Chapter Text
Celine met Rumi when she was born. She was there, in the hospital waiting room, actually. She was the first one to hold her after Mi-yeong.
“She has your eyes,” she had murmured to Mi-yeong with a smile. She hadn’t just meant the colour. Rumi’s enormous eyes were full of curiosity and a fierce determination. The same her counterpart had shared as long as she’d known her.
Mi-yeong had always wished for Rumi to find another life. She hadn’t planned on having a child, or dying before she could see her grow up, but she did. Celine had set out to let her choose when she was old enough, but even at the tender age of fifteen, Rumi was determined to follow in their footsteps. She trained hard, asked Celine all the right questions, much to her dismay, and by the time she was eighteen, she had passed every test, every challenge, every exercise with flying colours. She broke records, set standards and went above and beyond for the agency. Celine had always feared this would happen, but when Rumi looked at her with that fire and determination to succeed in her eyes, how could she have denied her? She only prayed, wherever Mi-yeong was, that she forgave her, for everything.
Celine caught wind of a stunningly talented hacker a year later when this young woman was arrested for hacking into a government database on a dare. She was smart, quick-witted, undeniably a genius, and clearly, desperately bored at university. So she paid Zoey’s legal fees, handled whatever consequences were to befall her for her actions and offered her a job.
Mira was different. A prodigy in every way, headstrong and undisciplined, suffocating under the weight of family expectations, conformity and with no clue who she really was. Celine gave her an out. With conditions, of course, which was something Mira did not particularly like. And she certainly did like to bend the rules while she was training. But she took to the pace, grit, all of it, like a natural.
The three of them gelled well from their early days. They helped each other through training, skill shared, ate, slept, learned together. Not one of them could imagine life without the others now. Five years, hundreds of missions and scrapes with death later, this remains the truth.
Rumi has no memory of her mother, only the fragments that Celine had reluctantly told her growing up. She was killed in the field. She was intelligent. She was the best marksperson the Huntr/x agency had seen in decades, until Rumi overtook her scores and then some. She was beautiful. She was funny. She was loved. She was robbed of a full life of retirment and raising Rumi. Rumi had put together a jagged puzzle from these pieces, and decided with absolute certainty that she wanted to honour her legacy. Celine had weakly tried to steer her from it, but it only served to push her further into the life of a Hunter.
She has given her life to this. Zoey and Mira, too. But for her, it’s her only connection to her mother. And if she’s going to find out what happened to her, she needs to be ready, no matter what it costs.
"Alright girls, two minutes until we're over the jump zone. Authorities are ready to go once you touch down," Bobby instructs over the radio. "I'll circle back around in thirty, as planned."
"Thanks, Bobby!" They say in unison.
Another day, another mission, as they say. The three of them move like its more than habit. It’s instinct. Zoey adjusts the straps of her parachute, checks her weapons and hands Rumi hers. Rumi double checks their comms and hands Zoey her tablet. Mira lets Bobby take over the flight controls before climbing out of the cockpit to join them. A well oiled machine by all accounts.
"Do we know why this ship specifically was attacked?" Mira asks.
"Apparently the precious cargo is a biologist who's actively working against her government for scrapping a huge environmental project. She was in the process of making a huge breakthrough, but they shut it down and paid her to keep quiet and say her research was a bust, but she kept working in secret, from here. She’s supposed to be travelling to a summit in Europe next week. They must have paid the pirates to take her out." Zoey explains. She holds up her tablet to show them the ship schematics.
"Dramatic," Mira says dryly.
"The one percent will do anything to hold onto their empires." Zoey shrugs.
"Okay, so we split up and take out anyone patrolling the decks and meet up here," Rumi recaps. "Any issues, we call it in early and hope backup is good at their jobs."
"You'd better not go all Rambo if it gets messy," Zoey warns.
"I won't," Rumi shrugs, but there's a gleam in her eye that says otherwise. Rumi would never call herself irresponsible by any means. Addicted to the rush of the job? Certainly. Chronically reckless? Most definitely. But never rash or irresponsible. Although, her counterparts may feel differently.
"You said that last time," Mira chides.
"This time I really won't."
Rumi pushes the cargo release button and steps out onto the platform, parachute slung over one shoulder. She turns back to her friends with a smirk and a two fingered salute, and steps backwards off the ramp.
"She didn't even have her parachute on properly, did she?"
"Nope. Show off." Mira chuckles, following suit into a free fall.
"Rumi," Zoey sighs before leaping after them.
They land as silently as they can in the water a little ways away. They fight the currents to reach the ship, then climb up the side onto the deck with nary a sound. Rumi signals them silently and they split up as planned, taking out patrolling pirates in relative quiet until they reach their rendez-vous point just above the brig.
"Any trouble?" Rumi whispers as the other two arrive.
"Nope," Zoey beams.
"She's supposed to be in here. Bobby, where are we at with the authorities?" Rumi asks through her comms.
"They're pulling up. It's now or never, girls."
Rumi places a small explosive charge on the locked door in front of them.
"As soon as we get down there, Mira you get the hostage topside and into the rescue boat," Rumi instructs, "Zoey and I will handle whoever's down there."
"Do we know how many?" Mira asks.
"By my count, no more than four, but I could be wrong," Zoey answers.
"You're rarely wrong," Rumi puts an encouraging hand on Zoey's shoulder. "We'll handle it no matter what."
The three of them share decisive glances before stepping away from the door so Rumi can detonate the charge.
She counts to three and pushes the button.
The clang of warping metal rips through the silence. Mira tears open what’s left of the door and throws a flash-bang into the brig. Startled shouts echo around them as the grenade goes off before they pile down the stairs. They're startled to find eight pirates scrambling to point their weapons at them.
Zoey groans. "Dammit."
She launches herself at the closest pirate, using her size and momentum to her advantage, swinging a leg up high towards his neck and knocking him onto his face.
Rumi zeroes in on the hostage, hands and feet zip-tied on the ground, and leaps into action. She slides to her knees to cut her loose before pulling the woman to her feet and pushing her towards Mira.
"Take her."
"What about you?"
"We've got this, go!" Rumi yells, squaring up to fight.
Zoey leaping into the fray once more is the last thing she sees when she looks back over her shoulder from the top of the stairs.
"Who are you?" The woman asks, startled and distressed.
"You can ask questions when we're not five metres from a gun fight," Mira says, clipped, before ushering her up another flight of stairs to the side of the boat where she knows people are waiting to collect her.
Two men in tactical gear help her down a ladder and into the small motorboat below and Mira sighs, satisfied. A minute goes by, then two, then the telltale sound of helicopter blades are within earshot. Bobby's timing is perfect as always. A rope ladder drops from above as he hovers over the ship. She takes hold of a rung and waits. And waits.
She knows she’s supposed to wait for them here, but as another minute ticks on, then another, her anxiety wins out.
"Fuck it," she mutters, pulling out her sidearm and gearing up to go in after her girls.
Zoey emerges a second later, breathless but unharmed.
"Where's Rumi?" Mira yells over the drone of the helicopter above them.
"She Rambo'd."
"Rumi," Mira groans.
"Girls, what's the hold up?" Bobby asks in Mira's ear.
"Rumi's still down there," she explains.
"Should we go get her?" Zoey asks.
"No, just get on the ladder."
"But-" Zoey argues.
"Do it."
Zoey reluctantly steps around her and starts to climb.
The gunfire from below seems to be getting louder, closer to the surface. Mira readies her weapon when she hears yelling. She's about to head down after Rumi when she sees her tumble up the stairs chased by two very angry pirates.
"Go!" She yells, waving her arm, scrambling to her feet and running towards her. She fires a few shots haphazardly behind her as Bobby starts to ascend.
"Rumi!" Mira wraps one hand around the rope and holds out the other. The jump she'll have to make getting wider with each second. She hears Zoey fire her gun from above her and Rumi leaps.
She misses Mira's hand by a hair's breadth and catches the last rung of the ladder as Bobby flies them to safety. Mira leans down awkwardly to pull her up and they climb. Zoey helps them into the cabin of the helicopter and they collapse in an exhausted heap at her feet.
Zoey sinks onto the floor beside them and hands them their headsets.
"Never do that. Again." Mira pants. "I don't care how cool it looked."
"Yeah, okay, fair enough," Rumi gasps, equally winded.
"Promise?" Zoey holds out her pinky.
"Promise." Rumi interlocks their fingers with a tired smile. She laughs breathlessly then groans as pain shoots shoots up her side. She grips her waist and her fingers come away bloody.
"Rumi!" Zoey gasps.
"It's okay, just a graze." She waves her off.
"Let me patch you up," she says, immediately rummaging for a first aid kit.
"I told you, I'm fine."
"Shut up," Zoey mutters. She cuts away at the fabric of her tactical suit and dabs some gauze on it.
"I'll go help Bobby." Mira mutters, getting to her feet and settling into the copilot's seat beside him.
"Rumi," Zoey murmurs, "you need to be more careful. What if it hadn't just been a graze?"
"I know."
"You say that, but this keeps happening."
"I'm sorry, I just- ow." she yelps as Zoey swabs the wound with alcohol. She pushes on the wound with some fresh gauze a little harder than strictly necessary to make her point. They have this conversation often. And endearing though it might be to see Rumi's repentant pout, it makes it no less worrying for Zoey and Mira.
"I know you just want to do your job and protect us, but we're a team for a reason. I know you trust us, I do, but you don't have to carry it all."
Rumi places her hand over Zoey's.
"Thank you. I'm sorry. I'll..." she lets out a sharp breath and looks down. "I'll work on it."
"That's all I'm asking." Zoey bumps their foreheads together.
"Thank you for taking care of me."
"Of course," Zoey shrugs with a shy smile. “You’d do it for me.” Zoey’s eyes are tender as she gazes at Rumi, like she wants to say more but looks away before Rumi can ask her.
They land soon after, grateful to exchange their sea salt and sweat-soaked gear for something more comfortable. Zoey puts on a documentary about orca while Mira cooks them a late night meal. The three of them pile onto the couch and listen to Zoey's commentary on the documentary between mouthfuls of noodles. It's peaceful and soothing after the day they've had.
Rumi loves nights like these, when it’s just the three of them and they don’t have to worry about debriefs until the next day. Before Zoey and Mira, Rumi had been certain she would spend her life alone, with only Celine for company and even then it wasn’t really company when she’s too busy running the agency. She looks over at her girls, soft and affectionate. It’s also on nights like these that Rumi forgets herself, allows herself to indulge in the closeness between them. She loves Mira and Zoey, dearly, but she had never accounted for the way her chest balloons with warmth when she hears Zoey laugh, or how her spine tightens with something terrifying and magnetic when Mira brushes her hand against the small of her back. Or how her breathlessness when they spar isn’t entirely from exertion, but something deeper.
Celine has always demanded the utmost focus from her, mind, body and soul.
“Your emotions will cloud your judgment, Rumi. Don’t let them rule you,” she would say. But how can she not let her emotions run ragged when she feels the way she feels for them, let alone for the past she longs to uncover?
The morning greets the three of them with sore muscles and aching joints. Still, they are up with the lark. Mira shoves Zoey out of bed with the promise of a grueling workout, much to the latter's chagrin. Rumi, naturally, is already downstairs beating their well-loved punching bag into submission. Zoey heads for the treadmill, sleep still in her eyes, as Mira pads up to Rumi.
“Care to make it a fair fight, nepo-baby?” Mira leans into the bag.
“Sure thing, princess,” Rumi grins, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Mira pulls on a pair of sparring gloves and meets Rumi in the little ring they have set up.
“I’m not going to go easy on you,” Mira snarks, gesturing to the clean gauze taped to Rumi’s waist.
Rumi doesn’t respond, simply launches herself at Mira with a swift jab to her ribs. Mira moves with the precision and levity of a dancer as she dodges Rumi’s onslaught. They trade blows, constant, evenly matched until they’re both sweating. The second Mira sees an opening she lunges forward, aiming an elbow strike to Rumi’s abdomen. She misses as Rumi avoids her with flare and ease.
“I thought you weren’t going easy on me.” Rumi goads.
Mira takes the bait, of course, and knees her in the chest, sending her backwards into the ropes. Rumi pushes off and runs at Mira. She feints to one side and kicks Mira’s feet out from under her. Mira lands on her back with a grunt. She lets out another when she feels Rumi’s knee press into her diaphragm, one hand planted on her chest, the other poised for a strike. Their noses are practically touching.
“Damn,” Mira huffs. Her breath tickles Rumi’s cheek.
“My point?” Rumi teases.
Mira opens her mouth like she’s about to concede, but instead she hooks her arm around the back of Rumi’s knee, toppling her sideways and putting her a tight hold with her chest to Rumi’s back.
“I think this one’s mine,” she murmurs in her ear.
Rumi lets out a breathless chuckle and taps the mat. Mira lets her go and helps her up with a triumphant snicker.
“Again,” Rumi says, shaking her arms out before raising them once more.
They’re about to start again when Zoey interrupts, holding up her phone.
“We’re getting called in,” she says.
Sure enough, they’ve each received the same text message they always do: an incoming call from Celine.
They pile out of their home gym and back upstairs to find Bobby standing in their living room with an armful of files.
“Hi girls,” he greets with a warm smile.
“Hi Bobby,” they all say at once, settling into the couch.
“What’re we getting into this time?” Zoey asks.
“I’ll let Celine brief you. It’s a big one.” Bobby pulls out his remote and switches on the television. Celine’s ID flashes across the screen. No video, no photo, only her voice, as always.
“Good morning, Hunters,” she says, formal as ever. “Great work on the extraction last night.”
“Thank you, Celine,” Rumi says.
“This next mission will require a more delicate touch. Bobby has all of the information you’ll need, but in short: a private gala is taking place in Tuscany two days from now. It’s a front for a black market auction. Priceless artwork, weapons and the fragment of a witness protection list are all up for sale. The list is your priority. I’d prefer that you didn’t go in there and buy it, but retrieve it by any means necessary before it even gets onto the auction floor. The rest will be handled by other allies we have stationed in Italy. I want you in and out with minimal fuss. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Celine,” Mira says, thumbing through the file Bobby has handed her.
“Excellent. Look sharp, and do what you do best. Travel documents are in your files. You’re wheels up at 0600 tomorrow.”
Without another word the call drops, such is Celine’s way. And before long, they’re gathered in their little office, designing a thorough set of plans.
Another day, another mission, as they say.