NOTE: This is where I completely lost control of the plot and it spun out of reach. I'm just channeling it now. I apologize if this and following chapters are confusing. Cheers.
(also, again, I was going through some bad shit. o_o)

"Now, would one of you please explain?"

Tony and I stood in Mr. Maverick's office, like sullen children at the principal's office. I shoved my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels, glaring at my toes. Tony crossed his arms over his chest. The clock ticked patiently, and Mr. Maverick watched calmly. It was the kind of atmosphere that would annoy the fuck out of small children and most adults.

I am not a child or part of "most" adults.

Tony broke before I did. "He said he wanted a fight," he almost blurted. "I said I wasn't gonna let him at me this time, but he insulted me, sir, so I had to."

I didn't say anything, even though Mr. Maverick looked to me for confirmation. For some reason that I couldn't explain even to myself, I didn't want to talk, not about this, not in front of him. Never in front of him. I glared back, until he looked away. I don't know how I did it.

"You say you had to? Why?" His tone was gentle, reasonable, the kind of voice you'd use on a slow or stubborn child.

Tony blustered a bit. "Well—well, see—I—It's kinda—we—it's just—I-I had to. He insulted me, and he said he wanted to fight. So we fought. I got bored after a while, and—"

"Bullshit," I hissed, and he abruptly shut up. Mr. Maverick raised his eyebrow at me. I thought of Jane. My temper rose. "He got scared. He's been scared since I put a kid in ICU, back in highschool. He's a lazy, cowardly idiot."

"I am NOT a—" Tony began furiously, but Mr. Maverick raised a hand and he shut up, again. I suddenly loathed Tony's weakness, that he'd let this flaccid old man order him about. For some reason, hate started eating me up, the tar becoming boiling pitch, inching up inside, tasting like blood. Weakness. I'm surrounded by weakness…

"I do not think old fears have anything to do with this situation," Maverick announced, almost thoughtfully, mostly to himself. "I am supposing there was different reason for Antonio's caution." Even Maverick knows he's afraid. "Why, Kotetsu, did you feel the urge to instigate a fight with a fellow hero in a public area?"

I suddenly laughed. I don't know why, but suddenly the pitch burst out and became a laugh. "Fellow hero? Public area? Shit, shit, and more shit. The only tie I have to this wuss is one time, one point in our lives when we were fucking children. He's not a "fellow" anything. And that isn't a public area, that's a private yacht club, that's everyone sitting 'round drinking martinis and laughing at the common folk, who have to go to gyms full of weirdos and juicers and health-addicts and workout-junkies, while the private air club get to be safe and isolated and clear of pests. The heroes get to be put away and ignored. Some of them think it's because we demand respect. It's not respect. It's not the higher-ups trying to keep up the charade. We're being stifled. We're ignored. Is it any wonder that we need out? Maybe you've brainwashed and beaten down most of them," I graced Tony with a brief glare, "But we still need OUT. Stop treating us like animals and small children. Maybe then we won't turn on each other. Maybe then we won't smile and stab each other in the back," (spilling my secrets) "Hurt each other just because it's expected," (turning away, shunning, breaking ourselves because we just have to) "And focusing on popularity, rather than the whole reason we exist. We're supposed to HELP. We're supposed to show people that NEXT aren't abominations, we aren't devil-cursed, we're human too. How are we supposed to do that when we can't have lives outside of work, we can't escape our managers, we're locked in to so many stupid contracts that we're degenerating into automatons and blank cut-outs? We aren't examples. We aren't encouraging anything besides the idea that being a hero is a cheap shot at getting attention. WHY?! Why did you let this happen?! You're supposed to be the one who founded this whole godforsaken, money-bloated empire. What the fuck happened?!"

He stared back at me, and instead of shame, he looked annoyed. Not even angry, not even furious that I challenged him. He just looked a little annoyed.

"That does not explain why you challenged one of your coworkers to a fight and refused to let the issue go," he commented.

I couldn't think of what to say, what to do. Do I kill him? Oh, god, some small, evil part of me wanted to squeeze his neck until he turned purple. Do I walk away? Both of my knees felt weak and tired. Do I scream some more? The pitch is sinking, beaten, thrown off track. Do I give in, bow my head, go back to what life was like before the darkness in my stomach took on a mind of its own? I don't want to. I don't know what to do. I don't know, I've said it so many times in the past week, I don't know, I just don't understand.

"My only explanation is that you are an evil bastard and you've let yourself get corrupted. I quit."

I turned and walked away.

~~~\0/~~~

When I got home I wrote up a new letter of resignation and put it in an envelope and sealed it and everything. Then I started shaking, and then I started thinking uncontrollably, and then everything crumbled and I want it to just stop, everything just stop, just go away and leave me alone and go back to the way things used to be.

Bunny called. I couldn't help myself, I picked up.

"What the hell happened with you and Uncle?!" he demanded.

I stared at the ceiling and tried to think up a reasonable answer. "…I told him what I thought about how the heroes were being run, and then I told him I quit."

"WHY?!"

"Because… oh, god, Bunny, I can't think of it. It came out and sounded logical, but… I…"

"Logical doesn't come in to it!" he snarled, and I closed my eyes and gave up. "Why would you just quit? Surely it's not worth resigning just because you were trying to start a fight with someone who didn't have the guts for it. You're—There's nothing wrong with—why?!"

He sounded panicky. "Bunny, stop it. I didn't "just quit". I decided enough is enough. Stop being silly and calm down."

"Why are you leaving?" he demanded; there, childish panic. "Surely it's not that bad here. I know you aren't the most admired, but—"

"Is THAT all that matters to you?" I snarled, "Being admired? Being looked up to? Being on par with a B-rated actor? Bunny, what do heroes do?"

"Fight crime," he answered automatically. "Earn points. Entertain."

"Exactly. That's all we're good for, entertaining." I closed my eyes again and felt burned out, empty, dull. "I joined when we were supposed to be more than that. I thought we were supposed to be an inspiration. I thought we were supposed to show that being a NEXT was perfectly okay, was natural, normal. That being a NEXT means you can do good. But no. No, we're nothing, now. We're pretty faces and old has-beens. I can't do that anymore. I can't. I just can't."

"Please?" he mumbled. "Please? For me?"

For Tomoe.

For Kaede.

"I can't. I said I quit."

But I can.

There is always something wrong with giving up.

"Please, Kotetsu, I don't know how to do this without you. You're my friend. I need you."

There was something rehearsed about that last sentence. He didn't really mean that. He didn't know how to take care of himself, yes, but he didn't need me. He could figure it out. But he said I'm his friend. Should I believe him when he says that? He thinks of me as his friend, but I think of him as my ward. I have to take care of him. I think it's a combination of never being able to be a father, his obvious need for a parental figure to steer him, and that he's so clueless. That part is his uncle's fault.

His uncle.

"You don't "need" me. You want me around, because that seems easier. A pair means one will always get the most blame. One means dealing with everything. You'll be fine."

For Tomoe.

She loves you.

I know.

"You'll be fine."

Silence on the other end. I thought he'd hung up, but then, wouldn't my phone drop the call too? He spoke and I had the urge to run.

"I want you."

"Want me to what?"

"Nothing. I just want you."

"Why?"

"Because I do." He sounded predatory all of a sudden. "I want you because you are something I want. Someone. I kissed you because I wanted to. I said you have beautiful eyes because you do. I hugged you because I wanted to feel you. I want all of you."

"Please say you're kidding."

"I'm not."

My chest hurt, and I started feeling a little scared. "Liar. This is a sick joke, isn't it?"

"I need you to stay because I want you to. Why would I try to joke about that?" There, incredulity. Please please please stop sounding so animalistic and territorial. "Uncle was the one who told me to call, by the way. He said I could make you come back. Is that true?"

Relief. If Maverick told him he could "make me come back," then he probably rehearsed this entire conversation. He doesn't mean any of it. "Maverick can go suck Agnes's cock and fall off the edge of the third tier for all I care," I growled, and realized it was true. I don't give a single flying fuck about that man anymore. He has no power over me. Now that I have left, he has no power over me. "I'm not changing my mind, Bunny. Leave me alone."

"You should mow your lawn, by the way."

I was up and checking the lock before I could really think of doing so. Yes, both deadbolt and doorknob were shut, but for some reason I still didn't feel quite safe.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Um. On the sidewalk. Your car is dirty. Is it alright if I come in?"

"After what you just said about wanting? HELL no! You go right back to your fancy goddamn penthouse and leave me alone!"

"Does it matter? You're going to have to clean out your desk at Apollon, anyway, and… um… please let me in. I don't want to go home."

"No!"

"But it's cold out here…"

"Go home!"

"Someone gave out my address; I think it was Blue Rose. There are five women camped outside my door and two men in leather. I came down here because I thought…"

"…You're a liar," I decided, desperately. "Let's agree on that. Everything you just said is a fucking lie. You're annoyed with me for quitting and you need a place to stay. That is ALL. Alright? You can come in if you promise to admit you're lying."

"Oh, alright. Uncle told me to try a few different tactics, that's all. But there really are men in leather outside my door and I'm scared of them."

He sounded like he meant it. I shut my eyes tight, told myself to believe him, and unlocked the door, taking a few steps back. "Oh… Okay. You can come in."

"Thank you."

"Whatever."

I hung up first and waited. After a few minutes, the doorknob twisted, and Bunny walked in. I allowed five seconds to make sure he wasn't about to start acting creepy, then turned and went to the fridge for a beer. Maybe I can calm down that way. Maybe.

The door closed. Locked. Footsteps coming up behind me. I snatched a second beer, kicked the fridge closed, and handed it to Bunny.

"Isn't it a little early for drinking?" he asked, popping the tab anyway.

I shook my head and emptied mine in two gulps. "Never too early. Never too late. There is no limit, either. I run out of beer at the end of the week or I don't. Sit."

He did, looking a little surprised. I tossed him the TV remote. "Any channel, I don't care, as long as it's BBC."

A slight smile. He couldn't be looking downwards as I walked away, I would not allow him to be looking at me like that. It was my imagination. It was just because he was using a "tactic" on me earlier. Yes, that was it. I was overreacting. That was all. I fetched another beer and sat at the opposite end of the couch from him. I don't want the stupid part of my brain to panic.

Doctor Who was on. I used to like that show; strange things interested me, and the Doctor and his shenanigans were perfect to get my mind off of everything, not just the weird phone calls and my aching ankle. I walked on it too much.

It took me a while to realize Bunny had moved closer. He was watching the show intently, but he was, slowly but surely, inching down the couch towards me. I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself he just wanted to see better (his flat might be spacious, but my house is almost as big, and my tv is smaller).

I finished my second beer. I got up to get a third, and noticed that his leg was almost touching mine. My third beer joined me at the other end, and the look he gave me almost made me throw him out.

I think I was drunk when he kissed me, but all I remember is pushing him away and shouting for him to get out. After he left I went to bed and had nightmares of Tomoe crying and yelling at me for being unfaithful. Sometimes Tomoe would turn into Kaede, and sometimes Kaede would turn into Momo, and sometimes it was a woman almost like Tomoe but not quite, because it was a dream, and the woman was perfect, although I can't remember how.

~~~\0/~~~

"Maverick said you quit."

I didn't look Ivan in the eye. "I did. I came back, though."

"It's been ten days, how have you "come back"?" he demanded crossly. "Barnaby was livid, by the way."

"I know. He called me. And then he came over and we had some drinks and he went away." Damn. That made it sound like he'd convinced me to come back. But Ivan accepted that explanation, and I was allowed to pass him to continue my journey to the bikes.

But the gauntlet did not stop there. Blue Rose stepped in front of me, and she was acting kind of funny, twisting her fingers and looking a bit doubtful and trying to stand up straight, except her one foot kept hooking behind the other, and she met my eyes for a total of three seconds.

"Um. I'm sorry about your foot," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to… well, I'm sorry. I got annoyed."

"Did Nate set you up to this?" I asked, a bit suspicious of her behavior. "You don't usually say sorry. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Er. Thanks, though."

Her surprise turned to annoyance turned to embarrassment turned to a lowered gaze and another mumbled "Sorry." She walked away quickly, and I noticed she'd been coming from the bikes. Teenage brooding. It does strange things to a person. I scratched the back of my head, shrugged, and continued on my way. It's scary when that kind of thing happens, but I s'pose it's normal for kids.

I had barely stepped within the fairy-ring when Pao Lin popped up and wrinkled her nose.

"You. You're terrible."

"Why?" I snapped back. She irritates me easily. "It's not my fault Tony is a whiny little—"

"No, you're terrible for saying you quit, and then coming back anyway. Babble about "commitment" all you like, you're still an idiot. And that was terrible form. You need better practice than just brawling with drunk people." She grabbed my elbow and hauled me to the practice mats, ignoring my protests. She also did not listen to my insistence that her being smaller than me wasn't a fair fight; she simply tried to kick me, and I stumbled back, whereupon she began a barrage of attacks that somehow managed to wake up the evil little goblin inside that likes to take over when I'm trying to be non-violent in the face of brutality.

That little girl gave me more bruises in one hour than I have earned in a steady eight-hour streak of pummeling drunkards and brutes with muscles like steel cables.

I forgot pain, though. I settled in to my Berserker Mode, as Tony and my boys back home call it. I ignored my ankle. My knee was nothing. Every blossom of ache from every landed hit faded as soon as it was there. I don't know why nobody stopped us. It was bad for me to challenge someone larger, stronger, and less susceptible to pain than me; but it was perfectly okay to not hold back in a fight with a child. Maybe it was because she dodged every time. Maybe it was because nobody wanted to bring me to Maverick's attention again. Maybe I wasn't a threat anymore.

Pao Lin used her size against me. I brought up memories of how to beat up smaller people and give the illusion that I was as fast as them. I clipped her shoulder, she cracked a rib; I tripped her up, she used the movement to twist my arm. I lost my temper, but she still beat me. Eventually she kicked me in the stomach and I fell down on my ass and snapped out of it. The adrenaline was pumping; why, oh why, is the ring closed down? She smirked down at me, and even though she was slightly out of breath and her face was sweating a little, she was in better shape than me. I couldn't get my breath back, and I probably needed a second shower.

"Better," she announced. "Not as good as you could've done, but better. That was two hours, by the way."

I gaped at her for a moment. "Huh? Two hours? I thought it was shorter than that."

"Nope. Not according to the clock." She dragged me to my feet (again, how the hell does a thirteen-year-old child control a full-grown adult?) and pointed at the clock on the wall. "You lasted longer than I thought. How's your foot?"

"I dunno." I shifted my weight on it and winced. "Worse than it was, better than it could be."

"You didn't really favor it much during the fight."

"I forgot about it."

She narrowed her eyes at me, then shrugged. "Weirdo. Anyway, you stink. Go wash."

"Aiya, why does everyone think they're my mother?" I whined, but limped to the locker room anyway. I feel gross. I was trained to notice when I'm disgusting, and I'm disgusting now.

I didn't have soap. I borrowed Bunny's. It smelled strange; then again, it might be French. The French seem to think everything has to smell nice, especially the foreigners.

I don't know why, and I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I had an extra change of stuff besides my street-clothes. Someone had decided to supply towels, which were balanced precariously on the edge of the sink nearest the showers. Somehow, someway, the universe was trying to help me scrape off the ickiness of life and start the day over again. I felt better after getting clean.

My hair was still damp when Nate entered the locker room, but otherwise I was decent. I scowled at him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He pursed his lips and put his chin in his hand. "Hmm. I thought they were kidding, but I suppose not. You really did come back."

Good god, is everyone going to start harping over that? "Yes, and?"

"It seems a little odd. That's all."

"What, that I got tired of sending out résumés that were rejected in five minutes? This is the only thing I've got, so leave me alone." I tried to get past him, but he blocked me, and only raised a pink eyebrow when I snarled.

"Did you use Handsome's soap?" he asked, and I was momentarily distracted.

"Well, I don't bring MINE in," I grumbled, "And at least his doesn't have pubes all over it, like Tony's."

"Do you like it?"

I stared at him for a second. Like it? How the hell does one "like" a soap? "It works, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but it's French," Nate explained patiently, like I was a little kid. "Do you like it?"

"Well, I dunno, it's just soap."

"You went straight to him, even though there are plenty of bars of soap in this room?"

"Eh? Are there?" I tried looking around, but Nate shook his head and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. He was gentle enough, but he's capable of snapping my neck.

"You didn't ask anyone."

"Well, no, because that's gross, and why would I? Sky's is probably something girly like Dove, and Ivan doesn't shower here. So that leaves yours, which is lilac, Tony's, which is most likely infested with his stink and grime, and Bunny's."

"Which is what?"

"Eh?"

"You've listed everything wrong with everyone else's, so why not think of a negative for Handsome's?"

He looked very smug, and I tried to think of an answer to his trick question that wouldn't make me look like a pervert (as he would undoubtedly see me as no matter what I said). "Er… it's… not mine?"

"Well, that's a reason not to, but that's all you have?" The smugness deepened, and I scowled at him, trying to think.

"Um… It's expensive, and since he's OCD as shit, he'd probably notice the exact positioning he left it as in his locker—"

"No, look at it in itself, not just what will happen when he finds out."

"Why the FUCK is this relevant?!" I burst out, jerking out of his grip. "It's just some goddamn soap!"

"But it's the perfect metaphor." Nate clasped his hands under his chin and beamed at me. "You dislike all of the rest of us, so why HIM? Why is he your go-to?"

"Because—because—"

I'm sorry to offend, but I've always imagined that you have pretty eyes.

"—How the hell am I supposed to know? He just IS, alright? And his stuff doesn't sting as much, either. What, is it made with goat milk and pureed walnuts?"

"Smell," Nate commanded imperiously, grabbing my arm and thrusting it under my nose. I tried to pull away, but too late, I'd already gotten a whiff. It was stronger than what I was used to. "What does it smell like?"

"Er… I dunno." Moss. For some reason, I thought of moss. Then grass. Then leaves. "Is it some kind of weird thing like Bed Bath and Beyond do, like 'Autumn Rain' or whatever the hell they call that shit?"

"Close. Guess again."

He still had hold of me, which was annoying and uncomfortable. I tried to think of an answer that would get him away from me. It kept coming back to moss. The kind that's soft and thick and impossibly short, that grows under trees, but when you peel it up it comes up in big clumps, and the smell from it is wet earth and sharp green and, I dunno, sort of like water, but deep underneath this clean, heavy earthiness and I couldn't think of how else to describe it. "Um. Something green."

"Closer. It grows on the ground."

"Look, can you just let go of me?"

"No. It's not grass, either."

"Moss."

I couldn't help letting it out. Nate grinned and let go of my arm.

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Yes, it's from my cousin's fragrance line; she's set up shop in the French countryside, and she loves all things green, so she made several different types of soap that smell EXACTLY like what they're called. Moss is her newest, and I gave a bar to Handsome to test-drive. Do YOU enjoy it?"

Well, I don't know. It's… a smell. I didn't know you could enjoy a smell. Hate one, yes, but I don't really prefer anything over anything else. I shrugged uncomfortably. "It's a smell. It's better than lilac, and Dial."

Nate sighed, but smiled again. "You are clueless, and that is adorable."

"WHAT! Adorable?! Who the hell said you were allowed to call me that?!"

He laughed and dodged my attempt to hit him. "You should be honored, you know! How are those glutes? Have you been working on them?"

"Stop TOUCHING me!"

Bunny suddenly appeared, and my skin crawled. Keep away from me. It doesn't matter if you're over it or not, just keep away from me. Nate stopped fondling my ass and stepped a little in front of me, with a smile that seemed genuinely welcoming and teasing. His neck and shoulders were tense, though. "Handsome! How are you today?"

"I heard yelling," Bunny evaded lamely, barely glancing at Nate and staring at me instead. I tried to stand solid and seem unafraid, but it didn't quite work. Stop looking at me like that. I had ten days to worry about this, so stop LOOKING at me like that. "You didn't tell me you were coming back."

"Why would I?" I spat, "Since you obviously didn't doubt your ability to take me by surprise." He didn't doubt his ability to seduce me, get me drunk enough to do what he wanted. What DID he want? Nothing good. His eyes flashed, pine needle-green solidifying into hard emerald. His mouth tightened, his hands clenched. He knows I know what he wanted. If he comes near me, I really WILL go to Tony. I feel sick just thinking about it, but I don't want to have to directly hurt him, even if it will keep him away.

"I apologize," he said curtly, "For my actions ten days ago."

"Good. You don't mean it, but good. Don't call me names, either," I snapped at Nate, who pouted. "I don't like the A-word."

"What, adorable? You ARE adorable! Or would you prefer dashing? You are rather ripped, too, I watched you shower."

I tried to attack him, but Bunny grabbed my arms and held me steady as I shouted abuse. Nate escaped with a titter, and I was left with my partner-in-crime(fighting) holding me hostage.

I felt suddenly very vulnerable.

He'd grabbed me from behind, which I hadn't noticed when I was trying to kill Nate. But now I noticed, because I wasn't struggling, and that meant he just had hold of me.

"You used my soap," he said, almost dazed. His breath tickled the back of my neck and I cringed.

"Tony's is gross," I blurted, "Nate's is girly-scented, and Keith uses Dove. Let go of me."

"You didn't bring your own?" He relaxed his grip, but not enough. Panic tried to muster in my throat.

"W-well no! I don't shower here, a-and—STOP IT!"

The feeling of someone kissing the back of my neck abruptly vanished. So did his constraint. I lurched away from him and headed for the exit. No no no no don't do that to me Bunny, don't DO that.

"No, wait—"

"DON'T."

He stopped dead and didn't try to grab me again. The panic turned to an icky sick feeling in my throat and down through to my stomach, a.k.a. the black pit of negativity. I didn't like the look on his face. It was weird. It was like he wanted to hug me again, or kiss me, but he didn't want to make me even angrier. That wanting scared me, so I tried to back away, but then he made a weird moaning noise, and took a step forward, and the kiss-wanting overwhelmed the peace-wanting, and he looked afraid too, but he reached for me and I ran.

If he wants me so much he can't control himself, then I refuse to be alone with him.

~~~\0/~~~

"Aye, that is rather disturbing," Mary agreed, gesturing for another beer. Petra sat on his stool and drank, and drank, and drank. He didn't stop. Occasionally he got up to piss, but he kept pouring in the alcohol. I rubbed the back of my neck again and shivered.

"He won't leave me alone," I muttered distractedly. "Tony was bad enough, but, but I can't, how am I supposed to tell him to fuck off if I'm stuck working with him? An' I don't want him to hate me, or something like that. But I don't want him coming on to me. How do I get rid of him if I can't?"

"I'm sure I doon't know," my female drinking-buddy sighed. "I wonder, did he ever tell ye why he likes ye?"

You have pretty eyes.

I'm sitting next to one right now.

Well, yes, I guess I do have a man-crush on you.

"No."

I can't trust you.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure."

She sighed again and patted my shoulder. It felt like a bear's paw. "Ye be holding something back. He said something. Did it hurt?"

I stared at my glass and fought misery. The blackness instead crept up the back of my throat and made me whisper, "He keeps telling me he likes my eyes. It's scary. An' I asked him if he thought angels existed, and he said he was sitting right next to one, and it was creepy because he made this weird smile and it was so scary." I shivered, thinking about it. It made me sick. I'm drunk and about to cry and I'm so tired. "He keeps coming on to me and I keep trying not to kill him, but it's not working, I really want to throw him out the window, but I'd be fired, and I'd get arrested and oh god I can't go back to work I can't deal with him anymore I am so fucking tired of his bullshit."

"Saa, saa, there's a good lad." She patted my head and I remembered that she was used to children and their panics. "Next time he tries anything, break his arm."

"Or put yer boot up his ass," Petra muttered into his drink. "If the faggot wants a piece of ye, give him a nice solid kick in the pants."

"He's not a faggot," I replied automatically. "He's not gay, he's just an idiot. A confused idiot. He doesn't know what he's doing. I told him to go find a nice girl, but…" I shrugged, then shivered again. 'But' is not a nice word. I don't like it. Also, in this case, it preceded the words, "he kissed me instead".

Morning breath tastes nasty. I can still feel his mouth on the back of my neck. I ran a hand through my hair and tried not to let it get to me.

My hands were shaking, and this scared me. "I've had too much to drink. I should go home." I stood, wobbled, clung to the bar for balance. I think I'm gonna puke. But no, no, I have to get home; I have to go, before something bad happens and I end up in a bad place with bad people. And this isn't a bad place?

I suddenly laughed, almost hysterically. No, there are no good places; not even Heaven's Garden is safe, if it feels so much like a prison. There are no good places, and there are no good people. I kept laughing. I was laughing even when I fell over and started crying. And then I passed out. Still laughing.

~~~\0/~~~

"—not the first drunk we've had, but certainly the most confusing. You sure you have the authority to release him? He's still under anesthesia because of his hysteria."

"Of course. His superior sent me, after all. And I have better health insurance than him, if that's alright."

"Er, no, sorry. We only take insurance from family members and spouses."

"…I see. Well, then, here is our manager's card; contact him for payment. The old man isn't trusted with that kind of information."

"Oh. Well, alright. Ehm. Would you rather wait until he wakes up, or—"

"I'm awake," I mumbled, opening my eyes to see Bunny talking to the doctor in the doorway. "I am too allowed an insurance card. It's in my wallet."

Bunny sighed, a weary, worldly sigh. "Your wallet happens to be in the back-pocket of a woman named Mary who refused to give it back until you woke up."

"Mary?" I tried to move, but I was too tired, and my head hurt. "Oh… that's nice of her. How's Petra?" I sounded sleepy and stupid; the drugs or the drink? "Is he dead yet?"

"I don't know who Petra is, but there was a man with Miss Mary who tried to kick me over the table."

"Yeah, that'd be Petra." I yawned and attempted to sit up again. This time I managed two centimeters before I fell back again. "Sweet Jesus my head hurts."

The doctor hurried over and helped me sit up. I almost fell forward, but managed to brace myself fairly evenly. The bed was moving, and the floor was tossing like a sea.

"What kind of drugs did you have me on?" I slurred, trying to sound authoritative (or at least coherent).

"Pain killers. Sedative. A tranquilizer. We added a drip because you wouldn't swallow."

I turned my head; it took an eternity. There, a bag on a stand, slowly feeding liquid into my arm. "What's in there?"

"Water." The doctor shrugged. He had silver-gray hair. "A mild anesthetic. You, ah. You were quite confused, so we had to knock you out."

"Was I?"

"You were laughing. Hysterically. You were also crying and telling us that you were going to murder someone."

"Oh." My ears and the back of my neck began to burn. "Er. I didn't mean that."

The doctor nodded serenely. "Yes, but we put you under anyway. You were not quite in your right mind."

"I never am," I mumbled absently. "So… when can I go home?"

Bunny stepped forward. "As soon as Mr. Lloyds' card is processed. Keith offered us a ride, as long as we don't mind sharing with John."

I shuddered. "I call shotgun. Or John does. I don't want to sit near that mutt."

His smile was thin. "Oh, come now, not all dogs are like Bridget."

I shook my head and decided to ignore him. Then I had to wince and hold my head still because it was pounding. The doctor pushed a bottle of water at me, and I started gulping like a saltwater-fish; I'm thirsty as hell and I don't care if this stuff is stagnant from being in a bottle for how many days or weeks or however long it took to ship it from where it was packaged. The headache did not ease. Eventually, though, the doctor took out the IV and I was allowed to stumble to my feet. Bunny took my elbow for the first five steps, then let go again, like I was too hot to handle. I hoped fervently that that phrase wasn't going through his head as well. It probably was, though, or something similar, because he suddenly turned very red.

The doctor raised his eyebrows as I took a big step away from Bunny and almost fell over, and Bunny stared at the floor and blushed harder.

It took a rather long time to get payment for an overnight stay and multiple drugs sorted out, but the total bill was so big I wanted to fall over and pass out again and not wake up for a hundred years or so, thank you very much. Many nurses and patients looked upon Bunny with longing and envy, but a few looked at me and got this weird pitying look on their faces. I wondered uneasily what exactly had happened when I'd first arrived; nothing good, obviously.

We were stopped before we left by a female nurse stepping forward and putting her hand on my arm. "Are you going to be okay, sir?" she asked, and she honestly seemed concerned. "You still don't look very good."

I was surprised into giving a small, short smile. "Eh. I've experienced worse, unfortunately, so I'm pretty sure I'll be fine."

She nodded, smiled, and went back to pushing a wheelchair containing a tired-looking woman with a brace on both legs and a cast on her right arm. I shrugged a little and scratched the back of my neck. "What the hell happened?" I muttered to myself.

Bunny did not answer, but he looked slightly jealous. I punched his arm and he stopped.

Keith had an old, beat-up Ford, one with backseats, and John was slobbering on his master's shoulder behind him. Bunny was gracious enough to let me call shotgun officially.

"WILD TIGER! Congratulations on being released after a single night!" Keith cheered. His typical wide grin made my own face hurt. I tried to not look grumpy and ungrateful.

"Er… thanks, I guess. And thanks for giving me a lift."

"No problem! Fire Emblem and Rock Bison are indisposed, and Barnaby's license was suspended, so of course I volunteered! John, stop that!"

I glanced over my shoulder and grinned. The mutt was currently licking Bunny's face enthusiastically, and Bunny was trying to push him away without hurting him. He was a Retriever, though, and those things are dumb as rocks. At least Bridget was smart enough to hate. "Ha! I guess he's happy you're carless. How'd you manage to lose your license? You barely ever drive."

"People kept slamming their cars in reverse to smash the front and speeding up to run into the back," Bunny managed to get out crossly, then yelped as John licked him right in the mouth. "Yeck!"

Keith frowned at his dog in the rearview. John noticed, whined, lowered his head, curled his tail under and scooted away from Bunny, sulking as only a dog can. Bunny made a tiny retching noise and spit into the little pop-up trash cylinder between the front seats, which was neatly lined with a plastic grocery bag. Jesus, even the floor of the vehicle was clean and fresh.

"Why does everyone have better cars than me?" I whined. "It's not fair."

"You made it that way," Bunny muttered, elbowing away John (who had been creeping closer and was snuffling his ear).

I scowled at him but didn't respond. My head was hurting worse.

By the time we reached my house, I could barely see, the migraine was so bad. When I tried to get out of the car, I fell down and just stared past the clouds for a bit. My chest started bubbling. I put a hand over my mouth and held in the tar, which was bubbling like thick, sour milk, chunky but still rising. If it comes out I'll go back into hysterics. I can't do that. I can't let that happen.

Bunny dragged me to my feet, and my knees were shaking too hard to stand for long. Keith said something, but I couldn't hear because the tar was becoming insane laughter that fought me, tried to get out. What the hell kind of drugs had they put me on?

"I'm gonna throw up," I tried to say; it came out a squeak. Bunny pointed me at the front door and held on to my elbow so I didn't collapse again. I shook him off and managed to stumble up the step and fumble the key in the lock, still with a hand over my mouth.

It didn't help. The minute I kicked off my shoes and took my hand off to remove my jacket, the tar burst forth and I heard myself laughing like a demented hyena. Hands stifling me; my own hands, but I kept shuddering with, I don't know, shuddering with fear, with terror, with shame and despair. Someone pushed me to the couch and made me sit down. Talking; Keith and Bunny, Keith alarmed, Bunny helpless and scared. Yes. Those were good words. I could feel them too, and I felt fingertips on my shoulder. I shut my eyes tight and suddenly it got too much and poured out.

It took me a while to realize I was talking too.

"It's funny isn't it, ha ha, th-that life is such a, ha, such a, a, b-b-bitch, HA HA HA HAAA! I-it's like w-we're all just bugs, heh, little bugs, and Life has combat b-boots, HA HA HA BOOTS AND BUGS, OH GOD WE'RE FUCKED WE'RE DAMNED ALL OF US WHY THE FUCK DID IT HAVE TO COME TO THIS HA HA HA HAAAAA!"

I was so scared, but I kept laughing, and rocking back and forth, and I was crying, and someone was holding my face, making me look at them, but I couldn't tell who, because my head was one huge ball of pain and there were too many tears. I couldn't make myself calm down, and eventually it just degenerated into crying so hard my whole body shook, and I kept thinking wildly of how I could stop, I really could, I could get a knife—

I started laughing again. Death. Killing myself. Was it worth it? No, it didn't matter. Nothing would change. Who would mourn me? No one. It was a funny image, terrifyingly funny; my coffin being lowered into a hole in a ground and no one there to cry or say the prayers. Just a couple undertakers and a guy with a shovel next to the pile of dirt about to go on top.

Someone slapped me, and for a moment, I was back in my right mind, and I stared at Bunny. He was terrified, and I opened my mouth to reassure him, but then I felt something make me grin and I lost it again.

My lungs gave out after a while and I blacked out.