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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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It was at breakfast that Junko got her first clue that Tommy was, in fact, utterly and completely crazy, beyond all hope of modern medical science.
            Life or death battles in alleyways? Sure. Secret underground strongholds? A little James Bond, but fine. Ninja? Well, he had nailed a man’s skull to a brick wall with a throwing knife, without looking at his target.
            But decaffeinated tea?
            That was worse than madness. Madness she could deal with; she herself, after all, had just murdered a man after a half-decade of plotting. She had no doubt that graphic revenge fantasies culminating in actual murder would land her in a padded cell if a psychiatrist ever evaluated her. But this? This wasn’t madness. This was blasphemy.
            Half a decade of geisha training counseling her to be polite was colliding hard with a lifetime of waking up with a proper morning cup of tea. How did you politely tell your host that you thought his beverage selection was woefully inadequate?
            The geisha in her, rather traitorously, chipped in at this moment to observe that decaffeinated tea just didn’t quite taste the same either. It loses all the finer notes, and the aroma just isn’t quite the same…
            “Do you happen to have any regular tea?” She asked at last.
            Tommy looked up from his food. “Somewhere. You know, it’s really better not to rely on chemicals to wake you up in the mornings.”
            “I’ll keep that in mind. Where is it?”
            Tommy pushed his chair back and began rummaging through one of the cupboards. “I know it’s…ah!” He tossed her a tin; Junko caught it deftly, with the reflexes born out of hour upon hour of blocking practice. She saw him nod briefly, as if he approved.
            Junko unscrewed the lid of the tin and sniffed. “Oolong. Mountain-grown, northern slope. Handpicked. First crop. You’ve got good taste. Why on earth would you drink decaf when you’ve got this?”
            Tommy’s eyebrows rose.
            “Spend five years in a geisha training house.” She deftly measured out leaves.
            “Geisha?” Tommy grinned suddenly. “So that’s how you got close to him. He did like his parties, and he was a very traditional sort.”
            Junko studied him for a moment. “You know, these days, when the word ‘Geisha’ is mentioned, most of the time even people born and raised here think ‘high class prostitute’.”
            “And when I say ‘ninja’, most of the time even people born and raised here think ‘cheesy movies and tourist traps in Iga province.”
            “Point.” Junko poured hot water into the pot. “To be fair…he convinced several of the girls to serve as his mistresses. Our house was in Gion Kobu; we were very expensive to hire, and our okaa-san would have flayed alive anyone she caught selling sex. She whipped a few girls and threw them out when she found out that they’d bedded clients. She values the honor of her house very highly. But then, he offered the girls a great deal of money; I know he offered me enough to live comfortably off of for a very long time.” She shook her head, disgusted, and sipped her tea. Ahhh. That’s much better. “I knew he would, though. I’d heard that he liked geisha very, very much.” A mirthless grin. “It made it easy to get close enough to him to kill him. His bodyguards escorted me right into his bedroom.”
            Tommy started laughing. Junko glared at him. “What?”
            “Nothing. The world changes, but some things never do.” Tommy grinned. “Do you have any idea how many kunoichi have killed men by doing more or less exactly what you did? Men never think a pretty woman could be a threat. My father used to swear up and down he fell for my mother after watching her flirt her way past security, kill a mark, and walk out like nothing had happened. A pretty woman who acts innocent can literally get away with murder.” He grinned again. “Not something I’ve ever been able to do. No one ever thinks I look innocent, for some reason. Maybe I should work on batting my eyes more.”
            Junko stared at the strange man across the tiny table from her. So casual. He talks about killing like it’s nothing. I tell him I committed murder, and he doesn’t blink. No, he tells me how good a job I did instead. And talks about how his family has murdered people in the past.
            Why do I like that?
            “But you know better?” Why am I smiling back?
            In answer, Tommy pulled up his shirt. Junko’s breath caught for a moment; Oh, my…
            “This scar right here.” He twisted and indicated a raised ridge of scar tissue a few shades paler than that smooth, golden skin. Junko blinked and mentally shook herself. “A very beautiful, very crazy redhead…and if you ever meet her, never tell her that I said that I think she’s beautiful, or I’ll never hear the end of it…gave me this with a switchblade. I almost bled out. This one right here,” He indicated one just below his left pectoral muscle. “I got into a little scrap with a particularly skilled kunoitchi. She stuck a shuriken in me. Poisoned. Fortunately, I knew that I might run into someone from her clan and had the anti-toxin on me, or I would have been dead. I was still sick as a dog for two days. These here.” He gestured to his chest, where there were several very faint marks, only visible if you looked at the right angle. “They didn’t leave much in the way of scars…long story…but a very attractive and extremely crazy bitch from the ninth level of hell…pardon my language…shot me eight times in the chest. Again, I should have been dead, and would have been if not for the Trance of the Sleeping Phoenix and some experimental cloning solution.” He let his shirt drop back into place and rubbed the area with the heel of his hand. “That hurt.”
            Junko raised her eyebrows. “Experimental cloning solution? Trance of the Sleeping Phoenix?”
            “Long story, and old ninja technique.” Tommy shrugged. “The point is, yes, I know better.”
            Old ninja technique.
            Killing eight hitmen in an alley…underground hideouts…secret skills that let the user cheat death…
            Junko was, at heart, a martial artist. Her father had been too, and when she’d been a young girl her father had always assumed that she’d take over his school once he retired. Junko had always liked that idea.
            That was gone now, irrevocably. Quite frankly, she’d had no idea what she’d do with her life once Hyata was dead. She’d shown promise as a geisha, and could have made quite a comfortable living if she’d remained in the geisha house, but she’d never really wanted that life. She’d wanted what it could get her; close enough to the man who’d killed her parents to shove a knife through his ribs.
            If you asked any dedicated martial artist on the planet if they wanted to learn ninja skills…real, actual ninja skills, not the sort that frauds wrote books about…they’d jump on it in an instant. Junko wasn’t any different, except she had no family to miss her and an actual honest-to-god ninja sitting across the kitchen table polishing off the last of his toast.
            “I suppose it takes years to learn things like that.” She finished her tea and poured herself another cup.
            “Yes, it does. You finished with that?” Tommy indicated her plate.
            She slid it towards him. “How long did you train?”
            “I honestly don’t remember. Formally, I started training at five. My mother and father and uncles used to show me little tricks and things before that, though. You know, how to make a proper fist and how to throw a proper punch. Stances. Basic kicks. My dad used to give me throwing weapon lessons if I’d been good.” He smiled.
            Damn. “Do most ninja start training so young?”
            “Quite a few.” Tommy seemed to like to talk; that was good. Junko herself wasn’t really one to chatter on, but every geisha worth her salt knew how to get people talking about themselves, and chatterboxes were the easiest sort to manage.
            Rule number one when it came to entertaining; just about everyone liked to talk about themselves, even if they claimed they didn’t. Everyone likes to think that they’re interesting and funny, and everyone has secret grievances that they’d love to get off their chest.
            “The ones born into a clan do. Not all.” Tommy smiled again, as if at a fond memory. “I remember when Snake Eyes decided he wanted to train…he was in his twenties. He didn’t even flinch when we sprung the ‘entire clan appears from nowhere’ gambit. Hazing new recruits, you know. Even the Hard Master gave him credit for balls.”
            Excellent. “Snake Eyes? Hard Master?”
            “Snake Eyes is…an old friend of mine.” Junko noted that; there’s some interesting stories there, and they’ve had a falling out. “The Hard Master was the title of one of my uncles.”
            “Was?”
            And just like that, a wall slammed down. His spine went stiff for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was clipped. “Was.”
            Junko backpedaled, and gave up on subtlety. “So…how long would it take to learn how to fight like you did in that alley?”
            Tommy closed the dishwasher and gave her an appraising sort of look. “That would depend entirely on you.”
            Junko felt herself smile; she’d seen that expression before, and she knew exactly what it meant. Her father had eyed potential students the same way, and she could almost see wheels turning and lesson plans being laid out behind those dark eyes. He’s taught before, and he likes to do it. “You know, that’s exactly the answer my father used to give his students when they asked how long it would take them to reach black belt.”
            “Wise man.” Tommy sat down again, still eying her appraisingly. “How long have you trained? Your father taught you, then?”
            “Thirteen years, and yes.”
            “He did a good job of it, but he wasn’t a ninja. You’re going to have to lie low for a bit; it could get boring. Maybe I’ll show you a thing or two.”
            “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love to learn what I could.” She sipped her tea again.
            “We’re going to have to leave Tokyo.” Tommy stood and started pacing; he was starting to remind her of a fidgety child who couldn’t sit still for more than twenty seconds at a time. “Give it about a week or so for the police to stop looking for you, and then I’ll take you to my family’s compound. You’ll be safe there for as long as you care to stay.”
            Junko’s heart stopped for a second. “Police? Looking for me? I didn’t think anyone saw…”
            “No one saw you kill Hyata, but you will be reported as a missing person, and your geisha house will know you had an assignment with him the night he was killed. If we’re lucky, it will be assumed that you were killed for witnessing the crime and your body disposed of. I’ll have to keep an eye on things to know exactly how they’re playing out.”
            She was silent for a few minutes. “Why are you doing all this? And don’t say ‘because you interest me’. The real reason.”
            He was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know, really.”
            She folded her arms. “Yes, you do. Geisha, remember? I read people well. It’s hard to lie to me.”
            And just like that, she saw him shut down again. “Did you have anything at your geisha house that you absolutely need?”
            “No.” She paused. “Yes. There’s a photograph. Under my mattress. Of me and my parents.”
            “Which one were you employed with?”
            She told him, and he turned and was gone.
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Providence and Happenstance