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Providence and Happenstance	By : CrystalEllinon Category: +G through L > G.I. Joe Views: 2565 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe. I do not own any of the characters of G.I. Joe. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
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This is gonna be LONG. I've got 40,000 words written on it now, and am still adding and tweaking. Lots of sexing, though not in this first chapter.
He braked hard; the woman barely glanced at him.
            Their eyes met for the briefest instant, and Tommy blinked; she was plainly terrified. And then she was gone, running like her life depended on it.
            And the reason was fairly obvious; a dozen men, in expensive suits and with murder in their eyes, were hot on her heels. To Tommy’s eyes, they were plainly Yakuza; the edges of elaborate tattoos proclaiming allegiance to their crime family were visible at their wrists and necks. They chased her into the alley she’d fled down, and moments later Tommy heard the telltale sounds of a fight.
            He wondered for an instant what the woman had done, and decided it really didn’t matter. Really, he shouldn’t get involved in a fight that wasn’t his…but, dammit, he wanted to hurt something, and a dozen mafia goons attempting to beat a lone woman to death was more than enough reason for him.
            He rode the few meters to the entrance to the alley.
            The woman was fighting tooth and nail. Two men were bleeding, and one was down, unmoving. Tommy cocked his head; tae kwon do and karate training. For a long time; she’s good.
            But badly outnumbered; even as he watched, a fist cracked into her jaw, sending her reeling. A boot slammed into her ribs, hard. She yelped in pain.
            “Twelve against one?” Tommy said this loudly; all participants in the fight froze and turned to eye him. “Hardly fair odds, for all the lady’s giving you a good accounting of herself. Tell you what; walk away and leave her alone, and I’ll let you live. You won’t get another warning.”
            “Who the fuck are you?” One of the yakuza thugs scowled. “Fuck off before we cut your balls off and bury your corpse in a ditch somewhere. This is none of your business.”
            Tommy grinned. “Okay then. I did warn you.”
            He gunned the engine of his motorcycle. The first man made a very satisfying wet crunching sound when Tommy smashed into him. The woman immediately snatched a fallen knife and lunged at the next man.
            The second man had a sword. Tommy knocked the man off balance, stole the weapon, and ran him through.
            He jumped off his bike. The next fifteen seconds were a haze of blood and incredibly cathartic violence.
            When the last of the yakuza enforcers was dead, Tommy pulled a rag from his pocket and carefully wiped down the sword hilt to remove his fingerprints. He drove the borrowed weapon through one of the bodies and left it there; he knew the whole scene would be dubbed the result of a turf war between yakuza families.
            He turned to eye the woman, and his planned questions (Who are you? Why were they trying to kill you? What the hell happened?) died on his tongue.
            She was kneeling in the middle of the alley, and looked lost. Utterly lost. She didn’t even seem to see the bodies around her.
            “Are you all right?” He said instead.
            “Fine.” She didn’t look at him. “Thank you.”
            “You are not fine.” Tommy took a step closer.
            “I set a task for myself. I just completed it.” She still didn’t look at him.
            “Good for you. But you’re still not ‘fine’.”
            She looked up at him at last; she was crying. “That task has been all I’ve lived for for five years. I did not plan on surviving its completion; I had no plan for this.”
            “Ah.” Tommy paused, examined her again. She was favoring her ribs; he guessed at least one had been broken by that kick, and she was bleeding from several minor cuts and abrasions. “You’re hurt. You should see a doctor.”
            “No!” The vehemence in her voice set him back on his heels. “The task I completed…I just killed Boss Hyata. His men…they’ll be checking hospitals for me.”
            Tommy raised his eyebrows. Hyata was the top man of the local organized crime family, and was respected and feared even by other Yakuza. If this woman had killed him…
She was right. They would be checking hospitals for her, particularly after the death of Hyata’s bodyguards as well. His respect for the woman climbed upwards a few notches; walking up to a yakuza boss and killing him right in front of his bodyguards took balls. “I see. Well, no help for it. You’ll have to come with me.” He extended a hand.
            She eyed him warily and didn’t take it.
            “I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I already would have. And I have a safe place you can stay until you’re healed. Trust me, no Yakuza henchman will find you there.” He grinned wickedly. “And if they did manage to find my place…well, they’d quickly regret it.”
            She looked at the dead bodies, at him, and back at the dead bodies. Finally, she hesitantly took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Who are you?”
            “Tomisaburo.” He smiled. “But my friends call me Tommy.”
            “No…who are you?” She gestured to the dead men surrounding them. “I have never seen anyone fight like you just did. Those were yakuza assassins. Boss Hyata’s personal bodyguards. The very best he had. And you don’t have a scratch on you.”
            Tommy snorted. “This lot doesn’t even know what an assassin is. And yakuza thugs are nothing.” He righted his motorcycle and helped her on. “I gave you my name, you know.”
            “Junko.” She grabbed tightly onto his belt as he kick started his bike. “You didn’t answer my question.”
            He smiled. “It’s a long story. Maybe later.”
            “Then how about this one; why help me?” She winced as he hit a bump; at least one broken rib, definitely.
            “Because.” He slowed slightly, watching more carefully for rough patches of pavement. “You were outnumbered and afraid. Do I need a better reason than that?”
            “To kill eight men? Most would think so. Besides, you didn’t know what I’d done. I might have deserved what they were going to do to me.”
            Tommy shrugged. “I’ve killed for worse reasons. And I’m sure they deserved it more than you did. And maybe I just wanted to kill someone. I was in a rather bad mood until ten minutes ago.”
            “That is hardly reassuring.” Her voice was dry. “You aren’t yakuza, and you aren’t a normal civilian. Ex military?”
            “Yes, in part. And you’ve nothing to fear from me; I’m not going to hurt you.”
            A slightly hysterical little giggle; whatever she’d just been through and done, she was just starting to come down off the adrenaline high, and Tommy knew exactly how that felt. Pain from injuries you hadn’t noticed before hit, as did the emotional overload....particularly for someone who hadn’t killed a hundred times before. “Hurt me. You find me fighting a dozen hitmen in an alley, and you’re worried that I’m worried about getting hurt? I didn’t even think I’d survive. I thought I’d get shot as soon as I stabbed that bastard. And then I thought I’d get shot while I was running, but I didn’t, and...”
            She trailed off and shivered, wincing again.
            “I don’t know what happened to you.” Tommy turned off onto a smaller road, heading for one of his more comfortably appointed hideouts in Tokyo. “But seeking out death is always a mistake.”
            “Always?” She shivered again. “What if you’ve nothing left to make life worth the effort?”
            Tommy blinked. Gods knew, there had been a few times that he’d wished that he could die...most of them while he’d been strapped into Mindbender’s Brainwave Scanner.
            He knew a lot of ways to cause exquisite pain. He’d endured a lot of pain. But nothing he’d ever learned or experienced came anywhere near to the soul-consuming agony that was the Brainwave scanner.
            Even now, the scars that machine had left in his mind were deep, painful, and sometimes almost overwhelming. But he was, above all else, a survivor; he’d never for a moment considered actively seeking death.
            “Always.” He pulled up to the sagging service door of an abandoned warehouse and parked his motorcycle. The door, for all its decrepit appearance, swung easily inward on well-oiled hinges. Tommy helped Junko off the motorcycle (she was holding one arm close to her side, and her breathing was shallow, as if it hurt to take even that simplest of actions. Tommy, who’d broken ribs many, many times, knew the symptoms.) and wheeled it inside.
            “Worse than following a strange man I just watched kill eight men in an alley into an abandoned warehouse?” For all that she was in pain and probably frightened, for all she was hiding it well, her voice was dry. Despite the words, she followed him without hesitation.
Tommy grinned.
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Providence and Happenstance