Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I live for the applause, live for the

Way that you cheer and scream for me

The applause, applause, applause

-“Applause”, Lady Gaga

Detective Kenshi Takahashi is tired. Like, really tired.

And it’s not because he’s slept for approximately three hours in the past two days, it’s another kind of tiredness entirely. It’s the kind that creeps up under your skin, that makes everything once colorful and bright look dull and opaque.

For instance, he should be enjoying a date with a beautiful woman in a fancy bar selling expensive cocktails; he should be looking forward to the moment she’ll caress his arm in his car and ask him to join her for a drink at her place. And yet, he hasn’t heard a single word she said in the last hour, and she’s still talking about a certain Gina Kenshi really doesn’t know. Her sister? Best friend? Maybe a colleague?

“…and I’ve known her for, like, ten years! How could she do something like that?” his date utters, and Kenshi, as the gentleman he is, nods solemnly and keeps a perfect poker face up.

“Unacceptable.”

“Right? I’m so glad you agree with me.”

Kenshi has no clue what he’s just agreed with, but he surely won’t be the one to tell her – not when he has shut his brain off for the entirety of their (one-sided) conversation. She’s beautiful, with long luscious red hair and an uncanny resemblance to an actress from that Netflix period drama Kitana is secretly obsessed with, but… Kenshi would lie if he said he’s feeling anything close to interest right now.

“Anyway, the thing is that, you know, I’m not mad because she decided to go to Europe without me, it’s just…”

And Kenshi’s brain goes into power-saving mode once again. Maybe he should call it a night and leave, he muses. Would it be too impolite? Probably so. He should at least take his date home, but he really can’t think of a good excuse to make it look natural. The only impromptu interruption that might save him would be a work emergency, but he really can’t hope to-

Kenshi’s eyes go wide when his phone suddenly starts ringing in his pocket, and he ends up patting his suit jacket to retrieve it. His date is still speaking at first, but when she notices the ringtone comes from Kenshi’s phone, she halts with an annoyed frown.

“Forgive me, I’m not sure who would…” Kenshi starts, just to fill the silence as he takes his phone out. When he reads Kung Lao’s name in the caller’s ID, a part of him would like to cry in relief. “It’s work related, I need to take it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s fine.”

Kenshi, as desperate as he is for a way out, almost doesn’t let her finish before taking the call. His mother would smother him on the spot if she saw that.

“Takahashi.”

“Hey, dude. Sorry to interrupt your date night, but, uh…” Kung Lao seems embarrassed, and Kenshi hears Raiden’s muffled voice saying something in the background. “You weren’t doing stuff, right? Like, cardio activity or the sorts.”

Kenshi sighs and massages his closed sore eyes. God, he really should go buy some eyedrops to soothe the migraines.

“No, Kung Lao. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Aw, shucks. Sorry, man – Raiden says he’s sorry, too.”

“I appreciate it but tell Raiden not to worry. What happened?”

“Nothing pleasant, unfortunately. We’ve been summoned on a crime scene – Raiden and I are on our way,” Kung Lao explains. Kenshi tries to hold back a relieved sigh, and hums instead.

“Murder?”

“Looks like it.”

“Alright. Text me the address, I’ll try to get there as soon as I can.” Kenshi shoots a rapid look at his watch. “No more than an hour, anyways.”

“Roger that!”

Kenshi looks back at his date as he hangs up, “I’m truly sorry, but I must go. I got an emergency at work.”

She pulls a face, but she doesn’t look particularly annoyed.

“Normally I’d ask if someone died, but I get it’d be useless given the circumstances.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m giving you a ride home before going, though, I wouldn’t want to leave you here.”

“Oh no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’ll go and get something else to drink.” The woman stands up, she readjusts her dress and then extends her hand to Kenshi as he gets up as well. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Detective Takahashi.”

Kenshi takes her hand, gently, and bows slowly to kiss her knuckles. “The pleasure was mine.”

The woman sucks in a breath, sharply, then she lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Ah, it truly was too good to be true! Don’t be a stranger, Kenshi.”

And after that, Kenshi watches her go towards the bar and smile at another patron, as if their date never happened. His shoulders slack, finally rid of the boredom-induced tension, and Kenshi allows himself to sigh. He wasn’t planning on dealing with dead people tonight, but maybe that is the distraction he needs. It usually is.

When he was in high school, Kenshi thought he’d be a successful lawyer with a beautiful wife and maybe a couple of kids by the age of thirty-five. And yet, there he is: thirty-five? Check. Lawyer? Not quite. Married? God, no. Kids? None that he’s aware of. He’s a detective, a homicide detective to be precise – and he’s single. Which is great, considering he’s more work-driven than anything. And caring that much for another person… After what happened sixteen years ago, he’s not sure he’d be ready to handle it. Especially if things didn’t end well.

He tries not to think about it too much. He allows himself to think about Mileena and their father once a day, usually at night, when the work’s done for the day. Kitana says he’s obsessed, morbid even, but it’s not like he can switch his brain off – not when his whole life was shaped by those events, not when he still holds himself accountable for at least one of those deaths.

Work helps, surprisingly. He’s aware he’s using his job as a detective, investigating other people’s murders, not to process his grief, but it helps. He couldn’t solve his father and his sister’s cases, but at least he can help someone else find justice. At least, he hopes so.

And so, no, there’s not that much space left in Kenshi Takahashi’s life for a relationship, let alone a serious one. One-night stands are more than welcome, but commitment? That’s another story.

He parks in front of the crime scene building exactly thirty-nine minutes after Kung Lao’s call. He pondered stopping by his apartment to change clothes, but he figured the corpse wouldn’t care what he was wearing, and his black suit and red shirt were more than fine. Still, Kung Lao lets out a long whistle as soon as he sees him, eliciting an eyeroll from Kenshi.

“Woah, Mr. Takahashi, we’re all dressed up tonight! Trying to impress a lady, uh?”

“Not everyone has their closet filled to the brim with nothing but jeans and hoodies, Kung Lao,” Kenshi replies without skipping a beat, locking his car as his friend stops beside him. Kung Lao frowns, confused.

“Was that a jab at the way I dress or a compliment?”

“What do you think it was?”

“I wanna think it was a compliment, because you’re a man of good taste.”

“That’s the point.” Kenshi looks around as they move past the police tape delimiting the area from curious passersby. The street is crowded, there’s at least a half dozen people trying to snap pictures, but Kenshi doesn’t notice anything particularly strange for the situation. “Is Raiden inside?”

“Yeah, he’s questioning a few people living here. No one has heard or seen anything so far.”

Kung Lao leaps in front of him, so he can walk backwards and face Kenshi. Hands in his pockets, that amused smirk and glint in his eyes… Kenshi already knows he’s about to ask questions on his night, because Kung Lao is just that nosy.

“How was the girl, anyway?”

There you go, Kenshi thinks. He shrugs, hoping a deflective answer will stop Kung Lao from further prying.

“She had a lot to talk about.”

“Ooh, a chatter! That’s great, I hate it when there’s that awkward silence and you don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah, not the case here.”

“Well, didn't mean to cock-block you, mate.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, didn’t we? I mean, did you manage to throw in some action before we got you, or was it just words?”

Kenshi halts and answers with a glare, and after a few seconds of them staring at each other without saying a word, Kung Lao lifts his hands up with a defeated huff.

“Fine, got it. Focus on the victim?”

“It would be better for everyone,” Kenshi confirms as Kung Lao goes back facing forward.

Kenshi moves swiftly among the other agents clustered outside the entrance, exchanging a rapid nod with some of them as a form of greeting. He’s never been one of many words, and usually people around him follow his lead. Except for Kung Lao, that is.

They enter the building hall and Kenshi spots Raiden right away, busy talking with two other agents and telling them what to do next. As soon as he spots them, he dismisses them and heads towards Kenshi and Kung Lao.

“Hey, Kenshi! How did your da...” Raiden's word fade until they die out, and Kenshi lifts a brow when he spots a confused frown taking the place of his usual smile. “…y go? Your day, as a whole. Not just tonight.”

Kenshi follows Raiden’s gaze and turns around, barely in time to see Kung Lao signaling him to stop and cut short.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Kung Lao pats him on his shoulder, giving Kenshi a complicit grin. “Gotcha, mate.”

Kenshi lets out a heavy sigh, back looking at a flustered Raiden. “What would I do without you two, I wonder.”

“You'd surely be more bored.”

“Mmh, that's up for debate. What do we have here?”

“Female, white, mid-twenties.” Raiden pulls a face with a shiver. “The set up is pretty weird, the guy really took his time.”

“Hey, don't spoil it!” Kung Lao utters, playfully punching Raiden’s shoulder. Kenshi tries to hold back an eyeroll – he can’t tell if he really manages.

“Can you tell me at least where she is?”

“Penthouse, down the corridor right outside the elevator – it’s the closed double doors. You'll see her as soon as you open them.”

Kenshi nods, then he heads towards the elevator as Kung Lao and Raiden keep bickering behind him. The ride is short, even the elevator looks fancy. It’s a building for rich people, and when it’s about people with money, the security systems are usually top notch, with cameras and guards, the whole package. Kenshi wonders how the murderer must have gone past the security measures, and the answer is easy: they must have known them well enough to bypass them, or at least have someone on the inside.

“I suppose you have already asked for the security footage,” Kenshi inquires as the trio steps out of the elevator. Raiden nods and points at a camera right above their heads.

“The super is downloading them right now, but we’ve already had a quick look from his monitors: the cameras on this floor, the elevator and the parking lot were shut down four hours ago, a little past eight,” Raiden explains. Kenshi frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but Kung Lao butts in and precedes his question.

“The super didn’t notice because he was asleep – and it’s not an excuse, we’ve checked from the security footage of the entrance hall,” Kung Lao goes on, reading from the notes on his digital pad. “He woke up an hour ago, noticed the cameras weren’t working and went upstairs to check whether everything was alright. He saw the door left ajar, and since there had been this issue with the cameras, he had a peek and, well. You’ll see what he saw, he called us right away.”

“Charming,” Kenshi mutters.

When he looks around, he notices they’re in a large corridor, well illuminated by led chandeliers on the ceiling. There are just two other apartments apart from the victim’s, one double door placed on each side of the corridor; judging by the decorations on the walls and the crystal flower vases with golden swirls, it must be reserved for the élite, the richest residents.

Kenshi heads toward the door facing the elevator, the victim’s, and he can’t prevent himself from squaring his shoulders as he goes. He doesn’t want to hesitate when he gets there, but he still needs a few seconds to prepare himself for what he’s about to see. Dead people are never a sight to behold.

When he opens the doors, the scene is striking. The room is big, as it’s fit for a penthouse, with parquet floorings, lots of glass and fancy paintings on the walls, expensive furniture and windows with a breathtaking view on Los Angeles’ skyline. Kenshi’s brain notices all of this, but what he’s focused on is the big crystal table in front of him, where a young woman’s body is lying.

She’s on her back, her hair is spread around her head in loose golden waves, and her arms lie straight against her sides, the tips of her manicured fingers rest on her thighs. She’s naked, but her breasts and her pelvis are covered by red rose petals, the same kind that surrounds her body like a bloody halo. On her eyelids, two sunflowers.

Normally, Kenshi would be horrified by that display. He’d suspect right away there must’ve been some sexual abuse, some messed-up religious ritual, maybe something linked to a cult. But this time… No, not this time. This time Kenshi is frozen, but not by horror. He’s frozen because he recognizes this scene.

“Let us introduce you to Alison Tisdale,” Raiden’s voice says, “Twenty-four, grad student at UCLA. Oh, and from our records – just got ‘em – she was in the Social Work program.”

Kenshi steps further, kneeling down to get a better view of the body. He spots two parallel trails of blood drying on her right side, flowing down from a cluster of petals… Right where he knew they’d be. Two bullets. Small caliber.

“Nice place for a social worker,” he comments out loud, and Kung Lao snorts with a shrug.

“Daddy’s money. Mr. Tisdale is some kind of real estate mogul, this apartment is part of his private properties. Well, the whole building is, to be honest.”

“Makes sense. If I were that rich, I wouldn’t want my daughter to settle for anything less.” Kenshi stands up, hands on his hips as he keeps observing the body. He just knows that, despite what it might look like, they’ll find no evidence of sexual abuse on her. “She knew her murderer.”

“You think so?” Raiden asks. Kenshi nods with no hesitation, and he points to Alison’s throat.

“No signs of struggle, of any kind. Her manicure is perfect, no chipped or broken nails. There are no bruises, no cuts or scratches on her body. The security cameras were disabled by someone who knew the building, who knew where to pass and what to do not to get noticed. And they knew Alison, too, because the door is perfectly intact, it wasn’t forced. She must have opened it from the inside, or the murderer must have had the keys – either way, it wasn’t their first time around here.”

Raiden nods with a sigh.

“Maybe they were friends. Or maybe it was her partner.”

“Well, they did get her flowers,” Kung Lao adds with a grimace, “The problem is that, besides the flowers, they also gave her-”

“Two bullets to her chest, small caliber,” Kenshi interrupts him, eyes fixed on Alison’s body. He can feel Kung Lao and Raiden stare at him, but right now, he doesn’t really care. “And even though this whole American Beauty set up hints at something sexual, we’re not going to find evidence of any abuse, because there was none. Whoever did this, they held her in some regard, and sex was well far from their mind.”

The silence in the room is stunned, and for a few more seconds, no one speaks. Raiden is the first to voice his doubts.

“It’s… It’s true – we still need to wait for the coroner’s official report, but the time of death is estimated around half past eight, and he said he doesn’t think she was abused,” he says with a confused frown, “But how did you know? Do you really get all this just by looking at her?”

Kenshi takes a deep breath and scratches his jaw. His stubble is starting to itch, he needs to shave.

“This… Plus I have already seen this,” Kenshi finally admits. He’s sure of it now, there’s no way he’s wrong – which is both electrifying and kind of scary. Kung Lao looks at him as if Kenshi has just lost his mind.

“Uh? What do you mean? The coroner said she's been dead for, like, four hours – how can you have already seen it?”

Kenshi sighs and gives Kung Lao an exasperated look.

“I don't mean I've already seen it physically.”

“Then how?” Raiden butts in, confused. Kenshi smiles, incredulous, and starts circling around the table.

“Oh, come on. Red roses on and all around the body, sunflowers covering her eyes…?” He looks back at Raiden and Kung Lao, deflating when he spots only blank expressions on their faces. “How long has it been since one of you two last opened a book?”

Kung Lao shrugs.

“Uh, I’m more of a movie person.”

“You don’t say,” Kenshi deadpans. Raiden shakes his head and steps further, only to look at Kenshi while he tries to connect the dots.

“Okay, so it’s from a book,” he thinks out loud, and after a few seconds, a horrified expression twists his features. “Is it, like, a horror one? Stephen King-ish? Please, tell me there’ll be no ugly monster erupting from her sternum.”

“That’s Alien, bro,” Kung Lao butts in, pointing at Alison, “And she doesn’t look like a Ripley to me.”

“It’s a murder mystery,” Kenshi says, but he’s already lost in thoughts. Why this book among all the ones he’s written? “It's not even his most famous.”

Raiden goggles at him.

“Wait, so is it a niche book?”

“And you know it?” Kung Lao snickers. “Sounds like we’ve got a fanboy here.”

“I simply enjoy a good story,” Kenshi cuts short with a glare, and Kung Lao shrugs, apologetic.

“Whatever you say, dude. How you can enjoy reading about dead people after spending your days watching them in real life is beyond me, anyways.”

“Well, shouldn’t we have a talk with the author? Maybe he’s involved, knew the victim, or he can give us some insights,” Raiden reasons, and Kenshi can’t help but agree – with a hidden tinge of excitement, if he must be sincere.

“I agree. We should question him.”

“Sounds fun. Who should we look for, fanboy?” Kung Lao asks as takes his phone out, already dialing the precinct number. Kenshi’s lips twitch in a smirk.

“Johnny Cage.”

“Murder...”

The lights on stage are blinding. He should keep the shades on, otherwise that fucking headache will kill him.

“Mystery...”

Maybe another scotch would help, he thinks. Yeah, it’d definitely help – there’s no way he’ll manage to carry through the utter boredom of the night without some liquid courage.

“The Macabre.”

But Cris is already speaking, and she hates it when he doesn’t respect her schedules or whatever. And the bar is way too far to sneak in a drink without messing up.

“What is it about a dark and stormy night that sets our pulses racing?”

Cristina is breathtaking tonight, but she always is. That smile, her hair, that gorgeous dress wrapped around her even more gorgeous body, and that motherly yet confident charm she carries herself with… It’s not hard to remember why he almost married her back then.

Or, well, maybe it’s the scotch remembering, because the sober part of his brain conjures up all the memories of their fights and how their relationship lasted, like, one year? Give or take? Yeah, it was doomed before it started. Not to mention she was, and still is, his publisher. Yikes.

I want Jonathan Carlton, not your Cage persona!

And that was something Johnny Cage, world-acclaimed author and tabloid superstar, wasn’t willing to let go. Not for Cris, at least, and she knew that.

“What is it about a hard-boiled detective, a slow-burn love story, and the cold steel of a gun that keeps our bedside lamps glowing until the wee hours of the morning?” Cris asks the audience, eliciting excited whispers from the crowd. Johnny is trying to focus, he’s waiting for his cue to hop on stage, but a tap on his shoulder distracts him from Cristina’s speech.

It's a young woman – mid-twenties, very pretty, with an even prettier décolleté waiting to be signed as her owner smiles at him. She flutters her eyelashes sheepishly and asks him for an autograph, moving the strap of her dress further aside to make more room. And Johnny, as the gentleman he is, is not one to decline a lady’s request – even though he can feel Cristina’s disapproving eyes on him as he snaps the Sharpie open.

“However the spell is cast, tonight we honor a master of the form and celebrate the launch of Firebreak, the stunning conclusion to his bestselling Kurtis Stryker Saga.”

Johnny puts the cap back on his Sharpie and winks at the young woman, eliciting a giggle from her and her friends.

“Call me when you’re ready to wash it off.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Master of the Macabre...” Cris announces, and Johnny finally gets his cue to near the stage and climb the steps leading to the limelight. “Johnny Cage!”

And then, there he goes, that’s his moment. Johnny reaches the center of the stage, soaking up the adoration of the crowd as he goes. He’s always been one for the public, he’s always loved being under the spotlight, the very center of attention.

His therapist once said it’s because he’s in constant need of approval from other people, and the kind of superficial love he receives from his fans satisfies this necessity – but Johnny doesn’t think it’s because of that. It’s a mere coincidence that both him and his sister grew up to be narcissists craving attention and terrified of revealing their true selves to other people; it has nothing to do with absent parents and shitty upbringing that resulted in trauma and minor behavioral issues. In fact, he stopped seeing that therapist.

Johnny Cage, born Jonathan Richard Carlton, has the world at his feet. He’s thirty-five, he’s a worldwide famous writer whose books have widely been recognized as best sellers, some of them even masterpieces of the genre. He’s handsome and fit, he’s charming and quite popular with ladies (and not only), and no matter where he goes, there will always be a hot someone willing to sleep with him. He’s rich, he lives in a luxury mansion in Malibu, and he has a loving, beautiful, incredibly smart daughter he’d do anything for.

He literally has everything a man could ask for, the dream life anyone would wish to have. And yet, he’s so fucking tired.

He’s tired of that golden yet empty dream life he has - which is frankly ridiculous and ungrateful, he’s aware. But he’s tired of those fake smiles and prying eyes, he’s tired of being seen as an object, means to an end, or a hot famous rich guy to fuck. He’s tired of people only interested in money and fame, and lately, which is the most worrying part of it all, he’s also gotten tired of writing. He’s tired of how everything seems to have become dull and opaque, uninteresting, and Johnny knows he really needs to find something to shake things up. He’s still able to keep up his façade for the time being, but for how long more?

Those are the thoughts bouncing in his head as he delivers his speech to the crowd. He thanks everyone for being there, yada yada, it’s the end of a journey, yada yada, lots of memories and adventures, everything is great and beautiful, please buy the book and stay tuned for more! That’s not what he said, obviously not; Cris would maul him if he trashed his reputation like that, but that’s a good resume of the focal points.

The photographers start flashing pics as soon as he gets down the stage and he stops by the step and repeat banner designed for the event. His name is intertwined with the publishing house’s logo and covers of his other Stryker books, with Firebreak taking the center in a replica that’s nearly as tall as him.

Cristina joins him after a couple of minutes, enough for the photographers to snap solo pictures of Johnny in his expensive suit and signature grin. She loops her arm around his and gets closer; this way, they can speak through their smiles without being heard.

“Nice speech, Johnny. I spotted a few people wiping tears away at the end.”

“I don’t remember a single word I said, so I’ll have to trust you on this.”

“Mmh, trust me? That’s new.” Cristina’s nails dig into his arm, and Johnny does his best to keep smiling. “I told you to keep milking the golden goose, but you just had to screw it up.”

“You can’t milk a goose, Cris, be reasonable.”

“You know what I mean, don’t play coy with me,” Cristina hisses, still smiling sweetly at him. Johnny smiles back, they pose for a couple more shots before thanking the photographers and moving backstage. And that’s when both of their smiles drop, replaced by annoyed glares and grimaces.

“We’re still in time to change the ending, Johnny.”

“No, we’re not. The book comes out next week, it’s too late. Also, I won’t rewrite it just because you don’t like it.”

“Nobody will like it!”

“Uh, the ARC reviews we’ve got in so far would beg to differ,” Johnny snorts. “Some of those Booktokers said they cried or had a mental breakdown while reading the epilogue. And, you know, it’s not like Stryker’s the typical boyfriend material.”

“Well, he could’ve been – one more reason not to let him die like that!” Cristina says, hands on her hips. A waiter passes by them, and Johnny catches at the last minute a champagne flute from his tray as Cris continues with her tirade, “You could’ve retired him, crippled him, secluded him in a God-forsaken ranch in Montana to breed cattle with Clara, but no. No, you had to take a character worth a billion-dollar franchise and put a bullet through his head.”

Johnny takes a sip of champagne. It's not strong enough, but it'll do for now.

“Real messy, too. Big exit wound, I wanted Kurtis to go with a bang.”

“I’m serious, Johnny.”

“So am I.”

“Then please, do tell me why you had to kill your most relevant source of income.” Cris narrows her eyes, suspicious. “Was it to punish me because we broke up?”

“Oh, come on. I may be petty and shortsighted, but I’m not that petty and shortsighted.” Johnny eyerolls with a huff. “Look, it has nothing to do with you. Writing about Kurtis and his adventures used to be fun, and I enjoyed it – that’s why I made a whole series about him. But now it's just work, where’s the fun of it?”

“And God forbid you should work a single day in your life,” Cristina deadpans, pulling a face that exudes disapproval from every single pore. Johnny downs what’s left of his champagne in a single sip and leaves the empty glass on a stack of boxes next to him.

“I have everything under control, Cris,” Johnny reassures her as he takes his sunglasses off and cleans the lenses with the hem of his jacket. “I wrote best sellers even before Kurtis Stryker, I can do it again – and I will. My next book will be a masterpiece.”

“Oh, really?” Cris seems unimpressed as she pretends to look around. “And where would this masterpiece be? Because it’s not in my office, and it was due nine weeks ago.”

“You can't rush genius, sweetheart.”

Cris laughs, but it’s humorless and it doesn’t reach her eyes. Which, according to Johnny’s experience with her, is not a good sign.

“Genius, Johnny? I think you may mean blockage.”

Johnny stops polishing his lenses and looks up to meet Cristina’s searching eyes. Yeah, it definitely wasn’t a good sign. Oh shit. Shit shit shit!

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? I’ve been told you haven't written a single word in months,” Cris says, with her arms now crossed on her chest. Johnny feels blood run cold in his veins, cold sweat dripping down his spine, but he still tries to feign a confident smile and some incredulous laughter.

“Oh, please, Cris. That's ridiculous – don’t tell me you’ve bought it.”

“My sources are very reliable,” Cristina tuts, and Johnny feels his smile become more forced, unnatural.

“Well, they're wrong.”

“I truly hope so, because if I don't have at least a hundred pages to read on my desk in the next three weeks…” Cristina gets closer and adjusts the flies of his jacket, smothering down some rebel wrinkles. “Outworld Publishing is going to demand the return of your advance and break your contract. And you know how much money that is.”

“You’re joking, right?” Johnny asks, still laughing. But that laughter dies out as he spots Cristina’s way-too-serious expression. “Right?”

“I don’t want to do this, Johnny. But I need you to join me in the fact-based world and be reasonable: you’re a writer who hasn’t been writing, and I’m a publisher with no books to publish.” Cristina sighs and averts her eyes. “This is my job. And if you don’t want to do yours, well, you can’t prevent me from doing mine. I’m sorry.”

“Cris, wait-”

Cristina frees herself from his grip and walks past him towards the crowd, and Johnny finds himself alone in the empty backstage. He closes his eyes with a defeated sigh, trying to think of a valid reason not to scream and break something. His own thick skull, maybe. He knew he should’ve been more careful around Janet, he fucking knew it. It’s not her fault she’s a blabbermouth, but Cris was the last person that had to know about his writing slump.

That’s it, I’m killing her.

Johnny takes a deep breath, then he puts on his most charming smile and goes back into the crowd. He might not be in the mood to party, but all those people around him are there for his book, and they must not notice. And frankly, he’s good at pretending, so good he might’ve been an actor in another life. A different timeline, maybe.

Part of his brain tries to keep count of how many people stop him to greet him, chat, get an autograph or a selfie or try to wring some Firebreak spoilers out of him, but he soon stops counting and just goes with the flow. When he reaches the bar, if he had kept count, Johnny would know he has at least half a dozen phone numbers slipped in the pocket of his jacket, he’s deflected fourteen questions on the book, snapped twice the number of pics with fans and signed seven breasts. The night looks promising so far.

He spots right away a vibrant blue suit, embellished with a black silk bralette top, golden jewelry and a slicked-back hairdo. Johnny knows that under that outfit the woman hides a six pack and enough muscle to strangle a soldier, but for once Janet Cage has chosen to forgo her gym attire and go for something classier.

“…keep checking, the mark won’t magically appear, right?” Janet is saying, and Johnny doesn’t need to hear the rest of the conversation to figure out what she’s talking about. A blonde ponytail briefly peeps out from behind Janet’s shoulder, and Johnny hears the girl’s voice after a few seconds.

“I know, but it’s important. I need all my marks to be excellent if I want to be admitted to that summer program.”

“Ugh, how old are you, again? Fifty?” Janet groans. She then turns to the bartender, “Hey, handsome. Pour me some bubbly, will you?”

“Make it two,” Johnny butts in, nearing the two women. Janet turns around as he joins them, and in doing so she reveals Cassie’s figure sitting on the stool next to hers.

“Welcome back, superstar,” Janet greets him, “Can you please tell someone to start serving real drinks? They’ve been hiding the good stuff so far.”

“They did it because they knew you’d be around, Jan,” Johnny replies. He then places a soft kiss on Cassie’s forehead, relishing in the way his daughter hugs him. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi, Dad. How’s it going?”

“Oh well, so far it’s been selfies, autographs, people prying, Cris wishing to skin me alive…”

“Mmh. Nothing new, then.”

“Clever girl. Which leads me to…” Johnny turns to face Janet, currently busy retrieving both their flutes. “So, sister.”

“What, brother.”

Johnny accepts his glass and takes a sip before asking, “Were you the one telling Cris I was having trouble writing? Because it could have been two people, and I know for sure it wasn’t Cassie.”

“What? No, I…” Janet’s words fade when she notices Johnny’s glare, and she tries to avoid it by downing half of her flute in one go. “Okay, I may have said something along the lines of you spending your days moping around the house in your robe and playing videogames, but hey, you’re a writer! You’re expected to act weird.”

Johnny takes a deep breath and counts to ten. He’s getting dangerously close to choking her.

“Janet, we had a deal. I let you live with us, but you don’t talk about my work.”

Janet lets out an awkward snicker.

“I mean, what’s to talk about? You haven’t done any since I moved in.”

“Aunt Janet!” Cassie exclaims, and Johnny thinks it’s so sweet that his daughter, may God bless her innocent soul, takes his parts like that, with no hesitation whatsoever. Janet fumbles and points at Johnny.

“What – he hasn’t!”

“Whatever I have and haven’t done, dear sister, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t share it with my ex, not to mention my publisher.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault if you chose to fu-”

“Janet,” Johnny interrupts her, indicating Cassie with a curt nod. Janet lifts her hands.

“To fully engage with your publisher. You knew it could end like that.”

“That’s not the point. Just don’t talk of private matters with people outside the house, ‘kay?”

“Oki doki, Mister, as you wish,” Janet says, but her attention has been already caught elsewhere. When Johnny turns around, he sees a beautiful young woman looking at them and giggling when Janet greets her with a sprinkle of fingers. “Oh, the night’s just gotten interesting. Have fun, kids, Mommy’s busy.”

Cassie and Johnny look at her as she heads towards the girl, and Cassie says, “Don’t scare her away with your pick-up lines!”

Janet looks back at them and places a hand on her heart in mock outrage, then she puts a charming smile back on and dedicates her attention to the girl.

“We’ve lost her,” Johnny murmurs, sitting on Janet’s stool. Cassie hums pensively.

“Twenty bucks she’ll be back in half an hour.”

Johnny lifts a brow and looks at his daughter.

“That was cold, Cass.”

“What, too little?”

“Nah. I’m betting on twenty minutes.” Johnny sighs and massages his eyes. “You should have me committed.”

Cassie laughs, “For what? Letting her move in?”

“No shit,” Johnny mutters, and Cassie shrugs.

“I think it’s sweet. You’re being a good big brother.”

“Won’t be sweet and I definitely won’t be a good brother when I finally strangle her,” Johnny remarks before taking another sip of champagne. He then hands the flute to Cassie, who declines with an amused smile.

“No, thanks. You remember I’m only fourteen, right?”

“Oh, come on. A sip of bubbly won’t turn you into an alcoholic.”

“I think Mom would kill me first – and she’d kill you, too.”

Johnny nods solemnly.

“The sweet relief of death.”

“Jeez, Dad. You’re really boring yourself, aren’t you?” Cassie retorts with a raised brow. Johnny shrugs and looks around with a sigh.

“It’s just that life should be fun, exciting. And it’s not!” Johnny bemoans. “Everything is always the same, no detours and no surprises. That’s why I did what I did to Kurtis: I knew exactly what he was going to do and what he was going to say every moment of every scene, every single plot twist had become predictable. And these parties are no different, I always know what to expect. Wherever I go, I hear nothing but I’m your biggest fan! or Where do you get your ideas?”

“And the ever popular, Will you sign my chest?” Cassie adds with a contrived grin, spreading her hands to create an arch in the air. Johnny hesitates, but then he shrugs.

“Well, that one I don’t mind so much.”

“Yikes, Dad. I do mind it, just so you know. It’s embarrassing,” Cassie retorts with a disgusted face that makes Johnny chuckle.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Johnny concedes before shaking his head, miserable. “Just once, I’d like someone to come up to me and say something new.”

“Mr. Cage?”

Johnny sighs, exchanging a knowing look with Cassie as he takes his Sharpie out. New person, same old autographs. He smiles right away, his signature cocky grin, and turns around to face the newcomer – a man, judging by his rich deep timbre.

“Where would you like it?” he asks, and as he does so he takes in the stranger before him – no, the absolute hunk before him.

Wide shoulders encased in a black jacket, a broad chest and toned legs wrapped in black slacks and a red shirt with the first few buttons left open, a shade of stubble on his cheeks, straight black hair and a face sculpted by God Himself. Johnny thinks he’s one-hundred percent handsome, but if he had to point out his most striking features, he’d surely go for those perfect wide lips and those penetrating brown eyes. Johnny would already be completely enraptured by the man, but then he lifts a hand up (a tattooed one, Jesus, he has tattooed hands) and shows him a badge.

A police badge, to be precise, brass plaque with blue enamel included. What in the actual fuck?

“Detective Kenshi Takahashi, LAPD. We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight,” the Greek God says, leaving Johnny completely gobsmacked. Cassie leans forward and takes the Sharpie from his still suspended hand.

“Well… Sounds like you finally got something new,” she comments, and Johnny can’t help but agree.

Be careful what you wish for, Johnny, ‘cause you just might get it.

Chapter Text

Be careful what you wish for cause you just might get it

- “When I Grow Up”, The Pussycat Dolls

They say it’s dangerous to meet your idols in real life, and Kenshi must say they might be right.

The dossier he’s reading can’t be Jonathan Cage’s, his favorite author. And that motormouth waiting in the interrogation room can’t be Johnny Cage himself. There’s no way, Kenshi refuses to believe it.

Maybe he made a mistake and took the wrong man, maybe that’s a dead ringer. But then his eyes drop again to the dossier in his hands and the mugshot on the first page, and that’s definitely the same man waiting to be questioned. He’s older now, that picture was taken a little less than sixteen years ago, but there’s no doubt that man is Johnny Fucking Cage.

And the worst thing is, Kenshi almost had a heart attack when they told him they could go and pick him up right at his super exclusive prerelease party, and he’s sure his heart did skip a beat when he saw him sitting at the bar.

And he’s just… God, he’s even more handsome than in the pictures Kenshi saw of him. Those honey-brown eyes, the contagious and yet seductive smile, that smooth voice of his – his hair looks way too good to be true, luscious and soft. Those shoulders? Kenshi had a rough minute there. And when he called his name and he turned around, when Kenshi saw his speechless expression tinged with interest and curiosity, maybe attraction, too… Kenshi has never been more thankful for his infallible poker face.

But then, of course, Johnny Cage had to open his mouth and speak, and the charm broke. Almost. Kenshi knew he was quite the feisty type, that he’s renowned for his big mouth, but Jesus, he never thought someone could be more obnoxious than Kung Lao. And yet.

Kenshi takes a deep breath, trying to brace himself for what’s to come – which is, the man awaiting him. He needs to do it, he just has to. Despite his anxiety and his confusion and what looks like an embarrassing crush, he’s not letting Raiden and Kung Lao question Johnny Cage, that’s off the table. It’s for… work-related reasons, not because he wants some alone time with his favorite author. No one will ever know what he truly thinks, anyways.

“Mr. Cage, sorry for the wait,” Kenshi starts as he steps into the interrogation room and closes the door behind him. “I hope your stay wasn’t too uncomfortable?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the Ritz, but I’ve endured worse,” Johnny replies, his eyes fixed on Kenshi as he nears the table and sits down on his chair.

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, analyzing their opponent for potential threats. They have both foregone their jackets, rolling the sleeves of their shirts up above their elbows. Kenshi does his best to ignore Johnny’s forearms and hands, the veins popping up and enhancing the structure of his muscles. And speaking of hands, Johnny’s hair now looks messy, as if he’s raked his fingers through it repeatedly – and the thought doesn’t really help Kenshi’s composure. Why am I like this? You’d better keep a straight face, Takahashi.

“I must say,” Kenshi begins as he leisurely opens Johnny’s dossier once again to distract himself, “I would have never imagined it from a bestselling author, but you've built yourself quite the rap sheet. Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest…”

Johnny shrugs and offers Kenshi an angelic expression, innocent and apologetic – like a kid caught stealing candies.

“Boys will be boys, Detective.”

“Mmh. Do boys also steal police horses?”

“Not stolen, borrowed.”

“Right…” Kenshi lifts a brow when he reads the following line. For Christ’s sake. “And would you like to tell me why you were naked at the time? Was it to match the horse’s outfit?”

“It was spring, I was hot,” Johnny defends himself, even if ever so weakly. He cocks his head to the side, trying to peek inside his dossier. “Am I here to discuss my criminal past? You want me to become a member of a Suicide Squad or something?”

Kenshi snaps the folder shut and drops it on the table, together with a second folder he then brings forward.

“No, even though I suspect you wouldn’t mind such an outcome-”

“It’s more of my sister’s area.”

“-but I’m really interested in how all your charges were dropped, every single time.”

“What can I say, Detective.” Johnny shrugs, and he doesn’t even bother pretending to be ashamed. “The mayor was a fan, and he was also a friend’s dad, so…”

“It was Mayor Briggs’ father, am I correct?”

“Yup. What a legend – I’m glad Jax followed his steps,” Johnny muses, and Kenshi tuts.

“So that he can still bail you out of jail whenever you need it?”

“Look, I was young, wild and free back then, but I grew out of it. Mostly, at least.” Johnny grins at him, and Kenshi does his best not to implode. Still, thank God, he manages to keep a straight face and look thoroughly unimpressed, much to Johnny’s dismay. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair before going on, “And Jax’s doing good stuff for LA, he’s making a difference. He’s the right person in the right place, at the right time.”

“What about you?”

Johnny blinks, confused, as his eyebrows knit together.

“What about me what?”

“Are you also the right person in the right place, at the right time?”

“Well, you should be the one telling me, given that I still have no clue why I’m here,” Johnny points out. Kenshi sighs and opens the second folder, taking out a stack of pictures. He slides the first one on the table in Johnny’s direction, showing him Alison Tisdale’s portrait.

“This is Alison Tisdale, daughter of real estate mogul Jeremy Tisdale.”

Johnny cocks his head again to look at the picture, considering the girl in front of him.

“She’s cute.”

“And she’s dead,” Kenshi retorts, bringing Johnny’s eyes back on him. “Is there any chance you’ve ever met her? Through a charity event, a book-signing session, or a mutual acquaintance?”

“Not that I recall, but who knows for sure. I meet lots of people in those occasions, so it’s possible.” Johnny smirks again, then he adds, “But I can assure you she’s not in my little black book, if that’s the connection you’re looking for.”

Kenshi barely holds back a sigh, but a nuclear alarm was just set off somewhere in his brain. Focus on the job, Takahashi. He’s just a guy – and a fairly insufferable one, truth be told.

“Good to know. What about this guy?”

Kenshi slides a second picture towards Johnny, this time of a man in his forties. Johnny hums.

“Not as cute as the last one,” he remarks, and a part of Kenshi would love to punch him. “Who is he?”

“Marvin Fisk, small claims lawyer.”

“Definitely not my kind of guy, then,” Johnny states, sliding Fisk’s portrait back towards Kenshi with a crooked grin. “Most of my claims tend to be on the… large side, if you know what I mean.”

This time, despite his titanic efforts, Kenshi eyerolls from the very bottom of his heart. He did not just make a dick joke in the middle of an interrogation.

“Mr. Cage, this is an official police investigation,” Kenshi reprimands him, stern and as serious as ever, “Please, do take it seriously and focus on my questions, if you don’t mind.”

Johnny raises his hands in mock defeat, and Kenshi tries not to stare at the way the white button down stretches on his chest, revealing a faint trace of chiseled muscles. He’s never been ashamed of his attraction to men before, but this time he might make an exception.

“Got it. No more jokes, I promise I’ll be a good boy,” Johnny chants, dragging Kenshi out of his trance.

“I appreciate it,” Kenshi says, trying to buy time to clear his throat and go back to being a functioning adult. Johnny, not nearly as interested in behaving as a grown man as Kenshi is, shrugs and salutes him.

“My duty, Detective. So, what does this have to do with me? I presume these two are both dead?” he then asks, receiving a confirmation when Kenshi nods.

“Fisk was found dead in his office seven days ago,” Kenshi illustrates as he prepares the next two pictures. “At first, I thought of some kind of cultic ritual, it’s not that common but it happens sometimes. I didn’t put it together until we saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight.”

He slides Alison’s crime scene picture on the table, focusing his attention on Johnny’s face. He needs to take in all his expressions, from the most obvious displays to nearly invisible twitches, to make sure his reactions are sincere. At first Johnny looks only mildly troubled and slightly confused, but then Kenshi spots the moment it hits him, when he finally sees Alison and recognizes the whole set up. Johnny grasps the picture and lifts it up, analyzing every single detail.

“Holy shit…” he whispers, incredulous. “That’s… This is Flowers for Your Grave. It’s the exact same scene, just the way I wrote it.”

Kenshi nods again, then he pushes in Johnny’s direction a second picture. Johnny notices with the corner of his eye, and when he sees Fisk’s murder scene, with the poor guy lying face down in a white chalk pentagram drawn on the expensive wood flooring of his office, he’s left completely flabbergasted.

“And this is how we found Marvin Fisk,” Kenshi explains as Johnny examines both pictures with a strange kind of fascination. Kenshi feels oddly proud of himself when he adds, “I didn’t figure it out at the time – as I mentioned, I thought Fisk’s death might be related to a cult. But after Alison Tisdale’s and her set up, I have no doubts the two murders are related. Fisk’s crime scene is straight out of Beneath a Blood Moon – the runes, the position of the victim and the ritual symbols carved on his body match the ones described in the book.”

“Looks like I have a fan,” Johnny murmurs with a hint of a smirk Kenshi doesn’t really understands. He snorts, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Yeah, and a really deranged one for what matters.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You don’t look deranged to me,” Johnny remarks, and Kenshi’s brain stops working. Wait, what?

“Forgive me, I… I’m not sure I follow?” he states with a confused frown. He surely must’ve misheard, there’s no way he just… No, he can’t have, it can’t be. But then Johnny looks up at him with a lopsided grin, far too amused for Kenshi’s liking.

“C'mon, that book is awful. A killer that performs human sacrifices every full moon to summon a demon? Even though it was my first publishing deal, it’s not the best thing I’ve ever written. Only hardcore groupies read it and remember it by heart,” Johnny chuckles, and Kenshi is sure his ears and cheeks must be on fire.

This is bad, this is so fucking bad – he can’t lose composure in front of someone he’s questioning, a potential suspect.

The thing is, Johnny’s right, even though Kenshi will never admit it. He does remember that book by heart, he read it shortly after it came out and reread it multiple times during the years – but may he be damned if he lets this insufferable, handsome prick call him a groupie. Cage doesn't need to know the truth, his ego is apparently already big enough. Kenshi can and must do better, fucking hell.

And so he clears his throat, squares his shoulders and crosses his arms even tighter on his chest.

“I made some research.”

Johnny lifts a brow, and Kenshi knows he’s not buying it. Fuck. 

“You had the time for that? It must not have been that long between the first visit to Tisdale's crime scene and your arrival at the party – how much was it? An hour?”

Kenshi grits his teeth, “Lots of things can be done in a single hour.”

“I'm sure you have ideas,” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Any proposals?”

“Focusing on the reason why you're here would be a good start,” Kenshi cuts short, annoyed and utterly embarrassed. He’s not sure his pride will recover any time soon from this – and God forbid Kung Lao gets to know what happened here.

Johnny looks like an idiot (and kind of an asshole), but he's just proved Kenshi he's endowed with a quick wit and a sharp mind. He'd better not underestimate him again.

“Speaking of hardcore groupies,” Kenshi starts again, trying not to associate himself with said group, “Do they ever try to get in touch with you in disturbing ways? May it be through letters, emails, social media…”

“Well, a solid chunk of the stuff fans send me tends to be fairly disturbing. I received pretty much anything, from fanarts to feet pics,” Johnny reveals with a shudder. “But, you know, it’s an occupational hazard, it’s part of the job. I’ve been quite lucky not to receive threats or some serious stuff so far.”

“So, nothing suspicious?”

“Define suspicious. Do marriage proposals count?” Johnny inquires, “Because I get lots of those. That, and booty calls.”

Kenshi closes his eyes just for a second and takes a deep breath. It’s like dealing with a prepubescent child.

“Where were you last night, approximately between eight and nine p.m.?”

“I was at the party’s location, got there around eight with my publisher, Cristina Junot. I picked her up at her apartment in Beverly Hills at half past seven, if I’m not wrong. We were setting stuff up for the night, last minute details, and I released some interviews before the whole thing started around nine.”

Kenshi nods and notes that down, even though their whole conversation is being recorded.

“And what about last Friday between six and eight p.m.? Do you remember?”

“Sure. Jax and I were assisting to our daughters’ karate competition,” Johnny gloats, and Kenshi is taken aback by his proud smile. “They got on the podium.”

“You have a daughter?” Kenshi hears himself asking, and God, if only he could disappear right now. Johnny raises a questioning brow, but he looks more amused than anything.

“What? Didn’t see that coming, uh?” he taunts Kenshi, but then his face loses its usual cocky expression, only to be replaced by one made of utter fondness, pride and affection. “Cassandra – Cassie for almost everyone. She’s fourteen.”

Kenshi suddenly recalls the blonde teenager Johnny was speaking with at the bar. He didn’t give it much thought at first, but it makes sense now that a girl that young was attending such a party – not to mention the way she was listening to Johnny as he spoke, the affection on her face, and the complicit smile she exchanged with her father when Kenshi reached them. That must have been Cassie.

“Right, the girl at the party… She doesn’t look like you,” Kenshi comments, and Johnny chuckles.

“She’s taken after her mother – both in beauty and character, which is great, but thank God she got some of my humor, too.” Johnny’s affection for his daughter seeps through his words, and Kenshi feels the corner of his mouth twitch up in a light smirk of endearment as the other man keeps talking, “I may have done loads of bullshit when I was younger, like the borrowed horse-”

“You stole it.”

“-but if I’ve ever done something right, it was her. Even though, well, she might have turned out this well thanks to her mother’s genes and not mine, but that’s another story,” Johnny says, and Kenshi’s smirk turns into a full smile, much to Johnny’s delight.

“Ooh, so you can smile!” Johnny teases him, before leaning further in Kenshi’s direction. “And what a gorgeous smile, too, may I add.”

Part of Kenshi would like to scream right now, but he manages to still look unfazed and answer to Johnny’s shameless flirtation with a slow blink. God, this man is testing him.

“I know,” he replies, apparently unimpressed. “Now, back to the matter at hand – your fans. Does your daughter ever interact with them? Is there any possibility that she has received something valuable to our investigation?”

Johnny’s face suddenly loses all his cheer and turns stone cold, serious as ever. He doesn’t even look like the same guy, and for the first time since they met in person, Kenshi thinks that he would never want to have this man as his enemy.

“No, this is one of our first rules. Cassie doesn’t interact with them, and she keeps all her social media private, only for people she knows in real life,” Johnny explains, severe. “When she’s older, she’ll do as she sees fit, but as for now it’s a non-negotiable no – now more than ever. I’m not letting any creep near my daughter.”

“Good choice. Wise, too.” Kenshi wets his lips, trying to ignore the fact that he might have just gotten a little turned on by Johnny’s display of protectiveness. He clears his throat, then continues, “I asked because, in cases like this, we find that the killer attempts to-”

“The killer attempts to contact the subject of his obsession to fuel their delusions even further, I know,” Johnny interjects with a sigh. He seems calmer now, more relaxed. Part of the tension coiled in his body has disappeared, and now he’s going back to his previous cocky, goofy demeanor – and he does so with a half smirk and a shrug. “I’m also pretty well-versed in psychopathic methodologies and all that field of knowledge, it’s, uh… Let’s say it’s another occupational hazard.”

“Are you also well-versed in the ways the police operate?” Kenshi asks with a raised brow. Johnny makes a so-so gesture.

“Not really my area, too much paperwork. But I know something, the stuff I needed for my books.”

“Great. Then I assume you won’t be surprised if I ask for your permission to go through your fan mail and social media private messages,” Kenshi inquires, “Just to be sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you don’t mind looking at dick picks and horny texts, be my guest.” Johnny hesitates, then he adds, “They’re not mine, by the way. The dick pics and rated-R messages, I mean.”

“Thank you for reassuring me, Mr. Cage. I’ll have someone from our IT department get in touch with you to set the details, and some agent is going to drop by your house to pick up the mail.” Kenshi takes a deep breath and gestures towards the folders of reports. “I’d say we’re done here for now. However, I must ask you not to leave the city until further notice.”

“Of course.” While Kenshi stands up and starts collecting all the pictures and documents, Johnny picks up again Alison’s crime scene photo and moves it around to take in every detail. “Well, I must say that, if we ignore the murdering part, this is quite impressive.”

Kenshi halts his movements and looks at Johnny with a frown.

“Impressive?”

Johnny lifts his eyes from the picture and, when he spots Kenshi’s expression, he hurries to explain himself.

“Oh, yeah, no, don't get me wrong. It's horrible and unfortunate, a real tragedy – but damn! That's an exact replica of the scene in my book, and for a writer is… You know, it’s striking.”  Johnny stays silent for a second, then points to Tisdale and Fisk’s pictures and asks, “Would it be possible to have copies of these?”

Kenshi stares at him as if Johnny’s just lost his fucking mind – and he probably has, because there’s no way he just said that.

“Mr. Cage, innocent people died.”

“I’m not asking for the bodies. Just the pictures,” Johnny points out with a shrug, “And they were presumably innocent people, anyway. Maybe they were assholes.”

“That's not the point!” Kenshi finally snaps, “They might have been the most unpleasant individuals to walk the Earth, but they were murdered, and our job is to find out who did it, what happened, and why. Regardless of our sympathies.”

“I didn't say you shouldn’t do your job, Detective. I was merely stating that, as a writer, it's always striking to see that what you do, your work, inspires people.” Johnny looks down at the pictures and adds, probably realizing he’s about to get strangled, “Okay, I admit this kind of inspiration is a little creepy, but as unhinged as it is... Well, it's huge. God, Patterson would be so jealous.”

Kenshi stares at him, then he shakes his head in complete disbelief. And to think that not even ten minutes ago, this guy turned him on. Boys will be boys, indeed.

“Mr. Cage,” Kenshi starts, trying to keep his cool, “This is not-”

“Johnny.”

Kenshi blinks in silence, stunned, after Johnny’s interruption.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Just call me Johnny.” Johnny shrugs and gives Kenshi a lopsided smile. “There's no need for all those formalities.”

“Yes, there is,” Kenshi retorts, irritated. “We are not friends, and this is highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come on. It's just a name! It's not like-”

“Do you realize this is not a game?” Kenshi interrupts him, slamming a fist on the table and leaning towards a surprised Johnny. How can someone act so immature in the face of death? “This is a police station-”

“I'm aware but thank you for the clarification,” Johnny whispers.

“-and this is not a fun outing organized for your amusement!” Kenshi continues, incensed. He doesn’t even believe it, but out of utter spite, he hisses, “And as far as I'm concerned, you're still the main suspect for this investigation.”

Johnny frowns, confused.

“What about my alibi?”

“It's yet to be verified.” Kenshi straightens up and heads towards the door. “I bid you goodnight, Mr. Cage.”

He doesn’t even wait for Johnny’s reply before slamming it behind him.

They were right. Never meet your heroes.

When Johnny closes the door of his Malibu mansion behind him, the sun is about to rise. He should be tired, exhausted, destroyed even, but the truth is that he hasn’t felt so alive in months, maybe years.

After Detective Takahashi left him in the interrogation room (rude, by the way), he had to release another statement and sign some documents, and only then did an agent escort him back to where he had been picked up. Johnny retrieved his car and drove home, but he did everything on autopilot. His mind was elsewhere for the whole time.

Someone was killed according to his books. His. Fucking. Books. Johnny still can’t wrap his head around it, that someone has re-enacted those murders – why? Why those two people, so different from one another, and why his books of all the murder mysteries out there? It doesn’t make any sense. Was he chosen for a specific reason he’s not aware of?

He can’t be directly involved, otherwise the killer would’ve sent him pictures or trophies of some kind from the crime scenes, they would’ve contacted him. But then why him of all people, and why those two specific books? And, most importantly, why can’t he stop thinking about that killjoy of a detective?

Johnny is pretty sure he had a stroke or something when Kenshi Takahashi walked into the interrogation room without his jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal the hottest pair of forearms Johnny has ever laid eyes on. Tattooed forearms, Johnny had to focus not to get too distracted staring at them. He wishes he had more time to analyze all the drawings and designs, all those colors and patterns. He’s sure he spotted at least a dragon, and both Kenshi’s hands sported a Japanese oni on the back, but Johnny would gladly spend an hour or two or ten noting them down. All of them, even (especially) the ones he couldn’t see.

Johnny hangs the keys of his blue Koenigsegg Regera to the keyholder by the door, then he heads towards the main room. The pool reflects the rays of the rising sun in the living room, nearly blinding Johnny when he circles the sofa towards the minibar. He takes his shades off, abandoning them next to the tray of empty crystal tumblers, and pours himself a glass of scotch.

“Isn’t it a bit too early to hit the bottle?”

Johnny turns around at the sound of Cassie’s voice, finding his daughter looking down at him from the stairs that lead to the first floor. By the minty pajama set she’s wearing, the braid of blonde hair resting on her shoulder, and the slight lisp she always gets when she speaks with her night aligner on, Johnny deduces she must’ve been in bed until he parked the car in the driveway.

He smirks and puts the glass down, waiting for Cassie to join him downstairs.

“Isn’t it a bit too early to be already up and about on a Saturday morning?” Johnny retorts. Cassie shrugs while he puts an arm around her shoulders, and they move towards the sofa.

“Not when your dad spent the night at a police station after being escorted away by cops,” Cassie claps back as they sit down. “How was the slammer? Did anyone make you their bitch?”

Johnny looks down at her with a raised brow.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“When and if she’s around, yes.”

“Woah, easy, Tiger. You’re out for blood this morning, aren’t you?” Johnny tilts his head to look at Cassie in the eyes, suddenly softer. “Did you two have a fight? She called you, right?”

“Yeah, she did. And no, no fight was involved. She promised she’s taking a week off next month, she’ll come visit.”

“I’ll have to lock Aunt Janet in the basement, then,” Johnny muses, and Cassie chuckles. She lets her head fall back against the sofa’s backrest, just to be able to study her father’s face comfortably.

“So? Are you going to tell me about your night on the tiles, or do I have to look it up on X?”

“First, don’t you dare call it X ever again. It’s called Twitter.”

“Ugh, don’t be such a boomer,” Cassie groans. “But whatever, fine. And second?”

“Second, more important, we have a deal,” Johnny reminds her, his voice clear and serious. “No looking me up on Google or social media, no interaction with fans. Especially now.”

Johnny’s mind keeps replaying the conversation he had with Kenshi in the interrogation room, and the thought that someone might send Cassie stuff about the murders – pictures, or even worse, threats… No, that’s out of question, he won’t allow it. They’ll have to kill him first.

Cassie frowns at Johnny’s glare and his upset demeanor. He knows it’s so uncharacteristic of him, but he can’t help turning all serious and protective when it’s about his family, and especially Cassie.

“What do you mean, especially now?” she asks, her confused voice tinged with worry. “Are you in trouble?”

Johnny shakes his head and does his best to reassure Cassie with a smile, pulling her closer to kiss her forehead.

“No, despite my best efforts. I’m fine, sweetie, don’t worry.”

Cassie still seems unsure, “What happened then?”

“Well, uh… Long story short, they kind of want my help on a case,” Johnny admits, and Cassie looks even more puzzled – and thoroughly skeptical.

“The police want your help. On a case,” she repeats, and her raised brow is soon mirrored by Johnny’s.

“What’s that face, Miss? Don’t you believe me?”

“No, I do. I just can’t understand why they’d want your help of all people.”

“I’ll try not to get that as an insult, young lady,” Johnny mutters. “And they want my help for a specific reason, actually.”

“Oh, really? Which is?”

“Apparently, someone’s been killing people the way I killed them in my books,” Johnny explains, and Cassie gives him a horrified look.

“What? That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up.”

“How… I mean, you said people, so I guess it’s more than one person?” Cassie notes, and Johnny nods, even if reluctantly.

He’s not sure he wants Cassie to know the details, to get involved in this thing – even if just from the outside. However, he must consider that Cassie is smart, and they live in an era that revolves around social media and the internet, not to mention the TV. She’s gonna find out either way – I might as well be the one who tells her and chooses how.

“Two so far,” Johnny concedes, “And, uh… Well, I’m not sure they’ll be the last. By the way he questioned me, the detective in charge of the investigation thinks the same.”

Cassie doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, processing the news. At first, Johnny regrets telling her – she’s too young for this stuff, and he won’t be the source of his daughter’s traumas, thank you very much. But then Cassie looks at him, and there’s no sign of fear in her eyes. There’s only worry, concern, and it’s all for him.

“Are you okay?” she asks, soft. “I mean… You’re not involved in this, but you sort of are, and I guess stuff like this would take a toll on anyone.”

Johnny smiles ruefully, and he gently moves Cassie’s bangs away from her eyes. He must’ve been a Saint or something in a previous life to deserve a daughter like her.

“I think I’m okay. It’s horrible and when the detective told me, I guess part of me still had to realize it was truly happening, that it was real.” Johnny’s face twists into a grimace when he recalls asking for copies of the pictures. What the fuck was I thinking? “But apart from that, I’m fine.”

Cassie raises a brow.

“Your face says otherwise, you know.”

“It’s just…” Johnny fumbles for the right words, and he ends up letting up a defeated sigh. “Senseless.”

“Well, murder usually is,” Cassie remarks, but Johnny tuts right away, lifting an accusing finger in the air.

“Nope, quite the contrary. Murder usually makes a great deal of sense – think about it, the most recurring motives are always the same, and they’re far from being irrational: passion, greed, politics.” Johnny rakes a hand through his hair to smooth it down. He feels like his thoughts are moving and bouncing around his head at warp speed, and he doesn’t know how to stop them. Not that he wants to. “What’s senseless here is the books that the killer chose-”

“Which ones did they choose?”

“The first murder was based off Beneath a Blood Moon, the second off Flowers for Your Grave.”

Cassie frowns and mutters, “What a weird combo.”

“See what I mean? It doesn’t make any sense!” Johnny cries out, “Those are among my truly lesser works. Why would a psychotic fan, if that’s what we’re dealing with, pick those?”

“Maybe because they’re exactly what you said, psychotic,” Cassie retorts, almost condescending. “Not everything has to make sense, Dad.”

“This has to, though. It must, it’s… It can’t be otherwise,” Johnny murmurs, lost in thoughts. “There must be something I still can’t grasp, something’s escaping me. I just know, I feel it in my bones.”

Cassie hums, then she stands up and extends a hand towards her father.

“Come on, it’s bedtime.”

“What?” Johnny frowns, then he shakes his head to dismiss the thought of sleep. Useless, he needs to-

“Whatever it is, you can figure it out after you slept for at least four hours,” Cassie retorts, looking at him the way she’d look at a capricious child. “Those dead people won’t die again in the meantime, and you need to rest.”

Johnny chuckles, incredulous, before accepting his daughter’s hand. Sometimes it almost feels like their roles are reversed, and Cassie is raising him.

“Alright, mom. Sleep it is.”

“See, you can be reasonable when you want to.” Cassie precedes him up the stairs, hopping up the steps in a way that would destroy Johnny’s knees if he tried to imitate her. When she’s halfway through the stairs, she turns around and says, “And, by the way, it’s not like you have to solve the case all by yourself, you know? There’s also the detective that arrested you.”

Johnny stops moving and takes a few seconds to consider the idea. Then, at last, he shakes his head with a grimace.

“I don’t think he’d want to work with me, Cass,” Johnny says, ashamed. “I didn’t exactly make the greatest impression on him back there at the precinct.”

Cassie eyerolls and scoffs, “That’s because sometimes you act like an idiot, Johnny Pee-Pants.”

“Hey, woah!” Johnny scowls and glares at the upper floor, where Janet is probably knocked out sleeping. She’s worse than a blabbermouth. “How do you know that nickname?”

“Aunt Janet, duh,” Cassie taunts him with a smirk. “She told me amazing stories on you summer-camp adventures.”

“I had one accident. One! And I was six!” Johnny retorts, pissed. “And what does this have to do with people getting murdered, anyway?”

“Nothing, I just felt like riling you up.” Cassie shrugs, and her lips quirk in an almost exact replica of Johnny’s grin. Genetics can be terrifying, really. “What I meant is, you can be an idiot, but you’re actually pretty smart – and given that you wrote the books the murders are being based on, that detective could really use your help. If he doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to, well, he’s the dumb one.”

That being said, Cassie turns around and makes her way to the first floor without looking back. Johnny stays still for a little more, thinking about it. Maybe… Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. He revises his conversation with Detective Takahashi for the hundredth time since they parted, and suddenly, he has an idea.

I need to make a call.

Chapter Text

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh
Is it that sweet? I guess so
Say you can't sleep, baby, I know
That's that me espresso

-“Espresso”, Sabrina Carpenter

Kenshi spent the night lying awake in bed. After the whole shitshow with Cage back at the precinct, there was no way he could fall asleep. He kept replaying their conversation in his head, he kept hearing his voice in his ears and seeing his face every time he closed his eyes. That infuriating man crept under his skin, and there’s no way to make him leave.

At half past four, Kenshi finally had enough of twisting and tossing in his bedsheets, so he got up and moved to his living room with a precise target in mind: his library and the books in it – Cage’s, to be precise.

It's nine o’clock when he sets foot into the precinct, carrying a huge carton box full of books. He greets with a nod the agents passing by, but he doesn’t stop walking till he gets to Raiden’s desk, right before his own. Raiden is busy talking with Kung Lao about some dim-sum place they’re planning on trying, but they stop chatting as soon as Kenshi drops the box in front of them.

“Uuh, what’re those?” Kung Lao asks, pointing at the books. Kenshi grabs and lifts the first one – Beneath a Blood Moon.

“These are Cage’s books, all the ones concerning murders and deaths,” he explains as Raiden and Kung Lao pick up other books and start going through their pages, “I want you two to get familiar with them, note down all the details of the killings and possible links that might emerge from the stories. Those two victims must have a connection that’s yet to be found.”

Raiden goes to the front page of Dead Ringer and smiles, amused.

“Hey, the stamp here says, From the library of Kenshi Takahashi. Are these your personal copies?” he asks, and Kenshi scowls at Kung Lao’s snickering.

“What if they are?”

“Yo, check it, man,” Kung Lao says, still laughing, “You're a total fanboy!”

“I am. Of the genre.”

“Right, the genre – and that's exactly why you’re getting so pissy about it.”

Kenshi deems himself a patient man, but he’s not a saint. And Kung Lao had it coming when Kenshi finally smacks the back of his head with Beneath a Blood Moon.

“Stop acting like a middle-school child,” Kenshi hisses as Kung Lao massages his nape with a low ow and Raiden tries to stifle his laughter. “The profile suggests the murderer might be a person with low intelligence, someone who thinks they have a personal relationship with the object of their fixation. And that's where we start.”

“Hey, Kenshi!”

Kenshi turns around to see three other officers come in carrying boxes full of letters, objects and transcripts.

“Cage’s fan mail?” he asks, and the officer who called him nods.

“Looks like his fans love him.”

“Yeah, almost as much as he loves himself,” Kenshi mutters with a sigh. “Thank you, Luke. Can you take that stuff back to the briefing room, please?”

The officer nods and starts walking away, followed by his colleagues. Kenshi turns to speak to Raiden, still busy leafing through the pages of one book.

“Any news from the lab?” When Raiden nods, Kenshi holds his breath. “Please, tell me it’s something good.”

“Not really, sorry to disappoint. The scene resulted negative for any DNA or prints, just like Fisk’s.”

“Our guy’s careful, uh?” Kung Lao comments and Kenshi lets out a disgruntled sigh.

“Too much for my own liking. What about Fisk and Tisdale? Did you find anything connecting them?” Kenshi asks and Kung Lao smirks in a way Kenshi doesn’t like, not one bit.

“None… Except for your boy back there,” Kung Lao replies, and Kenshi follows the lead when his friend points towards the captain’s office with his pen.

And then, Kenshi freezes, bemused against his own will, when he spots Johnny Cage amiably chatting with Captain Liu Kang like they’re just two old friends. Which, according to Kenshi’s limited experience with the writer, could entirely be possible.

“What the fuck is he doing here again?” Kenshi hisses, turning back to Raiden and Kung Lao – and why is everyone but him so amused this morning? Why is everyone smiling and giggling? “Did you summon him back?”

“Actually, he showed up on his own half an hour ago,” Raiden explains, “And he went straight to Liu Kang’s, the Captain was waiting for him. I think they spoke on the phone or something.”

“Did they now,” Kenshi mutters, before looking once again at the odd pair. He finds Johnny Cage already looking at him with a barely suppressed smile, and shortly afterwards, Liu Kang notices Kenshi is staring and gestures him to join them in his office. And Kenshi obliges, but with the same gait of someone on a death sentence.

Captain Liu Kang is by far the youngest captain any precinct in LA has ever seen. He’s a little older than Kenshi, even though he looks younger, but his fame and irreprehensible reputation awarded him his position a few years ago, when his predecessor retired, and he was highly recommended to succeed him. Needless to say, not only did he live up to expectations, but he exceeded them. He’s known for his wisdom, calm, and responsible approach to work, so Kenshi can’t really figure out why, oh why, he’s talking with Calamity Johnny of all people.

“Yes, Sir? Did you want to see me?” Kenshi starts as he sets foot in the office, completely ignoring Johnny and his mischievous grin.

Liu Kang greets him with a gentle smile and a nod of his head. This morning, he chose a simple beige suit, white shirt, and a ponytail to keep his long black hair in place. His eyes, those blue irises so light to almost appear white, look at Kenshi with curiosity and intrigue – and this is bad, because Kenshi knows that look.

“Good morning, Kenshi. Actually, yes, I need your cooperation with something.” Kenshi is already sweating at this, but when Liu Kang looks at a way too smug Johnny Cage, he feels blood run cold in his veins. “Mr. Cage called me this morning, and he has kindly offered to assist us in the investigation regarding these murders.”

Kenshi raises a brow and gives Johnny a skeptical look.

“Really.”

“It’s the least I can do to help keep the city I call home safe,” Johnny replies with the fakest angelic smile Kenshi has ever seen. And suddenly, the urge he felt to slap Kung Lao seems to pale and disappear compared to what he feels now.

He’s about to clap back with some snarky remark, but Liu Kang’s peaceful tone interrupts him.

“And given the nature of the crimes and their direct links to Mr. Cage’s work, I think it’s a good idea.”

Kenshi turns to face Liu Kang so fast he almost twists his neck. It can’t be happening. It must be a fucking nightmare, or maybe a prank, anything but the truth.

“Sir, may I speak with you for a moment?” Kenshi asks, before glaring at Johnny. “In private.”

“I know what you’d like to tell me, Kenshi, but I have already made my decision.” Liu Kang’s smile is seraphic, as it usually is, but also tragically indisputable. “Mr. Cage is a decisive asset, and his assistance as our consultant for the case could be decisive for its positive resolution.”

Kenshi closes his eyes in defeat and takes a deep breath. There’s one last dreadful thing to ask, but he is, alas, already pretty sure of what the answer is going to be. For fuck’s sake.

“Alright… And who is going to have the upmost honor of being assisted by Mr. Cage in this quest for the truth?” Kenshi inquires, and it’s been a while since his voice last sounded this strained. Johnny is trying to hold back a laughter, he even dissimulates a cough to hide it, and if Kenshi could shoot him right now, God, he would with no hesitation.

Liu Kang seems quite amused as well, truth be told, especially when he gestures first towards Kenshi himself, and then Johnny.

“He needs a reliable guide, and you are one of my most trusted men. Given that you are also the detective in charge of this investigation, the choice seemed pretty obvious,” Liu Kang’s smooth voice declares, but to Kenshi, it sounds like the last nail in his coffin. “I saw you have tons of fan mail to examine. Maybe you could start from there?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kenshi grits through his teeth. He stomps out of the office and heads towards the briefing room without looking back. He hears footsteps approaching in rapid succession, but he only stops when his hand lands on the briefing room door handle.

“Let’s make something very clear, Cage,” he growls, looking back at Johnny from above his shoulder. He stopped a mere foot behind him, and now he’s staring at Kenshi with a weird combo of expectancy and amusement. He looks like a child on a sugar rush.

“Sure, Detective. Anything you want.”

“This is my world, and in this world, I work for a living,” Kenshi says, slow and severe. “This is my job. Do you understand that?”

Johnny nods, unimpressed.

“Everything clear so far.”

“Very well. However, this makes you one of two possible alternatives in my world. You’re either the guy who makes my job easier or the guy who makes my job harder, and trust me-”

“Wild guess, I don’t want to be the guy who makes your job harder?” Johnny interjects with a grin that promises trouble. Kenshi scoffs. He’d better get used to this, given the current situation.

“Precisely. So, which one are you going to be?”

Johnny puts one hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“I solemnly swear I’ll do my best to behave, be helpful, and not a nuisance, Detective.”

Kenshi stares at him in silence, debating whether he should believe him or not. He already knows this man will bring more problems than the ones he’ll solve, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. And so, Detective Kenshi Takahashi takes a deep breath and sighs, finally opening the door of the briefing room.

They spend the following hour examining letters in a slow, excruciating spiral of fan madness. Johnny was right, there’s a bit of everything in there – marriage proposals, a boy that claims to be his long-lost child and a girl who’s sure she gave birth to his son, even though they’ve never met in real life. At some point, Kenshi even finds a g-string in one of the envelopes coming from his stack, and Johnny has the decency to be slightly embarrassed. Thank God they’re wearing gloves.

What buggers Kenshi the most, however, is the way Johnny keeps staring at him when he thinks Kenshi won’t notice, just to avert his eyes any time he looks up. At first Kenshi thought he was imagining it, then he realized he was not, but he still tried to ignore it. But after an hour spent playing cat and mouse, Kenshi can’t take it anymore. He drops the letter he’s examining and holds Johnny’s gaze, not leaving him the time to pretend he’s working instead.

“What?” Kenshi spats, “What do you want?”

Johnny blinks a couple of times, then he shrugs and shakes his head slowly.

“Nothing, Detective. Why are you asking?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past hour.”

“I haven’t.” When Kenshi shoots him a Don’t even try glare, Johnny clears his throat. “Not continuously, at least.”

“Would you mind stopping? It’s rather annoying.”

“I’m just curious, I’m trying to understand you better.”

One of Kenshi’s eyebrows skyrockets towards his hairline.

“Why?”

Johnny puts down the letter he’s examining (or pretending to) and he leans towards Kenshi across the table, his crossed arms beneath him on the wooden surface.

“You don't like me,” Johnny states, a mere matter of fact to which Kenshi replies with an unfazed look.

“You don't say.”

“But you're a fan of mine,” Johnny retorts, and he seems genuinely confused, as if he can’t understand how the two things could co-exist. Kenshi smirks, a mocking grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Just because I like your books, it doesn't mean I have to like you too,” he clarifies, earnest.

His attention is all on Johnny’s face, to take in his reaction to his words. He seems a bit disappointed, but he’s also trying not to let it show. The plan didn't involve ending up being intrigued himself, but Kenshi must admit he is, indeed, quite curious.

“Can I ask you something?”

Johnny perks up, his disappointment now swiftly forgotten. God, he really is like a child.

“Sure, shoot. Anything you want, Detective, I’m all yours.”

“Why are you here?” Kenshi asks, leaning back into his chair with arms crossed on his chest.

He sees Johnny scanning them, interested, and stopping on the gloves and shirt sleeves covering up his tattoos. They’re a nuisance, he’d rather spend his days with his arms and hands free from all that cloth, but alas, the police’s rules are quite clear, and his tattoos must be covered while he’s on duty.

Kenshi clears his throat, and Johnny looks back up as he resumes speaking.

“You aren’t here for justice.”

“That’s not true!” Johnny interjects, outraged, “How would you-”

“You asked me for pictures of the bodies to prove your friends how you’ve become the source of inspiration of a potential serial killer. I wouldn’t call you a champion of justice.”

Johnny opens his mouth to retort, but then he snaps it back shut.

“You got me there.”

“And speaking of serial killers, you don’t care that the murderer is aping your work, so you aren’t here because you’re mad at them,” Kenshi continues. And then, the final, decisive question, “So what is it, Johnny? Are you here to just to spite me?”

Johnny chuckles and shakes his head. His laughter sounds nice, Kenshi thinks to himself. It makes him want to laugh himself.

“I must admit it’s becoming quite fun, but no. I’m not here to annoy you,” Johnny concedes with an amused smile. He stays silent for a beat or two, then his eyes find Kenshi’s. “You want the truth?”

“Nothing more, nothing else,” Kenshi answers, holding his gaze. Johnny smiles, and it’s blinding.

“I’m here for the story,” he says, as if he’s telling Kenshi a secret. The latter frowns, perplexed.

“The story?”

“Yeah! I mean, why those books? And why those people – are they connected somehow?”

“We haven’t found a link yet, apart from you. We hoped to find something in your mail, actually,” Kenshi admits with a defeated sigh. “But the thing is, Cage, sometimes there is no story. Sometimes the murderer is just a psychopath on a killing spree.”

“No, you’re wrong. There’s always a story, there’s always a chain of events that makes everything make sense,” Johnny retorts, before lighting up and pointing at Kenshi, “Take you, for example.”

Kenshi frowns, confused.

“Come again?”

“Well, under normal circumstances, you shouldn’t be here,” Johnny elaborates. “Most smart, good looking men become lawyers, not cops. And yet, here you are. Why?”

Kenshi’s posture stiffens, and he finds himself getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Johnny’s words struck a nerve, and the asshole is not even aware of it. Kenshi must make sure he doesn’t find out, but at the same time he can’t just let the conversation drop like this. Also, a part of him wants to see where it’ll end up.

“I don't know, Johnny,” he then says, feigning a polite smile. “You’re the novelist, aren’t you? You tell me about my story.”

Johnny raises a brow and tilts his head, as if he’s considering the challenge Kenshi just offered him. When he answers with a small nod, Kenshi knows he’s just accepted it.

“Very well, Detective. Let’s start from the way you talk, shall we?” Johnny announces. “You’re not bridge and tunnel, no trace of the boroughs and their accent. So that means you were born and raised somewhere rich and posh like Bel-Air, which means money and a socialite upbringing – which also means you went to college, probably a pretty good one considering your supposed social status.”

Kenshi begins to feel tension rise inside him, his body coiling like a spring. His memories bring him back to a past long-gone, posh schools and élite parties, a life that’s so distant he might’ve just dreamed of it. And that boy, that version of Kenshi Takahashi, is just as dead.

“My guess is one of those sort of ‘Ivy League’ universities, let me think…” Johnny hums to himself, trying to put together the pieces of his theory. “I’d go for some law school, something fancy and expensive… Maybe also hard to get into, because you are pretty proud and clever, too proud and clever to settle for something that’s not the best. What was it, Berkeley?”

“Stanford,” Kenshi corrects him, bitter. Johnny lets out a long whistle.

“So that’s a lot of money and connections. You had options – better options, more socially acceptable options for a smart-set boy. And yet, you still chose this, to become a cop that earns a third or a fourth of what you’d have made as a lawyer… And that tells me something happened.”

As Johnny goes on, his voice gets progressively devoid of any trace of cheer and amusement. The pace of his speech has become slower, and his eyes are now filled with something that goes beyond mere intrigue and curiosity.

“It was something big, something that changed what you assumed were unshakable pillars of your life – but it didn’t happen to you, did it?” Johnny muses, absorbed in the story he’s building as he keeps talking. “No, you’re wounded but you're not that wounded.”

At this point, Kenshi’s jaw is so tight his teeth could crack at any moment. He holds Johnny’s gaze, and he sees the moment something shifts in Johnny’s eyes. He knows he’s right, he knows he’s getting there, somewhere painful and haunted in Kenshi’s past – and Kenshi dreads it, but a part of him doesn't want Johnny to stop. He wishes he knew why.

“It was somebody you cared about and were close to. Someone you loved. And you probably could’ve lived with that, but the responsible was never caught… And you needed to do something about it, to make up for it.”

Johnny averts his eyes as soon as he’s done speaking, looking down at the stacks of fan mail yet to read. He seems guilty, as if a part of him regrets what he’s said. Maybe he’s afraid of having pushed too far, Kenshi deduces.

Johnny clears his throat and concludes, “And that, Detective Takahashi, is why you’re here.”

Kenshi doesn’t move for a few seconds, completely stiff. This unnerving man has just deduced his life just from a couple of details he’s grasped in, what, an overall of two hours of knowing each other? His past, his trauma – what made him abandon Stanford when he was right about to graduate and had him pursue a career in the police… Mileena. Johnny doesn’t know about her, how could he? But even though he doesn’t know her identity, he still painted a perfect picture of what happened to him and his family.

Kenshi takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, then he goes back to the letters he’s yet to examine. He won’t disclose anything more than what Johnny has already deduced; he shouldn’t have let him go that far to begin with. They’re here to work, not to make friends, and Johnny won’t stay for long anyways. Why should he open up and tell him all about his life?

“Cute trick…” Kenshi comments, and he’s surprised by how devoid of any trace of emotion his voice sounds. Johnny risks a rapid glace in his direction, only to be met by Kenshi’s cold tone, “But don’t think you know me.”

“No, I- of course not,” Johnny stammers, trying to find the right words to say next. “What I meant to say is, there’s always a story, no matter how hidden it might be – and these murders make no exception. You… You just have to find it.”

Kenshi looks at him in silence for a moment more, then he goes back to the mail. He grabs another envelope and opens it, careful not to rip the letter. As he takes it out, with the corner of his eye he sees Johnny going back to reading and huffing. Kenshi observes him for a bit, wondering how that absolute manchild can be endowed with the intelligence and wit he showed by deducing Kenshi’s last thirty-five years of existence just by his lack of accent. Had things been different, he’d have made a perfectly fine detective.

Kenshi lowers his gaze on the letter, and his eyes go wide as he takes it in. It’s a single sheet of ruled paper, and by the jagged edges on one side, Kenshi supposes it was ripped off a notebook. It was folded in half, but now that Kenshi has opened it, he notices it sports a drawing – and a rather disturbing one. It’s the kind of drawing a child would make, all sharp lines and distorted shapes, but the subject is unmistakable: Alison Tisdale’s crime scene, straight out of Flowers For Your Grave. There’s nothing else, only the drawing… and a single sentence scribbled on the bottom.

tHIs iS yoUr GrAVe

“I think I just did,” he whispers, and when he looks up, Johnny’s already standing up and circling the table to join him on his side. Kenshi hands him the letter as soon as Johnny’s next to him, and he watches him have the same reaction. When Johnny looks back at him, he’s visibly and undeniably excited.

“I’m calling your colleague – Ryan?”

“Raiden.”

“Right. Raiden. I’m gonna get Raiden – you don’t move!”

And before Kenshi can add anything else, Johnny’s already run out of the room, leaving the letter on the table with Kenshi.

Chapter Text

I could clean up good for you

Oh, I know right from wrong

'Cause I wanna make it, so

I'm a million dollar baby

- “Million Dollar Baby”, Tommy Richman

“Sooo… Have you guys ever shot someone?”

Raiden looks up from his computer to give Johnny a confused look. Kenshi is still on the phone with the lab, and he hasn’t been paying attention to him for way too long. He’s booored now, it all happened so fast after he went and called Raiden. They did… cop stuff Johnny hasn’t exactly grasped, but what he did understand is that his hot-cop babysitter is now busy with something that isn’t him. And Johnny, of course, hates it.

He wanted to read the reports in the folder labelled CAGE’S BOOKS KILLER, but when he tried to pick it up, Kenshi smacked him with a booklet on behaviors resulting in toxic workplace environments. Ironic.

“It’s classified,” Kenshi made clear as he retrieved the folder from Johnny’s hand. And then he started making calls, and he’s not done yet, leaving Johnny with nothing to do.

Hence he’s currently keeping himself busy with Raiden and Kung Lao.

“What?” Raiden asks, confused. Kung Lao, sitting at the desk next to his, eyerolls and gives Johnny an apologetic look.

“He’s basically the precinct’s cherub, all innocence and righteousness,” Kung Lao points out with a grin. “He’s immaculate – in every sense of the word.”

“Hey, that’s not true!” Raiden interjects before going back to Johnny, currently positioned in the chair next to his desk. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious. I mean, in movies cops always shoot and do stuff with their guns, so I was wondering if it was like that in real life too,” Johnny explains, leaning in his chair with his legs crossed. “So? Done that?”

“Yes, but only if necessary and in lack of better options. Weapons are not the solution to every problem,” Raiden says, and Johnny thinks he reminds him of those students in school committees, always virtuous and pristine. If he hadn’t looked like a puppy, Johnny would’ve absolutely hated his guts.

And that’s why he exchanges a look with Kung Lao before they both say in unison, “Cherub.”

Kenshi hangs up the phone before Raiden can reply, and all eyes are back on him.

“So? Good news?” Kung Lao asks, and Kenshi nods.

“They were able to get a set of fingerprints off the letter.”

“Whose?” Raiden asks, curious. “Is someone we already know?”

This time, Kenshi shrugs and sighs – and Johnny can see he’s frustrated.

“We can’t tell yet. The system is backlogged, they told me it’ll take a week before they can run a match.”

“A week?” Johnny cries out, dismayed. “But that’s an eternity!”

Kenshi snorts and turns towards Johnny, giving him a scornful look.

“Welcome to the real world, Superstar,” he mocks him, but Johnny isn’t one to sit and wait. He’s never been, and he surely won’t start now.

“If this is the real world, then I’d rather keep living in my own,” he mutters as he takes his phone out. He can feel Kenshi’s suspicious eyes on him as he browses through his contact list and picks a specific entry.

“Cage, what are you-” he starts, but Johnny lifts a finger to stop him as he puts the phone to his ear.

“Mayor's Office,” says a feminine voice after a few beats of ringing tone. Johnny’s lips quirk into a smirk.

“Hello, Denise. It’s Johnny.”

“Oh hi, Johnny!”

“How are you? Everything okay with Dylan and the boys?”

“Nothing new, nothing strange, always the same. What about you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Johnny feigns a sigh, examining his fingernails, then he asks, “Is he in?”

“Yeah, hold on.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll.”

Denise puts him on hold, and Johnny takes advantage of that short pause to glance at the three detectives staring at him. Kenshi looks like he’s staring at some strange kind of animal, one he doesn’t know whether he should keep or kill. Johnny answers with a smile and a nonchalant shrug

“Told you the mayor’s a friend,” he says right as the line clicks again.

“Johnny Cage!” Jax’s deep voice booms in his ear, and Johnny stands up from his chair with a smile.

“Jax Briggs! You’ll never guess where I am.”

“Hope not some club getting wasted – you’re getting old, Johnny, take care of that poor liver.”

“Said the cigar-loving smokestack,” Johnny claps back as he moves to a side corridor. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you at work.”

“Nah, that’s fine. What do you need? Something happened?”

“Well, yes. You see…” Johnny walks in circles as he speaks, raking a hand through his hair as the other holds the phone. “There’s some psycho running around who’s killing people according to my books. Like, actual replicas.”

“Wait, wait a second…” Jax stays silent for a beat, then he asks, “Are you serious? Is this some fucked-up prank or…?”

“Fucked up? You bet. Prank? Hell no.”

“Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh… Yeah. I’m working with the police to find the killer, it’s… I mean, maybe I can help,” Johnny explains, “It’s two dead people so far. They found the second yesterday evening, it’s Jeremy Tisdale’s daughter.”

“Wait, Alison?” Jax seems stunned by the news. “Fucking hell. I knew her – not very well, but she was a good woman, always kind and a hard worker, too. I bet good ol’ Jeremy wishes her brother was more like her.”

“Sibling rivalry?”

“On Alison’s side? Nah, but her brother is another story. That Harrison is a lost cause.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, nasty stuff. But what about the murder? Any suspects yet?”

“Yeah, the police got a set of fingerprints off my fan mail. The letter showed a drawing of Alison’s murder scene, that’s a good lead. However…”

“What?”

Johnny shoots a rapid look above his shoulder, finding Kenshi’s eyes on him. He’s not happy, Johnny can tell, but at the same time, he looks intrigued too. And Johnny can work with that – maybe not for long, but it’s enough for the time being.

“Apparently the lab’s systems are backlogged, so it might take some time. They said a week or something.”

Jax snorts, “Comes in handy that your best friend Mr. Mayor could make a call, uh?”

Johnny produces a fake gasp, bringing a hand to his chest.

“Oh my, I didn’t think of that! But it’d be so nice of you – I’d consider it my Christmas present.”

“It’s June.”

“A very early Christmas present, then.”

Jax snorts, but Johnny knows him well enough to be sure his request won’t fall on deaf ears. Jax isn’t the type of guy to ignore a friend’s cry for help – and the fact that there’s a murderous psychopath running around in his city might even speed up his decisional process.

“Alright, Johnny Boy. I’ll see what I can do,” Jax concedes at last, and Johnny charges a punch in the air in victory.

“Fuck yes! I mean, thank you, you’re special, I don’t know how to-”

“Oh, I do: the next Disneyworld trip for the girls is on you.”

Johnny’s face contorts into a grimace.

“Oh, come on, man. That’s not fair.”

“Want me to make that call or not?”

“Fine, whatever,” Johnny sighs. This is a fucking tragedy. “I’ll make sure it’s awesome so when it’s your turn, you’ll have to make twice the effort.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“I’ll make sure the precinct has the results by the end of the morning. I’ll hit you up should something get in the way.”

After that, with the promise of useful feedback and the phantom of Mickey Mouse looming over him, Johnny ends the call and goes back to the detectives. Raiden and Kung Lao, previously busy in a heated conversation, halt mid-sentence as soon as Johnny enters their field of vision, but he barely notices them. His attention is all for Mr. Sulky, charming Kenshi Takahashi. He looks like he’s ready to strangle him.

“Okay, naughty boys!” Johnny starts as he plops down again on his chair. He stretches his legs in the corridor between the rows of desks, his arms rest crossed behind his head. His eyes close and a smug smirk curls his lips when he says, “Your results are on the way, you should get everything by the end of the morning.”

“Cage,” Kenshi hisses through gritted teeth, leaning towards him. “A word, please.”

Johnny can see he’s royally pissed – there’s a vein popping up on his forehead that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago. This is gonna be so much fun.

“Yup.” Johnny meets him halfway, leaning on the cheap wood of Kenshi’s desk. “Tell me everything, Detective.”

Kenshi scowls, disapproval all over his handsome face.

“Our investigation is not the only one relying on pending results from the lab. Half of the officers in this room are, in fact, waiting for prints.”

“Sheesh. It’s a miracle you manage to solve cases every now and then,” Johnny remarks, and it does nothing but making the vein on Kenshi’s forehead throb harder. It shouldn’t be as fascinating as it is, Johnny muses.

“What I meant is,” Kenshi growls, “You can’t just come here and jump the fucking line.”

Johnny takes a hand to his chest, feigning a gasp.

“Oh my, Detective Takahashi… Don’t tell me you feel threatened.”

“I can assure you I do not,” Kenshi scoffs, but Johnny tuts right away.

“It’s okay, you can say it – it’s a safe space, you should express yourself freely,” Johnny taunts him, and when he puts a hand on Kenshi’s shoulder, the vein on his forehead nearly bursts. Johnny slowly moves the hand away, but does he shut up? Of course not, why should he? “Besides, I get it.”

“Get what, Cage?”

“I mean, it must be tough for you. I can call the mayor, and you can’t… Must suck a little, uh?”

Kenshi’s eyes are narrowed to hateful slits, and if looks could kill, Johnny would already be six feet under.

“We have procedure,” Kenshi spats, “A precise protocol to follow – the same one you’ve screwed after having been here for a mere two hours.”

Johnny’s honest reaction would be to snort with a dramatic eyeroll, which is exactly what he does.

“Tell me something, do you ever have any fun?” he asks Kenshi, and the only answer he gets is venomous silence. “You wanna shoot me so bad, don’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Kenshi deadpans, eliciting a smirk from Johnny.

He’s about to make matters even worse and see how far he can push Kenshi before he finally lays his hands on him, but another officer comes into sight from another room, red in the face as he stalks towards them.

Why is everyone here so ruddy? Johnny thinks distractedly, Is their blood pressure okay?

“Kenshi, we just got a call!” he exclaims, huffing as he nears the desk. “They found another one.”

Johnny’s eyes go wide, and when he turns towards Kenshi, he meets his right away.

“Is it what I think it is?” Johnny whispers. Kenshi gives him a curt nod as he stands to his feet.

“Come on, let’s go,” he mutters as the group heads towards the elevators to the parking lot.

Johnny watches as the detectives check their guns in the elevator, as they make a small inventory of what’s needed on the crime scene when they get into the car; he listens to Raiden as he reads out loud the first available pieces of information and data while they ride in Kenshi’s black sedan, destination: downtown.

When he steps out from the car’s back seat, Johnny is faced with an elegant building, fancy enough to have an indoor pool on the window-shielded rooftop. The police are already limiting the surroundings with tape, curious bystanders try to grasp whatever gossip they can, and Johnny realizes that any other day, even only yesterday, he would’ve been among them. He would’ve stood there, craning his neck and doing his best to catch the faintest whisper as the agents walked through the crowd.

He would’ve been there… But now, he isn’t.

Kenshi walks by his side as they enter the building hall, and Johnny gets lost in admiring the plaster details on the ceiling, the crystal candelabra hanging above their heads. He would’ve kept on walking, if it hadn’t been for Kenshi’s hand on his chest and pushing back. Johnny moves his focus on him right as Kenshi brings himself forward, scanning the room with methodic eyes, accustomed to the task, and stopping right in front of him.

“I’m about to give you a set of essential rules you must follow whenever you come with us to a crime scene,” Kenshi begins, glaring suspiciously at Johnny before continuing, “Unless you want our collaboration to end here and now and your rich ass to be arrested for obstruction of justice.”

“God forbid,” Johnny sighs. “Those rules, care to share?”

“One,” Kenshi begins, and he lifts an accusing finger to keep count. “You do exactly as I tell you. You don’t, I’m kicking you out – no second chances.”

“Doesn’t that sound a bit dictatorial to you? No?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, apart from a glare, Johnny lifts both hands in defeat. “Okay, no second chances. Rule 2?”

“You’re always standing two feet behind me. Not beside me, and surely not in front of me. Always behind.”

“Got it. I must make sure your ass is always in sight, direct pov.”

“I- wait, what?” Kenshi frowns, confused and, if Johnny’s sixth sense is still working (and it is), mildly embarrassed too. Then he scowls and goes back to his usual, peevish self. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Three, you don’t touch anything. Anything, Cage, every single thing is off limits for you.”

“Is that really necessary? It’s not like I’m gonna leave my prints everywh-”

“And four…”

Kenshi takes a step further, closing the distance between them and Johnny’s mouth. They stare into each other’s eyes, but Kenshi currently holds the higher ground, and Johnny… Well, he’s kinda into it. Just a bit.

“You. Stay. Silent.” Kenshi utters the words one by one, as if he’s talking to a child, or someone particularly dense. “You won’t speak unless spoken to.”

This time, it’s Johnny’s turn frowning.

“Oh, come on, this is outright mean, I can’t just-”

“Unless spoken to,” Kenshi cuts him off again, just to reiterate the concept. He’s dead serious, which is the only thing stopping Johnny from snorting right to his face. “And preferably through a question.”

 “Am I supposed to stay there, mannequin style, and follow you around like a good dog?”

“Your words, not mine,” Kenshi remarks, and Johnny is sure to see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You do have something canine to you.”

Johnny considers it with a frown.

“Because I’m loyal and a charmer?”

“No, because you’re loud and obnoxious.”

“Ah, I see…” Johnny ponders, “You’re a cat person. It explains a lot.”

“Is it a deal breaker?” Kenshi asks with a raised brow, and Johnny shrugs.

“Could be. Depends on the cat.”

Johnny crosses his arms on his chest and sighs. Kenshi’s rules don’t leave much left to interpretation, and he knows the detective is not joking. A misstep is all it takes for the fun to end – even though, Johnny must admit it, he hoped he’d get a more active role in this collaboration. This is going to be so fucking boring.

“So, what? Am I going to go in there and act as the precinct’s eye candy?”

“I’d say you’d be closer to a mascot of sorts but be free to choose whatever suits you the best.” Kenshi eyerolls, then he gestures towards the elevator where Raiden and Kung Lao are waiting for them. “Let’s go now, we have no time to waste.”

Johnny follows him, but there’s no way he’s letting the subject drop. It’s not really his style, and it’s better for everyone if Kenshi understands it too.

“Unbelievable. My first day of work and I’ve already been objectified.”

Kenshi looks at him as if he’s crazy and says, “What? I did not.”

“You compared me to a dog, though, which is definitely not nice. Not to mention you defined me, and I quote, loud and obnoxious,” Johnny lists, and yes, he exaggerates with the petulant tone just to get on Kenshi’s nerves. Boy, he’s having so much fun, it’s so easy to rile him up. “I should give HR a call.”

“HR? What for?” Raiden asks, confused. Johnny leans on the wall, an arm dramatically draped above his forehead.

“I’ve been bullied and mistreated, with no just cause,” he bemoans, shooting an annoyed Kenshi a teary look, “Detective Takahashi was so mean to me.”

“Have you already forgotten Rule 1, Cage?” Kenshi asks, arms crossed on his chest. Johnny blinks twice, then he straightens himself with a nonchalant shrug.

“It must have slipped my mind, Detective…” He sighs as the elevator doors open next to him. “Besides, we’re not on the crime scene yet, so your rules don’t count.”

Johnny watches as Kenshi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting up to three before joining him, Raiden and Kung Lao inside the elevator.

“Raiden, what do we know so far about our victim?” Kenshi then asks, and the cheer from their previous banter fades to let them focus on their job.

Johnny, on his part, stays faithful to his promise and becomes the most perfect silent spectator one could wish for, observing the detectives in their environment as they speak and reason and link up facts… until they reach the proper crime scene, that is.

Johnny’s mouth goes slack as soon as they enter the pool space and he sees the police surrounding the victim, flashing pictures of the scene and collecting samples of stuff Johnny doesn’t really notice. No, his attention is all for her.

She looks young, twenty at most, with a slender physique, snatched waist and amber skin topped by a brown mane surrounding her head like a halo. Her limbs are sprawled open as she floats in the water, the fabric of her yellow gown caressing her body, and one of her silver heels has fallen on the pool floor. The sequins on her dress rival in sparkling with the morning sunlight reflecting in the pool, but what really blinds the eye is the long knife erupting from the girl’s spine like some sort of twisted dorsal fin.

“Death of a Prom Queen,” Johnny whispers, standing with Kenshi by the edge of the pool as some forensic officers drag her out of the water.

The pictures of the previous victims he was shown during his interrogation were graphic and everything, but… Despite his long acquaintance with murder and its forms, conjured by all the books he’s written and a frankly morbid creativity streak, Johnny realizes this is something else entirely, something sending a cold shiver down his spine. He’s never felt that eerie feeling before, being in front of a real dead person – one that’s been murdered – but he knows it’ll take a while before he can shake it off his skin… If he’ll ever be able to. And this kind of curiosity, the need to take in Kenshi’s face and expression as they stand in front of the whole scene, leads Johnny to eye the man standing next to him.

The difference between them, their reaction to the body, is striking. When Johnny looks at Kenshi, yeah, he can spot sadness in his eyes, but the spotlight is taken by determination and a cold, clinical kind of focus as he scans the room and everything in sight. Johnny wonders if it’s something that comes with habit and practice, or if you simply have it or not.

“She lived here, you heard Raiden – Kendra Pitney,” Kenshi says. “Did you know her?”

Johnny shakes his head.

“No, the name doesn’t ring any bells. I should look at her face to be sure, but… I don’t think I did.”

“Alright, I’m going there to have a look.” Kenshi squares his shoulders and cracks his neck, then he gives Johnny a quick look. “Wait here for now. Remember the rules?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay still, quiet, and keep my hands to myself,” Johnny mutters with an eyeroll.

Kenshi doesn’t move for another moment, probably debating whether he should punch Johnny or not, but then he shakes his head with a sigh and heads towards the body. Johnny watches him walk away, he observes the way Kenshi kneels beside the body and analyzes the wound on her back, her appearance, everything relevant about her. He speaks with the coroner as he does so, only paying attention to the victim and the doctor’s words floating between them. And this, finally, allows Johnny to move around and have a look.

He nears the pool, making sure not to step in the puddles near the edge. Johnny quickly scans his surroundings, hands deep down in the pockets of his tailored slacks, but even though there are officers scattered all around him, they all seem too busy to pay attention to him. Better not waste the chance, he thinks to himself before crouching down.

The water is clear, the typical shade of cyan all pools appear to shine bright with. The tiles covering the floor are as white as snow, everything seems perfectly normal… And above all, perfectly clean. As if there wasn’t a corpse floating inside the pool just mere minutes ago.

Johnny searches the water for swirls of crimson but finds none, just like he doesn’t find a single red stain on the floor around the pool. He frowns, confused. He’s written his fair share of killings, both graphic and gruesome or barely described, but whenever there was a wound involved, blood was there too. But now, here, there’s none – which is kinda weird, considering the girl had a kitchen knife buried all the way through her back. How come there’s not a single drop of blood around?

Johnny stands up, eyeing Kenshi and the coroner talking near the body. They’re standing as well, the doctor is pointing to something on the victim’s back, and Kenshi nods, focused. Another officer approaches them in a matter of seconds, and the small group leaves towards the opposite side of the room after a rapid exchange of words.

Kung Lao and Raiden are just as busy, interrogating people living or working in the building, and Johnny takes it as his cue to quietly leave the pool side and approach the body. It won’t take long before someone comes back, and he’d rather have a look himself now that he can do it. Kenshi won’t be happy about it, but what’s that saying? Out of sight, out of mind.

Johnny tiptoes his way up to the body, crouching beside it and checking if someone’s noticed him. No one, thank God, seems to be paying attention, which makes him sigh in relief. Considering himself safe for the time being, Johnny focuses his attention on the victim.

The girl is still lying face down and the knife is still in her back, just like when she was in the pool. But upon closer inspection, Johnny notices that the dress is not ripped, there’s just a clean cut from where the knife was inserted. And, once again, no blood: the cloth is bright yellow, clean, there’s a minimal amount of red – surely not the amount produced by a stabbing. Johnny’s mind is racing, but no matter how creative he might be, there’s only a possible solution for this enigma, and it’s-

“Didn’t I tell you to wait by the pool entrance?”

Johnny freezes, eyes blown wide. When he turns around, ever so slowly, the first thing he sees is a pair of black shoes right behind him. And when his gaze travels up the pair of toned legs, the broad torso with crossed arms, it ends up on Kenshi’s murderous scowl and equally murderous glare. Shit.

“I… felt lonely?” Johnny tries with his best impression of a coy smile. Kenshi’s expression sours even more, but Johnny cuts him short before he can say anything and points to the body, “It wasn’t a stabbing.”

Kenshi snorts, “I thought a keen observer such as yourself would’ve noticed the knife sticking out of her back.”

“Of course I have,” Johnny scoffs with an eyeroll, “But look at her. There’s no other explanation.”

“Oh, isn’t there?”

“No. Look at her back, at the area around the knife – there isn’t any blood, and the lack of it suggests that when the blade was inserted, there was no blood flow, which means she was already dead,” Johnny explains as he stands up. “Additionally, there’s no foam around her mouth, which means that she didn’t drown. So…”

“So what, Cage?” Kenshi asks, annoyed. Johnny can’t tell if he’s annoyed because he’s here or because they both know he’s right. Johnny gestures towards the pool with a shrug.

“So, it’s clear that she was murdered somewhere else, in another way, and then dressed up, stabbed and posed up here – just like Fisk and Tisdale. But there’s one thing that doesn’t add up, and-”

“You know what doesn’t add up?” Kenshi interrupts him, closing the space between them with a brusque step forward that matches his angry voice. “That I gave you an order, and you deliberately chose not to respect it.”

Johnny gives Kenshi a condescending look and sighs, “I’ve never been good at following orders I don’t believe in.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem, because if you want to stay here, you must do as I say,” Kenshi growls. Johnny stays silent for a beat or two, then he looks down once again at the victim.

“As I was saying, there’s one thing that doesn’t add up.” He gestures at the victim, frowning. “In Death Of A Prom Queen, the dress was blue – not yellow.”

Kenshi pinches the bridge of his nose and hisses, “If you’re trying to change the subject, I regret to inform you it’s not working.”

“Did Tisdale and Fisk know each other?” Johnny asks, and this time Kenshi frowns, confusion tinging his ever-growing annoyance.

“We haven’t found a connection, you already know – why are you asking?”

“What about motive?” Johnny presses, “If these people are strangers to each other, then there must be something else linking them and-”

“We have three victims, Cage, that were all killed according to your stories,” Kenshi cuts him short again, “And three different murders with these characteristics mean that we’re officially dealing with a serial killer.”

Kenshi’s phone starts ringing just as Johnny scoffs, “So you’re saying that just because he’s a serial killer, there’s no need for a motive?”

Kenshi lifts a hand up to shut Johnny up and picks up the call.

“Takahashi. What is… Okay. Yeah, great. Text me and Raiden everything, we’re going there right away.”

Johnny looks at Kenshi expectantly as he puts the phone away and turns to call Raiden and Kung Lao, telling them they need to leave.

“What? What happened?”

Kenshi shoots a rapid glance at Johnny as he starts walking toward the exit – and may Johnny be damned if he lets them leave without him.

“The lab sent in the results, they got a match off the prints,” he explains, and Johnny could swear he saw the phantom of a smile twisting Kenshi’s lips as they got into the elevator with Kung Lao and Raiden. “We got him.”

Chapter Text

If I could be sweet

I know I've been a real bad girl

I didn't mean for you to get hurt

We can make it better

And tell me, boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?

- “The Sweet Escape”, Gwen Stefani

The car ride to Kyle Cabot’s apartment, their potential serial killer, is hectic. Kenshi’s driving, Raiden talks on the radio and Kung Lao’s on the phone, while Johnny is… Kenshi is not really sure what Johnny’s doing, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He already has too much going on right now, he can’t focus on the manchild whom he’s been unjustly burdened with. Even though… Yeah, there’s no point in denying it: the asshole’s pretty clever.

Kenshi still hasn’t decided whether he should be pissed or impressed by the little show Johnny put up by the pool, just like he’ll never admit he was mesmerized by the way he explained his theories, the way his golden eyes lit up as he dissected the crime scene.

Part of Kenshi wonders why this man has never pursued a career in his same field – he’d be good, really good. Of course, his issues with discipline and orders might be a problem, but he’s pretty sure someone with such a silver tongue would be able to get away with pretty much anything. Which is probably why Kenshi’s already considering giving him a second chance. Maybe he could prove himself truly useful, after all.

They drive past rich neighborhoods and boutiques into the city’s outskirts, where fancy houses and neatly paved streets are gradually replaced by run-down buildings and butchered asphalt. Kenshi parks in front of a decent building, not too ruined but not even the best place to live in. He’s the first to get out, and he starts barking orders as Raiden and Kung Lao imitate him and other police cars join theirs.

“Kung Lao, with me. Raiden, guide the other agents from the back door, down that alley – I don’t want any unguarded exits, okay?”

“Roger that!”

Kenshi heads towards the front entrance, with his gun already in hand and his stride confident. He’s not letting that man go, it’s their best chance to get him. He doesn’t know they’re onto him, and they must act quickly before he notices.

“Hey, wait!”

Kenshi turns around right as Johnny’s voice reaches him, watching as the writer scrambles to his feet and catches up with the detectives in a matter of seconds. Kenshi looks at him with a frown, stopping him with one hand before Johnny can place himself next to the small group.

“Where do you think you’re going, Cage?”

“Uuh… Inside?” Johnny tries with a chuckle, raising a brow in a way that, once again, has Kenshi question his sanity. “With you guys? The suspect could still be-”

“You’re not coming,” Kenshi cuts him shorts, harsh. “We’re here to apprehend a suspect, you’d get in the way. Go back in the car.”

Johnny goggles at him, his brows knitted together as if Kenshi’s just insulted his mother.

“Like Hell I’m going back in the car! I’ll see nothing from there, what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t care, it’s none of my business. I’m not taking a civilian with us where there could be an armed, potential serial killer – do you realize how dangerous could it be? Do you want to get shot or something?”

That, and only that, seems to hush Johnny up, making him mumble unintelligible words with a frown. He’s acting like a child getting scolded at and, may he be damned, Kenshi won’t put up with it any further.

“Listen, just wait there. I’ll tell you everything on our way back to the precinct.”

Johnny seems still pissed, but that proposal seems to light him up a bit.

“You promise?”

“God, Cage – yes, I promise,” Kenshi says with a groan, then he gestures to his sedan once again. “Now go and stay there.”

“Scout’s honor!”

Kenshi watches as Johnny jogs along back to the car, and to add insult to injury, when he turns around, he finds Raiden and Kung Lao stare at him trying not to laugh to his face. One day, Kenshi muses, he’s going to throttle them all.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you asking for real?” Kung Lao snickers, “That guy’s hilarious. He’s been with us for, like, three hours and it’s already the best workday we’ve had in months.”

Kenshi scoffs, “You want him? He’s yours, since you like him that much.”

“Nah, man. A control freak like you with something you have no reins on? That’s going to be more entertaining than Shark Week.”

Kenshi snorts, then he gives a nod towards the building.

“Come on, let’s go.”

They split up like Kenshi had ordered before Johnny’s intermission, leaving a few agents to guard each door that lets inside the building. They meet up again in the third-floor corridor, in front of Kyle Cabot’s door. Kenshi is the first to approach it, and he listens carefully for any noise before knocking.

“Kyle Cabot? LAPD, open up!”

They get no answer, and after trying a second time, Kenshi steps back and kicks the door in – and thank God Liu Kang made sure they had a warrant ready. He enters first, gun in hand, and he’s swiftly followed by Raiden, Kung Lao and other agents in charge of checking the other rooms. After a round of “Clear!” coming from all sides of the apartment, they all put their guns away to inspect the apartment.

“I’ll go this way,” Kenshi says to Kung Lao, pointing to the room at his left. “You guys take care of that other side.”

“Fine by me. I’ll take the bedroom,” Kung Lao announces, then he moves to the other end of the house.

Kenshi puts on a pair of sterile gloves as he crosses slowly the packed living room. Clothes and knick-knacks lay scattered all around, but Kenshi’s attention is all for the bookcase by the door he was heading to: it’s pristine, all the books and objects on the shelves seem to be in perfect order… except for a weirdly empty one right in the middle.

Kenshi looks around again with a frown – it doesn’t add up. The room should be just as orderly, or the bookcase just as haphazard as the rest of the room; and that empty shelf, there’s not even a grain of dust on it, contrary to the others. Someone moved the stuff on it not long ago – but why? And where to?

Kenshi takes a deep breath, then he turns to the closed door. He opens it slowly, finding it to be the entrance to a dark cabinet. He blindly searches for the light switch on the wall, and when the light turns on, he’s left speechless.

The walls are covered in ripped pages of novels, and it doesn’t take a genius to deduce they must be all Johnny’s. Some words have been cancelled, others highlighted with a red marker; some pages are connected to others by threads of red wool, others sport creepy childish drawings – just like the one in Johnny’s mail.

And then… Then there are pictures pinned to the wall, mixed with the layer of pages: pictures of the victims, their eyes scrubbed away, and then pictures of Johnny that received the same treatment. They’re deformed, some are ripped and crumpled, some have been written on – insults, casual words, Johnny’s name… Kenshi stops right in the middle of the room, a cold chill running down his spine. He feels like a stranger crossing a threshold he should have never entered, something dark and wicked and messed up. It’s so creepy.

“Holy shit, what the hell? That’s so creepy!”

Kenshi stiffens and turns around, his hand already reaching for his gun. When he spots Johnny peeking into the room, he really wishes he could shoot him – and by the innocent smile Johnny gives him, he must know it too.

“I was never a scout,” he admits, batting his eyelashes in a way that, Kenshi is pretty sure, was intended to be coy. “Oops.”

“You’re impossible,” Kenshi hisses, and he knows Johnny was about to say something, but Kung Lao’s voice precedes him.

“Hey, Kenshi! You gotta see this.”

Kenshi glares at Johnny, then he strides past him and goes back to the entrance, where Kung Lao is already waiting for him.

“Found something?”

“You could say that,” Kung Lao mutters before handing Kenshi a woman’s blouse – expensive cotton, soft and candid… Except for a dried crimson stain and two bullet holes right where the heart should be.

“It must be Alison’s.” Kenshi turns around to see Johnny right behind him, peeking from his side to get a glimpse of the blouse. Kenshi raises a brow as Johnny cocks his head to the side and observes the bullet holes. “Guess you might’ve found our man – I mean… He kept trophies.”

“Speaking of trophies, I got something better.” Raiden appears by Kung Lao’s side and shows them a gun. He pulls out the magazine, and Kenshi notices some of the bullets are missing. “It’s a caliber 22, the same caliber that killed Fisk and Tisdale. We should get it analyzed, but my bet is that it hasn’t been long since it last fired a shot.”

Kenshi opens his mouth to speak, but before any word comes out, there’s a rattling sound coming from the bedroom. In the blink of an eye every cop in the room is wielding a gun in front of them, and Kenshi glares at Johnny.

“Stay back. It’s not a suggestion,” he orders, and for once, Johnny has the decency to comply as Kenshi leads the charge towards the source of the noise.

Once in the bedroom, Kenshi stops to figure out where that sound came from, and a renewed rattling leads him to the closet. Kenshi exchanges a rapid look with Raiden and Kung Lao, who place themselves at both sides of the sliding wooden door. Kenshi takes a deep breath, then he swings it open all at once and points the gun towards whoever or whatever may be inside.

And it turns out to be a whoever, more precisely a lanky young man crouching on the floor and rocking back and forth, hands clustered above his head as he bangs it against the wall. When one hand moves to grasp another chunk of hair, Kenshi catches a glimpse of his face. Kyle Cabot.

“Kyle, show me your hands,” Kenshi commands, trying to be firm but not too harsh.

That kid isn’t doing well, and his instinct tells him it’s not an act. Kyle shakes his head and starts mumbling some words that take Kenshi a few seconds to identify.

“Get out of my house. Get out, get out, get out… I’ve already told you, GET OUT!”

Kenshi is still studying him as a bunch of officers shuffles past him and handcuffs Kyle. He’s still mumbling, slightly raising his voice on occasion, but otherwise he’s not doing anything that might classify him as a threat. His words keep ringing in Kenshi’s head as his colleagues escort Kyle out of his house. What did he just say?

…I’ve already told you, GET OUT !

But told who? Kyle hadn’t spoken with any of them before Kenshi opened the closet door. He’s lost in thought as he goes back to the living room, finding Johnny completely still and staring at the door Kyle has just disappeared into.

“Are you alright, Cage?” Kenshi asks. Johnny nods slowly and blinks twice, as if in a daze.

“Yeah… Yeah, I am.” He wets his lips before looking back at Kenshi. “He didn’t seem much of a menace, did he?”

“Sometimes they don’t until you find them knees deep in a pool of blood,” Kenshi replies, and Johnny purses his lips. He’s not convinced, and Kenshi can see it. Not that it matters… It shouldn’t.

Why does it?

“Come on,” he then stays, headed to the door. “Let’s go back to the precinct.”

He doesn’t bother checking if Johnny’s following, the doubt in those honey eyes still haunting him.

Kyle’s interrogation has just ended, and it didn’t bring any valuable insight on his motive or… well, anything. He didn’t utter a coherent sentence, not even a single one; he simply stayed there, handcuffed to the table, rocking back and forth and mumbling nonsense with his eyes lost somewhere on the plain steel surface of the table.

Kenshi knows how to do his job, he knows how to question a suspect to get the info he needs, but Kyle… He was too out of it, and Kenshi didn’t really feel like pressuring him. He had the impression the boy would break at the first loud noise, even just a fist smacking the table. And so, he ended the interrogation with no new elements on Kyle’s part, but all the evidence they needed to charge him with murder.

When Kenshi closes the interrogation room’s door behind him, Johnny and Captain Liu Kang (who have been observing from the other side of the obscured glass) meet him in the corridor to discuss the result.

“He's still not speaking,” Kenshi mutters, noting the obvious, then he lifts the folder he’s carrying with him. “But his medical records state he suffers from pervasive developmental disorder, so I’m not surprised.”

Johnny pulls a face, arms crossed on his chest.

“And that’s where his fixation with me stems from – PDD sometimes can manifest through an obsession with someone.”

Kenshi sighs and hands him one of his paper sheets. He might as well get the full picture, since they’re at it.

“Kyle also has history with delusions. He was inserted into a program to make sure he could integrate socially. And you won’t believe who was assigned to his case…”

“Let me guess, Alison Tisdale?” Johnny asks. When he reads the photocopy Kenshi handed him, part of Kyle’s records, he pulls a face with a low huff. “Woah, he was on pretty heavy stuff. Those anti-psychotics could put down a horse.”

Liu Kang sighs, a sorrowful expression on his face.

“Looks like your profile was right, Kenshi. We have found our serial killer, how heartbreaking that is.”

Johnny is halfway through nodding, but then he looks at Liu Kang in complete disbelief, his brow furrowed.

“Wait, what? That… that’s it? This is how it ends?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We found evidence is in his apartment, and we can connect him to all three victims: Alison Tisdale was his social worker, while the other two were habitual patrons of the diner where he worked,” Liu Kang explains, then he looks at Kenshi. “I’m calling the D.A. to get him legal aid.”

Kenshi nods as Liu Kangs heads back to his office, leaving him and the writer alone in the corridor. Kenshi can feel a migraine bubble up the more he thinks of all the paperwork awaiting him, but when he starts towards his desk, Johnny stops him with one hand on his arm.

“Wait, Takahashi, it's too easy – that’s not right!” he says, outraged. “A reader would never buy it.”

“This isn’t one of your books, Cage. Out here, when we find a guy standing over a body with a gun…” Kenshi sighs, eyes closed, but then he gives Johnny a look full of contempt. “He’s usually the one who used it.”

He gently brushes Johnny’s hand off, then he resumes walking towards his desk. When he gets there, he notices Raiden dismantling the whiteboard they had compiled with all the information at their disposal regarding the case, and Kung-Lao stacking evidence and physical objects.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re done,” Kung-Lao chants, “God, I can’t wait to go and have dinner, we deserve a steak.”

“Mmh-hm.” When Kung-Lao tries to grab the box with all the folders of reports on the case, something in Kenshi makes him throw his hand out and stop him. “Leave the box here. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“As you wish, mate.”

And as everyone leaves the office, Kenshi can’t shake off himself the image of the disappointed look in Johnny’s eyes, and the bad feeling they’ve made a mistake.

He struggles with sleep that night, more than usual after closing a case. He dreams of pools filled with blood, of rituals with roses tinged in crimson, of honey-toned irises, and a gun ready to shoot.

It’s almost dawn when he manages to sleep for real, and that’s the reason his alarm clock’s ringing goes unnoticed. When Kenshi finally wakes up, he curses under his breath and rushes to the bathroom to get ready. He showers in record time, he even manages to throw in a mildly-burnt toast before heading out. When he steps foot in the precinct, he’s only forty-five minutes later than usual.

Everything seems to have gone back to normal, the usual precinct with the usual buzz of phones and voices and shuffling of paper. What’s unusual, though, is the handsome man dressed in a white shirt and tailored black slacks and jacket standing at his desk and… reading something? Leafing through reports? What the fuck is he doing?

“Cage,” Kenshi calls him, and Johnny drops the sheet of paper to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, just prying around. It’s a writer’s habit – poking through other people’s mail, checking their medicine cabinets… You never know where inspiration might come from,” Johnny explains with a nonchalant shrug. Kenshi narrows his eyes in distrust and crosses his arms on his chest.

“Uh. Assuming I believe you-”

“Why, don’t you?”

“-why are you still here? The case is over, your assistance is no longer required,” Kenshi points out.

Johnny seemed displeased yesterday, when they declared the investigations on his case over. Kenshi almost expected him to make a fuss about it, but now… Now Johnny seems calm, at peace, with a smug grin that – okay, maybe Kenshi gets a little distracted by that grin, he should look elsewhere.

“Oh, I know. I’m here for… something else.” Kenshi frowns, but then Johnny lifts a box he hadn’t seen before, with a red bow on the lid. “Brought you a gift. A parting gift, to thank you for allowing me to assist you with your work.”

Kenshi feels his whole body go stiff, his cheeks and ears turn unbearably red. Oh no. No, he hasn’t. But the thing is, Johnny definitely has. He’s standing there, grinning and looking at him straight in the eye, with that damned box in hand and Kenshi just… Jesus.

“There was no need, Cage. I just...” Kenshi clears his throat, embarrassed. He can’t believe Johnny Cage brought him a fucking present. “I simply followed my orders.”

Johnny chuckles with a shrug.

“Yeah, I know. But I made it fun though – at least, hope so. Maybe a little unnerving, but fun too.”

And finally, Kenshi feels his shoulders slacken a bit as he smiles with him. Maybe… Maybe he should just be grateful. And happy. His favorite author and a full-fledged hunk brought him a goodbye gift, and nothing else should matter.

“I'd say you did,” he concedes at last. Johnny grins, satisfied, and hands Kenshi the box.

“C'mon. Open it.”

Kenshi undoes the bow and moves the ribbon to his desk, then he lifts the lid to uncover a bed of crepe paper on which a copy of Firebreak, Johnny’s upcoming book, is resting. Kenshi stops breathing for a sec, he might be freaking out just a tiny bit on the inside. This book is yet to be available for sale, and God forbid Johnny ever finds out, but Kenshi preordered his copy the moment it was announced. And now… Now. This is like holding the Holy Grail.

“It's one of the first copies I was sent from the editor. It's not an ARC, it's the official thing – you know, a prerelease copy,” Johnny explains as Kenshi keeps tracing the letters of Cage’s name on the cover. “Thought you might be interested. But I must warn you I signed it, so you can’t sell it on the black market.”

Kenshi frowns.

“Why would I want to sell it?”

“Right, I forgot you’re a groupie,” Johnny comments, and Kenshi tuts. Still, he must admit he’s curious – not only this is a prerelease copy, but it’s a signed one, signed by his favorite author and former pain in the ass.

And so, curiosity really did kill the poor cat, because when Kenshi opens the book to look at the autograph, he finds it on the front page, right below the title… Together with a dedication.

To Kenshi,

“A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.”

– All’s Well That Ends Well, Act 4, scene 2, line 78

Johnny Cage

Kenshi blinks once, then he blinks again. He clears his throat, hoping his face is not as red as he suspects it might be.

“You didn’t woo me, Cage,” he mutters, and Johnny chuckles.

“Of course not. Still worth a shot,” he says, and only then does Kenshi dare look at him again.

He’s smirking, eyes fixed on Kenshi’s face with an unreadable look. They’re… close. Way too close for Kenshi’s liking, he’s not a fan of the way his brain malfunctions whenever Johnny’s around. He’s been good at pretending not to be affected by his presence, but God, the ruse can only work for a limited amount of time. And he’s running out of it.

“Thank you, Johnny.” Kenshi clears his throat and gives him a nod, to greet him or thank him or something. He just needed a reason to avert his eyes, really. He wets his lips, debating what he should say next, and after a moment of reflection, he goes for the truth. It’s not like they’re seeing each other again anyways. He clears his throat and admits, “Despite what I said… It was a pleasure to meet you and work with you.”

“Likewise,” Johnny confirms with a warm smile.

Kenshi hesitates, staring at him and not knowing what to do next. Johnny is here and he’s looking at him, studying Kenshi as if he’s the most captivating specimen of some rare hidden treasure. No one has ever looked at him this way, and Kenshi doesn’t really know what to make of it. He’s not even sure he likes it, he feels too exposed.

Ever so awkwardly, Kenshi suddenly extends his hand towards Johnny, to say goodbye. But could it be that easy? Of course not. When Johnny Cage is involved, it seems that nothing will ever turn out to be easy, because Johnny’s now raising a questioning brow, confused and amused in equal measure.

“What's that hand for? If this is the last time we see each other, you might as well hug me.”

Kenshi gapes at him, looking at the writer as if he’s gone nuts. He must have, this… This is not appropriate.

“You're not being serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Johnny grins and gestures him closer, “C'mon, big boy. Bring it in.”

Kenshi doesn’t move, frozen in shock – a shock that turns into horror when Johnny takes his still extended hand to drag him closer.

That hug is… something. At first Kenshi is as stiff as a marble column, and Johnny is so close to him Kenshi thinks he might be hallucinating. But he eventually leans in and reciprocates, melting into Johnny’s arms and reeling in the feeling of his hands gently pressed on his back. He can feel the outline of Johnny’s palms, his fingers, and even though he’s not entirely sure of what he’s doing, he must admit this is nice. Quite nice indeed.

Johnny’s body is warm and firm against his, and it nearly has no give when Kenshi gives his back a few hesitant pats like old friends do – not Kenshi’s, he’s never had that kind of friends, which maybe is the reason he’s so fucking awkward. Johnny doesn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he only holds Kenshi’s closer.

His perfume is inebriating, it wasn’t so strong in the previous days – it was there, definitely, but it wasn’t as powerful. It’s citrusy and fresh, but it also has some wooden notes and something that smells like cinnamon. It’s heady, like a hot summer night refreshed by a wild breeze, and Kenshi finds himself trying to impress every single detail in his brain. He justifies himself by thinking that it’ll be the last time he sees Johnny, the last time he’ll be able to do all these things… smelling him included. So, yeah. That’s why he’s doing it. Just this.

Johnny is the first to take a step back, and as he does so, Kenshi hears a faint crinkling sound, almost paper-like. He frowns, confused, but before he can speak, Johnny clears his throat and has Kenshi look up. And oh, what a mistake that was.

Johnny’s face is tragically close to his, and Kenshi can’t help but stare at those honey-colored irises – that seem to be getting equally lost in his dark brown own. Johnny’s cheeks look a little rougher than yesterday, and a deranged part of Kenshi’s brain wonders if that faint trace of stubble feels like his own to the touch. He even wonders if Johnny’s skin is as plump and firm as it looks, how his nose would feel pressed against his own, and that’s so unhinged of him. But not as unhinged as looking at his lips is – and Kenshi has just crossed that line.

In his defense, he got distracted by a puff of Johnny’s breath on his own lips, and his gaze automatically wandered downwards. He didn’t plan on staring at the man’s mouth, but Kenshi finds himself strangely captivated by those wide lips, more on the thinner side but still beautiful, symmetrical. In some sort of crazed daze, he thinks that they must be soft to touch, to caress… to kiss.

And that’s the thought that has him snap back and move away from him. What the absolute fuck was he thinking – what was he doing? Hugging him and inhaling his scent like some sort of horndog? Thinking of kissing him? Has he gone fucking insane? He must have. There’s no other explanation. He… No. Absolutely no.

“Uuh… I should get going, I guess,” Johnny babbles, his voice a little strained. Kenshi nods and lets out a cough to clear his throat, hoping his voice won’t sound too hoarse.

“Yeah. You definitely should,” he mutters, too embarrassed by his own antics to look at him.

Johnny takes a few steps back, almost… tentatively. Is he making sure Kenshi won’t stop him? Is he testing him? Kenshi can’t really tell, but before he can ask for any clarification, Johnny fixes his jacket and waves him goodbye.

“See you soon, Kenshi.”

And Kenshi watches as he goes, as he gets to the elevator and steps inside. In a matter of moments, he’s gone, and Kenshi doesn’t feel nearly as relieved as he thought he’d feel. Which is weird, so weird and inexplicable. After all, Johnny Cage is his favorite author, but he’s also an insufferable manchild whose new hobby seemed to get on Kenshi’s nerves. It doesn’t matter that he was hot, it doesn’t change a thing. It doesn’t, really.

Kenshi approaches his desk and sits down on his chair, his mind suddenly blank. Part of him is glad this whole insanity is over, but… Well, another is kind of sad. Johnny was immature, yes, but he was fun to be around. And he clearly liked him, so Kenshi really doesn’t understand why he hasn’t stopped him and asked him out now that the investigation is over… Right, why hasn’t he? Fear of rejection? Expectations far too high? Also, Johnny could’ve asked him out, and he didn’t. Or did he?

Kenshi’s gaze lingers on Firebreak, and he hesitates a moment before opening it again and rereading the dedication scribbled inside. Johnny hasn’t wooed him – where are they, in a fucking Shondaland show? No, he just flirted and got on Kenshi’s nerves. That’s it. Kenshi closes the book again with a groan and scrubs his eyes with both hands.

God, he should’ve asked him out. He really should have, what a complete idiotic mess he is. Kenshi’s arms drop, hands falling to his lap as he takes a deep, steadying breath. When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is the box containing the reports on the case, and he really should classify the- Wait.

Kenshi blinks, confused. Why is the lid of the box open? He hadn’t left it like that when he got home last night. Kung Lao had closed it and was bringing it to the archive, and he stopped him. Kung Lao left it there, untouched.

Kenshi feels a cold shiver run down his spine. His gaze suddenly moves to the folder abandoned on his desk, lying face down on the surface. Kenshi grabs it and turns it around, frowning when he reads the words scribbled on the front in his own handwriting: CAGE’S BOOKS KILLER. He’s puzzled at first, why isn’t the folder inside the box with the others dedicated to the victims?

But then, oh, then it hits him with the force of a fucking earthquake.

When he got there, Johnny was standing in front of his desk. He was leafing through some sheets of paper, reading them and studying them. Kenshi couldn’t see his hands, nor the documents themselves, because they were hidden by the box… The same box whose lid is now open, when it shouldn’t be. The box with all the reports on Kyle’s murders.

“No…” Kenshi whispers as he stands up, horrified. “No, he didn’t.”

Kenshi opens the folder, finding it empty except for a blank sheet of paper. Then he yanks the box open and looks inside, searching for the other three folders… and he finds just two, Kendra Pitney’s and Marvin Fisk’s, empty. Alison Tisdale’s is gone, together with all the other reports and notes and pictures about the case.

And there’s only one person who could’ve taken them, the same person that faint sound of crinkling paper came from when Kenshi hugged him. The same person who was waiting to see if Kenshi would let him go or prevent him from leaving the precinct. The same person who fooled him like a fucking child and got away with it.

“He fucking did!” Kenshi shouts as he punches his desk and storms out of the room, phone in hand and gun pressing hard against his ribs.

That’s it. This is the day he’s killing Johnny Cage.

Chapter Text

And even if they tried to,

They can't do it like I do

-“Me Too”, Meghan Trainor

Johnny is not proud of what he did.

Okay, maybe he is, just a bit – it was impulsive and risky, but he made it! He couldn’t believe it at first, he was about to cry in relief when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and he safely made it out of the police station. He looked around, expecting a commando to pop out somewhere and pin him to the dirty sidewalk, but nothing happened. And Johnny jogged way too gingerly to his car to run away from that place as fast as possible.

When he got home last night, his mood was sour. He should’ve been happy that they caught the killer, that the senseless string of murders was over. But he wasn’t, not even one bit… Maybe because they hadn’t, in fact, caught the killer.  Johnny spent the following nightly hours in his office, pacing around and scribbling notes on his whiteboard, the one he uses for his books, to try and make sense of everything that had happened. Just that, well, he didn’t. He couldn’t, because this whole thing is just batshit crazy – starting from the guy the police are sure is the murderer.

Kyle Cabot.

Kyle is a lanky kid with long limbs and a scrawny build, which is not exactly how one would imagine a violent, ferocious serial killer to look like. Kendra Pitney was petite, so maybe he could have still overpowered her in a fight, but Marvin Fisk? Judging by the pictures Johnny saw, he wasn’t built like a wrestler, but he surely wouldn’t have let someone like Kyle overpower him. And Alison? Alison knew him, she was his social worker, and she knew how to deal with Kyle… Which took Johnny to the biggest plot-hole in all that fucked-up story: Kyle’s condition.

Johnny saw him when Detective Takahashi swung the closet door open, he saw the way noise and shouting triggered him. He was spiraling, having a full-on crisis – how could have he attacked three people in cold blood when they reasonably put up a fight, screaming and shouting and reacting? Maybe he’s a fucking sociopath and he put up an Oscar-worthy act in front of the cops, but what they saw confirmed Alison’s notes and his medical records. He wasn’t faking it, and it creates a gigantic plot-hole in the carefully constructed storyline of these homicides.

It doesn’t fucking make sense. And he just can’t understand why the police seem content with stopping there. It’s the easiest solution to the case, yes, but it’s not the right one – Kyle’s not the murderer. Johnny feels it in his goddamn bones, he’s sure of it. He might not be able to prove it, not yet. But he’s sure of it.

So, approximately around three in the morning, he decided that if the police don’t care enough to solve the case and take that kid out of jail, well, he’ll do it himself. How hard could it be? He’s made a career writing of crimes, detectives and homicides, and he’s good with all the patterns and red strings that make up a story. He can do it, he just needs time to think, connect the dots and, well, enough data to make it happen. Not to mention a plan to get said data.

Enter charming Detective Takahashi, Johnny’s current favorite tsundere with that adorable frown and those full lips he would really love to devour. It’s not like he lied when he brought him the book, all signed and everything. Johnny was sincere, he really wanted to see him one last time and say goodbye in a nice way… But he would’ve been a complete fool not to seize the moment and kill two birds with one stone.

Okay, yeah, he might have gone a little overboard with the hug and the ensuing… whatever that moment was, but he didn’t trigger it on purpose, just to seduce Kenshi. He was just trying to get away with that tiny little thievery and be nice to one of the hottest men he’s met in fucking ages, is that a crime? Well, yes. It probably is, but whatever. He’s only sorry that, if he was considering asking Kenshi out once the investigation was over, he’s pretty sure he won’t accept now that Johnny’s robbed him, but his dick will have to live with the consequences and make peace with them. It’s for the greater good, hopefully.

So here he is, taking notes on those reports he stole three hours ago and that could send him to jail. Scrupulous as he is, there’s no way Kenshi won’t notice they’re missing, but Johnny hopes he’ll have made some progress by then.

When he’s researching stuff for a new book, there are usually two go-to spots Johnny hides in. One is his own home, but given the current predicament he got himself into, maybe it wasn’t the safest. The second is a library, and his current favorite is the Manhattan Beach Library, with its stunning view on the ocean and jellyfish sculptures hanging from the ceiling. Johnny loves everything about it, it’s luminous and fun and modern; he’s always felt comfortably cozy working from there. Back in the day, when she was little, he and Cassie went there to read books together quite often and Johnny always thinks back to those moments fondly.

He chose a poorly populated area of the library, hidden between shelves and rows of books on spiritism or the sorts. He needed a calm, empty spot, it only felt like a logical choice. He’s sitting alone at a blond wood table, with all the folders he’s gently borrowed from Kenshi sprawled on the surface before him, together with his notebook.

He spends the first hour carefully examining all the reports, noting down details that might come in handy later on. Almost three hours in and a dozen scribbled pages later, Johnny notices something that makes him stop twirling his pen. Details, Johnny thinks as he starts writing furiously, It’s all in the details.

Kendra Pitney’s dress was yellow. It should have been blue.

Marvin Fisk was strangled with a necktie. He should’ve been suffocated by a plastic bag.

And Alison Tisdale was-

The doors of the room are thrust open all of a sudden, and Kenshi, together with two other agents, barges in with a murderous expression on his face. Despite the situation, when their eyes meet, Johnny can’t hold back a grin in seeing him so flustered.

“Jonathan Cage!” Kenshi roars as the small group of agents approach him. “You are under arrest for felony theft and obstruction of justice.”

Johnny gives him a smug look. “Really? Isn’t it because I made you look bad in front of colleagues?”

“Cuff him!” Kenshi barks, and the two agents comply by hoisting Johnny up by his arms, which are swiftly bent behind his back.

“Uuh, kinky – my safeword’s glasses,” Johnny chuckles, and Kenshi really looks like he’s about to strangle him. Johnny lifts an eyebrow at him, “Anyway, how did you find me?”

“I’m a detective, Cage. That’s my job,” Kenshi hisses, and Johnny considers him for a second as the handcuffs get fastened around his wrists.

“You talked with my sister. She told you, didn’t she?” Johnny asks, grinning as he sees heat creep up Kenshi’s neck. “Bingo!”

“Take him away!”

The two agents start dragging Johnny away, but as they walk, he tries to fight back, even if momentarily, to talk to Kenshi – who’s currently busy collecting his reports and Johnny’s notes.

“By the way, the rose petals in the Tisdale murder?” Johnny announces, “They’re grandiflora, not hybrid teas.”

“Charming, Cage,” Kenshi tuts, unimpressed, eyes fixed on the folders. “Thanks for sharing your botanical expertise with us, I’ll make a note of it.”

This time, it’s Johnny’s turn to tut. “Yeah, you probably should – since it means Kyle Cabot is innocent!”

The last thing Johnny sees before the agents finally drag him away is Kenshi’s shoulders going stiff, and something that really looks like doubt clouding his eyes.

It’s almost dinner time when the same agents who cuffed him bring him back to the main area of the precinct, out of one of the cells where newly arrested criminals are left to wait. They aren’t that bad, the agents. Johnny even managed to chat a bit with them, and they seemed like nice guys who only followed their superior’s orders.

When he’s escorted out, he doesn’t really know what to expect – but he surely didn’t expect Janet busy in conversation with Liu Kang as Kenshi and Cassie carefully eye each other. Liu Kang turns as soon as he hears their footsteps, and suddenly four pairs of eyes are fixed on Johnny, all of them giving him different looks.

“Oh, there he is!” Janet singsongs, arms crossed right below her breasts. She’s dressed in what looks like a techwear jumpsuit – she must’ve rushed there from work, she was supposed to shoot some scenes today. “Freshly out of jail. Takes me back, you know?”

“To when?” Johnny inquires, and Cassie scoffs, much to everyone’s amusement. Everyone but Johnny, that is.

“Weren’t you escorted away by the police, like, two days ago? Are you developing a uniform kink or something?”

Johnny takes a deep breath, eyes closed. She’s embarrassing him on purpose to punish him, he knows – but as watches Kenshi try to suppress a reluctant smile, Johnny figures it could’ve been worse. If he’s smiling, it means he’s not that angry at him. A win is a win.

Liu Kang nods to the officer escorting him, and the man proceeds to remove his handcuffs.

“Thank you, officer.”

Johnny massages one of his wrists, sorer than the other due to some unwanted friction. In the meantime, he offers Cassie an apologetic smile and gets closer to her. She’s still wearing her school uniform, pristine as ever, and her hair is tied up in a high pony. However, not even her bangs can conceal the vexed look she’s giving him.

“Hello, daughter.”

“Hello, father,” Cassie concedes with a huff, before closing the space between them and hugging him, her face pressed against his chest. Johnny is sure to have spotted a soft look on Kenshi’s part as he holds his daughter, but it’s not like he’s studying him on purpose.

“I guess you’ve already been introduced to Captain Liu Kang and Detective Takahashi,” Johnny tries, scanning the faces before him. Janet sighs with an eyeroll and a hand on her hip.

“It was kinda hard not to – no offense.”

“None taken,” Kenshi confirms with a slow nod. “We had the pleasure of exchanging a few words with your family, Mr. Cage.”

“Yeah, and they have kindly agreed to drop the charges against you, brother.” Janet gives him a warning look, “If you agree to behave, obviously.”

“Indeed. No more interference with this case, Mr. Cage,” Liu Kang says, calm but determinate, definitive. It’s the kind of voice that does not admit rebukes – not that Johnny would try. Not openly, at least. “Do we understand each other?”

Johnny nods, solemn.

“We do, Captain.”

“Good. I bid you goodnight, then. Have a safe travel home.”

“We will, yeah…” Johnny waits for Liu Kang to leave into his office, too far to be able to hear them. Then, his eyes find Kenshi’s with the precision of a sharpshooter. “But you still got the wrong guy.”

Kenshi’s shoulders go stiff, but his eyes don’t leave him – not even when Janet grabs Johnny by the shoulder and shoves him towards the elevator.

“Fucking hell, Johnny – they’ve just released you!” she hisses while dragging him away with Cassie. Johnny’s still looking at Kenshi and raises a brow before turning away. Its meaning is clear to both of them, he knows.

What’re you gonna do now, Detective?

Kenshi can’t avert his eyes from Johnny as his sister and his daughter push him into the elevator. His voice rings in his head, his words feel like a branding iron against his skin.

You still got the wrong guy.

Kenshi takes a deep breath and turns around, heading towards his desk – and the whiteboard yet to be cleaned beside it. All the pictures of the victims, theories and data, arrows and lines… It’s their map to represent the case, and said case is closed. It should be, at least. But Johnny’s words are still gnawing at him, especially because Kenshi, even though he hates to admit it, knows he’s right.

Kyle is innocent. They arrested the wrong person.

“No. Oh, fucking hell, no,” Kung Lao bemoans as soon as he spots him staring at the murder board, “Don't tell me he got to you.”

Kenshi scoffs as his friend stops next to him. They’re both staring at the board now, Kenshi with his arms crossed, Kung Lao with his hands on his hips, right below the hem of his hoodie.

“Please, don’t think so low of me. He didn’t get to me…” Kenshi gets closer to the board and taps Alison’s picture. “But she did.”

“Alison? Why?” Kung Lao asks, confused. Kenshi shakes his head as his eyes roam among the pictures, following lines and arrows in search of a red string. Johnny found it – why haven’t I?

“Kyle Cabot had it rough, it went on like that for years. Things changed only when Alison Tisdale took over his case file, only then did he start receiving proper treatment. She got him the job at the diner, and in her last reports she stated he had improved, he was doing okay,” Kenshi muses, absorbed by his own trail of thoughts. “Why would he turn against her?”

“Must there be a reason? He’s a psychiatric patient, it’s not like-”

“No, Kung Lao, there must be – especially if you take into account the other victims as well.” Kenshi moves towards the section dedicated to the victims and points them one by one. “Marvin Fisk, first murder: Kyle knew him from the diner, he was just a client, random guy. Then he kills Alison, his social worker, with whom he had a close relationship, he trusted her and relied on her. And at last, he kills Kendra Pitney, another client from his workplace. No personal connection, just like Fisk.”

“Okay… so what?”

Kenshi scowls as he turns to face a perplexed Kung Lao. How can he not see it?

“So, he starts with a murder of convenience, a random victim. Then he moves on to kill a person he was incredibly close to and depended on, someone he probably had a good relationship with… And then he goes back to another murder of convenience?” he explains, and then he ends up scoffing, annoyed. “It doesn't make any sense.”

They’re in Janet’s car, heading back to the library to retrieve his own, when Johnny can’t take it anymore. He’s spent the journey so far staring out the passenger window, but even though he was supposedly listening to Cassie and Janet discussing dinner plans, his mind was elsewhere. And now, he can’t help but burst.

“Somebody set everything up to frame Kyle for the murders,” he says out of the blue. He turns to his left and sees Cassie’s confused frown and Janet’s exasperated grimace.

“Johnny, come on, you were behind bars not even thirty minutes ago for this same reason!”

“What do you mean, Dad?” Cassie humors him from the backseat. Johnny grins and leans towards her, with something in his chest that resembles excitement.

“Kyle is obsessed with me and my books, fine. But that’s not what makes him a murderer.”

“Didn’t he kill three people?” Janet deadpans, eyes still on the road ahead, “I thought that was enough of a reason.”

“But what if there was somebody who knew enough about his fixation to use it to frame him? What if someone else was the culprit, but used Kyle to get away with murder?”

Cassie blinks, her brows furrowed. “Well, but that… That means-”

“That means, we're not looking for a serial killer,” Johnny interrupts her, “That means we should be looking for a good old-fashioned murderer, one with motive to kill… And if this was one of my stories, we don’t even have to consider all three victims.”

“Wait, wait,” Janet butts in, confused. “You think two out of three victims act as a cover up?”

“Exactly.”

“But isn’t that just a little counter-productive? More victims, more chances of getting caught.”

“Oh, quite the opposite. At one death, you look for motive and someone with ties to the victims. At two, you look for a connection, and ties get looser… But when you get to three, ties are not necessary anymore, because you look for someone like Kyle: you don't need motive, because mentally unstable serial killers don't usually have one.”

Kenshi scoffs, shaking his head slowly as he stares at the board. He can’t believe he’s about to say it out loud.

“Cage is right… We got the wrong guy,” he murmurs, and he unexpectedly feels lighter after admitting it. And now he can see it, the very end of that red thread… The same one Johnny tried to show him as they arrested him. “If the murderer was really trying to follow his books, then the roses on Alison's body should have been hybrid teas, like the book says.”

Kung Lao frowns as he reads the report in Alison’s folder. “The lab says the petals on the crime scene were all grandifloras, though.”

“Yes, that’s the point. It’s not accurate – just like it happened with Fisk, who should've been suffocated by a plastic bag, not strangled with a necktie. And with Pitney too, because her dress was yellow, but in the book, it was blue.” Kenshi scratches his jaw, pensive. The thread is getting thicker. “For someone like Kyle, for an obsessive fan, it would've been impossible to get all these details wrong.”

Kung Lao has foregone his cocky demeanor and now he seems just as unsure as Kenshi feels.

“But… If Kyle is innocent, then who did it?”

“I don’t know – it’s not like I’m a wizard or something, I don’t have a crystal ball,” Johnny snorts at Janet’s question, who answers with an eyeroll.

“But you must have some kind of theory, don’t you? You can’t be so sure of Kyle’s innocence and then not have a fucking clue about the real culprit!”

“You asked me who did it, not if I had theories!”

“Well, then do expose them, Sherlock!”

Johnny huffs, but his annoyance is cut short at the sight of Cassie’s amused smirk.

“The murderer must have known about Kyle’s condition, and especially about his obsession with my books,” he starts explaining, “But Pitney and Fisk were just patrons of the diner, and there’s nothing suggesting they knew Kyle on a personal level. Who are we left with, then?”

“Alison,” Cassie answers right away, focused. “She was the only one truly familiar with Kyle, close enough to know about his fixation with you.”

“She’s the key,” Kenshi claims as he presses his index against Alison’s picture. “The murderer killed Marvin Fisk and Kendra Pitney to cover up Alison Tisdale’s death, make it look like one of the many caused by a maniac. They’re trying to hide it in plain sight.”

Kung Lao leafs through the pages of Alison’s file, puzzled.

“As far as we know, she didn’t have a partner, nor was seeing anyone. And none of the other patients she was working with fits the profile.”

“Then we need to find someone able to tell us more about her,” Kenshi reasons. “Someone close to her, very much so… And maybe that person will lead us to whoever-”

“-wanted Alison dead,” Johnny concludes his tirade, moving his attention from Cassie to Janet and viceversa. “I mean, it can’t be otherwise if you think about it. If the actual killer found out about Kyle through Alison, then she must've been the real target – just have to figure out why.”

No one in the car speaks again for a handful of minutes, but then Janet breaks the silence with a sigh.

“Are you sure you wanna do this? This... I mean, Johnny,” she starts, uncharacteristically wary. “There's a homicidal maniac running around, and you really want to take active part in hunting him down?”

“If this guy's really still out there, then who's more suitable than me for the job? I know my books better than everyone else – and you know, Jan, I feel kind of guilty.”

“Guilty?” Cassie repeats, confused. “Dad, you didn't kill those people, nor forced anyone to butcher them according to your stories.”

“I know, but it happened,” Johnny points out, determined. “And I feel like I must do something about it, to make up for it.”

“Mmh… It's not just boredom then,” Janet comments, and it elicits a chuckle from Johnny.

“It's not. It helps, but it’s not.”

“And the police?” Cassie inquires, “They were pretty clear your contribution to the case is no longer required – nor wanted.”

Johnny hums, his thoughts drifting to Kenshi’s handsome face right away… and to the flush on it when they hugged.

“I’ll come up with something, let me handle this.”

At this, Cassie leans back into the backseat with a resigned sigh.

“If I must keep bailing you out of jail, you’ll have to raise my allowance,” she comments and shoots him a look through the rear-view mirror, “By a lot.”

Johnny grins, exchanging an amused look with Janet.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Johnny spent the night trying to get that appointment for the next morning. Really, he tried everything, from offering autographs and selfies to meet and greets and exclusive signed copies of his upcoming book. He might even have agreed to a date, but desperate times require desperate measures, and he’s not one to act all high and mighty when in need.

But he made it, and that’s what matters – or this is what he keeps telling himself as the taxi stops in front of the building where Jeremy Tisdale’s office resides. Hadn’t his car been so blatantly recognizable and him in need of a low profile, he would’ve driven there, but once again, desperate times…

He fixes his jacket as he gets out of the taxi, looking around for any sign of the police before he strolls inside the building. The hall turns out to be a luminous space, all wide windows, milky white glass tables and creamy designer sofas. A receptionist, dressed in a sleek suit, smiles at him as Johnny approaches the counter.

 “Hello, my name’s Johnny Cage,” he introduces himself with a charming smile, leaning on the counter and sliding his sunglasses down his nose to look directly in the eyes of the receptionist. “I have an appointment with Mr. Tisdale.”

“Welcome, Sir. One moment, please.” She smiles back and checks her log, nodding when she sees Johnny’s name registered. “Johnny Cage, yes. He’s ready to see you.”

Johnny smiles and thanks her with a soft nod, but before he can move any further, a voice behind him makes him halt short.

“Ah, is he now? How utterly convenient.”

Johnny freezes, eyes wide and cold sweat running down his back. Oh no. Oh shit. He turns around slowly, cautious, and he’s faced with none other than Detective Kenshi Takahashi, charming as ever in his suit and dark gloves. Oh, fuck.

“Uh… Kenshi! Hi, err… So nice to see you – what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Kenshi claps back. He briefly looks at the receptionist, showing her his badge. “Which floor, Miss?”

“The last one, Sir,” she answers readily, even if she seems to be having some issues figuring out what’s going on. Johnny finds himself in the same situation as Kenshi heads towards the elevator and pushes the button.

Johnny flashes a nervous smile at the woman, then he moves to get closer to Kenshi. Is he about to arrest him? Is there a commando hidden somewhere? Is it a prank?

“Kenshi, I… I promise it’s not what it looks like. This is…” he tries, tentatively. But then Kenshi sighs and looks at him with a raised brow, clearly not buying his pathetic efforts to gaslight him. And Johnny’s shoulders slump down. “Okay, this is exactly what it looks like. But I can explain.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Kenshi mutters, a mere two seconds before the elevator doors slide open with a ping. He steps inside, leaving Johnny in the corridor in the middle of a full-on crisis – yeah, there’s definitely a commando waiting to drag him to some black site in the desert. But right as Johnny’s about to melt down completely, Kenshi looks back at him and gives him a curt nod. “Are you coming or not?”

And Johnny, despite his concerns and better thought, rushes inside right as the doors start to close.

Kenshi eyes Johnny as he looks around Jeremy Tisdale’s elegant office: it’s all high windows and dark wood, topped by a breath-taking view of Los Angeles. It’s a million-dollar view, and this is an office. Kenshi wonders what kind of panorama can be admired from Tisdale’s own home.

They’re waiting for Tisdale, a man well into his sixties with a strangely intense pink complexion and a scrawny build, to pour himself a glass of water and drink it. He seems tired, Kenshi noticed right away, and even though grief might have a role in it, he suspects there might be more than what strikes the eye.

“Do you recall Alison ever mentioning some threats she received, or if she had any particular issue with someone?” Kenshi asks after Tisdale put the glass down next to some framed pictures of his family, himself and his children. Kenshi watches as he scratches his head and then lifts one of the pictures. In a matter of moments, he gets lost in the details of long blond hair and a gentle smile. Tisdale’s hands haven’t stopped shaking, even if ever so slightly.

“No, Detective. Alison… My daughter had no enemies, people loved her. It was impossible not to,” he says, his voice low and quivering. When he looks up, his eyes look sunken. “I remember telling all of this to your colleagues too.”

“Yes, Sir, I’m aware,” Kenshi reassures him with a polite smile. “We’re simply following up.”

Tisdale nods as well, sadness clouding his face. He must’ve adored his daughter, Kenshi thinks, and he can’t help but look at Johnny, thinking of the way Cassie hugged him at the precinct. Johnny is still looking around, almost casually, but when he goes back to Tisdale, Kenshi notices something sharp and focused in his eyes, almost clinical.

“Was there anybody who could've profited from Alison’s death?” Johnny asks. “Someone included in a will of sorts, maybe?”

Tisdale shakes his head, scratching the base of his nape.

“I may be rich, but Alison wasn’t. She… She despised money, wealth, everything that comes with it. She worked to pay for her studies, she only allowed me to get her a house to live in because that way I wouldn’t have interfered in any other economical way. And that little extra money she might have, she gave it to charity.”

Kenshi nods, slightly frustrated. He was hoping this could be a useful lead, something concrete, but apparently, he was wrong.

“Thank you for your time, Sir. And once again, our most sincere condolences for your loss,” Kenshi says with a small bow of his head. He then turns and makes for the elevator, but as he takes the first step, he hears Johnny’s voice again as he steps further towards Tisdale.

“Mr. Tisdale, Fortune Magazine estimated your net worth at nearly a hundred million dollars – which is mind-blowing, to think of it,” he says, with a charming smile that does not affect that weird glint in his eyes. “Is that true?”

Kenshi stops as Tisdale shrugs with a confused smile, not knowing what to say.

“I suppose it could be, I… I don’t check day to day.”

“But it’s in the ballpark,” Johnny presses, and Tisdale nods.

“I’ve been lucky, yes…” he says, but that little smile dies down as he adds, “Economically, at least.”

Kenshi goes stiff and rushes at Johnny’s side, grabbing his arm to drag him away before he crosses a line – and he’s awfully close. Kenshi shouldn’t have let him talk to begin with.

“We appreciate your time, Sir, sorry for the dist-”

“What’s of all that money, should something happen to you?” Johnny interrupts him, eyes always fixed on Tisdale. Kenshi perks up at that question, he gives Johnny a curious glance before looking back at Tisdale. The man rubs his eyes, pointing with the free hand at the papers on his desk.

“Half of my estate goes to my foundation, and the rest to my children,” Tisdale says, one hand in his hair. When he realizes what he said, he sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes go wide. His mouth is pressed into a thin, pained line when he corrects himself, “I mean, my son.”

Johnny straightens his shoulders at that, he stays still and silent for a second. Then he bows his head and smiles at Tisdale.

“Thank you for your time, Sir.”

Kenshi watches him go and call for the elevator, confused. He shoots another rapid glance at Tisdale, finding the man busy looking outside the window. His shoulders have slumped, and he seems so much older than a few minutes ago. This is what grief does to you, doesn’t it?

Kenshi follows Johnny into the elevator before that thought suffocates him.

He waits to be out on the street before he turns to Johnny and asks, “What was that all about? All those questions, the interruption – why did you do that?”

Johnny turns to look at him, with a single corner of his lips raised in a smirk.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured out.”

“What?”

“He’s dying,” Johnny explains, pointing at the top of the building. Kenshi frowns, but it makes sense. God, it makes so much sense.

“Tisdale? Do you think he’s sick?”

Johnny looks around, then he smiles when he sees something at the end of the sidewalk.

“That guy sells hot dogs – I want one, what about you? What do you take on yo- OW!” Johnny starts complaining when Kenshi, with one swift move, pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger and presses hard on it, yanking down. “OW OW OW! Glasses – remember my safeword, glasses!”

“What makes you think Tisdale is sick?” Kenshi asks again, not even trying to loosen his grip on him. Johnny, slightly bent forward, looks up at him with teary eyes. Pretty, says a small voice in the most deranged part of Kenshi’s brain.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you,” Johnny pleads in his most nasal voice. Kenshi makes him suffer for a second longer, but then he lets him go. Johnny straightens up with a groan and keeps rubbing his nose, “Jesus, Takahashi – you almost broke it!”

“Speak. Or I’ll crush it again,” he threatens, and Johnny scoffs.

“Such a bully… Whatever, anyways. Did you see those pictures, the frames in his office?”

“Yeah.”

“And haven’t you noticed he’s much thinner now? And I mean, like, sick thin, not workout thin,” he says and gestures to himself as he utters that last part. Kenshi chooses to ignore the jab and takes a deep breath with his eyes closed.

“Cage, his daughter was just murdered.”

“Point taken, but what about his hair?” Johnny retorts, “He kept touching it and scratching his head, as if he was self-conscious or it itched.”

“Do you think he was wearing a wig?” Kenshi asks with a frown, and Johnny shrugs.

“An expensive one, well made, but if you’re not used to it, you keep touching it either way to make sure it stays in place – which means, he must’ve started losing his hair recently, maybe because of chemo. And, last but not least, our Jerry boy had a full-face of makeup on. That ruddiness was far from natural – trust me, I’ve wore foundation before. If you don’t apply it correctly, in the right shade, it messes up your face.”

Kenshi scratches his jaw as he thinks. He hates to admit it adds up, it’s a solid theory.

“He's trying to look healthier than he is,” he thinks out loud, and Johnny nods as they start walking.

“I bet he doesn't want his shareholders to know – being sick doesn’t sit well with high-profile business.”

“Okay, he might have cancer, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s about to die.”

“But, come on, think about it: wouldn’t it be such a much better story if he was?” Johnny remarks before raising a brow. “Did you interview the brother when Alison died?”

Kenshi shakes his head as they approach the infamous hot-dog vendor.

“No, there was never a reason to,” he admits, and Johnny shrugs, as if to tell him And that’s on you.

“Well, now there is.” Johnny turns to the vendor with a shit-eating grin, way too happy for this time of the day for Kenshi’s own liking. “Hello, good man. You got hot mustard?”

Chapter Text

Trouble, troublemaker, yeah, that's your middle name
I know you're no good, but you're stuck in my brain
And I wanna know

Why does it feel so good, but hurt so bad?
My mind keeps saying run as fast as you can
I say I'm done, but then you pull me back
I swear you're giving me a heart attack

-“Troublemaker”, Olly Murs

Harrison Tisdale’s office is nothing like his father’s. His construction company is on the outskirts of the city, in a shabby neighborhood right across the freeway, and the property is way smaller than Kenshi expected.

When he received Raiden’s text with the address, Kenshi was perplexed: Jeremy Tisdale is rich and mighty, his empire resides right in the middle of LA, Alison lived in a classy building… So why does her brother lead such a different lifestyle? There’s nothing posh or refined in Harrison’s company – and it doesn't seem like it was made on purpose. The whole place is so run-down Johnny nearly broke the door handle when they got there.

Harrison is older than his sister, Kenshi estimates he should be in his late twenties or early thirties. He has a slovenly appearance that matches his office, with all those documents and blueprints scattered around his desk. Kenshi even spots some balls of crumpled paper next to an overflowing bin.

Kenshi, however, is more interested in studying Harrison’s reactions to his questions, those subtle changes in his expression. Maybe Johnny wasn’t so wrong in insisting they should talk with him.

“The last time I saw her…” Harrison rubs his jaw as he tries to recall when he last saw his dead sister, and it’s taking way too long for Kenshi’s liking. His sister died and he doesn’t even remember when they last met? Weird.

Harrison huffs with a shrug, “I guess about a month ago, we had dinner together at Dad’s. Our schedules were so busy we struggled to see each other often. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Were you close?” Kenshi asks, and Harrison sighs.

“Everybody loved Alison – it was hard not to,” he says, and Kenshi frowns a little. He’s deflecting the question, he realizes. Harrison doesn’t notice, though, and keeps talking, “She only saw the best in people, even in that psycho who killed her. God, she did everything to help him, he owed her what little good he had in his life.”

Kenshi hums, “She was the one finding him a job, correct?”

“Yeah, at that diner downtown, but it wasn’t the first time. She even brought him around here once, you know? To see if I could hire him.”

“But you didn’t,” Johnny points out with a raised brow. Harrison shakes his head and gestures towards the loading dock right outside his window.

“I would’ve if I could, but you see, if my employees mess up, I am responsible – I could lose my contracts, my clients. That kid wasn’t reliable,” he explains. Then he stops and sighs again, this time with something resembling regret clouding his voice, “Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe things would’ve ended differently if I had taken him with me. I couldn’t have foreseen this, but it makes me wonder.”

Kenshi nods slowly, understanding. However, when he looks in Johnny’s direction, their eyes meet right away, and it’s clear that they share the same thought: Something’s off. And Kenshi decides to test the waters and see if Johnny’s theory is correct.

 “How did your sister react when she found out your father was dying?” he asks as he brings his eyes back on Harrison. He seems taken aback by the question, surprised and even a little scared, but he puts himself back together in a matter of seconds. Interesting.

“She… She was distraught, obviously. Distraught and upset, shaken – we both were.”

“First your father gets cancer, then your sister dies… Sometimes life’s a bitch, uh?” Johnny mutters as he toys with a pen he found on Harrison’s desk. “At least there’s the money.”

In another situation, Kenshi would’ve strangled Johnny for speaking like this in front of a potential suspect, but his lack of tact seems to be paying off, because Harrison completely forgets his mournful mask in favor of a wary hesitancy.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, now that Alison is dead, you’re bound to become the only heir of your father’s fortune,” Johnny points out with a shrug, mirrored by Kenshi’s nod. He might as well play along, since they’re at it. “As sad as it is, it’s a matter of fact.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I…” Harrison stiffens, moving his focus between Johnny and him as if they’ve just cornered him. “I thought the investigation was over – you arrested the murderer, didn’t you?”

“Of course. But even though we are certain he is responsible, everything can be up to debate in court,” Kenshi explains as he steps further, eyes fixed on Harrison. “The first thing Cabot’s lawyers are going to do is shift suspicion to someone else, someone with motive – may it be real or just apparent. And then my team and I are bound to be summoned in court and asked why we didn’t investigate other leads, other people with motive. This could cause the jury to have doubts – and we don't want them to have doubts, do we?”

When Kenshi stops walking, he’s a step away from Tisdale, who’s now looking at him with doubt, suspicion even, but nothing strong enough to prevent him from shaking his head.

“No. No, we don’t,” Harrison sighs, raking a hand through his dark hair. Kenshi flashes a glance at Johnny and watches as he tries to suppress a grin. Harrison has taken the bait, just like they hoped he’d do.

“Good… Then, for full transparency, where were you the night of your sister's murder?”

“I was on a business travel. Actually…” Harrison steps behind his desk, opens a drawer and pulls out a passport that then he hands to Kenshi. “I was out of the country for all three murders – you can check the stamps if it's useful to prevent further doubts.”

Kenshi takes the passport and leafs through the pages, stopping only once he’s found the stamps Harrison was talking about. He doesn’t need to turn around to see Johnny peeking from his shoulder, he feels his warmth against his back. Kenshi checks the ink, observes the letters and shape of the stamps, and there’s no doubt they’re all legit.

And in feeling Johnny’s frustration and disappointment grow, Kenshi does his best not to grin.

“Thank you, Mr. Tisdale. And thank you for your time too, we appreciate your collaboration,” Kenshi says while handing back his passport. He notices a small, relieved sigh on Harrison’s part, and judging by the way Johnny stiffens, he must’ve noticed as well.

“My pleasure, Detective. Especially if it means securing to the justice my sister’s murderer,” Harrison says. “Do you need me to escort you out? I have some work I need to catch up with.”

“Oh, it’s not necessary, thank you. We’ll see ourselves out,” Kenshi reassures him, then he gives Johnny a curt nod and precedes him outside.

They cross the loading dock in silence, walking swiftly towards the parking lot. Johnny kicks some gravel on their way out, clearly pissed off. He looks like an angry child after losing at some game, he thinks with discrete amusement.

“A passport… A fucking passport!” Johnny bursts as soon as they reach Kenshi’s car. He tries to stay serious, and nods solemnly.

“Unassailable, absolutely ironclad.”

“I could’ve bet it was him – he was so shady!”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Kenshi says as he unlocks the car, but at this point, his mask cracks and he finds himself grinning. “After all, you’re just a writer.”

Kenshi gets in the car, leaving a gobsmacked Johnny still by the passenger side. After a second, though, Johnny joins him inside, his brow furrowed as he leans towards Kenshi and closes the door.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Takahashi?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Kenshi!”

Kenshi chuckles when Johnny punches his shoulder, not nearly strong enough to hurt him but enough to express his indignation.

“Oh, come on, Cage,” Kenshi laughs and looks at him incredulously, “He’s lying!”

Johnny blinks twice, confused.

“Who? Harrison?”

“Yes, Harrison. He barely remembered when he last saw his sister alive and yet he didn’t have troubles recalling where he was when she died, which is strange but still believable – it could be a resulting from trauma, her death. You know what it’s not believable?”

“No, and I must admit I’m enjoying you edging me to find out,” Johnny admits with a smirk. “Shoot it, what doesn’t add up?”

“He might have no troubles remembering where he was when Alison died, but what about Fisk and Pitney?” Kenshi points out, and Johnny’s eyes go wide when he understands what Kenshi is getting at.

“He said, All three victims. You just asked him about his sister’s death, but he provided an alibi for all three without you asking.”

“Exactly. He just went all in, he didn’t hesitate and didn’t ask for dates – he didn’t even have to check his calendar. He was ready with an alibi for three deaths, two of which have supposedly nothing to do with him.” Kenshi shakes his head, excitement running through his veins. “In my humble experience, innocent people don’t go around with ready-to-use alibis.”

Johnny stays silent at first, blinking slowly as he leans back against his seat and takes it all in. Then, after a couple of moments, he looks back at Kenshi with a smug grin.

“Well… This means I was right!” he beams, and Kenshi lets out a defeated huff as he starts the car.

It’s been fifteen minutes since Raiden started the call, waiting for Harrison Tisdale’s credit card company to give him the information they need. Johnny is sitting with Kenshi at his desk, facing and mirroring Raiden and Kung Lao’s positions. They filled them in as soon as they went back to the precinct, and if Raiden and Kung Lao were surprised to see Johnny again, they did not show it. They seem to have taken a liking to him, and to be honest, Johnny’s excited about it. He wishes Kenshi liked him just as much, though.

“Why can't you just admit I was right?” Johnny teases him, offended. Kenshi eyerolls with a sigh, but when he looks at Johnny, he seems more amused than truly irritated.

“Because you let Tisdale fool you like an idiot, Cage,” Kenshi replies before turning to Kung Lao and adding, “He bought the fake alibi, you should have seen how heartbroken he was.”

“I merely had a fleeting moment of self-doubt!” Johnny retorts while Kung Lao snickers in the background. “I didn’t buy shit.”

“Sure,” Kenshi says with a chuckle, and Johnny must admit replying doesn’t seem as important as watching Kenshi’s smile.

Raiden nods and thanks the person on the other end of the line before hanging up, and all eyes are on him.

“What’s the verdict?” Kenshi asks and Raiden sighs, handing him the notepad where he took notes during the call.

“His credit card company confirms he paid for three round-trip tickets, and unfortunately all dates coincide with the murders,” Raiden explains, and Kung Lao scowls while Kenshi keeps reading the notes.

“So, according to his credit card, his alibi stands. He was out of the country,” Kung Lao mutters, and Kenshi nods.

“So it seems.”

“Wait. Does that mean I’m not right anymore?” Johnny inquires, puzzled. He doesn’t like Harrison Tisdale one bit, he’s shady and he looked like a liar, and Kenshi agreed with him. Their theory worked, it made so much sense. But as Johnny prepares to accept they were, indeed, wrong, Kenshi scoffs and lets the notepad drop on his desk.

“No, it means the stamps were forged somehow,” he says, and Johnny sighs in relief. “Kung Lao, call passport control and have them check the logs.”

“Roger that!”

Kung Lao jogs to his desk to make the call, but as he goes, Johnny has an epiphany – something so much easier to achieve for Tisdale rather than forge all those stamps.

“It’ll be useless, that’s not how he did it,” he declares, and both Kenshi and Raiden shoot him a confused look.

“What, do you have a better idea, Johnny?” Kenshi taunts him with a raised brow, arms crossed on his chest. Johnny shrugs, trying not to dwell on the way Kenshi’s shirt gets impossibly tighter around his biceps.

“Yeah, something way more practical for that motherfucker,” he states, “Which is, a second passport.”

“Mmh. And how would he get one?” Kenshi asks, apparently mocking him – but Johnny can see that shade of doubt in his eyes. He’s evaluating the idea, and even though he might not like it, he’s admitting to himself it’d be possible. And Johnny, to make it even more certain, scoffs.

“With his money? Come on, he might not be as rich as Daddy Tisdale, but on the black market it'd still be a piece of cake.”

Kenshi considers him for a moment, intrigued.

“Are you suggesting that for every murder he left the country with his official passport, came back with the other, did the killing, flew out with the second passport, and finally came back in with the official one?”

“Yup,” Johnny confirms, smacking his lips with a loud pop. “Perfect alibi, perfect murder.”

“Yeah, and impossible to prove,” Kenshi sighs as he tiredly rubs his eyes. Johnny cocks his head with a shrug.

“Almost impossible,” Johnny corrects him, “Unless you find passport number two.”

And at this, Kenshi’s eyes dart back on him. Raiden, who’s been a silent spectator of the whole conversation up to now, clears his throat.

“Your little visit must’ve scared him – if he still has the passport, he could try and get rid of it now,” he remarks, and Kenshi nods.

“Send a patrol to his workplace to monitor him – if and when he moves, I want to know,” Kenshi orders Raiden, who nods right away, “And tell them to be ready to barge in and do an inspection, should arise the need to.”

Kenshi turns around on his chair and grabs the receiver of his desk phone, typing in a number as he shakes his head.

“The things people do for money…” he mutters, but Johnny pulls a face, not convinced.

“Harrison Tisdale killed his own sister in cold blood and two more people to cover it up, and he framed a psychiatric patient for the murders,” he remarks. “Nah, Takahashi. He looks like a world-class sociopath, but I bet he didn’t do all that just for his father’s money.”

Kenshi gives him another look as he waits for his call to be accepted, then he straightens on his chair.

“Detective Kenshi Takahashi, LAPD. I need to speak with Judge Markway, please.”

“Oh, Markway!” Johnny chirps, “Tell him I said hello.”

Kenshi looks at him in disbelief, and Johnny cracks a grin.

He could get used to this.

After a quick check of Harrison’s finances, they found out his business has accumulated a fair share of debts, enough to end a man’s life. But with Alison’s share of their father’s inheritance, he’d be able to settle things once for all and still have something to himself. And that, together with their theory on the double passport, was enough to convince Judge Markway to sign a warrant to search Harrison’s home and workplace and take him into custody.

And now here they are, a mere forty-three minutes later. They’re getting out of Kenshi’s car in a side alley, next to the building where Harrison Tisdale lives. All the agents wear their bulletproof vests, and Johnny feels kinda jealous.

“Can I have one too?” he asks as Kenshi checks his gun. He scoffs, shaking his head.

“No.”

“Oh, come on! Why not?”

“Do you see what’s written here?” Kenshi points to his chest, where the white characters of the word POLICE create a striking contrast with the dark blue Kevlar. “Police. Because this is meant to be used by armed police officers. Are you an armed police officer?”

“I’m a consultant,” Johnny retorts, offended. “I should have my own vest – maybe you could put WRITER on it?”

“Oh sure, of course, why not. Would you like it in a particular color? Sparkly?”

Johnny snorts, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella.”

Kenshi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but before he can say anything, Raiden and Kung Lao join them from the building entrance.

“He got here ten minutes ago, the super said he looked in a rush,” Kung Lao announces, and Kenshi gives him a curt nod before turning to Johnny.

“It might be dangerous. We don’t have a spare vest, but if you want to come, you should be armed.”

“Are you serious? You… Can I come with you? Armed?” Johnny goggles at him, dumbstruck. “Who are you – what happened to Kenshi Takahashi?”

Kenshi eyerolls and sighs, “My back-up's in the glove compartment.”

Johnny finds himself grinning like a child on Christmas morning, reaching back into Kenshi’s car and leaning in, one hand anchored to the open car door, as he looks for the gun into the glove box – to no avail. Maybe it’s in the trunk or somewhere else.

“Kenshi, I can’t find it,” he starts, still searching around as he speaks, “Are you sure it’s-”

Johnny doesn’t have enough time to process before Kenshi handcuffs his wrist to the grab handle on the car door. Johnny frowns, gaping, and when he looks up, he finds Kenshi smiling at him with an intoxicating mixture of pride and amusement.

“This time, Cage, rules won’t be necessary,” Kenshi announces, “Because you’re going nowhere.”

“Oh, okay, Kenshi, very funny!” Johnny scoffs and tugs on the handcuffs, groaning when they show no give. In the meantime, Kenshi nods to Raiden and Kung Lao to follow him, leaving Johnny behind locked to his car. “Come on! Joke’s over, let me go!”

Kenshi turns around as they keep walking, “Stay put and be a good boy, will you?”

Johnny hears Kung Lao chuckle, he even spots the hint of a smile curling Raiden’s lips as they join the rest of the officers and enter the building. Fun-fucking-tastic, Johnny says to himself as he shakes his head and slides his free hand into the pocket of his slacks, searching for his wallet.

“Cuff me once, shame on you. Cuff me twice…” Johnny finally grabs the wallet, lifts it and fishes inside, smiling when he pulls out a spare handcuff key he stole – pardon, borrowed at the precinct when no one was minding him. “…Shame on me.”

It takes him a handful of minutes to finally fit the key into the hole and turn it correctly, and then he puts the key back into his wallet as a first thing – Kenshi must never find out he has it, otherwise he’s screwed. His wallet ends up back into his pocket, the now loose handcuffs into another, as he shuts the car door closed. He’s free, fucking finally, but… What now?

If he goes inside and follows the agents, Kenshi is gonna maul him, that’s for sure. But waiting outside would mean missing all the action, and where’s the fun in that? Johnny huffs and kicks a small piece of tarmac as he debates what he should do now, but then a noise distracts him.

When he looks up into the alley, he sees a man sneaking out of a window onto the building’s fire escape, and there’s a black plastic bag, one generally used for trash, clutched to his chest. He seems to be in a hurry, but also very careful not to make any noise as he closes the window behind him. At first Johnny frowns, wondering why that guy’s behaving like some sort of Pink Panther – or maybe Clouseau, given the awkward demeanor. But when he turns slightly, Johnny recognizes him, holding his breath as Harrison Tisdale rapidly descends the fire escape.

“Hey!” Johnny shouts, and Tisdale freezes midair, like a deer caught in the headlights. But then he resumes moving even faster, and before he knows it, Johnny’s running after him. “Hey, stop! LAPD, fucking stop!”

Sorry, Kenshi, Johnny muses, I won’t be your good boy today.

Harrison Tisdale is not at home – but he should be. The super let him in himself, and Harrison hasn’t crossed the entrance hall ever since. And he did tell the officer to wait a moment when they knocked at his door, before barging in anyways. But when they did, he was gone, much to Kenshi’s irritation.

He’s now entering what he presumes should be Harrison’s office. It’s chaotic, but it’s not the kind of chaos of someone untidy, no. It looks like the room was haphazardly turned upside down in search of something – or maybe to hide something else, a tendency Harrison seems to be suffering from quite often.

Kenshi rounds the desk and sees the drawers left ajar, completely open. But what really catches his eye is the black shredder on the ground, still on and ready to be used. And given that it seems to have been abandoned like that, completely emptied, Kenshi supposes this is what Harrison was busy doing when they got to this door.

“Dammit…” he growls, his annoyance only growing stronger when his phone starts ringing in his pocket. Kenshi takes the call without even checking the caller’s ID, “Takahashi.”

“He’s coming down the fire escape!” Johnny’s voice cries through the phone, and Kenshi’s eyes go wide.

“He's out back – cover the front!” he shouts at the other agents while he runs towards the window and snaps it open, climbing out on the fire escape just to see Harrison fall on the ground with a loud thud. He gets up fast and tries to put himself back together, momentarily ignoring the black plastic bag at his feet.

“Stop – LAPD! Don't move!” Kenshi shouts, and Harrison looks up, face twisted with terror before he starts running down the street. Kenshi curses under his breath and climbs down the fire escape as fast as he can – but not as fast as fucking Johnny Cage, who’s currently running after Harrison Tisdale, much to Kenshi’s horror. How the fuck did he get rid of the handcuffs?

“I got him!” Johnny exclaims, following Harrison down the street as Kenshi nearly breaks his neck to catch up with them.

“Cage, no! Stop!”

But Johnny, obviously, doesn’t stop – why the fuck should he listen to what anyone says? If he makes it out alive, Kenshi is going to kill him with his own hands.

Kenshi finally reaches the ground and runs after them, right as Harrison disappears behind a corner and Johnny with him. He draws his gun out as he gets closer and closer, and some noises of punches and huffs fill the air. When he gets there, he gets faced with the worst possible outcome: Harrison Tisdale with one arm wrapped around Cage’s neck, the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

“Stay back! Stay back!” Harrison shrieks when he sees Kenshi holding him at gunpoint. And Kenshi holds his breath when he sees him press the gun harder against Johnny’s temple. “Don't come anywhere closer, or else I’m shooting him!”

“Whoa, man! Isn’t that a bit too much?” Johnny comments, and Kenshi is sure this must be a fucking nightmare.

“Harrison, put the gun down and let him go,” Kenshi orders, and Johnny nods.

“Heard him? Put the gun down, Harrison.”

“Oh, fuck!” Harrison moans, panicking. Kenshi tries to take a step further, but Harrison only holds the gun tighter, “I said, don’t get fucking closer!”

“Okay, fine. I’m stopping here,” Kenshi declares, but he doesn’t lower his own gun. His eyes search Johnny’s, finding them already on him. “Are you okay, Cage?”

“Peachy, just peachy. Except…” Johnny makes a disgusted grimace as he looks at Harrison from above his shoulder, “Except psycho here needs a breath mint, good God.”

“Shut up!” Harrison barks, and Johnny smirks in a way Kenshi can’t decipher. What the fuck is he trying to do?

“Okay, sorry, didn’t think I’d strike a nerve – it’s not even what disturbs me the most,” Johnny comments, as if he doesn’t have a gun aimed to his head. “You know what's really bugging me? If you were that deep in debt – and, dude, you are – then why didn't you just ask your father for help?”

Kenshi’s eyes go wide in fear and disbelief, especially when he sees Harrison’s knuckles whiten around the gun.

“Cage, shut the fuck up,” he roars, panic bubbling up his throat, “You’re not helping there!”

Johnny grins, ignoring Kenshi to look at Harrison once again. He doesn’t even mind the gun, not for one bit. Has he lost it? This man is batshit crazy.

“You know what I think, Harry? I think you did ask, and he said no. He always said no to you, didn’t he?” Johnny taunts him, cocky. “I mean, it makes sense – your father’s a self-made man, he’s built an empire with his own hands, always solved problems by himself… I bet he thinks you’re a weakling for always asking him to get you out of trouble, uh?”

Harrison yanks at Johnny’s shirt with a growl, “He is the weak one, that asshole! I was trying to make something with my life, to build something great – and all he cared about was her, always her!”

Kenshi stiffens, taken aback by Harrison’s confession. Johnny raises a brow and gives him a smug look before turning back to Harrison.

“Ah, I see… This is the real reason you killer her. Your father’s dying, but you wanted to punish him before he kicks the bucket – and you wanted to do so by taking away from him what mattered to him the most, your sister. The money was just a nice addition.” Johnny purses his lips with a slow nod, looking mildly impressed. “As pathetic as it is on your part, I gotta say, that’s a pretty good story.”

Harrison’s arms slacken a bit, enough to loosen the grip they had on Johnny. He looks at his hostage as if he’s gone crazy – and Kenshi can’t blame him, he’s just as shocked.

“Who the fuck do you think yo-”

But before Harrison can end his sentence, Johnny’s head snaps back, hitting Harrison’s nose with an obnoxious crack. Harrison lets out a muffled scream, and the recoil from the hit makes him let go of Johnny and knocks him to the ground. Johnny turns around quickly enough to steal his gun and aim it at Harrison, keeping him at gunpoint while Kenshi rushes there.

“Tell me you saw that!” Johnny cries as Kenshi forces Harrison to roll on his stomach and blocks his arms behind his back. “You're gonna put that in your report, right?”

“Cage, stop yapping and get me a pair of handcuffs, now!” Kenshi barks, and he’s pretty sure there’s a vein about to explode right on his forehead. Johnny nods furiously and fumbles with the gun, passing it from hand to hand while he retrieves Kenshi’s handcuffs from one of the pockets of his slacks.

“Yeah, sorry, of course – there you go.”

Kenshi fastens the handcuffs around Harrison’s wrists as fast as he can, ignoring the man’s pained moans and the pool of blood leaking from his broken nose. When he’s done, he turns around and shoves Johnny, anger and adrenaline still cursing through his veins.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts while Johnny tries not to lose his balance, and he knows his face must be as red as a fucking tomato. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you idiot!”

Johnny raises a brow with a chuckle and twirls the gun still in his hand.

“Nah, don’t think so,” he says, before pointing at Harrison with his free hand. “Junior here is such a menace he left the gun’s safety on the whole time – and didn’t even notice.”

Kenshi blinks twice, stunned. Then he grabs Johnny’s wrist, the hand holding the gun, and lifts it up. He’s right, the safety is still on. Johnny was in danger, yes, but the safety had been on for the whole time. Kenshi lets go of him and gives Johnny an incredulous, murderous, hysterical look.

“You know, you could have told me,” he hisses, and Johnny shrugs.

“Yeah, I could’ve,” Johnny confirms with a grin, “But where was the fun in that?”

One day… Kenshi muses as the rest of the officers – where the fuck were they until now? – join them in the alley. One day, I’m going to strangle him.

It’s been half an hour since his brawl with Harrison, and Johnny is waiting by the entrance of the building for Kenshi to join him.

The police are inspecting Harrison’s apartment and his workplace, but they didn’t have to look too far for that second passport – turns out Harrison had put it in the shredder, and then thrown the paper strips in the trash bag the was carrying out of the window. It’ll take a while, but his work was messy, and Raiden has already been able to reconstruct the page with Harrison’s ID and another with the stamps declaring he had flown back to LAX right on time for Alison’s murder. Which means, the guy’s fucked.

And Johnny might be fucked as well, and for more than a single reason. The first is, Kenshi could arrest him for… something? He’s pretty sure it could happen. And the second, which is even worse and more serious, is that he doesn’t want this to be over. He doesn’t want this to stop, he wants to keep working on cases and doing this – more importantly, he wants to do it with Kenshi.

Johnny sighs and leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets, but when the back of his nape collides with the hard surface of bricks, he winces with a low Ow. He brings one hand there to check and, even though it does hurt, there doesn't seem to be any blood or wound.

“There’s going to be a nasty bump back there tomorrow,” a voice to his right says, and when Johnny turns, he spots Kenshi walking towards with him an ill-hidden smile. “Nothing that your thick skull can’t bear, though.”

“Mh, probably. I’m not used to brawls anymore, I’ve lost my touch,” Johnny admits, smiling when Kenshi chuckles. He stops right next to him, back pressed against the wall just like Johnny’s. Johnny watches, raptured, as Kenshi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He’s handsome. He really is, and Johnny would love to tell him, just to see his reaction. Would he accept it? Would he reciprocate? Would he flirt back or push him away? It’s been a while since Johnny was this intrigued by someone, and he’s not sure he’s ready to let it go. Let him go.

Johnny takes a deep breath and wets his lips. What does he have to lose, after all?

“Kenshi, I-”

“You were reckless and chaotic, yes. And it could’ve ended so much worse than it did,” Kenshi says, eyes still closed. But then he sighs and turns his head to Johnny, giving him an exasperated look. “But I must admit you have been vital to this case. Without you, Kyle Cabot would’ve ended up in jail, and Harrison Tisdale would’ve gotten away with it. Therefore… Thank you.”

Johnny stays still and silent at first, but then, without averting his eyes, he brings one hand to his chest in mock astonishment.

“My my, Detective Takahashi… I’m moved, deeply so,” he jokes, eliciting an eyeroll from Kenshi, “Such nice words, with such emotion! You’ll make me cry if you keep that up.”

“Well, thank God it’s over, then,” Kenshi comments, “So you won’t have to worry about tears to shed.”

Johnny slowly drops his hand, suddenly more serious, almost anxious. It’s over. He doesn’t want to go, and maybe it’s delusion speaking, but Kenshi seems just a little bit sad as well. This might be his last shot, Johnny realizes, his last chance to secure a continuation to this madness he’s gotten himself into. And the last one to prevent this moment from turning into a goodbye.

“I… It doesn’t have to be,” Johnny tries with a tentative smile. “We could, I don’t know, go to dinner, debrief each other – you could handcuff me again, since you seem to like it that much. You already know my safe word, and I won’t complain, I promise.”

Kenshi shakes his head with a chuckle, “Why, Cage? So you can add me to your little black book as one of your conquests?”

Johnny shrugs, locking eyes with Kenshi. It almost feels like time has slowed down, noises muted around them. Suddenly the rest of the world disappears, and it’s only the two of them. And Johnny wishes it could last.

“I could be one of yours,” Johnny says, his voice soft. Kenshi straightens up, squaring his shoulders just a little, but he doesn’t look away. He’s debating what he should say, how he should answer, Johnny’s aware of it. He can see the indecisiveness in his eyes, he’s tempted to say yes… Until he doesn’t.

Kenshi shakes his head and averts his eyes, scratching his jaw with a deep sigh. When he turns back, taking a step back from the wall, Johnny can tell he’s made his decision.

“It was nice to meet you, Cage,” Kenshi says, extending his hand towards Johnny. He nods with a little smile; this time, he takes his hand and shakes it back. No impromptu hugs.

“Nice… That’s a shame,” he only says, with just a tiny hint of regret. “It could’ve been great.”

Kenshi smiles and at first it seems he’s about to walk away; but then he stops and turns around, hesitating just a second before closing the distance between them. Before Johnny can process what’s happening, Kenshi is leaning towards him and his arms are caging him on both sides, pressing Johnny’s back to the wall; there’s barely a handful of inches between them, Johnny can feel Kenshi’s chest brushing against his and the warmth of his lips on his own.

Johnny does his best to look him in the eyes – those gorgeous, deep, dark brown eyes – but his gaze is inevitably attracted to his lips, irresistible and magnetic just like the rest of him. And there it is, that pull continuously bringing Johnny in, so strong and overwhelming. Johnny doesn’t know how he could ever push back against it – he’s not even sure he wants to. Not when Kenshi’s gaze travels between his eyes and his lips as much as his own.

“You have no idea,” Kenshi whispers, getting even closer. It would only take a single step for Johnny to reach out and kiss him, and God, there’s nothing he’d want more right now.

He wonders if it’s the same for Kenshi, but as his lips part to speak, Kenshi pushes back against the wall and takes a few steps back, sinking both hands into his pockets as he leaves. Johnny, still a bit stunned, doesn’t move right away. He realizes he has been holding his breath, and when he lets it go, he looks in Kenshi’s direction to watch him walk away.

Turn around, Johnny thinks, taking a step further with his heart hammering against his ribs. Please, Kenshi, just turn around…

And Kenshi stops right at the corner of the alley where they faced Harrison Tisdale. He stops, back still turned to Johnny… And then he glances back from above his shoulder, cracking a smile when he spots Johnny still there looking at him.

Johnny waves one hand goodbye, and Kenshi replies with a curt nod. They stay still for a moment more, and then Kenshi walks into the alley, disappearing from Johnny’s view and leaving a strange ache in his chest. He’s gone.

Johnny clears his throat, trying to get a grip on himself. What the fuck. What in the actual fuck… He rakes his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He might be hard. God, he’s definitely hard, that’s not good – and Kenshi was so close. He could’ve kissed him. He should’ve.

The ride home is a blur, from the moment he hopped into the taxi to him plopping down on the ergonomic chair behind his desk, in his office. And then, for the first time in months, Johnny is writing.

The words start flowing like a river in flood, wild and relentless, and dozens of once blank pages get filled with letters, rooms, characters, thoughts and emotions, situations and adventures. When Johnny stops typing, it’s well past midnight; he realizes he’s been writing for something like eight hours, and when he checks the page counter, he notices he’s written down almost twenty-five pages. Johnny smiles, incredulous. It’s over, he thinks, exhilarated, That goddamn writing slump is over!

And, there’s no use in denying it, there’s only one person to thank – his grumpy, enigmatic, new muse.

Johnny grabs his phone, browsing through his contact list as he prepares his speech. When he hits the call button on Cristina’s entry, Johnny is grinning like a child.

“Cris? Yeah, hey – I know, I know it’s late. I have good news, though,” Johnny announces. “Mmh. And what if I told you I’m finally working on something new?”

And with that, Johnny Cage is finally back on track.

The next morning, Kenshi struggles to stay awake. He thought that solving a case would finally allow him to sleep – God, was he criminally wrong. No matter how much chamomile he drank, his usual melatonin gummies failed spectacularly as well; there was nothing, nothing that managed to knock him down, and Kenshi knows whose fault it is. Luckily, he won’t have to see him again, and those honey-toned eyes will finally stop haunting his sleep, together with the rest of that annoyingly attractive piece of shit called Johnny Cage.

It doesn’t help that Kenshi spent the night staring stupidly at the signed copy of Firebreak, it doesn’t help that he started reading it not to think of Johnny’s dedication on the front – it helps even less that he almost kissed him, and he can’t stop thinking about it. He doesn’t know how he managed to stop in time, but he was so damn close. He pressed him against a wall and caged him between his arms – what the fuck was he thinking? Kenshi supposes he let himself go as some sort of goodbye, considering his partnership with Johnny ended with Harrison Tisdale’s arrest, but he really can’t wrap his head around what the hell happened in that moment.

That pull he felt towards Johnny, that magnetic attraction… Kenshi is not sure he’s ever felt it before, and of course he had to experience it as a first time with a fucking manchild. An infuriating, unnerving, fascinating, charming, incredibly clever and attractive manchild who asked him out. He did, and Kenshi declined out of pure fear and panic – nothing good would’ve ever come out of such a thing. He would’ve gotten attached, and Johnny would’ve gotten bored after a couple of dates, and… No. Just no. Maybe the sex would’ve been mind-blowing, but Kenshi is not sure it’d be still worth risking what’s left of his sanity, not to mention his heart.

After what he lost, who he lost, he’s not sure he could go through heartbreak again. It’s better like this, really. It’s safer for everyone… It is. Really. Kenshi only needs to convince himself.

He thought that he’d have a fairly monotonous day at work, all paperwork to fill in after Harrison’s arrest. He thought that would allow him to recover a bit and get back to his usual, focused and rational self, and not someone thinking with his dick and almost making out with Johnny Cage right next to a crime scene.

And yet, there he is, knocking at Captain Liu Kang’s door ten minutes after he got in.

“Captain asked for you,” Kung Lao told him as soon as Kenshi arrived at his desk, “Said it’s urgent.”

Kenshi is not the type to get easily anxious, but he must admit he is a little, especially after the events of these last few days.

“Come in!”

Kenshi opens the door and sticks his head inside, wary.

“Good morning, Captain.”

Liu Kang beams at him as soon as he spots him at the door, seemingly calm and serene as usual. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

“Oh, Kenshi! Good morning to you – please, come in,” he says, and Kenshi enters the office, slow and cautious in front of Liu Kang’s smile. “I suppose Kung Lao told you I wanted to see you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t tell me why.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, I promise,” Liu Kang chuckles. “One hour ago, I had a pleasant call from the mayor’s office… Looks like you’ve made yourself a fan, Kenshi.”

Kenshi frowns, and despite Liu Kang just said there’s no reason to be worried, he finds himself dreading what’s to come – a call from the mayor can only mean one thing, and Kenshi is not ready to accept it.

“A fan?” Kenshi inquires, suspicious. “Who?”

“Johnny Cage. It seems like he has finally found the new main character for his next book – a tough yet savvy homicide detective.”

Kenshi goggles at him, gaping as he looks for words – anything, really, but nothing comes out. His mind just went completely blank, a total factory reset, 404 page not found. Johnny Cage, his favorite author and current fever dream, is basing the new hero of his next book on him?

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

“I-” Kenshi clears his throat when his voice cracks. “I’m… flattered?”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that, because…” Liu Kang hesitates, and Kenshi holds his breath bracing for the worst. What now?

“Because…?”

“Cage said that he has to do research – field research, to be precise.”

There it is, the scam. There it fucking is – Kenshi would really like to scream.

“No. Oh no.”

“I’m afraid yes.”

“There’s no way!”

Liu Kang sighs, clearly trying to be as conciliating as possible.

“Kenshi, please, listen. He is-”

“Sir, he is like a nine-year-old on a sugar rush!” Kenshi interrupts him, hysterical at this point. Fuck his composure, he’s already living a fucking nightmare – what could go worse? “He is totally incapable of taking anything seriously – we almost arrested him just a few days ago!”

“But he did help solve the case,” Liu Kang points out, calm and collected in a way that is making Kenshi spiral even further. “And you in the first place admitted that his contribution was decisive, that he turned out to be a great asset for our team.”

“Yes, but… Oh, fucking hell!” Kenshi takes a deep breath, his eyes closed, as he places his hands on his hips. He’s about to lose it. He’s definitely losing it – but there’s nothing he can do. Apparently, Johnny Cage, may he be damned, is here to stay and haunt him for the rest of his life. “How long?”

“Well… That’s up to him.”

Liu Kang gestures towards the door, and Kenshi slowly turns around just to meet Johnny’s cocky grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Good morning, Detective.” Johnny hands him one of the two paper cups he’s holding. “Coffee? You look like you pulled an awful all-nighter – those poor wrinkles.”

Kenshi takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. He’s furious, seething, incensed even… And what pisses him off the most is that part of him is undeniably, inexplicably happy and relieved, excited to have Johnny back.

This man is going to ruin me, he thinks as he opens his eyes and meets Johnny’s smile once again.

And he has to actively stop himself from smiling back at him.

Chapter Text

There's no one quite like you, you push all my buttons down.

I know life would suck without you

- “True Love”, P!nk

Kenshi is a proud man. There’s no point in denying the obvious.

He prides himself in his instinct, in the way it rarely lets him down and betrays his expectations. And when Captain Liu Kang saddled him with the task of babysitting Johnny Cage while doing his job, well. He was positive that time would never pass, and that the whole affair would turn out to be a gigantic, ghastly, complete failure.

The thing is, he was wrong. Yeah, because Kenshi would rather die than admit it, but looking back, the last eighteen months really flew by. The job is always the same, if not more complicated as he keeps working in the police, people are still gruesomely murdered, psychopaths are still running around… Everything is the same.

Except it isn’t.

It really isn’t, because it’s already been a year and a half since his world has been turned upside down, all because Johnny Cage gingerly stepped in it and made sure to carve a humongous space into Kenshi’s day-to-day reality. And, dramatically, Kenshi is not sure he’d still be able to picture his life without Johnny being a vital part of it.

They still bicker and Kenshi wants to strangle him on a daily basis, but that’s always been one of the pillars of their relationship, and it’s not going to change easily. Why should it? It works just fine for them, and it doesn't change the fact that they are, indeed, a formidable duo.

Kenshi’s productivity has never been higher, and the number of cases he’s solved with his team has skyrocketed ever since Johnny joined them. And even though he’s still immature, egocentric and an absolute manchild, Kenshi must admit Johnny’s also one of the cleverest men he has ever met, endowed with a sharp mind and formidable sixth sense – not to mention his unique ability to recognize patterns and all those red strings that result in a story. Sometimes his theories are so crazy they could only belong to the fictional world, but there hasn’t been a case Johnny took part in in which he hasn’t proven himself useful, if not fundamental to its resolution.

And Johnny… Johnny is unnerving, aggravating, insufferable. But he’s also a good friend, probably Kenshi’s best friend. He doesn’t know how or when it happened, he tried to pinpoint that precise moment, but he couldn’t. He supposes it’s something that went on so gradually Kenshi didn’t even notice, not until it was way too late to go back. But does he really want to go back?

A month after the official beginning of their collaboration, Johnny addresses the elephant in the room for the first time – and since nothing can ever be easy when Johnny’s involved, he does so in the worst moment ever: in the middle of his first nocturnal stakeout with Kenshi.

“Keep those feet away from my dashboard,” Kenshi says out of the blue, still (only apparently) busy keeping an eye on their suspect with his binoculars.

Johnny, caught in the middle of his supposedly sly maneuvers to make himself more comfortable (and take a nap, Kenshi suspects), starts and turns his head towards him, watching Kenshi under knitted brows. He doesn’t move his feet from the dashboard, though, much to Kenshi’s annoyance.

“How the fuck did you see that?” Johnny asks, puzzled. “Your eyes have been glued to those binoculars for ages – speaking of, can I have a look for, like, two seconds?”

“No.”

Johnny crosses his arms on his chest and huffs.

“Killjoy. Why am I even here if I can do nothing at all?”

“You’re here because you’ve hassled me for days, begging me to bring you along with us – not because you were indispensable for the operation.”

Johnny blinks slowly, giving Kenshi an indignant look as he tilts his head to one side.

“Wow, Takahashi. You really know how to make someone feel welcome, don’t you?”

“I stated a fact.”

“Well, you could’ve been nicer while doing it,” Johnny points out, offended. “And, you know, I’ve hassled you because I thought this would be fun! I didn’t expect it to be like this, with us sitting in your car doing nothing for hours.”

“And how did you think it would’ve been like?” Kenshi asks with a raised brow, glancing at him for a couple of seconds. “Please, enlighten me.”

“I don’t know, but I thought it’d be more challenging! That you and I and Raiden and Kung Lao would’ve spent the night being, well, like some sort of movie spies or something,” Johnny mutters, and Kenshi answers with an eyeroll.

“That’s your problem, Cage. You keep mixing up reality and fiction.”

“C’mon, I don’t.” When Kenshi glares at him with a raised brow, Johnny scoffs, “If you’re referring to Sento-”

“Of course I’m referring to Sento. Nick Sento, my supposed alter ego.”

Johnny gives him a questioning look, and Kenshi knows there’s no way he’s going to drop the subject now that they’ve openly addressed it.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Him? He’s not even real.”

“He’s you.”

“He’s not.”

“He’s based on you – I thought you’d be delighted, as a fan,” Johnny points out, and he seems sincerely confused by Kenshi’s displeasure, maybe even a bit disappointed. Kenshi scoffs and shakes his head, finally dropping the binoculars once for all.

“Didn’t it occur to you, not even once, that you could’ve asked me before barging into my life like it belongs to you?” Kenshi asks, and judging by the dumbstruck look Johnny’s giving him, it must’ve never hit him before. “You’ve decided to use me as some sort of source of inspiration, turning my life – my life, Johnny – into something you’re going to make money with.”

“If the money’s the issue, I can pa-”

“I don’t want you to pay me, Cage. My life is not something you can come and buy like you’re shopping for groceries.” Kenshi scoffs and averts his eyes from Johnny, going back to the warehouse they’re monitoring. After a beat, however, he whispers through gritted teeth, “I only wish you asked.”

Kenshi feels Johnny’s eyes on him for what seems like forever, until the writer shuffles on his seat – and finally takes his feet off Kenshi’s dashboard. Kenshi does his best not to openly look at him as Johnny straightens up and turns to face him, hands curled on his lap. He tries to ignore him, but then Johnny clears his throat, and Kenshi sees himself forced to look at him.

“What now?” he asks with an annoyed huff. His gaze softens (just a tiny little bit) when he notices the way Johnny’s looking at him – which means, the same way a guilty dog would look at its owner after munching on their slippers.

“I’m sorry. I never realized it might bother you, offend you, or even hurt you. I could take everything back if the whole book thing is too much for you, even though my publisher would rip my head off – but I’ll deal with the consequences. I would’ve spared us the problem if I had asked, so it’s my fault anyways. What matters to me is that you accept my apologies, or at least consider them. I’m sorry, really.”

Johnny looks earnest in his request for forgiveness, truly sorry for any damage he may have caused, even if unintentionally. Kenshi didn’t say what he said to force an apology out of Johnny, but the fact that he did it on his own and realized he might’ve been an asshole not to consult him first before acting, well. It’s enough.

“Apologies accepted,” he mutters, suppressing a smile when he sees Johnny’s shoulders deflate in a loud sigh of relief. “But you’re asking for permission before including any details on my private life, got it? Anything, Cage.”

“Cross my heart,” Johnny swears, nodding furiously. Kenshi hums and looks back at the warehouse – but it only takes him three seconds to go back to Johnny again.

“Why did you choose Nick Sento of all names, though?”

Johnny smirks, “You said you had a sword called like that at home once.”

“My mother has it,” Kenshi corrects him with a raised brow. “How did you remember that? We were in a bar and you were drunk, and I thought you were too busy telling Kung Lao about that scuba diver you once dated.”

“I’m always listening, Takahashi. I bet little Kenshi wanted to become a samurai or a ninja or something,” Johnny chuckles, and Kenshi huffs, annoyed.

“And that’s not stereotypical at all, right? Should I have wanted to become a samurai just because I come from a Japanese family?”

“What, you wanna tell me you wanted to become a cowboy? All that Yippee Ki-Yay Motherfucker shit?”

Kenshi chuckles against his better judgment – and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to stop.

“That’s not even something a cowboy said, it’s just McClane from Die Hard.”

“Well, Hans Gruber did call him a cowboy in that movie. And, for the records, McClane’s character was heavily influenced by John Ford’s movies, and he gets repeatedly nicknamed cowboy or John Wayne throughout the series,” Johnny points out, and Kenshi gives him an impressed look.

“My oh my, what do we have here…” Kenshi teases, getting a raised brow from Johnny, “A movie nerd.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Johnny claps back with a chuckle, before batting his eyelashes at Kenshi – and he’s making it obnoxious on purpose. “My loyal fanboy, my favorite groupie!”

“Oh, shut it.”

“But you are, why should I? Who else would remember my books by heart?” Johnny asks, bringing one hand to his chest, “It’s heartwarming, really. I feel so honored, so blessed, so-”

“Your loyal fanboy is about to sock you.”

“Once again, killjoy,” Johnny huffs, but it’s just for show. “But whatever, I thought using your family sword’s name would be appropriate – fitting, even, especially considering what you’re called.”

Kenshi frowns, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Mh? Oh, your name. Kenshi – it can mean a lot of things, but I found out its most prominent meanings are strong and swordsman,” Johnny explains, leaning back against his seat. “Your name basically says you’re a guy with a sword and given that you do have one somewhere at home, well. It seemed stupid not to take advantage of it.”

“You… You made research on my name?” Kenshi asks, puzzled. Johnny shrugs, as if it’s nothing.

“Yeah, of course. I don’t pick out stuff at random, you know?” Johnny stares at Kenshi for a second, then, when he spots Kenshi’s nonchalant expression, he lifts his brows with an incredulous look. “Oh my God. You thought I did, didn’t you?”

“Cage, come on-”

“You did! How could you?”

“I thought you chose them according to how they sounded, okay?” Kenshi admits and Johnny gasps, outraged.

“No fucking way you thought me so sloppy!”

“Then why Nick? What does it have to do with Sento and the whole swordsman area?”

“Because Nick means ‘victory of the people’, and it seemed fitting for a detective – you know, someone who fights for justice every day,” Johnny grumbles, still offended. “I didn’t choose it lightheartedly; I took my time to make sure everything was perfect.”

“Perfect,” Kenshi repeats with a raised brow, “You wanted it to be perfect.”

“Yes, exactly.” Johnny shuffles on his seat, keeping his crossed arms closer to his chest. He risks a rapid glance in Kenshi’s direction, only to look away once their eyes meet. “I… care about this project. It’s important.”

Kenshi looks at Johnny in silence, focusing on his pout and his furrowed brows. He thought it was all an act at first, but Johnny’s childish antics seem to be a real part of his personality; and what worries Kenshi the most is not really Johnny’s behavior, but the fact that he’s starting to find it… endearing. Not always, but it happens. It’s happening now, for instance, which is why Kenshi averts his eyes.

“You chose well,” he concedes, softly. “It goes well with Sento.”

Johnny lights up and looks back at him, giving Kenshi a hesitant, hopeful smile.

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do. It’s a nice name for an alter ego.”

“Even yours?”

Kenshi snorts, but in the end, he can’t help but smile.

“I could get used to it.”

Johnny’s smile gets brighter, and they comfortably sit in silence, eyes on the warehouse. In that moment, Kenshi feels like something has shifted between them – and even though he wouldn’t be able to tell what…

Well. He doesn’t mind it one bit.

Six months into their partnership, Kenshi is trying to face one of his countless sleepless nights as best as he can – which means, by tiring himself until he faints on the first available surface.

He’s currently out of cases, having solved their last one right that afternoon, the death of a Hollywood starlet. He’s out of stuff to read as well, because he’s already finished that novel he bought three days ago, and he must restrain himself from rereading one of Johnny’s – he has his days full of that man way too much already, he doesn’t need (another) nightly shot too.

And he won’t watch a movie either, because it’d make him even more restless and it’d make him think of last Friday night – when he went at Johnny’s to make research on said murdered starlet and they ended up watching together her movies on Johnny’s expensive leather couch, a beer in hand. Thinking of that night would bring along the memories of Johnny’s leg brushing against his at the end of Love & Order, when Johnny stretched and called it a night and offered Kenshi to sleep there in his guest room, given it was pretty late and they were pretty drunk; not to mention the memories of Johnny escorting Kenshi to said guest room and wishing him a good night, of them hesitating in front of each other, waiting for the other to make a move; and, for the love of God, Kenshi won’t dwell on the hard-on he woke up with after he dreamt of Johnny’s- no.

He won’t think of that. And he won’t watch a movie, so he won’t go down that spiral. It’s just that easy.

He needs to blow some steam off, that’s what he needs. He needs to relax and unwind, to stop thinking, and working out seems the best option to keep his mind busy and his testosterone at bay. He’s frustrated, it’s been a while since he last dated someone and he’s… Well, horny, there’s no other way of putting it. And Johnny’s incessant innuendos and flirting, the sultry looks and wild stories of his hook-ups don’t help his composure, not when the asshole is already particularly handsome to look at – Kenshi’s sure that’s the only explanation for those dreams. His mind reworks what he sees and listens to during the day, and… Yeah. He has seen and listened to lots of Johnny lately. Too much, maybe.

Running short of other options, Kenshi finds himself working out in the middle of the night. The gym would’ve been more adequate, but he’s not sure he’d find it open after midnight, so the few dumbbells, the pull-up bar and punching bag he keeps at home will do.

He’s in the middle of the third rep in his fourth set when, at 2:53 a.m., his phone notifies him of an incoming message. Kenshi catches with the corner of his eye the screen lighting up, and he lets go of the pull-up bar and jumps down to the ground. When he grabs his phone, he sees it’s a new text from Johnny.

JC: u still up?

Kenshi stares at the screen for a second, then he glances at the dumbbells he was meant to use during his next set. If he replies, he can consider his workout over. But, well, it’s gotten pretty late, and insomnia or not, he could use some rest. And so, Kenshi sighs, pulling up the notification to type in his reply.

KT: Looks like it.

Kenshi doesn’t even manage to put the phone down before the text bubble of an incoming message pops up on screen.

JC: insomnia’s a bitch, uh?

KT: You tell me. Do you need something?

JC: may I call you?

JC: won’t take long I promise

Kenshi, once again, stares at his screen, not knowing how to react. A late-night call with Johnny wasn’t how he expected to spend his sleepless hours, but at this point he might as well roll with it.

KT: Sure.

His phone starts ringing a handful of seconds later, and Kenshi accepts the call with a sigh as he moves towards the sofa.

“Were you waiting for my messages, Cage?” Kenshi teases, “Your timing was surprisingly fast.”

“Ha ha. So funny, Kendoll.”

“Call me that again and I’m hanging up.”

“Wow, you’re even crankier this late at night. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

Kenshi sighs and shoots a look at his equipment.

“Just a late-night workout.”

“…oh. I… Shit. I didn’t- fucking hell, Takahashi, what are you doing on the phone with me? Go and chase that orgasm, Tiger.”

Kenshi frowns, confused, and looks at his phone the same way he’d look at Johnny if they were together – which means, as if he’s gone crazy.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Uh… Well. Weren’t you having some ‘night cardio’?” Johnny asks, confused as well. “You told me, like, ten seconds ago.”

And Kenshi finally realizes the misunderstanding, which makes him want to crawl into a hole and die.

“No, Cage, I’m not- I was working out as in exercising,” he tries to explain, “With dumbbells and a pull-up bar. The only cardio I would’ve done would’ve been hitting a punching bag.”

“Oh.” Johnny stays silent for a beat, then Kenshi hears a snort from the other end of the line. “Well, that makes more sense.”

“Excuse me – what’s that supposed to mean? That I can’t be on a date and fucking?” Kenshi claps back with a raised brow. He’ll never admit out loud that Johnny’s ensuing chuckle made him blush like a teenager.

“No, Kendoll. I meant that, had you been on a date and fucking, to use your own words, you wouldn’t have been on the phone with me. I mean, it’d have been pretty weird – and I’m all in for kinky stuff.”

Kenshi tuts, and he’s silently grateful that Johnny can’t see how flustered he is.

So he likes it kinky, uh? I wonder how much, what he likes, how- stop.

“Whatever, Cage,” he says instead, doing his best to get his mind elsewhere – as far as possible from anything that might involve Johnny Cage and sex in the same sentence. “Would you mind telling me the reason why you’ve called me?”

“Okay, I’ll cut to the chase: I need your opinion.”

Kenshi furrows his brows, confused.

“On what?”

“Titles for the book,” Johnny answers candidly, and Kenshi snorts.

“Really? Now?”

“Why not?”

“Cage, it’s three in the morning. Go to sleep.”

“I wasn’t sleeping, you weren’t sleeping,” Johnny petulantly points out. “Just help a guy, dude.”

Kenshi sighs and massages his eyes, suddenly tired. Or, well, maybe he’s just exasperated. Johnny has the ability of draining his patience and energies like nobody else.

“Why do you want my opinion, anyway? Isn’t that something you should decide with Cristina?”

“Yeah, but I want to pitch some options that you like already,” Johnny clarifies, and Kenshi stops moving, staring at his puzzled reflection in the black screen of his TV.

“That I like? Why?”

“Well, I wrote the book, but it’s mine as much as it’s yours. It wouldn’t exist without you, so… It seems reasonable to me that you have a say in the matter.”

After this, Kenshi stays silent, perfectly immobile. He blinks after a few seconds, still stunned by Johnny’s explanation. When they first told him Johnny was working on that book, Kenshi thought he’d be used as a source and nothing else, that he’d have a passive role in the whole affair. But the more the book progressed, the more Kenshi figured Johnny had other plans for him.

He’s been involved with designing the characters’ personalities, their backstories, their motives – and the plot too, Johnny fact-checked everything with him, from the most blatant things to the smallest details. Kenshi still hasn’t read the first draft, Johnny’s still working on it, but he’s aware of everything going on behind the scenes. And this is, well… It’s heartwarming, really. Kenshi feels honored and grateful, and he really doesn’t know why his chest feels so tight right now, why his heart is beating so fast.

It’s just a title, after all.

“Kenshi? You still there?”

But it really isn’t.

“Alright, fine,” Kenshi sighs, shifting on the sofa to lay down and stretch his legs. And, once again, he does his best to ignore the embarrassing blush creeping up his neck. “Let’s hear your titles.”

“Fuck yes!” Johnny cheers, and Kenshi can’t help but smile. “Okay, so, as you know I’m planning on turning the whole thing into a book series – who knows, maybe one day there’ll be movies or TV show about them, or even videogames!”

Kenshi nods with a chuckle. It’s like dealing with a child, but he’s gotten used to it by now.

“Sure, why not.”

“Maybe with a quirky name like Mortal Kombat, but with a K.”

“What? Why Mortal Kombat – and why with a K?”

“I don’t know, it just clicks. Anyway, the name I thought for the series would be The Sento Chronicles. Epic, kinda heroic and mystic, just how you like it,” Johnny announces, and Kenshi raises a brow. Not that Johnny will ever notice.

“How I like it, Cage?”

“Don’t you?”

“I do, but that’s not-”

“Great! The Sento Chronicles it is, then. Moving to the books, I need to find something catchy for the first one and I do have some ideas.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Okay, buckle up, this is one of my strongest contestants. Get ready for…” Kenshi hears a faint drumming noise from Johnny’s end of the line, sort of a rhythmic beating. He tries not to laugh to his face – or, well, ear.

“Was that a drumroll?”

“Don’t ruin the atmosphere.”

“God forbid.”

“What do you think of…” Johnny clears his throat, then resumes, “Whispers of Sento. It’s cool, isn’t it?”

Kenshi hums, not entirely convinced. It’s cool, but it doesn’t feel right.

“I like it, but…”

“But?”

“It sounds a bit cryptic. People should get to know the character first, right?”

“Right… Yeah, I’ll keep it for book four or something,” Johnny says, and Kenshi goggles as he hears the faint sound of the other man’s keyboard.

“The fourth? How many are you planning on writing?”

“I wrote, like, a dozen Stryker novels. I’m productive when I’m inspired.”

“Are you now?”

“You’d be surprised, Takahashi. I do nothing but think of you from the moment I wake up till bedtime.”

Kenshi tries not to implode at this, he does his real best. He ends up coughing to mask his hesitancy, and maybe get some composure back since he’s at it.

“Yeah, uh… Go on. It seemed to me you have a pretty long list there.”

“That I do, yup. Okay, now we have a double feature, namely Sento's Revenge and Sento's Redemption.”

Kenshi frowns, confused.

“Do I have a revenge to carry out?” he asks, then he squeezes his eyes shut and corrects himself, “I as in Nick.”

“Well, not yet. But these two could be the second and final installments of a trilogy, you know, maybe the story spans across three books and the first one ends in a major cliffhanger – and gives you, I mean, Nick the reasons to seek revenge first and redemption then,” Johnny clarifies, and Kenshi hums as he thinks about it.

“They’re not bad, maybe just a little pompous.”

“I mean, you are a little pompous sometimes, Kendoll.”

Kenshi scoffs, “I’m not.”

“Oh, you are. Remember when we first met? You kept acting all high and mighty, so stuck-up and snobbish.”

Kenshi snorts a laugh, incredulous.

“I wasn’t acting snobbish, Cage. I simply didn’t want you there.”

“You still have to work on that pretty little thing called tact, Takahashi.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve just said that-”

“I used a past tense, Cage,” Kenshi points out against his better judgment. Johnny tends to have this effect on him. “I thought an author such as yourself, who makes a living through words, would catch on quickly.”

Johnny stays silent for a beat, way longer than he usually does. Kenshi starts to overthink it, as he usually does, when at last Johnny clears his throat.

“So, you’re implying that it’s no longer true?”

Kenshi stares at the ceiling, licking his lips, as he debates on his answer. Should he admit it? Or should he keep him on edge? Why should he release him when Johnny torments him day to day? I’d be no better than him, though.

“It might be,” Kenshi concedes with a final sigh, “As long as you keep being useful, that is.”

“Wow. So romantic, Kendoll, you really know how to make a man swoon.”

“I learned from the best. What’s the next title?”

“Next we have… Ah, yes. Sento’s Secrets: Hidden in Plain Sight,” Johnny reads out loud, and Kenshi hums again, this time appreciatively.

“I like it, it works. Keep it – minus the first part, though. It’s redundant.”

“So…” Kenshi hears the faint noise of Johnny typing on his keyboard as the man speaks, “Should I just go with Hidden in Plain Sight?”

“I’d read a book with that title,” Kenshi confirms with a sigh. He gets up, craning his neck to one side to stretch it. He could use something to drink, a reward for his workout.

“Alrighty then. I’ll keep it – but not for the first one.”

“Why not?”

“Eh, not sure. I just can’t picture starting a new series with something called Hidden in Plain Sight,” Johnny explains as Kenshi makes his way to the kitchen, aiming for the liquors cabinet. He retrieves the bottle of sake Kitana gifted him a few months ago with a smirk.

“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious, Cage.”

“Yeah, well. I’d rather have the book in full display than hidden somewhere, you know? So… Nope. That won’t do.”

“I see. Other options?”

“What about Sento: The Lost Soul?” Johnny asks, and Kenshi pulls a face while putting him on speaker.

“Isn’t that a tad too miserable?” he asks back, pouring himself a glass of liquor. Johnny’s desolate sigh makes his lips curl into a smile.

 “Yeah, I thought so. It sounds too lone-vigilantey… God, I need a drink,” Johnny bemoans right as Kenshi takes the first sip. “Wait, are you drinking something? I heard a bottle earlier, but didn’t realize.”

“I poured myself a glass,” Kenshi confirms, “I deserved a prize after working out.”

“What’s your drink of choice?” Johnny asks, and Kenshi chuckles even before Johnny gets through with the punchline, “Negroni? Sbagliato? With prosecco in it?”

“You spend too much time on the internet, Cage.”

“It’s not my fault if I’m easily entertained. Have you any idea how many TikToks I saw when that interview came out? They were all over my social media.”

“You should consider becoming a fanfiction writer.”

“Bold of you to assume I aren’t already,” Johnny mutters under his breath, and Kenshi frowns.

“What?”

“What?”

“Do you write fanfictions?” Kenshi presses, a wicked grin budding on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve written stuff on your own characters, Johnny.”

“I’m not that desperate. But I do enjoy reading the stuff fans write, and not just for my characters; sometimes they’re even better than the source,” Johnny admits, but then he tuts, “But that’s not what we should be talking about, quit distracting me.”

“Don’t blame me for something you started, Cage.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Ready for the next title?”

“Never been readier.”

“Please, don’t sound too excited.”

“You’re not helping there,” Kenshi sighs, before drinking some more and moving back to the sofa with his phone and glass in hand.

“This is kind of a work in progress, it can’t be the title of the first book but… I don’t know, maybe it could work somewhere?”

“Just spit it out, Johnny.”

“Alright, alright… Sento’s Son.”

Kenshi frowns, taken aback by that sudden turn in their conversation.

“A son?” he repeats, confused, “Do I have a son I’m not aware of?”

“Not right now. Maybe you will in, like, six or seven books,” Johnny explains, and Kenshi hears him humming before he says, “He’d be great friends with Cassie, though.”

“Cage, you just can’t…” Kenshi takes a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Let’s just skip this one, shall we?”

“Okay, buckle up, you’re gonna love these!” Johnny chirps, and Kenshi’s grip on the glass only gets tighter. “The Sixth Sento. Isn’t it just grand?”

“The sixth? Does he have siblings or…” Kenshi feels his initial confusion dissipate into horror when he gets it. “God, Johnny. Please, don’t tell me it’s a pun.”

“It sounds good though, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Johnny doesn’t speak for a moment, then he clears his throat. “Well, that’s awkward. You won’t like the next ones either, then.”

“Oh God, what are they?”

“Should I introduce them somehow or-”

“No, go for it. Tell me.”

“First is, One Flew Over the Sento's Nest.”

“What?” Kenshi groans, horrified. “Cage, why?”

“I love that movie. Then we have, The Sento We Know.”

Kenshi blinks twice, stunned.

“You’re not really considering using these, right?”

“Nah. But what about, All the Sentos Are Mad Here?” Johnny asks, and Kenshi downs what’s left of his sake. The liquor burns down his throat, his sight is starting to get hazy, and he does feel kind of fuzzy all over – which is good, it’s good. This way, he can pretend it’s just the alcohol affecting him, and not the moronic man on the other end of the line.

“Hard pass, Cage.”

Johnny whines, and Kenshi can picture his pout when he speaks again.

“What should I name it, then? It’s not that easy to find a catchy title that-”

“Why don’t you just name it Sento?” he interrupts Johnny, who stays silent as if a lightning just struck him.

“Oh. I didn’t think of that,” he says, and his emphasis grows stronger the more he speaks, “It’s a good starter for a series. Then for the next installments I could play with the surname for some titles!”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“It really does! I’ll call Cris in the morning as a first thing, so she can get the paperwork started and all that boring shit she does,” Johnny announces, all giddy and excited – Kenshi must admit his enthusiasm is contagious. “Thanks, Kenshi.”

“You’re welcome,” Kenshi sighs, glancing at the time on his phone. Despite his complete lack of sleep, he should still try and get some; Johnny might pull an all-nighter with little to no consequences, but he must still get up and go to work, as the good detective he is. “Now excuse me, but I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Yeah, you should rest more, Takahashi. Sleep deprivation will get you de-Sento-sized.”

Kenshi stops moving, his glass mid-air, after Johnny’s pun reaches his eardrums.

“You did not just say that.”

“What? I thought I would make a Sento-sation!” Johnny piles on, and Kenshi closes his eyes with a deep breath.

“I’m hanging up.”

“Oh, come on, man. Let me get a little Sento-mental, I-”

“Good night, Cage.”

Kenshi cuts him off, ending the call abruptly. But even though Johnny will never know, he does so with a smile.

“No.”

“Oh, come on! You’re not even considering the possibility that-”

“No, Cage. Our victim was not 007.”

“I’m not saying that!”

“You said he could’ve been an undercover secret agent.”

“No. I said that he might’ve been working for the CIA.”

“Which means, undercover secret agent.”

Johnny huffs and leans against the counter with an annoyed eyeroll. To celebrate their first year together (as colleagues – sort of) they’re working on a case that Kenshi could only define as vexing… Johnny, predictably, loves it, which irritates him to no end.

But it’s not just that, oh no.

Johnny’s done with the book. It’s over, finished, and he’s already sent the manuscript to Cristina… And yet, Kenshi still hasn’t read a single fucking page. Not even one.

It doesn’t bother him, of course it doesn’t. He couldn’t care less, he just… He doesn’t care, okay? It doesn’t matter (yes, it does).

He’s trying to keep himself busy with the case, he must. It’s way too tricky for Kenshi’s liking, and now there’s the possibility that their man was a CIA agent. Kenshi doesn’t believe it, but he can’t deny it could be. Johnny jumped on the occasion, just like he did any time a case was weird enough to be movie material, and before Kenshi could utter Don’t, he had already called someone he claimed was his insider. Kenshi is still afraid to ask what he meant with that.

“Are you sure this guy can tell us if Brady was a spy?” Kenshi asks as he pours two cups of coffee. Johnny nods and hands him some creamer, which Kenshi puts into Johnny’s coffee without batting an eye.

“Definitely. I met him when I was researching Double Stryke, and let me tell you, this guy was like the Holy Grail of hard-core secret agent stuff.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m serious! He’s a fucking Terminator.”

“Which model?”

“T-1000, definitely.” Johnny whistles as Kenshi drinks his first sip of coffee, “I’ve spoken with all sorts of bastards for my books, you know? Serial killers, hit men, politicians – choose your fighter. But Agent Patrick? Sheesh. He beats them all.”

“Mmh-hm.”

“Don’t mmh-hm me, Takahashi! He’s by fucking far the deadliest man I've ever met.” Johnny leans in, conspiratorial, getting closer to Kenshi to whisper, “He once killed a North Korean agent with a melon baller.”

“It was an ice-cream scoop, Cage.”

Johnny lets out a tiny shriek when that voice suddenly interrupts them, and Kenshi tries his best not to laugh at his embarrassed expression. When Johnny turns around, moving to stand beside Kenshi in the meantime, a stocky man dressed in an anonymous grey suit, with even more anonymous taupe short hair, pale grey eyes and a blank expression on his face, appears before them.

“And that information was supposed to stay confidential,” he adds, and Johnny cracks an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, I… Sorry.”

Kenshi sighs and steps further, extending his hand towards their guest.

“I am sure you already now, but I can assure he meant no harm and that everything that will be said in this room is going to remain confidential,” Kenshi explains as they shake hands, “Detective Kenshi Takahashi. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Patrick.”

“Likewise, Detective.”

Kenshi smiles politely and goes back at Johnny’s side, still eyeing the spy curiously – for probably way too long, in silence. When the man lifts a questioning brow, Kenshi clears his throat.

“Forgive me for staring, I just… Let’s say you’re not quite what I expected, based on Johnny’s tales.”

Agent Patrick smirks and offers Kenshi a small nod.

“I live in a world where nothing is as it seems, Detective – and for good reason,” Agent Patrick explains, “Where I come from, transparency gets you killed.”

Kenshi frowns at that, turning his head towards Johnny.

“Didn’t you use that line in Double Stryke?” he asks, and Johnny shrugs.

“Yeah, I tend to quote my sources in dialogues,” Johnny says and both him and Kenshi look at Agent Patrick when they hear him chuckle.

“I confirm. He used many of my own sentences – and I was wondering if some of Sento’s lines were Detective Takahashi’s as well, actually.”

And at this, Kenshi goggles at him, dumbstruck.

“Excuse me, what…” he starts, trying to keep calm because there’s no fucking way this is happening. “What do you mean, you were wondering?”

Agent Patrick shrugs and says, unaware of Kenshi’s inner turmoil, “Johnny is a skilled narrator, of course, but given my history with him, I wondered if the lines I was reading were made up by him or said in real life by you.”

 And at this point, Kenshi feels his brain shut down and turn into something fueled solely by rage and spite.

“You read the book. Sento, you read it.”

“Oh yes, I did. I thought it was terrific,” Agent Patrick confirms, before looking at Kenshi in confusion, “Didn’t you?”

“Not yet, no.” Kenshi slowly turns towards a puzzled and fairly concerned Johnny, seething. “I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“Oh. That’s a shame, it’s a great book – I appreciated that scene in particular, the brawl.” Agent Patrick whistles and grins at Johnny, who’s discretely shaking his head as if to ask Agent Patrick to stop. “Wow, man. The fans are going to get crazy with all that pent-up frustration, that’s horny.”

And at this, as Johnny closes his eyes in defeat, Kenshi feels blood drain from his face. The pent-up what?

“A brawl?” he repeats, and he hates how his voice sounds more high-pitched than usual. “Between whom?” 

Agent Patrick looks at him as if he’s stupid or something – which Kenshi doesn’t particularly appreciate.

“Uh, Sento and Bowen, your characters,” he clarifies, and Kenshi blinks twice, stunned. He hears a faint shuffling sound, and when he turns around to face Johnny, he sees he’s backed up by a few steps.

“You wrote a brawl charged with sexual tension between us, Johnny?” Kenshi asks, his voice icily even. Johnny gapes for a second, then he lets out a snort and tries to lean against the coffee machine counter as nonchalantly as he can – and he doesn’t manage very well.

“I- Yes, but I didn't fill it with sexual tension, come on!” he sneers, before sticking up his index and adding, somewhat petulantly, “And, as you love to remind me, it wouldn’t have been between us anyways – it'd be between Sento and the roguishly handsome journalist that shadows him.”

“Oh, because that sounds nothing like us, right?” Kenshi asks, in a way that should’ve been rhetorical but to which Johnny grins in response.

“Did you just admit I’m handsome?” he bites back, coy. Kenshi would really like to fucking end him sometimes, especially now – but he can’t, not inside a damned police station and surely not in front of some James Bond sort of guy.

“Shut up, Cage,” he ends up snarling, and Johnny lifts his hands up.

“Your words, not mine. I could quote this in the next book, which leads me to – wait a sec.” Johnny turns to Agent Patrick with a frown, arm crossed on his chest. “Only two people have the manuscript right now, and those are me and my publisher, who I’m pretty sure doesn’t know you. How did you get a copy?”

Agent Patrick stays silent, he only raises a brow as if to say, Really? And Kenshi decides he’s had enough.

“Look, let’s forget about the book and go back to the reason you’re here, shall we?”

“Of course, Detective.”

“Wonderful. Could you please tell us our victim wasn’t one of yours, so we can drop this dead end once for all and Johnny stops pestering me about it?”

“Hey!” Johnny complains, but Kenshi completely ignores him. He’s still too fucking pissed – he can’t believe Random Super Spy managed to read their book before he could, fucking Hell.

Agent Patrick looks around and when he’s sure there’s no one else in the room with them, nor in its proximity, he leans in and gestures Johnny and Kenshi to do the same.

“Officially, I am not at liberty to confirm or deny whether anyone is an agent,” he whispers, and right as Johnny starts groaning and Kenshi grimacing, he adds, “But unofficially, we've never heard of your boy.”

Kenshi smiles, satisfied and smug, and turns toward a disappointed Johnny.

“See, what did I tell you? He was not an undercover secret agent.”

“There’s no need to twist the knife in the wound, this is such a letdown already,” Johnny mutters, and once more, Kenshi thinks he looks like a child throwing a tantrum. One year ago, he would’ve absolutely wanted to smack him, but now… No, he won’t say he finds it cute. He won’t.

Kenshi clears his throat, “Well, that answers our questions. Thank you so much for…”

The sentence doesn’t find its conclusion, remaining suspended mid-air, because when Kenshi and Johnny look back to where Agent Patrick was standing just a few seconds ago, they find nothing but an empty space. Kenshi frowns, confused, and looks around in disbelief.

“Where is he?”

“Won’t find him again,” Johnny says, patting Kenshi’s shoulder with a solemn expression. “He’s gone, Kendoll.”

Kenshi scowls, shaking Johnny’s hands off himself and turning back to the coffee machine to make himself another.

“He must have returned to his super-secret CIA base, waiting to use another ice-cream scoop in inappropriate ways,” he grumbles. Johnny leans back against the counter once again, but this time he’s closer to Kenshi – close enough for their arms to brush against one another as Kenshi fills the portafilter with fresh ground coffee.

“Look, I know you hate this case with all your guts, but you’ve been exceptionally cranky these days – today especially,” he remarks, and Kenshi hates that his gaze is automatically attracted to Johnny’s veiny arms, crossed on his chest. And why is he so thoughtful and noticing stuff about him? Can’t he just be an asshole? But then Johnny makes it even worse by asking, “Would you mind telling me what’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, I already have Cassie and Janet pulling that shit on me – not to mention Cris, and Son-”

“A brawl, Johnny? Really?” Kenshi interrupts him, turning swiftly towards him and branding the portafilter as some sort of offending weapon. “Did you really write about us getting all handsy with each other – have you gone insane?”

Johnny frowns, confused.

“Dude, it’s just a few punches and shoves – it’s nothing that big. And nothing sexual, if that’s…” Johnny stops talking for a second, licking his lips before shaking his head and continuing, “I mean, if that’s what bothers you. I don’t know what Agent Patrick saw in that, maybe he was just horny himself and projected things, I don’t know.”

“Well, I guess I’ll never know, will I?” Kenshi snaps, and Johnny frowns again.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Of course you will?”

“Not if I haven’t read the book, unlike Agent Patrick,” Kenshi hisses, and Johnny’s eyes widen when he realizes what all this is about – and Kenshi, God, he would really love to dig a hole six feet underground, hide and just die in it.

“Oh my God.” Johnny straightens up, searching for Kenshi’s eyes with an incredulous smirk. “You're not just pissed, you're jealous!”

And at this, Kenshi finally snaps, turning completely towards Johnny with both hands on his hips. The coffee he put in the portafilter falls right on his new shoes, but Kenshi couldn’t care less right now.

“I am the inspiration behind Sento. I should have been the first one to read the book – I should’ve already read it, for instance!”

“Are you really mad because you haven’t yet?” Johnny asks with a chuckle, in complete disbelief. “I was waiting for Cris’ permission, Kendoll – I’m bound by an NDA, you know? They could ask me for a refund if I break it, but it should be a matter of days before Cris greenlights me to send it to you.”

Kenshi snaps his mouth shut, painfully aware of the way his cheeks and ears must be turning redder and redder. He didn’t think about that, it never crossed his mind that Johnny might have signed a non-disclosure agreement on his unpublished books – and it makes sense, considering all the money his best-sellers earn.

“I… I didn’t think you…” Kenshi babbles, but he seems to be unable to utter anything remotely coherent, except for, “Forgive me.”

Johnny chuckles and shakes his head, then he steals the portafilter from Kenshi’s hands to fill it up again himself.

“Did you really think I was purposefully keeping you in the dark?”

“Sort of,” Kenshi mutters, “You could’ve told me, you know? That there was an NDA at play.”

“You could've asked me instead of sulking,” Johnny claps back, but he does so playfully. Kenshi snorts, but he doesn’t admit Johnny is right. Why didn’t he just ask him? It would’ve been much easier.

Johnny finishes making the coffee, and then he pours two cups, smoking hot and fragrant. He hands Kenshi one with a soft smile, and Kenshi accepts it with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I… I didn’t realize you’d care so much. That you’d be this affected.”

“Of course I am,” Kenshi scoffs and takes a first sip. “As you love to remind me, it’s our book, isn’t it?”

Johnny looks at him in silence for a bit, still. But then he cracks a smile and nods, sipping on his coffee as well. They stay like that for a while, drinking in comfortable silence, close but lost in their own thoughts. Kenshi wouldn’t be able to tell how many minutes have gone by before Johnny speaks again.

“Listen, I…” Johnny clears his throat and puts his mug back next to the coffee machine. Kenshi holds his breath when Johnny looks back at him and smiles, soft. “I’ll send you a PDF of the manuscript, but you must promise you won’t show it to anyone – not even your dog.”

Kenshi feels a lump in his throat, but he tries not to let his emotions best him. He clears his throat, cracks a smile – he can’t help it.

“You are my dog, Cage,” he deadpans, and Johnny snorts.

“Well, that means I have one less person to worry about,” he comments. Then he sighs, “Promise, Kenshi – no, swear it.”

“I promise. I swear it. Happy?” Kenshi asks, and Johnny hums, satisfied.

“Yeah, quite a lot. I’ll send it to you as soon as I get home – now, can you stop pouting at me? Please?”

Kenshi chuckles and nods. He feels… light-headed. Giddy. And there’s a strange fluttery sensation in his chest – but he won’t question it. Not now.

“Yeah. I think I could.”

“Great. Now, back to the case, I do think that maybe he could’ve worked for the FBI? Maybe it was the wrong intelligence, you know? I could text a guy, he’s…”

And even if Johnny keeps rambling, excited and enthusiast as only he can be, Kenshi can only focus on his face, memorizing every detail, as he finishes his coffee and feels unbearably, undeniably, sincerely lucky to have this impossible man in his life.

It’s the little things, Kenshi has realized some time into their ninth month of partnership – as if he was giving birth to a child and not a haunting awareness. It’s all in those small actions and habits that he has (unwillingly, unconsciously) taken on, just to prove how much of an impact Johnny has had on his life – and after one year and a half, he’s surer than ever.

It’s the way he now asks Raiden and Kung Lao to wait before beginning to examine a crime scene because, for some reason, Johnny isn’t there yet.

It’s the way his day doesn’t officially begin until Johnny enters the precinct with a disgustingly decadent latte for himself and a black double espresso for Kenshi, together with a chocolate donut Kenshi pretends not to crave, but Johnny somehow knows better.

It’s the way Kenshi has progressively stopped hiding a smirk whenever Johnny cracks a joke, because even though they stay kind of lame, he thinks they’re funny. Not that he’ll ever admit it – Johnny’s ego would become uncontrollable.

It’s the way he can’t seem to really focus on his job and duties, it’s the way his mood turns gloomy and sour whenever Johnny can’t make it to the precinct for the day, only to brighten up whenever he gets a text from him complaining about schedules and deadlines and how he’d rather be there with Kenshi solving murders rather than polishing and editing his own novel.

It's the way Kenshi would rather spend his nights with him at the precinct discussing theories on a case or watching a movie at Johnny's with him, sometimes with Cassie and Janet too, rather than going on a date with someone else. In fact, he hasn’t seen anyone new in months.

It's the way he knows Johnny’s features by heart, from his dimples and crinkling eyes when he laughs or his furrowed brows and the hard line of his mouth when he's in a bad mood.

It’s the way he finds himself looking for Johnny in a crowded room, and it’s the way he feels he can breathe again only once their eyes meet.

It's the way Kenshi now refers to him as my partner.

It’s the way his life is now revolving around Johnny, and Kenshi doesn’t really know when it happened. Or, worse, why it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Feeling feelings I feel about us
Try to fight it but it's never enough

My heart is certain it's more than a crush
'Cause I'm frozen in motion
And my head tells me to stop

But my heart goes

-“Head & Heart”, Joel Corry feat. MNEK

Johnny loves surprises.

Really, he's the kind of guy who'd be just delighted to get a surprise birthday party (there better be presents though), he loves the unexpected and taking leaps into the unknown. Hell, he's been making a living like that: choosing a literature major at college after almost flunking the same subject in high school? Check.

Getting the gorgeous blonde bombshell he had a crush on pregnant after their third date? Check.

Getting married to said bombshell even though they had already figured they were not gonna work so it would be easier for them to let Johnny take care of their daughter after she was born? Check.

Sending a manuscript he thought was not even that good to a publisher because he lost a bet with his best friends? Check.

Becoming a full-time writer because of said bet? Check.

Killing off his million-dollar-worthy protagonist because he was bored and basing the new one on the hot cop who probably hated his guts at first? Fucking check, man.

He's the kind of guy who takes life as it is, not dreading the future. Unless... Well. Unless the future is embodied by his ex-wife, still a blonde bombshell, showing up unannounced at his place on a Tuesday evening.

When he heard the car entering their lane, he thought it was Janet coming home with some random date; it wouldn't be the first time, even though Johnny's always been very clear on not having strangers around to fuck at home – safety reasons, Cassie's especially.

But no, he should've figured the car wasn't going fast enough, Janet isn't that considerate of a driver usually. And yes, he should’ve figured said car left right away and that someone with a remote must’ve opened the front gates to let it happen. And, once again, he should’ve noticed no one rang his doorbell, but someone came in anyways with keys in hand.

But Johnny, as engrossed in his Kenshi-centered daydreams as he is, didn’t notice shit. Of course, which is why that single word coming out of Cassie’s mouth makes his skin crawl.

“Mom!”

Johnny stiffens and moves his gaze to the open door of his office, staring at it like a deer caught in the headlights. No. Oh no.

“Hi, sweetie,” answers a feminine voice Johnny, good Lord, wishes he didn’t know, but it’s actually pretty hard not to recognize one’s ex-wife, the mother of his only beloved daughter. Especially if one’s ex-wife is Major Sonya Blade, US Special Forces wonder kid – well, not really kid, but one would say she’s a total babe.

Not Johnny, though. He tried sixteen years ago, and Sonya socked him to prove him wrong. Quite painful, not recommended.

Johnny slowly gets up from his ergonomic chair and tiptoes out of his office down the corridor that leads to the glass and blonde wood staircase. Once there, he pokes his head out, still carefully far from the see-through railing and hopefully unnoticeable for the time being.

And there they are, the two blondes of his life. Cassie, apple of his eye and his whole world, and her aged-up doppelgänger, her mother. Johnny has never really understood how on Earth Cassie and Sonya could look so much alike – were they closer in age, Johnny would’ve surely mistaken them for twins, or sisters at worse. Even though, he must admit, there’s a striking difference between them: where Cassie is still all sweet innocent smiles and youthful cheer, Sonya’s gravity and severity is evident right from her gaze and the way she carries herself, as if she owns the place. Which is, well, not entirely true, but she does have her own set of keys.

Johnny listens carefully as he slowly approaches the railing, and their voices become clearer, more defined. Cassie is wearing her lounge pants and a top she bought a few weeks earlier with Janet, barefoot in front of the combat boots her mother is wearing together with her green cargoes, a grey tank top and a military jacket. Their ponytails are frighteningly identical, and Johnny… God, he’d love to, really, but he can’t just stay there hidden in the shadows and hope Sonya vanishes when he’s not looking.  He’ll have to go downstairs and face her sooner or later, he’s aware of it – terrified, but aware.

The thing is, unlike Johnny, Sonya is not the kind of person who loves surprises, no matter whether she’s on the receiving or giving end. And the fact that she was supposed to be there on Friday instead of Tuesday, well… It’s not promising. Sonya is a practical woman, she takes matters into her own hands with no hesitation, and knowing her, Johnny knows she must have one hell of a good reason to be there three days sooner than expected.

“I thought you’d come for the weekend,” Cassie is saying, and Johnny feels blood run cold in his veins when Sonya’s smile gets tighter, more forced.

“Yeah, that was the plan. But I had some days off to take, and I thought I could come here earlier and spend some more time with you and your father.”

Cassie lifts a blonde brow, crossing her arms on her chest in a way that, God, is way too similar to her mother’s. It’s like they’re facing their own reflection.

“You want to spend time… with Dad. You.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Since when?”

Sonya sighs, “Cassie… You know I love your father.”

“I do. But usually it takes, like, seven minutes before you feel the urge to strangle him.”

“This time more than ever,” Sonya mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. Cassie frowns, confused, and tilts her head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Mh? Oh, nothing – don’t mind me, sweetie.” Sonya looks around herself, and Johnny can see she’s trying to appear casual, nonchalant, but he knows her too well to fall for that trick. “So… Where’s everyone? Does your aunt still live here?”

“Yup, but she’s out right now. She had a date or something.”

“You don’t say,” Sonya snorts, “What about Dad? Is he in? I saw the car in the driveway.”

Johnny huffs, defeated. There’s no way he’s getting out of this, not when Sonya already knows he’s there.

“Yeah, he’s writing in his office. Want me to go and- oh, there he is!”

Cassie, now turned towards the first floor, gives him a bright smile as Johnny steps in sight, and he finds himself reciprocating without really noticing – it’s spontaneous, if Cassie smiles and she’s happy, then he smiles and is happy. What he does notice, however, is the way his smile falters when he meets Sonya’s eyes, and he can see she’s definitely not as happy.

“Sonya! We didn’t expect you here so soon,” he tries, with way more bravado than what he really feels, as he makes his way downstairs. Sonya scoffs, stepping forward to meet him as soon as Johnny gets to the ground floor.

“Hello, Jonathan,” she says, way too collected and polite to be natural. Oh no. Fucking hell, no. Johnny knows, and even Cassie does, because she whistles and raises both hands with an amused expression.

“Ouch. If she calls you by your full name, that means you're in trouble,” she points out, and Johnny, finally at the end of the stairs and facing his ex-wife, gives Sonya a raised brow.

“Am I?” 

“Oh, you definitely are,” she hisses, before turning to their daughter and saying in a way gentler voice, “Cassie, could you please let me speak to your father alone?”

Johnny shakes his head, wide-eyed, and turns towards Cassie as she steps past them to move upstairs, probably headed to her bedroom – or to Johnny’s office, to have a sneak peek at the first pages of his new manuscript.

“Don't you dare leave me alone with her, Cassandra.” He tries to sound imposing, menacing – he even places both hands to his hips, but in the end, he recognizes the blatant, embarrassing plea in his voice when he adds a squeaky, “Please?”

Cassie, sweet child of his, chuckles and shakes her head, already halfway through the stairs. Bloody awesome.

“Yeah, no. Sorry not sorry, Dad, but… I’m more scared of disobeying her.” Cassie waves her hand at him, winking as she resumes moving, “See you later – if you survive.”

Johnny scowls as he watches her go, but then he sighs, braces himself, and finally turns to his now-definitely-pissed ex-wife with a sugary smile. Sonya scoffs, and Johnny follows her when she moves to the kitchen area – too far to let Cassie eavesdrop, because they both know she totally would if given the chance. Johnny, he must admit it, is pretty sure she must’ve taken it from him.

Sonya is… God, she’s truly breathtaking – she’s always been. When he first saw her, that night in a bar not too far from his college dorm, he knew she was special, and that it had to be her. He knew he had to make a move before she left with her friends, that beautiful girl with golden hair, a blinding smile, and attentive eyes that never missed a single detail. He just knew, and despite everything, despite their differences, he never regretted trying his luck with her.

Well, yes, she didn’t like him at first, she thought he was an idiot and kind of an asshole… But then he managed to get rid of the asshole part, and he stayed an idiot. One she liked, though, one she kept around even if they both knew from the start it was just fun, that it wasn’t meant to last – and one that ended up getting her pregnant way too soon, because apparently Johnny’s stupidity was contagious, and Sonya had a taste at the worst time ever.

Sonya has always been career-oriented, and Johnny found out about her plans to rise in the military ranks on their first date; so he wasn’t surprised when Sonya told him she wasn’t sure she’d want that baby, nor carry it to term, not when it would mean jeopardizing every single plan she had made for her future. Johnny promised he’d stick by her side no matter what, that he’d support her no matter what she decided to do… But he must admit he was internally relieved and overjoyed when she informed him she wanted to keep the baby. And so, as the impulsive moron he’s always been, Johnny did the unthinkable.

Sonya is sitting on his bed, legs crossed before her and a grim, scared expression on her face.

“I… I don’t know what we should do now, though. This was never in my plans, and… Fuck, I hate when things don’t go according to plans,” Sonya bemoans, head in her hands. “Tell me you have one of your brilliant ideas, Carlton.”

Johnny hums. He takes a few steps forward, stopping only once he’s perfectly in front of Sonya. He kneels down before her, grabbing her hands in his and having her look at him. He grins, cocky and elated: he’s never been surer of anything in his whole fucking life.

“Marry me.”

Sonya goggles at him, dumbstruck.

“Johnny, what the hell-”

“No, hear me out – it’ll make sense, I promise,” Johnny interrupts her, still grinning. “I know we agreed this thing between us was just fun and sex but turns out it won’t after all. But we can still make it work.”

“How?”

“Well, think about it: if you marry me, it’ll be easier for me to take care of the baby and for you pursue your career,” Johnny explains, and Sonya looks at him as if he’s just lost his goddamn mind. And, well, it might be. He probably has.

“What about your future, though? You’re still in college, Johnny,” Sonya points out, but Johnny dismisses her concerns waving one hand – as if he was shooing away a mosquito and not the rest of his life.

“I’ll figure it out, it’s fine. It’s not like I have, you know, a life-plan or something, I’m just rolling with it.” He smiles, sincerely this time, and shrugs. “We could… We can make it work, Sonya. I want to make it work, and getting married would make like easier for all three of us.”

Sonya shakes her head and chuckles, but Johnny can see her eyes filling up with tears.

“No way you’re already speaking for the baby.”

“Of course I am. I’m their dad, aren’t I?”

Sonya looks at him in silence, at first still. She nods after a couple of seconds with a sheepish smile.

“You are… And you’re going to be my husband as well, apparently.”

“Oh. So… Was that a yes?”

Sonya rolls her eyes, but her smile proves him she’s playing around.

“Could be…” she whispers. Johnny looks right into her eyes when Sonya tightens her hold on his hands. “You and I?”

Johnny smiles. He nods.

“You and I.”

They loved each other – they still do, but their own way. They’ve raised Cassie as loving parents, but their own relationship was more friendly than anything else… Well, if and when they were both single, they did sprinkle in a few fucks here and there, but in a friendly way.

And so now, in seeing her so fucking pissed and ready to chop his head off, Johnny doesn’t really know what to expect. He must be careful, tiptoeing around matters and problems, because if friendly Sonya can be intimidating already, angry Sonya is… God, she’s fucking terrifying.

“So, what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden visit?” Johnny asks, leaning against the kitchen counter once they’ve both stepped into the room. Sonya closes the door behind her and glares at him. Oh, she’s fucking seething – what the hell did I do?

“You really can't think of anything?” she asks, her voice cool and sharp – Johnny would never want to have her as his boss, let alone in the fucking army. It must be traumatizing, he’d cry every time she raises her voice at him. But now Johnny shrugs, as if anxiety isn’t gnawing at his insides.

“Wanting to see your daughter? Wouldn't that be enough of a reason to take a plane from Fort Liberty?”

“Don't start, Johnny,” Sonya hisses, getting closer with both hands on her hips. “You know I love Cassie more than anything – and this is part of the reason I'm here.”

Johnny frowns, confused.

“What do you mean? Is she in any trouble I’m not aware of?”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Then what the fuck are-”

“Jesus, Carlton, the police!” Sonya snaps, cutting his sentence short, and Johnny goggles at her.

“You knew I was working with a detective for Sento, don’t act all surprised all of sudden.”

“No, Johnny. What I did know was that you were consulting a detective, not shadowing him at work and collaborating with all his cases!” Sonya snaps, her face redder the more she speaks, “You didn't tell me you turned into the consultant – and it seems you've been one for nearly two years!”

“One and a half,” Johnny petulantly corrects her, and Sonya scoffs.

“As if it’s anything better.”

“Well, it’s six months less, that’s something,” Johnny points out, “And given how you’re overreacting-”

“I’m not – it just makes me very fucking angry that you never told me! Why haven’t you?”

“Uh, and you’re asking me? You’re making a fuss out of nothing.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. How did you find out, anyway?” Johnny inquires, and Sonya’s eyes narrow down to slits.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“Even if I tried, would you buy it?” Johnny asks back with a raised brow. When Sonya huffs, annoyed, he tries again, “How did you find out?”

“You mean, apart from the thousands of tweets and posts online? All the pictures on TMZ of you on fucking crime scenes?” Sonya shakes her head and chuckles, but it’s devoid of any trace of real warmth and humor. “Don't tell me you're really doing this for those new books, I'm begging you.”

Johnny massages his temples with a sigh, suddenly tired. Why does he always have to explain and justify himself to her?

“Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“No, Johnny, it doesn't sound crazy – it is crazy!” Sonya interrupts him again, with way more emphasis than necessary, in Johnny’s humble opinion. “What do you think you're doing?”

Johnny scoffs, “Uh, helping them solve cases? I'm a valuable resource.”

“You're a civilian, that's what you are. You've had your fair share of rash decisions, but that's by far the most irresponsible thing you've done!” Sonya barks and Johnny looks at her in disbelief, confused and yes, also kind of hurt.

“Irresponsible? I'm helping bring justice to innocent victims, how would that be irresponsible?”

“You could get injured, or worse, killed,” Sonya hisses and this time it’s Johnny’s turn to scoff, irritated, arms crossed on his chest.

“I know how to defend myself, Sonya.”

“You're a martial artist, and a good one at that, but it's not the same as being a trained agent,” Sonya says, the same way she’d talk to a stupid child or something – which Johnny is not a fan of, given that in this scenario he’s supposed to be said stupid child. “The last time you've wielded a gun was probably during a laser tag game with your daughter. You're not prepared to face such dangers and come out of it unscathed.”

“I've managed fairly well so far, so I don't see your point,” Johnny snorts, and Sonya takes a deep breath, licking her lips with both hands on her hips.

“Okay, then let me be brutal: you’re not a cop-”

“Thank you for your valuable contribution, Captain Obvious.”

“-and you’re only doing this because, like a spoiled child, you see this as some sort of fun game to spend time with.” Sonya shakes her head, gesturing towards him with one hand. “You’re a writer, Johnny. Your job is something else, you can write whatever you want wherever you want – you don’t need to witness actual murder investigations to write a detective story, no one does.”

“But they do contribute to make everything look and sound more realistic,” Johnny points out, annoyance seeping through his words, “You have no idea how much I’ve learned since I started working with the police.”

“And what if you get targeted by some goons or something? Police officers do their duty, but they often make themselves enemies, and dangerous ones. What if they end up targeting you instead? What if you make yourself powerful enemies that take it out on your family to get to you?” Sonya asks, but this time, oh, this time Johnny won’t stay fucking silent. His irritation has turned into anger, hot and bitter, bubbling up his throat.

“I beg your pardon? That's a bold of you, Lady Special Forces!” he snaps, stepping forward to close some distance between him and Sonya as they scowl at each other. “You're a fucking Major of the Green Berets, I'd say that you're more likely to have more powerful enemies than I'll ever have in my whole life!”

“I am a trained agent, and my position allows me to have a safety net that you don't and will never have,” Sonya claps back. “Even if you don't get targeted, what if you get injured while investigating? What if you get killed? Have you thought of how much of a dreadful impact it would have on Cassie?”

“Don’t drag Cassie into this, Sonya, don’t you fucking dare,” Johnny snarls, his voice low and cold, and Sonya shakes her head.

“I’ll dare as long as the shit you do will have an impact on our daughter, Johnny.”

“I'm being careful. I'm not taking unnecessary risks – even if I wanted to, Kenshi wouldn't let me.”

And at this, Sonya stops with a frown, confused.

“Kenshi? Who's that now?” she asks, and Johnny knows he’s made a huge mistake – she’ll never let that go, and he’ll have to talk about him, and he’s definitely not ready to address all the stuff he feels about Kenshi, not right now and not with the most terrifying person he knows asking questions he doesn’t feel like answering. He shakes his head, his eyes shut for a second.

“Err, sorry, Detective Takahashi. He's the officer I'm assisting with his cases,” he explains, trying to do some damage control – useless, given the alarmed way in which Sonya is already examining him. “He'd kill me with his own hands if I put myself in danger, he'd never allow it.”

Sonya takes a step back, horrified.

“Oh no. Oh, fucking hell, Johnny…”

“What?” Johnny frowns, hoping his wariness will be bought for confusion, “What did I say?”

“It's not what you said, it's how you said it!” Sonya cries, looking at him in disbelief. “You fancy that guy, don't you?”

Johnny feels heat creep up his neck, his ears becoming impossibly hot as he gapes, in search of words that, dammit, won’t come. Why don’t they come – he’s a fucking writer, for God’s sake!

“Uh, what? No, I… What the fuck, Sonya, of course not!”

“Oh, really?” Sonya asks with a raised brow, arms crossed on her chest. Johnny pulls a face, lips pursed and a bitter taste on his tongue.

“We're friends.”

“Friends… Of course you are,” Sonya scoffs, shaking her head before looking back at him. “Tell me you're not putting your life on the line to impress that man. Please, Johnny, at least tell me there's more to it.”

Johnny doesn’t answer right away – not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he’s lost on the how to say it.

These last eighteen months… God, they’ve changed his life forever – they’ve changed him, for better and worse. Johnny suspects for the better, though, because his productivity has reached new heights, and he loves what he does, writing and solving crimes, unraveling mysteries and making sure justice is more than an empty word. But, well… More than anything, he must recognize he loves what he does especially for one reason, a reason named Kenshi Takahashi. A reason he likes very much. Maybe too much, after all.

But he’s not ready to admit it out loud, especially not to Sonya. She must’ve had a hunch already, he knows her too well to hope she hasn’t noticed anything, but… But as long as it stays unsaid, Johnny can pretend it’s not going to change his life even further. And, maybe, this time not for the better.

“There's way more,” he starts slowly, thinking of every single word he’s about to say, choosing them carefully. “There's the fact that I finally feel like I'm doing something important, useful, that I'm finally giving my life a purpose and a meaning different from being a rich white boy who puts words on sheets of paper. I feel like I'm actually making a difference, and helping people in a way that…”

Sonya is watching him curiously, attentively. She doesn’t look angry anymore, only concerned if anything. She moves to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing against each other and backs against the kitchen counter. When she takes his hand, Johnny intertwines his fingers with hers.

“In a way that?” she gently coaxes him, and Johnny shrugs, uncertain.

“I feel like I can wake up each morning and be proud of what I'm doing, and the person I'm becoming. It makes me happy.”

“Is Kenshi part of this new source of happiness?” Sonya asks, and Johnny smiles ruefully. He should’ve known she wouldn’t let it drop that easily.

“He is,” he confirms in whisper, “And a fairly important one at that.”

Sonya takes it all in, perfectly still as she carefully watches him. Then, she nods.

“I see.” They stay in silence for a while, comfortably, before she resumes speaking, “Just… Johnny, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You’re clever, and dammit, you might act like a complete idiot sometimes, but you have a heart of gold too.”

“Do I?”

“You do. So…” Sonya shrugs, and when Johnny looks at her, she squeezes his hand with a knowing, affectionate smile. “Just be careful whom you’re entrusting this heart to, okay? Make sure they – he deserves it before wearing it on your sleeve.”

Johnny nods, sheepish.

“I’ll try.”

“Good boy.”

“Oh God, Sonya. I’m sensitive right now, don’t pull that shit on me,” Johnny complains, and he smiles when he manages to make her laugh.

“You know that’s my specialty, just as much as yapping is yours.” Sonya shoots him a naughty look at this point, elbowing in his side right after that, “Which leads me to… Kenshi, uh?”

Johnny smirks, but he can tell he’s blushing. Fucking hell, he feels like a teenager all over again, it’s been ages since he’s felt anything like that for someone. Or, well. Maybe he never has before, but it’s too scary to acknowledge. So, he won’t.

“Kenshi, uh,” he repeats, lifting a brow when Sonya watches him expectantly. “What?”

“Tell me about him,” Sonya demands, and Johnny vigorously shakes his head. He’s not doing this, nope. Definitely not, he won’t yield… maybe.

“No. No, I won’t.”

Sonya gives him an outraged look – and dammit, she looks just like Cassie when Johnny denies her a midnight bowl of ice-cream before a school day.

“Why not?”

“Sonya, come on…”

“Listen, this cop guy has been babysitting you for one whole year and a half – and I admire that, I respect him. He’s like a superhero-”

“Hey!”

“-and as your ex-wife and mother of your only daughter, I deserve to know who we’re talking about and who’s probably around Cassie more than I’m aware of,” Sonya points out, before glaring at him suspiciously. “Has Janet met him? Tell me she hasn’t before me.”

“She… She has,” Johnny confirms, clearing his throat not to let his voice quiver. “She kinda bailed me out of jail when he arrested me.”

Sonya blinks twice, goggling at him.

“Excuse me? What the fuck, Johnny – you got arrested?”

“It was an accident.”

“How can you get arrested by accident?”

“Okay, listen – you won. I’ll tell you everything, but at one condition,” Johnny proposes, and Sonya scoffs with an eyeroll.

“Which is?”

“Promise me you won’t pry, nor meddle.”

Sonya frowns, “Why should I?”

“Please, you always do – you made Charlene run away some years ago, remember?” Johnny asks with a raised brow, and Sonya snorts.

“Oh, fuck her. She was just after your money, the gold-digger.”

“Sonya, I’m serious. Promise,” Johnny presses, and Sonya groans as she draws a cross on her left breast.

“Okay, fine! I promise, cross my heart,” Sonya huffs – but it doesn’t prevent from grinning even more mischievously than before. “Come on, spit it out now. I’m making us a snack – chicken tenders and sauce?”

Johnny nods and moves to the freezer to retrieve the frozen goods.

“Where should I start from?” he asks as Sonya starts prepping the oven. She raises a brow, condescendingly.

“The beginning would be a good starting point.”

“Alright then. Buckle up – it’s gonna be messy.”

It’s a calm Wednesday, which is weird enough to begin with. It’s been a while since he could slack off while on duty, and Kenshi is not really used to it anymore – especially because, ever since Johnny has joined the precinct, he’s always had his hands busy with something. But Johnny’s at home right now, he said he had a chapter to wrap up before he could allow himself to even think of doing anything else.

And Kenshi respects that, really. It’s his job, it’s only natural… But he still feel something gnawing at him, demanding he check his phone every five minutes to make sure he hasn’t received any new messages from Johnny.

It’s not even that Kenshi has nothing to do – they’re actually on a case, but he’s stuck. Truly stuck, the clues and all the evidence at their disposal seem to lead nowhere new. And there’s that silly, annoying little voice at the back of his head saying, Johnny would know where to look. And Kenshi hates that it’s right, and he hates even more that now he feels like he needs Johnny to do his job properly. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny… it’s getting out of hand, definitely. Kenshi keeps thinking about him way too much to be healthy – fuck, way too much for it to be platonic, and his dreams and fantasies lately seem to confirm his suspicions. He must do something about it, before it’s too late and he gets too attached.

“Love is not something you should run from, Ken – it’ll find you either way, you know?”

Kenshi closes his eyes with a grimace, doing his best to drive that voice away from his mind, together with the ensuing laughter that followed. She would have loved Johnny – she would’ve found him annoying as hell, yeah, but… Mileena always knew how to see past first appearances, even better than what Kenshi will ever be capable of.

But she’s not here anymore to do that, is she? Want Johnny to join her?

Kenshi takes a deep breath – he must not think of this while at work. He has nothing to drink, and he couldn’t anyways. He can’t drown his fears and regrets in alcohol like he did after Mileena died, and he surely can’t think of doing it while on duty. But he knows his late sister’s smile will haunt him for the rest of the day, together with that of the man he’s dangerously getting closer and closer to.

“Hey dude, look what just arrived from the lab.” Kenshi startles as Kung Lao lets a folder drop on his desk, heavy with the results of the forensic exams they ordered on their last crime scene. Kung Lao raises a brow when he sees him so disoriented – Kenshi knows it’s not something they’re used to. He hopes they never will. “You good?”

“Yes, I… Yeah, sorry. I was lost in thoughts,” Kenshi admits with a sigh, tiredly massaging his sore eyes. “Do we have the results of the prints?”

“You bet.”

“Any good news?”

“You wish.”

Kenshi groans, “Are you going to talk in two-word sentences for the rest of the day?”

“Who knows,” Kung Lao claps back with a grin, receiving an exasperated glare from Kenshi. “What, is Johnny the only one allowed to rile you up and get away with it?”

“He’s not allowed, and he definitely doesn’t get away with it,” Kenshi mutters, busying himself with folder Kung Lao handed him. The latter lifts a brow, then he grabs a chair and moves it in front of Kenshi’s desk before straddling it, arms folded on top of the backrest.

“The time has come,” he announces, and Kenshi lifts a questioning brow.

“Which time?”

“The time we speak about whatever the fuck is going on between you and Johnny, of course.”

“Fucking hell…” Kenshi sighs and drops the folder, crossing his arms on his chest right afterwards. “There’s nothing going on between us, Lao.”

“Ah, sure. And denial is a river in Egypt,” Kung Lao points out with a seraphic smile, “You’re such a lame liar.”

“I’m no-”

“Woah, who’s that bombshell?”

Kenshi scowls at him, but Kung Lao’s attention has already been diverted elsewhere – more precisely, on a beautiful woman currently standing by the room’s entrance, dressed in an olive-green suit and a crisp white shirt. Her golden blonde straight hair tied up in a high ponytail, except for her side bangs, and even though her features look delicate, harmonious and soft, her posture is stiff and proud; her eyes are sharp and focused, severe, even more as they roam scanning the room before her in a way that doesn’t look casual. There’s something about her… Kenshi feels like he knows her somehow; it’s the first time he sees her, yes, but she looks so familiar, and he can’t grasp why or how. The feeling only gets more intense when her eyes find his, locking him into place, and Kenshi feels a shiver run down his spine. She looks just like-

“I see we have guests,” says a voice behind him, making Kenshi turn around with a startle. Liu Kang is standing there, eyeing curiously the newcomer with a pensive expression. “Doesn’t she look familiar to you?”

“I’d give everything to be familiar with her, honestly,” Kung Lao mutters, shrugging when Kenshi directs a glare at him. “Just sayin’.”

In that moment, however, another person comes in and stops next to the woman, and Kenshi frowns in recognizing him as Mayor Jackson Briggs. He says something to the woman, who smirks and gives him a condescending look; when she replies, Jax chuckles, shaking his head.

“Is that the Mayor? She’s with him? Ah, damn,” Kung Lao groans, “I’ll never have a chance.”

“I’d better go and welcome them properly. Kenshi, would you mind accompanying me?” Liu Kang asks, and Kenshi nods with a sigh as he gets up from his chair and follows. The woman notices them right away and tells something to Jax as they get near, so that the Mayor is already looking at them with a broad smile by the time Kenshi and Liu Kang join them at the entrance.

“Good morning, officers,” Jax greets them, and Liu Kang reciprocates with a kind smile. Kenshi barely notices them shaking hands, he’s too busy holding the gaze of the blonde woman – steely, unrelenting, clinical. And yet, so familiar. Kenshi can almost hear a sound of laughter, feminine and young… But before Kenshi’s brain can conjure any theories, it’s met with a new wave of information, namely the woman’s identity.

“Captain Liu Kang, this is Major Blade, a dear friend of mine,” Jax is saying, and Kenshi observes the woman – Major Blade shaking hands with Liu Kang, a neutral and polite smile on her lips matching the captain’s own.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Captain,” she greets him, and Kenshi does his best not to frown when, for fuck’s sake, he feels like he recognizes her voice as well. How is that even possible?

“Likewise, Major, welcome,” Liu Kang replies, before tilting his head to the side, hands clasped before him, and asking, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

Major Blade shrugs, way too nonchalantly for Kenshi’s liking. Whatever she’s going to say, he knows, won’t be entirely truthful.

“I was merely curious to visit your precinct in person,” she explains, but before going on, her eyes move back to Kenshi with a weird degree of interest – and he’s not sure that’s a good thing. “I’ve heard many stories about it.”

“I hope they shed a positive light on our work,” Liu Kang comments, and Kenshi watches Major Blade answer with a smirk.

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Very well, I’m glad… Alas, I am afraid I am required to go back to work,” Liu Kang announces, before turning to Kenshi, still right behind him, and gesturing towards him with a smile. “Should you need anything, I leave you in the good hands of Detective Takahashi, one of my most trusted agents.”

Kenshi gives their guest a nod, trying to appear unbothered as he holds the woman’s unrelenting gaze. At least there’s also Mayor Briggs there, but could it be that easy? Of course not, because now Mayor Briggs turns to Liu Kang and stops him with one hand on his shoulder.

“Liu Kang, before you go, there’s something I need to discuss with you – shall we have a word? Won’t take long, I promise,” he says, and Kenshi does his best not to show his annoyance when Liu Kang nods with a smile and gestures towards the corridor where they came from.

“Of course. Please, this way, let’s talk about it in my office.”

Kenshi watches them go and chat with each other, and apparently everything looks… normal. Perfectly normal. However, when Kenshi turns back to Major Blade and finds her already busy analyzing him, he’s sure something must be going on behind his back.

“I hope your stay in L.A. is going smoothly, Major,” Kenshi utters, neutral and monotone. The woman nods slowly, and Kenshi feels like those green eyes of hers vivisect him like a frog during a biology class.

“It’s been illuminating so far, I must say,” she muses, before twisting her lips into a brief scowl. “In retrospect, I should’ve done it sooner. But you know, family… It gets complicated sometimes.”

Kenshi snorts. He knows, he knows better than he’d like to.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he tries, clearing his throat before trying to change subject, “Is there anything in particular that piqued your interest here at the precinct? Given that you were eager to visit.”

And at this, Kenshi feels a cold chill down his spine when Major Blade clicks her tongue. She doesn’t look happy – if anything, she looks quite vexed. And Kenshi is not sure he likes it. She’s quite intimidating, he must admit it.

“Yes, I’d say so. I might have already found it, though.” Major Blade studies him again, her lips curled in a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I couldn’t miss the chance to meet the famous Kenshi.”

Kenshi frowns, taken aback by the sudden turn of their conversation – but his surprise is quickly replaced by suspicion when he realizes that Liu Kang merely introduced him as Detective Takahashi. Where does that Kenshi come from, then?

“I do not believe I’ve told you my first name,” Kenshi observes carefully, and the woman lets out a small chuckle.

“It wasn’t necessary. I have some… reliable sources,” she answers, going back to looking directly at him right afterwards. And Kenshi realizes what she was looking for when Kung Lao spotted her at the entrance – or, better, whom she was looking for.

“You didn’t come here for the precinct,” Kenshi says, confusion mixing with frustration and suspicion in his voice, “You came here for me.”

“No, I did come here to assess in person what this place is and who the people working here are, the entire lot of you,” Major Blade corrects him, glancing around briefly before going back to him. “Even though, yes, I must admit I was particularly interested in you.”

“Why?”

“Let’s say we have a mutual acquaintance that you’re, apparently, pretty close to. I’m here to do some damage control,” she explains, and Kenshi can’t help but outright frown at her.

“I am not sure I follow.”

She smirks, stepping closer to him with her arms crossed right below her chest.

“You see, I just need to make sure that-”

“Kenshi!”

Major Blade’s voice gets cut off when the entrance door leading to the stairs slams open and his name resonates in the room, catching everyone’s attention – Kenshi’s and Major Blade’s included. Johnny is standing there, panting as if he’s just run all the way from his home to the precinct, but Kenshi suspects he was just too impatient to wait for the elevator and sprinted up until the fourth floor from the stairs. He looks around frantically, lighting up with the brightest, excited smile when he finally spots Kenshi. And yes, it’s embarrassing, and he’ll never admit it out loud, but Kenshi’s heart does a backflip in his chest in seeing Johnny reacting to him like this.

“Thank God you’re here – hear me out, I think I got it!” Johnny cries as he zigzags among desks and officers to reach him, “I’ve been thinking about it and – what in the actual fuck?”

Kenshi almost chokes on his own saliva when Johnny shouts that last part, his eyes fixed on Major Blade in what seems horror and alarm. But what shocks him the most is that she almost looks sheepish, averting her eyes and clearing her throat – is she embarrassed? Oh, fucking hell.

“Johnny!” Kenshi hisses, glaring at Johnny to make him stop behaving like a lunatic. But he doesn’t notice, already too busy scowling at Major Blade.

“The hell are you doing here?” he inquires, hands on his hips. Kenshi watches, confused, as she gives him a condescending look.

“Detective Takahashi was kindly showing me around.”

“Peachy, but not my point. Shouldn’t you be having lunch with Jax, like, right now?”

“We stopped here on our way. He had some matters to discuss with Captain Liu Kang and I told him I would’ve liked to visit,” she explains, and Johnny snorts. Kenshi has rarely seen him this annoyed, just in a handful of occasions, and he hates that he has no fucking clue on what’s going on right now.

“Oh, so thoughtful of you – and completely purposeless, I bet!”

“Calm down, Jonathan. I just stopped for a quick visit, a reconnaissance of sorts,” Major Blade says, dismissing Johnny’s concerns with a wave of her hand. Johnny swears under his breath and gets closer to her, staring at Major Blade right in the eye with what Kenshi recognizes to be complete anger… and a tiny hint of anxiety, maybe.

“I asked you not to pry and meddle, and you promised you wouldn’t,” he hisses, and Sonya eyerolls with a sigh, arms once again crossed on her chest.

“And I’m not. I’m just assessing the situation.”

“By prying and meddling!” Johnny whisper screams, and after this, Kenshi feels like he’s seen and heard enough. He steps further, trying to get a hold on his thoughts and understand what the fuck is going on.

“You… Do you know each other?” he asks, and Johnny snorts.

“Yeah, unfortunately – and you know her, too,” he says, before pointing at Major Blade with an accusing hand, “Kenshi, this is Sonya. Sonya, this is Kenshi – even though you already know.”

As Major Blade – no, Sonya lets out an annoyed huff, Kenshi finds himself goggling at them.

“Wait. Wait a second, you mean Sonya as in…” Kenshi looks between them, first at her and then at Johnny, “Sonya, your ex-wife?”

Johnny knits his brows, confused by Kenshi’s shock.

“Duh? I told you about her,” Johnny says, and Kenshi gets closer to him with an impatient tut.

“You didn’t tell me the whole of it, though!”

“I have! We met in college, we married when she found out she was pregnant and then divorced when Cassie was, like, one year old.”

“You omitted the part in which you say you were married to a Major of our army’s Special Forces!” Kenshi whisper screams, and Johnny stays still for a second at first… just to go for a shrug eventually.

“I mean, she wasn’t a Major yet when we divorced,” he points out, and Kenshi closes his eyes with a deep inhale. I’m going to throttle him one day. He needs to get a grip and go back to his usual, rational self, trying not to let Calamity Johnny (and his whole fucking family apparently) mess with his brain even further. When he opens his eyes again, he looks directly at Sonya, finding her already looking at him with a raised brow.

“You’re Cassie’s mother,” Kenshi says, and he feels so fucking stupid, because that’s why she looked so familiar to him. She looks just like her daughter, now that he knows who she is he can see they really look alike – Cassie is a teenager version of the woman before him, her features made less serious by her father’s genes. Sonya lifts her chin up, and Kenshi can definitely see where Cassie got her proud stance from.

“That she is,” Johnny sighs, and Kenshi shoots him a venomous glare.

“I didn’t ask you,” he hisses, and Johnny gives him an equally outraged and confused look.

“Why are you mad at me now? I didn’t do anything!”

“Exactly!”

“Okay, boys, enough,” Sonya steps in, lifting her hands up in defeat to make them stop. She looks at them with a raised brow, curious, as she glances between them. “Is it always like this between you two?”

“Nah. This is a good day,” Johnny comments with a small smile that makes Kenshi’s annoyance falter for a second. He scoffs before looking back to Sonya.

“You wanted to meet me,” he resumes, and Sonya directs a quick glance at Johnny before nodding.

“Can we talk in private?”

“Sonya,” Johnny warns her, suddenly serious and almost menacing. There’s a whole conversation going on between them, right before Kenshi’s eyes, in a single glance, but even after that, Sonya still seems convinced about her request.

“I’ll be brief.”

“Sonya, you told me you would-”

“Johnny!” Jax’s voice booms from behind them, and Johnny makes the fatal mistake of looking back. Sonya takes advantage of his distraction and grabs Kenshi’s arm, dragging him away as Jax reaches Johnny and blocks him in a bear hug – effectively and unknowingly preventing him from following them. Kenshi sees his panicked look and directs a small smile at him to reassure him; Johnny’s shoulders relax a bit, but he still seems tense when he goes back talking with Jax.

Sonya stops only once they’ve reached the landing where the elevator faces the door to the stairs, and at that point she makes sure Kenshi stays with her back turned to where Johnny is positioned. He supposed it might be not to let himself get influenced, but Kenshi still hasn’t understood this woman and her motives.

“I wouldn’t have let Johnny influence my answers to you anyways, Major,” he points out, way more piqued than expected. Sonya lifts a blonde eyebrow and clicks her tongue.

“Yeah, of course. Just like you haven’t let him influence you in agreeing he could follow you on crime scenes and facing criminals, I presume.”

“It wasn’t my choice, but an order from-”

“Yeah yeah, the mayor made a call to your boss’ boss, and you had to comply, I already know the story,” Sonya interrupts him, waving a hand between them as she places the other on her hip. “Johnny was thorough in his account of your shared adventures.”

“I’m glad. But since you seem to be already aware of everything, may I ask you what you want from me?” Kenshi asks, arms crossed on his chest. Sonya doesn’t answer right away, she takes her time examining and studying him once again.

Kenshi feels exposed under her gaze, and the severe scowl line of her pressed lips doesn’t help with putting who’s on front of her at ease – an army tactic, Kenshi supposed. Being this young and already a decorated officer with a high rank must require lots of discipline and guts, not to mention a certain degree of resilience and brains. Sonya Blade, from the little he’s seen of her so far, seems to possess all these qualities and more, making her someone you’d never want as your enemy.

“What I want from you, Mr. Takahashi…” she starts as she takes a step further, closing the distance between them while still staring right at him in the eye, “That’s easy. I want you to keep my daughter’s father alive and well.”

Kenshi stiffens, suddenly defensive. Sonya has hit a nerve, and even though Kenshi doesn’t know how much she’s found out about him (he supposes she must’ve done some research), she must be perfectly aware of it.

“He’s perfectly safe,” Kenshi answers through gritted teeth, and Sonya scoffs.

“No, he’s not. The fact that he’s this involved in your job prevents him from being safe, Detective,” Sonya remarks, serious. “The problem is that Johnny is currently too engrossed in whatever you guys have going on to come to terms with it, which means he’ll put himself in dangers he could’ve easily avoided simply by thinking before acting. You should know him by now – he’s like a child perpetually on a sugar rush.”

Kenshi snorts, “Tell me about it.”

“And just like a child, he needs to be kept an eye on, because he’s too reckless and impulsive to make decisions based on logic and actual survival instinct. He should’ve never started this thing, playing detective with the lot of you, but I recognize Johnny is impossible to stop when he sets his mind on something. And given that you are his current obsession,” Sonya utters, poking his chest with her index, “The least you can do is keep him safe and make sure that moron doesn’t get hurt in the process.”

Kenshi does his best to stay imperturbable, but he feels his heart hammering against his sternum. There’s a lump in his throat, memories of this past year spent with Johnny intertwining with others from his past – his family, his mother and Kitana – Dad and Mileena… Especially Mileena, the one he should’ve kept safe, but didn’t.

Keep him safe.

“Johnny is…”

Keep him safe, keep him safe.

“He’s…”

Keephimsafekeephimsafekeephimsafe.

Kenshi squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He must stay focused, lucid. This is not the time nor place to spiral, he fucking won’t. When he opens his eyes again to look back at Sonya, he feels like himself again.

“Johnny is an adult, and he knows what he’s doing. However,” he says, lifting one hand up to block Sonya from interrupting him again, “I also know he tends to let enthusiasm get the best of him, and forgo critical reasoning. Luckily, we do compensate each other pretty well.”

“That’s lovely, but it doesn’t provide an answer to my request.”

“Yes, it does,” Kenshi says, slow and definitive, determinate as ever. “It does, because they’d have to walk over my dead body before they could get to him.”

Sonya’s eyes widen in surprise, her lips slightly open. She’s taken aback by his answer, Kenshi is aware, but it’s the truth, pure and simple. He’d put his life on the line to protect Johnny’s, that’s not even up to debate. Sonya tilts her head to the side, pensive.

“You’d give your life to save his?”

“Yes,” Kenshi replies with no hesitation. Sonya stays still for a moment, but then she nods, apparently satisfied with his answer.

“I see… Well, then.” She shrugs and for the first time since she got there, Kenshi watches a genuine smile appear on her lips – and now, if possible, she looks even more similar to her daughter. “I suppose I should welcome you to the family, then.”

Kenshi goggles at her, surprised and yes, fairly embarrassed too.

“Uh, I… Thank you, but it’s not – we’re just friends.”

“Of course, sure,” Sonya chuckles, but before Kenshi can add anything else, Jax’s voice booms behind him, and he turns around in time to see the mayor walk towards them with Johnny by his side, discussing plans for some Disneyworld trip they’ve been planning for a couple of weeks now – Kenshi has witnessed all of Johnny’s numerous complaints and become part of them, even if involuntarily.

“…just one car, we can fit in there,” Johnny is saying, and Jax hums in approval. Then, when he meets Kenshi’s eyes, his lips curl into a grin.

“Ah, there he is, our new chaperon!”

Kenshi blinks, confused, and Sonya seems just as perplexed.

“Your chaperon?” she repeats with a raised brow, “What do you mean?”

“Johnny told me Kenshi has agreed to come with us and the girls next time we go to Disneyworld,” Jax explains, and Kenshi shoots Johnny a seething glare.

“I told you I would think about it, Cage.”

“Too late, man. You’re in,” Johnny chirps, apologetic. Kenshi scowls at him, but right as he and Jax start talking together again, he feels Sonya’s hand squeezing his shoulder; when he looks at her, Kenshi spots an honestly sorrowful expression on her face.

“You’re gonna need all your courage and willpower to get through that, Takahashi,” she murmurs, before moving her attention to her ex-husband, “But isn’t the norm with Johnny?”

Kenshi looks at his partner, laying his eyes on him right as he laughs at one of Jax’s jokes. His stomach twists, his heart turns in his chest, and Kenshi… Kenshi knows he should do something about it before it gets too late.

“Yeah, I’m afraid so…” he murmurs, and his lips turn into a soft smile, “Thank God it’s worth it.”

Even though, thinking of it… It might be already.