Chapter Text
The wind seemed to blow through you as you shoved your hands further down into the warmth of your pockets, hands grasping the plush interior with a renewed fervor as the cold intensified. Winter was always so pretty upstate, where you were masquerading as someone who belonged.
You had everything you needed to play the part: the loft apartment with the uncharacteristically drawn curtains, the short, classy bob of your blonde wig, the trenchcoat as opposed to a jacket, as if you were too good for one. That’s how the people here were; looking out for number one with no intention of sparing time from their day to help someone beneath them. You disliked people like that.
Your feet naturally pulled to a stop in front of your cafe of the month. A book and internet cafe with rows and rows of books waiting to be read. You checked your shoulder inconspicuously, like you spotted something in the corner of the cafe through the window. No one could tell through the harsh tint of your sunglasses.
The doorbell jingled happily, and you stepped inside and slid your glasses onto your head. You ordered your usual to the familiar barista, who already knew your order and was probably anticipating your usual ask about what book they were reading.
They made your coffee and leaned their elbows over the counter, ‘you still on Little Women?’
You almost laughed, a small huff through your nose, ‘you make it sound like it’s not my third re-read. Are you still on Moby?’
Of course you were referring to Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, who you had recommended to the eager barista with their round lenses shining under the old-style light bulbs’ yellow glow.
‘It’s a bit of a slog, but I’m two-thirds through and I think I’ll finish by next week,’ they informed you, but then opened their mouth again to speak before cutting themselves off. You sipped your coffee and waited. ‘I wanted to ask you something…’
You locked eyes with them as the doorbell tinkled jovially behind you. You heard two sets of footsteps enter the cafe and disappear into the aisles of books. One set sounded heavier than the other. Maybe husband and wife.
‘Well? Go on.’
The barista flushed, maybe feeling a bit silly now that you were pressing them to ask. You hoped they weren’t going to ask for your number.
‘Well… when you order a coffee you always change your name, and I thought at first it was just a game or something to throw us baristas off… but why do you?’ They asked, their eyes peering up at you from the counter. You sipped your coffee again.
‘Precaution, mainly.’ You informed them, indifferent. Their reaction was one of confusion, then worry. ‘You do know how many people get nabbed after being identified at establishments like these right? Restaurants, coffee houses, whatever. They hear “reservation for Andy” and bam, you’re dust.’
‘Is your name Andy?’ The barista asked, bewildered, and you let them piece it together. You gestured to their name badge and watched them look down, then back up again red with embarrassment.
‘Same time next week, Andy?’ You grinned genially, and turned heel and caught the deep, heady scent of cologne and aftershave. You glanced down the aisle closest to the door and caught sight of a very nice blue suit. Its wearer was thumbing through a book and glanced up at you with matching blue eyes. Sharks eyes. He held your gaze evenly, and you sipped your coffee slowly.
You lowered your sunglasses and exited the cafe with a controlled haste, leaving your very full cup of coffee on an abandoned table. You didn’t dare look behind you and ducked into the nearest alleyway by the cafe, waiting for them to run past. You pulled out the knife strapped to your thigh and held it close to your chest, blade pointed at the ground.
There he was, walking with the pace of someone looking for someone else, stalking right past when you grabbed him by the rather muscular arm and threw him against the brick of the alleyway. He struggled at first, but with an arm pinned to the wall and a knife to the throat he quickly stilled. This was a quiet part of town, so you weren’t particularly worried about people walking by.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ You asked lowly, close enough to his face and pressed rather close so you wouldn’t have to yell. He was about three good inches taller than you with a cleanly slicked back head of chestnut hair that seemed to fight against bouncing back to their curly origins. The moustache really tied the look together, he kinda resembled a seventies pornstar.
His bright blue eyes were blown wide with surprise, and his mouth fell open with protest to the blade an inch away from his face.
‘Easy does it, fuck!’ He gasped against the knife, his delightful accent a stark compliment to his attire and his pulse hot and wild against your hand. ‘I just wanna talk.’
‘I am ten seconds away from slitting you throat to stomach like a fish, big boy. Make it quick.’ You threatened, his Adam’s Apple bobbing and eyes straying for two seconds somewhere beyond the realm of your face.
That second pair of footsteps in the cafe. Slightly heavier than its counterpart.
He had a partner.
Something hard and cold met your skull, a dull thunk reverberating through your brain like an overeager child with a snow globe. Your vision swam, staggering back as you attempted to remain standing.
Then your face met the pavement.
….
You were woken by a hand gently patting your cheeks to bring you ‘round. Your eyes squinted open and you could feel the restraints that bound your hands and feet. You were sitting on a wooden chair, a table in front of you clear of clutter except for a packet of chips. You blinked in confusion, then wriggled uncomfortably. Whoever bound you knew how to tie knots. What a boy scout.
You felt the absence of your knives, the one on your thigh probably lost in the scuffle and the one on your side somewhere out of view. You stretched your neck and blew out a breath. ‘What does a girl have to do to get a drink of water around here, huh?’
You were met with no reply. Until the two clowns who managed to get a jump on you walked into view and sat on their own chairs. A cup of water was placed on the table in front of you. Your wrists itched.
One had this mane of messy dark Afro, the edges dyed a permafrost white. He was dressed in a grey leather jacket and black cargo pants. The dapper one was still in his suit, his pornstar moustache greeting you with an easy, tight-lipped smile. Like he had no other choice but to tie you up and was really sorry about it. Asshole.
You had to admit he was crazily good-looking. The proportions of his chiselled face, broad shoulders and slim waist. You looked him up and down unashamedly while he looked on, not ruffled in the slightest.
‘How’s your neck, big boy?’ You teased, a smile creeping onto your face.
‘How are your wrists, love?’ He countered, and you raised both hands with a bigger smile, bound tightly but not yet cutting off the circulation in your fingers.
The stockier one interrupted your delightful banter, ‘I’m Lemon, this is Tangerine.’
Your eyebrows knitted in confusion. You’d heard of assassins having strange names, animals like the Hornet or the Whale or the Cicada. This was new.
‘Like the fruit?’ You clarified, to which Tangerine rolled his eyes.
It clicked in your brain.
‘I’m being interrogated by the twins? I’m almost honoured, really, I would salute you guys, but I’m a bit tied up right now.’ For all your jokes, anxiety started uncharacteristically gnawing at your insides at the recognition of just who you had managed to piss off. These two did the Bolivia job. Just how had you wronged them?
‘You know Thomas and Friends?’ The question caught you off guard as Lemon cracked the bag of chips and started snacking, but once again the old inkling of memory ran past your brain. Lemon likes Thomas the Tank Engine… and old Tangerine here likes novels or something.
‘Sure do, what about it?’ You went along with Lemon’s antics, to the dismay of Tangerine, who crossed his arms.
‘Lemon, if you really must do this now-‘ He began, when he was silenced by the raising of Lemon’s hand. He closed his mouth resignedly and leaned back in his chair.
‘You see, Thomas and Friends has taught me heaps about people, yeah? And not like surface-level, kid's cartoon stuff. Like actual important shit. You wanna know something?’ Lemon popped a chip in his mouth and the crunch rang through the room like it was part of the performance. He had this animated look in his eyes that made you slightly on edge. You withheld shifting in your seat and played it cool, nodding.
‘Well, there’s lots of characters on Sodor Island, of course there’s Thomas, James, Gordon, Edward, Percy-‘
‘Lemon-‘ Tangerine urged him to get to the point. You were quite enjoying the scene before you. And what was itching the back of your brain was not thinking about how the fuck to get out of here, but why people said these two looked like twins.
‘Anyway, I think I know exactly who you are. A Diesel.’ He concluded as a matter of factly.
You frowned slightly, recognising the name. ‘Well, that’s not very nice. Diesel’s are dickheads.’
He leaned forward with fresh excitement colouring his face, ‘Too fuckin’ right.’
‘Lemon, zip it, would you?’ Tangerine’s patience had worn thin, and he lightly smacked his brother’s arm with the back of his hand to warn him off saying anything more about Thomas and Friends. ‘Sorry ’bout him, he gets carried away sometimes. We wanted to talk to you about Agence.’
A finger of fear traced your spine at the mention of the syndicate. You stowed your unease deep inside you, your face expressionless.
‘Did they hire you to kidnap me or something?’ You asked bluntly, and you watched as Lemon paused chewing to share a look at his brother.
‘… No. Why would you think that?’ Lemon seemed confused at your question, which was confusing you further about this situation. Did they nab the wrong girl?
‘If they didn’t hire you… why am I here?’ You asked.
‘We wanna know why Agence put a hit out on you. They offered the job, but we thought we’d do some recon first.’
‘… You were spying on me? To see if I was worth killing? You can see how that might confuse me, right? You guys don’t do recon. You take jobs and you fuck shit up, and not in a bad way- well… define bad, you know-‘ you were rambling, maybe because you hadn’t talked to another person for longer than two minutes in over three months and were going a bit stir-crazy on your own. You would rather chalk it up to using your head and putting the pieces together in front of you.
‘Momo told us to check you out before we wasted you. She seems to like you.’ Tangerine notified you, cutting you off as if the information internally stung.
‘Oh my god, Momo sent you?’ You were of course referring to the lovely lady who ran an information mill in Tokyo’s Red Light District under the guise of a little hole-in-the-wall bookstore. And what a bookstore it was, and while customers were few and far between, she kept the place open to ferry secrets between buyer and seller. Of course, you couldn’t just buy information, you had to pay equal weight, nothing lost, and information gained. You had to be a particular kind of special for her to take a liking to you.
You used to hang around on Japan jobs and buy her drinks. She was sweet on you after a night of drunkenly giggling about the bad customers she would hand information out on that eventuated in their murder.
Tangerine nodded at the admission of intent.
‘What do you wanna know?’ You offered easily. Tangerine leaned back, glancing at Lemon in surprise at your willingness to cooperate. Lemon shoved three chips in his mouth at once and continued to crunch.
‘You held a knife to my throat and had a knee in my bollocks and you’re just giving up because of Momo? Who are you?’ Tangerine’s Adonis-shaped head tilted in confusion and curiosity in equal measure. What seemed to overpower those feelings was a sense of caution around you. You tossed your head back, forcing the hair from your eyes, the blonde strands flying.
‘Well according to your friend Lemon, I’m a Diesel - which isn’t true,’ you shot a pointed look at Lemon, who glared at you like he was steadfast in his summation of your character.
‘Diesel’s are mean and shifty. Always up to no good. That sounds pretty much like her, dunnit, Tangerine?’ Lemon pointed out, and you rolled your eyes in dismissal of the very idea.
You weren’t going to tell them that your young niece was fond of the show, and that’s the reason you knew such information. It was all she talked about, hell, maybe Lemon would like the little rascal.
‘Lemon, I swear to god if you mention Thomas one more fucking time I’ll-‘ Tangerine flared up, his chest expanding with the heave of frustration with his partner.
‘-shoot my fucking face off, yeah I get it.’ Lemon finished for him, easing back into his seat and letting Tangerine take charge.
You held up your bound hands and wiggled your fingers. ‘Information for freedom?’
Tangerine’s crystal blue eyes flicked down at your hands and he seemed to chew on the idea of your hands being free to roam before tapping Lemon to oblige your request.
That was the first step. Free your hands and the rest was gravy.
Lemon produced a knife and cut the ties at your hands in one swift slice. You wrung your wrists at the tenderness of the skin and bent to unravel the ties at your feet as you began to speak.
‘Okay, first things first, you have got to tell me your tailor. Like really, the suit is very nice. A three-piece like that? You don’t see it done like that anymore around these parts…’ the ties were coming loose, and sure, you were waffling, but you had to.
There was a knock at the door.
The entire room froze.
Tangerine looked to Lemon, who immediately presented arms and gave Tangerine a look that seemed to communicate his exact plan. You were out of time.
Tangerine shot you a look that said don’t go anywhere you little shit, and he stood wordlessly.
‘You ladies expecting company?’ You asked, still trying to untie yourself. Tangerine’s eyes breathed flames at your traitorous volume. They could play dead, and act like no one was home. But you needed a distraction.
‘Room service!’ The sound was muffled beyond the door. Masculine. Sounded large.
So you were at a motel of some kind. Interesting. Just where had they managed to stash you in the middle of the day?
You considered screaming, but of course the classic “room service” routine was basically page one of How to Get Access to Any Room 101.
‘Give me a knife or I scream, and then hotel security’s on your ass like flies on shit.’ You threatened, and if looks could kill at that moment you would be six feet under. Tangerine’s fists clenched and unclenched in frustration at the escalating situation.
A second door knock. Out of character for room service. Very interesting indeed.
He tossed you a butterfly knife that you caught with one hand. You drew in a deep breath to scream, betraying the deal you had with the psycho in front of you and letting rip the most maidenly scream for help you could force out of your lungs as you swiftly cut the ties at your feet. Tangerine pounced on you to attempt to cover your mouth before any more sound could escape it. It would be enough.
The scream rang through the room as Tangerine knocked you out of the chair and to the floor, drawing the attention of Lemon as the door was kicked in and bullets started flying.
You found yourself on the floor, slashing at anything that came remotely close to your face. Whether that be knuckles, elbows, or even that pretty face of his, you didn’t care. You needed to leave before shit got messier than it already was. You managed to dodge a direct punch to the face and bent Tangerine’s elbow to redirect his momentum and bring a knee between your bodies to force him off you.
You could hear Lemon dealing with the intruders at the front door and reasoned about a minute's worth of time for you to dispense with Tangerine before Lemon whacked you again and took you back to square one.
You straddled his solid stomach and brought the knife down with the intent to at least slow down the giant Brit. He grabbed your wrists before it could make contact and there you were, leaning all your weight on the knife and him using all his strength to stop you from sinking it into his chest.
His face was going red with exertion and all your hair was in your face, the knife twitching with the battling inertia.
You heard a scuffle of boots and the click of a magazine and risked a glance up to see an incoming intruder that must have slipped past Lemon in the hallway.
You eased off the knife and pushed Tangerine’s interfering hands away in one swift movement, throwing it to perfectly sink between the attacker’s eyes. The eyes in question went slack, and his knees buckled as he fell face-first onto the wooden floorboards of the dining room you were in.
You were still straddling Tangerine’s waist and looked down at him in apology. His eyes looked incredulous like he couldn’t believe you’d spare his life over that goon. He had a gash on his forearm and on his jaw where you slashed him earlier. They were hardly bleeding. He was pretty good.
You were incredulous about the fact that he hadn’t immediately resumed trying to subdue you. He let you get off of him, stand up and dust off your pants.
You let him do the same.
You’d somehow non-verbally agreed to a truce for the time being, and he rushed to check on the state of Lemon, who had a rather nasty splash of blood across his jacket and shirt. You looked down at the loser with the knife in between his eyes as if you could drum up some recognition from the dusty caverns of your memory. You came up empty.
You took his gun and checked the magazine for bullets. Must have jammed before you threw Tangerine's knife.
Unlucky bastard.
Speaking of the knife, you planted your foot on the guy’s neck and wrenched the knife out of his skull, wiping the blood on his jacket and flicking it closed.
You turned back to the twins and grimaced at Lemon’s attire, seeing just how messy he’d managed to get.
Lemon caught you staring in concern and waved his gun around in a gesture of “oh this? It’s nothing really”.
‘Not mine. I don't bleed.’ He pointed out, and Tangerine blew out a breath.
‘You wouldn’t happen to know who the fuck these poor sods are?’ He turned to you, the colour in his face returning to normal. It was like he was seeing you with new eyes, glancing you up and down.
‘That would most likely be Agence. And they most definitely reported my kidnapping by you two muppets. So now you’re equally up for grabs.’
‘So just who the fuck are you?’ Lemon waved his gun at you with a childlike lilt, as if he was about to throw a tantrum.
‘I go by Miss now, but you might know my previous alias-‘
‘You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.’ Tangerine hissed.
It sent a swell of satisfaction through your gut, ‘You’ve heard of me, Tang?’ The nickname made his eyes meet yours in surprise and apprehension, which made your satisfaction double over with joy. Oh, he’d heard of you, alright.
‘Is someone going to fucking tell me who this bitch is?’ Lemon piped up, and you were starting to think he might just point that gun at you.
‘Not just any old bitch, Lemon… this is the Wraith.’ Tangerine filled in the gap, and Lemon looked between his brother and you like that didn’t already explain enough. Tangerine looked at his brother like he couldn’t believe the lack of recognition, which almost made you burst out laughing. ‘Are you serious? Do you seriously not read anything I fucking send you? Why do I even bother with mission briefs- you know what? Forget it, we need to go like right fucking now.’
‘How the fuck am I s’posed to know what a Wraith is or does? Is that like a bad thing, a Wraith?’ Lemon rambled, and Tangerine shot you a quick look of apology before he once again smacked his brother.
‘I’ll tell you everything I know once we’re clear of this place. You guys have somewhere to hole up for a few days?’ You asked, looking down at your gun and seeing if you could unjam it with a smack to the barrel. You weren’t particularly worried that the pair would come at you anymore, you seemed to have a common enemy.
‘Yeah, there’s a place we got in- did you pull my knife outta that guy’s head?’ Tangerine spotted the knife in your hand and looked almost… thankful to have it back.
You offered Tangerine his knife back, your fingers brushing in exchange. ‘Just don’t stab me with it, yeah?’
He almost rolled his eyes, ‘I should hope you do me the same courtesy.’ He gave you a quick smile of thanks before pocketing it.
Lemon looked like he was going to explode. His brother simply grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the door and pushed him through it.