Chapter Text
After weeks at sea, Victorique was the first to see land. It would have been surprising if she hadn't, because she had spent the last few days standing on the railing at the front of the ship, leaning precariously over it as her sharp, green eyes scanned the horizon, her long, silver hair streaming behind her like a banner. No matter how much Kazuya scolded her, she kept coming back, all thoughts to her own safety completely ignored.
"Look! Look!" she cried excitedly, pointing out into the sea. Her balance faltered, and with a yelp, Kazuya lunged for her waist and tugged her back to safety before she went overboard.
"How many times do I have to tell you?!" he gasped, sprawled on the wooden deck with Victorique's tiny frame on his chest. "Be careful when you're leaning over the railing!"
"Yes, yes," she said, not at all sorry as she got to her feet and dusted herself off. "But more importantly, look! We're here!"
Kazuya sighed as he stood up and joined her.
"Look where?" he asked, squinting into the afternoon light.
"There!" she said, grabbing him by the chin and directing his gaze off to his right. The only thing he could see was water, and perhaps a hazy, tiny speck far off in the distance.
"I don't see anything," said Kazuya, "unless you mean that little shadow-"
"It's La Liberté éclairant le monde!" she said, falling back into French. "New York!" she added in her slightly accented English.
"La Liberté... you're certain?" he asked, unconvinced. "It's so far away, it could be anything..."
"Of course I'm certain! When have I ever made a mistake?" asked Victorique haughtily. Kazuya chuckled as she shot him an offended glare.
"Alright, alright, I believe you," he said, patting her bonnet. "If you say it's La Liberté, then it's La Liberté."
"The Statue of Liberty," she said in awe. "We finally made it, Kujo!"
"You know, you can't keep calling me Kujo forever," he grinned, leaning down to poke her cheek playfully. "You're a Kujo too, it's confusing."
He saw her face go pink, but she kept her gaze stubbornly on the smudge in the water.
"I'll call you whatever I please," muttered Victorique Kujo.
"Yes, yes," he said, too used to her ornery disposition to argue. "Come on, then, let's go back inside, it's almost dinner time." He held out a hand for her.
"Fine," she sighed, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the horizon. "But I'm taking your dessert," she snapped.
"Don't you always?"
"You never try very hard to prevent me."
"Don't I? I thought asking you to stop every time was pretty clear."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, taking his hand.
"Of course you don't," he snorted.
"Oh shut up, Kazuya," she said, turning away from him. "Hurry up, or we'll be late." She tugged him along as if going below deck had been her idea from the start.
"Passage for two, is that right?"
"Yes, sir," Kazuya said timidly. Victorique stood restlessly at his elbow, only half-listening to the customs official as she looked around the port. Everything was so big in America! So many ships, so many people! No matter where she turned, something new stood out, and her curiosity was unbridled.
"Kujo, Kujo!" she said, tugging Kazuya's sleeve. "What's that?!"
"Victorique, not now," he hissed in French. "Let me finish here-"
"Your uh... daughter?" the official asked, watching the pair with mild curiosity. His eyes lingered on her odd hair color and on Kazuya's oriental features. Victorique instantly turned toward him and glared.
"Excuse me?" she snapped in English. "What part of this makes you think I'm a child?!"
Kazuya stepped in before the official could answer, but Victorique could see the retort in his face. As if she could help being small!
"Please don't mind my wife," Kazuya said hurriedly, trying to block her from view. "She is a bit irritable after the long journ- OW!" She had stepped on his foot pointedly. "Very irritable," he muttered.
The official looked more suspicious than ever.
"Wife?" he asked, giving Kazuya a nasty look. "I don't know what the laws are where you're from, but we look down on child brides in New York."
"How dare you?!" Victorique bristled, "I am twenty one years old, you- you misbegotten imbecile!" She yanked her passport from Kazuya's hand and slammed it on the table. "Victorique Kujo, twenty one, born Victorique De Blois in Saubure and married in Japan to this sorry, overly polite fool."
"I love you too, Victorique," Kazuya said flatly behind her. She ignored him.
"Go on then, read it, if you're not too stupid to read French," she said coldly.
Taken aback by her ferocity, the man leafed quickly through the document and handed it back.
"Everything is in order, my apologies, ma'am," he mumbled, pulling a piece of paper from a stack and scribbling something at the top. "Er, your passport, sir?"
Kazuya handed it over, looking rather embarrassed as he did so.
"Um, Kujo Kazu- sorry, I mean, Kazuya Kujo, twenty one years old, born in Japan and former soldier of the Imperial Armed Forces. I have a document from the government of Saubure about my residency there, and our marriage certificate... if you need them." He pulled a sheaf of folded papers from his breast pocket and held them out to the official stiffly. The man accepted the papers and wrote a few more lines.
"So, uh... Kazooyah and Victory Ku Joe?" the official asked, slaughtering the pronunciations.
"Kujo," Victorique corrected impatiently. "And it's VictoriQUE, not Victory. With a K sound at the end." She gave him a contemptuous look. "I shudder to think how you managed to find employment in customs when you can't even speak French, never mind Japanese."
She huffed and stomped a short distance away, crossing her arms as she waited for Kazuya to finish signing the documents.
"That was too much, Victorique," Kazuya said once everything was sorted and the official grumpily bid them welcome to the city of New York. "You didn't have to insult him..."
"I only spoke the truth," she said firmly. "Besides, he insulted me first!"
"That may be so, but we're immigrants, remember? We can't afford to go around causing trouble before we've even been given residency!"
"Hmph."
Kazuya sighed, scratching his hair tiredly beneath his hat. "What am I going to do with you, Victorique?"
"If you're smart, you're going to exchange our money and get our luggage," she said, pointing at the mountain of trunks and suitcases being unloaded from the ship. "And call a carriage, I'm not sleeping in the streets today or any other day."
"Yes, my lady, of course," he said sarcastically, giving her a small bow and doffing his hat. "Do you want me to carry you on my shoulders while you're at it?"
"Ha ha ha," she said, mimicking a dry laugh. "Don't offer what you don't intend to follow through with, or you'll regret it. My feet do hurt."
"You are always a delight."
"Of course," she said, but she couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as they made their way into the crowd.
"Kujo."
"...Hmm? What is it?" he asked sleepily, his face pressed into his pillow.
"We need a house."
Kazuya opened one eye to find Victorique sitting up next to him with the lamp on, staring at nothing in particular. Her hair cascaded everywhere, a silver fountain that obscured most of her figure from view. She was chewing thoughtfully on the end of her lit pipe, puffing an occasional ring of smoke into the air.
"You shouldn't smoke in bed," he murmured, half-intent on going back to sleep.
"A house, Kujo. We need one," she insisted, turning to look at him over her bare shoulder. In the lamplight, her green eyes seemed to glow eerily.
"We've been looking for an apartment all week," he said, stifling a yawn. "We'll find something sooner or later."
"No, you don't get it," she said, frowning. "We need a house. For the agency."
"What agency?"
"My agency!"
Kazuya gazed up at her blearily, not following at all.
"You have an agency?"
She gave a great, exasperated sigh and fell back onto the bed with her arms thrown wide, her pipe held in her right hand. "Sometimes I wonder if we even speak the same language, Kujo."
"Kazuya," he corrected, too tired to feel insulted.
"Yes, whatever," she said, staring straight up at the ceiling. "I want to start a detective agency. Here, in New York."
"A detective agency? I thought you didn't want to follow in your brother's footsteps?"
Victorique scowled. "This isn't anything like Greevil," she said. "He's an inspector, part of the government. I'm not interested in being a puppet or weapon for anyone ever again. I want to have my own private agency, where I can solve cases at my own leisure."
Kazuya blinked at her. "That's a good idea," he admitted. "But we can barely find an apartment in our price range; how are we supposed to pay for a house?"
"It doesn't have to be a big house," she said, turning to look at him. "Just an office space separate from the rest of the living area. We can't stay in this hotel forever."
"I know that, but it sounds like a tall order, considering we don't have much to our name."
"I want to try," she said stubbornly. Kazuya smiled knowingly. Once Victorique got an idea in her head, it was impossible to deter her.
"Fine, we'll see what we can find tomorrow," he said, turning over and holding an arm up for her. Looking pleased, she turned the lamp off and put out her pipe before she burrowed her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. Her warmth was comforting and familiar.
"You're too easy to convince," she mumbled into his collarbone.
"That's because you're my weakness. I let you convince me," he said.
"How do you know I'm not manipulating you and making you think you have a choice? I am a Grey Wolf, after all."
"I know because I did make a choice. I chose you."
She made a contented noise and said something so quietly and muffled that it shouldn't have been distinguishable. But Kazuya knew Victorique too well.
"I know. Me too, Victorique," he said softly, stroking her hair gently as they drifted peacefully back to sleep. "Je t'aime aussi."