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scriveynerTitle: All the Time in the World - 1
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Spyfic
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: T
Length: 1961
Summary: She looked like Trouble.
She looked like trouble.
The elevator doors slid closed behind her with a soft ping. People were entering and exiting the penthouse plaza all evening, under the watchful eye of a fairly unobtrusive security team so one singular woman’s appearance should not cause all that much of a sensation. All the same, her form caught Gotou’s eye, tall and leggy, with honey-blonde hair piled on her head in an intricate coiffure. He watched her cross the room, greet two men in tailored suits - Hashimoto’s underlings - and the three of them walked toward the bar that stretched the entire length of one wall.
“Pretty little thing,” the man standing at Gotou’s elbow said. He had a raspy voice, and something about it irritated Gotou every time he spoke. Distinct and uncomfortable, like sandpaper. She wasn’t little, Gotou corrected in his head, she stood almost half a head taller than the two men wooing her at the bar currently.
Gotou took the cigarette from his lips and sighed out a stream of smoke into the humid night air. “My employer is getting anxious, Tanaka-san,” he said idly. That shifted Tanaka’s attention from leering at the woman in red back to him, where it belonged. “We were promised rapid returns on our … investment.”
His companion smiled - greasy and thin, but a smile nonetheless. “Ah, but returns have arrived, Gotou-kun. We can return your employer’s money today - or, if he is willing to wait only another week, we can double his payout.”
For all the people milling about the banquet room, they were the only two on the balcony. Gotou inhaled slowly, watching the room full of the society elite, come to mingle and spend more money than most people would ever see in a lifetime. “I’m listening,” he said, eyes darting back to her while Tanaka told him of the fortune he’d make. He couldn’t see her eyes from here, pity - and there was a heartbeat where he remembered blank eyes and dark wispy hair, and whiskey in his gut quickly turned sour.
He’d been cultivating this contact for weeks now - ingratiating himself into the welcoming arms of a perfectly legitimate business that moved office supplies all around the country and somehow moved more capital around than a perfectly legitimate business would have to play with. They were suspected of being a front for an underground mafia group - not the Yakuza, but another group edging in on their territory, a group whose name was kept under wraps so much that he hadn’t even heard it whispered, wouldn’t know it if it weren’t for one lone assassin that had come for him and been quietly disappeared.
“This project,” Gotou murmured, flicking the cigarette butt toward a canister set along the chest-high railing. “Why does it require so much capital, Tanaka? What’s my employer’s money really funding, here?”
It was a brash question to ask, but sometimes cutting straight to the point got results quickly. Tanaka’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression dark. “You shouldn’t ask too many questions,” he said. “Someone might get suspicious, Gootu-kun.”
“I want to ensure my employer’s funds are being utilized properly,” Gotou said. “I’d hardly be out of line asking for some measure of attribution.” His eyes flickered back to the bar, and he was a little disappointed to see that the woman was gone. He scanned the crowd of schmoozing businessmen but didn’t see her golden hair among the mix. “He’d be interested in re-investing, of course,” Gotou added lightly, straightening. “I’m just trying to be careful with my employer’s money.”
“A noble cause,” Tanaka said, and if Gotou hadn’t been mildly distracted, he might have caught that wavering hint of suspicion in his voice.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Gotou said, inclining his head, and then heading toward the bar.
#
He’d been seventeen when he ran away from home - headstrong and grief-stricken, unsure of what exactly he hoped to accomplish but knowing he couldn’t stay put, couldn’t sit there and stare at an empty desk in his classroom, couldn’t deal with the pitying looks and quiet whispers. He’d packed in the middle of the night, a duffel bag over his shoulder and enough money to hop a train into the city. It had been a stupid idea, and he should have listened to the only piece of advice he got, picked up for loitering overnight in a park by the local police. Go home.
It was easy enough to ignore, and after a few overnight stays as an unwelcome guest of the police a wiry man with a thin mustache turned up and said, you help us, we’ll help you.
Gotou stood by the bar, a fresh tumbler of whiskey at his fingertips, and watched the ripple of unease that echoed across the room. The illicit business dealings continued, as if unaware of the actions happening at the periphery. Most of the men were a dime a dozen equal in their appearance, each wearing a tailored business suit that easily cost more than the house he grew up in - but some here and there wore traditional kimono. There were a lot of women here too, decorative - his eyes flew over them, some were bodyguards but most were just arm candy.
He couldn’t be certain that he had been made. The guards were moving around restlessly, scanning the crowd more actively. Gotou had made no move from the bar, but they didn’t seem to be looking in his direction. Even if he hadn’t been discovered, it was going to be difficult to move around with the guards on high alert - but he really had no other options, there was only one chance to get into Hashimoto’s systems, and that was tonight.
The thing about this business was that so much of it was misdirection. A few stumbling steps and he almost smacked into a guard but rebounded off the wall. A fuzzy smile and a slurred question got him pointed in the direction of the toilets, and he was very aware of the guards’ eyes on him as he wobbled down the hall.
When he emerged from the bathroom the guard was no longer watching down the hall, instead turned away and speaking with another man. Gotou ducked into a stairwell and glanced up at the next flight, leading toward the offices that the keycard he’d lifted earlier would gain him access to. He wouldn’t have a lot of time.
#
“From Beyond,” Gotou said unimpressed, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Sounds like someone watched too much television.” He stood beside Konno in the lab, as Harazuka puttered around the table before them.
“It’s exciting,” Harazuka said enthusiastically, holding up something garish, tacky red and yellow and Gotou glanced away, watching someone in a white lab coat spray another scientist with a fire extinguisher, trying to douse the flames. “It’s always so much better to know the name of the enemy, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” The name of the enemy really didn’t matter that much in the long run. He picked up the pair of black oxfords sitting near the edge of the table. “These look like my size. There’s a tracker?”
“In the heel.” Harazuka said. “The data chip is in the other. Same old routine to activate.”
Gotou flipped the shoes over, ran his fingers over the sole until he found the hidden catch that revealed a shallow compartment. Konno crossed his arms critically.
“From Beyond is dangerous, Gotou-kun, he said, as Gotou changed his shoes carefully. “We don’t know enough about them yet. You need to be on your guard.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gotou said, and put his old shoes on the table.
#
The keycard got him through most doors, after a small little beep. Gotou kept his head turned down, away from the cameras - there had been no noisy alarm, but with a party of the scale going on the audible alarms may have been disabled. He wasn’t about to make this easy on anyone who might be coming along behind him.
The main office was at the end of the hall, behind large thick doors. Gotou went to wave the keycard and hesitated, saw that the door was left just slightly ajar, and tucked the keycard back into his pocket. He was weaponless, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable, slowly opening the door and sliding inside the office.
She was typing away furiously at the computer, a small thumb drive sticking out of the tower and blinking slowly red. Gotou closed the door behind him, and the click of the knob made her head dart up, eyes wide. Blue, Gotou thought to himself, filing that thought away for later. “Naughty,” he said instead, taking steps away from the door, eyes on her and her hands. “Keep your hands where I can see them, sweetheart.”
“You’re not Hashimoto-san,” she said and her voice gave him a moment’s pause - didn’t sound quite right, but he’d just found her hacking into the computer of the biggest legitimate backer of From Beyond so the strange quirk of her voice didn’t rate very high on his list of concerns at the moment. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gotou said, one hand on the desk and leaning forward, pulling the thumb drive out of the tower.
“H-hey,” she said indignantly. “I hadn’t properly ejected that yet, it could corrupt-”
“I’ll manage.” Gotou slid the thumb drive into the inside pocket of his coat. “You’re the one everyone’s looking for, right now.”
“I need that drive back.” She stood up - she was taller, taller than him in her heels, the burgundy of her dress looking darker in the dim light of the office. She was speaking louder than she needed to, and as she came around the desk Gotou grabbed her by the wrist, walked her to the wall and covered her mouth with his hand. She let out a loud, muffled noise - angry now, blue eyes flashing dangerously.
He could hear the footsteps in the hall, clacking on tile - and Gotou muttered to himself, “to hell with it,” caught her chin with his hand and kissed her, pinned against the wall. She went absolutely stock-still under him, and the door opened at the same time, two guards entering the room with their side-arms drawn.
“Oh,” Gotou slurred a little, wide-eyed and innocent at the interruption, his hand on her waist, one leg pressed between hers. “Are we not supposed to be back here?”
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Spyfic
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: T
Length: 1961
Summary: She looked like Trouble.
She looked like trouble.
The elevator doors slid closed behind her with a soft ping. People were entering and exiting the penthouse plaza all evening, under the watchful eye of a fairly unobtrusive security team so one singular woman’s appearance should not cause all that much of a sensation. All the same, her form caught Gotou’s eye, tall and leggy, with honey-blonde hair piled on her head in an intricate coiffure. He watched her cross the room, greet two men in tailored suits - Hashimoto’s underlings - and the three of them walked toward the bar that stretched the entire length of one wall.
“Pretty little thing,” the man standing at Gotou’s elbow said. He had a raspy voice, and something about it irritated Gotou every time he spoke. Distinct and uncomfortable, like sandpaper. She wasn’t little, Gotou corrected in his head, she stood almost half a head taller than the two men wooing her at the bar currently.
Gotou took the cigarette from his lips and sighed out a stream of smoke into the humid night air. “My employer is getting anxious, Tanaka-san,” he said idly. That shifted Tanaka’s attention from leering at the woman in red back to him, where it belonged. “We were promised rapid returns on our … investment.”
His companion smiled - greasy and thin, but a smile nonetheless. “Ah, but returns have arrived, Gotou-kun. We can return your employer’s money today - or, if he is willing to wait only another week, we can double his payout.”
For all the people milling about the banquet room, they were the only two on the balcony. Gotou inhaled slowly, watching the room full of the society elite, come to mingle and spend more money than most people would ever see in a lifetime. “I’m listening,” he said, eyes darting back to her while Tanaka told him of the fortune he’d make. He couldn’t see her eyes from here, pity - and there was a heartbeat where he remembered blank eyes and dark wispy hair, and whiskey in his gut quickly turned sour.
He’d been cultivating this contact for weeks now - ingratiating himself into the welcoming arms of a perfectly legitimate business that moved office supplies all around the country and somehow moved more capital around than a perfectly legitimate business would have to play with. They were suspected of being a front for an underground mafia group - not the Yakuza, but another group edging in on their territory, a group whose name was kept under wraps so much that he hadn’t even heard it whispered, wouldn’t know it if it weren’t for one lone assassin that had come for him and been quietly disappeared.
“This project,” Gotou murmured, flicking the cigarette butt toward a canister set along the chest-high railing. “Why does it require so much capital, Tanaka? What’s my employer’s money really funding, here?”
It was a brash question to ask, but sometimes cutting straight to the point got results quickly. Tanaka’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression dark. “You shouldn’t ask too many questions,” he said. “Someone might get suspicious, Gootu-kun.”
“I want to ensure my employer’s funds are being utilized properly,” Gotou said. “I’d hardly be out of line asking for some measure of attribution.” His eyes flickered back to the bar, and he was a little disappointed to see that the woman was gone. He scanned the crowd of schmoozing businessmen but didn’t see her golden hair among the mix. “He’d be interested in re-investing, of course,” Gotou added lightly, straightening. “I’m just trying to be careful with my employer’s money.”
“A noble cause,” Tanaka said, and if Gotou hadn’t been mildly distracted, he might have caught that wavering hint of suspicion in his voice.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Gotou said, inclining his head, and then heading toward the bar.
He’d been seventeen when he ran away from home - headstrong and grief-stricken, unsure of what exactly he hoped to accomplish but knowing he couldn’t stay put, couldn’t sit there and stare at an empty desk in his classroom, couldn’t deal with the pitying looks and quiet whispers. He’d packed in the middle of the night, a duffel bag over his shoulder and enough money to hop a train into the city. It had been a stupid idea, and he should have listened to the only piece of advice he got, picked up for loitering overnight in a park by the local police. Go home.
It was easy enough to ignore, and after a few overnight stays as an unwelcome guest of the police a wiry man with a thin mustache turned up and said, you help us, we’ll help you.
Gotou stood by the bar, a fresh tumbler of whiskey at his fingertips, and watched the ripple of unease that echoed across the room. The illicit business dealings continued, as if unaware of the actions happening at the periphery. Most of the men were a dime a dozen equal in their appearance, each wearing a tailored business suit that easily cost more than the house he grew up in - but some here and there wore traditional kimono. There were a lot of women here too, decorative - his eyes flew over them, some were bodyguards but most were just arm candy.
He couldn’t be certain that he had been made. The guards were moving around restlessly, scanning the crowd more actively. Gotou had made no move from the bar, but they didn’t seem to be looking in his direction. Even if he hadn’t been discovered, it was going to be difficult to move around with the guards on high alert - but he really had no other options, there was only one chance to get into Hashimoto’s systems, and that was tonight.
The thing about this business was that so much of it was misdirection. A few stumbling steps and he almost smacked into a guard but rebounded off the wall. A fuzzy smile and a slurred question got him pointed in the direction of the toilets, and he was very aware of the guards’ eyes on him as he wobbled down the hall.
When he emerged from the bathroom the guard was no longer watching down the hall, instead turned away and speaking with another man. Gotou ducked into a stairwell and glanced up at the next flight, leading toward the offices that the keycard he’d lifted earlier would gain him access to. He wouldn’t have a lot of time.
“From Beyond,” Gotou said unimpressed, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Sounds like someone watched too much television.” He stood beside Konno in the lab, as Harazuka puttered around the table before them.
“It’s exciting,” Harazuka said enthusiastically, holding up something garish, tacky red and yellow and Gotou glanced away, watching someone in a white lab coat spray another scientist with a fire extinguisher, trying to douse the flames. “It’s always so much better to know the name of the enemy, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” The name of the enemy really didn’t matter that much in the long run. He picked up the pair of black oxfords sitting near the edge of the table. “These look like my size. There’s a tracker?”
“In the heel.” Harazuka said. “The data chip is in the other. Same old routine to activate.”
Gotou flipped the shoes over, ran his fingers over the sole until he found the hidden catch that revealed a shallow compartment. Konno crossed his arms critically.
“From Beyond is dangerous, Gotou-kun, he said, as Gotou changed his shoes carefully. “We don’t know enough about them yet. You need to be on your guard.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gotou said, and put his old shoes on the table.
The keycard got him through most doors, after a small little beep. Gotou kept his head turned down, away from the cameras - there had been no noisy alarm, but with a party of the scale going on the audible alarms may have been disabled. He wasn’t about to make this easy on anyone who might be coming along behind him.
The main office was at the end of the hall, behind large thick doors. Gotou went to wave the keycard and hesitated, saw that the door was left just slightly ajar, and tucked the keycard back into his pocket. He was weaponless, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable, slowly opening the door and sliding inside the office.
She was typing away furiously at the computer, a small thumb drive sticking out of the tower and blinking slowly red. Gotou closed the door behind him, and the click of the knob made her head dart up, eyes wide. Blue, Gotou thought to himself, filing that thought away for later. “Naughty,” he said instead, taking steps away from the door, eyes on her and her hands. “Keep your hands where I can see them, sweetheart.”
“You’re not Hashimoto-san,” she said and her voice gave him a moment’s pause - didn’t sound quite right, but he’d just found her hacking into the computer of the biggest legitimate backer of From Beyond so the strange quirk of her voice didn’t rate very high on his list of concerns at the moment. “Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Gotou said, one hand on the desk and leaning forward, pulling the thumb drive out of the tower.
“H-hey,” she said indignantly. “I hadn’t properly ejected that yet, it could corrupt-”
“I’ll manage.” Gotou slid the thumb drive into the inside pocket of his coat. “You’re the one everyone’s looking for, right now.”
“I need that drive back.” She stood up - she was taller, taller than him in her heels, the burgundy of her dress looking darker in the dim light of the office. She was speaking louder than she needed to, and as she came around the desk Gotou grabbed her by the wrist, walked her to the wall and covered her mouth with his hand. She let out a loud, muffled noise - angry now, blue eyes flashing dangerously.
He could hear the footsteps in the hall, clacking on tile - and Gotou muttered to himself, “to hell with it,” caught her chin with his hand and kissed her, pinned against the wall. She went absolutely stock-still under him, and the door opened at the same time, two guards entering the room with their side-arms drawn.
“Oh,” Gotou slurred a little, wide-eyed and innocent at the interruption, his hand on her waist, one leg pressed between hers. “Are we not supposed to be back here?”
