With your wrist, Thatch didn't want to push you to go clothes shopping before the Opera. One of your dresses was close enough to an evening gown to pass for it, and with a pair of long gloves from Izou it completed the look well. He had worked with you the last couple days to help you sort out an easy hair do and some simple makeup that you could do without hurting your wrist.

You wanted to look as good as you could, but you didn't want Thatch to pay someone to dress you up. Thatch was, by his own words, good at decorating cakes, but he didn't have any practice applying so much as lipstick, so there wasn't much he could do to help. He was pretty good with doing hair, between himself and Izou, he'd gotten enough practice, which gave you more options for your hair for the date.

It was comforting, that Izou had been willing to help you right up until it was time for you and Thatch to leave. There were nerves all around, not just because of the date, but because of everything else, and facing that weight just between you and Thatch felt like too much.

No one had brought it up directly since dinner at Pops' house, but it loomed regardless. You hoped that someday soon you could go on a date with Thatch purely because the two of you wanted to go on the date.

"Well." Izou declares a little more loudly than needed, clearing his throat as he motions for you both to leave. "You both ought to get going. It's a long drive to the hotel, and you'll want to stop and get something to eat before you settle in."

"Ah, yeah." Thatch clears his throat and holds out his hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes," you reply, putting your hand in his. "Let's shall."

"You said that at the hospital," he muses, the two of you heading out of the apartment and to the parking deck. "It's cute."

"I picked it up from an old cartoon show." You admit, falling silent for a few moments before elaborating. Thatch was good at staying quiet until you were ready to say more, and you weren't sure how he seemed to know when there was more you wanted to say.

"My... my parents aren't fond of it." Clearing your throat softly, you look away from Thatch, whose eyes had gone a little wide.

"Then it can be for us, yeah?" He prompts, opening the passenger door for you.

You smile as you get settled into the car. "Yes, I'd like that."

Izou sighs when the two of you finally leave. You were both horrifically adorable and so deep in love it was disgusting. He'd seen Thatch flush a time or two over the years, but the big lug was so smitten with you he'd probably walk himself into a volcano if you asked him.

Of course, you were just as stricken. You might not be as expressive as most people, but Izou could tell. The shift in your feet, the small movements from someone forced to stay as still as possible. If Izou's match matched him half as well as the two of you got along, he'd be a lucky man.

He was glad for the distraction, he and Thatch were worried about you asking why he was staying in the apartment. Though, he figured even if you hadn't been distracted, you were probably still too timid to have pressed the issue.

But now is when his part in things was going into action. Izou placed a few cameras in the most discreet places he could find, using some of the stuff he'd added to his makeup bag to camouflage them even more. The tech was top end, Haruta and Marco had pulled together every micro camera and microphone they could find.

Izou was sure your parents weren't going to waste any time, but he was also hoping they were smart enough to at least wait a few minutes after Thatch's car left the apartment complex before coming in. He didn't need much time, but he still needed a few minutes himself. If they were smart they'd come in at two or three in the morning when you were both miles away and fully asleep.

But Izou was certain if there were any brains behind this "Plan" it wasn't your parents.

The small little safe in Thatch's closet had been emptied of anything useful, not that there was much in there to begin with. But the spare set of master keys to the bakery, and Pops' house had been relocated to Vista's care for now, and important paperwork for the apartment itself was just added to the lock box at the bank Thatch used for his really important paperwork.

All that was in there now was a decent bit of cash, a watch that looked like it might be worth something, and a few other bits and bobs no one was going to miss. The question was if they were going to realize that the knock off Rolex had a GPS tracker in it.

Thatch had been willing to use his Nardin, but Izou was pretty sure that your parents wouldn't know a real decent watch, so much as they would drool over the name etched into the band. Besides, Pops had actually bought that for Thatch, and Izou didn't want your parents to so much as know it existed. Thatch probably didn't either, but was willing to risk it if it would make a difference.

He was done and out of your apartment before Thatch had hit the expressway.

-:-

"Alright, I texted them." You say, holding onto the phone.

"Wouldn't they, I don't know, worry about me seeing the phone?" He asks.

"I sent it from my new one." Your voice is flat when you answer, but Thatch can hear the sadness in it. "They wanted..." Trailing off, you look down at your hands, and the phone you're holding. Your wrist is wrapped still, a reminder of how the earlier part of the week had gone.

"I'm sorry." The words are small, but the guilt wrapping around your heart feels large.

Thatch has never had a harder time keeping his eyes on the road. "What for? I'm not mad. Your folks wanted your new number, that makes sense." He tries to say it lightly, as though your folks were concerned for you, and not trying to control you. Reaching over carefully he pats your hand.

"It'll be alright, doll." He says reassuringly. "Pops and Izou are really good at dealing with these kinds of people, and Marco's not half bad at it either. Between 'em and the rest of my family, we'll get it sorted out. No matter what happens, I won't let your parents take you away."

"... I'm more worried that they'll hurt you."

"I'll be careful." He says, patting your hand again, leaving his fingers draped over yours. "I'm pretty strong, but I won't let my guard down either."

"Thank you." Putting your injured hand over his, your fingers tap against the back of his hand. He's tall and broad, and you keep marveling at just how big he is. You can fit almost your entire hand inside the palm of his.

Your mind shifted to the idea of him holding a small kitten. Somehow you could see him nearly in tears over the tiny creature in his hand. Which, logically, shifted to the idea of him being buried under a pile of kittens.

You could probably sleep on him that way.

Flinching at your own thought you turn and look out the window, very clearly aware of Thatch's hand on yours. Your fingers against his. The warmth. The size.

The idea that in a few hours you would be in a hotel with him, sleeping in the same room. Your poor mind ran away before you could grab a hold of it and the idea of him sleeping in nothing but sweatpants nestled itself neatly in your thoughts.

"Everything alright, doll?" Thatch questions, a small note of concern in his voice.

"Y-yes!" You nearly squeak the word, looking over at him before you can stop yourself. He's glanced from the road for a split second and caught your gaze, before you look away again. Your hands are still around his and despite your thoughts you don't want to relinquish your hold.

"It's fine, it's - my mind just wandered." You try your best to explain.

"Nervous about sharing a room?" He prompts and you can't stop yourself from flinching. It wasn't exactly on the mark, but it was pretty close.

You aren't really sure what to say. Yes isn't exactly the right answer, but it's not the wrong one either. While you're still trying to sort out how to reply, Thatch beats you to it.

"I can probably reserve a second room when we get there."

"You don't have to," you assert, holding onto his hand. You still can't look at him, but you don't want him to get the wrong idea. "I trust you, I'm not nervous about that."

"I-." Thatch starts.

"I was thinking about you being buried under a bunch of cats." You blurt out.

"- huh?"

"I... don't know where it came from, but it felt like you and the cats would be comfortable," you continue, pulling your hands away from Thatch's hand to cover your face. "And th-then I... I... thought that I could sleep that way."

Thatch is nearly biting through his lip, trying not to make any sound. He cannot wreck the car, and he doesn't want to interrupt your random confession. He had certainly day dreamed about you napping on his chest before.

Not always in a chaste way, but more often than not. Part of it was looking forward to you being that comfortable around him. Part of it was the idea of falling asleep while your fingers combed through his chest hair while he held you.

"Do you... I mean," you swallow thickly, lightly placing your hands on top of his. "You wear pajamas, yes?"

Thatch can't stop a sound from escaping him this time. Somewhere between a clipped laugh and an odd sound of relief. The sound in your voice was hard to place, but the idea that you were worried about that of all things, was adorable.

"Even if I didn't usually, I'd definitely wear some while sharing a room." He assures you. "I can wear a whole suit to bed, if you want me to."

"Oh no, you can wear what- whatever." You stammer, tucking both of your hands under his and keeping your eyes on the top of his hand. It was much safer to look there than anywhere else right now.

"Well now I wish I'd packed that lacy thong," Thatch says with a smile, laughing when he catches you looking up at him in disbelief out of the corner of his eye. "Sorry for teasing you, doll." He hums, patting the top of your hand.

You were going to have a heart attack before you reached the motel.

But... it was also very comforting. In the face of everything else, being able to talk and be silly and honest. You wanted to be as honest as you could with Thatch, after he accepted you hiding the phone with such kindness it seemed silly to keep anything from him.

While honesty was the goal, admitting to him that you would like to see him in a thong, was not something you could say right now.

-:-

"Tch." Izou clicked his tongue, watching the camera feeds on the monitor. He barely made it back to the manor before he'd gotten a beep for motion in the apartment. "Amateurs."

Three people. He was pretty sure that the lady was your mom. They had sense enough to wear maintenance uniforms, and honestly he had half-expected them to be dressed in black like stage ninjas. They weren't saying anything, just moving though the apartment systematically.

Or what they must have considered to be systematic.

The door opens and Izou looks over to see Marco come into the room.

"They're in there already?" His tone is disbelieving.

"Yes. In general maintenance uniforms, and, I think gardening gloves." Izou hums.

"General maintenance? It's a secure apartment complex." Marco snorts, handing Izou an uncapped bottle of beer. "Are they... are they really going to go through every cupboard?"

"Seems so."

"What do you think they're look- oh." He points to the screen, pulling Izou's attention over. "Is he doing what I think he is, yoi?"

"I think so." Izou agrees. If he's not mistaken your mom's putting a bug under the sink.

"Amateurs."

Izou chuckles, taking a drink. "What in the seas are they looking for?"

"They aren't just bugging the place, yoi?" Marco's words are mumbled and Izou looks over to see him eating a sandwich.

"I don't think so, did you make enough for the class, or are you completely devoid of-." Izou's words cut off when Marco hands him a sandwich. "Thank you."

"Mm." He hums. "Ah, there she goes."

The two watch as your mother drags a chair into Thatch's bedroom.

"I know we need to see why they wanted in there, but this feels disgusting." Izou grumbles.

"Shame Thatch's chairs are so sturdy." Marco agrees, as she gets the safe slid to the edge and hands it off to one of the others who are with her. "I don't see the bastard."

"Yeah, those two are too small." Izou agrees. "Look though, did you see that?"

"The tattoo? Yeah. That's a problem."

"You think these idiots are actually a part of that organization?" Izou prompts and Marco shrugs.

"Ballsy to have that tattoo and not be, but you'd think he'd be pickier." He agrees. "If her family owes him money, he's not going to leave her out of it."

"He's going to when he realizes who she's marrying." Izou retorts, looking up at Marco. "That isn't a war he's going to want."

"You don't think he already knows?" Marco raises a brow.

Izou shrugs. "I don't think offering to sell their daughter was part of his plan, he would've just sold her himself. So either these guys are working with her parents off the books, and this is less of an issue, or-."

Marco sighs. "I'll text Thatch to be on his guard."

"And-."

"And call up Saber, yeah? He's up in that area, yoi."

"I'll see if Brocca and Nosgari can't sort out more about these two helping her... huh."

Marco looks over at Izou, who's watching the screens. They had been working on getting the small safe open and had finally succeeded. There was some squabbling over the money, Izou could hear them, but the words weren't anything important. He could listen in later, but he wasn't surprised to see them finally divvying up what was in there.

Mother dearest took the watch and half the cash, leaving the other two to divide the other half amongst themselves.

"The next time we see her dad, he's gonna be wearing that thing." Marco says flatly, and Izou hums in agreement.

"I'll bury him with it, if that's the case." Izou murmurs. "What are they putting in there?"

"Looks like pictures. Go look later if you're curious." Marco says. "I'll let Thatch know there's something in there."

"They put up their own surveillance." Izou grumbles.

"You're going to say that to me with a straight face, yoi," Marco clicks his tongue. "They put one behind the plant. They're not going to be able to see anything, and if they placed those other ones like they did in the sink, they're not gonna hear shit either."

"Damn him!" Izou growls and Marco looks away from the phone back to the monitors. One of the lackeys tagging along was tucking your underwear in his pocket, before slipping something under your pillow.

-:-

The hotel room that Thatch had booked was the nicest hotel room you'd think you'd ever seen. It wasn't a big suite, but there was more space than you expected. It was a little more than just a room with two beds in it and a bath. There was a sizable TV, a table and a couple chairs, a small couch, and a kind of coffee bar.

It wasn't big enough to be a kitchen space, but it was a little counter with just enough space for a coffee maker and some packets of coffee and tea set up around it.

Admittedly, it might have simply felt nice because you were in far better company than you had ever been in. Thatch had stopped at a place for dinner that looked like a greasy spoon, but the food had been really good, and the people had seemed nice. People looked at Thatch, but not for the same reasons they looked at your parents, and you hadn't realized how much of an effect it had on how you had perceived groups of people.

It was almost nerve-wracking how peaceful everyone seemed. As though it was a farce and at any moment they were going to become violent, but you didn't have a chance to over think anything. Thatch talked about the business, and some of the other dishes they had, talked about the cooking techniques used, and how he almost opened a fusion place instead of a bakery.

You were pretty sure he was trying to distract you, and you welcomed it. Just the sound of Thatch's voice seems to pull your heart rate down.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you listen to the shower turn off. Thatch had said that a shower would help his muscles relax after the few hours of driving, and it would give you some time to yourself. A hot shower or bath actually sounded really good, and you decided you'd take one after he was done, setting your pajamas next to yourself.

Other sounds told you that he was blow drying his hair, and probably brushing his teeth. The idea of Thatch doing his cooking dance while he brushed his teeth made you smile. Maybe one day your routines would be routine enough you'd get to see if it was something he did.

Thatch steps out of the bathroom and your brain stutters.

His hair's damp, loose around his neck and shoulders, and it still looks good on him. You'd seen that much before back at his father's home, but now he was in nothing else but some sweat pants.

The muscles you knew were beneath his clothes were quite visible. He wasn't aesthetically muscular, but instead more functionally. The build of a man who could carry 400lbs of flour in one trip even if his employees stopped him at 200lbs.

What surprises you the most are the tattoos.

Wrapping up his arms and around his shoulders. Hugging his waist, and curling under the thick hair on his chest. Pretty much everywhere that his shirts could cover up, except his stomach. There was a trail of coarse hair from his bellybutton down past the band of his pants and somehow the lack of tattoos there was hotter.

Thatch looks from your stunned expression and down to his bare chest. There's a brief moment where he's thinking he should've worn a shirt, and then it dawns on him.

"You didn't see my matchbook." He mutters the words. "Sorry, doll, I should've told you about the tattoos."

"Tat— That..." Your mouth opens and closes a couple times and you finally manage to peel your eyes away from him. Looking over at your pajamas and picking them up hastily. "A shower sounds like a good idea, yes."

Thatch steps aside as you walk by him and into the bathroom. You give him one more glance, notice him noticing you, and close the door before the heat in your face starts to show. Even if the easy smile on his face was enough for you to know he knew.

Thatch looks up at the ceiling when the door closes, putting the small towel in his hands against his face and trying not to make a noise. You looked so cute! He knew you thought he was handsome, or at least not ugly, but for a second he'd been worried the tattoos were going to make you uncomfortable. He'd kept them hidden the first few days because you had enough going on, and sometimes people had strong opinions on tattoos.

Walking over to the A/C unit along the underside of the window, he drapes the small hand towel over the back of one of the chairs, and cranks the unit up to full, standing over it as the sounds of the shower turn on.