AN: I'm eternally grateful to everyone who helped make my contribution to this event possible! It's been a long road for me through 3 illnesses, 2 sick relatives, and a concussion, so I'm glad this fic is finally ready to share with the world. Huge thanks to the mods for organizing the event and for helping out when my injury made things difficult, Jellyribbons (X- jellyribbons) and Ree (X- oxxtoblur)
A big thanks goes out to Tia (X- kappapathique) for beta reading this chapter!
And, of course, a huge thank you to the artists who collaborated to create works inspired by this fic, Vero (X- lilsparkleghost) and Yuri (X- hiitsyart)!
The additional chapters are mostly completed, and I hope to have the full fic up sooner rather than later!
Nothing was going according to plan.
Rukia would ponder it later, assuming she had the chance. Instead, she focused on running as fast as she could, desperately weaving between slow-moving tourists and archivists. Her feet slid across the polished marble floor, around a corner, nearly running into a docent. She bit back a curse. She could hear the screech of shoes closing in from behind.
None of it was supposed to happen that way.
It was a simple bug-placement operation in a meeting room of the Kronia Central Archives. She should've been able to enter with a tour group, undetected, and place the bug. She followed protocol to the letter. But as soon as she neared the room in question, she could feel the unwelcome, predatory gaze of others.
And then, they moved. Lorencian operatives.
She ran through ornate, expansive lobbies, down stone corridors, and past statues of forgotten eras. Shouts sounded as building staff took notice. Quickly, she reviewed the building layout in her mind. There was a door on the west side leading to the street. If she could make it-
Up ahead, a security guard looked up in surprise. He was overweight and half-awake. A heartbeat passed as he saw her running before his eyes darted to the people chasing her. He grasped for his gun.
Rukia dove to the ground. Startled by her speed, he fumbled with his holster. She striked using her left hand to twist his arm away. Her other arm shoved into his back, pushing him against the wall. He was just a guard. There was no reason for him to suffer because of another country's ongoing secret war.
Someone shouted. Another guard rounded a corner at the other end of the hall. He was fit, and quicker- his gun already drawn. "Stand down!"
She grabbed the first guard's firearm and aimed it at the second guard. The gun aimed straight for his torso, just as her training had burned into her mind. The torso had the greatest chance of a hit.
He was an obstacle. He had to be removed, immediately.
Her gun wavered, the aim hovering just over his chest. The gun jerked away towards his legs. She fired- twice. The second shot struck, sending him crumbling to the ground in a cry of pain.
Gunshots erupted at her feet. Rukia ran, the shouts of Lorencian agents echoing down the cavernous hall. She managed to round the last corner and dive through the emergency doors. She emerged on the sidewalk of a bustling urban street, the outside world an abrupt shift to serenity. Before she could be seen, she shoved the gun into her book bag.
A taxi was just down the block pulling into the street. She rushed to the window and knocked on it desperately. With practiced ease, her expression turned to one of innocent panic and embarrassment.
"Ah, Please! I'm going to be late for class!" she said, her voice turning a higher pitch and bubbly. She offered a smile to the old man sitting in the passenger seat. "Could we share?"
Her ploy worked. Begrudgingly, the elder let her into the back seat.
"Thank you very much!" she smiled.
The taxi pulled away, allowing her to watch through the side mirror as the Lorencian agents spilled out into the road, searching, growing smaller, as the looming stone columns of the archive disappeared from sight. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief.
They would probably see the number on the taxi and could trace the position through GPS. But doing so would take some time, as the Lorencians were on foreign soil, just as she was. They'd need to operate without drawing the attention of Kronian authorities. Kronia, steadfastly neutral, held no mercy for intelligence agents caught working within its borders. Rukia couldn't risk being caught by local Kronian authorities, either.
After a few blocks, she quickly invented an excuse for needing to get out of the car. With an airy smile, she paid the driver and stepped into a bustling outdoor market. It was packed with crowds from wall to wall, letting her temporarily disappear into the masses. Her short height worked to her advantage. Sirens wailed blocks away.
She could feel the blanket of anonymity draw around her as she walked. It was encompassing, comforting. She slipped past the shoppers into an old, ornate stone doorway set under towering stone figures and gothic creatures. Stories of old were set in stained glass, the heavy stone door replaced many times. It was the worn sort of building that had seen many wars and battles. Yet, in the cathedral, visitors still flocked to view it as art. Rukia pretended to wander by a display of ancient artifacts before casually entering a hallway marked 'Do Not Enter'.
Down in the catacombs, past stone sarcophagi, there was a dark wooden panel set against the stone wall. With a nudge, down at the bottom left corner, it slid aside to reveal one of the underground tunnels that once connected the whole city. They were remnants of an ancient age when religion was met with suspicion and brute force. Now, they lie in wait- many of them still standing, carved resolutely in stone. Rukia had the network memorized. It was part of her training.
When she neared the door at the other end of the tunnel, she slid the blonde wig off her head and flipped it inside out; its lining like that of a fabric shopping bag. The glasses went next, shoved into the bag. Her outer coat- a soft blue pastel- was flipped inside out to expose a black reversible layer.
Rukia emerged silently in the basement of a warehouse two blocks away. She vanished into the heart of the city.
There was a limit to communication via deaddrops and coded, written messages. Anything digital carried great risk of discovery; the Lorencians had plenty of talent on their side. It didn't surprise Rukia when she saw the familiar chalk mark on the side of a mailbox along her usual walk to work. That evening, after her cover job, she visited a shop that bordered the foreign district and embassies. It was a small, casual shop with goods both local and imported from dozens of countries; its halls dark and cramped from overloaded shelves of merchandise. There was scarcely room to move.
Rukia offered the shopkeeper a casual smile. "Do you have any Federation creme chocolates? With cherry filling?"
He smiled easily. "I think so." He led her to the back of the shop, obscured from everything else, in a dead end of more shelves of dusty children's toys and hats. Rukia placed her hand against the side of a wooden box to the right. The shelf in front of her clicked, sliding back and behind the wall quietly on well-oiled gears. She entered a dark, thin hallway with only the faintest lights sparingly placed along the walls. It turned once, twice, then a doorway appeared at the end.
Rukia knocked. The door opened to reveal a grey, nondescript office. Uniformed Federation guards stood on either side, fully armed with machine guns, who waved her forward. She absently went through the well-practiced motions of placing her coat and bag on the scanning table. A female guard deftly patted her down for weapons or other concealed items. Finally, Rukia walked through the body scanner. She waited patiently as they cleared her and returned her things.
The Embassy for the Federation of Torkovia was considered Federation soil. Despite being in the heart of a foreign capital city, there was always some lingering relief when Rukia arrived at the embassy.
As she entered the embassy proper, there was the feeling of being home - at least in the technical sense- and it was almost enough to make up for the chilly reception. Even as others looked away from her, avoiding their gaze.
The receptionist and office clerk paused in their conversation as Rukia neared. They lowered their voices, muttering, offering a brief glance towards her. It was still enough to catch their suspicious gaze. She'd gotten the very same treatment back in the Federation. Rukia had long learned to ignore it. She walked through the offices with squared shoulders, focused. The debrief would not go well, she knew.
Nobu Kotev greeted her with a brief nod from behind his desk. He was in the latter end of middle age, his face wrinkled and pot-marked from a life most could only dream of. It signaled experience, much like the ways his beady eyes could instantly hone in on the single most important detail out of a hundred. Every stitch of his outfit was in order; every item was perfectly arranged on his desk, tidy, yet minimalist and professional. He lived for the Federation and his role. Having Kotev as a handler was truly an honor- one Rukia appreciated immensely over the past year. Because having Kotev as a handler provided more than accurate information for work. He brought with him experience and advice, and was a boundless resource in spycraft. He'd worked in the city for over a decade.
Rukia took a seat in front of his desk. She started to recount the recent mission dutifully with practiced ease. As she described the failure, the moment she decided to abort, he kept his expression controlled. His only reaction was a faint raise of a brow.
"And you left the guards alive?" he asked, although he seemed to know the answer.
Rukia paused, finding it the least consequential part of her debrief, and a strange detail to ask about. "I was able to neutralize them effectively. The injuries were enough to keep them from interfering any further," she said evenly.
"Perhaps. They are still living witnesses, however."
She'd mulled her actions over ever since the mission, attempting to find why she'd acted the way she did. It was against her training to aim to wound instead of to kill. It wouldn't have been her first time killing for the sake of a mission. A slew of reports were on file with Arkovian police that could be traced to her- attributed to natural causes, or accidents, for the most part. But her mission that day had been to plant a bug, nothing more. There was simply no need to create a bigger mess with unnecessary killing unless the mission specifically demanded it. If something was specifically ordered, she knew it had to be for good reason.
"They would be able to identify me if it came down to it," she said. "They were inexperienced, lowly-paid guards. It was easy enough to incapacitate them. In addition, I knew fatalities would draw much more attention from the Kronian police."
"Yes," he said slowly. "I know that's usually the reason. You must pardon me for asking, Agent Lucia- it's expected to review your reports very carefully, given your background."
Rukia returned his accusation with an impartial stare. She'd perfected the response long ago. "I understand."
"And you escaped through the catacombs?"
"Yes. I believed it was important not to take any chances. It was clear the Lorencians knew to expect me, somehow. They were in position when I entered the building. It wouldn't have been possible to identify me and take action so quickly. It was as if they knew to expect me… There was no doubt in their gaze. They knew who I was and what I was there to do."
Her handler was silent, unaffected still by the idea. He paused. "We suspect there is a… leak within our ranks, related to the postings in Arkov."
"What?" she breathed. "Are they tapping our communications in some way?"
"Perhaps," he said doubtfully, as if he knew the answer.
Rukia knew the unspoken alternative: A traitor.
No family in the Federation was untouched by the accusation. It was given freely, wielded as a weapon. And yet it was the most heinous crime in the Federation. Treason carried the harshest of all penalties. Trials were quick, efficient, and had a single reliable outcome. If there was a trial at all.
A memory was dredged forth, unbidden, of a night two years ago. She quickly brushed it away. It was no time for such foolish wonderings. She would focus on the task at hand. Rukia hardened her gaze, vacant. She chased the ghosts away. "Do they suspect anyone?" she asked.
"Outside of our agency, only a handful of representatives had access to the mission information. That's narrowed it down to about a dozen people, assuming the leak isn't an intelligence operative. All of them were allowed to be here for the economic summit. They're given more freedom to roam, and…" he paused, as if the word tasted foul in his mouth, "associate with foreigners."
Rukia nodded. A great deal of the work they did was already monitoring the Federation officers in the country. Citizens were rarely allowed to leave Federation borders. When they were allowed, as the high-ranking officers were for the international economics summit, every movement was watched. Scrutinized. Federation operatives were hidden everywhere, undercover, in Arkov. Watching foreigners as well as their own. Rukia had been a part of a number of those missions. Simply sitting near a building, watching who came and went, or placing bugs in flats, were common.
Kotev leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen thoughtfully against the desk. "We'll be increasing surveillance of our representatives. However, although we know of some leak, we're not sure how they could be passing the information. Our techniques should guard fully against any kind of digital or physical handoff. The protocols are strictly enforced, as you know."
"Yes."
He coolly raised a brow. "You've struggled to prove yourself enough to clear your family name. Some at headquarters still doubt you. I suppose it's to be expected with what happened to your brother. But, I'm sure you're aware."
That was an understatement, she thought bitterly. It was impossible to think of anything else; it overshadowed every interaction, every word spoken with anyone from home. At times she wondered if there was anyone in the Federation who didn't know of the Kuchiki reputation- and subsequent harsh fall from grace. Kotev was fully aware of it ever since he took her on as one of his agents. He was the only one who would.
She swiftly thought of other things instead of futile dwellings on the past. "You know I have nothing but loyalty to the Federation and its people."
"I don't doubt you," he nodded. "This leak has my superiors' attention. If you were to resolve it, it would do wonders to sway their favor of you."
Intelligence officers were widely respected within the government elite and social circles. She'd long worked to dissuade any doubt about her loyalties. But the work had been small, meager. Something significant- enough to even draw the attention of officers back home- was just the opportunity she hoped for. 'Kuchiki' could no longer be seen as an insult.
Rukia nodded. An ember of hope flickered despite her best efforts. Already, she was mentally reviewing procedures, routes, and people of interest. "Yes, sir!"
Every visit to the embassy was risky for a deep-cover agent. On her way out, Rukia stopped by the supply clerk to turn in any remaining, reusable items in her specialized kit. New, reloaded items were given in their place- this time, what looked like a makeup compact, a packet of poison-infused thin plastic used to make a death look like a heart attack, the latest decryption settings, special paper, and miniaturized cameras. She noted the absence of earpiece communicators- while useful in contacting others over a several-block radius, they had the unfortunate side effect of a 'tell'. They tended to buzz at random, making an agent's ear twitch reflexively. The Lorencians learned very quickly how to spot it.
It was a typical supply kit, save for one additional item- a small, unassuming silver ring, which contained a hidden pinprick needle and strong sedative. Enough to knock a grown man unconscious in seconds. Enough to catch a traitor before they could cover their tracks.
After reviewing the kit and finding everything in order, Rukia slipped it into a hidden pocket in her coat. It was enough to last her a few months.
According to the rules of spycraft, it was decided that the best cover identity was a real one. That was why Rukia publicly came to work in Arkov under a work visa, in a real, mundane job as a data clerk. She worked and lived as anyone else, swept away seamlessly into the constant flow of business and life in the city. She simply had other, secret duties as well.
Routines helped discourage attention from Lorencian and Federation surveillance alike. Routines were boring to observe. Predictability led to complacency for those watching. Often, interest was lost altogether. She'd ensured she wasn't being watched by either side.
It was a day like any other as she walked her usual route for lunch. But large crowds from a nearby event had formed, blocking any hope of her typical lunch. Impatient, she went down a different path. A street she'd only passed occasionally. And it was chance that led her to walk by a coffee shop. The rich smell was intoxicating, and she found herself ducking inside and ordering soup and a cup of coffee.
A flash of orange caught her eye. In the back corner was a man engrossed in a laptop, dressed in a collared shirt and tie. His well-fitted shirt hinted at a toned physique hidden underneath. His suit jacket and hat were placed on the seat next to him. And his hair was bright orange. A scowl crossed his face as he took a sip of his coffee. His frown deepened, as if the drink had done him a personal insult.
Due to her training, Rukia noted a dozen things in that moment, both about the man and everything else in the room. She could tell he was a Lorencian due to the designer logo on his collar.
Any Lorencians could be potential agents. There were subtle signs of an operative working to blend in; There were patterns to be seen, as the agents followed the same instructions of Lorencian spycraft. It did not, she believed, involve having hair bright enough to suffice as a traffic sign. Memorable and conspicuous were not conducive to undercover work. And his scowling expression stuck out in a coffee shop filled with studying students and laughing friends.
No, he was most likely visiting on business. He was just like the other multitudes that vied for part of the city's bustling economic scene. Unremarkable. He was oblivious to her and everything else in the spacious cafe. Typical of a Lorencian tourist to be an ignorant visitor.
She noted all of it in an instant. Casually turning to pick up her drink and meal, she pushed herself to leave without looking back.
But the man from the coffee shop did not leave her alone. Throughout the evening and night, his image inexplicably haunted her. As did his strange scowl at his coffee. Rukia let out a frustrated sigh as she finally managed to sleep.
The next day, she told herself she simply wanted a change of pace for lunch. And it was best to establish a routine, after all. Going to the cafe again was simply the logical choice.
The Lorencian man was there. He was in the same seat and almost identical posture as before. His coffee offended him once again, each sip bringing subtle waves of disgust, even as he focused on his laptop.
She knew she shouldn't speak with him. Such things were heavily frowned upon by the Federation. Interacting with foreigners rarely ended well. She simply ordered her meal and left.
Rukia visited again the next day. And the next, and so on.
He was there most days. Always sitting there with his laptop, dressed for a meeting, and scowling at his drink. She discreetly watched him interact with staff and the occasional patron, always speaking roughly. He seemed oblivious to half the things around him. By the standards of spycraft, he was sloppy. Too tense over little, pointless things. Too relaxed or dismissive about others. He was gruff, annoyed; yet kind to the staff in his own way.
Every aspect of her training was telling her to leave him alone. There was no logical reason to interact with him; no place in her secret work to warrant it. Yet, she continued to come day by day, drawn by something unknown. His eyes were never far from her memory. They were an amber brown, piercing, direct.
And he was still angry at his coffee. Why was he always angry at it? Did he misorder it? Over and over again?
It taunted her.
Finally, one day she found herself standing near his table and demanded, "What is it?"
He blinked, taking a few moments to hear her. He looked up in surprise. "W-what?"
She realized she needed to calm herself. It was unlike her to lose her cool so easily. Something about him affected her in that way. Yet her gaze held, piercing. "Your coffee. What's wrong with it?"
He narrowed his eyes, guarded. He shrugged. "I don't like Arkovian coffee."
She withheld a snort. "Fool. You didn't order Arkovian coffee. You ordered a form of concentrated espresso that is usually taken with bread."
He blinked and looked at his cup. "Since when?"
Rukia picked up his cup. "The names are different here than in Lorencia. You ordered a 'coffee'. That's not normal coffee."
He leaned back in his chair, although his amber eyes studied her closely. "So what's normal coffee?"
"Kuppa."
He scoffed. "Why can't they just call it coffee like everyone else?
And- What's it to you?"
Rukia opened her mouth with rebuke, only to find she did not have a true answer. "I-I have seen you scowling into your drink for weeks. It was growing bothersome. I couldn't sit by any longer."
"Oh, yeah? Been watching me?" She detected a faint wariness in the question.
She looked away, brushing off her coat in indifference. Even as she inwardly bristled at his attitude. "Fool. It's hard not to notice you. Your hair is difficult to miss. And you're Lorencian." Then, rational thought managed to seep through, bit by bit. "I shouldn't be talking to you," she said softly.
"I get it," he said lowly.
She jerked her attention back at him, surprised at the intensity.
"You think cause of my hair you know all about me, right?"
Rukia opened her mouth; shocked and amazed at how far from the mark he was. "I-I didn't-"
"Well, maybe you shouldn't judge someone just from the way they look. Just 'cause I'm a foreigner here-"
"F-fool!" It was a fierce whisper, careful not to draw attention. "That's not what I meant!" Their eyes locked; she saw determination, then surprise, as he listened. And yet there was no flash of recognition; He truly didn't understand what she meant.
He leaned back in his chair. "Oh. Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck, nonchalant. "Old habits, I guess. It's because I'm a tourist, right?" She stared, incredulous. She cleared her throat. "A-ah. Yes." Collecting herself, she muttered an excuse and left the cafe.
It was maddening how strange it was.
Rukia's social interactions were limited to fake, surface-level chatter that came with her cover job. Anyone at the Federation embassy avoided speaking with her at all- unless it was required by duty.
Seemingly a lifetime ago, when she lived a normal life in the Federation, she'd remembered such frivolous things- friendships. She'd gotten along just as well without them. But she'd learned there were more important things to focus on.
Why had she spoken with that man? A foreigner- a Lorencian, no less?
And why did she find herself at the cafe the very next day?
The man was in his usual seat. This time, a proper coffee cup was perched next to his laptop.
She couldn't help but smirk. Nor could she help herself as she strode up to him. "Oh? Is your drink better today?"
He smirked back. "Maybe. What's it to you?"
"I was merely hoping to educate a clueless Lorencian tourist. I see I've succeeded."
He scoffed, though the smirk faintly remained, and he acted like something in the distance drew his attention. "Yeah, whatever. I-" He paused. His gaze darted to her. "How do you know I'm Lorencian?"
"It's not difficult if you know what to look for. Tourists are obvious. As are businessmen. It's obvious when the economic summit's in session."
The man looked over his laptop. His suit jacket was slung over a chair.
Rukia grew increasingly aware of being in a public place, in the open, where dozens of eyes might see her and their exchange. She felt foolish for not being more aware of it before. She was exposed.
"I should go," she said quietly, firmly. "I shouldn't be speaking with you."
Finally, she saw the glimmer of realization in his eyes, along with concern. "What do you mean?
"My government disapproves of such things," she said quietly, striving for a mask of indifference.
His eyes widened. "You're from the Federation?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
He seemed to realize something, his expression softening; understanding. "You mean… you'd get in trouble? Just for talking with me?"
It was strange he found the idea surprising. Lorencians truly were sheltered, it seemed. "Possibly."
Rukia knew she had to get away. Caution led to survival. Yet, a part of her foolishly wanted to merely linger, drawn inexplicably to him.
It was a foolish thought.
With a muttered goodbye, she ducked her head down and left for the bustling city street.
"You!" It was less of a shout and more an earnest declaration of surprise. The orange-haired man watched Rukia with wide eyes. Something akin to relief showed, as well. "I wasn't sure you would come back."
It had been three weeks. She'd assumed he would have moved on from the cafe. Part of her stirred at his reaction. "Yes," she said coolly, suspiciously. She sat at a nearby table while facing parallel to him, avoiding looking at him. She acted as if she were digging in her bag. "Was there something you needed?"
"You're okay, right?" he said quietly.
She froze, blinking."What?"
"For talking to me. You're not in trouble, right?"
Rukia couldn't help but glance at him. His eyes drew her in, the earnestness there making her pause. Was he playing some game? Why would he care about an enemy? "Ah… yes, I'm fine."
His broad shoulders relaxed. "Good."
Was he coming back all those weeks, just to check on her? She wasn't sure how to respond. Yet, part of her basked in the feeling.
A devious smirk found its way to her face. "I didn't expect you to stalk me."
Her smirk grew as he stammered, as the faintest red came across his face. "I'm not!" he hissed.
She resumed looking away. "I still shouldn't be seen talking with you. This is too public."
"Sorry."
Federation Agent Protocol would have her leave and never return to that place. Yet, the thought of it was abhorrent; she couldn't simply move on.
"I will be in Centennial Park tonight at seven," she said quietly. Then, she smoothly rose from her seat, picked up her drink order, and left.
Rukia sat casually on a park bench. It had the perfect view of the nearby walkway, yet her back was covered by tall bushes. She saw the man approach long before he spoke.
"So you can't talk to me in public, is that it?" the man asked.
She was nearly speechless at his frankness. "I must simply be cautious. My government can be… strict in how its citizens should behave with foreigners." A public, yet discreet place was their best option- hotels were often monitored by operatives of all sides, and her own flat was most likely bugged by the Federation.
"But I'm not getting you in trouble or anything, am I?" he asked.
Her gaze didn't waver. "I will speak with whomever I please. There's no harm in helping a business traveler." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Don't you care that I'm from the Federation?"
He shrugged, keeping his hands in his coat pockets. "No. I don't get involved in politics."
She scoffed at the ignorance of it. "That's very short-sighted. You can't belittle the importance of our countries. You should be aware of the many things your government is responsible for."
The man's gaze didn't waver; he continued to idly watch as some birds hopped around a nearby trash can. "I know my government's not perfect- but the Federation's in another league. You can't even talk to me without hiding it, right?"
His calm yet arrogant tone fed her disbelief. Her answer came out like a lecture, cutting yet full of reprimand. "The Federation is far more aware of what its people need than you. Their actions are for good reason. Everything is done to help and protect fellow citizens."
"Whatever the reason they gave you, it's not because they're worried about you. It's gonna be something self-serving. The Federation's good at that kind of thing." It was a calm statement of fact.
She snored, glancing away. "Your government is hardly so innocent," she said coolly.
"I know that- I said that, didn't I? This is why I stay away from politics. Everybody loses. It's a conversation killer."
She snorted. She couldn't remember her last real conversation that wasn't about different countries. "I suppose that's true."
"Besides, I work with people from all kinds of countries. I'm used to it. So don't get all huffy about who's from where, okay? I'm just gonna ignore it and talk to you anyway."
A smirk tugged at the corners of Rukia's lips. "Is that so?"
"Yeah."
"What's your name? 'Ignorant Lorencian' is too long."
He turned to look directly at her, his gaze piercing. He smirked. "Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki."
Something within her told her to lie. To remain coy. To protect herself and keep control of the situation. Information was a weapon that could supersede all else.
Yet, she held his gaze unflinchingly and said, "Rukia Kuchiki."
After that night, Rukia went back to the cafe again, and again. Sometimes Ichigo was there. They didn't need to exchange words. The barest glance, and they knew to meet at the same nearby park that night.
It seemed Ichigo was clueless about many other aspects of life in Arkov. The more they spoke, the more she grew exasperated with his casual attitude towards it.
"It would help to know more about things here, I guess," he shrugged. "I end up going to a lot of places with clients for work."
"And yet you didn't take the time to fully learn about the city?" she asked.
"I never got around to it. It seemed fine- the clients tend to know the area pretty well."
Rukia sighed. They'd stopped at a small table and set of chairs outside of a dessert shop. She took a napkin, grabbed a pen from her bag, and drew a crude map of the city. She began to explain the major landmarks, the tourist draws, and the centers of commerce. She then went over the population numbers, the cultural breakdown for certain areas, the average income levels, demographics, and general politics at the city level. Her job required her to know the city down to the last detail, down to the very-
"What's that?"
She blinked. "What?"
He pointed to a shape in the drawing. "What's that supposed to be?"
"A rabbit."
He squinted. "There are rabbits here?"
Her grip on the pen tightened. "N-no, I simply… I simply wanted to draw one. What does it matter?!"
"Oh."
She realized she was halfway out of her seat and was glaring at him over the table. Clearing her throat, she carefully sat back with poise. "As I was saying…"
"What about you?"
"What?"
"What're your favorite things about the city? You live here, right?"
She paused. The answer didn't come; there wasn't one. A lie quickly sprung forth that fit her cover story- something simple regarding coworkers and movies. But saying it aloud somehow felt wrong. Instead, she said a half-truth. "I don't do very much outside of my work. It's very demanding, at times."
"Oh."
"Do you have any hobbies?" she asked, almost reflexively, as if he were a mark.
He shrugged, growing strangely quiet. "I used to be into cars as a teen. Did some street racing. It was a long time ago."
She wanted to snort and tease him about it, although she could easily picture him as a rebellious teen, coolly victorious against everyone else. But his expression told another story. The spark had faded from his eyes in a way she'd never imagined.
"Anyway," he said, rubbing the back of his head, as if all was well, "I could go for a late-night snack."
Whatever it was, it wasn't Rukia's place to pry.
Idle walks filled with conversation turned into visiting different places, sharing meals hidden away in discreet restaurants, and blending into city crowds. Rukia was careful not to draw too much attention to either of them. Each time, she ensured there was no one following her. She advised Ichigo to remain subtle, as well- especially by wearing a hat over his bright hair. It was the standard dress for a businessman, anyway. And he looked good in it, she secretly thought.
"Are you sure this is safe for you?" he asked, staring deeply at her in concern. Once again, she was taken aback by the intensity of it.
"Fool. I know how to take care of myself. There's no need to worry."
"I didn't say I was worried. I was just checking."
Ichigo was a terrible liar. Rukia fought back a smile.
Sometimes he was gone for days or weeks. Rukia was always disappointed- even though she tried to deny it.
Work was the perfect antidote to her condition. Tailing Federation officials and making dead drops allowed her to focus back on reality. As she should have been doing all along, she told herself. Her mind could not wander into frivolity when lives were at stake. Or when she ended them.
The whisper of winter's approach brought overcast skies and the promise of snow. Rukia walked past the bare trees of the city streets with calm, purposeful steps.
Sometimes she wondered at her inexplicable actions. There was little else to focus on during her long walks. When there wasn't a mission involved, at least.
Ichigo never questioned her need for privacy and safety. Though he didn't know the true risk she was taking- or anything about what she really was- he understood her government wasn't understanding about even casual meetings with enemy citizens.
He'd taken it as a sacred oath, almost; never questioning, never hesitating. His warm gaze made her worries so distant in comparison. Attentive to her concerns, but never pushing her of them.
That night, snow continued to gently blow on the gleaming city, the air having chilled right as the sun went down. It was late enough for workers to return home. Others had already taken shelter in restaurants or bars.
The eastern side of the city held lush parks dotted with trees that were now blanketed in snow. A wind gust caused Rukia to shiver, pulling her coat tighter around her. She smiled, spying a familiar figure.
He smiled back. "Hey."
"It's been too long, Ichigo."
"Twenty-five days an-" he stopped, as if catching himself, remembering where he was. His gaze was transfixed on her, as if he strove to note every detail about her lest she drift away. He probably thought he was being discreet. His eyes drew her in, as they somehow tended to do.
With a start, she managed to turn away, collecting herself. Snow had started to lightly dust the road and sidewalk as the evening wore on, and movement in the city grew scarce.
"There's something I wanted to show you," he said casually.
Ichigo had been very specific about their meeting spot that night. The Mournberg Bridge was one of several bridges within the city that spanned the Isamu River. It was a place she knew just as well as any other. Nothing stood out about it.
He led them to a spot in the very center of the bridge, right next to the carved stone railing that kept them from the river below.
Excitement bubbled up within her in a way she'd nearly forgotten. "And? What is it you wanted to show me?" She craned her head to look around them, as if it would suddenly reveal itself.
"This is it," he said. He remained looking towards the river.
She blinked, her energy fading. "What is?"
"T-This!" he lightly scowled and rubbed the back of his neck. "This. This view."
Rukia frowned, turning to face the same direction he was. It was indeed the river and part of the city she was familiar with. She had to know every inch of the city for her work, after all. It was the same river Isamu as it ever was. "I've seen the Mournberg bridge many times before, Ichigo. I've lived here for over a year."
"I know- That's not what I meant!" There was a tinge of red on his ears. She doubted it was from the cold. "Just… You haven't seen it like this. On a night like this. Just look at it, okay?"
Carefully, she turned back towards the river.
"It's rare to have nights like tonight," he started. His embarrassment faded, his tone growing unusually soft. "It's not too cold or windy, and there's hardly anybody out right now. But you get to see the glow of the city from here, too. Like it's all stretched out before you. Almost like a living painting. Or… That's what I thought, anyway," he added, embarrassed, as if to make up for his sincerity. "It's like visiting another world, right now."
As he spoke, Rukia looked again. She saw the gentle fall of snowflakes encompassing the streets and every object within. The bustle of the city lay forgotten in the overwhelming silence it brought; cars, people, machines- all of it a distant memory, swallowed up by winter's embrace. The world was white and blue and gray. Yet, the yellow glow of streetlamps cast an eerie haze along the roads and sidewalks. Each like a glimpse into yet another world. The river stretched out from below them in its murky darkness. Yet, light gleamed from within it.
It enveloped her in a feeling she couldn't quite place. All while wondering: how had she never noticed that magical place before? What else might she be missing within the city she'd been tasked to learn? How could she be so blind?
She turned to speak, only to find her hand was resting against his chest- she quickly pulled away, tucking her hand firmly in her coat pocket, ignoring the warmth of her cheeks against the bitter cold.
"I'd never noticed," she breathed. "It's beautiful." She braved looking up to meet his gaze, only to find him already watching her intently, his expression strangely soft. "Yeah. It is."
It was as if he could see through to her very being. If she allowed herself to look for too long, she feared, he could peer into her very soul.
She felt exposed. It was tempting- and terrifying.
Rukia forced herself to look away.
They were standing close to one another with her coat brushing up against his. She must've moved without realizing it. It was only for warmth, she told herself. Keeping her gaze carefully on the scene before them, she said, "You're unlike any salesman I've met."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Most are far more arrogant, overly outspoken, irritatingly cheery, and manipulative. Although your confidence can certainly be checked, you're still far from the worst I've known."
"I can't stand salesmen either. I hate calling myself one."
"And yet that's what you do for a living?" she asked.
She felt him shrug beside her. "It was the best option at the time. When I was a teenager, I'd really… messed up, I guess. I didn't care about school, I didn't like being told what to do. I got into arguments at home, sometimes. My folks were always hounding me for not living up to my potential. I fell into a bad crowd. I was being stupid. But I felt like nothing could stop me. Not even when I came home with bruises from a fight."
Rukia could imagine him winning a fistfight. But it was a strange picture nonetheless compared to the man diligently working at his laptop, so devoted to traveling for work, that he was often away entertaining clients. "You got into fights?"
"Yeah. But the other guy was always worse off," he said with a grin.
There was a pause. Something shifted in the air. His tone grew soft, the way it did when recounting something painful dulled by time. "Then… my parents got in a car crash. Neither of them made it."
"I'm sorry."
"It was just me and my little twin sisters. Everything changed for us overnight. Just like that… I was the one responsible for taking care of them. Our world shifted. I dunno if I can really explain it. Things were just…" his frown could be heard in his voice, a sound that made Rukia's chest ache- "Different. It wasn't just mourning or learning to live without them. My old life was left behind. I knew I needed to protect my sisters. They needed someone to provide for them, too. It wasn't about me. Not anymore.
"Before that, I used to street race- my parents hated it, but I always snuck out at night, anyway. I'd steal the family car sometimes. It always drove them crazy… but I didn't care. I was young and stupid. But after they died, I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't bring myself to drive anything at all. I'd sit in front of the wheel and freeze."
Rukia turned away from the river. Ichigo's brows were knit in faint pain, despite his even tone. "It can take time to heal from such things. Moving on is not instant. It's also normal for our views to be radically changed when such a thing happens," she said gently. "It's a sign of maturity to do so."
"Maybe," he said. "I didn't question it. There wasn't any kind of hesitation for me- Not for a second. I just knew what to do from then on. I decided to be there for my sisters, the way I always should've been in the first place."
She wanted to reach out for him- to lightly grip his sleeve in reassurance, or to direct his gaze to hers- she wasn't sure. Instead, her hand remained clenched inside her coat pocket.
"So… I got an office job that paid well. It was boring sales work. I hated it. But it wasn't hard if you actually put in the effort."
"Is that why you're here now?"
He nodded. "I got a couple of promotions. Foreign work pays better since you're away from home so often. I may not get to be home with my sisters very much… but they're well-fed, and safe, back home. I just help government guys from screwing up their economies."
Rukia frowned. "You would do all that for your family? To take a job you hate, spending all your time away from them?"
Ichigo didn't so much as flinch. "Yeah. Love's funny like that, I guess."
Her gaze drifted with narrowed eyes. A bitter snort escaped her lips.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "...Sorry. I didn't mean to kill the mood."
"That's not it," she said. Her sympathy for him lingered, but it was threatened by the harsh weight of reality, of painful lessons learned. It was a heartwarming tale that she longed to relish. Who wouldn't want to believe in the power of mere love? But she knew better. "There are many reasons behind your success. 'Love' is a mere trifle by comparison. The world doesn't work that way."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Love can bring about ruin just as easily as success. You should not be quick to give it such credit." She couldn't help the firm, bitter tone imbued in every word.
Ichigo blinked, frowning. "You really believe that?" he stared at her; not in a condescending way, but with a look of crushing disappointment, as if she had wounded his very soul. Yet it was tinged with- what was it? Sadness? Pity?
It was a look Rukia could hardly bear. Their gazes locked. "I-" She frowned. Looking away, back towards the river and the glowing fantasy world, she shook her head. Her words were all but lost to the gentle winter breeze. She shut her eyes. "It doesn't matter."
A car horn blared in the distance. Rukia found herself simply standing on the Mournberg bridge, in a foreign land next to a man who was her enemy, and shivered. How appropriate, she realized, for her moment of fantasy to be tarnished by the harsh reality of life.
But then, Ichigo softly said, "Of course it matters." His low, deep timbre cut through the howling wind and the sloshing of the river below. It rang of tenderness mixed with irrefutable strength; foolish in its confidence.
She blinked. For yet another time that evening, she had trouble finding the words. "...Fool. You're too forgiving of me," she finally said quietly. Before he could deny it, Rukia leaned against him, her head resting against his shoulder.
The move stunned him into silence.
It felt… right. She focused on the brush of Ichigo's coat against hers, along with the low, soothing rhythm of his breathing. They stood there, watching the magical world laid out before them; something too splendid, too beautiful to exist.
And yet, impossibly, it did.
Shadows made for poor company, Rukia realized.
There was no refuge on her missions as she lay in wait for targets to appear; no distraction from the tasks at hand. Nor did they comfort her when she recorded the schedules and lives of whoever the Federation deemed suspicious.
She'd discovered two Federation citizens cheating on their loved ones back home. Another was buying Kronian goods to smuggle back to the Federation, presumably to sell on the black market for steep profits. All of it went into her reports. After the investigations were done, the arrests would be soon to follow.
Sometimes, she was part of it. It was easy enough for her to blend in as a civilian. Until the van appeared from around a corner, the doors sliding open, with outstretched hands pulling the target inside.
Those were the easier missions. They were cleaner, too- no witnesses to silence. No body to dispose of. Not yet, anyway.
The Federation representative Rukia was assigned to made for dull watching. He flaunted his wealth and freedom while in Arkov. Every second seemed designed to take advantage of everything foreign. According to Kotev, it was just like all the other officials in Arkov for the summit. They enjoyed lives filled with the spoils of fine dining, social events, and other diversions, often with Federation enemies. Did they forget who they were? What country they served? It was despicable.
Rukia sat in a corner of a restaurant, her phone held facing away from anyone else. On the screen was a live feed of a mailbox that was a known Lorencian dead drop. She'd placed a pin-sized, limited-range broadcast camera there some days ago.
No sign of anything. It was just one of the many things she'd watched in recent months, and another empty lead. After an hour she paid and left.
On her way home, in a crowded plaza, an airy laugh drew her attention. A man and woman were walking side-by-side, scarcely noticing anything around them, so engrossed were they in each other's eyes. The man smiled gently before letting out a laugh. The woman giggled, blushing and hiding her face against his shoulder. He turned, cupping her face for a slow, gentle kiss, leaving them both breathless, the world around them long forgotten.
Rukia frowned. She averted her gaze.