I'm a total idiot because I put up a new chapter on ao3 but forgot to add one here, so apologies :D Enjoy! (This one takes place a few weeks after chapter 4. Date night!)

Chapter 5: date

"Whoa. You actually left your sword at home? Shite, that's making me nervous."

Tatsu frowned, fingering the cotton napkin in her lap. Was this not what people did on dates? Or did one carry a lethal weapon to a romantic dinner? Of course, "romantic" was not applicable to their situation. Not entirely. It did not cover all the blind-spots.

"You brought your boomerang, then?" she asked, brushing off invisible pieces of fluff from her dress.

"Well, not the one made of steel, heh," he teased, leaning forward suggestively.

A few months ago, she might have gagged or got up and left. Now, she only rolled her eyes. "I can't remember the last time I had Italian."

George smiled broadly. He could have added, "You're having Australian tonight, luv" but that would have been pushing it. He wasn't that crass. And he talked big, but he'd barely gotten to second base with her.

He reached for his glass of wine. Katana had ordered the bottle. An Argentinian Merlot. She'd remembered. He felt rather touched that their first unofficial date had stuck. Probably hard not to; she had got monumentally shit-faced.

He felt a little bit uncomfortable in the shirt and jacket, though. He'd discarded his sturdy ramshackle coat for something more presentable. Not that he'd never worn fancy clothes before, but he wondered if he didn't look like a fool. Like he was cross-dressing or something.

He'd shaved too, which she had received with mild surprise.

"Oh. I can actually see most of your jaw now," she had remarked neutrally.

Katana had doled up too, but this time she hadn't taken pointers from Harley because she was wearing a very nice but very proper little black dress with sleeves and everything. It reached down below her knees in a very elegant ensemble. It was not exactly heart-racing, but who gave a shit? Katana had renounced the mask for one night! She was bare-faced, thank the stars. He could finally look into those pretty doe-eyes and stare at those pink lips without feeling like a pervert. He'd caught glances of her under the mask plenty of times before, but she'd either been crying, or wiping sweat from her nose, or shouting some battle cry while most of her was covered in blood. And while he was not proud that during that last occasion he had sprouted a boner, he still appreciated her showing him her face.

For a deadly assassin, her expression was so candid, so shamefully open and vulnerable that he was beginning to understand why she wore the mask so much. It wasn't just ritual, it wasn't just anonymity. It was part of a performance, part of her pizzazz.

That's not to say her face was full of emotion, far from it. In fact, he had no fucking clue what she was feeling right now, but she had a way of always mirroring what she was thinking. Like, you could tell she was thinking about those other times she'd had Italian. George wondered if those times had been in the company of her husband.

He wasn't jealous or anything. He was pretty sure he'd come up short anyway. I mean, who could compete with a dead guy? He also knew that if she could pick, she'd choose to have dinner with Maseo, but you know what? She was here with him of her own volition, so clearly he was doing something right.

Ugh, he really wanted to kick himself for some of these soppy thoughts. If his old mates could hear him now...

The food arrived, carried over by a plump, balding waiter who spoke no Italian and was in fact Polish. So much for an authentic feel. He deposited the lobsters in front of Tatsu and the linguini in front of George. Neither dish looked extremely appetizing, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Amanda Waller and co. wouldn't have allowed them to go out at some proper swanky locale where they served oysters in a special silver dish and there was a bowl filled with Evian water to wet your hands. It was already a miracle they were being allowed to frequent the more modest bodegas around town. Of course, you could never be sure which of the other patrons in the restaurant were Waller's agents. She liked to keep a close watch.

But Tatsu thought it was "very good news" that they were letting him mingle with normal society outside of prison.

"They must think your attitude is improving," she opined, picking up one of the lobsters and shelling it with deft but messy fingers. The crust flew in all directions, leaving small dents in her thumbs. But she was not going to use the knife. It seemed she was making an effort not to use any weapon tonight.

"Mm. Come to think of it, we passed two Jaguars and a Lexus on our way out here and I only felt compelled to break into the Lexus. But that's just on principle," he grinned.

Tatsu smiled uneasily. "That sounded like a joke, but I think you probably mean it."

George twirled the linguini around his fork. "Say...ever stolen a car, luv?"

"I stole a bike once for an errand, but I brought it back when I was done."

"Pff, how is that stealing? And bicycles don't count. I'm asking if you've ever felt the rush that comes with driving away some prick's embezzled Volvo."

Tatsu frowned. "Why do you assume it's embezzled? Maybe he really earned it."

"Riiight. And I'm Queen Elizabeth in her petticoat. But seriously, we should steal a car sometime and drive out of the city."

She raised a critical brow. "You realize you are talking about deserting."

George pressed a hand to his chest. "Moi? I was only thinking of eloping together."

"Eloping," she murmured, tasting the word between her lips. Her English wasn't always impeccable, but she was certain she'd got the meaning right. "As in, running away to get married?"

Digger choked on a mouthful of pasta. He reached for the glass of wine. It was sort of comical.

"Er, I didn't mean it like - which is to say - I wouldn't hate the idea, you're a great girl, Tats, and you deserve a good -"

She smiled. "Relax. I'm messing with you." She wasn't, but her linguistic pitfalls could come in handy sometimes.

George laughed. "Got me there."

It went on fairly well after that. No more wedding references. No more talk of petty crime. No, they moved on to number of people they'd killed. He wanted to settle a score.

"Unfortunately, I believe the number on my end would come up to seventy."

"Eighty-five, HA! In your face, sweetheart. And I don't wield a magical sword, mind you, I just got this set of brawns."

"I can't believe you're proud of something like that."

"You're just sour I killed more people than you."

"Of course I'm not! But it is very bad manners to gloat about it."

"Oh, you really are a sore loser, luv."

"I did my killings in the line of duty! Not because I wanted to! And how do you even know your number is eighty-five?"

"I keep count, of course."

"I don't believe you."

"Want me to show you?"

Tatsu would later regret saying yes.

They had to leave the table and head for the bathroom so he could really show her.

She knew how it looked. Two people out on a date, sneaking off to the restroom like teenagers.

But George only wanted to show her his "85 SKZ ("suckerz", he explained) DEAD" tattoo on his left upper thigh.

"The eight is smudged. It could just as well be "5 SKZ DEAD"," she argued stubbornly.

"The eight's not smudged, it's just a little old, I mean it's been a while since I was thirteen."

"That is when you made your first kill?" she asked, staring shyly at his boxers. His pants were pulled down his ankles. Oddly, she didn't find the coarse black hair on his legs that unappealing.

George ran a quick hand through his hair. "First one was an accident."

"Oh. My first kill was my husband's brother."

He doubled, his eyes widening in shock. "Jesus, what the fuck -"

"Long family drama," she sighed, shaking her head. "Maseo was killed by his brother. So I returned the favor. Your tattoo proves nothing, by the way."

He really couldn't keep up with her abrupt change of pace sometimes.

"Yeah, well, I could question your number too." He paused. "But I won't, cuz you're fuckin' terrifying. Shit. Your husband's brother, that had to be a bitch -"

"Could we talk about something else?"

Yeah, he could do that. He still had his pants around his ankles, but he shuffled forward and he grabbed the side of her face. He meant it more as a comforting gesture, but then again, he also really wanted to touch her face without her mask.

She seemed to respond well to it, because she didn't draw away. With most ladies this wasn't necessarily positive feedback, but Katana was different. Her skin was not soft, but it was smooth and cool to the touch. He rubbed his coarse thumb against her cheek.

"Pretty. You've got pretty skin."

Fuck, could someone just take away his ability to speak?

Tatsu parted her lips. "'85 could also be the mark of a year. In fact, I'm pretty sure you were born in -"

Clever little assassin. He pulled her head towards him and kissed her. She tasted like lobster and wine. A truly aphrodisiac combination. Her lips molded against his and moved of their own accord, which emboldened him to try and stick his tongue inside her mouth. What? It was a classic move.

This was way better than that other time he had kissed her, because back then they had been under a fucking spell and she had whispered her dead husband's name against his lips. She was kissing him differently now. As Maseo's hallucination, she had kissed him reverently and with lots of anguish. Now, thankfully, there was no anguish.

There was a bit of pain, however, as she ended up biting his tongue. Which he rather liked. Her deft little fingers also ended up at the back of his neck, sending nice little shocks down his spine. He really relished the height difference which made her stand up on her toes. Her bum stuck out deliciously from her prim black dress. One of his hands landed slyly in its vicinity, ready to pounce.

He was only human, after all.

Katana shifted forward and her hips connected with his bare skin and boxers and - shit, yeah, he still had his pants around his ankles.

"Lemme just...pull these back up, luv."

She made a disapproving sound at the back of the throat. "Leave them."

"You enjoy my humiliation?" he hummed.

"Very much."

Well, she was the boss.

He pressed her into the stall door and continued to devour her tiny wine-stained lips, even if he felt a breeze below the waist. He wanted to level the playing field, though, so his hand skimmed her thigh and reached under her dress, cupping her bare ass with as much restraint as he was capable of. Gods, he really wanted to pull down her panties too, but once again, he wasn't that crass. Or was he? He ran his knuckles against the fabric of her underwear.

Katana shrieked lightly into his mouth, but she didn't pull away.

Her kissing became more angry, more passionate. She bit down on his lip and he responded with due enthusiasm.

But Tatsu was properly pissed, so she reached behind him and squeezed his own ass. With her tiny assassin hand.

Holy fucking shit. Their hip bones collided. He felt electricity running between them in short, delirious waves. This was exactly what those Burt Reynolds movies promised you but never delivered.

I mean, fuck, Katana was squeezing his ass.

When they broke apart for air, she said, "well, I didn't know what else to do."

George Harkness really needed to have a serious talk with himself. He was in danger of falling in love with someone who thought stealing a bike that one time was hardcore.

What a fucking cosmic joke.

The rest of their dinner-date went fine, but it was bound to be anti-climactic after he'd been manhandled by a tiny Japanese warrior, whom he pretty much adored now, irrespective of the number of people she'd killed.