ATTENTION: CHAPTER ELEVEN UNDERWENT EXTREMELY HEAVY EDITS IN ITS SECOND SCENE, WHICH ALMOST DOUBLED THE CHAPTER IN LENGTH. PLEASE READ IT AGAIN BEFORE READING THIS, OR SOME ASPECTS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE. THANK YOU.

I worked pretty hard on this chapter, trying to get in everything I wanted to say. From now on I think the chapter lengths will be much longer than the first few chapters were (meaning closer to 5,000 words per chapter instead of just around 3,500, which adds about two pages to the length), so those of you who are enjoying this story can waste even more of your time on it, hahaha.

I think that this should probably be rated "M" now, but, I hate not having my story show up on the main page ;3;

(argh, and the Japanese that Corn speaks in this chapter is, "later, Soda. We'll talk." And Soda says "yes" in response.)

Chapter Twelve

Benten Tower is much cooler and darker inside than Clutch had expected it to be, or at least, that's what he thinks when he first gets inside. After a moment or two he realizes that he didn't really have any expectations for this place: in all honesty, he's barely known about its existence for more than six hours, and that wasn't quite enough time to form any sort of a blueprint in his mind of what Rapid 99's headquarters might be like, other than layered with an overload of teal and magenta furniture and walls. The tall Rapid 99, whom Clutch has dubbed "Hotpants" full-time for the sake of simplicity so long as he might be staying here, is supporting him by allowing him to hold onto her shoulder as tightly as he can. She glances at him every once in a while as she moves her hands, one over the other, down a length of rope that's attached to a pulley at the top of a thin manual elevator. They're slowly making their way down into the depths of Benten-cho, and each time the girl turns around to look at him, Clutch bows his head ashamedly. He doesn't want her to look into his bloodstained face, right now, even though he knows in a matter of minutes he'll probably be attacked with rubbing alcohol and bandages. She frowns.

"…I had no idea the GG's were so vicious," she says softly, and Clutch says nothing in response. He knows he'll eventually have to tell her and the other Rapid 99's just what happened to him—or maybe he'll be able to stretch the truth a little to cover up some of the messier details…and he probably won't tell them about Jazz at all—but he's not in the mood to say anything, right now. He feels absolutely miserable, and his leg has begun aching steadily again. The elevator stops, hitting solid ground, and she turns around, putting one hand gently on his arm. He doesn't raise his head, his jaw clamped firmly shut. "…Hey…you're alright now. We aren't going to touch you. I just want to check in with my boss before I set you up a bed on the sofa. That's fine for you…right?"

"Nnnh," Clutch mutters, nodding almost invisibly. He doesn't care. He's glad to have anywhere but concrete, at this point. She nods back and helps him down the dimly-lit hall they've landed in: a beat-up looking passageway with stained beige walls and rough wood flooring. There are a few ugly doors installed crookedly along the way—nowhere near as nice as the GG's Shibuya retreat—but Clutch has no tongue to complain with. He leans on the girl and feels somewhat better when he sees them coming into a larger meeting room, which is, as he imagined, decorated primarily in shades of teal and pink, though actually quite tastefully. There are four beaten and mismatched armchairs arranged around a thin coffee table in the middle of the room, and facing them on the far wall is a huge sofa covered in a deep red bed sheet and decorated with far too many fringed pillows. The peeling walls have been adorned with magazine and newspaper clippings, photos, and various small tags, and it actually gives the place a bit more of a homey feel. The only light in this room is coming from a glowing television set against the near wall, but a set of eyes finds Clutch and the Rapid 99 as they step into the room, the leader of the girl's gang rising from one of the moth-eaten chairs.

"What are you doing?!" the leader hisses, approaching Clutch and the tall girl angrily. "Who is this? Why are you bringing him in here?!"

The tall girl gestures noiselessly toward Clutch's feet, and the leader blinks, dumbstruck, when she recognizes the skates that she lent him earlier. Her face immediately softens. "…Clutch? This…is Clutch? What the hell happened to him?!"

"His gang let him have it," the tall girl says quietly. "…I think they kicked him out. He needs somewhere to stay." The leader looks very uncomfortable, very uncertain, even as she looks into Clutch's despondent face.

"…We don't let men in here," she murmurs. "You know the rules…"

The tall girl sighs. "…He needs to heal," she argues. "Look at him. Look at his face. It's like they…"

"Broke him. Yeah. I can see that." The leader now looks frustrated, and she pulls at one of her pigtails, obviously thinking hard. "…Shit. I don't know…part of me thinks we should just let him stay out on the street…I mean…we don't owe him anything anymore—"

"So?!" the tall girl cuts in, and her leader shoots her a nasty look, making her fall silent. The leader continues.

"…You're right, though. He really does look bad. He shouldn't be out there while he's like this."

"I think they hurt his leg. He's limping."

The leader looks to her underling with surprise evident in her face. "What, didn't he tell you? Hasn't he spoken to you since you found him?"

"…He told me he needed somewhere to stay," the tall girl replies solemnly. "That was it, though." The two of them look at Clutch with worried expressions, and the leader gestures to the sofa.

"Sit," she demands. Clutch grimaces and takes a seat amongst the cushions, and he feels himself freeze when the tall Rapid 99 kneels in front of him and takes his hurt leg in her hands. She only takes the skates off of his feet, though, and he manages to relax as she sets them aside. The leader watches him carefully. "What's wrong with your leg?" she demands. Clutch says nothing, doesn't even look at her. She scowls. "Answer me, or maybe I won't feel sympathetic for you anymore, whether or not you helped us out."

"…Hurts," Clutch responds quietly. The leader's eyes flash.

"Obviously. Why? Did you get kicked? Stabbed?"

"He wasn't stabbed," the tall girl intones. "There'd be blood all over his pants…and a hole…"

"Kicked," Clutch mutters, his voice cold. "Hard." The leader sighs, somewhat in relief, then looks to the tall girl, who's still kneeling on the floor.

"…You know what to do. Go and get some peroxide and we can clean him up."

"Right."

The tall girl gets to her feet easily and speeds down the hallway, and the moment they're alone, Rapid 99's leader leans in and looks seriously at Clutch. He's forced to look back. "Tell me the truth, now," she orders him, her voice smooth and vicious. "There's no way you'd still be limping from a stupid kick to the shin. I've seen you. You're tough. What's really wrong?"

Clutch's eyes try to be furious, but he's too tired, too battered to care much about anything, at this point. He turns away. "…Go ahead and look at it, if you're so curious." She frowns deeply at him, not impressed by his bitter tone, but she reaches down and pulls the coffee table closer to them, lifting Clutch's leg by the ankle and propping it up so that it's flat in front of her when she pulls his pant leg up.

She lets out a strangled sound—a mixture of disbelief, disgust, and pity—when she sees it. Clutch's lower leg, from just below the knee down almost to his ankle, is a hideous mess of scar tissue and misshapen underlying muscle. It's bruised heavily, and it looks more like he was kicked ten times instead of just once, the bone visibly angled very slightly inward. Pale-faced, the Rapid 99 leader runs a hand delicately over Clutch's ruined leg, then looks up at him, her lips pursed. He stares at her blankly.

"…I got hit by a car, and the guy ran over my leg as he was driving away," he says, his voice monotone, feeling nonexistent in his bloodied face. "…Fucked it up pretty bad. Completely shattered my shinbone. When I got to the hospital, the doctors wanted to hack it off…but I wouldn't let 'em. So I had to get it reinforced…that's why all the scars. A lot of the muscle died, so it hurts a hell of a lot, sometimes."

"…How can you skate?" the girl asks quietly. Clutch blinks, his eyes grim.

"Skating helps," he mutters. "I mean…it helps me forget about it. I don't feel anything when I'm skating. Adrenaline, you know? Natural morphine. It's like it never even happened."

She's quiet, then, pulling his pant leg back down to cover it up as the tall girl comes back into the room with a bottle, an old towel, and a few strips of cloth. "…How old were you…?" the leader questions, her voice soft, caring, moved. Clutch leans back as the tall girl sits beside him, opening the bottle and carefully spilling some peroxide onto the towel.

"…Fourteen or so, I guess," Clutch murmurs. "Happened a little over four years ago. I try not to think about it."

"You're eighteen?" the tall girl asks in the middle of dabbing at Clutch's jaw, sounding surprised. "God…I thought you were twenty, at least."

Clutch jerks out of his cold state and looks at her, curious. "…I look that old to you?"

"The sideburns do it."

Clutch looks contemplative for a moment, and he reaches up and touches said facial hair, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk. "Damn. How old are you ladies?" he asks, and the leader looks pissed off that her story was cut off so soon.

"It's rude to ask a woman her age," the tall girl says, a smile slowly growing on her face. "Close your mouth." Clutch obeys and winces back into the cushions when she presses the towel into his split lip. The leader grunts.

"It's not a big deal. We're not much older than him," she says, watching Clutch carefully. Their eyes meet. "I'm twenty-one. She's almost twenty. Youngest in our gang is fifteen. We don't discriminate, age-wise. If girls are tough, they're allowed in. That's it."

Clutch frowns miserably against the stinging pain in his lip, but nods in understanding. "That's a good policy," he says quietly. The leader smirks.

"It was Cube's. The only good thing she left with this gang."

Clutch stiffens a little at the mention of Cube. The tall girl wipes his forehead with the towel and stares at him accusingly, frowning. "Are you bleeding anywhere else…?" she asks, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think so. Probably a few dozen bruises, that's all," he replies, and she nods. The leader meets his eyes again.

"…You brought nothing with you?" she asks. His eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head.

"Not one thing. Those aren't even my skates…well, you know."

"Right. So you'll need clothes," she replies, dismissing it as if it's nothing. "When you wake up tomorrow we'll have what you need. After that, though, you're responsible for yourself. You wash your own clothes, keep track of your own shit, and find your own money for food. I'm not going to play mommy to you, got it?"

"Yeah," Clutch mutters, and the tall girl pushes his shoulder a little, making him lean back into the pillows against one arm of the couch as she moves the unnecessary rest of them along the back and onto the armchairs. As she's pulling the sheet off of the back of the couch and covering him with it, Clutch groans softly. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable, but it still hurts his beaten body, and he can count at least six places that are going to hurt even worse when he wakes up in the morning. The two girls stare at him, and he stares back for a moment or so before he realizes what they're expecting him to say. He implores every muscle in his body to make himself smile. "…Thank you," he says quietly, and the leader and her second-in-command smile back.

"You're more than welcome," the leader says just as gently, and the girls exchange glances as they turn off the television and leave Clutch to sleep. The instant they've disappeared, Clutch closes his eyes and feels his chest burn. In the dark, he thinks of Jazz, and hopes that she's thinking about him, too.

There's a small gathering of about half of the GG's in Corn's room. Corn himself is lying on his bed, pressing ice to his swollen eye, and surrounding him are Beat, Garam, Gum, and Soda, the latter of whom has just pushed Gum out of the way to sit the closest to their leader in his time of need. Gum is glaring at him vehemently, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, flitting restlessly back and forth from his face to Corn's. Both of Corn's eyes are closed, but he's listening carefully as Beat is speaking.

"…Since when do you carry a knife around with you?" Beat asks, his voice very stern. Corn smiles a little. He's being scolded.

"Since I started feeling like I needed it," he replies simply, almost happily. Gum sniffs.

"You were going to stab him," she states, doesn't ask, and looks hard at him. He opens his clear eye and looks back at her, trying to raise his eyebrows but then grimacing when it causes him more pain. "Corn, you were going to stab Clutch."

"Yes. I was. Thank god I didn't," Corn responds, and he looks gladly over at the glum pair of Beat and Garam. "Thank you for holding me back. For stopping me. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"You weren't," Garam says weakly. "Corn…I've seen that look before, man. You really wanted to hurt him."

"And not even some tiny, insignificant part of you thinks that he maybe deserved to be hurt?!" Soda snarls, turning around to glare at the three of them. They all jerk back a little, surprised that he's speaking to them. "Look what he fucking did! Look at what he did to Corn!"

"We can see it, Montgomery," Gum snaps, and Soda's eyes focus on her, boiling. "…Clutch deserved to be kicked out, yes, I think we'd all agree…but not to be stabbed."

"He wasn't stabbed," Corn argues. Garam sighs.

"Yeah. Like you said, thank god," he adds. "Corn…there's just something we don't understand. Why did you have a knife?! It just doesn't seem like you, man. You're always laid back and cool and calm…when would you ever need to use it?! We've never even seen you fight anybody until tonight!"

"I can't protect myself?" Corn asks back, frowning. "If I get jumped, I'm just supposed to lie down and take it?"

"Who the hell is gonna jump you?!" Beat cries, and Corn closes his eye again. "Nobody's got a beef with you!"

"You'd be surprised," he mutters. Gum stares at him.

"Corn," she murmurs quietly, "if this is still about you not feeling—"

"You don't know what it's about," Soda spits, and once again their eyes lock, furious. "Just shut up. Clutch was a dickhole and he deserves to be alone."

"So do you," Gum sneers. "You're just lucky that Corn is such a nice guy and puts up with the way you follow him around."

"At least I didn't abandon him," Soda hisses back, leaning forward so that their faces are closer together.

"I didn't abandon him," Gum snorts. "And anyway, what you're doing is a thousand times worse. You're at his heels every second, staring after him, chasing him on runs, like you're just waiting for him to turn around and ask you to hold his hand. You've always been like that, always trying to weasel into what I was getting…you were jealous, and you still are…isn't that right, Soda? Isn't that fucking right, you goddamn—?! "

Corn freezes. "Gum, don't say—"

Too late. Beat shoves Garam out of the way, his face alight with anger, and he pushes close to Soda, staring into those beady, loathing eyes as best he can with the height difference. Gum is rubbing her face, gritting her teeth, her eyes hollow as she watches Beat stand up for her. "…Don't you ever touch her again," Beat growls, pointing one brave finger up into Soda's face. "Or I'll rip your stupid fuckin' nose off and feed it to you. Got it?"

"You know that you can't even touch me, pipsqueak," Soda murmurs, his eyes freezing even more, and Beat has to back down, very, very reluctantly, the finger curling back into his fist and the fist finding its rightful place at his side. Garam is looking wearily over the scene, and he glances at the equally drained Corn, who looks back knowingly. "What do you know, anyway, other than what this bitch has told you?! I'll bet she's never told you about any of the shit she's done to me, right? If you knew that, you'd know that she fucking deserves to get backhanded."

"What the hell have I ever done to you?!" Gum shrieks. Soda's face flashes wildly.

"Ages ago…back at the orphanage? When my parents came looking for me, and you piled all that shit on me about how I was a fucking idiot for not staying there, and about how I could've had a normal life if I had just been there when they wanted me?!" he recounts glacially, and Gum shuts her mouth, her face flushing. "…You don't think that hurt me? You don't think I fucking regret it EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE?!?"

"It was your fault!" Gum screeches. "I still stand by what I said—"

"You could've shown a little fucking sympathy!!!" Soda roars. "I lived on the goddamn streets for almost seven years because I thought nobody cared, and from the moment I met you, you've been just another bitch who doesn't care…and even worse, you've been a bitch who's trying to take away the only person who really does care! You could've maybe acted a little sorry for me when I missed my only fucking chance, instead of smacking me in the face with your bullshit!"

"Gum," Garam urges unhappily. "Soda, seriously, you guys, please—"

Tears are finding their way down Gum's face, and Beat grips her shoulders in support. "You…you didn't have to be such an asshole to me from the very beginning! You were always butting in on time that I wanted to spend with Corn…I didn't have anyone, either, you know!"

"Hey! At least you fucking had a roof over your head and food every day, right?! I was living in some shitty alleyway, stealing to survive, with people spitting on me and chasing me and calling me hideous and worse than shit…what the hell else was I gonna be to somebody who was trying to keep me from making a friend?!" Soda demands. "Anyway…anyway, I have a right to be pissed at you…after what you did to Corn…and you still dare to call him your 'friend'…?!"

Gum jerks. "You have no IDEA what happened between us!!! Fucking take that back!!!"

"I know that you played him! That you broke his heart…only used him for the sex—!"

Gum's palm strikes Soda's face, and the two of them are even, now. Soda barely even flinches, but the rage is visible in his face. "Fuck you!!! FUCK YOU!!! I loved him more than you ever could, you soulless piece of shit!"

"And what makes you so sure about that?!" Soda sneers back, and Gum's upper lip pulls back as she struggles against Beat, who is now holding her back.

"Because I'm not a pathetic, worthless little lap dog, like you," Gum growls. "I actually have feelings, dickhead. I care about what's going on, instead of focusing entirely on myself and my fucking favorite." Beat shifts uncomfortably, obviously not enjoying hearing about Corn and Gum's relationship. Corn is squeezing his bed sheets, listening intently.

"Just because he fucked you," Soda snarls, "doesn't mean he loves you more than me."

Gum snorts. "You don't know shit about relationships, do you?!"

"You're a whore! What's there to know?!"

"Cocksucker!"

"Cunt!"

Another slap. "You're just pissed because the only break you'll ever get is from fucking yourself," Gum spits. The tears are still freefalling, but she doesn't seem very affected by them. "I know what you think, I've seen the way you look at him—!"

"You ain't seen shit!" Soda shouts back, but his voice sounds a little shaky, this time, almost doubting his own words. Gum looks ferocious, discovering a weak point.

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen it. Those pitiful eyes, the kind that little girls make when they know there's something they can't have. I can read you, like a fucking book. It's obvious! You don't even try to cover it up! And every time you get too close to him, or whisper something, or want to be alone, I know it even more…"

Soda is silent, his whole upper body trembling. Corn sits up suddenly, his face oddly powerful, despite the awful black eye. Garam looks at him worriedly, while Gum and Beat continue to stare down the furious Soda, and Corn clears his throat to get their attention. The three of them jerk around to look, and Soda sits back down beside the bed, his face flushed slightly in shame and anger.

A few moments pass in silence.

"…I love you both the same," Corn finally murmurs, and Gum looks down at her feet, wiping the tears off of her face. "Always. I always have. And I would have, no matter what. I always will, no matter what."

Soda looks anxious. "But you and her—!"

"Don't bring that into this, Soda," Corn says softly, looking over into his best friend's face. "…Please. You know precisely what I mean. Not once did I stop caring about you while she and I were together. And neither of you have ever been in front of the other. That was different…Gum and I being together wasn't the same as our friendship, Soda…I'm talking about friendship. What we were at first." Beat and Garam are quietly—awkwardly—watching, almost completely understanding, but still not quite. Soda looks down, too, as Corn continues. "…I could never choose one over the other, and I never will. You should both know that…you should both accept it…god, how do you think I feel, being stuck in the middle of your goddamn tug-of-war?!"

"Corn…" Soda breathes, "Corn, I…" His eyes are aching with pain and anger when he looks over at Beat, Gum and Garam, like they're intruding on something extremely private, and he closes his mouth instead of finishing, alternatively moving to get up and leave the room. Corn reaches out and touches his arm, though, stopping him for a moment.

"…Atonohouno, Soda-kun. Bokura dearou shaberi." He murmurs the words so quietly that none of the others can hear, and Soda nods weakly.

"…Hai," he says softly, and keeps going on his way, rubbing his arm as he's leaving the room. Gum jerks up once he's gone and looks at Corn with wide eyes, her mouth trembling, and she wipes her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. Her right cheek is puffy where Soda hit her. She looks tense for a moment, wild-eyed, like she's longing to say something to him, but she loses ground and just scowls at him, narrows her eyes, and storms out of the room, shaking her head and breathing loudly. Beat chases after her, leaving Garam and Corn alone in the room. They watch each other uneasily for a moment.

Garam pulls the chair a bit further away from the bed before he sits in it, looking at Corn like he doesn't really know what to say before he finally takes his goggles off and looks his leader in the eye. Corn purses his lips.

"…They fight all the time," Corn says softly, sadly. "I don't know what to do about it other than reassure them…"

"Were you telling the truth?" Garam asks seriously, his face firm and oddly adult. Corn blinks.

"What?"

"About…you love them both the same, and you always have." Garam cocks his eyebrows, curious. "Do you really?"

Corn looks uncomfortable. "…No."

"Would you tell me who you care about more?"

"It's changed," Corn murmurs, and he sounds so sad that Garam almost regrets asking. Almost. "I've felt differently over the years…when I've gotten into fights with them…when they've argued over me…done things…it's…hard, with three, you know?"

"That's why…Beat?" Garam asks vaguely. Corn frowns.

"…Somewhat."

They're quiet for a few seconds: they can hear the hum of Beat and Gum's voices coming through the wall, upset and rushed. Garam looks at his own hands. "…Do you think…that Gum was telling the truth?"

"About…Soda, you mean?" Corn asks weakly, and Garam nods. Corn sighs. "…I…if I knew…it wouldn't be my business to tell you, and it wouldn't be your business to know." Garam nods again, understanding. "…Clutch started digging into that this morning. He came up to us and outright told me that he thought Soda was fuckin' me, and that's why we're so close. I'm glad that Gum doesn't think that much, but…it's probably only a matter of time…"

Garam's eyes are wide. "…Clutch actually had the nerve to say that to you? Damn…" he looks both impressed and a little concerned. "…Why the fuck would he think that was okay…?!"

"I don't know. It pissed me off pretty bad, though." Corn shudders. "Still…you know, Garam…I…I would never have killed him, with that knife. I would have made sure he wouldn't have died."

Garam is stoic. "I know. It's like Beat said…that ain't you, man. You're a lover, not a fighter, right?"

"Yeah," Corn agrees, but his small smile quickly fades. "…Shit…I…I don't know, man. Do you think shit will get better…without Clutch around?"

Garam sighs. "I dunno, bro. I hope to high hell that it does, I can tell you that much. And I'm sure everybody else'd tell you the same thing."

Corn nods, then stops, grunting a little in pain. "…I'm pissed at him and everything…and…I don't regret letting him go at all…but I really fuckin' hope that he finds a place to stay," he mutters, sounding a little ashamed of himself. Garam, however, nods in agreement.

"Well, yeah, man, of course you do. You were in charge of him for over half a year. Even though you might not've grown close on the outside, you did care about him, right? Yeah, so it's still in there, even though you might not be able to feel it past that hope. I respect you for having that, man. Clutch was a huge bastard, and he really doesn't deserve to have you caring about what happens to him."

Corn looks like he agrees with Garam on both points, then thinks for a moment or two before a feeble smile comes to his lips again. "…I wonder if he'll try to join some other gang…?"

Garam's eyes flash as he puts his goggles back on. "I heard he's been hanging around Rapid 99 a lot. Maybe he'll sweet-talk his way in there?"

He and Corn exchange sarcastic glances before they both grin, thinking the same exact thing.

Fat chance.