Chapter Text
It was seventeen minutes past eleven AM on a balmy summer day when Zen shoved a would-be saboteur out of a window and into Kiki’s circle of things I am somehow now responsible for.
Prior to that, the unknown boy had been Shirayuki’s problem. But Shirayuki’s problems, Kiki had noticed, tended to become Zen’s problems, though she couldn’t entirely bring herself to mind this. After all, Shirayuki often got them solved on her own before Zen could get himself too invested. Even now, the single, stiff nod from Director Haruka before turning on his heel and away from the window was proof enough of that.
Though her face remained smooth as placid waters, Kiki allowed herself a fraction of a moment to regret the loss of that face as it turned away. She did so appreciate it, even if her cabinmates blanched in horror when she expressed her preference. It wasn’t her fault Haruka was a fox. But to the point of Shirayuki’s problems--“What do you think?” Kiki’s lips barely moved to form the question, confident that Mitsuhide was close enough, and just as focused on the tête-à-tête between the lanky teen with a shock of dark hair and their cabin leader, two stories above.
The wind shushed, stirring up the scent of summer grass. Mitsuhide’s brow remained furrowed. “He did fess up, but I don’t like it.” Her partner went quiet, as the ‘he’ in question held up his hands in defense, half-leaned out of the second floor window where he had perched with the comfort of a cat in his own home. Calm down! I won’t lay another hand on the girl, I swear! Caution made Mitsuhide’s shoulders stiffer than an eighteen year old’s should be, and Kiki relaxed her own in automatic contrariness, but kept her balance on the balls of her feet, easy grace and ready to lunge. Mitsuhide’s feet shifted, crushing the grass as took a firmer stance, “Him getting into camp that easy--you saw Director Haruka, even he was surprised, and by all accounts it sounds like they were in cahoots.”
Cahoots, Kiki thought. Honestly. “You’re such an old man.” Her fondness for them aside, there was a point of taking it too far.
Mitsuhide opened his mouth to protest as the voice continued above them, fluted with laughter and the tiniest touch of escaping unease, I like her, for one. And she could be good for you. Kiki felt her brows wing up, and jerked her head to see. She was rewarded with the vision of Zen’s cheeks gone pale and then pink, and she bit back a smile.
The unknown boy caught her eyes when he gave a quick glance groundward--the first consideration he’d given the seemingly important risk of a fall--and she expected the grin, which came after a bare second of assessment and the tiniest shift of his jaw towards tense, before he caught it to fall loose in a smile. Then his gaze was gone, back on Zen.
Mitsuhide’s voice was so quiet, so soft she almost missed it. “What do you think--sixteen? He’s awfully old to be…”
Kiki, who at fifteen did not consider sixteen old, sniffed. “Alive?” A flinch racked Mitsuhide’s features, but he nodded. “Yes, he is.” She agreed, keeping her lips still to muffle the murmur, “So his godly parent’s probably one of the lesser deities.” From someone else, this comment from a daughter of Athena might have come off as snobbish. From Kiki, it was a matter of fact. A laconic lift and fall of her shoulder, set her ponytail falling away from the orange t-shirt emblazoned with Camp Halfblood, and she kept her eyes on the exchange. “The scent must not be as strong. Or he’s got one Tartarus of a lucky streak.”
“Or one Tartarus of a story.” The murmur was grim. Ever the pessimist. But as she knew he would, Mitsuhide relaxed his shoulders, unwilling to judge entirely just yet, “Even so,” He protested, “Even a weak deity, if they don’t make it to camp by 12 or 13…” Kiki didn’t finish, and neither did he. They both had come across more than their fair share of demigods that had not been found soon enough. Or at least, not found by them. Mitsuhide cleared his throat. “Well, Shirayuki managed, I suppose.”
It had been a near thing. She hadn’t known what was drawing her to New York, but she’d had more than her share of monsters at her back when Zen had caught their trail. If he hadn’t...Kiki dismissed the thought. He had. That was all that mattered. “Yes, but her grandparents--”
“Kiki, Mitsuhide, do something with him.”
The press, Kiki would later reflect, would have had a field day with that, if recording equipment worked anywhere near the campgrounds. Popular young celebrity pushes delinquent out of window. The boy tipped from the window ledge through the harrowing sweep of air between the sill and the ground, and tucked as gravity swallowed his limbs, flipping to land in a rolling somersault that left him light and on his feet, despite the distance of the fall. When he straightened—or thought about it, anyway—he seems to notice the twin stares and paused. For a moment he was perfectly, utterly still. Then he waved.
Kiki kept her expression blank. Mitsuhide called up to Zen without lifting his eyes, “Got it.”
The boy wasn’t as good as he thought he was, she decided. Or maybe that was her mother’s wisdom, and the knowledge, somehow, that this friendship could be a war that tuned her in after all. She saw the quick calculation before he decided on his defense--a grin, again. Wide and easy and bright, with the mischief clear out in the open, dancing in the corners and direct to his eyes. Hermes, she figured. If he hadn’t managed to stay uneaten for four years more than most any demigod could dream outside Camp Halfblood, she’d have said he was one of Hermes’ in a heartbeat, with that kind of smile. It was the sort that held no secrets - because wherever he stored them, it wasn’t where anyone else would see.
He seemed to realize they weren’t going to say anything until he did, and let the fluttering hand lift from its wave into a salute, still staying in his crouch in a way that had her envying his flexibility. “Hi. So. You two work for--” Whatever he was going to say vanished abruptly behind a smack of his lips and a hum before he visibly edited to, “Zen too, huh?”
Mitsuhide’s frown was cautious. “Too?”
“Sure.” Warm, cheeky. He rocked on his heels, as though unsure whether to stand of flop back onto the soft grass, and she watched him take a breath and thought he’d decided on the latter, only to blink as he rolled backwards and up onto his feet. “Finders keepers, right? And, uh—” Again, an edit, “—My prior employer seems to no longer need my services, which include,” And here, he turned to Kiki, holding up fingers as he counted off, and she noted with amusement that he clearly deemed her the easier target, and decided she looked forward to proving him wrong, “Stable-cleaning, arrow fletching, cabin cleaning, craft-making, cooking, bathroom cleaning…”
“Weapons cleaning?” She asked, expression cool and arch innocent.
He didn’t bat an eyelash, “Sure.” Sarcasm invited her to join in on the joke, “Swords are my speciality, but I know my way around a glock.”
Some of the humor left her, and she caught from his lips he knew he’d made an error, but it was Mitsuhide who, puzzled, murmured, “Guns don’t really work around here. We mostly stick to Celestial Bronze, and it’s too soft for bullets.”
The tiniest wrinkle of baffled confusion appeared between the boy’s brows, but his smile didn’t falter. “Right.” He said, voice a bit breathless, and the smile stretched, “Well I’m more used to polishing silver, but bronze can’t be that different, right?”
Little did he know. It was a good angle, Kiki decided. The whole helpful thing. And he’d learn. “I like him.”
He beamed at her, all glittering and winsome veneer, and she wondered what was underneath, and whether or not it would bite. “Well, shucks, princess. Happy to hear that.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she didn’t mind, not really, but it wouldn’t do to set a precedent. “I take it back.”
And—there.
Just a fraction. Just the tiniest corner, but his grin pulled upward, satisfaction a glint, and the plane of his shoulders eased a fraction. She’d given something away with that response, but he noticed her eyes on his shoulders and shrugged in acknowledgement—so had he.
Mitsuhide cleared his throat. “Right. What’s your name?”
He thought about it, before answering. Kiki wondered if he told them truth. Almost like liquid, the boy tucked his hands behind his neck in a lazy stretch, tilting himself back which kept his height from going full. Cautious as a cat, for all the show of sweet temper. After a moment, one hand drifted out, “Obi.”
“Well Obi, I’m Mitsuhide, and this is Kiki.” She lifted a hand in a wave as he shook Mitsuhide’s, and didn’t smile. Somehow, it only made his smile brighter. How annoying, she was going to like him. If only because he was no doubt going to fluster Mitsuhide. Let Mitsuhide fret, Kiki decided. He was going to anyway. She trusted Zen’s instincts and her own. Of course, that was all assuming he stuck around. She didn’t think the odds of that were too high--although Camp did have the advantage of being monster-free. And if he didn’t have some kind of monster-repelling trick up his sleeve, well, there wasn’t exactly anywhere else like it he could go. Mitsuhide smiled at last, the gentle, confident, big-brother smile that she knew he had no idea the effects of. Given how Obi blinked, he was aware. Mitsuhide cleared his throat. “Welcome to Camp Halfblood. We’ll watch the orientation film and get you a bunk.”
Obi, for his part, finally frowned. Nice to know he was capable of it. “Halfblood? ”