Homecoming, Part III
March 25, 2014 - Yang
I think I was in and out of consciousness for a while. I vaguely remember Weiss forcing me to drink something, a couple flashes of people moving me. Weiss must have drugged me at some point, or at least I hope she had. If I'd lost enough blood to pass out repeatedly, I was in worse shape than I'd thought.
When I woke up – really woke up – I was back at her apartment (the framed photo of teenage us with an eight year-old Ruby kinda gave it away). I was lying in a four-poster bed I didn't recognize, the curtains pulled back and tied to the bedposts. Must be her room. I had to smile at that. Weiss had always wanted a four-poster, something that had stuck with her since she was a kid. I guess it was one of those things you figured you might as well do once you're an adult. Probably healthier than having ice cream for breakfast, partying far too late, or going days without sleep just to see if you could. Not that I'd done any of those things during my one year at college. Definitely not.
Plus, an elegant four-poster worked a lot better for an adult than my childhood dream of a racecar bed.
Someone, Weiss probably, had shoved a mountain of pillows behind my back, trying to keep me elevated. My shirt was gone, leaving me lying there in my sports bra. Made sense, given how stained the shirt had been. A mostly-empty blood bag hung from one of the bedposts, the tube running down the side of the bed. I could still see the injection site, a bandage covering where the IV tube had sat. It probably wouldn't leave a scar, the needle hadn't been in me long enough. I still had one from an IV drip after the shrapnel incident, about the size of a pen nub just beneath the base of my thumb.
Weiss was easy enough to find, seated at my side, plugging away on her laptop.
"What's up, doc?" It came out raspier than I'd meant it to, the wound aching as I breathed too quickly.
She looked over, lips pursing as she rolled her eyes. "For the last time, I don't have a doctorate." She set the laptop aside, then moved over to me, pulling down the blanket to check my shoulder. The dressing looked new enough, although I bet she'd change it in a few hours.
"You fix a bullet wound, you qualify in my book." I wasn't particularly picky about the whole 'Doc' thing. I'd known more than a few medics who'd had the nickname. They'd deserved the title too, at least by our standards. Just didn't need a degree to prove it. Plus, when they were the only thing between you and bleeding out on a rock, 'doc' was a lot more hopeful. At least I hadn't been navy – I'm sure their Corpsmen were excellent, but the corpse puns my messed-up head spewed definitely would not have helped my recovery.
"Anyway, didn't you get like, three degrees in biology, or something all sciencey?"
"Biochemistry, and neither they, nor an MBA program, really prepares you for stitching up your half-naked friends." Weiss pulled back, perching on the chair so she could reach out to feel my forehead. "You're just lucky I developed a morbid fascination with gunshot wounds after you enlisted."
"... sorry about that."
She nodded, fingers moving down to check my vitals. I kept my mouth shut while she worked, which – despite what people say – wasn't really that hard. Eventually, she let me go, apparently satisfied that I wasn't about to pass out on her. I waited for the shitstorm, the hail of fury that I'd been expecting since the moment I'd called her. Which, to be fair, I ... kinda deserved.
Instead, she sat back in the chair, pulling the laptop over before her fingers resumed their rhythmic pounding on the keyboard.
Okay, now this was getting weird. I knew Weiss. Like knew her. She was supposed to be badgering me to tell her what stupid mess I'd gotten myself into, or what idiotic thing I'd done to get myself shot. Nope, she was practically ignoring me – which was weird. Really weird. Weiss was just not the cold-shoulder kind of girl. She was the 'scream at you while explaining why you were a complete moron' kind. Or at least, she had been.
"Where'd you get the blood?" I asked, trying to shift and immediately regretting it. Damn, that hurt. Moving slowly, I tested the shoulder, seeing how far I could move my arm without wincing. It wasn't as far as I'd like, but as bullet wounds went, I'd gotten off fairly easy.
"It's mine," she said, still typing away.
"You just had it lying around?"
"I store some, just in case."
"In case of what? You get bitten by a vampire? Need a stash of the old O negative to keep the munchies at bay?" Didn't get a laugh for that one. Guess she just wasn't having it today.
"Apparently, I have if for when my idiot friend gets shot and forbids me from taking her to a hospital." She still wasn't looking at me, staring crossly into her screen, fingers click-clacking furiously over the keys. "You're lucky I'm a universal donor, but I didn't have time to do a real cross-match between our blood samples. There's a chance your body might reject my cells, but since you didn't exactly give me much choice, I'm having my lab check the samples now – see if I have to rush you to a hospital after all."
"Sorry for the hassle."
"It's not the hassle, Yang. Do you have any idea how irresponsible this is? What if your body rejected my blood, or the bullet did more damage than I could fix? Or if the stored blood had become contaminated? You could catch sepsis, or-"
"Okay, Weiss, I get it. 'Don't do it again.'"
My nurse humphed, her point apparently made. She went back to ignoring me, still waiting for the results, I guess.
I decided I'd had about enough of silent Weiss. I raised my good arm, and reached out, fingers opening and twisting in increasingly complex gestures.
Eventually, Weiss noticed my insanity, looking over at the bed, irritation obvious on her face. "What are you doing?"
I let my arm flop back on the bed, pouting up into narrowed azure eyes.
"I have Schnee blood coursing through my veins, and I still don't have ice powers."
Her eyes narrowed further as the clicked resumed. "You can be such a child sometimes."
"You know, normally, I have this long talk with potential partners before I let them put bodily fluids in me." If she was gonna be grumpy, I was gonna up the ante. "But for you, I think I'll make an exception."
It took Weiss a second to piece apart the innuendo, before immediately going bright red. I couldn't help but grin; it was nice to see I could still press her buttons after all these years.
"Don't be a pest," she snapped, apparently trying to cover the embarrassed blush creeping up her neck. It really wasn't working.
"I don't have hepatitis or something now, right?"
"Watch it, Yang."
"Chronic Tsundere Disease? Ice Queen Syndrome? Sickle-cell Schnee-nemia?"
"... you are a terrible human being."
"I practice."
"You know, I can always put the bullet back in."
"Shutting up now." I raised my good arm in surrender, even bothering to look sheepish until her glower softened. Finally, Weiss sighed, closing the clamshell lid. She looked more resigned than angry. Not a good sign – angry I could deal with. Resigned ... that meant she'd decided to do something.
"Any time you want to tell me why I had to pull a nine-millimeter slug out of your shoulder, I'm all ears."
Okay. Shouldn't be too hard. Just have to tell her enough of the truth for it to sound real. "I got mugged. One of them got off a lucky sho-"
"No." Her voice pitched up like a schoolteacher catching you in a lie, making sure you knew she knew, and that she was having none of it. "Normal people go to the hospital."
"I don't have insurance?"
"Is that a question, or an answer?" Another sigh. "Don't try, Yang. You've never been good at lying to me."
Shit. Well, it was worth a shot.
"I may have tried to get mugged, so that they could lead me back to the guy ... who shot my dad."
The silence came back, just long enough for her face to grow steadily redder, the earlier embarrassment replaced with sheer, impotent rage.
"You are such an idiot!" Weiss half-tossed her laptop aside, the plastic case clattering on the dresser. "You go off half-cocked, nearly get yourself killed-"
"Weiss, I was army. Some punk with a handgun is not that much of a threat."
"Oh, so you went in with body armor, backup, sufficient intel, or at least significantly superior firepower? Because unless I'm mistaken, that's how the army's supposed to do things!"
Weiss was standing by the side of the bed, looking like she didn't particularly know or care how she'd gotten there. For someone that short, she was doing a fairly passable job of looming over me, sparks firing from her eyes while she yelled.
"You know, I knew you wouldn't let this go, but for some reason, I was stupid enough to think you'd leave it at harassing Pyrrha at all hours for more information. Maybe hire a private investigator. No, you decide to go on a one-woman crusade!"
"What do you want me to do, Weiss? Sit back and wait for a police force you said was incompetent?"
"I want you to live long enough that Ruby can get over her abandonment issues. I want my friend alive, home, and safe, where I don't have to worry about losing her anymore!"
I didn't say anything for a while, just looked up into those angry blue eyes.
She wasn't wrong. I'd kinda left a mess behind me, and Weiss had been enough of a saint to put up with it. And then I'd shown up, and immediately gotten injured.
"I know this isn't fair. To either of you. But I need to know, Weiss. I need to know why."
"We don't always get a why, Yang. Sometimes, bad things just happen."
"This wasn't Soap Opera disease. It wasn't a heart attack, or a car accident, or some cancer designed to teach some half-assed moral about valuing life. It was a guy. With a gun. I need answers, Weiss. I can't move on without knowing. I can't live while whoever did this is still out there." I croaked through the last bit before my chest started convulsing, seizing with raspy coughs that made my wound ache. This much talking had been a bad idea, but I needed her to understand. To get why I had to do this. Why I didn't have a choice.
Someone was lifting my head, pouring something down my throat. When I could breathe normally, I found Weiss standing over me, holding me upright, a now-empty cup in her hand.
"Alright," she whispered, jaw clenched as she put the glass on the nightstand. Gathering her stuff, Weiss moved to the door, already halfway through it before she turned back to me.
"Water's on the table, if you need it."
"Where are you going?"
"I have work." She gave me a look I didn't recognize, clutching her bag a little tighter. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon."
I spent maybe half a day in bed before the jitters got to me. I've never been a lounging around kind of girl. A few hours of rest, another of staring at the wall, waiting for something to happen, and then I was pushing myself out of bed on my good arm ... and ordered a pizza.
What?
Blood loss means you need to consume more iron, namely to let yourself make all those new red blood cells. Add in the required protein and electrolytes, and there really isn't any choice other than to dive teeth-first into a stuffed-crust Supreme straight from the ovens at Rosso's, with all the meat I could order. With jalapenos, of course. I'm not a savage.
Plus, I really didn't feel like raiding Weiss' fridge.
I think the worst part was the silence. After years of messages and late-night calls, to have her here and not talking ... it sucked. I sucked, for pissing her off this much. Not like there were many options when it came to defending myself this time. I'd known she wouldn't take this well – which was why I hadn't told her in the first place.
I gave her a day. A day of being good and quiet, and letting the flesh under the bandage start to knit itself back together. I kept knocking back the maximum allowable dosage of Advil; I'd have preferred real painkillers, but when your hospital room consists of your friend's bedroom ... Well, you take what you can get.
After a combination of painkillers, pizza, and blood loss, it was a miracle I managed to make it to the couch before I collapsed, slipping into the deepest sleep I could remember having in a long time. I woke just after midnight with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and pillow stuffed under my neck, the door to Weiss' room shut tight.
It was good to know. That she still cared. That she was mad because she cared. It just didn't change what I had to do.
Forty minutes later, dressed in a t-shirt with a neck high enough to hide my bandages and a brown bomber jacket slung about my shoulders, I found myself walking towards a familiar red-and-white sign.
The club was almost unrecognizable by night, the lights in the flashy logo cranked up past eleven. Bright colors clashed with brighter clothes as people lined around the block to party and drink the night away. Whatever Junior might running on the side, I kinda had to respect his work ethic; even if it was just a cover, his business was booming.
My march back into a Triad den got cut short by a particularly beefy arm, attached to a particularly beefy man with more neck than head.
"You on the list?" he growled, sounding more like a rockfall than a human being.
"Buddy, I am really not in the mood."
"Uh huh. Miss, I'mma need you to step ba-"
"Let her in," a voice called from within the club, long syllables pitching in a very distinctive whine.
I knew that whine.
The bouncer took one look at the twins standing behind him, and stepped aside. The sisters waited for me, heads cocked to the side as I stepped into the club. It was a far cry from the quiet, well-scrubbed hall I'd seen during the day. The music resonated in my bones, the bass pulsing, beating, pumping whatever alcoholic lifeblood kept this place moving. The room was a mix of shadows and flashing lights, sweeping neon beams that cut through the smoke-filled air. The crowd moved along to the DJ's beat, more talented dancers dominating the center of the floor while the less-skilled bounced and pumped along the outskirts. Inhibitions were low, blood alcohol was high, and I had no doubt half the crowd was blitzed out on some stimulant or other.
A few steps into the room, and the twins were around me, splitting to pass on either side. Their outfits were the same as the last time we fought – or similar enough that I couldn't spot the difference – with enough red and white for them to look like off-season Christmas elves. Well ... grumpy, pouty, potentially violent Christmas elves. Which, considering the staff of your average mall, might not actually be that abnormal.
Honestly, the look worked for them. I'd have thought with skin that pale, the red would have been too strong, the white too bleached, but they made it work. Plus, the whole 'color-coded for your convenience' thing meant there was no chance in hell of mistaking one sister for the other.
The room was already warm and steamy, the air conditioner working overtime to fight the body heat of the dancing patrons, but I could feel the temperature of the room climb a few degrees as the twins closed in.
Or maybe it was just me. I've always been a sucker for a girl in fur.
Some people just have this draw to them. Justify it as pheromones, or a primitive part of your brain saying that this is someone you could make awesome babies with, but there are just some people who carry ... something. Heat, aura, fire, a swirling whirlpool of lust and madness that sucks you into an emotional abyss as black as the pits of hell ... the name changes depending on who you ask. It rests in their bones and rides on their backs, and just being near them turns you on.
Anyway, whatever you feel like calling it, these two girls had it. In spades.
Ignoring the image of being stalked by two particularly fashionable lions, I tried to loosen up my bad shoulder – I needed to be ready for whatever the two were about to throw at me. With my arm the way it was, I doubted it would go as well as last time.
At least I wasn't the only one looking the worse for wear; the last remaining traces of a bruise still ringed Red's eye, and I could still see the half-healed cut in the white twin's split lip.
The sisters stared up at me through lashes far too long to be natural. With about as much warning as a punch to the face, the girl in the red dress held out her hand.
"Miltia."
"Melanie."
"Here for another round?"
Okay. Wow. They looked, um ... eager.
I grinned awkwardly, gingerly shaking the offered hand. This wasn't how I normally found sparring partners, but I could definitely do worse. I'm sure they could, eventually, give me a real run for my money. Even if the half-lidded eyes and pouting lips screamed 'trouble.'
The stockinged legs definitely had nothing to do with it. Nope. Nothing at all.
Shaking my head sadly, I pulled the neck of my shirt down just enough to show the edge of the bandages.
"Not tonight. I wouldn't give you two much of a contest."
Now, I was more than ready to fend off any attacks from a couple of mooks pissed at having their asses handed to them. My good arm was just relaxed enough to block whichever one threw the first blow – and after seeing them both fight, I was definitely taking out the white twin first.
What I wasn't ready for, was Melanie grabbing my uninjured hand and dragging me towards a side room, Miltia flicking the curtains closed as we entered. Ignoring my protests, the white-dressed twin shoved me down onto one of the couches, her red counterpart yanking the neckline of my shirt to the side.
"The hell are you doing?" I stammered, grabbing the offending hand.
The two looked up at me in unison, giving me that derisive stare most people reserve for raving lunatics.
"Making sure you're okay."
Well, then. Apparently I wasn't getting a choice in the matter.
I tried not to think about what might have left the stains on the oh-so-tacky red satin while the two girls checked my wound. They were surprisingly efficient – almost clinical as they checked me over. It made sense, I guess; work for the Triads, eventually you were going to end up needing a little first aid here or there.
It was ... actually pretty nice. The twin's hands were warm on my skin as they worked, careful enough not to put any pressure on the wound itself.
Once they decided I wasn't about to collapse on them, Miltia glared up at me.
"Who did this?"
I had a nasty feeling that question did not come from a place of concern. "... why?"
"You're fun."
"You're good in a fight."
"And they just stole a rematch from us." The twins drawled back and forth, sharing the conversation in a way that could cause whiplash, if their voices ever changed from that slow, mocking drawl.
I'll be honest, getting dragged into the VIP lounge and manhandled by a pair of cute Chinese twins was not how I'd expected this to go down. Continued terror at the she-beast who had busted her way in last time – that I was ready for. Them wanting to try again, test their luck at beating me this time, sure, but not this. I wasn't about to complain, but it was taking longer than I'd like for me to string two words together.
In my defense, they were really cute.
"'kaaay then. If, say, a friend of mine wanted to drop in on a few of her buddies in the Cardinals, especially if they were hiding, where would she look?"
The twins glanced back at each other, and I got a distinct impression of being completely out of the loop. Twin telepathy probably. It's too cool not to be a real thing.
"After you kill him, we want a rematch."
Well. Never had anyone endorse a murder for me before.
"When you're healed." Miltia laid her hand over the entry wound. I'd expected pain, but she was careful to keep the pressure off, and having her hand there ... it was oddly comforting. I could feel her warmth on what skin wasn't covered in gauze and tape, and boy, was she warm.
"Never said anyone was gonna kill him ... but I could be convinced to go another round with you two. If, someone told me where to look."
The two girls shared another glance, jade-green eyes blinking before they turned back to me. Without a word, Melanie slipped back through the curtain, leaving Miltia and me on the stained satin couch.
Something squeezed my arm, and I looked back to find Miltia running her hand down my bicep, her eyes following each muscled curve.
"You work out." It was a statement, not a question, delivered in that purring voice that made me ask myself if this really was a good idea. I wasn't sure if she was staring at me like a particularly juicy steak, or a brand new toy. Wasn't even sure which I'd prefer.
The curtains rustled, and Melanie came back into the room, followed by a crew-cut bartender in a black vest and horribly garish red tie.
Oh well. Too late to back out now.
"Sup Junior."
The triad lieutenant's jaw dropped. His eyes twitched, mouth working soundlessly while he looked for something to say to the gorgeous blonde who'd beaten him and his boys only a few days ago. It probably didn't help that I was lounging in his VIP room, with one of his better enforcers playing with my hair as she practically drooled over my arm, the other sister claiming my free side while he stammered.
A part of me felt bad for the guy. A small part, at least.
"What is wrong with you two?" he growled, staring daggers at Melanie.
"Junior!" I chastised, mock-angry. "Is that any way to treat a friend?"
"We're not friends, Blondie."
I grinned. Junior was big, heavy-set with a defending lineman's mass. Probably could have gone pro, if he hadn't settled into a life of crime. Would have made for some fun TV too; if the triads ever got involved in the NFL, I might actually watch a game. Hell, an all-mafia league would be awesome. Way more fun than the average concussion.
Now, Junior had bulk, and he could probably use it, but that was about as far as he went. He was no prize fighter, his nose far too straight for anyone who got punched for a living. My shoulder might be slowing me down, but in a fair fight – or even better, an unfair one – I could probably take him one-handed.
Still, there was no guarantee that Melanie and Miltia wouldn't side with their boss over me. Probably best to keep this little meeting fairly low-key.
"Junior, either I'm a friend, and we help each other – like friends – or I'm the woman who breaks your stuff, and punches your face in until you tell me what I wanna know."
I let him stand and think about his choices. He knew I was capable of the beating; I'd done it before.
"Now, if I'm not mistaken, you and your ... Chinese 'contacts'," I finger-quoted for effect. I mean, we both knew who I was talking about. "You'd like it if the Cardinals stopped being a problem. I have a friend who's in a problem-solving mood."
"A friend."
"I'm just the middleman."
"Most middlemen don't end up shot."
"Most middlemen can't wipe the floor with a room full of Triad goons." I shot back, the twins shifting as they turned to glare at me. "And two very challenging and competent women."
Ruffled feathers smoothed, they settled back down against the sofa, Miltia still absently twining one blonde lock around her finger.
Junior rubbed at his jaw before speaking again. "The Cardinals got a lot noisier lately. Better guns, better men. They find out we were the ones who leaked their location ..." he shook his head, more at the argument he was having with himself than at me. "I can't start a war, not without a lot more support from my bosses."
"No one will connect my friend to you, Junior. She just wants a Cardinal. She thinks he's at their base, hideout, whatever you wanna call it. You give me the location, and she solves at least some of your little problem." He paused for a second, and I knew I had him. "You can even justify it as you being , oh what'do you all it, entrepreneurial. Say you found a way to pit two local players against each other, without getting yourself involved. Maybe you'll even get a promotion, or whatever benefits your bosses let trickle down."
More silence as the gears started to move, balancing the risk of telling me with the obvious risk of not telling me. I tried to look as threatening as possible, which was proving to be pretty difficult on what I was almost sure was someone's sex couch. He was just about to speak when Melanie cleared her throat.
The pale young woman crossed her legs, raising one high-heeled foot as her eyebrows cocked, glaring up at Junior from behind half-lidded eyes.
Whatever Junior had been about to say, it died in his throat. Some of the strength went out of his spine, and the big guy slumped a little, starting another round of throat-clearing.
"When they took Belltown, the cops got pretty focused on finding their main hidey-hole. Apparently, whoever's in charge now has something of a brain, 'cause he moved their main place down to the shipyards. Assuming your guy's looking for protection, that'd be a place to start."
I pushed myself to my feet, part of me wanting to stay on that couch, trapped between the twins, the other part telling me to high-tail it out of here before everything went to hell. "You know, Junior, you're a real stand-up mobster."
The glare he shot me could have scorched steel. Still, he nodded, threw a look back at Melanie, and walked out, calling a parting shot over his shoulder.
"Take her out the back. I don't want anyone seein' her here."
Melanie nodded, leading me by my uninjured hand and not letting go until we were standing behind the club's dumpsters.
"Now," she drawled, "how about that rematch?"
I had a decision to make. This was either gonna go really well, or in a few weeks I'd be waking up hog-tied in someone's trunk. Or worse, not waking up in someone's trunk.
Still, a deal was a deal.
"When the shoulder heals, I know where to find you," I said, eyes flicking between identical pairs of blue-green eyes.
"That ... might not the best idea."
"Some of the boys aren't as forgiving as we are."
"Not that they're a threat, but we'd rather fight you fresh," Miltia picked up after her sister paused.
"Here," Melanie turned my hand over, pressing something small into my palm. "When you're ready, give us a call."
The two slipped back into the club, one last unreadable look shot over their shoulders, bringing visions too enjoyable for them to be legal to my already-overtaxed mind.
I looked down, finding one of the club's matchboxes in my hand, 'Just' scrawled in red on one side, their number neatly printed on the other.
Yup. One more thing to go on the list of stuff I could never tell Weiss. Honestly, it was starting to look like a pretty long list.
