i don't want to die (but i quite like heaven)

A/N: If everything goes right, this is going to be a two-shot set in my newest favorite AU. What's that AU called? I have no idea. Let's just say it features mercenaries, freelance stealing, and people trying to shoot each other. Oh, that and HxL. Because this author loves HxL. Have fun reading!

The moment Hotaru Imai goes to sleep in the evening, she has the entire next week planned out in her head. Some operatives learn to keep their schedule in check during their first week on the job, others don't. Then again, those operatives rarely ever make it into their second one. Mikan is different, sure, but then Mikan has always had remarkable instincts.

Hotaru doesn't belong to either category. No one's ever had to teach her how to strategize, she was born knowing how. Perhaps that's the reason she's one of the best at what she does.

Still, there are some events that are entirely out of her control, one of them being that time her best friend fell in love with The Black freaking Cat and decided to leave their longtime crew to break into apartments and get her hands bloody with a group of perfect strangers Hotaru has never met.

The other is, of course, that one time she ends up making out with a stranger in a bathroom.

(But like most unexpected things that happen to Hotaru Imai, that might just be what she planned all along.)

The ballroom is entirely too opulent for Hotaru's liking. She's always had an appreciation for art and fine dining, and the lilac satin of her dress is as familiar to her as the weight of the gun strapped to her leg. But this event has transcended opulence, outshot luxury and landed squarely in the realm of wastefulness.

No wonder that the people dancing waltz at this gala are the same ones who would hire mercenaries. She doesn't quite know what Lord James Blake wants with Lady Michelle's diamonds, but here she is anyway, plotting to steal from the hostess of the very ball she is attending. Ah, the things a girl does to make money and keep her job.

Normally, an event like this wouldn't be Hotaru's domain. It takes a certain kind of person to infiltrate the rich and powerful, to outsmart and outgun them, to take what is theirs from beneath their noses. It takes someone like Mikan, who can slip into a role as though it's a glove - snugly and easily, almost effortless.

In Hotaru's opinion, her own style is much too blunt. But apparently, no one cares about her opinion. Her superiors certainly don't, and once again she wonders whether this crew is truly right for her or whether she's simply staying because it's the safest option. In a world of killers and thieves, safety is a rare good. It is, in many ways, more precious than gold, and if there is one thing Hotaru knows, then it is how to hold on to what is precious - well, except in Mikan's case. Perhaps loved ones are the exception to the rule.

Her comms buzz in her ears and she notes the disturbance in the sound with quiet irritation. The system is brand new, she built it less than a week ago. To have her own invention malfunction like this makes her already annoying evening look even worse.

"Come in, Imai Imai. Imaiiii-,"

"I'm here," she cuts in. "And I know what to do. Which means you're either needlessly distracting me from this mission or you have a damn good reason to talk to me. For your sake, I hope it's the former."

"Hotaru, you're always so mean," Hayate sulks in her ear. "I just wanted to wish you a nice evening. It's too bad I didn't get to come along."

"Yes, too bad," Hotaru says, sarcasm lacing her voice. Scratch every bad thing she's thought about this mission - it's a birthday party compared to an evening spend with Hayate, who apparently doesn't shut up unless you throw him down a staircase. Well, maybe not a birthday party, she hates those. An evening in her lab, tinkering with her tools, Mikan watching Netflix on the couch. Something like that. She shakes her head.

"Anything else?"

"Nope," Hayate says. "Remember: She'll take off the diamond earrings and put them in the safe around midnight, to change her outfit. That's when you strike. Don't get too drunk! Oh and," his voice grows hushed, "don't fail either. I hear they're watching you closely because of the whole thing with Sakura."

"Noted," Hotaru replies, before reaching up and shutting down the comms. No need to risk anymore annoying buzzing sounds - regardless whether their source is the comm system or Hayate's idle chatter.

As she steps away from the bar, people start swaying to the music. Hotaru frowns. Thank god she's not here to mingle, because walking in her floor length gown is already hard enough, no need to add ballroom dancing to the list of difficult things she has to accomplish tonight. It's far better to go over her plan again, perhaps walk the length of the floor, and then settle back down at the bar. A few glasses of Martini, one small heist and later a Skype call to her best friend - truly, a piece of cake.

Hotaru starts walking, careful to steer away from the dance floor. Just as she leaves, a stranger arrives, sliding into her now vacant spot. She makes it two meters before he calls out to her.

"Is the Martini here any good?,"

Hotaru doesn't pause in her step.

"I wouldn't know," she answers, leaving the bar behind her for good. Between the music and the talking, the stranger's answer is drowned out. Hotaru doesn't care.

When she returns from her casual intel gathering (there's two staircases leading to the safe, around fifteen guards assigned to the hostess alone and about two hundred useless waiters trying to get her drunk on champagne), the stranger is still there. The glass in front of him is empty and he is turning it around in his hand. It's a nice hand, Hotaru thinks. A nice back, too. She isn't necessarily looking for social interaction tonight, but maybe an encounter at the bar isn't too much for her introvert heart.

Hotaru sits down next to the stranger, signaling the waiter with one hand.

"So," she asks. "Is the Martini here any good?"

It makes him laugh. When he turns to meet her gaze, Hotaru quietly adds "nice laugh" to the her of his features.

"It's passable. Besides, it's free. Beggars can't be chosers, right?," he says, winking at her when the barkeeper throws him a dirty look. It almost makes her smile.

"I'm no beggar," she tells him, before placing her order.

Once she's done, Hotaru turns around to properly look at the man in front of her. Blue eyes, blond hair, a steady gaze and a quick smile. His cheeks are flushed, probably from the alcohol, but he doesn't seem to mind, nor is he trying to hide the way his eyes ghost over her, from her lips to her neck before stopping to return to her face. A gentleman, she notes. She almost wishes he'd keep staring.

"So tell me," he says after Hotaru's drink is in her hand and the first few sips are down her throat, effectively dampening her dislike for social interaction. "What's your name?"

"A lady never tells," Hotaru answers him smoothly, taking another deep sip. He's right - the Martini sucks.

"You know, I'm pretty sure they only say that about age."

"I say it about everything. Besides, gentlemen first."

"Gentlemen first,?" he repeats, an amused glint in his eyes. Hotaru shrugs.

"I'm feeling wild tonight. Let's smash those gender expectations."

There's that laugh again. In her business, you rarely get to hear something carefree like that. It...pleases her to see that her jokes are landing, because it means that she's good at what she does - she can entice and enchant with the best of them. And it pleases her because...well. It is a nice laugh.

"I'm Luca," he says. "Luca Nogi. Lovely to meet you, Miss…?"

"Philberta," Hotaru says. Luca raises his brows.

"That's the best fake name you could come up with?"

"Usually guys leave me alone once I give it to them," she tells him. "Which is the desired outcome."

"Wow. You wound me, Milady. Tell you what," Luca says, looking excited. "I'll just try and guess your name."

She rolls her eyes, leaning back against the bar.

"You've had too many Martinis."

"Is it Josephine? Dolores? Candis? Belle?"

Hotaru frowns at the last one. "Beautiful One? Really?"

"It works sometimes," he explains to her with a grin.

"You suck at flirting."

"Maybe," Luca laughs, picking up an olive from the snack tray and biting into it. The barkeeper comes to take away their empty glasses, shooting her companion a discreet dirty look over his shoulder.

For a while, they sit in silence. There's still time until she has to strike and the atmosphere is lovely - vases filled with orchids decorate the venue, the marble floor gleams in the light of the chandeliers. Soft violins and a piano ring out from the band, beckoning her to throw away her inhibitions and visit the dance floor just once that evening. But she is alone.

Well, not all alone, there is Luca, but she's never been one to ask, not for a dance, not for anything. Civilians don't make for good partners - not when you're a freelancer with a gun under your dress. Just when it seems as though her night will be spend at the bar, he offers her his hand.

"So, Tabitha," Luca asks. "Care to dance?"

The dance floor is crowded. A different person wouldn't be able to navigate its ocean of chiffon dresses, blues and reds and greens, a whole rainbow of fabric. A different person wouldn't be able to keep her eyes both on the hostess and on the time, while simultaneously dancing with a stranger. But she is Hotaru Imai and she does it with ease. Her partner for the night doesn't notice her wavering attention. Luca seems content just to hold her - and he does it well, too.

Hotaru knows how to dance. It's something you learn: Count the beats, count your steps. A simple math problem that can transform an operative like her into the grand dame of any ball. Rarely ever does dancing move her in the way Mikan insists it is meant to move people: body and soul, a quiet moment of insanity hidden by music.

Hotaru has no time for insanity on her schedule, but she does remember one instance where dancing felt like more than a tool: Her birthday when she was sixteen. They'd been training all day, her and Mikan, in their tiny apartment, back when there were no crews, just the two of them. Her best friend had opened a window to let the cool air caress their sweaty skin and there had been music in the air - Elvis or something. Suddenly, their kicks and punches and martial art stances had felt like a dance. Mikan had laughed. It was a good training, and an even better birthday.

This dance right now is different, and yet the same. Usually, there is a wall between her and normal citizens like Luca. Hell, there is a wall between her and other operatives. It doesn't make sense to grow attached to the uncontrollable element of your life - the uncontrollable element that is, of course, other humans. Aside from Mikan, there is nothing that touches Hotaru, simply because there is nothing that can get close enough to try.

And in many ways, this man right here isn't close enough to try: He's just some good-looking rich guy attending a ball. He's one of many men she has danced with over the years. He is nothing to her.

But, but, but. Luca's thumb is tracing her skin, hovering over the seam of her backless dress. All this time, she has been gathering information and hiding it - hiding the way her eyes keep wandering to find more bodyguards, hiding the way she checks his suit to figure out the brand, hiding the way she always breathes in when he pulls her toward him, because he smells like something familiar and new. And Luca? He is watching her watch him.

He doesn't hide. Not the smile on his face and not the flush in his cheek, not the way his hand is comfortably resting on her hip or the way his breathing is just a tiny bit quicker than normal. He isn't hiding at all. Hotaru narrows her eyes at him and he twirls her outwards, pulls her in until she meets him beat by beat.

"Why are you frowning at me?," Luca asks, sounding just a tad bit worried.

"I'm not," Hotaru says. "This is my neutral face."

"Oh? What does a guy have to do to see your happy face?"

She contemplates his question, all the while noticing the way his hand on her back pulls her closer. If he moves his head just a little, his lips will reach the side of her face. If he draws her towards him again, her leg will be pressed against his. There's about an hour left until her mission truly begins. People start and end wars in the span of an hour. It's plenty of time for a bit of extended fun - a bit of dancing, in private.

"I'm a simple girl," Hotaru answers him, her smile as close to coy as she's likely to get. "As long as a guy knows how to use his mouth for something other than talking and lets a lady finish, my happy face usually shows up."

He blushes bright red without once breaking eye contact. Hotaru tilts her head to the side, aware of the way her dark hair curls against her skin, aware of the way he glances down for a second to watch it. Come on, she thinks. I'm not going to get any more obvious than that.

Luca leans his head towards her. They're still dancing, never once missing a beat, but he's leading her towards the edge of the dancefloor now. Inside her own mind, Hotaru smiles.

"You know Angela-" she rolls her eyes at that- "the bathrooms here are pretty luxurious. Spacious, too. And with as many of them as there are, I'm sure no one will mind one that is...occupied."

"First floor?," she asks, risking one last glance at the hostess.

"First floor."

Hotaru gives him a curt nod before letting go of his hand. The absence of its warmth is almost...unpleasant. Then again, she has far better things to look forward to than just his hand.

With a small smirk on her lips, she starts to make her way upstairs, trusting that he will follow her discreetly, trusting that her cool allure has once again been enough.

A drink, a dance, a meeting in a bathroom - there are, Hotaru thinks, worse ways to spend your evening.

There is no need for awkward fumbling once she enters the first floor bathroom, and Hotaru is thankful for that. It seems as though they are both here for the same reason: A good, quick make-out session, no strings attached. It's a moment they can share even though she is an operative, a moment they can share because she is no longer the nervous teenager whose lives and resources are controlled by her crew. She is an adult.

And because Hotaru is an adult, she leaves behind both questions and feelings, locks the door behind her and has her lips pressed to Luca's in the span of a few seconds. To his credit, he reacts well: using one arm, he hoists her upwards, making a satisfied sound at the back of his throat when she wraps her legs tightly around his waist. The enormous vase decorating the bathroom sways dangerously as they half crash, half consciously navigate into the counter.

"So," he breathes, breaking their kiss for a second, "what do I have to do again to see that happy face?"

Hotaru raises her brow.

"I expect my partners to memorize my every word. See it as a test of your intelligence."

Luca adjusts his grip, the smile never leaving his lips.

"Let's see if I can get a perfect score then."

His mouth is on hers again and she grabs his shirt, caring little whether the fabric will tear, pressing closer and closer and pulling his lip into her mouth. Her fingers reach for his tie to tug him towards her. It's a little violent, perhaps. Luca doesn't seem to mind.

"How am I doing?," he mutters against her mouth and Hotaru just kisses him back harder, blood pumping in her ears. His lips are soft against hers but curiously unyielding, and she opens her mouth to breathe in every bit of air he lets her have.

He smells like coffee and something else she can't register, because right then the hand holding her up is trailing down her side, lower, and ever lower, grazing the hem of her dress without once touching her skin. It drives her mad enough to plant her legs back on the ground and pull away, frowning at him before cupping his head with her hand and pulling his mouth towards her once more.

Who's leading the dance now, she wants to ask, but he's kissing her neck, his breath a hot tingle against her skin, and god, if he leaves a hickey she might actually have to kill him, but then again it'll have to wait because she's already tugging at his belt.

Except.

Except-

She pauses when her fingers come into contact with cold metal, and although her brain hasn't quite caught up yet, her muscles act on instinct, pushing him off her and reaching down to pull out her gun

He does the same thing and there they are, lips red and cheeks flushed and pointing their firearms at each other as though this is the next step in a familiar game, played by dozens upon dozens of couples since the dawn of time.

She's frowning and he's laughing, eyes never leaving her face.

He's got a good stance, both hands around the gun as he leans comfortably against the sink. Hotaru allows herself a second glance at his weapon. It's a Walther PPKS .380 - the kind of gun you can easily hide, the kind of gun you use when your enemies are already too close to escape you.

"Always pull your gun on unsuspecting dates, Miss?"

"You hardly seem unsuspecting"

Hotaru doesn't want to blow her operation - because it is an operation, of course it is - and he doesn't seem to want to let her leave, so she cocks her gun and rolls her eyes, making sure her dress is untangled from her legs so she can kick him in the face. Luca evades, because of course he does.

"Now, now, Bridget. No need to get violent," he says, his gun firmly pointed at her. He is still smiling. She still wants to kick his face in.

"If you're here to sabotage me in any way," Hotaru grinds out, "then you should know that I'll kill you and use your skin as a rug. No, as a doormat. You don't even deserve rug status."

"Man. And I thought what we had was special."

"Who do you work for?," Hotaru demands impatiently. She doesn't have to glance at her watch to know that she is too short on time to leave a corpse in the hostess' bathroom. (Not that she doesn't want to.)

Luca opens his mouth to answer but approaching footsteps outside make him pause. They both listen in breathless silence, their guns still out in front of them.

Just when Hotaru is about to focus her attention on Luca again, the softest sound makes her instincts kick back in. It's the click of a gun being loaded on the other side of the door, the subtlest hint of danger and then Luca is pushing her out of range before she has a chance to do so herself.

Freaking gentleman, Hotaru thinks, while the bathroom door behind them is unceremoniously torn apart by bullets.

As the world explodes into splintered wood, all Hotaru can think about is that lying under her bar encounter's lean body sure involved less clothing in her mind.