesn't hate me."

"Whatever history you have with each other, it better not impede the investigation," Nanami told him seriously. He was always serious, but he sounded even more so right now. "This is a very delicate matter. The mayor himself is breathing down our necks to solve this soon – and he'll likely be on us even more if Detective Iori's theory that the victim wasn't a sex worker either."

Gojo made a tsking sound and leaned back precariously in his chair. "Of course, the life of some well-behaved, normal civilian is worth being more concerned over than that of a sex worker."

Nanami didn't comment, but that was only because he agreed with Gojo's mocking statement. That was how things worked though. Many cops, even some good ones, varied their efforts to solve a case depending on a victim. Gojo could admit to having done that before, in his own arrogance and narrowed way of thinking, but Utahime would be different. She'd worked with women like the previous victims, walking the same streets with them, huddled in the same booth at a late-night diner or bar in between shifts, getting to know them, see them as people.

She'd level out Gojo's arrogance and Nanami's professionalism. See, Nanami might think he was just trying to get into Utahime's pants again, but he was thinking ahead – thinking of the victims and the case itself.

Granted, he wouldn't mind becoming familiar with her again too, but Nanami hadn't been wrong about her negative feelings toward him being quite strong.

"So if what you're hiding has to do with your feelings toward Detective Iori, keep them on a lid and your dick in your pants," Nanami told him. Gojo scoffed and waved a hand at him. "However, if it has to do with the case, you need to share it. You're not running solo anymore, and this case will require us all to work together if we want to solve it before someone else is killed."

Gojo didn't know what to say – or, rather, he had an idea, but he didn't know if he wanted to talk about it. Honestly, it could be nothing, but he'd witnessed other cops, not just himself, solve cases on little more than a gut feeling. It was finished with evidence, of course, but it started there – an idea, a thought, a feeling that wouldn't quite go away. If he was honest, he'd been feeling it ever since he looked through the files of the previous victims and scoured over the photos. There hadn't been much to go on in the first and third cases, almost like they were considered afterthoughts, dead bodies found near the end of the shift when everyone wanted to go home.

Even before going through the notes to find out who the lead detective on the second case was, he'd noticed a marked difference – a level of concern and attention to detail the others didn't have. Seeing Utahime's name only confirmed it. However, it was that dogged determination and refusal to treat the victim any differently that gave Gojo a hint.

"This is a distinctive M.O," Gojo started, "and a familiar one."

Nanami turned back to face him, clearly interested. "An old case?"

"A cold case, if we're going to be honest," Gojo admitted, the term bitter on his tongue. "By the time it landed on my desk, there were already three victims. I think we mostly got it because we were still considered rookies. I'd just been promoted, too young by most people's standards, so we were being thrown cases that no one else wanted."

"And by 'we', you mean…"

Gojo waved vaguely. "My old partner, Geto." Nanami nodded and gestured for him to continue. It was best not to linger on that subject. There was a reason Gojo had gone without a partner for as long as he had, despite that not being the norm. "We never solved it either, and eventually it got buried under more cases and paperwork. It was impossible to forget though." Gojo tapped at the file laying open on top of his desk. "The victimology, the cleaning and redressing, the cuts on the faces. They weren't stitched though, just cuts, and they didn't have a pattern to them. It was sloppy and chaotic, a stark-difference from the clean-up and staging after."

"These cuts on our victims are more organized though and nearly identical," Nanami added. "Not to mention the post-mortem stitching." He reached over to take the file off Gojo's desk, flipping through the pictures of the fourth victim, the one they'd unintentionally taken away from Utahime. She'd done her job thoroughly before they had arrived, impressing even Nanami, and his partner was hard as hell to please, much less impress. "If it's the same person, they've cleaned up their act."

Or they have someone guiding their hand, Gojo thought, but he kept that to himself. It was a bad thought, an uncomfortable gut feeling, one he wanted to ignore. After all, what was worse than one serial killer operating in their city? Two, working in tandem.

"It's worth checking into," Nanami stated, setting the file back down in its place. "Pull the files."

Gojo smiled. "I might already have them."

Nanami gave him a sideways look. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Oh, Nanami, as much as he wanted to proclaim that he was strictly "by the book" – and no doubt, he did follow the rules as closely as one could – he was more willing to bend things a little if it meant getting the job done. That didn't mean breaking the law or abusing people's rights – he'd been notoriously feared by fellow officers while working in Internal Affairs for a reason – but he was a little more open to Gojo's methods than the higher-ups that placed them together would've liked. As much as he liked rules, he also liked giving victims' justice.

However, right when Gojo was getting ready to leave to run back to his apartment to grab the case files he shouldn't have outside of the precinct, his cellphone rang. Thinking it might be from CSU or maybe Shoko down in the morgue, he pulled it out of his jacket pocket hanging on the back of his chair, only to raise his eyebrows when he saw Utahime's name on his screen instead. He'd never taken her number out of his phone, but it still surprised him to see her calling him first. Then again, he knew how eager she was to be a part of this case.

Answering the call, Gojo leaned back in his chair once more. "Why, hello there, Detective Iori, fancy hearing from you so soon. Unfortunately, if you're calling for any updates, you'll have to wait like the rest of us–"

"I got an ID on the vic," Utahime butted in.

Gojo sat upright, his chair squeaking dangerously at the sudden change. "An ID? How? We haven't even received results from the prints or the coroner's office."

"I did some canvasing around the area," Utahime explained in that brisk no-nonsense tone he'd adored back when they first met. It had been funny hearing it from her while she wore a mini-shirt and a tight top that left very little to the imagination, her hair and makeup all done for a stage. "She was dressed to suggest she might be a sex worker like the other victims, but it didn't feel right to me. Still, my first – the second – victim was dumped in the area where she worked. I thought it could be the same for ours, so I showed her photo to some local workers and got a hit."

"What a clever girl, using your old connections," Gojo hummed. "Don't let Nanami know you've been working overtime. He's all about having a good sleep schedule – says it improves work." Across their desks, Nanami shot him a sideways glare, but Gojo just grinned back. "So what do you have?"

"Misato Kuroi – she was a nurse at a local clinic about five blocks from the scene. I went there and confirmed it with her boss using a photo ID, but we'll likely need to bring him in for an official confirmation. She missed her shifts the previous two nights, but no one had reported her missing yet due to her moving here recently and not knowing many people outside of work."

Gojo clicked his tongue. "What a shame." He snapped his fingers at Nanami, who only glared at him further, but he did pick up a pen and open up his notepad where he took all his notes. "Misato Kuroi, you said?"

"Yes, and the clinic is located in the poorer part of the area," Utahime continued. "A lot of their clients are walk-ins, cash only, little to no paperwork."

"So what you're insinuating is that she might not have been a sex worker, but she was around them often," Gojo mused. "If our killer is – or was – targeting that group, they could've stumbled across Misato through them and latched onto her instead – made her look the part to trick us or for their own fantasy. Either way, it's a connection."

Gojo rubbed at his lips in thought. It was a good hunch. The previous three cases had been looked over because of the victims' background, but a nurse would catapult the case into the spotlight, especially if she was seen as someone that helped those less fortunate. It was kind of disgusting, but he'd use it. Utahime would no doubt sneer and Nanami huff in irritation, but Gojo wasn't beyond such things like that. It was how the world worked, even if he didn't like it.

"Tell her boss to come in for an identification," Gojo decided. Nanami was already hard at work looking any information up about the name on his computer, his eyes focused and jaw set in a way that Gojo knew what good news. Or, well, bad news, considering that a person was dead.

"I'm coming too," Utahime stated. "Shoko should be done with the autopsy soon."

Gojo's lips curled upward slightly. "How do you know it's Shoko doing the exam?"

"You wouldn't accept the best for a high-profile case," Utahime insisted, and damn if that wasn't true. Gojo hadn't wanted anyone else but Shoko as the medical examiner for this case. The fact that she hadn't done the other three autopsies was irritating enough. Not that the other examiners were incompetent – he just knew she was better, even if she did smoke half a pack a day. Something had to overpower the scent of blood and formaldehyde.

Gojo rested an elbow on his desk, phone pressed to his ear. "Okay then, come on in. I'd love to see you again anyway. Maybe we can all get coffee, talk things over. It certainly sounds like you've got some thoughts about the case."

"I don't want to be left in the dark," Utahime told him, "or left behind."

"You won't be," Gojo replied, his tone mild and assured.

Utahime huffed. "You always act like you're at least one step ahead of everyone, Gojo."

Leaving people behind in the dust is what you do, were the implied words she didn't say. She didn't have to, not when he heard them echoing in his head. It wouldn't have been the first time someone had accused him of such a thing – another detective, an old captain, a former friend, an ex, even a family member. He was usually ahead of people – had been for most of his life – and he didn't like waiting for others to catch up, so he rarely did. It must've been why Utahime hit the pavement hard, doing the work that would've been normally assigned to a beat cop or two. She knew what Gojo was like, better than most.

He couldn't blame her for that.

"See you soon, Utahime," Gojo said in a singsong voice.

"Ugh, shut up." And then she hung up, grouchy as ever. That was Utahime for you though. She had something of an attitude, which was probably why it took her so long to get promoted. Oh, sure, the bosses absolutely loved her work ethic and she was unfailingly respectful with them, but she had a temper as well that could be turned on others when they inspired her wrath. Gojo had been quite particularly skilled at that.

"Coffee?" Nanami questioned blandly.

"I said all of us!" Gojo insisted. "What do you have?"

Nanami turned his screen so Gojo could see the facebook page he'd pulled up. Even with just a glance, he knew he was staring at a dead woman's social media. The profile picture was innocent, a woman happily sitting in a swing on a porch during autumn, but it was a ringer for the victim he'd seen last night, just in much more modest clothing. He let out a breath through his teeth. Well, shit, good news for them, bad news for her family that lived four states over.

"She moved here not even a month ago," Nanami pointed out.

"'A fresh start,'" Gojo read from a recent post on the screen. "So much for that."

Nanami gave him an unamused look and turned his screen back around, continuing to scroll through it for a precursory lookover. "She's good."

"Utahime?" Gojo smiled to himself. "You've no idea."

Chapter 3 Notes:

Listening to The Murder Squad podcast has been both incredibly informative and terrible for my paranoia, but a huge shout-out to everyone involved in it. I've learned more about law enforcement, cold cases, and serial killers in the past three weeks than I have in years. Also, RIP to Forensic Files. Finding out that it was taken off Netflix in 2022 made me so sad. That was my favorite thing to watch in the middle of the night before bed.

Chapter Text

Utahime did not like the smile on Mei's face as she picked up her wine glass. "What's that look for?"

"So I hear you're working with Detective Gojo again," her best friend and former partner piped up. Soon-to-be former best friend too if she kept up with this shit. Utahime loved Mei dearly and especially loved their dinners together, even if her wallet didn't enjoy it. Nonetheless, she didn't care how expensive this beer was; she was going to chug it if Mei was going to press this conversation.

Scowling, Utahime twirled some spaghetti around a fork. It'd been the cheapest thing on the menu. "It was either that or let him take my cases. I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Sure you weren't eager to work under him a second time?" Mei teased.

Utahime grimaced at the implication. Going by what Mei was outright insinuating, it would've been more than a second time. She wasn't sure what had possessed her in those few months after the case they'd crossed paths on was over, but it had certainly been something. Mei would've said it was his dick, and she wouldn't have been entirely wrong. The awful thing about Gojo was that he was incredible in bed, a surprisingly fantastic lover, but he knew it.

"We're not doing that," Utahime stated. "It's strictly professional."

"Isn't that what you said last time?"

"It's different this time," Utahime insisted. When Mei gave her a look of disbelief and took a sip of her wine, Utahime huffed. "You remember what it was like back then. We survived off adrenaline half the time. My cover was really intense and tensions ran high."

"Not to mention you were dangled in front of him dressed like a hot piece of ass," Mei added, setting her glass back down. "You kept those dresses, right? I bet you'd send him into cardiac arrest if you wore one around him again."

"Where? At the precinct?" Utahime rolled her eyes. "The point is, things are different now. We're working together on a murder case – a possible serial killer case, even. The stakes are high. The mayor's office has already called them three times since we ID'd the latest victim. We're not trapped in some strip club surrounded by sex and alcohol. We're behind desks."

Mei pouted. "C'mon, Utahime, that doesn't mean you can't blow off some steam. This is a very important and difficult case, and it's going to become more stressful." She gestured at her with a fork. "And it's been how long since you've dated someone?"

"I don't know. Hiromi, I guess."

One would've thought that Utahime told Mei some horrible news from the way she gasped and nearly dropped her fork. "Utahime! That was a year ago!" Mei gave her a very serious look, which only made Utahime furrow her brow suspiciously. "Please tell me you've at least had sex since then."

Utahime cleared her throat and picked up her beer to distract herself. "Uh...no."

Mei frowned deeply and set her fork down, no longer interested in her perfectly cooked steak. "What have I told you about burying yourself in your job? It isn't healthy, especially now that you're in Homicide. I know it's hard because of how serious and upsetting the cases are, but that's exactly why you need to have a life outside of work."

"I do," Utahime half-heartedly muttered into her beer.

"As much as I love you, I don't count," Mei told her. "Why did you and Hiromi break up anyway?"

Utahime shrugged. It hadn't really been that big of a thing. One day they were dating, and the next, they just sort of weren't anymore. It hadn't even been because of his job, although there had definitely been moments where their interests conflicted. After all, cops and defense attorneys didn't typically get along. Still, with both of them so busy with their jobs, things just sort of fizzled out. They still talked from time to time, especially since they crossed paths at the courthouse often enough, but nothing ever came of it.

Things were different with Gojo. She had not spoken or seen him since the explosive fight that ended with her storming out of his apartment half-dressed.

"Seriously," Mei continued, "I think you should just fuck him one more time to get it out of your system. Let him see what he's missing – what he fucked up – and get your rocks off while you're at it."

"I'd rather eat a tie," Utahime stated. "We're just colleagues."

Mei began to roll her eyes but then stopped halfway, a cheshire smile tugging at her red lips. "Oh really? Then why did you invite him to dinner?"

Utahime twisted her lips. "I didn't–"

"There you are, Utahime!" a voice near the door called.

Her lips dipped into a deep scowl as she turned around in her seat, watching as one lanky detective weaved his way through the tables toward hers, a familiar, cheeky grin on his face. "What are you doing here?" Utahime demanded. "On a date or something?"

The grin didn't leave Gojo's face. "The seat opposite of you is clearly taken, so alas, no." He winked at Mei. "Having a good night, detective? You're not still slumming it in Vice, are you?"

"Please, I'm strictly art theft now," Mei laughed.

Gojo chuckled. "How posh."

"What are you doing here, Gojo?" Utahime questioned again.

"You weren't answering your phone," Gojo stated, as if that gave her any answers.

Utahime fished her phone out of her small purse where it indeed showed a few missed calls from him, including one from a number she didn't recognize. She'd never taken Gojo's number out of her phone. She should have, but something had always distracted her or made her change her mind at the last second. It was better to keep it in there, just so she'd know to ignore the call if he tried to reach out.

"What's going on? Is there an update?"

"You could say that," Gojo replied cryptically.

Utahime gave him a bland look. "Just tell me. Did the toxicology report come–?"

"There was another murder."

"What!" Utahime dropped her silverware, the fork and spoon clattering on the plate loudly enough to garner her a few dirty looks. She ignored them, grabbing her purse and shoving her chair away from the table at the same time. "This is– Are you sure it's the same person? It's only been a week since the last murder. They waited at least three months in between killings before."

Gojo shrugged. "Not sure. I wanted to wait to see the scene with you."

"Shit," Utahime huffed as she dug around her purse for her card.

"Go on," Mei told her. "I've got it."

Utahime stopped searching. "Are you sure?"

"Don't worry about it," Mei insisted, wearing a soft smile. "Detective Gojo can pay me back for stealing you away from me tonight."

"You sly minx," Gojo laughed.

Ignoring Gojo and his stupid antics, Utahime slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, taking a glance at her half-drunk glass of beer before looking back to Mei. "Sorry about this. I'll make it up to you later, I promise." She turned sharply on her heels and started for the door. "Let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," Gojo quipped, following her deftly through the tables.

It wasn't until they stepped outside into the brisk night air that she realized she didn't know where they were going. She had none of the details, so she would be forced to rely on him. He must have been waiting for it to hit her, a little grin on his face when she paused and turned around to wait for him. With a knowing grin on his face, he gestured to a sleek, black car parked a few spots down. Utahime wrinkled her nose. While Major Crimes did, in fact, pay better than any other precinct, it didn't pay that good. One might've thought Gojo was into some shit if they didn't know he also came from money.

Becoming a cop had been something of a scandalous step-down for the governor's son. He had been expected to become a politician like his father and grandfather before him, follow the family tradition, and instead he was half-ass slumming it like he didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"You took the bus here, didn't you?" Gojo prompted when he noticed her hesitation.

Utahime shot him a dirty sideways glare. "Are you stalking me?"

Gojo shrugged. "You always avoided driving in the city if you could help it. Your captain said you had today off. You usually have dinner with Mei on Thursdays, and this is your favorite 'fancy' restaurant." He didn't even have the decency to look sheepish and even his confidence was casual, like it wasn't a big deal. "To be fair, I called your favorite bars first."

She hated that he remembered such details about her. It wasn't fair that he could still know her so well years later, as if nothing had changed despite all the advances in her career. She'd done a lot since they last dated, if she could call it that, and yet it was like he'd never left her life in the first place. He was one foot back in, once again reminding her that he was smarter and better than her.

Nonetheless, she refused to acknowledge such things as she got into the passenger seat of his car. She tried to act like she didn't remember anything about him, but that wasn't true. He wore a different pair of sunglasses now, but she knew he used them to stave off migraines, not just to hide his eyes whenever he spoke with suspects. She could remember his favorite candy – that he liked to suck on anything sugary to keep himself awake but obsessively brushed his teeth too – and all the hiding places in his car where he could stealthily keep them on hand.

Most damning, she knew he cared more about victims and their family's than he came off. As much of an arrogant bastard as he was, the job affected him too. It was probably one of the reasons he'd transferred to Major Crimes, not just because of the promotion. After Geto, it must've become too apparent that being in Homicide meant being surrounded by death. He couldn't protect people there. The most he could hope for was that he'd stop someone else from being hurt or worse.

Instead of going in the direction she expected, Gojo headed into what most would consider the nicer part of the city. Before she could question him on it, however, he made a left, and Utahime was met with a very unexpected scene that made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.

"Seriously?" she questioned, mostly to herself.

Gojo parked behind a squad car, the lights flashing chaotically in the dark. "Bold, even for me."

"This isn't just bold," Utahime said. "It's brazen, reckless, an insult."

"A cut on the face."

Utahime turned to look at Gojo, but he was already getting out of the car. Taking a deep breath, Utahime followed, making her way through a series of cars and curious onlookers to the front steps of City Hall. The body wasn't positioned directly on the steps, but it had been placed in a small service alley on the left. Only employees came over here, probably the cleaners and the like. It wasn't a part of the grand building that showed off wealth and power – strong architecture, sculptures, an impressive lawn in the middle of the city.

Gojo was easily let through the police tape without a word, careful with each step as he made his way further into the small alley. A uniformed officer, however, stopped Utahime. "Sorry, ma'am, no press."

A furious look flashed across Utahime's face, and she shoved a hand into her pocket, belatedly realizing that she'd left her purse, and therefore her badge, in Gojo's car. "I'm not–"

"She's with me," Gojo called out, waving a hand at them. "Come along then, Detective Iori."

The uniformed officer stiffened, averting his eyes when Utahime glared at him. She didn't wait for him to pull the police tape aside for her, easily slipping under it. She watched a few CSIs processing the scene, cameras flashing, any evidence they thought might be connected to the crime bagged and tagged. Nanami was already there, crouched down near the body, directing someone to collect as many blind swabs as they thought were necessary. The hands, neck, the top of her chest, under the arms. It was a long shot, seeing as how the victims were washed, but some touch DNA might remain from the transport here.

"Do we have an ID?" Utahime asked.

Nanami stood up, tightening his gloves. "No, as expected."

Gojo glanced back at her, a neutral expression on his face. "What do you think?"

After a moment of hesitation, Nanami took a step back and Utahime stepped forward, taking his place. He handed her a pair of gloves, and she put them on as she looked over the victim. Same cuts, same stitches. Washed. Hair and makeup done. It was more exaggerated than the others, eyes smokey, lipstick dark, bronzer contouring her cheeks at a drastic angle. Her outfit didn't fit for a street worker either – skintight and black, some leather, even latex. It was mismatched, like someone put together an outfit with items of clothes they thought went together but didn't.

"That must've been a bitch to get her into," Gojo mused.

Utahime wanted to glare at him, but he wasn't wrong. It would've been difficult for a person to get into these clothes on their own, the fit so tight, much less a person shoving a limp body in them. They would've had to do it before rigor mortis set in, or it would've been downright impossible without breaking some bones or tearing the clothes. The work didn't matter. They had wanted to set this exact scene, no matter what.

"No visible track marks, but there are restraint marks on the wrists, same as the others." Utahime lifted one of the victim's wrists, eyeing it closely. "They look like rope to me, or maybe a thin belt. There's no burn like a usual rope, but definite bruising, so they were kept alive long enough for them to form." She set the hand down and then rubbed a thumb over the victim's neck, smudging away some heavy foundation. "Strangulation marks. We'll have to wash the makeup off to see if they look more like manual or ligature."

"The others had manual strangulation marks on them, didn't they?" Nanami said.

"Breath play," Gojo quipped. "He took his time, got up close and personal, and had his fun with them. According to Shoko, they had bruises that varied in timing, some older than others. We didn't get any hits off the blind swabs because of the washing."

It made Utahime's stomach turn, thinking about how long this woman must've suffered with her killer. It had only been a week since the last killing, so their suspect must've picked someone up off the street immediately, maybe even before she had been able to ID Kuroi. He couldn't handle waiting. Perhaps Gojo and Nanami getting involved in the case had caused him to escalate. He got excited or antsy and lashed out. It could leave room for error. Gojo had thought they liked to take their time to stalk their victims and also dumping grounds, but there was little to no extra time here. Something else struck Utahime, and she leaned in close.

Gojo wrinkled his nose. "Didn't know you were a hound dog."

"Perfume," Utahime said, ignoring Gojo's comment. "And also… I think her hair is dyed. It has that chemical smell to it after a fresh dye job."

"The third victim's hair was also dyed," Nanami pointed out. "A similar color, I believe."

"So it doesn't really matter what they look like," Gojo said, pocketing his hands. "They're forcing the victims to match whatever image they have in their head. It didn't matter that Kuroi was a nurse and not a sex worker. They made her look like one anyway." He let out a beleaguered sigh, tilting his head back to look up the side of the City Hall building, a disgruntled look crossing his face. "They'll want us to say this is another sex worker, but this could be anyone, maybe even an employee, considering the placement."

"It would send a message either way," Utahime pointed out. "A sex worker staged almost on the steps of City Hall as a reminder that they'll ignore and even step those that live on the fringes – or a slap in the face that anyone is possible of being a victim, even someone that works in a place so revered, that no one is safe."

A cold smile crossed Gojo's face. "Not even us."

"We'll run her prints," Nanami stated. "We might get a hit in the system."

"I'd check it against any government records too, just in case," Gojo added. "Whatever the case, we'll have to wait for Shoko before we can get more info."

Utahime gazed down at the victim. She almost looked peaceful, but the fresh stitches scarring her face were a stark reminder that she was dead. Patched up, morphed into a distorted reflection of herself, transformed to fit a monster's ideals. It wounded her, but she had learned by now that she couldn't promise everyone that she would be able to find them justice. The shameful truth was that if she turned out to be someone other than a sex worker, then the investigation would get more funding. If not, there was a chance this case would eventually dry out. Gojo and Nanami would be shuffled off to another case the higher-ups saw as more important, and Utahime would be left to flip through old case files and petition for funding to run tests.

Murder was an expensive business, and Utahime couldn't help but feel like she was lacking on both time and resources. Her bleeding heart could only make up for so much. Not even Gojo's intellect and Nanami's steadfastness could solve everything.

A hand was placed on her shoulder, and Utahime looked up to find Gojo holding out his other hand to her. With a breath, she pulled her gloves off and then took his hand, allowing him to help her stand upright. "Hey, we'll get him," Gojo told her softly.

Utahime frowned. "You don't know that."

"He's reaching out to us," Gojo said. "Let's cut off his hand, yeah?"

"Aren't we supposed to cuff them?" Utahime sighed.

Gojo grinned. "Yeah, sure."

She wondered if he wanted to inspire some hope in her and help her feel better – or if he wanted her to know how dead serious he was about this. Gojo was tenacious more than most. When he sank his teeth into something, he didn't let go until he was done. She knew that firsthand.

Chapter 4 Notes:

I put way more research and work into this chapter than is probably necessary for a fanfic, but this happens to touch on some topics that I'm passionate about - aka they infuriate me to no end.

TW: Talk about sexual assault and human trafficking, but nothing graphic.

Chapter Text

Utahime eyed the water bottle in Shoko's hand, wondering if she should say something or at the very least ask, but she kept her mouth shut. Sometimes, it was better not knowing. Still, with such a high-profile case as this one, especially with Major Case assigned to it, she didn't think Shoko would risk drinking on the job. It was impossible to say ignorance was bliss around Gojo, who gleefully took advantage of anyone not knowing something and used it against them.

No, Shoko wouldn't drink with Nanami around. They were all familiar with how much of a stickler he was for rules, which was likely why they'd paired him with Gojo. Someone by the book was needed to reel Gojo in.

"I reviewed the autopsies of the first, second, and third victims," Shoko said, flipping through a folder on a table with her free hand. "Third one was decent. Nothing to write home about, but they did their job. I imagine it was because it was the slow season, so they had some time, but they only tested for narcotics. The second one was much better. It was thorough, likely due to Utahime's insistence on more in-depth toxicology tests and some other reports. You must've harped on them a lot."

"She's good at cracking the whip," Gojo sighed dramatically.

Utahime pressed her lips into a thin line. "I just wanted to cover all the bases."

Shoko nodded slowly, looking tired as usual. Being a medical examiner, she worked some weird hours, especially since she was the most sought out one in the city. Utahime had brought up running for coroner, but Shoko didn't have much interest in ambition or rising to the top. She liked to be in the morgue, to be in the thick of it, covered in guts and blood. She might've had a few screws loose – or, as she often joked, she'd never outgrown her morbid goth stage.

"Unfortunately, the perp cleaned the victim from head-to-toe, so there weren't any biological samples to be found, no matter how good the exam was." Nothing under the nails, the blind swabs turning up shit, nothing left behind that the perp didn't want to leave behind. The thread used to sew the victim's wounds, like the others, had been generic, available for purchase in basic stores.

"And the first?" Utahime prompted.

Shoko wrinkled her nose with distaste, a look that she normally reserved for tequila shots. "Case was labeled NHI, so the examiner half-assed it at best – and that's being generous. No tox, no samples. They didn't even take out the stitches. It looks like they cracked the body open, peered around with one eye, and called it a day. I'd probably get more if we exhumed the body even though it's been eight months."

Even Gojo scoffed, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. "Fucking NHI." He snatched up the folder from the table, looking through it himself. "Who was the fucking detective assigned to this case? I thought that shit was nipped in the bud decades ago."

"Of course not," Utahime said, far softer than Gojo's cutting tone, her eyes on the victim laid on the table. "It's still common practice for murders involving transients and sex workers to be labeled as such, especially in bigger cities where the caseload is higher."

The room went quiet, Nanami and Gojo glancing at each other sideways. They wouldn't know that, of course, having been in Internal Affairs and Homicide respectively before their promotions to Major Case. For Utahime, however, who had worked some of the grimiest cases in both Special Victims and Vice, she was unfortunately very familiar with the way some of her fellow detectives and officers viewed victims.

No Humans Involved.

Shoko had pulled the sheet up to the victim's neck, leaving only her face visible, something respectable. She'd washed away the makeup and hair-styling cream, the stark black stitches taken out, making the woman look even younger and more vulnerable. Should there be a proper funeral for them, a mortician would be able to glue the cuts together to make them more subtle, but they would never heal. They would never go away. This woman, whoever she was, would be permanently scarred.

That didn't matter to some cops, who would dismiss a case right off the bat to focus on more important ones. These victims, the majority women or people of color, would go unmissed, forgotten, until they faded into obscurity. No harm to the public, no foul.

It made Utahime sick. She'd worked with women who could be labeled as such. In fact, she'd been three months into her stint in Vice when she caught sight of a file by chance, seeing that damned NHI label, only to snatch it and gasp in shock that she recognized the woman. She'd been on the streets just four days earlier, standing on the same corner as Utahime, offered her a swig of vodka from her flask and smiled when Utahime politely declined.

"You wanna be sober for this shit?"

Utahime could understand why Shoko's water bottle wasn't always filled with water.

"What about the others?" Gojo asked.

Shoko smiled vaguely. "I did them, so obviously they were perfect."

"You are a diamond in the rough," Gojo praised, both sarcastic and genuine. Shoko liked to joke that she was like a hole in the wall bar – a little messy, definitely rough, but she got the job done.

"I found sedatives in both victims four and five," Shoko explained, eyes on the report that she had come up with herself. "They were also found in victim number two, Utahime's first girl, so we can likely assume they were in one through three as well. Rohypnol for all five victims, but nothing harder than that in the last two. Victim number two also had some THC in their hair samples, but nothing else to suggest recent use."

Utahime raised her eyebrows. "That's very fast for a tox report."

"The perks of being in Major Case," Shoko admitted. "More funding, and I was able to get it bumped up since the victim was found basically on the City Hall steps. The lab is itching to prove itself to the mayor."

"Lovely," Utahime grunted, all too use to the politics that came with simply

Nanami frowned. "An easy drug to subdue someone, no matter who they are."

"Also, as noted by Utahime earlier, the bruises on each victim are in varying degrees of healing, overlapping each other in some points," Shoko continued.

Folding his arms across his chest, Gojo grimaced. "So you agree that they were likely held for a few days."

"Obviously the last one was for less," Shoko said. "Victim four, Kuroi, had ligature bruises on her wrist that were almost a week old. I would hazard that it was a belt, judging by the width, but I can't be certain. It looks as if she was strapped down for an extended period of time and probably fought to escape."

Nanami swore quietly while Gojo merely took a breath. Utahime didn't move a muscle. It wasn't that she didn't care. On the contrary, she sometimes felt like she cared more than most of her colleagues, to the point where it threatened to become detrimental. She was all too familiar with women suffering pain for long periods of time, having watched it eat away at them until they were a shell of their former selves. That didn't make it hurt any less. She'd just learned not to show it, save for the precinct therapist.

"Any signs of sexual assault?" Utahime asked.

Shoko shook her head. "Nothing internal, so that's one small mercy, I suppose. Of course, it's hard to say if there was anything external, considering their bodies were washed and redressed, so we can't rule it out entirely, especially considering the manual strangulation. The bruises vary there, suggesting the killer took their time, maybe even a full day, to kill them."

"Sick bastard probably got off on it," Gojo interjected, half to himself.

Utahime grimaced but nodded. So many people, even detectives themselves, had a terrible habit of ruling out a sexual component or motive if there was no actual physical penetration, but having been in the thick of it for so long, she knew damn well that wasn't true. Even without sexual assault, a perpetrator's main motive could be sexually based. Whether it was strangling a victim or simply watching them struggle with terror, they could get off on it, as Gojo had so eloquently said. The breath-play concerned Utahime the most. She'd seen it in predators before, caught men red-handed before they could wrap their hands around a sex worker's throat or even hers.

Sometimes, after.

"Like the others, our girl here was washed and dressed up post-mortem, so I couldn't find any biological samples on my end," Shoko explained. She pulled out a hand from underneath the sheet, showing off the victim's fingernails. They were short, to the point of being blunt, painted in a thick but nondescript light pink that Utahime herself was fond of. "They were trimmed and painted, very fresh, but it's not professionally done. I would guess the killer cut and painted them, both to get rid of evidence and set the scene."

Nanami huffed. "We figured as much. They're very particular about how they wanted the victim to look."

"Like a parody," Utahime piped up. All three glanced at her curiously, and she blushed lightly. "I mean, it looks like they dressed her up to look like something they'd seen in a movie. They exaggerated everything from the clothes to the hair and the makeup. They know just enough to set the scene, but not enough for it to be correct."

Shoko made a face. "The nails are sloppy in areas, but better than the previous victim."

"The fourth victim got a manicure just a day before," Utahime pointed out. "They had to take it off and redo her nails to fit their vision."

"So…" Gojo held out his hands. "We got ourselves a wannabe special effects or makeup artist?"

"I don't think it's that complicated," Utahime grumbled.

"They want the victims to look like someone."

Utahime jerked her eyes away from the victim to look at Gojo, caught off guard by the strange tone in his voice. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose again, his bright blue eyes locked on the victim's face. He was completely focused, zeroed in, like he was seeing something they weren't.

"Yeah?" Utahime prompted, feeling unsettled by the look in his eyes.

Gojo peered at her sideways, his lips twisting into a crooked grin. "You know, the main cut to her face kinda looks like your scar."

Utahime bristled immediately, thrown into a furious frenzy by the comment, but she couldn't deny that he was right . She hadn't noticed it on the first victim she'd seen, the second one in the rotation, but after staring at the fifth victim's face for so long, she couldn't ignore the similarities. The main cut on the victim's face extended from their right ear over the cheek and across the bridge of the nose, stopping in the middle of the left eye. It was a long cut and must have been frustrating to stitch up, considering the thin skin over cartilage of the nose.

She wanted to look away, her heart beating unsteadily, but she didn't, looking the victim square in the face. "Don't be such an ass. Someone loved her. She deserved something better than this."

Nanami's eyes had fallen down to the victim's face upon Gojo's comment as well, brow furrowed in concentration. He'd been quiet for so long that Utahime was tempted to ask him what he was thinking, if only to get Gojo off the subject and distract herself, but before she could even open her mouth, he abruptly said, "I need to check something," and headed for the doors.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Gojo asked in a drawl. "Don't you get on to me about that?"

"I'll let you know if anything comes up," Nanami said before pushing the doors open and slipping away, leaving Shoko to snort and Gojo to huff.

Utahime blinked in confusion, unused to Nanami being so cryptic, but he was simply the blunt and thorough type. If he had any theories or an idea, he'd want to do some research before bringing it up, lest he waste their time. He wasn't like Gojo, who used a mental map to chart his way through a crime, or like one of those detectives that seemed to throw a dart at a spinning wheel of theories and hope one landed. He was careful . With a killer like this out on the streets, they needed that and more.

When the swinging door finally came to a close, Utahime turned back to Gojo, who was peering more seriously at the victim's face. She watched with a frown as he touched the skin near the wound, having put on a pair of latex gloves for a closer examination, and wrinkled her nose when he actively pressed down, opening it up further. With no heart beating steadily in her chest, no blood poured out of the slice, but it was still a grotesque action, one that she almost scolded him over. Shoko, for her part, didn't even blink, having done much worse to human bodies, including the Y incision on the chest hidden under the white sheet.

After what felt like an uncomfortable period of time, Utahime snapped, "Are you done being weird?"

As if her voice snapped him out of whatever intense thoughts he was trapped in, Gojo stood upright, turning toward her so sharply that she leaned back out of instinct. In one fluid movement, he tugged the latex glove off with a snap, tossing it into a trash bin, and with another, he cupped her face with the same hand that had previously touched the victim's, this time with more care. Utahime could only gawk at him in shock as he ran his thumb along the skin under her scar, softly, with the type of reverence and intimacy meant for lovers.

Utahime could feel her cheeks warming under his touch despite herself, knowing he would feel it too, but he didn't crack a joke about her blushing, not as he looked at her intently.

"A suspect attacked you during a sting operation," Gojo said, his voice far gentler than she was used to from him. Of course, it wasn't that unfamiliar. She'd heard him speak like this before – to witnesses, surviving victims, her – but it rattled her nonetheless, rendering her unable to speak. "It was a year after we…parted ways." That was one way to call their tumultuous break-up, but she couldn't find it in her to remark on it. "But I heard about it. I panicked. Made an embarrassing amount of calls to figure out what hospital you were in. I wanted to visit. Suguru thought it was a bad idea. He said I'd only make you suffer more."

Utahime didn't know what to say. The attack had more or less ended her career in Vice, the scar on her face far too recognizable and difficult to hide. It had been a big case too – dismantling a human trafficking ring, her attacker their main suspect and target. A real piece of shit, if she'd ever seen one, the bastard had used his modeling agency to lure young and hopeful women in with the promise of making them something – only to turn their lives into living hells. Able to look younger than she was, Utahime had been used to infiltrate the business, but he'd caught on about three months into the operation when a cop on his payroll tipped him off.

She'd laughed when the bastard had the gall to complain that she'd bled on his designer suit while handcuffing him, as if he hadn't been the one to slice her face with a broken shard of glass after they'd gotten into a fight in his office, only to pass out shortly after back-up arrived late. When she'd come to, she had thought, for a moment, that Gojo was there, standing over her bedside, a shock of blue eyes, but it had been a nurse, having rushed into the room when her vitals showed she was waking up and panicking.

He never came. It was for the best. She didn't know why he was the first person she'd thought of upon waking up, even though she hadn't even seen him in a year.

"You already know what happened," Utahime murmured. "That's why you didn't ask me about the scar."

A strange look flickered across Gojo's face, something akin to pain or maybe rage, but it was gone before Utahime could question it. "I read every detail – snagged the report to read myself, kept up with the trial. You did solid work. You earned that promotion."

Utahime grimaced. "It was more of a consolation. I couldn't do Vice work anymore." She lifted a hand, touching the scar on her face, her fingers brushing against Gojo's. It didn't feel strange, not even with Shoko in the room. She had seen them together, after all, knew both of them in and out. "Too recognizable, you know? It's hard to miss."

"It is recognizable." Gojo's tone was off, and he tilted his head, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Doesn't make you any less beautiful though."

Utahime's flush deepened. "Don't do that."

"It's true." The smile fell from Gojo's face though, as his eyes roved over her scar and then drifted back to the victim, causing her own heart to drop into the pit of her stomach. "And it's identical to the victim's wound, down to the centimeter. It didn't have the time to scar over like yours, so I didn't see it at first, but it's the same length." His fingers moved over her cheek and the bridge of her nose, stopping at the end of her scar. "I'm not ashamed to admit that I memorized your scar from pictures from the trial. I used to wonder if you'd thrown yourself into such dangerous work to prove yourself, maybe forget me."

"Not everything is about you, Gojo," Utahime pointed out.

"I know," Gojo admitted sheepishly. "It was wishful thinking."

Utahime did not want to think about what he might mean. Out of all the times and places they could have a meaningful conversation about their past relationship, she didn't want it to be in a morgue standing next to the dead body of a homicide victim. She could've pointed that out, but she also knew their relationship wasn't the point of his words. She also didn't want to think about what it was, but there was no chance in stopping him now, not when she already had a sinking suspicion.

"I didn't see it because of the staging – the makeup, the clothes, the dump sites," Gojo continued, his voice growing more intense with each word. "They were a distraction. All the cuts to the bodies were deliberate, but none as methodical and precise as the one across the face. It's recognizable, but something I still looked over because my attention was drawn elsewhere."

Unable to look away from Gojo, for the first time in a long time, Utahime found herself trembling, struggling to breathe and keep her voice steady. "What are you getting at, Gojo?"

"It's you," Gojo murmured. "Distorted, yes, but I think the killer is setting the victims up to look like you."

Chapter 5 Notes:

A huge thank you to Gigi, the Southern Fried True Crime podcast, City of Angels: City of Death on Hulu, and my outline for making this chapter happen. ;) Be prepared for the whiplash that comes from me giving lots of dry facts in the form of writing a murder-mystery to fanfiction tropes.

Chapter Text

Utahime wouldn't look at him as they made their way back to the station. Gojo hadn't been terribly surprised that Nanami had left them entirely, finding his car missing outside, sending him a text to see where his partner had run off to without much of an explanation. Utahime had begrudgingly accepted a ride from Gojo once again, mostly because she was somewhat rattled by the theory he'd come up with in the morgue. Admittedly, he was unsettled himself, the thought refusing to leave him, so he was a little relieved when she got in his car without a fight.

As they drove through the city, some pop song blaring on the radio while Utahime sang under her breath absementindly while gazing out the window, Gojo thought about making a joke about this being like the good, ole days, but for once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.

It was his fault, after all, that they were old days and no longer good.

By the time Gojo pulled into the parking garage, something that Utahime's much smaller precinct did not have, she had not said a single word to him. He parked in his usual spot, twisting the key in the ignition, and turned to face her before she could slip out the side door.

"Hey," Gojo prompted, softly, like one might speak to a cornered animal. "What are you thinking?"

He didn't ask her if she was okay – if she was scared or nervous or angry. They might not have been around each other for a while, but he remembered what she was like when she was upset. Outside of any emotional outbursts, when she was truly angry or hurt, she didn't talk. She went quiet, lost to her own thoughts, stuck analyzing her emotions in an attempt to conquer them. He would know, seeing as how he'd provoked that response in her more than once before.

"Do you really think the killer is trying to make the victims look like me?" Utahime asked, almost too quiet for her words to be properly enunciated. It didn't matter. He still knew what she was asking.

"I don't know," Gojo admitted. "But we can't deny the similarities. Your scar is…"

"Obvious," Utahime finished, ever the harshest critique for herself even with him around.

Gojo smiled humorlessly. "I was going to say striking."

Utahime finally turned to face him, and he was suddenly struck with the realization that he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Outside of missions, she always wore her heart on her sleeve, but right now, it felt like he was staring back at the girl he'd first met. The one on stage, singing at a club and wearing a dress that barely covered her, the whole crowd captivated by her voice. He'd been equally enamored, gawking at her so obviously that Geto had smacked him upside the head and told him to pay attention. She had hid herself so well back then that he hadn't even realized she was undercover even after catching her snooping around the club owner's office.

"I don't understand," Utahime said. "If you're right… Why me?"

"Hard to say," Gojo replied carefully. "It's not like you've been on any high-profile cases since, well…"

Since the case that had earned her the scar in the first place. It was a good place to start. They both knew without looking it up that the criminal that had given her the scar, a glorified asshole pimp, was still in prison, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't be involved. On bad days, Gojo thought about visiting the bastard, just to rub some shit into his face, but he never did because it would've been pointless and stupid. It was a ridiculous thought, especially when he hadn't seen Utahime in so long, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to protect her, especially after wounding her so thoroughly.

"Think there could be a connection there?" Utahime proposed.

"Can't hurt to check out."

Utahime frowned. "You think it's something else?" He shrugged. "Those cold cases you told Nanami about?"

"I don't know," Gojo said again. It was beginning to feel like that was the only thing he could say, which was annoying as hell. He wasn't used to not knowing things. Since joining Major Case, he'd had a hundred percent arrest rate, something unheard of. It was why the mayor had put him and Nanami on this case to begin with. If anyone could solve this shit, it was him. He'd get it done.

But now he felt like he was stumbling around in the dark, and Utahime was just out of his grasp, a knife angled at her back. It kind of reminded him of the case they'd met on, back in the day when things seemed so simple.

Upon entering the floor for the Major Case Division, Gojo searched the room, finding Nanami's desk empty. The sound of a printer caught his attention, and he turned to one of the conference rooms, where he and Nanami had set up a board with all the information so far. Technically, the room was meant for everyone, but Gojo had a bad habit of commandeering things, and it appeared as if Nanami had finally taken advantage of that fact.

While Utahime was left to admire the open space of the floor, far larger than her own small section in the precinct, Gojo strode toward the conference room, but before he could enter, Nanami slammed the door in his face. With a pout, Gojo tapped on the glass door in a particularly annoying pattern, but he received no response. Well then. That was rude, but Nanami wasn't cryptic without reason. He must've been focused and hadn't wanted Gojo to bother him, which, admittedly, he'd been planning on doing. Nanami was good at forcing him to be patient, a skill he still struggled with to this day.

Knowing Nanami would open the door when he was ready, Gojo turned around, finding Utahime at his desk. She was leaning against the front, fingernails in her mouth as she lost herself to thought. His heart did a strange skip at the thought that she'd known which desk was his out of all of them despite there being no placards or pictures. She had still found his spot for whatever reason, knowing the little ticks that made him up.

"How'd you know?" Gojo couldn't help but ask.

Utahime blinked, ripped from her thoughts. "Hm?" He nodded to the desk, and she followed, realizing what he was asking her. "Oh, um… The jar of candy. It's your favorite, isn't it?"

A smile tugged at Gojo's lips. "You remembered."

"Hard to forget," she muttered. "You ate it so much, I was worried your teeth would rot."

He stepped into her space, reaching around behind her to pluck a piece of candy out of the jar on the desk. A little inappropriate, yes, but she didn't move, keeping her eyes on his face. Only after he unwrapped it and plopped it into his mouth did she finally look away, her cheeks a little pink. He eyed her curiously, sensing her anxiety, knowing she needed a distraction.

"So when's the last time you sang?" he asked, his tone light and conversational. "And I'm not talking about the club or in the shower, as much as I would enjoy the latter."

Utahime shot him a glare, then looked away, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't know."

Sucking slowly on the candy, Gojo furrowed his brow, sensing the offness of her response. "Don't tell me it's been since we dated. A voice like yours should be heard more often." She neither responded nor looked at him, and his eyes widened, genuinely surprised. "Seriously? Honestly, I don't know why you're a cop with that much talent. I thought Shoko was exaggerating when she said you all hadn't gone out for karaoke in a while, but seriously…"

"Keeping tabs on me through my friend?" Utahime questioned sourly.

"No," Gojo said, sticking out his tongue.

Yes, he thought. It was kind of pathetic. At least, that was what Shoko said.

What was it that she had said a few months ago, before this case had brought them back together? "Why don't you shoot her a text and ask her how she's doing yourself – or are you too chicken shit that you fucked up a good thing?" Shoko was as precise as the scalpel she used and about as sharp too. She had not bothered to try to soften the blow after things had ended between him and Utahime, pointing out just where he'd fallen short and ruined things, refusing to let him hide from his shortcomings.

"Why did you quit?" Gojo pressed. "Is it because of the scar?"

"No, I–" Utahime pulled her nails away from her mouth, folding her arms across her chest. Protecting herself. Even she, a former Vice cop, had tells. "I love singing. I've always loved it, since I was a little girl. I used to dream about being a famous singer."

"So why stop?"

"It just…" Utahime took in a breath and then let it out. "It didn't feel right or good anymore."

There was far more to the story than that, especially when she turned her face away from him, hiding the scar. Maybe it didn't have to do with her appearance, per say, but he had a feeling there was some sort of connection to the mark that had ended her career in Vice.

He could've pushed it – needled her for the truth, as he did with suspects – but they weren't in an interrogation room, and Gojo had learned to be better, even if she might not believe it. Instead, he quipped, "How about this then? When I solve this case – because you know I will – we're all going to go out for karaoke and you have to sing whatever song I want."

Utahime shot him a perturbed look out of the corners of her eyes. "Why?"

"Nostalgia's sake," Gojo replied flippantly. "It's how we first met."

After a moment of mulling it over, Utahime huffed. "Fine."

Gojo held out a hand. "Shake on it?"

"You'll just have to take my word."

He pulled his hand away, shoving it into his pockets, and grinned at her. She rolled her eyes, but he thought there was a hint of blush on her face. She would no doubt deny it if he brought it up, so he didn't bother, instead turning when he heard the door to the conference room finally open. Gesturing toward it, he allowed Utahime to push away from the desk and step inside first, following in after her and shutting the door.

They had already set up this room to be a base camp of sorts, Gojo having commandeered it not long after they'd been flagged down for the case. No one questioned him, and if they complained to Captain Yaga about it, he never said anything to them. A white board had been set up in the corner, crime scene photos and paperwork taped on it, along with some notes in Gojo's scrappy handwriting. A new board had been brought up, this one with photos of women, along with a map with dots marking it, likely where they had been found dead. Both the fax machine and printer were still hard at work, while Nanami poured through ViCap at the computer.

Gojo let out a low, impressed whistle. "Wow, Nanami, this is a little chaotic for you, don't you think?"

"It's a process," Nanami responded without looking away from the screen. "Not everyone can do these things mentally like you. It's easier for me to lay them all out in the open to organize."

Utahime stepped up to the board, gazing at the photos. Five of them were their female victims that they knew were connected, but the other seventeen were unfamiliar. Judging from the dates that Nanami had written at the bottom of each photo, he'd labeled them in progression, the first one having been found nearly three years ago. Gojo gazed at them all, starting from the first and going to the last. Nanami had chosen to use photos taken at the crime scene, close-up shots of their faces, which gave Gojo a sense of what the killer had wanted them to see.

It took a few minutes for Gojo to see the progression. A killer's MO could change throughout the years due to a series of circumstances. Maybe, due to a sickness or simply age, they could no longer manually strangle someone and had to resort to using ligatures. Maybe a knife was used to coerce the victim and then later on a gun. There could even be a complete change in how the killings were done. Nonetheless, there was usually at least one common thread between them, necessary for the killer to complete the fucked up ritual in their mind, a signature of sorts that they couldn't let go of.

A killer progressed – they grew with the years they remained free – but they were still themselves.

It was a common misconception amongst people that serial killers had types. Sure, some of them did – the asshole that went after petite blondes, the bastard that targeted straggly teenage boys – but a lot of serial killers chose their victims out of convenience. They were easy targets, so to speak, those that lived in high risk situations, were desperate, cut off from their family, labeled NHI by idiot cops. It didn't make their deaths any less cruel or painful. And it didn't mean that only people that lived like that could be victims. He'd seen people that had done everything right and still were targeted.

Still, as Gojo stared at these crime scene photos, regardless of who these women were or what situations they'd been in before they met their killer, he did see a connection. They all resembled each other in some way – same build and height, similar hair color, same race – but it was the progression that caught Gojo's attention. The cuts on the body turned to slashes, the first few ones more shallow and hesitant, while others showed escalation and devolving, with only the last five stitched up post-mortem. As the staging went on, the more similar they looked – and the closer they began to resemble Utahime, down to the hair color and styling and scar.

Even worse, it reminded him once more of the case he'd told Nanami about – the cold case he'd worked with alongside Geto. In fact, now that he looked at these pictures…

Gojo stepped forward, reaching over Utahime to grab the top of the whiteboard, and then flipped it over to the other side – where he found the photos of the victims from that case lined up as well. Their physical descriptions varied far more, including male victims, but it was there, just as he remembered from nightmares and countless days toiling over the casefile he'd taken home with him. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"Nanami," Gojo murmured.

"I formally requested the files on the cold case you brought up, and they were sent to me last night," Nanami explained, turning around in the chair. "I also went through ViCap using the MO, victimology, and location. I already ruled out a few for various reasons, but I'm sure a few others can be as well." He stood up and made his way over to the board, flipping it back over to the more recent victims. "We're at risk for over-linkage, of course, but these all seem to be connected by MO, at least on the surface, with similar appearances and ante-mortem injuries with the cuts and bound marks."

"Why weren't they connected?" Utahime asked.

Nanami sighed. "Linkage blindness can easily occur when there isn't proper communication between precincts. The victims were dumped in different locations, not to mention a complete lack of a crime scene for each victim. We're at a disadvantage here, missing a majority of the evidence at the first location. For some, we're lucky to have the sight where they were likely taken, but for others, it's like they disappeared and only reappeared a week later dead, some not even found for days after that."

Lacking a crime scene had been the issue with the cold case. Gojo could remember late nights where he and Geto would go back and forth with one another, wondering where it was at. The killer or killers had to own a vehicle of some sort, considering the bodies were dumped in different locations. Did they have a house where they brought the victims or maybe a large van with space in the back? Hell, what about a mobile home? They'd spun all sorts of theories, finally landing on at least a car when they found fibers from a mat on one victim and messy tire tracks near another. There'd been nothing like that on these last five victims, clean as could be.

"Not to mention," Nanami added in disgust, a glare in his eyes, "shoddy fucking police work."

Gojo tsked lightly. "It's his biggest pet peeve, outside of wrinkled suits."

"Inherent prejudice against the victims, misfiled paperwork, missing evidence, dump sites unprocessed or trampled all over carelessly." Nanami scoffed viciously, and Gojo thought, not for the first time, that he was grateful not to be on his bad side. Most of the time. "In one case, all the evidence was destroyed after the victim's death was listed as an accidental overdose despite there being no tox screen. It was simply based on assumption due to the area."

Utahime let out a breath, pulling her gaze away from the photos. "I'm familiar with such treatment."

"It's not right," Nanami grumbled irritably. "So much evidence and time lost, and for what? Lives have been lost, likely by the same individual, and it's just been swept under the rug until it couldn't be ignored any longer." He gestured at the picture of the last victim, the one they'd just seen in the morgue. "ID came back after I returned to the precinct. She was an employee at City Hall, one of the aides."

"So everything was staged," Utahime surmised.

"Everything," Nanami agreed. "I thought about what you said – that they were staging her to look like something in particular." Gojo glanced at Utahime, but her eyes were still focused on Nanami. He had been there for Gojo's first quip about the main cut being similar to Utahime's scar, but not for the closer inspection. "The clothing is designer, bought from a specific store meant for a very specific clientele, so we'll have to put in a request for their records to see if we get any hits."

Utahime cleared her throat. "Do you mean…?"

Nanami nodded. "They're from a BDSM clothing line. With that in mind, I realized that the restraint marks looked familiar, so I went through the photos of some old cases. The placement of the bruises and measurements do match tools used in such practices." He pointed out pictures from the original board focusing on the last five victims, noting the bruises on the wrists and ankles, ranging between an inch to two inches in width, straps meant to hold a person down. "It's possible that our suspect is familiar with such tactics, but behavior like this would not be tolerated in the BDSM community. True practitioners are very careful about adhering to rules, as it relies on trust, so anyone that breaks them is typically ostracized and blacklisted."

"Wow, Nanami," Gojo said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "That kind of sounds like you." He waggled his eyebrows at Utahime, who rolled her eyes in irritation. "That's why they partnered him with me. I bet he's a dom."

Sighing, Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose. "Gojo, please be professional."

"There's actually a club on the outskirts of the city that hosts underground BDSM parties," Nanami continued, pretending as if he hadn't heard Gojo at all. "It's a long shot, but we might be able to gather some information there. Of course, such events are very private and carefully guarded, so short of a subpoena, which I don't think we could secure, we won't get much. People would be loath to talk with us, especially if they can be possibly linked to something incriminating, which usually happens at places like this."

Gojo perked up, eyes lit with excitement. Even Utahime couldn't hide the surprise on her face, though she wasn't as forward as him. "And just how do you know so much about this, Nanamin, hm? Don't tell me you've been hiding a secretly kinky side underneath that bland suit and tie this whole time."

To his credit, Nanami did not even blink, completely straight-faced when he answered, "I worked a case where a popular dominatrix at the club was killed. In order to gain their trust and solve the case, I had to learn about the community and culture."

"Sure, sure, it was just part of the job." Gojo leaned over to Utahime and lifted a hand to cover his mouth, though he made absolutely no attempt to lower his voice when he added, "I always knew he was a sadist considering how much paperwork he makes me slog through. This whole professional act he puts on in public is just a means to hide his debauched private life."

When he peered back at Nanami, he found his partner glaring at him, though, underneath the heat of that glare, he did think that Nanami's face was flushed more than normal. It was difficult to bring him to the point of anger where it showed on his face, but Gojo was skilled at getting under people's skin if nothing else. It was one of the reasons he was such a threat in the interrogation room. He was good at unsettling others, getting them to slip up, getting them to make mistakes. This was a very serious matter, one that had Gojo irritated far more than he was letting on, but little moments like this were necessary to make sure he didn't blow up.

"Aw, don't be so moody about it, Nanamin," Gojo teased. "We all relieve the stress of the job somehow. I just didn't think yours would be in the bedroom."

"That's enough," Utahime snapped, decidedly more pink in the face than even Nanami.

Gojo just smirked back at her, considering he knew damn well what she was like in the bedroom. Aggressive, demanding, turning the dance into more of a fight, which sometimes it had been admittedly. But he had usually managed to get her whimpering and begging in the end. For however tumultuous their relationship had been, their sex life had always been explosive, perhaps too much.

"So what do we do?" Utahime asked, trying to reign in the conversation. "We could go to the club, but if these parties are as exclusive and private as you're suggesting, I doubt anyone will talk to the cops."

"You're right," Nanami stated. "I can use some of my old contacts from the community, but I don't think I'd actually be able to go in there. My face and name are known, so I will immediately draw suspicion."

Gojo tilted his head, the gears going into overdrive. "Could you use your contacts to get invites to one of those parties?"

A thoughtful look crossed Nanami's face. "Perhaps. What are you thinking?"

Turning to Utahime, Gojo asked, "How do you feel about dusting off your old Vice skills?"

Utahime stared back at him, turning bright red when the realization hit her. "You're not suggesting we actually sneak into an underground BDSM party together, are you?"

"I am most definitely proposing we attend an underground BDSM party together," Gojo responded gleefully. It wouldn't be like they would have to fake being familiar with each other. They'd had plenty of sex. Faking chemistry with her wouldn't be an issue, not when he could tell they still had it, no matter how hesitant she was. Utahime gawked back at him in horror, but Gojo was determined, the idea already solidifying in his mind. "It'll be a perfect way to gather intel, especially with the other partygoers. Who knows? If our suspect is someone either from this community or someone who has been blacklisted by it, we might get lucky and catch a lead."

"And if we don't?" Utahime countered. "If it turns out to be a dead end and a bust?"

Gojo winked. "Then we'll at least have a good time."

Gritting her teeth, Utahime folded her arms across her chest and turned away from him. "Unbelievable."

It wasn't a no, and even Nanami was silent as he considered it. Gojo considered that a win, although he did his best to ignore the excited beat of his heart. It had been a while since he'd gone undercover for a case. He stood out too much, too well-known in the media, but perhaps, for an event that was meant to be private and exclusive, he could get away with it once more. Besides, he could at least trust Utahime to work alongside him. After all, the last time he'd gone undercover had been the case when he had met her.

All these years later, Gojo still couldn't forget seeing her walk on stage that first night in the club. It had been like something out of a dream, especially when she started to sing.

And now they had an opportunity – an actual reason – to do it again.

Chapter 6 Notes:

I'd been facing a problem in this fic when it came to the plot - hit a wall no matter what, struggled with what to write even though I was excited about the premise, and everything in between. And then, 5k in this chapter today, the piece that I'd been missing (even if my huge outline, in which I literally told myself to "just figure it out idfk") hit me while I was writing - and I was just like, "Oh." So yeah, there was supposed to be more to this scene, but it's already like 6k and the next part is REALLY IMPORTANT so dskfjadf fuck it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Utahime wasn't about to get ready for this ridiculous undercover operation at either of their precincts. She'd made that mistake a few times in her rookie days when she was in Vice, only to get whistled at by her colleagues. More than a few lewd marks had been thrown at her, not too dissimilar from the johns she arrested. One time, a fellow officer had legitimately mistaken her for a sex worker roaming unattended in the precinct and nearly arrested her before Mei Mei stepped in.

Instead, she got dressed at her place, ignoring Gojo's suggestion at preparing at his apartment. It was even nicer than the one he'd owned when they were dating. If you didn't know him, you might've thought he was on the take, but no, he came from a stupid amount of wealth, so of course he could afford a fancier penthouse than other cops. She had moved as well to a slightly nicer area, but she wasn't about to give Gojo her new address. It was stubborn and stupid, especially when she knew he likely already had it.

The idea that he'd kept tabs on her even after their nasty breakup, through work and mutual friends, made her stomach flip, but she shoved those feelings down, climbed into her car, and drove to the Major Case precinct.

Of course, when she pulled into the lot where she was meeting up with them, all her plans of strict professionalism went flying out the window.

Leaning against the side of a surveillance van, Gojo cast a cutting figure. He was dressed in all black, reminding her of the playboy act he'd worn at the club on the undercover operation they met on. In the end, it hadn't been that much of an act, but she'd still be taken in by his charm. He was still terribly good-looking years later – his slacks perfectly pressed, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled three-quarters of the way up his strong arms and the top unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones, his shiny shoes. It contrasted sharply with his pale skin, his white hair slicked back, making him even more striking. She'd seen pictures of him in articles and on the news, either about cases he'd solved or the fundraisers his family threw, but nothing could compare to seeing him in person.

He was attractive – and stood out far too much.

"There's no way you're going to be able to attend this party unknown," Utahime insisted as she clambered out of her car. "You're too recognizable."

"Well, good evening to you too, Utahime," Gojo greeted cheekily. "That's a funny way of telling me how handsome I look."

Utahime shot him an infuriated look, but before she could proclaim that she did not find him handsome in the slightest, Nanami came around and opened the doors to the back of the van. "I was concerned about that as well, but privacy concerning attendees' identities is very well-guarded. Anonymity is essential for these gatherings. Many important people are regulars. No one wants to be caught in the middle of something… untraditional and blackmailed, so revealing a person's identity, any sort of photography, and even names are strictly forbidden."

"Not to mention," Gojo added, plucking something out from the back of the van, "it's a masquerade!"

Utahime stared at the elaborate mask in Gojo's hand. It was beautiful, charcoal black with intricate dark red designs. Large as it was, it would do the trick of hiding the majority of his face, though he would still be recognizable to her. She didn't want to admit that she had his lips still memorized.

"Why wasn't I made aware of this?" Utahime asked. "I don't have a mask."

Nanami grimaced. "I wasn't made aware of the theme until the last second. They're not released until the night before the event, so my contact at the club couldn't alert me until today."

"Not to worry, Utahime," Gojo piped up. "I made the executive decision to pick one out for you as well. We need to match, of course." He smiled, looking like a cat that swallowed the canary. "Did you wear the color I suggested?"

Utahime gritted her teeth. "I did."

Gojo's eyes slid from her head down to her feet, taking in the long jacket hiding the majority of her body. She burned underneath his intense scrutiny, struggling not to squirm, knowing it could be even worse once she was shed of her last bit of armor. His outright staring embarrassed her and she was still covered up.

"Let's see it then."

Turning on her heels, Utahime made her way to the van. "It's cold. I'll take it off when we get there."

Laughter followed behind her. "You're no fun, Uta, but I'll see your sexy get-up soon enough."

The surveillance equipment in the back left only enough room for two people inside. Even though she knew it was unnecessary due to Nanami's precise nature, she felt better looking over it herself. After all, out of the three of them, she was the one with the most undercover and surveillance experience. People didn't give Vice enough credit, especially the female officers who were sometimes put on the frontline by themselves, but it had instilled in her an intense awareness of herself and her surroundings.

After deciding that Nanami had done a good job, she followed Gojo to the sleek dark blue car parked beside the van. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. The car stood out in comparison next to the boring van, obviously expensive, some fancy import that she no doubt couldn't afford to ride in, much less own.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Utahime demanded.

"It's mine," Gojo said breezily.

"What?"

"Don't worry." Gojo flashed her a wink, tossing the keys up and down in the air. "I'm not on the take."

Utahime seethed under her breath. "You're so spoiled."

"We've got to look the part, remember?" Gojo teased, pressing a button so the passenger door opened for her without him even touching it. She shared one last look of frustration with Nanami, who rolled his eyes, and then carefully slid into the car. It was a little difficult, the material of her outfit underneath straining against the stretch and pulling almost painfully over her skin.

She would not respond to him if he was going to be a brat. This was professional only.

It was already far later than her usual hours, more along the lines of her Vice days, but Utahime was too wired to be drowsy. Undercover missions always lit her up like a bonfire, and it had been so long since she'd been assigned to one, her scar too noticeable. Ten minutes into the drive, Gojo passed her a mask, leaving her to fidget with it in her lap. It was absolutely beautiful – black with white silver designs that reminded her of the color of his hair – and would do the trick of covering her scar and hiding her identity, but for some reason, it just made her stomach turn even more.

"You know the plan, right?"

Gojo huffed. "Yes, yes, I know."

"We can't have any equipment on us. Not only is it strictly forbidden, but my outfit allows little room to–"

"Yes, you're in a skimpy ass outfit." Gojo shot her a wolfish grin as he made the last turn to take them to the BDSM club. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but I'm very aware of what you look like naked. I'll be fine."

Utahime blushed, her eyes darting away when she accidentally caught his. The last thing she wanted to think about during this little operation was that, but then again, she didn't think there was much of a choice. There was likely nothing more capable of bringing up their history than a club centered on sexual exploration and debauchery. Not that they had ever been this extreme, of course, or gone to something like this, but…

No, she was not going to think about sex with Gojo. She had far more important things to focus on.

After Gojo parked the car, they put on their masks, slipping into their nameless identities for the night. He swept outside to round the front of the vehicle and open the door for her, ever the gentleman. She could've rolled her eyes, her mind drifting back briefly to the dates he'd taken her on all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car, then, with somewhat shaky fingers, she grasped the buttons of her jacket. However, before she could slip the buttons out of the holes, Gojo grabbed her hands, stilling her.

When she blinked up at him, he was wearing an easy smile and murmured, "Let me."

We have to look the part, Utahime reminded herself, of a couple.

She remained still as he slowly undid her jacket, revealing her body underneath little by little. At his request, she'd worn a black and red outfit. She wondered if he had chosen the colors purposely to make her think of their first undercover operation together, the same ones as that little corset lingerie she'd worn when performing a dance for him. He watched her with the same intensity now, his bright blue eyes taking in every inch of her skin.

Things had changed over the years, namely her body. The corseted top she wore now still pushed her breasts up, fuller than before, the tops rising and falling as she forced herself to breathe evenly. It still accentuated her small waist, but she had more weight around her middle, reminding her that she wasn't the thin girl he would recall. Her hips were more pronounced as well, the leather mini-skirt stretched tight over her thighs and ass. Once her jacket was unbuttoned completely, he peeled the sleeves down, showing off her toned arms.

When he tossed the jacket into the car, Utahime had to bite her tongue to stop herself from exploding, calming down to mutter, "Remember, we have to stick close. If we need to separate for any reason–"

"Don't worry," Gojo told her again, brushing the soft curls of her hair over the front of her bare shoulders. "I won't let you out of my sight."

His voice was low and deep, his gaze sharper than it had been in the car, and she was grateful for the mask and makeup she'd carefully applied. This was going to be a long night. They better get good information out of it, or she was likely to throw a fit. This was the last thing she needed to deal with right now.

They made their way to the front of the nondescript club. On the outside, it didn't look like anything extraordinary, nothing to suggest the debauchery that was taking place inside. While some might have considered this perverse or even disgusting, Nanami had quickly pointed out that such a lifestyle was rooted in respect and rules. It was all very consensual, which was normal and something of a relief. When they stepped inside the small front room, she almost laughed when they were presented with a waiver as first-time attendees, the woman looking more like a secretary than a BDSM party host.

It was all so strangely formal.

"Would you like any additional accessories?" the woman asked politely, showing off a wall filled with an assortment of items. "Some guests prefer their partners to wear a collar to establish what sort of play they're interested in and if they're interested in swapping or sharing. The level of availability depends on the color."

Gojo grinned down at her, fingering one of the ribbons resting just above her hip. "What do you say, princess? Do you want a collar to show everyone you belong to me?"

Even on a mission, he was teasing her, but two could play at that game.

Wearing a cool gaze, Utahime met his eyes, determined not to look away this time. "Maybe one with a bell, so you can hear me." She flashed him a coy smile, just sweet enough to disarm him. "Would you like that?"

With the mask on, it was hard to get a read on Gojo, but she thought his expression might've tightened a hair. In the end, he chose a collar that would represent she was not for sharing. She was a little peeved that it matched her outfit, black and red as well, but even more so that she was forced to stand still as he fastened it around her neck.

Just when she thought he was finished, Gojo leaned down and murmured, "Can't have anyone thinking you're up for grabs."

Utahime did her best not to bristle, but it was hard, especially when his hot breath brushed against her ear. She was supposed to be playing the role of a demure and obedient sub, which, as Nanami had explained it to her, made her see red. Gojo had been absolutely delighted by the whole thing, asking questions and making suggestions. When she had asked if Gojo could play the part, Nanami simply said he didn't think Gojo was capable of obeying or listening to anyone but himself. He wasn't wrong, but she could recall more than a few times when he'd let her put him in his place after he was particularly bratty.

Don't think about that, she scolded herself viciously.

Resting a hand on the small of her back, Gojo guided her through another pair of doors. They opened to reveal a much larger and more expansive room, surprisingly bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Her eyes widened at the sight. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting – maybe something akin to a dungeon with strange devices and creepy people lingering on the edges – but the area had been decorated lavishly, a sign of opulence and indulgence. Attendees were dressed in an assortment of outfits – beautiful dresses, skimpy BDSM outfits, expensive suits, and everything in between. Truth be told, it was a lot to take in, and she felt somewhat overwhelmed.

Getting actual information here would be difficult. People wouldn't be open to divulging details that could be corroborated or tied to them in public, but it would be hard to resist gossiping. That was par for the course, but especially for events like this. They had nowhere else to talk about rumors and such things except here, strictly forbidden to discuss them outside the doors. And surely, with alcohol and drugs flowing alike, people's tongues would be more willing to wag. The secretive and taboo nature was salacious enough, but even with the threat of a scandal hanging over their own heads, they would be eager to dish out another's.

After finding a spot that gave them an ample view of the room, Gojo took her hand and kissed the back of it, snapping her attention back to him. "Stay here. I'll fetch you a drink."

Her heart skipped a beat. "We're not supposed to separate."

"Relax, I'll be able to see you from the bar." Gojo rubbed his thumb over the spot where his lips had just touched her skin. "We need an opening. You're wearing a sign that says you aren't available, but if you're seemingly left alone, I guarantee someone will be unable to resist coming up to you. We want people to talk, and they'll be more likely to chat you up with me not around."

"Sounds like irresponsible dom behavior," Utahime grumbled.

That playful grin of Gojo's played at his lips. "Maybe I'm testing how loyal and good of a sub you are, leaving you on your own without a leash."

He tugged on her hair, and she fought back the urge to bite his fingers. She wasn't a good sub.

Nonetheless, Gojo was right, and so Utahime stood in place as he swaggered over to the bar. Awkwardness burned inside of her, but she couldn't afford to look uncomfortable. Luckily, she'd been in far more uncomfortable situations than this – the skeevy clubs, alleys, hotel rooms that ranged from barely legal to absurdly expensive – so she was able to school herself into relaxing. She paid attention to her surroundings, fingering the fine material of a curtain that separated a private area from the main room, her gaze sliding over the decor and occupants. When she accidentally made eye contact with another woman, she smiled languidly, taking note of the collar on her neck.

Available and eager to play, it declared.

She and her male partner spoke briefly, the woman tilting her head back to murmur something to him, who then glanced in Utahime's direction. However, just when she thought they might approach her, a hand wrapped around her elbow and tugged on her, forcing her to turn on her heels to face someone else entirely.

"Hello there."

Utahime blinked in the face of the man – or, rather, his mask. It was a darker shade of red than hers, styled to look like a devil. A little too on the nose if you asked her, but she got the sense that he wasn't the type to ask a woman's opinion, especially if he thought it was perfectly okay to grab them out of nowhere. He was tall, though not as tall as Gojo, with a little more weight on him. His suit was expensive at least, but that did little for her. He had wavy brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and hazel eyes that stared at her quite openly. He could've been considered moderately attractive, but she wasn't interested.

"You're new here, aren't you?" he pressed, his gaze sliding up and down her body without any shame.

"I am," Utahime admitted, going for demure but polite.

He lifted a hand to her neck, tugging on the collar. This time, she genuinely wanted to bite, smothering the urge to snap at him. It was awfully presumptuous of him to touch her, especially when she was clearly marked as not available for others to play with, but some people liked to skirt that line. "Pretty, little thing – but I don't see your dom or master around. Typically, if you're wearing one of these, you're not to be left alone."

"Oh." Utahime looked around, finding Gojo at the bar with his back turned to them. So much for keeping his eyes on her. She was going to rip him a new one later. "He's fetching me a drink."

"Need a bit of liquid courage?" the man teased.

Utahime smiled shyly. "Perhaps. It's my first time coming to something like this."

"Ah, so you're very new," the man said, looking even more pleased than before. She knew the drill: if she was new to this, maybe she'd be easier to sway. "Well, your dom isn't doing a good job leaving you on your own like this. It's akin to abandoning you, especially since you're new to this world." His hand was still wrapped around her elbow, though he'd loosened his grip, rubbing his thumb in circles over her skin. "It's our job to guide you, not just teach you lessons or punish you when you're bad."

"Is it now?" Utahime tilted her head. "So I take it you're a…dom as well then?"

"I am," he replied, echoing her words. "There are different levels and kinds, of course." Something of a smirk crossed his face, making him look, well, devilish. She supposed he'd worn that mask for a reason. "Some are more intense than others."

"How intense?"

He stepped in closer, backing her toward the wall. "Would you care to find out?"

"I don't think my partner would appreciate that."

The man actually laughed. "Your partner? Is that what he has you call him?"

Utahime forced the smile to stay on her face, but it was difficult, no matter how faint it was. "Well, there are different levels to these kinds of relationships – a give and take, an equal exchange. Master and servant, dom and sub. Most people would believe that the dom holds the power, but there's power in giving yourself up too and being strong enough to let go of control, isn't there?"

After considering her for a moment, the man nodded. "You're not wrong, but I get the sense that you're still hesitant to truly let go and give yourself over to your…partner."

"And you could be better?"

"If you're interested to learn."

Before Utahime could politely decline his offer, a hand slid over her bare shoulder, a thumb pressing against the nape of her neck while the fingertips rested just over her throat. "She's not."

Gojo's voice was cold, completely uncompromising, with not a hint of wiggle room to argue. There was no emotion in it – no anger, no jealousy, no humor – which made her heart skip a beat. She'd only heard him speak like this handful of times, and it had never been good for anyone involved. It was an obvious threat, one that perfectly fit the persona he was playing tonight.

The man straightened, immediately letting go of her, but he didn't take a step back. "Ah, you must be her–"

"I am." Gojo pressed his fingers over the collar on her neck. "This marks her as unavailable if I'm not mistaken, and I was led to believe the rules here were carefully observed."

"They are," the man replied, "which was why I came to her side to keep her company." He gestured, a sign of peace, but she could tell by the tightness of his smile that he wasn't pleased with being challenged by a newcomer. "I noticed she had been left unattended and thought to see if she needed anything."

"She did," Gojo replied. "A drink." His other arm wrapped around her, holding a rocks glass with what looked like some sort of bourbon cocktail in his hand. "Here, I got you something special."

She took it, murmuring her thanks, sensing that now was not the time for her to speak. Fine by her. She hated getting in the middle of men whenever they were comparing dick sizes.

"She shouldn't be alone like that," the man explained, propelled to assert his dominance. So much for his intensity, not when he sounded more like a lawyer. "It gives off the appearance that she's been abandoned and is up for the taking. Who knows what could have happened to her?"

"I know what would've happened to her," Gojo said easily, brushing his fingers through her hair. "Absolutely nothing. My princess isn't just obedient. She's loyal." He snorted. "After all, I watched the way you were salivating over her, doing your best to come off as a more appealing dom, but she didn't move an inch toward you and stood her ground the entire time. You were so focused on your own interest that you missed the lack of hers."

My princess. Utahime was going to kill him. It took everything in her power not to blow up, especially with the shiver-inducing way he was touching her now.

The man took one glance at her, perhaps hoping to prove Gojo wasn't right, but she turned away from him slightly, angling herself towards Gojo. She put all her acting skills to the test by gazing up at him with as much adoration as she could muster. He smiled down at her, indulgent and filled with praise, brushing his hand over her cheek to rest his palm over her jaw with his fingers buried in her hair. The simple touch reminded her that he had quite large hands, making her feel more petite than before. With hands like that, it wouldn't take him much to wrap them around her throat and squeeze the life from her.

There was a slight chance she needed to see her precinct's appointed psychiatrist in the near future.

"Well, that did the trick of scaring him off," Gojo sighed.

Sensing the change in his tone, Utahime had to stop herself from ripping away from his hold on her. Just because the man had slunk off with his tail tucked between his legs did not mean they were out of the hot water yet. They were still being watched, spectators all around them. Events like this were intimate affairs, so even with masks on, they were drawing attention as newcomers. They had to act accordingly. Hell, for all they knew, that had been a test of some kind. She wouldn't put it past anyone to weed out the weak, especially since she'd realized that she was one of the few people wearing a collar that marked her as unavailable for play.

Gojo took a sip of his champagne. "10 o'clock."

"Is it a couple? Tall blonde woman and a man with long dark hair?"

"Mm," Gojo hummed in confirmation. He focused on her again, his fingertips scratching the base of her skull in a way that he knew damn well that she liked. Bastard. "She's definitely in charge."

Utahime tilted her head curiously, remembering the collar on the woman's neck. She had thought that meant she was the sub, but perhaps she was mistaken. There were so many rules in this world. It was no wonder why Nanami had managed to infiltrate it so well for a case.

Waving away thoughts of Gojo's partner in a scene like this, Utahime turned with a gentle nudge from Gojo, allowing him to direct her. His hand slid from her jaw, down her neck and over her shoulder, finding a place on the small of her back so that she was tucked up partially against his side. It was a protective gesture, but one that also spoke of ownership. He'd held her like this before – back at the club where they first met as undercover cops and when they used to go out to bars while dating.

And then there had been that fundraiser gala his family at thrown. He'd held her just like this back then, never letting her stray too far, especially when so many others seemed eager to chat with her. They hadn't even been on good terms at the time, the relationship spiraling to an explosive end, but he'd been loathed to let her go. She could still remember how warm she'd felt – kept and wanted – blushing more from his intimate and possessive touch than the free booze. She could also remember how he'd dragged her away during one of the many speeches so he could fuck her in one of the expansive bathrooms.

Maybe he didn't have to play up this role that much after all.

"I'm sorry about that," the woman greeted. "Truth be told, he's on the edge of having his invitations to these gatherings rescinded, regardless of how much money he throws at us."

"Oh?" Gojo responded. "So you can buy your way into this place?"

The woman's eyes dragged up and down Gojo, taking in his clothes, but it seemed more playful than lustful. "We're always accepting donations from generous and willing parties should they be interested."

Under normal circumstances, Utahime would've spoken up, but she kept her mouth shut, deferring to Gojo. She had to trust that he would ask the right questions without her prompting. For all she knew, this could be another test. It did feel like one, but different from before. She was watching them, yes, but Utahime got the sense there was another motive at play – a more professional one instead of personal.

"I take it you're the host then?" Gojo surmised, speaking aloud the question she had on her mind.

The woman nodded. "One of the co-owners of the club as well."

Flipping through the mental file, Utahime realized that the woman must have been Yuki Tsukumo, the only female partner with her name attached to the club. The names of the owners were well-guarded, but even if privacy and secrecy were key components to the club, they needed real identities and paperwork to even open the place, not to mention all the licenses required. It had taken some digging and requests, but Nanami had managed to get some of the official documents so they didn't go in entirely blind.

Gojo's hand slid over to her side, and he tapped her hip.

Utahime brightened. "This place is extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's my pride and joy," Yuki admitted, smiling warmly. "I've put in a lot of my own money in this, but I feel like it's important to have a space where people can enjoy themselves and feel safe to explore both their darker pleasures and deeper parts of their bodies and mind."

"Poetic," Gojo quipped.

"Well-practiced," Yuki laughed. "You can't imagine the amount of red tape hell I had to go through to get this place up and running." She sighed, reaching out to take her partner's hand. He rubbed his thumb in circles over her hand, a gesture of comfort. "Unfortunately, due to the nature of the club itself, the occasional riffraff finds its way inside."

"It's strange how something focused on freedom, exploration, and release is also rooted in a deep respect for rules, isn't it?" Gojo replied, which made her realize he'd actually been paying attention to Nanami's explanations. Yuki nodded, full of understanding and agreement. "I've been in this for a while, but my princess here is relatively new. She was eager to explore the scene but also nervous as well, so I was very pleased to find this place."

"It's quite exclusive, but we appreciate anyone who wishes to join and explore this side of themselves, especially with someone they can trust." Yuki gestured around the room, taking note of couples and groups and even people enjoying themselves individually. All things considered, it was somewhat tame out here, but Utahime was sure that would change the further they delved into the belly of this particular beast. "People come for different reasons, and of course, we understand that it's not for everyone. The collars are an easy way to help people get acquainted and also eliminate misunderstandings or any potential mishaps."

"I noticed that there aren't many people wearing this particular collar," Gojo noted.

"Indeed, most people here are comfortable with experimenting with other partners," Yuki explained. "However, many new couples also start off at that level before they're ready for more. It's a process we neither rush nor push. Some couples come here and don't even interact with anyone else, just each other, even if they choose to participate in an open space. Others come here and spend the evenings with other partners the entire time. Some simply like to be spectators of their partner's pleasure or pain."

Gojo snorted softly. "It's a party either way."

"And we don't judge how people choose to party so long as they obey the rules. Not everyone likes to share." Yuki's eyes slid over Utahime's body, but this time, there was heat in them, especially when her pink lips curled into a predatory smile. "And I can see why you're not eager to do that and why that idiot was willing to bend the rules."

Gesturing in the direction where the man vanished, Gojo asked, "Is that common?"

"It likely happens more than we realize, especially since we have no security cameras for privacy reasons," Yuki admitted, "but I like to keep a close eye on things. I noticed him approach your lovely princess once she was alone, but she deflected him quite well on her own."

"I trust her," Gojo said, gazing down at her fondly, "even if I don't always trust others around her."

Yuki squeezed her partner's hand. "It's good to be careful."

"Have you had to kick people out before?" Gojo asked.

"Mmhm, a few times," Yuki answered, somewhat surprising Utahime with her honesty. She supposed that she had to be more honest in a sense if she was going to run such an underground business. "Lines can sometimes be easily blurred in places like this, but zero tolerance rule when it comes to consent. Some of the things that go on here might not look consensual, but they very much are, hence why we demand the waiver upfront. However, if that line of consent is crossed, we investigate and punish any offending parties."

Gojo smirked. "And not the fun kind?"

Yuki's lips drawled into a sideways smile. "No, most certainly not the fun kind."

"So no cops or official law enforcement is involved if…the line is crossed." Gojo had to be careful with his wording. What Yuki was talking about would've been considered sexual assault, if not worse, amongst other things, but nothing like that had ever been reported happening in this club. It was perfectly clean with all the right paperwork, licenses, and red tape neatly tied in a bow.

"No, we deal with such things in-house," Yuki told him. "As I said, a lot of people come here to explore, experiment, and also simply be themselves. This place allows that and more, giving them a safe space and also helping others find their footing outside of here. It's easy to fall into bad habits or even toxic relationships, but here, we offer guidance and understanding with no judgment. We even have a room if people simply want to talk and another to cry after a comedown or release from a session. If this place were to be shut down…"

"People would be stranded and left adrift," Utahime murmured. Her eyes snapped to Yuki's when she realized that she'd spoken out of turn, ducking her head. "My apologies–"

"No need to apologize," Yuki said softly. "You're absolutely right. It sounds like something you're familiar with."

Gojo stiffened ever so slightly – she could feel the tension against his side – but he continued speaking as if nothing was amiss. "I understand. This is a home for people – to be themselves and find themselves." He finished off his champagne, allowing Yuki's partner to take the glass and pass it off to one of the cocktail waitresses. "Still, it is somewhat concerning. If anyone proves to disregard rules even here, it stands that they're much more willing to do it outside as well. Without official punishment, they're allowed to hurt others under the guise of our lifestyle to people that aren't as well-versed or knowledgeable or even in other clubs."

"Unfortunately, there is that possibility," Yuki admitted, "but the BDSM culture is also a tight-knit community, especially with advances in technology. We're able to easily communicate with other groups all over the world, so if someone were to break the rules here, we would make other communities aware in case they try to slip in and do the same there. We're often judged harshly and misunderstood by society, so we're very protective. We don't want a few miscreant idiots to be the face of our lives."

"So you blacklist them," Gojo surmised. "How cruel."

Yuki smirked. "It's a punishment they do unto themselves. We have no place for them here."

"Banned for life?"

"From here and every club, shop, and even some websites," Yuki explained. "I don't take such things lightly. The identities of all my club members are strictly guarded. Names are a precious commodity around here, but they can also be a weapon. Anyone that attends one of my parties knows that their secrets are safe with me, but it does give me a sense of power over them. I protect their identity, and they in turn behave. And if not…"

"Social domination," Gojo joked. "I like it."

Utahime's mind was spinning. A blacklist. Names of former club members that had behaved poorly – perhaps even quite literally broken the law by pushing things too far or past the limit of consent – and were banned from being a part of the community. It was something they could never hope to achieve via legal means. Yuki would never hand something like that over to the police, either proclaiming it didn't exist or even destroying the evidence. She'd lose all credibility if she did. The knowledge of it was just to remind them to behave, the mere threat of its existence keeping most people in line.

That was exactly what they needed. That list was a potential pool of suspects, one she didn't feel any pity using. Who cared if they were breaching the privacy of assholes that didn't mind breaking the law and abusing a community that was already looked down on?

"At any rate, I think you made your stance quite clear," Yuki said decisively. "We've got a lot of networking and more social dominating to do before we can truly enjoy ourselves." She reached back to touch her partner's face tenderly, smiling when he made a face after she tugged on his collar. It was the same as hers – available and open to play. They certainly made quite the couple. "I do hope you enjoy yourselves. There are plenty of activities here, both in the main rooms and the more private ones. Treat your princess right."

Gojo winked behind his mask. "Of course."

Yuki looked at her once more, admiring her, and then allowed her partner to sweep her away. Utahime watched them go, feeling more than hot under the collar. Though she'd been nothing but appropriate and even polite, the look she had just given her before leaving suggested that she hoped Utahime might be more open to playing later. Had she not been used to sex workers and strippers fawning over her, she probably would've fainted.

Turning to Gojo, she hastily muttered, "The blacklist–"

"Not yet," Gojo murmured.

"Why not? Our perp could be on that list!"

"I know, but we can't just go sneaking off in search of the office," Gojo pointed out. "It'll look weird, especially if anyone is aware we just spoke to one of the owners of this place."

Utahime almost pouted. "Then what do we do?"

Gojo grinned down at her, tilting the bottom of her glass so that the rim touched her lips. "We blend in – and have a bit of fun."

Oh no. This was going to end horribly. She distinctly recalled the last time he'd said almost the exact same thing on the first and last undercover mission they'd been on together. It had been the tipping point to everything, a moment in time she couldn't take back and changed everything.

Notes:

Everyone say thank you to Yuki for advancing the plot and not being in this fic until today while I was writing. lmao

Chapter 7 Notes:

Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of places. This twist wasn't planned in this particular way originally, but now that it's here, damn if it's not so much better. Also, I ended up dividing this into three chapters because of the POV changes and how much shit goes down and spirals out of control.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The further the night progressed, the deeper they delved into the underbelly of the BDSM world. It certainly wasn't how Utahime usually spent her Saturday night. Admittedly, she liked going out, but it was nothing like this. She stuck to dive bars more often than not, clubs reminding her of her old Vice days and fancy bars making her think of all the places Gojo had taken her when they were dating. She was more comfortable in a place with cheap beers in a bucket, a jukebox playing music over shitty speakers, and lights dimly lit more because the bulbs need to be changed than the ambiance.

Had she not been used to sex being used as a commodity and spoken about so openly, Utahime wouldn't have been able to last an hour in this place.

Not to mention, she was becoming increasingly aware of Gojo's constant presence. It threw her back to their lives all those years ago. He'd been like this back then too. While she had been somewhat shy about PDA and even reserved, he'd been all over her. It didn't matter if they were up or down. They could've gotten into a vicious fight about something and then gone out for a planned evening, and he would've been trying to feel her up under the table or kissing her on the temple or nuzzling her neck for attention. In fact, now that she thought about it, he was probably worse about stuff like that when they were in a bad place in their relationship.

Things might have looked the same, but they felt a little different now. Instead of being possessive and demanding, Gojo's touch was more protective and guiding. He tapped her hip whenever it was her turn to speak, sometimes not moving an inch while he spoke with another couple. When they stumbled upon a much more intimate play scene, Gojo had steered her away with a laugh while she blushed and struggled not to sputter in embarrassment. It was one thing to know this place revolved around sex, but it was quite another to watch a woman eating out another woman on plush cushions while their partners sat back and watched.

"S'cute," Gojo teased as he guided her to the outskirts of the crowded room.

"What's cute?" Utahime demanded, trying not to grit her teeth.

"You being so innocent," Gojo quipped, "when I know damn well you aren't."

Utahime was startled to find herself pressed against a wall, Gojo using his body to corner her. She raised her eyes to his, gazing at him from underneath her eyelashes, and bit her lip when she found him staring down at her with a darkened look in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her lips, then flickered back up to her eyes again. He was teasing her, and it pissed her off, but she felt the familiar pool of arousal thrumming in her belly as well. It was a good look for them, especially if anyone was watching, seeing as how they hadn't been intimate with each other yet.

"C'mon, I know you've seen worse than that," Gojo pointed out, "and you've watched porn."

"Yeah, but it was for my job. This is different."

Gojo's lips quirked upward. "That's some kind of training. You must've taken it very seriously, considering how good you are. We broke my bed the last time we had sex."

Utahime could've killed him in this moment. The last time they'd had sex had been after they broke up. She had gone over to his place to pick up the last of her things and drop off her spare key. He wasn't supposed to be there, but then he'd shown up, still sweaty from the gym. It had been their way of saying goodbye. She'd told herself it meant their relationship was centered mostly around physical attraction and sex, which meant it had never been too serious, but she could remember the way her heart had ached after she left and how he couldn't even look at her.

It wasn't exactly a good thing to remind her of if he wanted her to get hot. Maybe it had been different for him, the memory just another notch on his bedpost to remind himself that he could still get her even after breaking her heart.

Steeling herself, Utahime said, "This is for a job too. That doesn't mean it's not disarming. You can't tell me you're completely unaffected."

"Oh, I'm definitely affected," Gojo said with a low laugh, "but it's not this place doing it to me." Her eyes widened when he cupped her face. He rubbed his thumb over the skin not hidden by the mask, and then, in a daring move, he slid it over her lips. Had she been wearing lipstick instead of stain, he would've smeared it. His other hand landed on her hip, his fingers slipping under the corset to touch bare skin. "You don't know how much I want to drag you to one of these private rooms and get a taste of you again."

Utahime's heart stuttered in her chest. "What are you doing?"

Gojo lowered his head, nuzzling against the side of hers until she turned it so he could press his lips on her cheek. "We're being watched. I noticed it here and there, but it's more obvious now." He nipped at her ear, making her jolt as a bolt of pleasure shot through her body. "Someone might have noticed that we've not been intimate with each other and gotten curious – or maybe they're just interested in watching me fuck you stupid. I'd rather not risk it."

Sounding much breathier than she would've liked, Utahime asked, "Man or woman?"

"I can't tell," Gojo admitted. "I couldn't get a good look, not without being obvious, but they have grey hair, so maybe one of the older members. There's a possibility they recognized me."

Utahime moved until he pulled back enough so she could turn her face to look back at him. Only a few seconds passed between them, their eyes locked on each other's before she made up her mind and nodded minutely. He wasted no time in crossing the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers. She whimpered into the kiss, feeling the way it threatened to sweep her under. She couldn't remember getting kissed with such passion before, not since him at least. She tended to be the more dominant one when it came to sexual partners and boyfriends, but Gojo was an exception. He brought out a side of her that she'd never experienced with anyone but him.

"Switch me places," Utahime mumbled against his lips.

Gojo growled as if offended by her telling him what to do and bit her bottom lip. The flash of pain was followed swiftly by another burst of arousal, and she gasped. He took advantage of it, slipping his tongue into her mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand sliding from her face to the back of her head. She rocked her hips forward, pressing herself into him as she grasped the front of his button-up shirt. For a minute, she didn't even think about how she was making out with Gojo while on an undercover mission. Everything felt so warm and good that it didn't matter.

And then he flipped their positions, leaning against the wall and dragging her against his front with one hand on her ass and the other grasping her hair.

"Go–"

He cut her off with a kiss, stopping her from accidentally saying his name. She couldn't remember the last time she'd almost made such a rookie mistake. He squeezed her ass, his hand so large, pushing her against his front. She did not want to think about the fact that he seemed to be half-hard. They needed to focus, but they needed to put on a show too. If someone had been uncertain over their status as a couple or partnership, they certainly wouldn't think twice now that they were making out and grinding on each other so publicly.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Gojo groaned.

Utahime didn't dare speak, terrified of what might slip out of her mouth. She'd already compromised herself enough by whimpering and moaning softly. He pulled his lips away from hers, once again nudging her head to the side so he could chart a path down her jaw and neck. Because she was so short, he had to hitch her up further against him, using his grip on her ass and placing a thigh between her legs. The latex of the tight skirt didn't allow her to spread her legs far enough for him to press his thigh flush against her cunt, but it still made her throb with need.

"Do you see anything?" Utahime asked quietly.

"Besides more than a few people watching us now?" Gojo teased, licking up her neck. From his position, he could see the entire room while he lathered her with attention. How he managed to do both was beyond Utahime, especially when she was struggling so much.

Utahime shivered as Gojo sucked on a spot right over the collar around her neck. If he didn't stop, he would surely leave a mark. "Do they like what they see?"

"Oh, yeah, they definitely do," Gojo chuckled, his breath hot on her skin. "We certainly made an impression."

"Anyone out of place?"

"Mm, no, not that I can–" And then he stopped, going silent and still.

It was too abrupt to look normal, especially if people were watching them, and so she wiggled in his hold, trying to snap him out of whatever that had stopped him cold. His grip on both her ass and hair tightened, making her gasp lightly, a warning for her to stay still. Was this another one of his ploys? Maybe he was showing everyone that he could edge her and make her wait for him to bring her pleasure. If he was, it was pretty damn effective. She was peeved, partly because she couldn't tell what was going on with her back to the room.

"What–?"

"Hush," Gojo snapped, even going so far as to bite down on her neck.

Utahime jumped. "The fuck–?"

"I thought I saw… But no, that's impossible. It can't be…"

His mask hid it well, but this close, she could see how pale his face had become, a far cry from the flushed look he'd had on his cheeks before. His blue eyes were bright and wide with alarm, and his grip on her was so tense that it actually hurt when he tightened his grip on her ass and hair.

Even though it might've been a step too far for the personas they were putting on, Utahime took Gojo's face in her hands and forced him to look at her again. He struggled to pay attention to her though, his eyes sliding over her head. Worried people would begin to notice his oddly distracted behavior after they'd been so heavily making out, she raised her voice and sweetly asked, "What's wrong? Am I not pleasing you?"

Her sugary tone, if not her words, snapped him out of it, and his eyes fell back down to hers. His expression softened, and he loosened his grip on her hair. "Of course you are, princess. It's taking all of my strength not to have my way with you now, but I'm not ready to show you off to a crowd just yet." He gripped her chin between two of her fingers, tilting her head further back. "Get yourself another drink and then touch yourself up in the bathroom. I'm going to fuck you in that mirror room so you can see just how much you please me. Do you understand?"

Utahime swallowed thickly. Even if she knew he wasn't going to do that, the image was enough to frazzle her, especially combined with his low, dark voice. Only the fact that something had affected him was enough to keep her from losing her cool. She could see it in his eyes, the intensity keeping her still. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl." Gojo kissed her on the lips again, not pulling away from her when he spoke, "I need to check something out. I'll be quick. Don't talk to any of the guests."

She should've reminded him that they were under strict orders not to separate, but before she could argue with him, he kissed her again. When he was finished, he let go of her and stood upright, stepping aside and sweeping away from her. She blinked, feeling suddenly bereft and exposed. Without Gojo at her side, more than a few people looked her way curiously, especially after the little show they'd put on. She couldn't let anyone know she was out of sorts; she had to make it look like this was part of their game.

Flicking her dark hair over her shoulders, she purposely showed off the red and black collar that said she wasn't available for playing with others. She strode to the bar with confidence, but not too much, keeping her chin even instead of raised and her expression mild. The most important thing she did was not make eye contact with any of the other partygoers. Only when she reached the bar tucked in the corner of the room did she smile, ordering champagne instead of the shot or beer like she really wanted.

"Enjoying yourself, ma'am?" the bartender asked politely as she slid a flute of champagne in front of her.

"I am, thank you," Utahime replied, handing over a generous tip between her fingers. "My partner had to step out for a moment, but he told me to treat myself. He said he's getting me a surprise."

The bartender winked, pocketing the cash instead of putting it in a tip jar. "I hope it's a fun one."

"Me too," Utahime said. "I'm a little nervous. It's my first time coming to a place like this."

"The owners here are very good at making sure guests have a good time," the bartender told her. "If you become too uncomfortable while waiting for your partner to return, there are rooms down the hallway where you can wait. They're meant for people who need breaks or private space to come down after scenes or play."

Utahime nodded in the direction of a hallway. "That one?"

"Yes, some offices are down there too," the bartender said. "It's the quietest part of this place. As you can imagine, it can get a little…loud in some of the play rooms."

"Oh, I can imagine well," Utahime giggled. "We accidentally walked in on a few."

"Some doors are left unlocked on purpose," the bartender pointed out. "A simple accident can turn into a fortuitous opportunity." She gestured to the collar on Utahime's neck. "Then again, that might not be for you. If your dom is so possessive, I'm surprised they left you alone and allowed you to speak to someone else."

"There are exceptions, most notably the wait staff," Utahime said. "We met in a club. I was an employee. Nothing as particularly skilled as a bartender, but being polite, respectful, and generous to those working in environments like this one has always been important to me. He knows that."

The bartender chuckled. "How benevolent. Cocktail waitress?"

Utahime tipped the flute of champagne back to finish it, then twirled the thin neck of the empty glass between her fingers in a flourish before setting it down. "Entertainment."

"Either he's a smart man or you're a clever girl," the bartender laughed, standing upright and moving in the direction of another guest. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Thank you," Utahime said. "I think I'll take your advice on one of the private rooms until he returns."

Gojo had told her to use the restroom, but a private room seemed a lot safer. However, if she was being honest, it wasn't one of those rooms that she was thinking about. The line about the offices stood out to her far more. With Yuki walking the floor, her office would likely be empty. It was a risky move to check it out, especially since she probably had more security than the sketchy-ass club she and Gojo had met in, but she couldn't get that little black book out of her head. She didn't need to steal it, but the small scanning device she had tucked inside her corset would record the information on a laptop back in the surveillance van with Nanami.

When Utahime made her way to the hallway, no one bothered her. Everyone must have assumed she was going to a private room to wait for her dom, like a good little sub, so they lost their interest in her. She did check out a room, slipping inside in case anyone was still watching her, but after a few minutes of sitting on the bed and running her hand over the soft blanket meant for comfort, she grew antsy. She hated the idea of just sitting here alone and waiting for Gojo, as if she couldn't do anything on her own.

Yes, he was the fancy Major Case detective with the impeccable record, but she knew her shit. She knew how to go undercover and get information. This was her world. He was still the rogue idiot who ran off to do things on his own, as he was wont to do because he always assumed he was the smartest person in the room and therefore could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. He would've been a terrifying criminal to deal with, so she supposed they should be grateful he was on their side of the law.

Nonetheless, Utahime wondered if Gojo had been genuinely surprised when she caught him cheating on her, or if he hadn't actually put in the effort to make it difficult for her to figure out. His response befuddled and frustrated her to this day, especially when he'd offered no explanation and dropped the girl even before she could get all her stuff from his place and hook up with him one last time.

Frustrated with the memories of her past with Gojo and her time on the Vice squad, Utahime found herself unable to sit around and wait for him. She wasn't just his arm candy or someone for him to play with. She was a Homicide detective, and she had a job to do. So many women had died at the hands of this perpetrator. They could be stalking another victim right now. If this gave them a name or even just a lead, they desperately needed it. Someone who once attended parties here or others like them had very likely crossed a line before fully committing to murder.

She wasn't going to let Gojo get all the credit, especially when he'd run off without an explanation.

When she stepped out of the private room, no one was paying attention. It was dark and, due to their rule, didn't have any security cameras. She worried about guards, but there didn't seem to be anyone back here, which she thought was rather strange. A door at the end of the hallway caught her attention. From what she remembered of the building blueprints they'd looked at, it was the main office. Considering how much attention to detail went into this place, she expected a lot more security measures for the door like a passcode or a keycard, but it was just a lock.

Pulling out a lockpin from her hair, Utahime looked over the handle, twisting it to get a look at the lock, only for it to twist all the way and for the door to open. She stiffened, waiting for an alarm or for a guard to pop out of the woodwork – there was always the chance for a silent alarm to alert security in the building elsewhere – but nothing happened. She could hear Nanami scolding her now, digging into her about how reckless behavior was more of Gojo's style, but she pushed that aside as she slipped inside before anyone saw her.

The office was nice, decorated in similar warm colors of the club, a little cozy even. The desk was obviously expensive, the dark wood rich and shiny, with nothing personal touching it. Lovely as this place was, it was meant for business. That was fine. It would make it easier to scan the place. Even if she couldn't get into anything, she'd at least know where to look the next time or if they were able to serve a warrant. It would've been nice if they could just ask these questions, especially since they were hunting down a murderer, but no one would want to become the next target if they loosened their lips.

Just a few minutes, and then she'd be out. It'd be that quick.

"Took you long enough to get here. I was beginning to think your partner was the only one with the balls to jump into hot water, but I'm so glad I was wrong."

Utahime stiffened and spun around, realizing too late that she wasn't alone in the office. Though it was a woman's voice, it wasn't Yuki like she'd feared. Instead, it was someone else entirely, a tall woman wearing, of all things, a slutty schoolgirl outfit. It looked like something torn out of a cheap porno, but then again, the scene was probably a common one to play out here. She had seen a few other women wearing similar clothes, but theirs had been on the more expensive side, like some elite prep school.

"I've wanted to meet you for so long, and you're finally here," the woman said happily.

Some doors are left unlocked on purpose.

"Who are you?" Utahime demanded. There was no sense in trying to talk herself out of this. If she was caught by a guard, then she'd have to admit to being a cop, but this didn't feel like a guard sort of situation. A strange energy radiated from this woman, especially when she let out a sigh and tossed her long grey hair over her shoulders.

Grey hair. The person who Gojo thought might have been watching them.

"You don't know who I am?" The woman pouted, placing a hand on her chest. "I'm hurt, truly. That wounds me, Utahime, especially when I know you so well."

Utahime's eyes fell down to the sharp letter opener clutched in the woman's hand resting over her heart, then shot back up to her eyes, widening in horror. "It's you? You're the…"

The woman – no, the killer – giggled and clapped her hands in delight. "Isn't this fun? It's just the two of us now. Girl club! That's how it should be. All these men running things and thinking they know better, but we know the truth." She winked. "That's why I was able to get away with so much, but you…" She wagged the letter opener in Utahime's direction. "You were the only one who suggested the murders – my works of art – might be perpetrated by a woman. No one would listen to you though, so you went quiet. I was almost sad."

"But…" Utahime furrowed her brow, clenching her hands into fists. She'd never felt so naked in her life, her waist bare of a gun and no knife tucked on her person. The outfit wouldn't allow it. "But why…?" She subconsciously lifted her hand to her face, her fingers brushing over the mask that hid her scar. "Why me?"

"Because, Detective Iori…" The woman peeled her mask off her face, revealing scars that Utahime knew without being told were self-inflicted. "We're the same."

Terror doused Utahime's veins like ice, rendering her rooted to the ground, an old folklore tale from her youth coming back to haunt her. Beware of the scarred woman.

It was too late for that. She hadn't found the killer; the killer had found her.