Chapter Text
Gepard is a man of routine. He has been since he was 8 and his Father began to meticulously manage every aspect of Gepard's life that he could – to make up for the parts of Serval that he couldn't – and it has carried with him every day since then.
Both Serval and Lynx try their best to instil some of their own spontaneity in him. To make him fun and easygoing and not terribly unaware of every single social cue to ever exist. But Gepard was never taught to be any of those things which seem to come so easily to others. So instead he gets used to a life of bad dreams, 6am wake-ups, and a cold, blistering wind that never seems to end. He gets used to an endless white landscape and the dangerous mundanity of military work that has already cost him an arm. He gets used to blue hair and cocky smirks and chasing a certain criminal down cold, dingy alleyways.
Gepard is a man of routine.
A train from the sky breaks that routine like it is a thin, fresh layer of ice that is stepped on too quickly. The warm water that spills from its gap is quick to spread, and the people that are used to only the frozen chunks drink it quickly and desperately.
All it takes is a day. Two.
And suddenly the predictable life that he has lived for eternity shatters, so quickly and so easily that he wonders why he ever used to think it had any strength to it at all.
He wanders awkwardly in the aftermath of it all, knowing he should be happier but feeling out of place for every morning that passes without a single Fragmentum Monster rearing it's ugly head. For every day where the snow gets thinner on the ground.
It is an awful, selfish want Gepard has for war. For how it makes him useful.
All he has left are the bad dreams and 6am wake-ups. Except now instead of winter landscapes he just sits in his dull, empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts and the realisation that the only thing he ever really did was fight.
He knows how to use his fists; the powers of Preservation in his veins. He doesn't know how to live without thinking he might die the next day.
He thinks maybe his sisters notice the sullenness to his face, when they make it a point to visit him whenever they can. Gifts of food and company at his doorstep. Maybe Bronya does, too, with how she calls him to her office one day when work is thin on the ice (it always feels like it is, nowadays).
"I've got a job that needs doing, Gepard," she starts, at the desk where Cocolia used to sit, "It's not what you usually do, but now that the underworld is opened up again, we've got a lot of civil issues that need attention." Her expression unfurls into something more open, awkwardly fiddling with her fingers, "We're a little understaffed in that department, as I bet you can imagine."
"I can, Supreme Guardian," he says habitually, stood straight with his arms behind his back like he always has when in front of this desk.
Bronya clenches her fists so tightly together he's almost afraid they might snap, though her tone still seems casual when she says, "Just Bronya."
Gepard doesn't know how to feel about the new dynamic between them. He follows her lead with it at least, "Right. Sorry, Bronya."
She sighs a little for some reason, "How do you feel about investigative work?"
Gepard considers it for a moment before answering, "I can't say I've ever been involved in any."
He finds he has to forcefully cut himself off from calling her Supreme Guardian again, and just knows it's gonna be a hard habit to kill.
"Yes, I meant how would you feel about doing some now?" she asks, and adds when it is clear he's trying to debate his feelings on the idea, "There's been a lot of unrest in the underworld, and with unrest comes crime, unfortunately. Recently I've found out through Wildfire that there's been multiple cases of burglary in the main area of Boulder Town."
"It isn't heavy work, I know," she continues, maybe in response to how Gepard feels his posture sag at the mundanity of the request, "But I want to start having some trustworthy faces representing us down there, even if it begins with something simple like this. You're the first that came to mind."
Her expression is imploring. She suddenly reminds Gepard of that teenage girl who used to look up to him so much, and he tries not to let his disappointment cloud his voice, "Of course I can do that for you, Bronya."
"Thank you, Gepard," she smiles at him, and Gepard tries to smile back.
He supposes this is life after war, and he just has to get used to it.
His first point of contact is the leader of Wildfire itself, a doctor by the name of Natasha.
Her clinic isn't far from the newly opened station at all, but the amount of stares he gets while walking through Boulder Town's streets make it feel like eternity.
Once he arrives, he notes that the clinic is open-plan in a way he has never seen a hospital be, especially with how the only other door leads to an overstuffed office, with mismatched papers and books and letters.
Gepard stands awkwardly in the doorway. Wearing his bulky Silvermane uniform and feeling like he is much too big to fit inside.
"So sorry for the mess," Natasha laughs, trying to clear the papers into neater piles, "I wasn't expecting Bronya to send anybody down, to be honest."
Gepard can't stop the almost defensive tone his words take, "She cares about Belobog, and the underworld is part of it too."
Natasha moves to look at him over her shoulder quietly, almost evaluating. Suddenly there is a smile on her face that Gepard has no clue how to unpick, "She does, doesn't she? It's nice to see for a change."
Gepard can't blame her for the bitter words, even when they're coated in soft tones and casual smiles.
After a moment more of shuffling, she hums and turns fully back to him, "Anyway, about those break-ins."
Gepard feels himself unconsciously right his posture. Rigid and soldierly.
"There's somebody who has a lot more information on the matter than me. I asked him to meet us here, but I'll warn you, he's quite a self-serving character when he wants to be. If you want information on anything, I'd go to him first, but I wouldn't take most he says otherwise to heart."
Gepard frowns, already picturing someone in his mind that he truly hopes does not turn up at the door, "If he's that untrustworthy, why involve him in this at all?"
Natasha smiles at him like she holds a secret, "He isn't a bad person, don't worry. Just a little…" she shakes her hand in a so-so motion.
"You aren't talking bad about little old Sampo Koski, are you?" a new voice chimes in a sing-song tone like he was waiting.
Gepard would know it a mile or one hundred away.
"Speaking of whom," she smiles affectionately, and Gepard retracts any assurance he felt from the new work Bronya has given him. "Gepard, this is-" Natasha starts again, though Sampo cuts her off energetically.
"Gepard! What are you doing down here?" he calls, slinging an arm over Gepard's closest shoulder as if he hadn't seen him sticking out like a sore thumb from across the room.
Gepard closes his eyes tight. Takes a breath in; then out. When he opens them again, he wills Natasha to see the pain he feels in his chest, "Your information is from Sampo Koski?"
"Hey," Sampo whines, pouting in Gepard's peripheral, "I'm a very informed guy, just so you know!"
Natasha is covering her mouth, though Gepard can see the curve of her lips and the tilt of her eyes, "You've already met, then."
"Of course! Me and Geppie go back years," Sampo leans all his weight against Gepard's shoulder, stood at an absurd angle. He's lucky Gepard can hold his weight.
"Unfortunately," Gepard mumbles, still pleading with Natasha mentally for this to be a joke.
"I should have guessed," she laughs, futile in trying to hide it behind her hand.
"Never been on the same team before, though. That's a change," Sampo taunts, poking at Gepard's armour.
Gepard tilts his head toward Sampo finally, "I should arrest you right now."
"Yeah, you should," Sampo agrees, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips, "but you won't."
Gepard feels a burning in his cheeks when he resolutely turns back to Natasha, aiming to pretend Sampo isn't even there. His posture is even more rigid and tense than before.
To her benefit, Natasha starts to compose herself again, though there is still a warmth to the pull of her eyes as they flicker between the two of them, "Onto the matter at hand. Sampo?"
Gepard doesn't even need to see his face to hear the beaming smile in Sampo's words when he replies, "Yes! And I must commend you for coming to Sampo Koski, for I am truly the right man to ask.."
Gepard can feel a headache coming on.
Bronya was very much correct. It isn't heavy work at all, compared to what he had grown used to as his every day.
The pieces lay at the feet of every burglary, and Gepard only has to tilt them until they all point toward the same man. Recently kicked out of a gang — The Forgotten or something similar, Gepard thinks it was called — and looking to (pettily, he thinks) take out his anger on those close to it.
Natasha was also unfortunately correct. Sampo is smart, and useful to have around when information is the name of the game.
He sure does make it a chore though. With sly smiles and taunting jabs for every question you might even consider turning his way.
Gepard downs two painkillers the moment he enters his apartment that evening, and gets ready for another night of frontline dreams and early morning rises.
Bronya starts to make it routine, herself, after Gepard's quick turnaround in the underworld.
He unfortunately thinks cheap, easy deductive jobs are still better than staring at the walls between his city patrols, so he agrees to every single one she and Pela push his way.
Luckily, he does not have to have Sampo Koski in his ear for every one of them. He's sure he wants to avoid that as much as possible.
The only problem with this is that Gepard does not know the underworld very well. Has spent his entire life sheltered like a babe against even the slightest tarnish on the Architects history; this he can admit.
He's old enough now to go down and see the tarnish for himself, of course, but it's rough going when he's using bare bones as his foundation, instead of the intimate knowledge that he reluctantly agrees Sampo has on the area. On its factions and inhabitants; it's hidden streets and unregistered towns; it's history.
If you want information on anything, I'd go to him first.
He hates that he agrees with the sentiment. He hates that he's been wandering through streets he had no clue existed, looking for clues on a drug ring he has no clue how to shape. He hates that Sampo looks like a saviour in this moment, stood at the end of the alleyway with a lecherous smile that screams danger.
"Geppie! How's it going?"
Gepard sighs like the weight of even those words is never ending, shuffling his feet until the two of them are barely a metre away from each other.
Gepard's issue is not pride, luckily, just a fear that letting Sampo run free is breaking the oath he had sworn to live by. Gepard is used to fear, by now, so he shoves it down and says, "Awful. Help me out?"
"That bad?" Sampo's laughter could almost be called giddy, with how it bursts out of his chest, "Well, Sampo is a generous guy, yeah? I'm sure I can manage to save the poor little Landau that's been walking in circles."
Preservation, Gepard does not hope that last bit is true.
"I'm still a businessman at heart, though, you have to understand," Sampo adds, purposefully casual as he examines the nail polish on his fingers, "Information isn't free."
Gepard grumbles to himself and crosses his arms over his chest, "How much?"
Sampo smiles dangerously, "Depends what you want to know."
He clenches and unclenches his fingers, knowing he's stuck and knowing that Sampo is his best shot at seeing the light, "I'm investigating a new drug that's getting passed around. Green, with a little black star on every pill? Natasha's had a big influx of people overwhelming her clinic because of them."
Sampo nods, "I've heard of it."
"Yeah. Well, I heard from a girl there that she had gotten hers from a club with the same symbol graffitied on it's window in this town. So I'm looking for it, but…"
"You're lost?" Sampo finishes, looking like he's trying to hide the joy in his tone but failing miserably.
"Yeah," Gepard embarrassingly grits out, hands gripping his armour tightly. "So?"
"So..?" Sampo parrots him, eyes wide.
"How much, Sampo?" Gepard says again, wearing thin already.
Sampo makes it look like he's considering, but Gepard would bet money he already knew what he wanted from Gepard the minute he let himself be seen at the end of this alley.
"Y'know, I like you," Sampo starts, and Gepard physically cannot hold down the groan at how Sampo always makes everything into a performance, "So, since we're such long term buddies-"
"Not friends," Gepard interrupts.
"Best buddies, even!" Sampo says instead, a glint to his eye, "I'll give you a discount. Think of it like… promoting good client relationships."
"It's promoting the idea of me arresting you," Gepard says in response.
"Yeah, might have to work on that one," Sampo laughs almost genuinely.
Gepard hates how charismatic his smile is.
"Anyway. How about.. you don't try and arrest me next we meet up on the surface," Sampo finally offers.
Gepard thinks it's absurd he isn’t doing it right now, honestly, but in terms of a trade off? Personally, Gepard thinks Sampo has no real benefit to the offer, when all he has to do is smile and Gepard apparently comes to his feet begging for scraps.
"Seriously? No, pick something else," Gepard says, "You barely even get anything out of that."
There is something strange in Sampo's expression, hidden behind all those typical layers he likes to put on.
"I really do like you, Gepard, but don't you get tired of being such a respectable guy?" he asks with a huff, and Gepard rolls his shoulder's awkwardly. Sampo sighs, "If we're being honest, I don't have anything I need at the moment. Opening up travel between the city has done wonders for my business, you know?"
Gepard tries to forget that Sampo has told him such information, but the other man is smirking like he wants the thrill of the risk.
"There's got to be something."
"Well.." Sampo starts, and Gepard just knows he's been thinking about it from the start, "There's this fancy theatre up in the city. I bet you know it easy; the Golden Mask."
"I do.." Gepard agrees cautiously, "What about it?"
"I love the theatre, but they're pretty strict about giving you entrance up there. Noble families only, apparently," Sampo pouts, grumbling to himself, "Have you ever been?"
Gepard feels a little sheepish when he says, "As a kid, yeah."
"Good," Sampo nods, "Then I want you to get me in. You can bring a couple guests, so make me a plus one."
Gepard can only picture the heavy questioning he'll get from his mother when she sees he's not only gone to the theatre under the family name, but with a guest no less (not that he's going to put Sampo's real name down, of course).
Other than that, he can't really say he hates the idea.
"Okay," Gepard agrees with a shrug, "Any particular one you want to see?"
Sampo's smile is wide and open, "Nope. Just whatever's on the soonest. I'll swing by your apartment about an hour beforehand and we can call it a date."
Sampo winks at him, but Gepard is too preoccupied with asking, "You know where I live?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about it," Sampo waves him off before shifting back into the persona Gepard hadn't even fully realised he'd dropped, "But regarding that club you're looking for. I can lead you to the building, but if you want my opinion — which of course you do, Sampo Koski is the wisest man around — then I'd actually try going east toward some of the mine entrances. The ones with the big 5 legged robot nearby." He shrugs, "That logo's been popping up all around the place recently, way too eager to claim territory. I can't say it'll necessarily be the drug centre, but it's better than a club which is probably just unlucky in where it's sat."
"Also," he continues when Gepard spends too many seconds just blinking in surprise, "Those mines have been unregulated by wildfire for at least 2 years now, so they're rife with people wanting to stow away."
"You included?" Gepard can't stop himself from asking.
Sampo smiles at the prodding like he's proud, "Sorry, Gep, gonna have to try harder than that."
Gepard barely manages to stop himself from smiling back, "Worth a shot."
Gepard wonders if he should have just agreed to the first term of no arresting.
He feels utterly ridiculous, trying to tie the old, unworn tie that has apparently been living at the back of his draw for the past 10 years. The fingers on his prosthetic can't seem to get a good, clear grasp on the material at all, and he's started over in frustration at least a dozen times already.
"Shit," he says under his breath.
"Gepard!" Sampo's voice suddenly calls, scandalised, "I thought you didn't know how to swear!"
Gepard definitely does not jump wildly at the sound, heart pounding and head swinging left and right before he spots him at all, sitting languidly on the edge of his living room window.
"Qlipoth, Sampo! Why are you in my window?! There's a door for a reason!"
Sampo grins wickedly, "Doors are old fashioned."
He jumps down onto the wooden floor, and Gepard is struck shamefully by how colourful the man's entire appearance is when surrounded by the grey walls and placeholder furniture that Gepard has been living with since the moment he turned 18. With his bright blue hair and deep navy suit and tie, still with those Qlipoth-forsaken cutouts at the hips–
Sampo whistles, "Are you even sure you live here, Geppie?"
"Of course I do," Gepard bites out in embarrassment, turning back to the mirror and failing even harder at slipping his tie in a loop correctly.
There's a moment of silence before Sampo finally makes a comment about it, "I thought ties were all that rich kids knew how to wear?"
Gepard grinds his jaw, defensive and very red in the face, "I know how to tie it, okay? It's just my stupid hand. Haven't had to wear one since I lost it, so I'm just…"
He undoes the knot in annoyance again, groaning and shaking out the prosthetic like it's a bane on his existence.
(It is sometimes. The pain at the stump of his elbow sure likes to remind him of it, too.)
He goes to reach for the tie again, but Sampo's hand snakes into his vision, turning Gepard away from the wall. His fingers move so quickly and smoothly, with an ease Gepard can't deny he's jealous of. Before he knows it, Sampo is tightening the knot at his neck and letting it rest.
They stand there for a second before Gepard mumbles out a thanks.
"No worries," Sampo smiles, "I'm a nice guy, remember?"
Gepard huffs, rolling his eyes, "Not if you tell that to our filed record."
"Keep it a secret, then," Sampo laughs like Gepard is actually funny. "Never seen you out of that uniform though, Gep. You clean up nice," he winks exaggeratedly, patting Gepard on the shoulder.
Gepard shrugs, not knowing what to say to that. He instead checks his pockets for the entrance tickets he had filled out in their names, and hands the one under "Lubos Oswell" to Sampo.
"Ooo, fake name," he grins as he takes it, examining it in the light, "I do love a good fake name."
"I'm not taking a criminal with me to the theatre," Gepard argues.
Sampo looks at him with raised eyebrows and a teasing smirk, "I think you'll find you are, actually."
Gepard blushes even more, somehow, "Shut up."
There is something very strange in his chest when he gives their tickets for entry into the Golden Mask. Gepard Landau, plus one guest.
The young man stationed just next to the door smiles in that put-upon type of way Gepard has not missed, "Good evening, Mr. Landau. The show shall start in roughly 30 minutes, please feel free to take a drink from the lobby."
Gepard swallows his distaste for Mr. Landau and smiles back with a nod, "Thank you."
Sampo follows him inside with a pout to his lips, "He didn't even look at me."
"Oswell's not a noble name," Gepard shrugs a little awkwardly, eyes scanning the room. His posture is taught, hands placed behind his back as they station themselves to the side of the lobby, "They're taught not to bring attention to civilian guests in a place like this."
"I guess so," Sampo hums, a curious tilt to his head. "You look like you're on duty, Geppie. Relax."
He reaches out a hand to grip Gepard's shoulder, and he presses his lips together tight at it, "I can't just-"
"Gepard?" a voice says from behind Sampo, "How strange, I hadn't thought I'd see you here."
Gepard meets eyes with the man and feels himself go even tenser when he tries to smile, "Hello, Mr. Huber. It's been a while."
"Yes, it has," he laughs, swirling his champagne glass. His greying hair is perfectly manicured, and it feels like his voice commands when he speaks. Sampo steps a little closer to Gepard but removes his hand, expression strangely neutral. "Your Mother tells me you are very busy working down below the surface recently."
His words are prying. Gepard wishes nobles didn't spend so much time gossiping. "Yes, that's correct."
"It can't be nice work," Huber says almost pityingly, mouth curling. His eyes still haven't even looked at Sampo once, like the man is merely decoration for his peripheral. "I assume you're actually trying to climb up the ladder, this time?"
This time.
Like Gepard isn't already a Captain.
"Maybe," he says appeasingly despite the clench of his fists.
"I don't think there's any higher to go," Sampo suddenly says despite it, like a knife slicing through steel. He smiles when Huber finally looks at him, like a hunter catching prey, "Unless he's trying to replace the Supreme Guardian, that is."
Huber looks Sampo up and down like he's evaluating before he resolutely turns back to Gepard, "I hope your time away from the eastern quarter is not influencing you too much. I know I would hate to see it in my own boys."
Sampo snorts and Huber's mouth tightens. Gepard can feel his heart beating heavily under his skin. "No, sir."
"No," he repeats, almost like he's scolding him. Gepard feels like he's 15 and not already in his early thirties. "I hope you enjoy the play."
He turns to head back to some of the other people milling around the lobby — a few of whom are occasionally shooting Gepard looks. Sampo scoffs at his back under his breath.
"I want to go find our seats," Gepard says quickly, posture still tight. He can feel Sampo eyeing him from his left.
"Sure," he says, sliding back into that easygoing voice. "Maybe we can find old Huber's seat on the way and spit on it, what do you think?"
Gepard huffs with an almost-smile. Sampo grins like he's the cat that got the canary.
It's a lot easier to ignore everyone else once they're seated at their little balcony. Once the lights finally go out behind them and the curtains pull back to start A Wanderer's Journey.
He let's himself sink into the seat, tension loosening.
Sampo's a lot quieter, too. Expression enthralled and eyes never leaving the stage. Leaning forward to rest his chin in his palm, arms on the little ledge. Even during intermission, he spends most of the 15 minutes flipping through the information booklet, thoroughly reading every word.
Gepard — for some reason he really doesn't want to unpick — thinks he spends more time watching Sampo than the play itself.
There's a subtle dimple to his cheek Gepard doesn't think he's ever noticed before.
"I sort of thought you were lying," Gepard mumbles when the lights come back. Hand resting against his cheek, leaning on his good arm. Sampo turns his head to look at him a little questioningly. "But you actually like the theatre, huh?"
Sampo laughs; it's a bright sound. "Sampo Koski never lies about the theatre, Gepard."
Gepard laughs back softly, an ease to the line of his shoulder's he hasn't felt in a while, "Clearly."
"You also liked it?" Sampo asks suddenly with an expectant expression.
"Not as much as you," Gepard shrugs, "But it was fun. I liked the girl that stowed away in the train."
Sampo nods approvingly, "There is always something to enjoy about theatre, my friend."
Gepard's smile is still pulling at the edges of his cheeks, "If you say so."
He forgets to correct Sampo calling them friends.