Chapter Text
Irene knew that she was a woman who was weak.
Weakness never specifically meant she couldn’t fight, though. It just meant that when she tried to, she wasn’t very good at it. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was her motive, or lack of.
She had different means of protecting the people who were special to her, who were close with her. Strength didn’t necessarily mean protector, just as weakness never meant someone who needed protection.
Sometimes the meek, the tender and the kinds were the ones who raged victorious. The strong, the chivalrous and the braves lost.
Sometimes to forces stronger than oneself, but often to an equally matched enemy.
Sometimes, just sometimes, the strong were the ones who needed to be protected. And those who were weak, who had the strong protect them when they couldn’t themselves, could shelter them.
Sometimes those weak people can carry the wills of the people who are much tougher than them.
Sometimes they save the day in the end.
Irene was those weak, with a will of iron and a heart that debted itself.
This is a story of that debt.
And how the weak are sometimes the strongest of people.
How the vulnerable can be resilient, despite what the world inside and outside tells them.
The roles can never be set as black and white. Ego and pride can plague the minds of the most feeble. Gallant can curse through the veins of even the people misusing their power that the world gifted to them.
The world is constantly playing favourites. To call this unfair would be hypocritical. Everyone has been the world’s favourites at least once in their life. But no one can be loved by something so grand for so long. They have also been the least favourites.
Uncertainty is the only thing that is certain for one’s life.
This is one such uncertain life of a woman named Irene Alniño.
*
The underside of the leather seat feels warm against her legs. It’s a hot, sunny day in the east of Florida. She watches a sign for Port St Lucie pass her window, and speed out of view. It’s painted the same green the previous ones were. They zip past her like rain drops. They count down the miles- 160 - 155 - 150. She’s getting closer.
It’s an usually quiet day. She just thinks that she’s lucky that it is. This journey was already demanding as it was. Long, tedious and repetitive. She watched the landscape with curt interest. There was a lot of ocean, lapping over with waves. The beach would fade from sand to rock to ports and small sea-side towns, a novelty. The ocean was a tropical blue. Sometimes it faded into transparency. She liked it most when it was in the shade of viridian. It meant it was healthy, swarming fat with sea life and ecosystems.
She wished she could occupy the time with something useful. Not even daydreaming kept her busy for very long, and writing made her feel carsick. The sunlight made reading near impossible. She’d have to squint to read along the lines. The bumpy roads would give her a headache.
She leans up against the leather car seat. She hated how her sweat feels between her skin and shirt when pressed against it. The long-sleeved shirt was navy blue, the worst kind for the heat. Her skirt stuck to the vinyl.
The man beside her dawned the same outfit, save for the skirt.. His hat obscured his ruggish face- It was all part of the uniform. Irene assumed this was how they stayed in the shadows. Their features remained tucked under the same monotone outfit, under a hat that lettered the same words, the same symbols, the same dates and years. “Speedwagon Foundation” Read the crest. Below was a wheel and the dates of establishment. Fine knitted yellow.
There were no names in uniforms. They were just the “Speedwagon Foundation” to all those who didn’t know them. That was the point. Collectivism.
“Pull over in a few miles.” She spoke, her voice raw. She hadn’t used it in a few hours, as much as she would have preferred to. “I want to make a stop, first.”
She watched his mouth gape open. He closed it after a few seconds. His eyebrows knitted together, but he kept driving. His knuckles turned white against the leather wheel. He’d caught on where she wanted to go. She knew he wasn’t happy with it.
“Thank you.” She turned away from him, bathing herself back in the silence. Not even the music humming from the radio made her silence feel much better. It wasn’t awkward, it was uncomfortable.
She worried if she had asked too much of him. They had already been driving most of the day, since the sun had begun to rise above the horizon. The electronic clock now reads 15:29. The sun had begun to slip past it’s highest.
She feels relief settle in her chest as he pulls off at the next intersection.
There’s a small woodland section by the roads. Dotted along are small, suburban houses. Pastel blues, yellows, browns and an ashy red.
Irene knows which one to pull over to- but he does as well. He says nothing as the tires rumble over the gravel. The estate is empty. It’s a work day. It’s the third one on the left after they pull in.
He pulls over to the house beside. Irene will have to make the walk. She knows he’s trying to stay out of sight. She unclips her belt. She makes sure to leave the hat behind with the driver. She’s now recognisable by the ones who know her. Blonde swirls, high cheekbones and red lipstick aren’t so obscured under the shadow of her cap anymore.
The engine keeps running, with keys in ignition.. That’s how he tells her she needs to be quick.
Red heels click against the rocks leading up to the pathway. The house is painted a pale blue, and in the middle of the lawn, there’s an unused swing set. It was handmade from planks of wood. A birthday gift from many years past. She knows why it sits untouched. She marches like a band.
Her hand wraps into a loose fist. She hits against the door. She’s gentle with it, as if a timid, helpless animal was on the other side, and she didn’t want to startle it.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
There’s no answer- she should have known to have come earlier. She wishes there was something to blame rather than her tardiness. She can feel a twinge in her chest. Her nose tickles like static.
Should she leave a note?
She can hear the patter of feet on the wood floorboards from inside. There’s a series of thumps, before the door handle rattles. It opens just far enough so that someone can peek out, but quickly shut it if needs be. Small round hands grip the exterior, and a chubby face pokes from behind them. Her face is worried, and her lips are pulled into a pout.
“It’s me, don’t worry.” Irene smiles, and crouches down. “Aunt Irene.” She can sense timidness in the child. She’s quite young- Irene would know. Their eyes meet. Irene’s hazel with the child’s dark chartreuse.
The pout stretches into a small smile, and the girl pushes away from the door. She stretches her arms out above her head, and hugs Irene. She’s giggling deliriously. And then she hiccups. She’s managed to lose her breath with excitement. She stands on the tops of her toes.
“Calm down.. Take deep breaths, Jolyne.” The older woman instructed.
She watches the young girl nod enthusiastically; and take a deep breath. Her hand rests on the back of Jolyne’s head, ruffling through her black hair. She’s tied it up herself; her buns are lopsided.
“Is your mother home?” Irene speaks slowly, like her words are butter. She clicks her tongue at the end of each sentence. She does it all with a loving authority- the type which makes people listen to her. Not as a leader, but as someone to trust.
Jolyne shakes her head from left to right. It’s heavily exaggerated. Her excitement hadn’t buzzed off. It was like a sugar rush. Her smile is wide, pushing her chubby cheeks against her eyes.
Irene should have guessed. Dolly had been spending longer at her job by the local garden centre. Without her husband around, she had to make the income for the both of them. A part of Irene knew that it was a way for Dolly to fill up what he had left behind.
Dolly Kujo, neé Parton. Jolyne’s mother. She was a young American-Japanese woman working as a lepidopterologist. They had been friends for a while- even before Jolyne was born. She was charismatic, friendly, extroverted, like herself. Irene likes to think that’s how they became friends. They loved one another’s company.
A part of Irene believes that Dolly blames herself for the departure of Jolyne’s father- her husband. Jolyne didn’t take it well.
Dolly wouldn’t take this well, either. Irene feels guilt hang on her chest like a lock.
Irene takes Jolyne’s small hands in her own. She squeezes them with her thumbs. She’s soothing her to calm down. They’re sticky, but she doesn’t mind. She can feel Jolyne slow down her excitement. Her smile shrinks. So does she. She can see Jolyne grip one of her arms, as she breaks the hug.
The stiffness in the air hangs.
“Are.. you here to babysit?” Jolyne hums softly. There’s a glimmer of excitement behind her pupils, curtained behind nervousness. Irene admires the child’s hope.
“No, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t be able to babysit for a while, now. I just swung by to share some news.” She strokes Jolyne’s hair to soothe herself. Rhythmic, hands up, and then back down. “I’m going to be going away for a while. Can you tell your mother that?”
Jolyne nods a bit. Irene notices the light glisten in her eyes. Jolyne didn’t take the news well it seems. The hope dissipated.
“You’ll be back, won’t you?” Jolyne goes back in for another hug. This time, it’s tighter. She’s wrapped her arms as far as she can stretch them. Her hands squeeze the fabric of Irene’s shirt. It’s like she’s grasping for sand falling from an hourglass. It’s too far. It slips through her fingers.
“Of course. I just have something very important to do.” Irene isn’t lying. It’s a mission, one of her firsts. She’s never done one like this before. Similar, but this was a different level. She listens to Jolyne sniffle back phlegm. She’s trying to be as strong as Irene. But she’s still young. Emotions aren’t as frowned on. “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise you, Jolyne.”
Jolyne holds her closer.
“Do you hear me?”
“Mhm.”
“I have to go now, Jolyne.”
“Mhm.”
She can feel the grip grow tighter. She’s distraught. Jolyne’s small fingers squeeze at her back.
“Jolyne. Please let go of me.” Irene says. A hand goes on top of Jolyne’s, and she tries to pull her away. The hand is too tightly wound.
“N..No.” The child’s voice wobbles. Her tears have escaped her eyes. They stream down her face like a race. Her cheeks are turning scarlet, right up to the backs of her ears. “No.”
Irene can’t recall if Jolyne had ever been disobedient. The tone of her voice tells her that this is something deeper- if this isn’t selfishness, it’s fear.
“Why not?” Irene puts her hand firmly on Jolyne’s shoulder. She presses against it. The pressure builds. She expresses only patience.
“Cuz.. ‘m scared that I won’t see you again.”
It was selfish- ‘I’ means that the focus was almost completely on Jolyne’s wants. She wants Irene to stay. But it was the childish selfishness of love. The selfishness that meant, please don’t leave me. I’ll fix it- whatever it is- if you just stay. Jolyne’s hands are winded into tight fists, grasping for Irene. She knows when she lets go, she won’t get to see her again. Not for the while.
This didn’t come from nowhere. Irene knows this. She knows that Jolyne’s fear came from the place her father had left it. Her young mind couldn’t yet comprehend that these adults who sought to protect her weren’t permanent or a given for anyone’s life, but knew enough that they could disappear.
Jolyne knows that just because she loves someone, doesn’t always guarantee they stay put.
Irene grounds her teeth in her mouth. She feels very guilty for leaving. They rattle, and she grinds them again. It sounds like a mortar against a pestle. She wouldn’t do something like this if it wasn’t important. But it was.
“You will. I promise, Jolyne.” Irene believes it herself. She’ll see this girl again. The issue is that it may be longer than either of them anticipate. Jolyne’s grip loosens. The material slips. Irene stands back up.
Jolyne looks so small below her. Her black tufts of hair make a fringe. The rest is tied up in black buns. She’s wearing a vest, and a puffy skirt. It looks like a white tutu of sorts. She isn't wearing shoes. Just a pair of white socks.
She takes a mental photo of this young girl. The journey ahead is uncertain. She brushes Jolyne’s fringe to one side, tucks it behind her ear, and kisses her cheek. “I will be back, Jolyne.” Jolyne trusts it the more she tells her.
Irene pulls away. Jolyne watches from the porch as she turns her back, and walks out of sight. She sits there for a little bit, and hangs her legs over the wood. She swings them back and fourth. Irene walks onto the sidewalk, and gives an absentminded wave. Jolyne doesn’t return it. She’s still got eyes full of thick tears. Irene knows that Jolyne’ll tell Dolly for her.
Neither of them will take this well, this she knows.
Irene gets back in the car. She scoots up against the vinyl, and checks the clock. It reads 15:47 now. The driver gives her an unsatisfactory grunt. Irene raises a thick brow.
“Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye, too?” Irene pulls the car strap over her chest, and clicks it in place. She watches his face contort into a displeased lour. “She is your daughter.” She notes. That makes it worse- she can see it in his eyes.
“No.” Jotaro Kujo murmurs back, readjusting his boot. Irene hides the disgust building behind her face, and in her mind. Jotaro reminds her of her own father.
He presses it on the gas, and begins to twist the wheel. He brought her to say her own goodbyes. He didn’t want to return to his daughter’s life just to say goodbye again. He wasn’t cruel. Irene does not know this.
*
Irene can remember the first time she ever met the Kujos.
She was an intern, but was treated little more than personal assistance for whoever needed it. She didn’t question, nor fight it.
Irene was happy she had a job, and she was happy that at least a part of her life had finally grown stable. She was still rather young, after all.
This was the first job she’d ever had. It gave her enough to afford a small apartment whenever she was back in Albuquerque, her hometown. It was just compact enough to be called cosy.
She was just happy enough to feel like a part of something.
It was a plane ride back from Moscow. There had been some unfinished business there- a former employee had fled with documents regarding something classified and tried selling them. Irene wasn’t trusted to be told what the documents exactly were. After all, she was little more than a personal assistant. She was just told, whatever it was, was important, and not to dwell on it. She dwelled on it regardless.
There were a few members of the foundation on the plane. Each much higher than her, each with their own titles. She had fetched a few piping hot coffees for them, and shared any information the pilot had given them. Mostly regarding the time left until they’d touch base back in Dallas.
Her feet ache in the heels she wears. The rocking of the plane made walking especially hard. She couldn’t get equal footing on both feet. She found herself gripping the sides of the cushioned plane seats to keep balance. It was turbulence. The pilot had instructed her to share the news with the passengers. The last one was a man, sitting far away from the rest of the group. Irene assumed he liked his own company. He didn’t wear a uniform like she did. He wore white and silver and blue. A hat, a long coat with embroidery of wedding bells across the back. Two blue stripes riveted from his shoulders down to the bottom of the sleeves.
She gripped the side of the seat, and her clipboard in the other. Her throat contracts, and she clears it rather loudly. “Excuse me.” She began, warranting the attention of the passenger. “Mr. Kujo, if I may.”
All she knew of this man was how renowned he was for his stoicism. He worked quietly, and diligently. A man of very few words and emotions. That didn’t make it bad. It just meant he worked hard. Jotaro Kujo was his name- A senior for the organisation. Rumours were spread about it being nepotism; His relative had been friends with the founder, or so she was told. All she knew of this man was passed through the lips of the interns she worked with. She couldn’t read him.
There were many such rumours that told of events of a man in Egypt. Mr. Kujo had killed him. Whatever had transpired there was the ending of a century-long feud- Jotaro Kujo hadn’t killed him himself. He had used a “stand”. She wasn’t dumb, and she knew what a stand was. As much as Irene would love to know more, of Egypt, of his stand, she knew it would be nothing short of rude to ask. She hadn’t so much as exchanged names with him.
This man was an enigmatic wonder.
The plane rocked again, and she gestured gingerly at the seat beside him. He pulled up the arm-rest which split the seats apart, and she took the seat with gratitude. “The pilot wanted to tell you that we’re set to land within the next half hour.” She readjust the clipboard on her lap.
His eyes slowly peer down at her. She can feel his gaze burn against her skin. She meets his eyes, and then his lap. He’s got a heavy-weight laptop atop it. The screen is small, and the keyboard is large. Irene’s eyes slip past his hands, and to the writing he’s left on the screen. It’s a list of names.
Holly
Ai
Shoko
Kubota
Miyuki
Irene makes the connection. She can feel her lips twist into a small, private grin. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you writing?” This would be frowned upon for anyone else- but Irene already knows what it is. The man pushes the power button, and closes the screen against the keyboard.
“It’s nothing.” His tone is gruff. She would believe him if she didn’t see the screen herself. Although, there’s a faint hint of embarrassment in his tone. He was caught- they both know it. He doesn’t say anything about it regardless. His secret is kept safe with Irene. She isn’t one for gossip.
Jotaro tries to stare out the window. The sky is irritated with clouds. Irene giggles to herself, and stares by her lap. The rest of the plane ride goes without any issue, nor words passed. The silence could be calming, if the man wasn’t so intimidating.
The both of them say nothing when the plane hits the runway. There’s a soft rumbling as it makes contact with the stone runway, and comes barrelling down the private stretch of land. Irene stares out the window. The sun has begun to set in the west. The sky is marmalade. The clouds are all beautiful shades of vibrant yellow and coral. It’s still warm out. The sun tickles her cheeks. Balmy weather was expected for the city.
The plane docks beside the other ones on the runway. They are all dotted with the same symbol- small, uninterrupted letterings of the foundation’s name and a wheel. They’re all painted the same navy as the uniforms each passenger wears.
Irene likes the unity. Something about everything being colour coded makes her feel good.
Irene peers out at the dusty landscape surrounding the private airport. The sand was vermillion, as if it had been left to rust. Neighbouring was fields of grass- straw like and yellow. Every building was a monotone silver. She’s getting the best view she can without outright leaning over the man beside her. Out on the rocky tracks in a small purple smudge in the distance.
Irene readjusts her eyes, and squeezes her eyebrows. She makes out a figure. They’re moving their hands like a referee calling a foul. Their mouth peeled in an “O” shape. Irene watched their lips move, trying to read them with no noise.
Jotaro recognises said figure. His eyebrow twitches in anger. His head has turned to look out of the panel.
“I think she’s waiting for you.” Irene notes. She pulls away from the window. “It looks like she’s saying your name.”
“She is.” Jotaro’s tone is slightly peeved. She’d come somewhere she shouldn’t have. He knows he can trust Irene with said information- she’s still rather low in the ranks. There is little to nothing she can do. “Dolly. She’s waiting for me. Tell her I’ll be down in a few minutes.” The man ushers her to move. He does it with a calm aura, despite his tone sounding vexed. He’s not mad at Irene.
“Hm.. Okay.” Irene says.
She lifts herself from the seat she’s sitting on, unclipping the metal buckles from her waist. A heel plants in the carpet, and she steps back on the aisle. Jotaro crouches so his head doesn’t hit the storage above him. Irene would get his suit-case for him, but he wouldn’t appreciate her touching his items.
She simply follows her orders, a personal assistant turned walking telegram.
Irene takes the stairs closest to her. She thanks the pilot, before departing the plane. She makes sure to grasp the railings. Her legs are weak; she’s scared of them giving out below her. Each step is carefully planned. One foot in front of the other. One by one. Her heels hit the rock of the runway. She turns her head to face the woman waving excitedly. She hesitates, before pulling her arm back down.
Irene walks the distance between the two of them.
“Ah, you must be Dolly Kujo.” Irene puts a hand out to shake. “Your husband told me a lot about you.” A white lie- she’s never met this woman before. She only learnt her name five minutes ago. But the sentence makes Dolly blush up to her cheeks
“Worry not, darling. He’ll be down in a few minutes.” Dolly takes Irene’s hands, and shakes it. Dolly smiles. “This is a lovely airline service. Thank you for your amiability.”
Dolly doesn’t know what the foundation actually does. To her, they fly her husband for his business trips. To her, Jotaro is flying for biological expeditions. He never actually tells her that. Just that he’s leaving for work. To her, Irene is just a kind air hostess.
Irene notes Dolly’s features. She’s got a round face, and a flat, wide nose. Her eyes are benign, and her dark hair is swept to one side, including the fringe. She’s very beautiful, Irene thinks. She wears a tight purpureus dress, matching her lipstick. A small floral design is hand-stitched on the sleeves. Her stomach is enceinte, and round. She’s expecting.
“Thank you.. Ah, if it’s okay, what’s your name?” Dolly asks. She tilts her weight onto one foot, and slumps.
“My name.. My name is Irene. Irene Alniño.” Irene places a hand over her chest, and cups it with the other. Her gaze is as soft as a feather. Her blonde hair shines brilliantly in the setting sunlight. It kisses both of their faces orange.
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Dolly begins, peering behind Irene. Jotaro is descending the stairwell now. His suitcase trails behind him, thudding with each new step. He stares at the two women.
Dolly pulls her focus back to Irene. “That’s a beautiful name. I was considering it for my own little girl, being honest.” She flashes a smile. It shows off her gums. Irene recalls the list Jotaro had typed on his laptop, and returns the grin.
Jotaro walked between the two of them, and Irene’s smile grew smaller. She could see he was upset. He hadn’t wanted Dolly to get so close to the organisation. Even so, he wasn’t about to ruin the moment that had sprung between the two of them. He let them talk.
Their friendship had only just begun.
*
It’s now quite late at night. Although it’s only late afternoon, it’s the middle of autumn. The sun sets much earlier than usual. The skies are clear. Irene can count the twinkling stars like rhinestones. The silence drones between her and Jotaro.
“How much longer, until we reach the port?”
“It shouldn’t be longer than twenty minutes.” He notes. They continue to cruise down the road. They hadn’t broken away from the ocean even once. Their only diversion was to get a drink from a gas station. They pass through a few cities. As enticing as it is to stop, they persist.
Irene is caught off guard when he pulls down a fork in the road. It’s a small viewpoint landing to look at small aquatic mammals. It was a piece of fenced off beach as an attempt at conserving them. They’d place a small piece of concrete to park at, and watch.
Neither of them got out. Jotaro left the ignition running.
The car purred like a large cat. The car smells like gasoline. Jotaro puts it in park, and it goes silent.
Irene opens her mouth. “Why did you stop here?”
“The most peaceful place I could find.” Jotaro murmurs. The car is quiet except for the purl of the ocean. “I know taking this mission wasn’t easy.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“Then why did you?”
It was an invasive question. Irene herself didn’t know how to answer it. She took it because she believed it was the right thing to do. But she also knew she took it so no one else had to. It was a rough, grimey job. Undercover in a place infamous for its brutality.
“I want to help the foundation. I’ve done similar missions.”
“Nothing like this.” Jotaro knew. He had been her senior. “We don’t know how long it could take. It could be years. Don’t you have anyone you need to return home to?” Irene’s heart aches. No. She didn’t have anyone waiting for her at home. She simply shakes her head. As if to say, no, she is alone. Jolyne was the closest she had.
Jotaro makes an “ah” under his breath. “I understand. I don’t see this type of bravery often.” Jotaro opens the compartment in front of Irene. He fishes out a small bag of toiletries. “The foundation has arranged to make this as comfy as possible for you. But that’s not to say there won’t be any hardships. You will need to be careful. Any information you need to pass to us will have to be through letters and phone calls. The latter is requested to be avoided. It can be recorded.”
Irene stares at the bag, and opens it. There’s wads of cash amongst toothpaste and fresh woollen socks. “This is for any bribes needed. Remember. Never give anything direct. You remember the code, correct?” He doesn’t phrase it like a question. He phrases it like a statement she must abide by. Irene nods, and her blonde hair bobs along. It was a simple cipher the organisation had taught her. The ways she incorporated it was completely up to her. Just as long as she sent them.
“Once this is over, and the follower is apprehended, the speedwagon will pay the bail for you, no matter the cost. We’ll organise a new identity for you. Similar to witness protection.”
Irene fidgets uncomfortably in her seat.
He places a pile of clothes on top of the bag. It’s pink and red, something from her home she’d packed herself. This time, her coat was embroidered with small letterings. She recognises the initials.
“It’s part of the rules. You need to have your back and shoulders covered at all times.” Jotaro instructs. He took the liberty to have her outfit modified for just that. She’s got thick sleeves now. She’s got to change out of the outfit before they take off. Irene does so outside of the car. She takes the liberty of the darkness to hide her body. A long, purple dress, with a knot at the top. She wears a cardigan over it, and then a white, fluffy scarf. Two heart-shaped toys dangle from it. She finishes it with a beret. It’s from the same fabric as the dress. Then she puts on some boots. Red, with a white fur ring around the mouth. Irene settles herself back in the car.
“This won’t be easy. You know that. We’ve prepared you as much as we can. Everything from here on out is in your own hands.” Jotaro stares at her. “Do you understand?” The keys twists in the engine, and it roars. The cat has awoken from its slumber now.
“Yes. I do.”
Jotaro rests his foot against the paddles, and presses on the gas. He pulls them away from the small conservation spot. Irene watches in the side view mirror as it disappears behind them. It’s little more than a small plain of grass now. It slips away. The signs are closer now. They read 10 miles - 5 miles. Irene grasps the leather seat.
She could see it in the distance. An ugly structure. Made out firm concrete. It looked like a small castle, with a fort wall to protect it from others. Yet it served the opposite purpose. Those outside were being protected by the ones inside. It sat snugly between Vero beach and Fort pierce. It ruined the view with the eyesore of grey.
Irene sucks air through her teeth. Her mission was to find someone - a former agent of DIO - the man that Jotaro had killed, hiding themself within the prison. It wasn’t just speculation. The issue was that all the agents before her had suffered unspeakable fates. Amnesia, or sometimes death itself. Sometimes, the foundation never heard from them again.
Irene has faith in herself. She knows something is happening. She wants to be the one to uncover it.
Jotaro makes a second turn. They’re heading to the local sheriff’s department now. She glances between it, and the concrete monster by the beach. The Aquarium, as it was dubbed.
Green Dolphin Street Prison.