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hereticdrws · 4 months ago

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Killing Strangers, part 4/5

previous chapters: i. ii. iii. cws: extreme violence/car crash/gore/death/grief/self harm/drugs/guns/sex wordcount: 19,434 / Mizu x female oc / soundtrack art by @hereticdrws / beta by @big-mama-y 💙

Mizu jolts awake. She tastes blood in her mouth, but she does not have the strength to spit it out. Her cheek pressing into shards of glass, she opens her mouth and it pours out, thick and red. She groans, and blinks around her, her eyes burning from the smoke. She can hear a distant buzzing, the turn signal still blinking and clicking.

She slaps her hand around her blindly, searching for her phone, and looks up at the rooftop of the car, her head spinning. She whines as she tries to move, a sharp shock of pain ripping through her leg. She is locked in place by something heavy and wet with blood, something metallic which is lying across her thigh, pinning her down. Mizu groans again, dragging her leg viciously, pushing at the metal to free herself. She can smell a fire burning somewhere near her, fuel gurgling out of the tank to pool around the crushed rooftop, and panic erupts through her blood, adrenaline making her push through the throbbing pain, screaming and gritting her teeth tight as she drags herself out of the crashed car through a window and onto the side of the road.

She lays flat on her back, panting through her nose; the heat is sweltering, suffocating her. She blinks at the sun, the baked, black asphalt burning her back. She rolls over, hissing at the pain that erupts through her, and crawls onto her knees, screaming and screaming.

She drags herself back to her car, but there's no one inside of it, and a hot sob trembles in her mouth, ripping her throat open; she's drenched in blood, can feel it trickle down her forehead, spilling into her mouth, but she cannot stop, she hurriedly stumbles to her feet and cries out in pain, frantically looks around her, panting through her open mouth.

In the distance, she can hear sirens blaring.

Mizu hopelessly screams her name again, but there's no one to answer her desperation; there's just her and the highway; an endless, white-scorching heat.

i. love is a negative space.

13 months ago

Afterwards, she hits the road until she outruns the screams inside her head and at a gas station, in the middle of nowhere, she stands by the side of her car and she leans back and looks up at the sky. She's got a lit cigarette in her left hand, but not taking it in. She likes to watch it burn, likes feeling its burn against her skin. She speeds through a wet road all lit up in neon lights, chasing the ghost of her; at the Continental, she sits at the bar, glasses pushed up on top of her head, does not care who sees her. They won't dare touch her, and when they do, it does not go their way.

She does not give a fuck about the price hanging hefty over her head; slinks through the city like a ghost, always just out of their reach. Someone tries her, outside the Red Circle, the promise of her death, the money in it, too tempting.

In the morning, he washes up on the shores of the river, cold and bloodless, his throat cut open.

She looks for him everywhere in the city, moves like smoke, no one can catch her; they haven't seen the Ghost in weeks now, they say, he's disappeared. Like he always does. Maybe he's after Fowler. Violet's bitch. When Kaji listens to them talk about it in the bar of her establishment, she offers her vague, slow smile, expertly stirs the conversation elsewhere with all of her languid grace, fanning herself and laughing, the crimson fan a dragonfly with eyes in its wings...

Well, maybe she's looking for something else, too, Ringo says, patiently one sleepless night, him on the couch, in her living room, Mizu with her back to him, knuckles burning against the punching bag hanging off the ceiling.

She cuts her eyes to him.

"wanna shut up?"

"just saying." a soft shrug.

She doesn't say anything. She punches the bag so hard, the leather tears.

The absence haunts her like Geraldine not saying goodbye haunts her, like her walking out without a word, the not knowing, the helplessness. Sometimes, she parks her motorcycle across the river, and watches the lights in Violet's home go on at two in the morning, watches the shadows slither across the window, behind the drapes. Wonders if it's Fowler. If it's his wife.

She delves deep into the night, the bars and clubs she knows he frequents, but he's nowhere. She's chasing shadows, and it gnaws at her, the anger, the desperation.

Sometimes, she'll have a drink, maybe two. Kiss a girl. Fuck a girl. Hunger and attention are lonely victories but if people are using her for her body at least she is being used by somebody, at least she doesn't have to think about her, or him or her inability to do anything about the absence that haunts her every second, because god forbid you go back to the one person who actually made you feel good about something, Ringo will say and she will glare at him for so long that he begins to feel the sting of it like a punch.

Sure the whiskey hurts, she does not like to drink, does not drink, but she knows where it will hit her and sure she's never full up, sure slamming herself into potential danger and death every way she can just so she can find him, or a trace of him, or anyone that may know something, anything, is the last way to feel alive — but at least this way she looks like she's doing something, like she's got it all under control, still, instead of half-imploding; at least this way she leaves the room in the morning, eyes burning from staring at her mother's necklace for hours in her bed, sleepless, drained, on auto pilot; has something to chase after, has something to keep her from fucking losing it and spiralling out of control. She speeds through it like she's got nothing to lose, all dark, deep sharpness and impatience, but the road will eventually end, there won't be anywhere left to run to, and everything will settle hard around her shoulders again...

It looks like the storm has passed. New York's wet, grey, seven inches of rain last night, high winds and flooding in some areas. It's still raining but it's a gentle drizzling now. City crews are still working this morning, trying to restore power. She parks her motorcycle across the river overlooking the Continental, and walks towards her swiflty, impatience wrapping itself around her like a rope. Mizu leans against the railing, gives her a look, her glasses reflecting in the rain.

"speak."

"you kept me waiting." Kaji's voice is a shadowy drawl, sharp and deep. She does not look at Mizu, stares unblinkingly out at the day, a cigarette dangling from between her thin lips, sweet with plum lipstick.

"traffic." Mizu intones. "so?"

Kaji cuts her off, turns to look at her. "石の上にも三年... Three years on a cold stone will make the stone warm." Kaji offers, her voice deeper in japanese, like the sting of hot water in your throat. Mizu huffs, flicks her eyes over to her. Her eyebrows, she notices, are very thin, sharply outlined with kohl. Her lips are tight.

"yeah, well. Running out of time." Mizu reaches for her lighter, leans in and relights Kaji's cigarette, guarding the flame with her palm.

"thank you." Kaji sucks in the smoke, exhales sharply. The river below the bridge is thrumming, swollen with the rain.

Kaji reaches in her purse, draws a piece of paper, slides it towards Mizu. "what are you going to do? Everyone's looking for you."

Mizu snatches it out of her hand, her eyes trailing over the address written down, does not say anything for a long time.

So, Paris. she's thinking, her mind already racing ahead of her body, quick to plan, quick to move, but Kaji breaks in,

"you could stay at the Continental for a while. Wait this out. No one could lay a hand on you there. No one would dare. Too much to lose." Kaji insists; she has offered too many times now, her protection, an eye to look over her, keep her safe until all this blows over; and too many times, Mizu has refused the offer, shrugged her concerns off, blunt and impatient.

"no one will lay a hand on me anywhere." she tucks the piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans, gives her a look; her eyebrows arch and then furrow, creating conflicting lines on her face. "thank you. I owe you." she says curtly with a polite bow of her head to her.

"you do." Kaji presses her lips into a thin line; enveloped in plumes of white smoke, she looks like something cut out of stone; untouchable. "you take everything for granted, child. That things will always go as you wish them to go. Those who've survived an arguably unsurvivable life... the kind of life we live; you live? it's not how it'll always be." a pause between her words, a long silence between the two of them, thrumming like the river beyond the bridge. "the few things we find time to truly care for... pass long before we do."

Mizu gives her a look, her hand impatiently zipping up her leather jacket, fingers fumbling on the zipper.

"thank you, for doing this."

Kaji gives a quick nod.

She watches as Mizu straddles her bike; guns the engine, and drives off.

Somewhere in Paris, Fowler is sprawled out on a chaise longue, sipping on a glass of red wine.

"he's a nobody. some kid from the gutter, a finished clan we should have ended years ago. Violet was careless, too cocky. Risked too much, did not listen and now he's dead. Nothing will happen to us. he's nothing. just a kid. you worry too much."

Heiji, stood at the window, turns to look at him, hands clasped neatly at the small of his back, too small against the glare of the sun spilling in through the stained glass.

"a small ember can burn down everything..." he offers, voice shrill; like he's scared of something that does not exist; a shadow, dogging their every step.

"then snuff it out!" Fowler barks, and snuffs out the flame of the candle burning near him with his thumb.

ii. Routely.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room, my friend. Come Mr. Eiji, come..." Auclair laughs, sweeping his arm to indicate the milling crowd of women in lavaliers, the lush, smoky parlor, silver chains on black satin, men in black sleek suits, clustered in the corners, gesturing animatedly with their cigarettes and voices too loud, carrying over the music.

Mizu smooths the lapels of her perfectly pressed suit, and says, simply, her voice like static, low, deep, "Auclair" as a way of greeting him.

"If you are looking for a fashionable Parisienne, this is the place to find her," says Auclair, clapping him on the shoulder—or more lurches against Mizu to keep himself upright, he is drunk enough that Mizu can be certain, can smell the wine in his breath, sour and sharp. "Do you see your Venus moderne?" he laughs, his accent slithery and drawling.

"that's not why I am here" Mizu says curtly, as she eyes a group of women who flit past. They are beautiful, and their smiles gratifying, but none is her, with the crimson mouth like fire, and the dark eyes.

"oh, come on... Loosen up! It's Paris!" Auclair laughs, touching Smoke's shoulder a little too much, and Mizu shrugs his hand off slowly and just stares at him, her eyes like shards of glass, glinting. "okay, okay... You could put Smoke in a room with nothing but a mirror, and he would still fight his own reflection. Come on. Let's have a drink." he laughs again, leads Mizu to a private table. He waves down a waitress, asks Mizu what she would like to drink.

She sits primly on the sofa, carefully studying the room, says, impatiently,

"Single Malt. Irish, if you've got it." to the surprise of her company, and then, as soon as the waitress walks away, ignoring his attempts at pleasantries, at small talk, asks,

"is he here?"

Auclair blinks, the laughter dying in his throat, "who?"

"don't play games with me."

"I would never presume to..."

Mizu cuts him off, "then tell me."

"you realize where you are, yes?" Auclair lowers his voice to a fierce whisper, eyes red from too much wine, and gleaming,

Mizu does not care. She lays back, legs sprawled open, loosens her tie.

"uh huh."

"you already have a bounty on your head."

"I'm aware."

Auclair blanches, mouth opening then closing, eyes wide.

"what's wrong with you?"

Mizu does not answer. Her gaze is sweeping over the bar slowly, taking in every little detail, something inside of her on edge, senses alert, even when she is sinking back into the cushions, bouncing her left leg up and down.

"he owns the bar, no? Heiji Shindo?" she shoots back, staring at the guard that is walking away from the bar, watching him hiss something into the radio in his hand.

Auclair sighs, looks around them like he's afraid the walls will hear them, swallow his words up. Like he's got someone after him, his lips trembling.

"Ghost. The High Council owns everything he has. They have put him in charge, here. You cannot touch him. You know the rules."

Her smirk plays around the edges of her mouth, and she cuts her eyes back to him. Out of the corner of her eye she can see activity in the back of the bar, senses the guard walk away, disappearing behind a door.

She gives Auclair a long look, the blue of her eyes still shocking to him; too sharp, like the mouth of a gun pressed to a throat.

"He moves about… from one place to the next… Heiji Shindo has put him under his thumb… wherever Shindo goes, so does Fowler."

Mizu considers this, eyes squinting. A fly, buzzes past her ear. The music too loud, the heat in the room pulsing, like a flame. Too many people, and cigarette smoke swelling in the air.

"is he here, then?"

"Fowler?" Auclair sounds like he's choking, laughter too deep in his throat. She can see sweat beading his brow.

"no, no, no... No. he's not."

"Shindo."

Auclair does not know what to say, gives a tight huff, looking over his shoulder.

"She said you could help. You are useless." Mizu intones, sitting up on the edge of the sofa, elbows on her knees, legs spread open. Her voice is pitched low, for his ears only. She is wearing a snarl that could easily be mistaken for a tight smile for anyone watching them.

"I have not seen him in a while. He comes and goes. He's their pawn, controls half of Paris. Even if he comes tonight... you think you can, what? what exactly are you going to do with your little anger, huh? walk up to him and shoot him? Point a gun at his face? This is Continental grounds. you cannot touch him here. You cannot touch him anywhere in Paris, and he knows this. Fowler knows it too... I am surprised she sent you here."

Mizu blinks. Her fingers constrict around her empty glass.

"what are you gonna do? end it all just to what? get back at him for the price he put on your head? it was Violet's doing, and he is fucking dead. By your hand, I hear."

"I am gonna kill him." Mizu says evenly, answers his question unflinchingly, brows tightly pressed together. "if Shindo wants to join him in death too, that's on him."

Auclair snorts.

"you are just going to make things worse for yourself. I've helped you so many times before. but this time you are making a mistake, Smoke." he says, signaling to the attractive young woman with the tray of drinks for another round. His lower lip is trembling.

Mizu stares, does not say anything. A muscle in her jaw ticks.

As she turns to ask for another glass of whatever Auclair is getting, too, she catches sight of a flash of ebony hair, a slim figure lingering at the top of the stairs.

Her breath catches before she can disappear into the press of the crowd and Mizu feels her body go numb, all of her attention snatched away. Briefly, her shock exposes itself for all the world to see. It’s a half-second, barely a tick of a micro-expression, but it’s there.

"yet here we are. here I am. I will tell you this... he hasn't been around in a while, but it is Saturday night and—"

"excuse me," Mizu cuts him off unexpectedly, standing up, too quickly, her mind already elsewhere. She pushes through the crowd, Geraldine's eyes on her still a tiny shock to her system, have made her nerves jump, the electric shock of being plunged into ice-cold water pulsing through her.

She climbs the stairs, but she's pulling away from the railing, Mizu sees her slip through the throng of bodies all around them, disappear into the bathroom, and it feels like she's chasing after something unreal as she makes her way to where she's disappeared into anyway, like the sharp edge of a cliff. One moment, Mizu feels like she's got it, like her hands remember the shape of her pressed to her palms, her rushing sweetness. Her skin is tingling. She takes off her tie, with quick, sharp movements, stuffs it in a pocket pulls down her hair, not that she cares, before shouldering her way into the women's bathroom.

The bar outside is loud, and Mizu closes the door with a soft click, presses her back to it, Geraldine's back to her. She's standing at the mirror, reapplying her siren red lipstick with a tiny, smooth brush, so delicately it’s a dream.

Mizu blinks, loses her words somewhere inside her throat, too tight, closing up. Her fingers curl into fists, her back too tightly pressed to the door. In the mirror, Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, lashes fluttering across her skin; Mizu swallows, watches the way her mascara is flirting with her cheeks. She smiles without fucking up her lipstick, says, a slow drawl that runs through Mizu like a knife, rubs her nerve endings raw, "bold of you to follow me in here."

Mizu exhales; watches Geraldine toss her hair over her shoulder, fix the way her tight dress clings to her curves. The scent of her floods Mizu. She rides on the feeling of her so close, feels the air between of them explode like a firework, like a wildfire, felling everything in its path. A vague sense they are alone atop the universe’s edge fills that dark, hollow space inside her. She is probably dreaming.

"you stole my painting." she blurts out.

Geraldine laughs, swirls the last of her perfect color, makes eye contact with Mizu again in the mirror. Her eyes are very dark, haunting her; they've haunted her for months now; deep, drowning eyes, eyes with teeth. She wants them on her. Wants the bite of them; wants the ache of it. Mizu pushes herself off the door, walks up to her, jaw set; a muscle is jumping in her throat. Her face hurts.

When Geraldine tries to pull away, shove past her, her bare shoulder brushing against Mizu's, she grabs her wrist, makes her stay. "nice fucking stunt you pulled." Mizu snaps, voice too low, smoky.

"what do you want?" Geraldine snaps back, and Mizu gives her a look, can feel the heat of her body, can see how fast her chest is rising and falling; how easy she allows herself to be pushed, her back colliding with only mild force against the counter. "why are you here?" Mizu asks, her hand slipping off her wrist. She is not touching her but crowds her against the mirror, sees that heat travel up the soft slopes of Geraldine's neck, to her face, settling over her like a flame.

Geraldine does not look away, looks up, boldly, her eyes blazing at Mizu's bare-knuckled audacity, the feeling of her pressed close. Mizu sees her inhale, sees her thick lashes flutter rapidly. "stop." she whispers, her hands on Mizu's chest as though to keep her from pressing any closer. "running away without a word. All the way to Paris. Here. To Heiji Shindo's lair—" she snaps, too fiercely, voice a dark whisper, the implication settling between them, and Geraldine immediately breaks in, tries to shove her off, eyes sharpening, "—how dare you. not everything is about you, Mizu! And I did leave you with a word." she reminds her, and Mizu bristles, snorts on laughter, cold, the bark of it too harsh through her teeth. "right. consequences. whatever the fuck that meant, Geraldine."

Geraldine does not say anything to that, looks away, and Mizu can feel her body tightening against her, can feel her pulse, the rush of want between them like a physical ache. Her mouth tingles, and she lifts her hand to her face, tilts her chin towards her, forcing eye contact. She feels the way Geraldine's breath hitches when she meets her gaze, and there are pinpricks of light, burning at the center of her dark eyes.

She feels Geraldine slide her hands up her back like a promise, and her jaw tightens. It always feels colder after she’s been there, her hands on her; like Mizu only remembers warm when she shows it to her. Her hand is soft on Geraldine's face, fingers tracing the shape of her mouth.

"I'm not here with them," Geraldine whispers eventually, all of her anger snuffed out. Her voice is firm but there is something tender in it too. She shakes a little below her touch. Her cheeks are flushed, rosy with heat. "Mizu, I would never work for him. I've just been trying to survive this. Keeping close, but in the shadows."

Mizu stares at her mouth, drags her thumb over her lower lip. She doesn't say anything. She leans in, but Geraldine looks away, her hands too taut on Mizu's back. "I have to get back. I don't want them to see us together."

Mizu stills, draws back an inch, her eyes tearing into hers. "who's them? Auclair? The High Table?" she makes a sound, bitter in her throat. "what are you trying to prove? that you have nothing to do with me? that you are not your father?" she asks, bitter amusement in her voice.

Geraldine pushes at her chest, too hard, but Mizu barely budges. "I'm trying to help both of us, you fucking idiot. Who do you think told Kaji?" she hisses, but it's not angry, it's hurt, Mizu thinks, her voice breaks, thin, like a crack in the wall.

Mizu remembers that night at the club, under the Cabinet, Geraldine pressed to her, like this, her dark laughter; Geraldine saying, No one is our friend. Everyone is our friend... The perfect gleam of her; how she can get her hands on anything she wants. The pull of her. The magnetism. The power of her wit, sharp like a switchblade.

She blinks at Geraldine, her stomach turning, and leans in, or tries to, she won't apologize, but her mouth feels like fire, tingling, wanting, wanting, when the door is violently pushed open, two girls bursting in, giggling, cutting their moment too short.

Geraldine pulls away slightly, but Mizu's eyes are still on her, like a hand, pinning her down. Geraldine quickly fixes her dress where it's ridden up her thigh, clears her throat, and without another word, shoves her way past Mizu and out of the bathroom.

Mizu watches her walk away, her hand curling into a fist. She turns around, does not look at the girls next to her, washes her hands, anger bubbling hot and hungry under her skin.

Back at her table, she's jittery, her leg bouncing up and down, her eyes stalking the room, searching for her. She does not drink, asks for water instead. She tunes Auclair out, and waits, knows he'll be here, she just has to wait it out. Her fingers drum quickly against her thigh. She hasn't put her tie on again, has undone two buttons of her shirt, the heat getting to her, but her hair is up in a tight bun again. She doesn't fucking care what Auclair will think, doesn't care to pretend.

Auclair keeps drinking. Takes her up to the VIP section. The doors to the elevator open, the music deafening. It's darker in there, the heat stifling. A dark, sprawling room, filled with slinky women dancing behind a glass wall; their tiny, silver dresses flash under the strobe lights– one of them presses her mouth to the pane of glass as Mizu passes by, leaves a smear of pink lipstick across it; a low, pulsating music thrums in the air, a conjoined hum of a crowd of people all bursting for the same rhythm; she hears sighs of pleasure from a table near them, sees a man run his hands down a woman's back, over her hips, wonders if she works here; probably has been sent to him.

Her jaw tightens as she pushes her way through the crowd, smells the sourness of too much whiskey in the air, sweat and something too sweet; she watches Auclair take a seat at a table in the back, join someone Mizu does not recognize; she takes a seat, and Auclair's associate does not lift his eyes to her either, too busy snorting lines of white powder off the table, then bouncing in the pulse of the music, clapping Auclair too hard on the shoulder, cackling like he's been told a killer joke. She can feel the danger and corruption in her mouth, refuses the drink when the strange man near her offers. Her eyes are everywhere and nowhere, a slow, focused firmness in the way she studies the room.

When her eyes find Geraldine, Mizu pauses, does not know why she's surprised. She's laughing too much, excessively sweet, Mizu can see the lie in it. She's sitting next to a man, and there are other women at the table too. She feels her jaw tighten.

Geraldine is wearing a burgundy dress with a deep-v and a slit up to her thighs at either side. Mizu watches as that man pours a line of cocaine over her thigh then snorts it up. Her ears are ringing, and she can vaguely hear Auclair offer her a drink again. She says, too sharply, no, does not turn to look at him when he asks why?

“Because I do not want to,” her response is frank, tone unfazed by the apparent tension of the moment. In fact, she doesn’t even move, does not take her eyes off Geraldine, everything in her still except her left leg, bouncing up and down. The rest of her remains stone-still, blue eyes resting firmly on Geraldine, flashing in a gesture of irritation when Geraldine meets her gaze, does not look surprised by her presence here; Geraldine does not even flinch, too well versed in the art of manipulation, in whatever the fuck she's gotten herself tangled up into, despite her evident, to Mizu's eye, assumed discomfort.

Auclair, next to her, huffs, suddenly amused, slurs, "so her!" and Mizu says "don't." and he puts his hands up, shrugging back into the leather cushions.

The hours tick by, too slowly, Mizu chugging water, her leg bouncing up and down from time to time, annoyed by the heat, the pounding of the music in her ears, Geraldine's laughter, how achingly beautiful she looks, how hard it is to look at her and not want to fucking explode.

She's about to get up, shrugs Auclair's hand off her shoulder, he's fucked up on wine, too far gone now, when Shindo slithers like a shadow across the club, the sight of him shocking her into complete stillness, senses prickling, like a hound stalking its prey. Her eyes narrow. She watches him walk too slowly across the room, his face cast in half light under the strobing lights overhead. He moves to Geraldine's table, shakes hands with the man next to her, laughing. He does not linger, moves to another table, joining them with a flourish.

She can feel Geraldine's eyes on her, but Mizu only looks at her for a moment, sees the lines of her eyebrows, her deep frown, deeper stare.

"come on," she tells Auclair, gets up too hastily. She does not hesitate. She walks right up to his table and plops down across from him, legs sprawled open.

There's a bottle of dark rum on the table, iced and sour.

"huh. I was just in the mood for rum." She helps herself to it, fills an empty glass, although she does not drink it.

Heiji pauses mid sentence, gives a funny look at his company, then looks back at Mizu, setting the glass of wine in his hand back down. "Do I know you?"

"Hmmm. I don't know. Do you?" she asks back. Her gaze narrows a degree.

Heiji huffs, a shaky chuckle, a strange smirk on his thin lips.

Whatever he begins to say is cut off, "where's your shadow?" she demands, and he immediately blanches, understanding flooding his expression.

He is on edge, Mizu can tell; like a mouse trapped in a glue trap, she can see his beady little eyes, frantically searching for an out, a way to evade her.

"I have no idea what you are asking me," he changes his tune, laughing sharply, switching to Japanese now. Mizu lifts a dark brow.

“you would do well to change that. This line you are about to be following? won't work on me.”

He sits back; does not dismiss his company. None of them are japanese, no one can understand them. He gives her a long, searching look, face drenched in a sinister glow, something too sharp about it, too disturbing. Mizu does not cower at it.

"you are the one who killed Violet." he draws out the words, wonder in his voice, putting a face to the name.

"the very one." she does not deny it.

"Impressive... you do not look like you have it in you; to do what they say you can do."

Mizu does not care to do this with him, sees right through him. She blinks impassively, but there are storms in her eyes, sharp, dark eyes, like the kiss of the ocean crashing into the shore.

"I could use someone like you... we do not have to be enemies, you and I, you know? We could be friends. Good friends."

At that, she snorts, slowly, says, "friends? — I look at you, and don't even see you."

He purses his lips, feigning indifference, pours out a drink for her, slides the glass across the table. Mizu senses his company slowly leave the table, notices the shift in the air, how the sudden departure makes his jaw stiffen, a glint of wild fear in his eyes. She watches him swallow, watches him tense up; his hand slips inside his jacket; she does not move, but her eyes follow the movement.

"I could give you anything you want... money. Safety. name it and I will give it to you... Killing me won't stop the contract. Killing me will make it so much worse. Ghost... you know what I think? I think you are addicted to it. To the vengeance. you have nothing if you lose that. so let me help you..." his tone of voice is a panther crawl.

"I have no interest in your money. I have no interest in what you think you can give me." she intones, her eyes cold and on Shindo, "how masterfully placed you are," she comments, then, loosely, a dark expression around the edges of her mouth. "what are the chances, hmm? Me and you, both here, tonight... you want to be my friend? tell me where he is."

His hands clench on the armrests, gripping onto the leather. He looks at her for a long time.

Then, he says, slowly, "this is the Continental." gesturing around him with a sick smile, as though it explains something very clearly to her.

"not even a ghost can haunt me here."

Mizu's eyes flick to the elevator. She sits before him, her body tense, stone still, statuesque as he studies him, unmoving.

"Is that right?"

"I believe we both know it is, Ghost." he smiles at her, all teeth, and reaches for his glass.

Mizu nods.

She answers by grabbing the back of his neck and slamming his head against the edge of the table —breaking his nose—before shoving his face into the bucket of cold water and ice meant to keep the bottle cool. The world around them explodes in a frenzy of panic, shrill screams piercing through the pounding of the music. A long beat, and she pulls him back up for air.

"I have a name," she growls at him.

Behind his back, Mizu snaps his wrist, and — as she drives his face back beneath the water— snaps one finger after the next. Underwater, Heiji screams, struggling. His mouth fills up with ice, and he is spasming against her hold, unable to escape. Mizu pulls him free. Chaos erupts all around them, but is silenced by the deafening music, the ringing in her ears; her vision blurs, she can't see past him, and what it means, breaking him.

She feels someone grab at the back of her jacket, and she rams Heiji's face back into the glass table, shattering it into pieces, turns around and grabs at their throat, fingers digging savagely through their skin. She disarms him, grabs him by the neck and shoves herself powerfully against him like a battering ram with all her weight, shoves him down against the shards of glass with her on top of him; he hits it with his face, and howls, the floor splattered with blood. Everyone around her is rushing to the exits, and for a moment, she stills, follows that bright, focused line blinking furiously in her mind, filling up the edges of her vision; she pulls back the slide, studies the pistol with a keen eye, releases it; hurriedly reaches into the pockets of the guard she's just taken down, searching for bullets; too swiflty, she loads a clip with them, and slides it into the pistol: locked and loaded.

Mizu gets up, movements tight and precise, ducks for cover as bullets explode all around her, presses her shoulder to the back of the sofa, adrenaline rushing through her blood. The world around her narrows down to the dull pounding of her pulse, her senses overloaded, chasing after the sounds of footsteps thundering furiously across the floor, men searching for her.

She watches Heiji twitch on the floor, try to drag himself away, blood seeping through his shirt, his face twisted horrifically. She ducks around the sofa, then presses herself onto the floor, a bullet whizzing past her. She is furious. Her eyes dark and wild, searching frantically for Shindo.

She tenses, ears prickling, and drags herself across the floor, takes cover behind another couch.

A beat and she gets up, but someone pounces on her, grabs her arms; Mizu furiously twists at an odd angle, causing him to lose his grasp. With her one arm free, she reaches up, grabs his neck, her fingers ripping into skin and muscle, howling with rage, blood pounding, the music booming in time with her heart beats; she can hear him scream, stumble backwards with a cry, two other men pouncing upon her... they are too close, she tries to shoot at them blindly, but she can't; she grunts, shoves at one of them, her jacket tearing; she does not panic, Mizu never does; she swiftly removes a knife from a shoulder holster under her jacket, driving it into the side of one man's neck once, twice, three times, pantingly furious screams in her throat, before releasing the blade, arching her back, and wrapping her legs around the second guard's neck, tensing until his neck breaks with a dry snap. She loses her balance and falls backwards with the weight of his dead body toppling on top of her, and she grabs at him, uses the body as a shield, shooting blindly.

She expertly fires off four shots, killing another two men each with a pair of bullets. She's gasping, feels blood spill from the side of her neck, and puts her hand to it for a moment, her fingers coming away slick; Mizu pushes the body off her and rolls over, dragging herself to her feet, rapidly taking cover behind the bar, bullets flying, etching up along the bar and into the mirrors above it, shattering them all around her.

She is panting, checking the chamber for bullets. She is light. There's blood on her chin, gushing from between her teeth, and her hair has spilt from her bun around her shoulders, damp with sweat, sticking to her neck.

Into the shards of glass remaining above the bar, she can see another four men aprpoaching.

Okay. Shit. She frantically slaps her hand around the floor, finds a large shard of glass.

Miso watches one of the gunmen slowly approach, and as he rounds the bar, she fires. His left leg disappears as he sinks to the floor, screaming. Mizu fires again, hitting him in the chest. The other three run towards the commotion; she swirls through the air, jumping over the bar, fires at a gunman in the open doorway, sending him spinning out into the hallway. She lands onto the floor, and quickly sits up, heart pounding, screaming as she powerfully throws the shard of glass into the throat of a guard, unerringly tearing it open, shoots the other gunman a second time in the back, dead in a blink.

She pulls herself onto her feet, slips in a puddle of blood, steadies herself on the edge of the bar. Heiji is still dragging himself across the floor, and Mizu throws herself at him savagely, rolling him offer and driving her fist into his mouth. Blood bubbles hot and crimson between his lips and he spits, drowning in it, croaks out please.

"Where is he?"

His eyes roll over, blinking at the elevator. His head lolls to the side. Mizu is about to punch him again, but she hears more feet pounding across the hallway outside, and she quickly drags herself across the floor, sweeps up another gun; checks the chamber. It's empty.

She moves like lightning, picks up another one, cocks it expertly and shoots at the doorway at the exact moment a gunman appears, the bullet smashing into his forehead. They come crashing into the bar then, too many of them, bullets riddling the room, and she zigzags her way through them, ducks and falls down, slithers on her elbows over the floor, under a sofa, takes aim and quickly fires off shot after shot at them, at hands and kneecaps, disarming them. Only one of them manages to get close, grabbing at her throat, but she is faster, and on him, dumping rounds into his sternum and stomach, and over his shoulder, at the rest of the men that come sprinting towards them until she empties the gun; knocking him back, she grabs his shotgun, flipping it, shoving it under his chin and pulling the trigger.

She gets up and runs towards the elevator in the back, blinks at the buttons. There is the floor she came from, then the ground floor; the one leading to the parking lot, too, and then another one. A penthouse. She presses it and nothing happens. She blinks, pulse pounding, synapses flashing.

She pads back to Heiji, but Okiyama, one of Heiji's men, comes crashing into her side, pulling her down onto the floor; he's huge and muscled, arms too thick and broad, heavily tattooed. His hands immediately wrap around her throat, squeezing, and Mizu gasps, feels him powerfully pin her down; thrice her size, he growls into her face, an animal snarl, his hands tightening impossibly. She reaches up, scratching at his face, his eyes, fingers viciously digging into skin, but he pulls away from it, baring his teeth. Mizu punches him savagely into the side, her fists driving into his ribs, cracking them, splitting the skin open, but he does not budge for long, presses back into it. She blinks rapidly, thrashing on the floor, gasps under the pressure, her face red and furious.

Suddenly, a bottle is smashed over his head, and Okiyama reels back from the brutal blow, stunned, his arms slipping from her throat; Mizu sucks in a breath furiously, rolls over onto her elbows, dragging herself away, blindly reaching for her gun on the floor. Her vision is swimming but she can make out Geraldine's shape against the low light of the bar. Her heart stops. She quickly grabs the gun, sits back, takes aims and fires at him before he can reach Geraldine.

The bullet shoots his ear off, and he howls, throws himself at Mizu, but she rolls away fast, panting through her nose, her vision fuzzy, the vague shape of Geraldine floating in and out of it. Mizu gets up, grabs at a bottle from the bar and throws it at him. He tries to dodge it but it crashes into his face, Mizu too fast, her aim too accurate, even half blind from being strangled, to miss. She doesn't waste the chance; she swings into the momentum, throws herself at him as he blindly covers his eyes, blinking through the shards of glass ripping into them as Mizu sends him crashing onto his back with her weight on top of him. He punches blindly and hits her in the jaw and she growls in fury, feels her gun go flying out of her hand. She presses down, tries to hold him there. Geraldine swiftly reaches for Mizu's gun and comes running to her, hands her the gun. "hold him down!" Mizu gasps, and Geraldine throws all of her weight onto one of his shoulders, pinning it to the floor as Mizu uses her own weight against his chest. She presses the gun into his throat and fires, but it's empty and she blinks, startled, doesn't stop, does not know how to, gasping furiously through her open mouth, reaches for her tie in her back pocket, wraps it around his neck as she presses her knee to the center his chest and throws all of her weight into pulling. He gurgles and thrashes wildly, making a squelching, sucking sound, but both of them hold him down desperately, Geraldine not looking, her eyes on the wall behind Mizu, and full of tears; Mizu's on him, fierce and unblinking as she screams and pulls roughly, tensing her arm and squeezing until she hears his neck snap. He twitches once, then slumps over, dead.

Drenched in sweat, Mizu sits back, chasing her breath. Her body is pumping with adrenaline. She gets up and looks for a gun, discards the empty ones.

She sees Geraldine on her knees next to him, trembling.

"are you okay?" she goes to her, presses her fingers under her chin, tilts her head up, searching her eyes.

Geraldine's lower lip quivers. She shakes her head, and Mizu presses her close, presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

"come on." she grabs her hand, pulls her to her feet, but Geraldine breaks away and walks on unsteady feet towards Heiji, half dead on the floor. She grabs the knife he's holding, and Mizu sees her kneel near him, studying the blade for a moment; her shouldes lift with a sharp inhale and then, she uses it to cut off his thumb. Mizu blinks, understanding flooding her as Geraldine hands her the finger.

Mizu hands her the gun, says go, but Geraldine protests, her voice breaking, desperate. Says, no! I will come with you, and Mizu presses her hand, will not hear it.

"No. Go hide. I'll find you."

Geraldine wants to protest again, her expression disjointed, but she nods, her throat flooded with tension. Her eyes are red, and wet, wide open.

"You need the gun." Geraldine tries to give it back to Mizu, her voice a trembling whisper.

"I don't need the gun. You keep it. I'll be fine."

Mizu draws her close, presses her lips to the side of her throat before she seals a ‘kiss’ where her neck and jaw connect. "I promise."

She walks away to the elevator, presses the pad of Heiji's thumb to the last button, and this time, it works. Mizu enters, turns around, watches Geraldine walk towards the exit, her hands shaking.

Before the doors close, their eyes meet.

The ride up to the penthhouse happens in a blink; her senses are in overdrive, like she's cliff-diving.

The doors open and she sinks into the darkness of the hallway sprawling long and narrow in front of her.

She can hear the distant ticking of a clock, slow music pulsing through the walls.

She slithers through the hallways, hands tight, clenched into fists.

She halts her step outside a door, hears something click. Something sharps rips through her stomach, a chill she can’t escape. It is a wide, empty darkness, the world around her, and her throat is closed at the base of it. She slowly pushes the door open, reaching across the glacial silence to find a ghost staring back at her from across the room.

Not Fowler, she thinks, rage exploding through her veins; he's not here, he's not anywhere, he's a fucking ghost, just like her, a shadow, she won't ever be able to reach him, fuck fuck fuck...

But then, the man's face comes swimming into view, cast in half light. His eyes are shockingly blue, and sharp, glinting like the edge of a knife. He's got a deep scar by his mouth, black and thick.

She stares at him, recognition tearing through her memory like a bullet and she recoils against it, eyes wide. She would never forget his face, swallowed up in flames. Her mother dead in the bathtub.

Her mother's voice, shrill, screaming at her to run.

She blinks, her mouth twitching.

They stare at each other for a long time, and he says, "look... I do not know you." holds his hands up. His breath stinks. Even from where she's standing, she can smell it, the alcohol on him. His shirt is only half buttoned.

It is a slow moon, outside. The clock ticks ticks ticks; she can hear the click of his boots against the floorboards as he takes a small step towards her, says I am not who you want. I am not who you are looking for.

Her pain is a howl and she won't look away. Her fingers are tight, could explode her bones into him, tear him to shreds.

"you don't remember me, do you?" she asks, takes a measured step towards him. Her face comes into the light, drenched in blood and horrible.

"look at me. who am I?" she asks when he doesn't answer the question.

Her pulse howls so loud in the silence that envelopes them that she can’t hear anything else.

"who am I?" she hisses, her voice a cruel, bitter growl.

Everything around them stills to complete motionlessness, an indigo blackness. She can feel her heart pound up her throat.

She's faster than him. When he surges forwards, she's already throwing herself at him, pushing him down onto the floor with her on top of him, her fist a black blur as she drives it into his face over and over again, screaming until her voice breaks, until every last bone in her body rings with it, her knuckles raw and torn, blood trickling down his face, gushing from his mouth and shattered nose. It's over too quickly, but she keeps punching him until his bones crack, until hers crack, too, then drags herself away on her hand and knees, panting for breath.

It doesn't feel like it did with Violet.

She swims on her knees and elbows, stills herself against the wall, trying to get up. When she does, she immediately drives her bloodied fist through the wall, roaring in agony, her throat like a wound, raw and aching.

She doesn't linger. She feels her feet take her to the bathroom, looks at herself in the mirror, once, then looks away; her face is cut by glass, fresh wounds seeping hot blood.

At the sink, she watches herself turn on the cold water tap, splash it frantically up into her face, watches it swirl the last of the blood off her hands. She drags a towel over her face, her pulse sputtering. She presses it against her face, digs her teeth into it and screams.

Then, it's over again, the moment, the explosion. She tosses the towel into the sink and leaves, moving quickly, running down the stairs when she reaches the emergency exit. She can hear footsteps pounding against the upper floor overhead, and knows they're looking for her. Everyone will be looking for her.

She runs down the stairs until she reaches the bottom and throws her shoulder into the heavy steel gate leading to the underground parking lot, walks hurriedly across it, can feel them hot on her back, they will be coming, the whole of Paris will be coming for her.

A car rips through the lot, the tires screeching to a stop.

"come on!" Geraldine's voice is urgent, and Mizu does not question it, how she always does this, momentary relief flooding her. She is on auto pilot, her body moving on its own, gets in the car. The gun Mizu had given her is on the dashboard, and she reaches for it, cocks it.

And then, the whole of Paris is on them.

Mizu in the passenger seat, Geraldine speeding through the city; Mizu's phone goes off, and she hisses as she moves, pulling her torn jacket off, Geraldine hitting a bump on the road, making her jostle. It's Kaji. "yeah?" she says as she answers the call, already knows what she wants. Already knows she's heard what she's done, the 'sacred' rules she's broken; Mizu knows she's been excommunicated, no one will let her into any Continental ever again, no one will work with her, sell her a gun, the bounty on her head tripled.

"what have you done?" she's never heard Kaji sound like this.

"Finished it."

"Finished what? Do you have any idea what this means for you?" her voice falters.

"You shouldn't be calling me. Goodbye, Kaji." she says evenly, her face twisted into a pained expression, her shoulder killing her. She ends the call, throws the phone out the window.

The car roars down the street, tires clawing at the earth as it rounds a tight corner. Hold on! Geraldine's voice breaks with a sudden fear as she glances in the rearview window, sees four cars chasing after them.

"okay." Mizu says but slams against the door anyway when Geraldine slams her foot down on the gas and crashes through the garage door of a building, tires squealing as she pulls a vicious one-eighty, the righting itself and leaping out onto the street, gaining momentum, escaping them.

Mizu blinks at her, half shocked, exhales what the fuck?

"I told you to hold on!"

"there's more." Mizu points out tightly, and Geraldine screams an angry little fuck!, and Mizu would have laughed if Geraldine did not look as scared as she did despite how insanely she was driving; she takes the gun in her left hand, shifts, and leans out of the window. "too far away!" she says and Geraldine makes that sound again, says "god, I hate you."

She lets the distance grow smaller, and at the last moment, she violently twists the steering wheel— barely avoiding the Mustang barreling down towards them from the other side. Mizu fires off shot after shot, expertly killing the drivers, leaving the first car crashing into a wall, the second one crashing into the first one, the remaining passengers screaming in horror in the moments before it happens; one of the cars explodes, engulfing both of them in flames.

Geraldine exhales, darts her eyes to Mizu, asks, "are they gone?"

"there will be more. just drive."

"fuck." she sounds more terrified than angry, and Mizu gives her a look, watches her profile, feels her heart pound up her throat.

"it'll be okay."

"alright." Geraldine says, nodding because she has to; because they have to.

There is another one, and then another; she evades the first, wrists flicking the wheel. The second one blows down the streets after them, in full pursuit.

"Mizu?" Geraldine asks, flicking her eyes to the rearview mirror.

Mizu twists, says under her breath. "I got it." as she takes aim; the last of her bullets, has got to make it count. Ahead, the street banks downhill to left and Geraldine takes a sharp turn, just as Mizu fires off three rounds, the bullets crashing through the tinted dashboard of the sedan, enough to shock its driver into losing control, barreling off the street.

Geraldine slams her foot down again and charges off into the distance, tires squealing.

iii. Kagutsuchi

Afterwards, everything is a blur. Geraldine drives for a long time, takes them outside the city. Stops at a gas station, gets water, gets alcohol, thread, a needle.

Back in the car, she will not look at Mizu. Tells her to take off her shirt. "you're covered in blood. Come outside." she has parked behind the gas station, off the road, has switched the headlights off.

Mizu lets her unbutton her shirt, feels the gentleness of her fingers against her skin as she does so, hisses when Geraldine pours water over her, wipes the blood away. Looks at her face, cast in strange light, her eyes soft, lit with the moon.

"are you okay?" she hears herself ask and Geraldine just gives her a quick look, says "this will hurt a little." Her hands are on the side of her neck, soft, tender; Mizu's head is spinning. She growls when she feels the needle pierce through her skin and Geraldine shushes her; Mizu is pressed up against the side of the car, enveloped in the darkness, out of view. "hold this" Geraldine gives her her phone, the flashlight turned on, instructs her to hold it up so she can stitch up the tear in the side of her neck. So Mizu does.

Feels her hands stroke her skin, bandage up her wrist. Feels their softness, too soft, delicate, she barely feels the sting of it as she stitches her up. When Geraldine says, done, Mizu swallows, her heart racing. She can smell her perfume, the sweet scent of her skin, her sweat. "thank you." she says, and Geraldine just hands her a shirt. Mizu blinks. Surely they do not sell shirts at gas stations in France? "don't even ask." Geraldine rolls her eyes, and it's tiny, but it's there, the lightness. Like she can finally let herself take a breath. "just wear it."

"how much did you have to pay to get him to give it to you?" Mizu asks, amused.

"I can't believe you!" Geraldine snaps in that angry little voice, but Mizu finds it cute; finds it lovely, she is lovely, everything about her is so, fucking lovely, and perfect. "don't laugh!" Geraldine snaps again and Mizu just buttons the shirt up, can see the small smile kissing the edge of Geraldine's lips. "fucking idiot" Geraldine mumbles, walking back to the driver's side and Mizu just laughs again.

Geraldine drives them to a hotel, the one she's been staying at for however long she's been in Paris, Mizu realizes.

When she locks the door behind them, she immediately heads off towards the bathroom to wash the night off of her. Mizu hears her lock the door and rolls her eyes, lays her body down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She lifts her hand and stares at it, its outline hazy in the low light. She feels her eyes shut, feels her body sink into it, the darkness that's swallowing her up.

When she opens them again, Geraldine is on the other side of the bed, a cigarette in her hand, staring at the ceiling, too. The lights are switched off, except for the lamp on the bedside table. She must have passed out. She stares at her, blinking slowly, her senses still warm with sleep. The wound in her neck is throbbing. Geraldine's eyes are red, and that startles Mizu awake; she wonders if she's been crying.

"look at me." she drawls, her voice a smoky whisper in the darkness. Geraldine is taken aback, a tiny gasp spilling from her lips, her eyes flicking over to Mizu.

"are you crying?"

"no." she says, and then, not wanting Mizu to press it, says, "you passed out."

Mizu looks at her, her eyes trailing over her face, searching it. Geraldine shifts a little and the dress she's wearing rides up her thigh. Mizu's eyes are immedietly drawn to her legs; her perfume comes to her, the warm scent of her skin floating through the air; she could get drunk off it, her sweetness; it short-circuits her senses. Mizu feels her mouth water, tingling. She says, "smoking is not allowed in hotel rooms." which makes Geraldine give her a look. "nothing we've done tonight is 'allowed', Mizu." she informs her.

Mizu rolls onto her side and doesn't say anything for a while, just watches her take drags of her cigarette, watches her mouth, the smoke sprawling out of her open lips.

She reaches out and puts her hand on her thigh, says, "what is it?"

Feels Geraldine's leg tense below her touch, sees heat rise in her face, climbing the slope of her neck and settling like a flame in the apples of her cheeks. Geraldine's dark lashes blink once, her tongue showing from just behind slightly parted lips before she licks the lower one. All the while, her gaze is on Mizu, an expression radiating something fierce, too hot, too feverish, looking to pass between the two of them in an intimate, albeit silent exchange.

When Geraldine speaks, her voice is a breathy whisper. Time stands too still, thick and pulsing with tension. "I... killed someone... I've never killed anyone." she exhales the smoke too sharply, snubs out the cigarette. Her eyes are still on Mizu. Mizu's hand is still on her thigh, stroking slowly.

She looks at her too long, her brows furrowing.

"we had to." Mizu says, surprised by the confession, her throat closing up. "and you didn't kill him. I did."

"but I held him down and—"

"I did it. we had to. I had to."

Geraldine doesn't say anything for a while, just stares down at Mizu's hand on her thigh. She sighs, puts her hand over Mizu's and presses it tighter to her thigh, parts her legs slightly. She gives her a quick look. Her eyes are very dark. Mizu shifts, pulls her hand away and moves to sit close to her, on the side of the bed.

Geraldine's teeth are like tiny pearls against the flesh of her mouth, and Mizu feels a sudden rush of arousal run through her like a knife, the tension in her abdomen tight and hot; she reaches out to touch that mouth — god, that mouth; soft, delicate, crimson with lipstick— tracing its shape, and it opens like a flower, like a flame, sucking her fingers slowly between her lips, Geraldine's tongue slick and warm against them, swirling hungrily around her fingers, taking them in deeper, as though the taste of her skin does something to her— and it does; Geraldine makes that sound again, that breathless, pained little cry of pleasure and Mizu can feel her teeth sink into the flesh of her thumb, feel the low rumbling of her moans against her skin, and she's done for, her pulse shatters in her throat.

Growling lowly in the back of her throat, Mizu grabs her waist and pulls her roughly onto her lap, feels Geraldine's hands frantically fumble with her trousers as she sweeps her hand over the line of her back, grabs a fistful of her ass, presses her hard to her to tease with a bit of friction between them. “Come on, then” Mizu says, “like you mean it.” her other hand falls off her ass, slipping under her dress, between her thighs, feverishly delving between the folds of her cunt with such furious, fierce want that it makes Geraldine cry out sharply around her fingers, makes her thighs quiver. Mizu hisses, feels another jolt of arousal rip through her.

She takes her time, slipping her fingers in and out of the perfect, wet heat of her mouth, pressing her thumb against her clit over and over through her panties before pushing the lacy material aside, enough to be able to slip her middle and ring fingers into her cunt, fucking into her sweet folds again and again, her hand slow, languid, watching her quiver and tremble on her lap, aching for more; she fucks into her like this until she cannot take it any longer, she has to take her harder or she'll explode, but when Geraldine cries out in desperation, says please. fuck, please— Mizu stills the hand between her legs to complete motionlessness, whispers. No— ride my hand.

And she does, god, she does, she's a wild thing on her lap, feral with desire; she clutches at her shoulders and rolls her hips violently back and forth, lets Mizu's fingers sink inside her again and again, snapping her hips forward, hungered for more.

Mizu keeps her hand still, tightly pressed against her pussy, but she, too, is completely gone, hanging on by a thread; she watches her ride her hand, feels her walls spasm around her fingers, feels them quiver, god she's burning from the inside out, taking her in again and again, she's barely lifting her hips off her now, keeps her fingers buried so deep inside her, Mizu thinks nothing will ever be able to fill her like her fingers have, and the thought makes her lose it, makes her lean forward to bite into one of her breasts through the sheer material of her dress, half delirious with her want, pulling her hand out of her then slamming her fingers right back in, pumping them feverishly.

Her hand is a desperate thing inside of her then, fucking into her so furiously it makes Geraldine scream her pleasure, and Mizu lets her mouth pour over her neck, let's her tongue lick a fiery path up the slope of her throat to her cheek, growls into her ear, this what want you wanted? And Geraldine cries out, desperate, obscene, says yes yes, yes, fuck me, hot and smeared against Mizu's mouth as she tries to kiss her again, her little kisses interrupted by her cries, and for one blissful perfect minute of unimaginable, complete, ecstatic pleasure, she fucks her— deeply, harder, burying her fingers to the hilt, then pulling out at a pace that drives Geraldine wild, has her tossing her head back and crying out in pleasure, again and again and again.

Mizu goes on kissing her throat, the slope of her neck, slow and hard, her other hand moving to stroke and caress over her breasts, and Geraldine sighs with pleasure, trembling as Mizu grasps her closer and pumps her fingers faster, pulses her hand against her pussy, her touch fierce and urgent. Geraldine wriggles around them deliciously, her warm breath tickling Mizu's ear as she sucks sweet, deep kisses over the curve of it, quivering through a series of thrusts, each deeper, each tearing a little more at her her tightness until Mizu's fingers are as deep inside her as they could, pulsing, and Geraldine squeals, biting into the muscled peak of Mizu's shoulder; her body is crying out for completion, now, it is starvation, agony, and she tries to speak through her shallow gasps, to beg her, but it comes out a sobbing whimper until Mizu's pulling her hand away slowly, letting her feel the loss, leaving only the tips of her fingers pressed against her cunt, and it's that lazy, slick glide again, that gentle, torturously slow caressing, her fingers sliding inside her to find the wetness, stroking before they return to her clit and circle it slowly.

"Shh—" Mizu slows the motion of her fingers, rubbing her pussy softly now, then, abruptly, too abruptly, pulling her fingers out of her completely and giving her thigh a soft slap. "Sit still." Mizu drawls, something too dark and raspy in her voice, made somehow even deeper from desire. She tears her dress off, her hands impatient, revealing lace. She gathers the swells of her breasts in her hands and squeezes softly, a low, dark hum thrumming in the back of her throat. She takes her time, palming the mounds of her breasts, rubbing at her nipples through her lace with her thumbs, feeling her calloused pads drag against the stiff skin there, and Geraldine, she is a mess, desperately pawing at her, one of her hands slipping between Mizus thighs, touching her, wanting, wanting her pussy, wanting to feel Mizu, too, but Mizu's left hand lashes out and grabs her wrist. She clicks her tongue in disapproval, grabs both of her hands and forcibly puts them on the peaks of her shoulders, says, a low warning in her throat, "hold still. let me look at you." and Geraldine just whimpers, swallows around the mewl that thrums in her throat.

Mizu returns her attention to her breasts. Licking her lips, she unclasps her bra and pulls it off, watches as the swells of her breasts spill free, and her mouth dries up. She makes a dark, growling sound and fists them again, dragging her thumbs over the generous swells of them, toying with her nipples, pinching them slowly. She leans in and flicks her tongue hotly over one nipple, a slow, broad stroke, loving her softness, how deliciously she smells, her perfume drenching the air, drenching Mizu's tongue, too intense, warmed by her blood. Mizu swirls her tongue around her nipple, her hand squeezing the other breast. She sucks slowly, sucks it into her mouth, moaning when she feels Geraldine's body tense up, feels her thighs quiver, struggling to hold still. Her mouth is hot and insistent, sliding against her breasts, sucking deep, hard kisses all over them, her hands all over them too, pinching her nipples before her tongue pours over them, soothing the sting. Her right hand buries into the hair behind Geraldine's head, and tugs, dragging her down into a hot, slick, open-mouthed kiss, feeling her moan into it, feeling her teeth sink into her lips like she wants to devour her, biting harshly. There is only centimeters between them when Mizu ultimately draws back to breathe, her gaze stoked embers and blown-out pupils. She licks her lips again, this time tasting remnants of their kiss, and bends her head, sucks on her pulse point, her teeth and tongue rough all over her neck.

Geraldine goes taut against her, spasming uncontrollably, sobbing the words out through wet, shallow gasps, her breath completely shattered in her throat. "I'll die. I'll fucking die." She sounds like it.

Mizu will fucking die, too. Unhinged, she gasps, her hand gripping onto her hair, pressing her close, whispering a hot, breathy fuck, wet and low in Geraldine's ear, and then, I wanna fuck you. I will fuck you— that makes Geraldine completely come undone, make a sharp, sobbing little sound that drives Mizu absolutely wild.

She gathers her up in her arms, feels her shake as she wraps her legs around Mizu, and she rolls them over, presses her down on the bed, blind with want, splays her down onto the edge and sinks to her knees between her thighs as Geraldine spreads her legs open for her, panting in anticipation. She tugs and pulls at her panties, trying to pull them across because she wants Mizu inside her, wants her tongue and her fingers, and Mizu helps her, grabbing at the lace and practically tearing it off her.

Mizu begins to kiss her inner thighs, her tongue joining the prowl of teeth and lips as she chases the incline of her leg to the apex of her thigh.

The sounds of pleasure fill the room, then. Heavy breaths, deep drawn-out sighs, that soon sharpen info frantic, keening wails of pure pleasure as Mizu buries her mouth between her thighs with greed. Her tongue delves between Geraldine's folds with deep, indulgent strokes. Geraldine feels her nose bump against her clit as Mizu thoroughly tastes her, draws the full length of her tongue across every last inch of her cunt, tasting her wetness, inhaling the lovely scent, moaning. It is something very akin to a fucking miracle that Geraldine does not immediately come, what with the sheer indulgence that Mizu's mouth demands. Mizu isn’t afraid to taste her, her nose often nudging against her clit as she maintains to taste her deeper, still, harder, still, growling into the sweet, slick heat of her pussy. Her fingers curl against her hips, digging into the soft skin as they drag down the slopes of her thighs, spreading her legs wider.

Frantic, sharp cries and moans are torn from Geraldine's throat, her name filling her mouth as she cries out in pleasure, beginning to topple over, sensing the heat of her tongue, the fierce ferocity of it as it licks into her cunt over and over again and a half-growled hum that promises a certain dark devotion, Mizu's focus shifting rather abruptly to her clit, causing her to quiver as a moan is drawn forth, sharp and abrupt. The tip of her tongue circles around it, rolling flat against it as she opens her eyes, content to watch her unraveling — Geraldine does not deny her it. Gripping onto Mizu's hair, she gives it an almost possessive tug, screams, too shrilly. Mizu grunts as Geraldine feverishly squeezes her thighs against her face, and fucks her with her mouth more roughly, her hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, fuck into her again, until she feels the muscles in Geraldine's legs give way, until delicate fingers claw at the back of her neck and hair with fevered, delirious need, and her body rises up as the first wave hits.

Geraldine's voice breaks as she screams, and then she’s coming hard on her tongue and fingers, succumbing wholly to the sensation, every last jolt of electricity. Her hands are in Mizu's hair, firmly holding her head in place. Mizu doesn’t stop until she is trembling, hips jerking against her tongue and mouth from the sheer sensitivity of her aching, overstimulated clit, moaning at the feeling of her cunt dripping down her chin. Her mouth chases after her pussy when Geraldine shifts away, too fucked out, her hands grabbing her thighs and pulling her back to her mouth, sucking and lapping at her clit, licking messily all over her pussy through the post-orgasm sensitivity.

Then, Mizu draws her lips off her slowly, whispering fuck, baby, a very wet mouth imposing an unkempt line of kisses to her inner thighs, breathing harshly, her chin so wet, it glistens, and Geraldine is frantic, desperately clutching at Mizu, drawing her up to her, saying, come here. come here, wanting to touch Mizu, her hand frantic on her zipper, slipping inside, touching her, and Mizu makes a breathy little sound, too high, too needy; she presses her forehead to Geraldine's chest, feels her fingers pulse against her pussy, wanting her; she says, fuck, too roughly, too hard, suddenly tense; she grabs her hand and pulls it away, can't stand the ache of it; how much she wants this; it makes her sick, the pleasure, when it is not her giving it; wrong, strange, a vulnerability that shames her.

Startled, Geraldine blinks at her, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

Mizu pushes herself away from her and the bed, doesn't say a word, and Geraldine leans up on her elbows, out of breath, watches her storm off to the bathroom, hears the water turn on.

Mizu strips off, steps into the cold stream of water, unflinchingly, presses her hands to the wall and bends her head, lets the cold water pour over her like a punishment.

From the half open door, Geraldine watches her, watches the tight mucles in her back ripple with tension. Geraldine is breathing through her mouth, too harshly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks rapidly. She doesn't understand this.

She watches Mizu stand stone-still under the water; stares at the muscles of her abdomen, her arms, and her legs, too tight with lithe muscle, the bulk of her strength in practice and appearance. There’s a softness to her hips, though, to the curve of her waist and the small of her back. Many scars mark her skin, most old and healed over with time; she's got burn marks running all the way from the back of her neck down to her waist.

Geraldine pushes herself off the bed and somehow manages to make her knees work. She steps into the shower with her, tries to touch her, but Mizu grips her hand, softly, says, "don't. it's cold." and Geraldine looks at her, startled.

She doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around Mizu and presses her chest to Mizu's back. Mizu stiffens, too taut, her entire body cold and tense, but she doesn't shrug her off.

She doesn't bother with soap. Stands under the water for a while, her heart pounding. She turns the water off. Afterwards, Geraldine watches her dress, her eyes on her hips, her breasts, smaller than hers but lovely. She watches Mizu stare back at her, but doesn't say anything, neither of them does. Mizu's hair is loose and long, wet against her skin.

Mizu comes to bed and lays down next to her, stifly, but then, when Geraldine draws the covers over Mizu, Mizu pulls her into her arms, even if it's a little too stiff. She's so cold.

Still, Geraldine doesn't mention it, just presses herself to Mizu, presses her mouth to her throat, warming her.

Somehow, they fall asleep.

"I should go," Geraldine says, in the morning. Her eyes are dark—not as dark as Mizu's, but dark, and sharper, less patient than what Mizu remembers them—she can’t help but look at her. Watch her shrug on her jacket, pull on her thigh high boots.

She’s more beautiful, having fucked her, and Mizu desperately thinks this is unfair, this is cruel—she should have worked this out of her system, now that she’s touched her tits and her cunt and that mouth. But if anything, it's somehow sharper, the hunger she feels around her, the pull. If anything, it's deeper, that sweet, odd ache, the wanting and wanting. The desire.

"go where?" Mizu asks, brows furrowed. Her fingers clench and unclech, fighting off the urge to grab her arm and pull her back to her.

Geraldine kisses her on the mouth, and Mizu tries not to flinch away from the press of her lips, tries not to pull her back when she repeats her question and Geraldine only says "won't take long". She watches her go, she watches her leave, and then she’s gone, and she sits alone, on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands.

Afterwards, Mizu meets her at the door, and she can tell when Geraldine tastes the smoke on her tongue; mostly because she pulls away, squints at her. "you smoked?" Geraldine asks and Mizu just says, "You came back," she says it like a question, and Geraldine gives her a stange look because of course she did.

"Always," she says. "am I not obsessed with you?"

"yeah. right." Mizu snorts.

Geraldine tosses a bag at her, says "here."

There are clean clothes her size inside, a gun, bullets. "we will be getting you a passport too. A new ID..." she says, says it like it's normal, and Mizu thinks, of course it is. This is Skeffington's daughter. Still, she asks, "how?" and Geralinde sends her a look over her shoulder, says, "everyone's my friend, remember?"

Mizu does not question it. Geraldine asks her if she's hungry and she says, famished, which for some reason makes Geraldine laugh. She likes it, that sound. Making her laugh.

She wants to pull it out of her again.

She sits at the little table at the kitchen, and watches her cook, listens to her talk about how they have to lay low, how Mizu has to keep a low profile, stay out of sight, no one will find her here, she just has to be patient, but Mizu is staring at her mouth, the elegant economy of her hands as she works on dinner, the curve of her hips, her waist, so willowy, an excessively tightened belt around it; she can fit it between her hands she thinks, and her mouth tingles.

"I am serious." Geraldine says and Mizu gives her a look, shrugs. "me too." and then, when she squints her eyes at Mizu, she almost says, you’re always so skittish. always one foot out the door, but swallows it down, says, "you are beautiful."

"are you okay?" Geraldine asks and Mizu shrugs again.

The days that follow are a blur, but then, a soft one, she's had it worse before; they fuck frantically, but Mizu always pulls away when Geraldine tries to reciprocate, does not let her touch her, pins her down when she protests; Geraldine does not talk to her afterwards, sometimes — watches Mizu come out of the shower, cold and detached, watches her try to work out, work around the pain, she is still fucking aching everywhere, gulping down painkillers like they're her addiction; sometimes she just wants to hold her, huffs when Mizu shrugs her off, holds her tighter, does not let her pull away until Mizu relents.

Mizu looks like an electrical storm waiting to happen, sometimes. There is thunder in the way she cracks her bones, the way she stands the window, staring out at nothing, how she moves slow, controlled, everything about her is so, dark and hungered, even the way she looks at you has teeth, Geraldine tells her once, drunk off mini bar bourbon, and Mizu snorts at her.

Mizu watches Geraldine cook and eats with her, scowls when Geradline makes fun of her for eating too sloppily; does the dishes because when she tries to offer to cook Geraldine just laughs and says no, thank you, and sometimes, I'll pass, a comical expression on her face. Geraldine is drinking her coffee with too much sugar, and Mizu makes a face; they lay drunk on the living room rug, passing a cigarette back and forth, Geraldine laughing when Mizu coughs, choking on the smoke. Calls her a baby and weak. "shut up." Mizu says, and offers her a mini snickers and Geraldine laughs again, says what the fuck? where did this come from? unwraps it without blinking. She puts it in her mouth and lets in melt on her tongue, kisses Mizu right after, slow and hard.

Mizu looks for her at the start of every morning, draws her close under the covers, even if she does it only when she's sleepy; needs her when she is not in her hands, in her arms, in her mouth —tells herself this is a mistake, this is addiction, it is just she and her in the world, this is what this is, desperation; Geraldine is not safe with her, she does not really want her, it will pass.

— but, god. How she looks when she is flushed under her and that smile curls around her lips and her hair is messy and she is panting. She wants her; can't deny her. She fucks her, maybe too roughly, but she loves the ache. Slides hands too hot over her body, feels her moan under her, gasps when Geraldine chokes her when she rides her, and it turns her whole body into fire. It somehow makes it bearable, this sweet ache; the agony, the anger, the desperation to go back out there; finish what she's started. It's a week, and then another, she loses count of the days...

Then, when Geraldine comes back with a new passport, an ID for her, Mizu feels like she is losing something, but she knows what she's lost more than enough of, is time.

"I don't even know what you are thinking." she is standing by the window, Mizu sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I need to get back to New York. To the Itohs."

Geraldine frowns, her arms are crossed over her chest.

"your family?" she asks.

"they owe me. they have to help me."

"even if they do owe you; they won't just say yes. you killed men on Continental grounds. you are excommunicated. all of your privileges have been revoked and the high council wants your head. you are a moving target, Mizu. trackers are looking for you everywhere. no matter where you go, you won't be safe..." she sounds hurt. Like she wants to keep her here, close to her where she is safe, forever.

"can your friend get me there?" Mizu asks plainly.

"yeah... yeah, she can."

Geraldine eyes her phone. The bounty has gone up yet again. A beat and she tosses it to Mizu, then turns away.

She comes back after a minute, asks her if she's hungry.

"yeah."

Geraldine does not try to change her mind again.

The Itoh clan. Her blood. Her mother's blood. A powerful Yakuza syndicate, and one of the twelve organizations that holds a seat at the High Table, although, Mizu had heard Eiji claim once, that they only held a "second-rate seat."

"They are finished... after what happened... they can't do anything."

She stands before them now, neck still scarred, a tear in her lower lip, in a leather jacket, black jeans. She's got her hair down, doesn't bother with her persona. Has sought them out at the kabuki theater they meet, let them lead her down a long, dark tunnel illuminated by a lantern, a cold light washing over her. She's been brought to stand before the father of the clan, and she has bowed respect to him, her voice darker in japanese, presenting her mother's necklace to the oyabun as proof of her right to demand their help, the silver crest on the pendant glinting in the firelight.

He leans back, voice sharp, unpleasant. "you have commited high crimes against the Table. I could not possibly permit your obvious lack of loyalty to the code to go unpunished nor will I put the family at risk of punishment. You knew the rules. You broke them."

Mizu feels her fury swell, but bites back the anger, says, through her teeth, head still bowed, "I am your blood and this is my right. You are bound by our code to help me."

He shifts in his seat, gestures for someone to refill his cup with sake.

Mizu's eyes squint as she tries to focus but the light behind him is blinding her, too bright, and the peripheries of the room dim.

"this is no longer your family. your mother ran away from it." he says and Mizu squints harder, feels the bile rise in the back of her throat.

"do you have any... do you even realize what she did to us? to our honor? our name?"

"I am still your blood."

"You’re forgetting, we’re still under The Table…"

Mizu stares, anger cutting the pain her mother's mention has called forth.

"I must insist." and when he does not say anything, she adds "you will deny your own blood for them?"

He shifts his gaze over her, stays silent for a long time.

"will you swear yourself to the family if we help you?"

Mizu is too good at lying. They are not her family. "I will."

"How many did you kill to get out?"

"Too many."

"you’ll only have to kill one to get what you seek from us." protection. a way into a High Table family that would shield her from what the Table has unleashed after her... after Geraldine.

She can't deny them anything; to hunt down Fowler, she must be free.

"Give me the name."

"you don't need a name."

He leans in. His breath stinks, sour, too much death in it.

"they've betrayed us. they've made a fool out of the clan, too many times now." he says angrily, whispers the address into her ear. Someone in a mask, their face burned. Mizu stares at the photo she's shown before it's snatched away.

"go. bring proof of death."

A score of hard looking Japanese men in gray suits, white shirts, open collars, irezumi tattoos visible at necks and cuff lines are scattered around the gate of the massive building she's been sent to; but Mizu has been given a task, and she cannot fail it, not when the stakes are so high; she slithers through the shadows, swiflty, dressed in a grey suit herself, a white shirt; she has been observing them for days, knows how the rotate shifts, how they talk to each other. She climbs up the side of the fence, too silent, unassuming, quick, like a shadow; she is like smoke.

She cowers in a corner as she enters the massive ground floor, gasps when she notices a security camera humming in the ceiling, rotating slowly; she tosses one of her gloves over it; it expertly lands on the camera and covers it before it can rotate towards her, and Mizu swallows, runs up the stairs to the next floor. An elevator looms ahead, so she takes it, nods respect when a guard passes by her, does not recognize her for anything other than what she presents herself to be. He nods back, yawning as he walks away and down the stairs.

She pauses, hand hovering over the buttons; a red light flashes — and she feels her throat tighten; she doesn't have much time. She presses the button to the top floor.

When she emerges, she blinks, surprised. The walls are entirely made out of glass, bathed in a low blue light. Weapons displays, traditional japanese art, and flickering lights. Figures appear up ahead, flittering through the glass and Mizu ducks around a corner until they are gone. She's got a gun tucked in her shoulder holster, a knife in her back pocket.

A low, buzzing sound is coming from somewhere down the long hallway and she pauses, her ears perking up. She can hear chatter, in japanese, a slow, dark rumble.

She walks carefully, her step too light, pressing close to the walls. She can see a flickering red light through the endless glass.

Her breath stills to motionlessness. She strains her senses, feeling a thrumming in the air, like she's about to fall through the floor; her heart is pounding. She is halting her step again, eyes scanning the area, when someone hits her bodily, driving her through a series of display cases. Glass shatters and weapons clatter to the floor, and Mizu gasps, shocked that they were able to sneak up on her. Her hands find a sword as the someone closes in again. They’re a blur as they cut at the man but he dodges the blows, and she rolls away, scrambles onto her feet, something sharp cutting through her when she meets his eyes.

"Taigen?" her eyes are wide, her voice cold. He seems shocked, too, but only for a moment.

"…They gave you her name."

her? so it's a woman. "her name does not matter." Mizu says impassively; it's a split-second decision, a sharp glance passing between them, and she lurches forward, driving the sword towards him, feet quick, hands expertly swinging the sword broadly. He dodges again, and furiously picks up a sword himself, blocks her blows. Their swords meet with a defeaning clang. He kicks at her, his boot crashing into her side and she reels back, growling, taking cover behind a glass case as his blade hisses through the air towards her.

"I have to."

"Me too." he says and Mizu realizes he is her bodyguard, ducks down as his blade comes around the corner. He swings again, and Mizu's sword shifts, cutting in front of him, freezing Taigen who can’t get his blade lined as she blocks him. A frozen moment, then, they both strike, over and over, metal ringing through the room. Mizu's blade is a blur, cutting at him viciously; he lunges at her, sword held high and she twirls easily around him, the edge of her blade grazing his cheek; he is too fast, but she is faster, has seen him use this move too many times before, could see it coming too clearly, block it with her eyes closed; she ducks under their swords when they cross, blades hissing; she grabs at the momentum and rides its edge, her free hand swiftly retrieving her dagger from her back pocket, powerfully driving it into his chest as she twirls around in the air to face him. Taigen stumbles backwards from the ferocity of the sudden blow, blinking at his chest. Astonished.

She is still holding onto the blade as he drops to his knees, his sword clanging as it falls onto the floor next to him. She sinks with him on one knee, then pulls her hand away. "you have thirty minutes to get to the hospital or you die. don't pull it out." she informs him, hears him wheeze, blood frothing across his lips.

Mizu picks up her gun off the floor, checks the load, holsters it. She does not look back again, rushes down the hallway, can hear voices screaming over a radio through the glass walls. She does not have much time.

Her vision blurs, narrowing down to the one thing she's got to do; she runs through the glass hallways, looking for her.

She is closing in on the room down the hallway, when a bullet wheezes past her head, and a shot rings out, hitting a glass wall. It sheers and shattered glass tumbles through the hall over her head. She dives for cover, takes aim, can see them through the glass wall. Shoots one of the guards running towards her in the head, the other straight through his sternum.

There are more coming. Too many, too fast, she doesn't have enough time to shoot at them all. She draws two knives off the floor and rolls as a guard fires, regains her feet and slashes the man’s throat, twirling in the air and landing onto another one, pinning him down with her knee to his throat. A second is turning on her when she slams a knife into his temple; it goes in too deep, and he collapses onto the glass floor just as Mizu rapidly grabs the gun that she's dropped and angles it towards the guard that she's got pinned down, firing into the side of his head, then shooting another three men down, three quick headshots.

She swings onto her feet, but another guard lunges for her, trying to disarm her. He wraps her arm up, drawing her in even as she drops her gun and quickly catches it with her free hand, presses it against his side and fires two quick shots. Hot blood splatters the glass floor.

She is breathing hard though her mouth, but before she can process what's happened, a huge, muscled man comes at her in a blur of motion and leaps, driving her back onto the floor, his arms tight around her shoulders, trapping her. She feels the glass cut into her back through her jacket and howls, screaming in agony, enraged. She thrashes against his hold, but he is too strong, stronger than her, but Mizu can't stop, she will not stop, her jaws fiercely closing on the man’s throat as they roll on the ground, fighting. He screams and pulls back and she grabs a fistful of shards of glass and drives them through his eyes repeatedly, her hand bleeding, palm torn open; she breathlessly hops on her feet, blood flowing down her back, fires blindly at the group of guards running down the hall towards her until her gun goes empty.

They go down, and she doesn't stop to make sure they are dead, she sweeps one of the curved knives up off the floor, and flees down the hallway, heart pounding, sees a shadow through the glass, the gleam of a red mask, chases it down. Reflections confuse her, but it doesn't take long for Mizu to find her in the room down the hallway.

"wait! wait!" she says urgently, her voice too deep, strange, but Mizu's ears are ringing.

"no." Mizu growls out, drives something metallic between the door and the jamb, and snaps it in two. She can hear someone outside of it, attempting to enter, but the door won't budge.

Mizu, cut and bleeding, moves before the woman in the mask covering half of her face can stop her, sprinting at her, knife held high. Last second, the woman shifts her weight. Mizu misses her, lands, rolls to her feet, leans forward to attack—

"stop!" she says, in japanese, her voice shattered. "stop it" but Mizu is furious, chasing after her maniacally, she does not hear her, the world around her is drowned out, the only thing she can see is the masked woman, and her knife, and the pulsing line between them.

She shifts her weight, watches the woman take cover behind a glass case, her senses locked on her. Mizu strikes, her knife flashing, so quick, the movement is nearly imperceptible. She surges forwards, losing her balance. She quickly catches it, and runs after her again, the woman doesn't wanna fight her, but there's a sword in her left hand, and Mizu lunges forward. The woman's sword tip moves to her throat, stopping her. Her hand quivers ever so slightly, but she does not cut her throat open. "stop!" she barks harshly, trembling. The blade cuts into Mizu's skin, grazing her neck. A faint line of blood trickles down her chest.

Mizu swings. Her hand is a blur as she moves, lighting-quick, disarms her, and swiftly drives her own knife through the woman's stomach. The masked woman's sword clatters away and she drops to her knees as blood blossoms from the wound. She’s reaching for her sword, but not to atatck Mizu, she wants to defend herself, says, "stop it" when Mizu's foot clamps down on her right wrist. She kicks the sword away.

"Mizu." the masked figure croaks out, as her blood paints the floor, flowing from her mouth and the cut in her stomach.

The sound of her name in her mouth sends Mizu reeling.

She watches her drag herself to the side, watches her press her back to the wall. The whole world shrinks to her, and Mizu steps back, something snapping inside her heart. Her head is spinning.

"Mizu." she repeats her name and her hand shakes as she removes the mask. Half of her face is scarred thickly, healed over with jagged skin; burn marks. Mizu stares at it.

She blinks. She sees her in a bathtub, water crimson with blood, her voice breaking as she screams her throat raw at Mizu to run.

Her vision blurs. This isn't real. Her eyes focus on a tattoo just visible on her forearm, faded away with time: a wave.

For a moment, she can’t tell if she is dreaming, or if she's hurting so badly it doesn’t really feel like anything. She remembers Eiji saying that he had chopped off the top of his pinky finger, once, and didn’t even feel it until he reached the hospital.

She feels herself break like an avalanche, like a rock slide, in tiny bits and then everything all at once, and all of a sudden, until she is suffocating, until everything inside of her is howling in agony, and she is out of breath, dropping to her knees near her, her hands frantic over the wound in her stomach, pressing into it, trying to stop the bleeding.

"no... no.. no, no, no!." Mizu is hysterical, too much choking into her throat, pain, and shock and the world ending, she can't breathe.

"mama. no... no. please," she sobs. "please, no, please come back— you are not dying. you are okay." she presses her face to her mother's shirt, choking on a breath, "you are okay." her voice breaks, sobbing and pressing her hands all over her wound, hopelessly trying to stop the flow, everything around her numb and blank, the whole of the world coming to a screeching halt, dying with her.

Her mother grabs her chin, hands slick with blood. "look at me. stop it. stop. go." she chokes out, blood gushing through her teeth. Mizu is a mess, eyes wide, mouth torn open, sucking in fast, sobbing breaths. She shoves at Mizu's arm, says "go. go! you won't die with me! go!" mama's voice too deep, cracking on a sob. Mizu does not want to go. Her body is stone, she cannot move, but mama pulls her down, presses cold lips to her forehead then shoves at her with everything she's got, says go... please! her eyes flicking over to a door.

She does not know how she does it, does not know how she drags herself back onto her feet, but somehow she does.

It is a special kind of teeth tearing into her as she walks away from her this second time, ripping her open; jaws that don’t let go. (they never will).

When she looks back, her mother's slumped over, eyes open, unblinking. It's the last thing she remembers, does not know how she makes it down the stairs, slips through the back gate. Does not know how she gets back home.

Home?

Geraldine's hotel room.

She feels numb when she comes back to her, but it's 3 in the morning and Geraldine is sleeping and Mizu sits soaked in blood that is not all her own on the floor and tilts her head upwards, stares at the ceiling. Everything feels like a dream; like she has been sucked into some sort of cruel unreality and cannot find the exit. Her head lolls to the side against the wall; she stares at Geraldine's profile, how soft she looks while she sleeps, her dark hair spilling over her pillow like a veil of silk. There is a bunch of necklaces left on top of the dresser, all snarled up and tangled, and Mizu stares at them. There is nothing alive left inside of her; all of it has been snuffed out, she cannot feel her pulse.

She stares at them for a long time, her lower lip trembling. Then she sits, her back against the wall, and slowly, unerringly unpicks those necklaces left on the dresser, so that Geraldine can wear them again.

It's how she finds her, Geraldine, when she stirs under the covers, a long white terror waking her: hunched over her necklaces, drenched in blood. It's still dark outside. Geraldine sits up in the bed, her eyes searching for Mizu.

"Mizu?" her voice is very soft, touches Mizu, like a kiss.

Mizu does not say anything, just keeps working on her necklaces, but her hands are moving quicker now, blindly picking at the chains, which makes Geraldine slide off the bed and move to kneel close to her. Her eyes are wide, taking the sight of her in, the dry blood on her throat, on her hands, her shirt crimson with it. "Mizu..." she exhales, sounding terrified, reaches for her face, cups it into her two hands, makes her look at her. "what happened?" she strokes her thumbs over the arch of her cheekbones, searching her eyes as though trying to read the thoughts behind them, and Mizu feels herself break, her throat too tight, closing up, feels bursts of deep, dark terror spasm inside of her. A sob rips through her throat and she begins to shake, her hands sliding up to hold onto Geraldine. "baby..." Geraldine whispers, desperately holding onto her face, and that does it, Mizu comes undone, stifling sobs through her teeth as she crashes through the reality of what she's done. She chokes on her tears, her hands frantically covering her mouth and Geraldine pulls her close, says come here. She holds Mizu to her, her hand running up and down her back, and presses her mouth fiercely to the side of her head, hugs her to her chest tightly, feeling her body convulse as Mizu sobs into her shirt, hysterical, wracking sobs, rubbing her throat raw.

She lapses deep into silence, afterwards, her mind crashing through a swell of fury at her selfishness, the manipulation, the terrible lies she's wrapped herself in. She is nothing; she is a dead drop, half alive, does not know how to function; she is all free fall. All empty nights and screaming.

Geraldine pulls back her hair, when Mizu rushes to her bathroom, drops to her knees and pukes, groaning into the bowl of the toilet. Her shoulders are shaking. She washes her face, her hands patient and tender on her, the hollow ring of Mizu's sobs at four in the morning making her cry, too, but she bites it back, does not want Mizu to feel worse. She holds her too hard, kisses her, everywhere, whispering it's okay, baby, it'll be okay.

It will be okay.

Mizu tries to believe her.

iv. there is a girl, and dead in her arms is her mother.

"Human life yearns to collapse in soft yes Your mouth along my neck I think of this, breath against vein God I am staccato I have surrendered ocean currents in denying you Where is my love where is my moveable God where am I where going" Stimie.

Mizu clings to her like she is her lifeline, frantically, blindly, with both hands. It is hanging over her, the loss, the death, all that guilt choked up in her throat, screaming its furious grief, not letting her breathe.

She thinks of that newspaper article she saw Geraldine read over breakfast, and the woman who had her throat cut open, the ribbon of her hair soaked in blood, they had used it to strangle her, and Mizu had thought about it all morning, her mind obsessively circling back to it.

It feels like that sometimes, inside of her body, she thinks. Like she is walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. Like she is hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. she keeps saying - at least she went fast… I am so lucky she did not suffer.

I am so lucky, so lucky… The idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

They move away from everything.

Leave it all behind. Fowler does not matter. Revenge does not matter; she gets angry sometimes, angry in that black, festering way she has, when Geraldine can feel it in the air, choking as smoke from a chemical fire.

But somehow, she manages, or tries to pretend that she does, swallows it all down, does not think about it; does not talk about it.

They make a life together, somehow, and Mizu holds Geraldine too close, holds her tightly. It is like being punched in the gut, how much she needs her, even when she does not say it, even when it takes her too long to say the words, let her see her.

It's Geraldine and her together, afterwards, a tiny home somewhere no one can find them. She cuts her hair short around her face, a sleek wolf cut. Does not wear her glasses. Pierces her nose, and gets that tattoo, the wave on her forearm, because maybe she wants things for herself, after all, and maybe she can have them, and with her; she does; gets more than she deserves.

She loves her too well, Geraldine, loves her like a fever. Wraps herself around Mizu like her safety net, and does not press, knows how to talk around what happened, how to let her talk to her when Mizu wants to, mouth pressed to her cheek, her breath tickling Mizu's skin as she listens to her; quietly bringing her tea in the morning, just because she knows Mizu would like it without asking. Being able to make Mizu smile endlessly even when she does not feel like she deserves it.

It's everything and nothing, the big and the small that make them, make Mizu fucking love her, fiendishly, like she's the world entire. Mizu loves the way Geraldine's eyelashes look while her smirk plays around the edges of the straw as she tries the .99 cent iced coffee she's put too much sugar in just because it makes Mizu laugh when her cheeks suck inwards at the sickening sweetness. "you are pathetic." Geraldine rolls her eyes, but it's sweet, everything between the two of them is sweet, and careful, like a caress.

She wakes up in sweat from cold nightmares to find that Geraldine is warm beside her, her freckled skin hot and soft, no more than six inches from hers and most nights she pulls her close, sinks her nose into the warmth of her neck, listens to the beating of her heart against her as she stares at the ceiling until her eyes ache.

She stares at her across the table, at diners, or in their kitchen (they've painted it a light yellow color, Mizu's jeans rolled up to her kness, paint splattered on her cheeks, scowling at Geraldine's criticisms of her very fine work, thank you very much, her hands on her hips) fascinated by the way the light plays across her, how she looks at her and her whole face lights up, how she softens when Mizu touches her because Mizu sometimes can't, sometimes doesn't, but Geraldine always knows to find her mid way, hold her hand for no reason, hold her hand because they are walking along the river, talking about something normal and it's strange, Mizu shouldn't be allowed to have this, she can't accept the idea of it, but wants it anyway, lets it happen anyway.

Mizu loves how she sounds singing along at concerts and the slight flush she will get when tipsy and how easily she fits into her as if she has always been the right piece.

She is breathless under her when she lets Geraldine touch her, and it's too feverish and frantic, how Geradline fucks her, like she is starving for it, how she loses herself for hours between Mizu's legs, sucking down sweetnes, how she rolls her hips too hard against Mizu's, pressing her cunt to hers, the soft, wet glide sending tiny shocks of pleasure through Mizu, Geraldine's hand on her throat, holding her down, crying out when Mizu leans up and kisses her fiercely, holds onto her hips and moves her harder, spurs her on, makes her rub rougher against her until both of them explode with their pleasure.

Before all this, they were sitting together in their bedroom, Mizu lacing up her black boots, Geraldine putting on makeup, sitting in the glow of their sunlamp, getting ready for their night out.

She was talking about what she could make for dinner tomorrow, that maybe she could try to cook something with fish because Mizu liked fish too much, putting powder on with a brush, and Mizu had blurted out I love you so much.

and Geraldine had paused, had turned to her, lips parted, and for a moment Mizu had felt her heart stop.

"I love you too."

and then, the fierce, sweet fucking, devouring each other for hours; they had not gone out, but neither of them had minded...

"hey," Geraldine says, upside down, head over the edge of their bed, "december is next week."

"fuck... yeah?" Mizu is on the floor, has just come back from a run, flushed and sweaty, her cheeks pink. It's 8 in the morning. "no it’s not."

Geraldine shows her the upside-down phone. "yeah it is." her hair is a mess and Mizu is enamored with it. She stands up and moves to the bed, rolls over until she’s above Geradline, holding herself up with her arms on either side of her, laughing when Geraldine screeches because she is too sweaty, and, "I am wearing clean clothes!"

"too bad." Mizu pins her down, biting into her neck because she just loves how she laughs, how she squirms away from it, breathless.

"is that your way of announcing you are ready for a tree?" she asks, mouth hot on her cheek, and Geraldine says mhm, presses her close despite her earlier protestations, loves to smell her when she's like this, dappled in a light sheen of sweat. Loves the salt of her skin, loves the smoky scent of it.

"and that you have to get me something."

Mizu smoothes her hair back from her face and stares down at her, going quiet, her eyes soft; makes Geraldine swallow, when she gets like this, can't bear how much she loves her. The drowning rush of it.

"anything you want."

Mizu always means it.

Mizu slices a ripe peach and feeds her half, while leaning over her shoulder, finding what part of her book Geraldine's at and sucking down the juices.

"oh, you are ahead of me. don't spoil me."

"then move."

Mizu presses her chin to the back of Geraldine's shoulder and holds her tighter, says, "nah."

Geraldine laughs at her.

Before all this, they had been in a store, being silly, fighting over what color the new rug for the bedroom should be, Mizu finally relenting, saying "...if it'll make you happy." when she had caught a shift in Geraldine's gaze, had watched her go stiff for a split moment, only for a moment, and then it had been gone, her smile returning.

Before all this, Mizu had been laying in their bed for hours, staring at her mother's necklace until her eyes had glazed over, raw and red.

Before all this, she had sat in complete silence in their living room at 4 in the morning, staring at her hands. It had been months since she had felt good (had she ever felt good?) but she felt something like good when she would look at her and she felt something like healing when she would hold her hand.

Before all this, Mizu had woken up one night to the sound of water in the shower; she had blinked at the clock; it had been 3 in the morning. When Geraldine hadn't come back to bed after 20 minutes, Mizu had gotten up to look for her but her hand had frozen mid air at the bathroom door; she had stood there, a dull numbness rising in her mouth as she listened to her cry in the shower, the water stifling her sobs. In the morning, Mizu had not said anything, but had been softer with her, too sweet, to the point where Geraldine had narrowed her eyes in suspicion, had asked her if she was okay. Mizu had said "I am okay if you are."

Before all this, Mizu had somehow stopped waking up in cold sweat every night, screaming for her mother.

Before all this, everything had been okay for a moment.

Before all this, they plan a road trip, take their little car and drive down to the river: Geraldine driving, Mizu in the passenger seat, playing with the radio, changing the music over and over, never satisfied.

"okay, passenger princess. pass me the bottle."

Mizu looks up from the radio, says hmm?

"the bottle of water. oh my god." Geraldine laughs as Mizu unscrews the cap and takes a long sip to make it not spill over, just so Geraldine won't drip water on her.

"thank you." she smiles, takes a sip and hands the bottle back to Mizu.

Mizu says, "you are welcome." and she is smiling, and it still makes Geraldine ache when she does it: like smiling and laughing, is new to Mizu every time; like she is still learning what to do with it. Mizu sits back into her seat, staring out the window, the sun in her face, making her squint. She turns around again and stretches a little, makes a soft groan, turns up the music. She's got a pack of vinegar chips in the backseat, and reaches for them, tears it open and feeds Geraldine the first one.

It's late July, a balmy day, languid light. The highway empty, the streets shimmering under a hot sun.

Geraldine's hands tighten on the wheel as she makes a left down a country road and she feels Mizu reach over and stroke the back of her neck, softly, playing with her hair; she can be so sweet. It makes her ache sometimes, how sweet she is, Mizu. How she's learning to let herself soften.

"I had a thought." Mizu says, her voice a lazy, smoky drawl. She is munching on her chips, wearing her cap backwards. Geraldine reaches over with one hand and fixes it again, does not want her to get sunburnt.

"just the one?" Geraldine says and Mizu scowls in that funny way. "ha! anyway. I had a thought. maybe we could rent that store that closed down the square? I don't know. do something with it."

"you wanna be business partners." Geraldine teases, smiling.

"not business partners. just do something with you." a slow shrug. "could last forever." Mizu says it too naturally, and Geraldine cuts her eyes to her, flustered into silence.

"I love you..." Mizu says immediately when their gazes meet, her hand still stroking the back of her neck. "have I told you?"

"tell me again." Geraldine sounds breathless.

"I love you." Mizu repeats, smiling too brightly, her blue eyes lit with the sun.

Geraldine swallows, and there it is, Mizu thinks, the strange shift, the split-second darkness.

"I love you too... so much." Geraldine catches Mizu's hand and kisses her palm, her eyes on the road.

"yeah?"

"yeah..." a tight little pause, and Mizu sits up a little because she can sense it before it happens, can read her like a book.

"what?"

Geraldine shakes her head a little, exhales,

"I love you so much... and I did not want to tell you this because I did not want you to think anything crazy, but I love you. you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I don't want there to be secrets between us."

Mizu feels her body go cold, a numbness settling over her. Her heart is in her throat.

"what is it?" she repeats, staring at her profile, outlined in the sunlight. She notices her freckles, spread across her small nose, the kiss of the sun on her skin.

"whatever it is I can handle it. Just don't tell me you are a bad guy." she laughs, but it's too tight, sharp; like she's afraid that's exactly what she is gonna tell her.

Geraldine flicks her eyes to her, says "well, it depends on who you ask... but it's not what you think, Mizu. this isn't about the Father or Fowler—"

and Mizu blinks at her, sits back, says "wait, wait... I don't understand. Geraldine... what are you saying?" her voice too tight, stuck in the back of her throat, like a fist, squeezing the air out of her.

"well for starters, my name isn't Geraldine."

Mizu stares at her, trying to process this; something in her chest shifts, like everything else falls away. She opens her mouth, too many questions on her tongue.

She starts to ask them, but then the world stops moving again; she hears the roaring of an engine, tires screeching; the air explodes with a shattering roar; a sedan crashes into the side of their car, sending them spinning out of the road, toppling end over end before landing upside down.

Then, everything goes quiet.

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