Notes: V. is mine, too. I always seem to find a way to bring her into my fandoms! And the last lines in this chapter probably will not be understood unless one has read Ghosts. . . .

Chapter Three

Vodka never remembered falling asleep. He had not intended on it in the first place, but it had somehow happened. It had been such a long day, with raiding Portman's base and finding Gin in such an unstable condition, and he had simply not been able to control his urge for sleep.

He found himself wandering through what seemed to be a labyrinth made of hedges. He knew that he was looking for something, or maybe someone, but he could not quite remember what or who. But then he heard a pained scream echoing from somewhere nearby. He paled, recognizing it and yet not knowing why. He ran faster, finding his way around first one corner, then another, as he tried to get closer to the source of the cry.

Then, as he rounded a third corner, he gasped and jumped back in shock. A tall, well-built man, once physically strong but now weakened and bent over from his injuries, was standing in front of him. He shuddered, clapping a hand over his chest near where his heart was. Blood seeped through his fingers, and Vodka could see more blood dripping from the other's bare back. The long blonde hair was stained red, and he was having trouble even standing at all. As he looked up, his emerald eyes were filled with the same accusatory look from the infirmary. Blood ran down his face, presumeably from his forehead, trailing over his cheeks and nose, and interfering with his vision. And Vodka finally recognized him, despite his tortured appearance.

"Bro . . ." he murmured in shock and horror, not knowing whether to shrink back or to reach for the hand that Gin was shakily holding out.

Gin began to point at Vodka with his forefinger, trembling again from the pain. "You didn't come," he accused, his expression never changing. Blood dripped off of his hand and onto the ground, but he did not seem to notice or care. He coughed harshly, blood appearing at his lips.

Vodka stared at him. He wanted to look away, and yet he could not. He swallowed hard, feeling guilt wash over him. "I'm sorry, bro," he managed to say finally, but he knew that it sounded hollow. "I . . . I tried. . . ."

Gin glowered at him, the accusations obvious in his eyes. Then the hand fell away from his chest, revealing how profusely he was bleeding. Vodka also saw, to his shock, that Gin was holding a knife in that hand. He had stabbed himself. Gin let the weapon drop as he stumbled and tripped, falling forward, and Vodka forced himself out of his trance to reach out and catch him. He held the battered body close, trying not to lose his own balance, and felt the blood running over his hands. Gin moaned softly but then was silent. Vodka felt the other sag against him even more.

He sank into the grass, still holding Gin in his arms and trying to be careful not to further jar all the wounds the other had sustained. The blonde was silent for a long moment before at last speaking again. "You didn't come," he choked out again, grabbing at Vodka's jacket with a blood-stained hand but not managing to get a firm grip before the remaining life drained from his form. The hand dropped, the eyes felt shut, and Vodka knew that his partner was dead.

For a long moment he simply knelt where he was, cradling the empty shell and being haunted by Gin's final actions and words---and the look in his eyes. Vodka had failed him, and there was not anything he could do to change it.

He started awake with a gasp, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. It took him a moment to focus on the room and to realize where he was and to remember what had happened. Then he reached up, rubbing at his eyes wearily. It was only a dream. . . . Gin was still alive. Vodka had found him in time, and he still had the chance to help him recover.

And . . . Gin was not suicidal. He would not kill himself. But still, Vodka felt uneasy. Gin had changed so much. . . . What if he was so far gone that he actually might decide to end it all, out of despair? No . . . that was just Vodka's own, unfounded concerns. That was ridiculous.

Abruptly his arm was grabbed and he nearly jumped a mile. He turned to look at Gin, who was sitting up on the bed and clutching desperately at his partner. Several locks of his long blonde hair fell over his bare shoulders as he shuddered. The same accusing look was in his eyes, along with weariness and something that Vodka could not quite place. Could it be . . . sadness? Regret? He was not certain.

"Why weren't you there?" Gin spoke now, his voice strained. Vodka was at a loss for words, and could only gaze at him speechlessly. Gin gripped tighter. "You weren't there when I needed you. . . . I called for you sometimes, but you never came."

Vodka's eyes flickered with shame even as he watched Gin in absolute shock, and though he could not see it, a hurt and haunted look had come into his orbs. Gin would never say anything of the sort if he fully realized it. But in his current condition, Vodka had to wonder if what Gin was saying was how he honestly felt. Had Gin truly wanted Vodka there in his darkest hours? Had he been in such agony, and unable to help himself, that he had longed for Vodka to help him? Vodka had always thought that Gin's pride was such that he would rather suffer than to be assisted. But perhaps even Gin had a breaking point. Perhaps even he knew that sometimes he could not manage on his own.

In any case, Vodka did not know how to respond to Gin's remarks. He swallowed hard. "I looked for you," he said finally, his own voice quiet. "I know it wasn't good enough, bro, but . . . I did what I could. I didn't forget you."

Gin growled, slowly letting go. Vodka wondered if what he had said had registered at all, or if Gin would know or care if it had. Did Gin even trust him at all anymore? Vodka doubted it, and yet Gin had wanted him to stay. Was he that desperate to not be alone? Vodka could hardly stand to think of what must have been done to reduce Gin to the tormented man that he now was. Gin had never feared solitude before. Usually he seemed to welcome it, even though he also did not seem to mind if Vodka was with him.

Vodka looked at him sincerely. "I wish I could have done more," he admitted. "I wish I could have found you sooner. But . . . I never stopped looking, and I did find you. . . . It seems like that's gotta count for something. . . ." But maybe in Gin's mind it did not. Maybe it did not mean anything because Vodka had not been there to save him from the torture. It would hurt, if Gin felt that way, and yet Vodka would understand if he did.

Gin grunted now, looking down at the quilt. "It might be too late now," he answered flatly. He did not know if he ever would be sane again, or if he could be.

"I won't believe that!" Vodka snapped suddenly, and then his eyes widened in surprise at his firm tone. He looked at Gin in determination. "You're not a lost cause, bro," he said then, and hoped it was the truth.

Gin shrugged in a world-weary way. "I guess we'll see," he replied, though it was obvious that he did not hold any hope at all. And Vodka had to admit, that fact did make him a lot less confident. For the blonde to not have any faith in himself, it meant that he had been tortured far worse than Vodka had even thought. But he knew that he had to keep believing in Gin anyway.

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Gin woke up some time later on the floor of the laboratory. At first he did not remember at all where he was. He wanted to say that he was back at the Black Organization's base, in the suite he shared with Vodka, but he quickly realized that was not the case. Then he thought that he had been wounded severely and that he was badly bleeding all over the floor, but as he slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position, he found that there was not any blood at all.

He growled in confusion, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. He had a bad headache as well, but he could not think of how that had come about. He did not recall striking his head against anything. In fact, he realized, he remembered hardly anything after being thrown over someone's car due to an explosion. There were scattered memories of what came after, including a strange and sadistic blonde woman, but all of it blurred together in Gin's mind.

He started out of his mind when he felt arms go around his bare waist from behind and a head being laid on his shoulder. "What's going on?" he burst out, utterly astonished. "Let go of me!" He tried to look over his shoulder to see who had suddenly embraced him. All he could see was a shock of curls, but that was plenty. He grabbed Chardonnay's wrists and pried her arms loose, feeling extremely uncomfortable and also annoyed. He was not an affectionate person, and he did not appreciate being hugged randomly by people who were only mere acquaintances. He had rarely allowed it from people whom he was close to.

Chardonnay slumped back, allowing Gin to go free. As he turned around to face her, she looked up at him, her violet eyes filled with hopelessness. "It's always really hard, the first time," she said softly in a voice so unlike her normal, happy tones. She looked like a ghost of her former self.

"The first time?" Gin repeated in disbelief. "What first time?" He glared at her searchingly. Now he was starting to remember having found her there and being attacked by her. This was the first she had spoken since then.

"The first time they drug you," she replied, curling her legs Indian-style and gripping the calves as she started to rock back and forth in a slow, despondent way. "You see all these things, and usually a lot of it is what you fear most or what you hate to think about. . . . Maybe sometimes it's how you really see yourself. . . . And then they're always watching you, and they figure out the things that will wear you down the most, so they try to emphasize those things." She shrugged sadly. "And you lose it. . . . You try to hold it together as long as you can, but there just comes a time when you can't take it anymore. . . ."

He growled, grabbing her shoulders to make her look up at him. "Is that what they've been doing to you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Sometimes I still have moments where I think I'm not crazy . . . but then it starts all over again. . . . Or sometimes I just seem to blank out, and I don't remember what I've been doing for a certain period of time." She looked down, her eyes filled with guilt. "I think . . . I think I've hurt people. . . . Lots of people. . . . You, Sake. . . ."

Gin's eyes widened. "Sake is here too?" he demanded. He supposed that should not be a surprise. It made sense.

Again she nodded. "They keep her locked up, most of the time," she said in hushed tones, as if the wickedness was so unspeakable that she could not feel comfortable saying anything about it in a normal voice. "Sometimes she throws herself against the door, so desperate to get out that . . . that she doesn't even care about the electricity. . . ." More tears broke free. She was utterly bewildered. Her training had not taught her how to handle a situation of this nature. Being taken and tortured for information was something to be expected, but being taken and experimented on by a mad scientist definitely was not something that had been deeply considered.

Gin released her, looking around their prison with narrowed eyes. "How long have I been in here?" he muttered, half to himself. He was furious over the treatment that they were undergoing. They had become the victims, the lab rats, in a twisted game. They were at the mercy of Portman, and Gin knew that mercy was not something that she had in abundance. His pride would not allow him to accept this situation. He had already vowed not to let that woman get at him, but she had anyway. He did not know how she had managed to drug him, but obviously that was what had happened. He would have to be extremely careful in the future to ensure that it did not happen again.

"A few hours, I guess. . . . That's how long it takes for the drug to wear off. . . ." Chardonnay bit her lip. "The idea is that sooner or later it will affect you so badly that you'll see things even when you haven't been injected, and that you'll just really get worn down. . . . That's when they start the physical torture too. . . . They want to completely break your spirit and your mind."

Gin slowly got up. "We should be able to get out of here," he muttered. "I locked the door from the inside. . . ." He gripped the edge of a table as he straightened up, wincing as he stretched the muscles in his injured side. Unconsciously he held a hand over the wound as he started to shuffle forward.

Chardonnay watched him. "Maybe," she said slowly, "but there's no way out when you're in the hall. There aren't any windows, and Portman's men are everywhere. I think they're always watching us on the cameras, too. . . ." She shuddered, feeling ill, and laid down on the floor. Her vision was starting to go out again, and she was afraid of what she might end up doing. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to block it all out.

Sometimes she wished that she could just die and end the misery. She was not sure why she never tried. Perhaps she was not brave enough, she thought to herself. Or perhaps it was because she did not want to leave Sake alone. And yet there was not anything that she could do for Sake anyway. And now Gin would be tortured the same as they had been. But, she hoped, maybe he would be able to resist. Gin was surely stronger than she was, she was certain.

Gin ignored her and went to the door, trying the knob after unlocking it. It slid open easily, and he frowned darkly. That was too easy. He did not doubt that Chardonnay was right about not being able to escape. But that did not mean that he would not try. Cautiously he stepped into the corridor.


"Oh, I see you're awake."

He growled furiously. That was Portman's voice, echoing all around him. She was too smart to make herself seen, knowing that Gin might try to harm her. So instead she would drive him mad by letting him know that she was always watching, whether he could see her or not.

"I'm not going to be your experiment," he hissed, slowly moving up the hall and looking into the first room that was unlocked. It was another laboratory, but this one was devoid of occupants. Gin shut the door again, letting it close with a bang, and tried the next one. It was locked.

"But you already are, Gin," the woman smiled. "How do you even know that anything you're seeing is real? Maybe you're still hallucinating. Maybe you're not even here at all. You could be at your base, and you would never know it. There's impersonal hallways like this there, aren't there?"

Gin refused to answer. No, he would not fall prey to her mind tricks. This was not the base! He was not hallucinating now. He knew where he was. He tried the rest of the doors. They were all locked.

"I'm sorry you can't seem to get anywhere," Portman purred now. "Maybe all the doors are closed to you because of your guilt over killing your partner. It could all be in your mind."

The blonde's eyes flashed. "Shut up!" he snapped. "Vodka's death isn't my fault." He clenched a fist tightly. "It was an accident!"

"But it was still because of you and your insistence on catching the target that your partner met his demise," Portman answered. "You recklessly got both yourself and Vodka into a dangerous situation. And you're the only one who managed to get out of it alive. It was your pride that killed Vodka. Nothing will change that. You can deny it all you want, but you could have both made it out of the basement if you hadn't been so stubborn."

"We weren't in a basement!" Gin retorted furiously. He was already on edge from Portman's cruelty and being drugged, but other than that, he felt as if there was something pushing him to lose his mind and become violent. It was a desperate struggle for him to keep his temper in check.

"Of course you were," Portman said. "Don't you remember? That's what you told me. The boiler exploded and would have killed the both of you, had you not been pushed further along by your partner. And he died in your place."

"That's . . . that's nonsense!" Gin shot back in disgust. He knew what had happened. They had fled the house just as it had exploded. Vodka had hit the sidewalk, and Gin had slammed into the car that had been parked there.

He frowned deeply. That was what Portman had told him, anyway. He had not personally remembered any of it. How would he know what had happened for certain? Both of those stories Portman had told him could be false, or one of them could be the truth. It made him all the more angry that she had that advantage over him. He did not know the truth, and she most likely did, but had she told it?

He cursed in his mind. No, he did remember the explosion and crashing into the car, independent of what Portman said. He hated himself for doubting. Nothing that he was told by that woman could be taken as fact.

. . . He did remember that aside from Portman's words, did he not? Suddenly he was not sure at all. Maybe he only thought he did.

"You must be hungry by now, Gin," the voice spoke again after a long silence.

Gin looked around for any sign of a speaker, hatred flaming in his eyes. "Any food you'd give me would probably be laced with that drug, or something else. I'd rather starve." He did not care how long it took. He would find his way out of there. After all, there would have to be some means of escape. Portman would think that she was smart enough to hide it from him, but he would find it anyway. He was determined not to be outsmarted by a mad scientist.

"Well," Portman laughed, "we can't have that. I need you alive for a good while yet. If you won't eat voluntarily, you'll be force-fed."

Gin did not doubt that she would have one of her men do that. But that did not deter him. He would fight all of it tooth and nail if he had to. He would not allow himself to be drugged again, and especially not like that, through food.

He raised a hand to his forehead, suddenly realizing that he felt dizzy. The entire hallway had started to spin, twisting and turning this way and that. Puzzled and angry, he tried to stagger on anyway, but his legs gave out on him before long and he collapsed to the floor with a curse. This was so frustrating! It made him feel so weak. It must be a side-effect of the drug she had used on him earlier.

As he hit the floor, he realized that it felt cold and hard, whereas when he had been standing, it had felt like carpet. Frowning in confusion, he forced himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall for support. It was cold as well, and felt like steel. It also did not feel solid.

His eyes widening, he whirled around to examine it---and found himself looking at metal bars. He was in a cell. He stared in disbelief, reaching out to touch the two poles nearest to him. Using them as support, he forced himself back to his feet and then shook them in fury. "Let me out of here!" he screamed. At the moment he did not stop to wonder how he had suddenly ended up there. Perhaps it was another trick of Portman's. Or it could have been the carpeted corridor that was a trick.

The cruel woman laughed. "Oh, you've finally realized where you actually are, Gin?" she remarked. "I knew that you thought you were in a hallway, because of the way you went about acting as if you were opening doors. But you've been in that cell the entire time. After you passed out from the drug, my men took you and threw you in there. You've been in and out of consciousness for several days now."

Gin looked around wildly. That was impossible! It could have only been a few hours. He remembered very clearly what had happened before the drug had forced him to hallucinate, and it had not happened several days previous. "You're lying!" he snapped indignantly. "You're still trying to make me think I'm out of my mind!" And then he realized something else. If it actually had been several days, and he had not eaten anything, he would be much weaker than he was, and he would feel the hunger pains. He growled, clenching a fist. Either he was right, and Portman was lying, or else it truly had been days and she had already been having her men force-feed him. If he had not been fully aware of things for that long, they would have had plenty of opportunity to do that, drugging him further along the way.

"Oh, but Gin, you are out of your mind," Portman purred. "Maybe I'm not even really speaking to you. How will you know? How will you know if anything is real? Maybe that cell isn't real, either." He could tell that she was smirking. "And no matter how much you deny it, you're starting to wonder yourself just how much of what you think you know is just a fantasy."

Gin shook the bars again, but he knew that it was not any use. He was trapped there. But instead of that serving to break him, it only made him enraged. How dare she toy with him in that way! She would regret it, once he was free. And he would be. She underestimated him. . . . Unless she was planning on his anger. Perhaps that was also part of her plan. He growled to himself at the thought.

Another wave of dizziness crashed over him and he swayed violently, ending up pressed against the cold metal of the bars. Slowly he lowered himself to the floor again. Perhaps this was not real at all. But for right now, it was the only reality that he knew.

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Vodka was growing vexed as well. For the last several days, he had been studying everything that he could concerning Chardonnay's and Sake's mission on Okinawa. It had been a simple enough assignment, and one that was similar to many of the missions those two were often handed. They had been supposed to meet with a prospective client who specialized in dealing with illegal weapons and to set up a business partnership. Sake had said that they had completed it. And then, without ever saying when they were coming back, she and Chardonnay had simply vanished. Vodka could not think of anything to do, except to go to Okinawa himself and meet with their client.

That was where he was now---in fact, in the lobby of the office building. The CEO ran a legitimate company in addition to what was done on the black market with weapons, and Vodka was watching the people come and go as he waited to be told that he could go into the CEO's office. He idly drummed his fingers on the arms of the green, fancy chair, hoping that no one would decide to make conversation with him while he was waiting. But they were all too busy with their own business to care.

He wondered what Gin was doing now. He was certain that the other was in trouble. He would never have once dreamed of what the truth actually was, but still, he knew that something had to be wrong. If Gin was alright, something would have been heard from him. Vodka was sure of it.

"Sir?"

He looked up with a start, realizing that the receptionist was speaking to him. "Y-yeah?" he stammered, and immediately felt foolish.

She did not bat an eye. "The CEO will see you now," she informed him as she placed the telephone receiver back in its cradle. "It's the twelfth floor."

Vodka got up, nodding curtly. "Thanks," he mumbled, and headed for the elevator.

It did not take him long to find the right door. V. Arnold, CEO was clearly printed both in white English lettering and in kanji across the glass double doors directly across from the elevator. V. was not Japanese; V. and the company were from America, and that was about all that Vodka knew. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and went into the outer office, where V.'s private secretary was.

The secretary, an attractive young woman with pale blonde hair, smiled calmly at him. "You're expected," she announced, and pointed to the door of the inner office. "Go on in."

He nodded in thanks and pulled open the next door, immediately stepping into a world quite different from what he had expected.

The office was dimly lit, but he was so used to wearing sunglasses and seeing in near-darkness that he did not have much of a problem determining what was there. Various plants and vases from around the world decorated the corners and a cameo bookcase in the corner. Another shelf was devoted entirely to gems, while a third had several rare volumes that had probably been placed there for show. The desk, over near the plate glass window, was kept neat, with only the barest minimum of papers and folders on it in addition to the laptop. The chair was turned, facing the window, and after a moment during which it was not turned around, Vodka cleared his throat anxiously.

"Excuse me . . . I had an appointment?" he spoke, shifting uncomfortably. He came to attention as the chair was turned around, but then he started in shock at what he had not expected.

"Oh, I'm sorry," a sultry voice purred in fluent, accented Japanese, "yes, of course. You must be here about the two agents who have gone missing."

V. Arnold was dressed in a sharp and classy cream-colored business suit and a dark tie. Naturally wavy red hair fell neatly around the shapely shoulders, and bright, cunning emerald eyes gleamed out at Vodka from a beautiful face. A soft, welcoming smile graced the features, but Vodka did not feel at ease, especially with V.'s tone of voice.

"That's . . . that's right," he nodded, stammering again. He flushed.

V. smiled. "Do sit down, darling," she said, gesturing to the nearby chairs around the room. "Make yourself comfortable."

Quickly Vodka pulled a chair over to be in front of the desk and sank into it, trying to gather his composure. "I . . . I wanted to ask you about when Chardonnay and Sake came to see you several weeks ago, Ms. Arnold," he said then. He was here on business. If he could just keep that in mind, and forget about the way she was smiling at him, as if she was amused by him being flustered, then he would be fine.

"Oh, do call me Vivalene," she answered then, her smile widening and showing pearly white teeth. "We'll dispense with all those formalities. I'll call you Vodka, alright?" She used the chair arm to prop herself up on an elbow, and crossed her legs, and then hurried on before Vodka had a chance to even think of a reply to that.

"I'm really afraid I can't tell you much about your associates, Vodka. Our meeting went exactly as scheduled, and then they left. I didn't expect to hear from them again after all, but I also didn't expect that you wouldn't, either!" Now she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk and lacing her fingers. "I was just as surprised as you must have been to hear about their disappearance." Her voice spoke of her innocence in the matter, but for some reason, and Vodka was not sure why, he was not convinced.

"Did . . . anything strange happen when they were here?" he asked then. "Maybe . . . someone who kept hanging around the building?"

She blinked. "No, I'm afraid not," she answered. "At least, I certainly didn't notice anything of the kind happening." She opened a drawer, removing a bottle and two glasses. "Sherry?" she asked, again smiling in her coy way.

Vodka swallowed hard and wished that Gin was there, for more reasons than one. "No, thank you," he said then.

She shrugged and poured herself some, and Vodka watched as the amber liquid splashed into the glass. "Did I hear right?" she asked casually. "Your partner's missing, too?"

Vodka nodded. "He disappeared five days ago, after an explosion during a mission." And he looked away then, still feeling guilty as he said it. It should not have happened. He should have been able to prevent it. And yet he knew that there was not any way he could have. He had fallen unconscious instantly upon hitting the sidewalk.

"An explosion, you say?" Vivalene set the bottle aside and raised the glass in a toast before taking a sip. "Well," she said then, casually swishing the wine about in the container, "maybe you need to consider that . . . well, how do I delicately put it . . . that it would not be humanly possible to recover his body?"

Vodka gripped the arm of the chair. "No," he retorted, not liking how she apparently thought that he was an idiot. "Gin . . . he . . . he made it out of the place. We were running next to each other when the explosion hit. I . . . I found his blood on the car that was parked there."

"Hmm," she mused, again sipping the sherry. "I see. Well, that's interesting. I don't see how it would have anything to do with Chardonnay and Sake, though. Weren't you investigating someone involved in a plot to blow up your organization's bases?"

"You know an awful lot about it," Vodka said then, after a moment of reflection. "I know I didn't mention that. . . ." He looked up again, frowning, and studied her face, trying to determine what was going on behind her dark smile and her glinting eyes, but it was impossible.

She was unruffled. "I guess I heard it through the grapevine," she purred. "News travels fast in the underworld." She laid the glass down on the desk and stood up, indicating that the interview was concluded. "I'm sure you know that, Vodka."

She came around the desk, and he stood as well, whereupon she firmly shook his hand. "And I do thank you for coming. I wish I'd been able to be of help to you. You must be so worried." Here she paused, as if something else had just occurred to her, and her smile suddenly turned wicked. "Of course, if he isn't found, maybe that would work to your advantage, Vodka. Maybe you would even . . . rise up in the ranks?"

Vodka gaped at her, drawing his hand back from her cold grip. He did not want to be touched by her. "Are you suggesting that maybe I killed him?" he said in disbelief.

"Well," she grinned, "business is business." She walked around him thoughtfully, and he tried to turn with her, not wanting her out of his view. "Maybe you regained consciousness and saw him laying helpless on the ground, and you decided it was a perfect opportunity, so you made sure he was dead and then dumped his body in the wreckage of the house, where it would burn and there would not be any evidence."

Vodka was suddenly sickened. And as the initial shock of Vivalene's accusations wore off, he became very angry."I . . . I'm not like that!" he cried indignantly. "He's my partner. . . . I wouldn't hurt him!" He could not even imagine ever doing something to Gin out of malice or selfishness. If he had woken up and found Gin laying unconscious and hurt on the ground, he would have immediately done everything he could to help him. And he liked to think that Gin would do the same for him, if their positions were reversed.

"If you say so, darling." Vivalene patted his shoulder.

Vodka pulled away. "I have to go," he said firmly, and fled for the safety of the door. He could feel the woman's eyes upon him, and all he wanted was to get out of her sight. There was definitely something strange about her that made him uneasy, but even if she did not have any connection with the disappearances, he did not want to deal with her unfair accusations. He hoped that he would never have to talk to her again.

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Eventually Gin fell into a troubled, yet natural sleep, and Vodka watched over him nervously. He wished that he knew how to better handle the situation. He kept feeling that he was not doing everything that he could or should in order to help Gin relax and be at peace, and yet he did not know what he could do that he had not already been doing. He hated feeling as helpless as he did.

Abruptly Gin's eyes snapped open and Vodka started, not having expected the other to wake up without warning. Gin shot into a sitting position and looked around wildly, and Vodka swallowed hard and stepped back, suddenly unsure that he wanted to be that close.

In the end, it did not matter much. Gin focused on him and then immediately lunged, tackling him to the floor. Vodka, being unprepared for the assault, crashed down onto the cropped carpet and gasped, staring up at the crazed man. Gin gripped at Vodka's shoulders as he pressed his knee down over the other's chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was either not fully awake, he just did not recognize Vodka at the moment, or he was simply out of his mind.

Vodka did not bother to ponder over which it was. Desperately he grabbed Gin's wrists, afraid of what else the other might do if left to his own devices. "Bro," he gulped, looking up into the vacant, alarmed eyes, "it's me, remember? It's your partner. I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me up." He frantically wondered what he would do if Gin did not let him go and instead continued his attack. Vodka knew that he would have to fight back in defense, and yet the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Gin. He was trying to gain the blonde's trust again, and if he was forced to fight against him, that would not help at all. It would only make Gin all the more upset and distrusting.

Gin growled, not releasing the pressure. Instead he continued to glare down at Vodka, trembling and obviously believing himself to be elsewhere and that Vodka was someone else. At least, Vodka hoped Gin thought he was someone else. But he was certain that Gin would not hurt him if he realized.

He tried to push the blonde away without hurting him, still holding onto his wrists. Vodka was the physically stronger of the two, though right now Gin was having an adrenaline rush and was clearly panicked, which currently was giving him an edge. He fell back, but immediately reached for his pillow, and before Vodka could stop him, Gin was trying to smother him.

Now Vodka was panicking. He could not breathe at all. Gin had cut off all circulation. It reminded him too much of when he had been drowning and the water had washed over him, suffocating him, until he had finally lost consciousness. Gin had been his savior then, but now Gin was trying to kill him. As Vodka again grappled with the other, trying to shove him back, the thought ran through his mind that maybe Aoshi had been right---perhaps it was too dangerous for Gin to be around the other agents. Perhaps he did need to be in isolation. But instantly Vodka was angry at himself for even thinking that. He knew that such confinement would only make it harder for Gin to recover, as he had told Aoshi. Gin needed kindness, he needed patience, he needed to have trust extended to him. . . .

The pressure loosened. Vodka stopped struggling, confused. He knew that he had not managed to push Gin away, so how was it that the green-eyed man had stopped? Vodka froze, his heart racing. Maybe Gin was going to try something else. . . .

Slowly the pillow was removed. Gin clutched at it tightly, staring at Vodka as if he did not and could not believe what he was seeing. Then he let out a shaking breath, tossing the pillow back onto his bed. He climbed down from Vodka's chest, kneeling on the floor and holding a hand to his forehead. After a moment Vodka sat up, puzzled. He could hear Gin muttering to himself, but he could not understand what was being said. Cautiously he moved closer, encouraged by the fact that Gin had voluntarily stopped the assault.

"Bro?" he said hesitantly. Gin ignored him, cursing low. He seemed shaken, and Vodka wondered if he dare do anything else. But finally he reached out, laying a hand firmly on Gin's shoulder.

That got the blonde's attention. He looked up instantly, his eyes flashing. This time, Vodka noted, there was recognition in those eyes. "Stay away from me!" Gin yelled then.

Startled, Vodka drew back. He watched Gin for a moment, unsure of exactly why he was saying this, and tried to sort out what to say in reply. Finally he asked, "Why, bro?" and then wondered if he should have. Perhaps he should have just left Gin alone, if that was what he wanted. . . .

Gin growled, pulling himself up onto the edge of his bed. "Look what they've done to me," he hissed, and hatred both for himself and for Portman flashed through the emerald orbs. "I nearly killed you! That's what they wanted. They wanted to see if it was possible to make me lose my mind. And I have!"

Vodka continued to stare at Gin. He did not know what it was that he had expected to hear, but it was not that. Slowly he got to his feet and went over to Gin, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. He mulled over things in his mind, trying to determine how to answer. He did not feel that he was good at this at all, and he was afraid that anything he said would only make it worse. But at last he decided to try anyway. He knew that he could not leave the conversation as it was.

"You're not crazy," he said at last, hoping that he sounded confident. Gin looked at him incredulously. Vodka struggled for the right words. "I mean . . . you know how they say that people who think they're crazy aren't really crazy at all, and that the really crazy people don't think they're crazy. . . ." He trailed off, looking away in discomfort from Gin's penetrating gaze. When he spoke again, he was addressing the floor.

"You've been through a lot, bro. . . . You've gone through things that I know I'll never understand. It wouldn't be reasonable to expect you to come back and be able to be okay, just like that. . . ." He swallowed hard. "It'll take time. . . ."

Gin was silent. After a moment Vodka dared to look up, wondering what the other was thinking. Was Gin angry? Did he think Vodka had spoken out of turn? Or maybe he was disgusted, thinking that it was ridiculous for Vodka to believe in him when he did not believe in himself. In any case, Vodka did not dare to say anything more. He waited, hoping that Gin would speak.

At last he did. The blonde looked over, his shaggy bangs falling across his eyes but still allowing part of them to be visible. "Did anyone ever tell you," he grunted, his expression unreadable, "that you should be a psychologist?"

Vodka blinked at him in shock. For a long moment he once again did not even know how to react. But then, slowly, he started to relax, gazing at Gin with relief. Perhaps it seemed a little thing, but the fact that Gin would make such a remark at this point in time was highly encouraging. Vodka had the feeling that Gin was slowly starting to accept that this was real. He was not certain exactly what would have triggered it, but he did not care. The important thing was that it was happening. There was still a long way to go, but now Vodka felt more reassured that a recovery would come.

"No," he replied then, echoing their conversation from before, "no one ever did."