The massive, purplish bruises that covered the left half of his body made him walk with a limp, and no matter how many anti inflammatories he took, the swollen flesh refused yield enough to let the knee and hip joints bend correctly.
The limp was so profound that he had to use a cane when he walked.
Leonard hated the cane.
He hated how people took one look at his hair color and his broken gait and assumed that he was an old man. The occasional idiot factored in his slight build and below average height and assumed he was an old woman. If it were up to Leonard, he could shoot morons like that in the street legally. People that dumb deserved to spend their last pathetic moments bleeding out in the gutter while the rest of humanity stepped over their flabby bodies and went along with the business of the day. With all the talk from the media about conserving resources in a finite world, it didn't made sense to let all those genetic dead ends stagger around like so many sucking, fleshy sacks.
As if to prove his grim opinion of the human race, a bloated bag of a woman broke wind with a girlish toot as he passed behind her.
Her fat face flushed crimson, and her piggy hands flew to her face as her mouth formed a tight little 'O' of surprise.
"Excuse me!" she said in German when she caught him glaring.
The yippy toy breed dog in her over-sized handbag barked at him.
Leonard could have stabbed her in the throat right there, but police were such a bother. He forced himself to keep hobbling toward the national bank. He had an appointment to keep, and his time was precious.
The wind picked up, and the chilly gust of air reminded Leonard to breathe. He needed to focus. He needed to think clearly. Dear God, he needed to keep his head now more than ever. He had stopped taking the pain meds that the doctors had prescribed because they clouded his thinking. His foul mood was likely the result of the constant, dull pain caused by his injuries. On normal days, he didn't want to kill everyone in sight. Just most of them.
He rounded the corner, and the bank loomed into view, looking far more official than the capital building that shared the same city block. Despite the moronic denizens that roamed its streets, Leonard rather admired Berne. The very architecture declared its loyalties. This was a city that knew that money, not government, ruled the world.
Leonard had come to Berne for that very reason. He needed access to his funds in full. With Amalgam's brutal defeat, his normal channels of revenue were out of the question, and Leonard had called in every favor he could command personally to finance his private agenda before the disaster. Now, he had no other option than to draw on his personal fortune to bankroll the necessary endeavors and keep his belittled operation afloat.
Leonard grunted when he pushed open the bank's door and a gush of hot, dry air rushed past his left cheek. The cold weather had numbed the stitched-up wound there, and it burned in the warmth of the building as the skin defrosted.
It hurt. He hurt. For the first time in years, Leonard felt a little sorry for himself.
Two weeks ago, he had held a private toast to celebrate his inevitable conquest of both Mithril and Amalgam. He had positioned the two forces to eliminate each other. All he needed to do was toy with whatever sad excuse for an opponent Mithril sent against him at Merida while his enemies killed one another for him. He was so sure that nothing could go wrong.
Twelve days ago, his exquisite new Arm Slave had been stabbed in the back thanks to Kaname Chidori's treachery. He had expected her to help Mithril figure out that Amalgam would attack their base. Hell, her inevitable leak to Mithril's command was a crucial part of his plan, but he also expected her to be smart enough to get clear of the battle zone. He certainly did not expect her to emotionally manipulate him at a critical moment. What ingratitude. She would learn better manners; he would make sure of that. He had to self-destruct his beautiful machine because of her, and Kaname would pay a price for that. If it weren't for his insistence on quality ejection equipment, he would have been killed.
Ten days ago, one of the few freighters still loyal to him fished his ejection capsule out of the Pacific Ocean.
Eight days ago, he woke up in a room to the coppery scent of blood and the acrid odor of bleach. He had ripped out the IV and the catheter and gone to work immediately, demanding a phone and shouting orders to anyone who would listen as he tried desperately to save what little of his plans there were left to salvage.
The doctors had swooped in soon after. They said that he needed bed rest to recover from his impressive list of injuries: three cracked ribs, two fractured metacarpals in his left hand, a laceration across his left cheek that had notched the underlying bone, a detached retina, two missing teeth, deep bruising down his left side from waist to ankle, a raging UTI, and a bad concussion. The severe dehydration from his ordeal at sea had been cleared up while he was unconscious.
Considering what he had endured, Leonard thought that he had come out of the bad situation in decent shape. It was his cause that had suffered the most devastating blow, but the stupid doctors couldn't understand how narrow the window left to preserve his plans actually was. Leonard had tried to reason with them. Staying in bed was a literal death sentence. Inaction meant certain death for all Whispereds. Beautiful, strong- willed Kaname. His sweet sister Tessa. All of them would be dead within six months if Leonard didn't act quickly to preserve what was left of his forces while he still could. There were powers at work in the world that made the likes of Amalgam and Mithril seem as insignificant as toy soldiers. Did no one else ever stop to consider what kind of power it took to create Black Technology in the first place?
Of course, logic doesn't work on complete idiots. Leonard had to shoot both of the brainless physicians between the eyes when they tried to sedate him into submission. It was their fault; if they hadn't been so stupid beyond words, they would be alive. Leonard refused to feel guilty for people who so avidly pursued their own demise.
Swiss bankers, however, were far from stupid. They operated as smoothly as the watches that their country was so famed for. After Leonard produced the correct identification, numbered the correct accounts, and signed the correct forms, they completed his transactions in mere minutes. They even offered him a choice of fine coffees and mineral waters while he waited.
Leonard opted for the water, which he sipped in a private room, while his requests were filled. The final documents came neatly bound in leather folders, and the uniformed guard that delivered the safety deposit box wore white gloves.
The papers were easy enough to sign. He was sacrificing the long-term profitability of the Testarossa Trust by withdrawing his portion in full, but he reasoned that Tessa wouldn't live to enjoy pleasures of life that came with a flush bank account if she were dead. By right, half of the trust was his, and he took only that half.
The contents of the box, however, gave Leonard pause. He knew that he didn't have time to wax philosophical about family ties, but Leonard's heart wasn't immune to the pitfalls of guilt and the pulls of familial bonds. He needed to think through what it would mean to Tessa if he pilfered the treasures in the box.
There were a few things in which Leonard took absolute pride, and his steadfast refusal to betray Tessa was one of them. Yes, she aligned with Mithril and he with Amalgam, but that was semantics. They were both mercenaries, both hired killers. They both produced fantastical war machines from the secret pools of forbidden knowledge in their brains. But these were just the circumstances of their lives. He had never personally betrayed his sister, even though he could think of countless ways to exploit his connection with Tessa. For instance, he could cry wolf like that bitch Kaname to con Tessa into throwing a battle, but Leonard refused to do stoop so low. He did not want to cause harm, even psychological harm, to that sweet girl.
And just like that, Leonard had his answer.
He pocketed the cash, the gold bullion, the silver coins, anything of real value with minimal personal significance. He left their mother's jewelry, his father's watch, the Fabergé egg, the El Greco paintings, the deeds to the family properties.
He lifted their mother's twisted strands of pearls out the box. Maria Testarossa had worn them on her wedding day and, if Leonard worked fast and smart, Tessa would live long enough to wear them on hers. Without thinking about the foolishness of sentimentality, Leonard raised the necklace to his lips, kissed the clasp, and wished his little sister well. When his work was done, he hoped that she could understand why he had done the things he'd done and the things that he intended to do. If she didn't, Leonard would probably have to kill her, but even then, he would try to make sure she went fast. A gun shot to the head would be best. He tried not to think too much about that.
He was just about to close the box when the glint of his father's wedding band caught his eye. Leonard pulled out the gold ring and slipped it on his right hand. It just barely squeezed past his knuckle on his third finger, but it fit. The constant pain for his injuries must have made him both irritable and emotional because Leonard decided to keep it.
He resealed the box, gathered up copies of the papers, and hurried away.
Fifteen minutes later found him at a dingy cafe.
"You're late. That's unusual," the woman across the small round table drolled in a flat alto.
At least, she was a woman today. Sometimes he was a man, old as sin or fresh out of university, but she was definitely a woman today. She wore her long hair in a perfect chignon and three-inch heels with a peek-a-boo toe that offered a glimpse of a French pedicure. The eyes never changed, though. Leonard could always recognize those mischievous eyes.
"My apologies," he said. Leonard caught the waiter's eye and gestured to his companion's cafe au lait. The waiter noted the order and scurried off.
"It's no matter. Your assignments are quite amusing to me. It would seem that your enemies are mine, for the moment. If you need my services on this type of assignment in the future, I am happy to negotiate a friendlier rate. Perhaps even barter." The woman gave him a cool wink and re-crossed her legs.
Leonard kept his face indifferent, but his mind worked up the conclusion that the person across the table from him with either the world's best female impersonator or a real woman. He didn't doubt that she was capable of the former, but he sincerely hoped for the latter. He did not savor the thought of harboring sexual attraction, however miniscule, towards another man.
"I'm interested in what you think I have that you might value as much as hard currency," Leonard said.
The woman looked at him with those damn cold eyes. "I value what you may come to know. I trade in information, after all. And if your prey is mine, well then, I think we may be of some use to each other. Wouldn't you agree?"
Leonard hated working with this chameleon of a person, and he certainly didn't relish the thought of surrendering any of his hard-earned data to anyone. His current financial situation, however, made the offer quite appealing. When it came to good intel, there was no finer source. The flawless data was worth the paying the premium and tolerating the idiosyncrasies.
"If our enemies are common, then we will no doubt we will be of some use to each other," Leonard agreed. He pulled out a simple reporter's notebook from his breast pocket and set it on the table. "Your next assignment. The same parameters as last time."
"Done." The woman picked up the notebook and slipped it into her purse. She plucked out an envelope and pushed to back to him. "The reports are in the usual place."
Leonard frowned when he opened the envelope and thumbed through the bills. "No success?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Then why the refund?"
The woman leaned forward, putting an elbow on either side of her coffee cup. "What I wanted to get you, you got, but I should warn you. Angel is off limits. If you want to keep tabs on her, find someone else."
Leonard cocked an eyebrow at his business partner. She had never refused an assignment before.
"This is a curious turn of events," he remarked. "I thought that you were out from under the legendary metal's thumb."
"Oh, I am."
"Then why are you protecting her?"
She smiled. She never smiled, even as a man.
"Don't you love a good mystery?" she asked.
Back when Auntie was tormenting them with her mind games, Kaname couldn't believe that the seemingly sadistic instructor could ever become her advisor or advocate. Now, Kaname had trouble remembering why she used to hate Auntie. Sure, the woman was vicious and cold. She would file her nails while Bear evisercated you on a Sim and then chew you out for every minute mistake afterwards, but when Auntie took your side, she defended you with the ferocity and strength of a grizzly bear.
It was the protective version of Auntie that called Sousuke and Kaname to her office as soon as the pair returned from Tessa's sub.
"Have you ever heard the expression 'A servant can't serve two masters'?" Auntie began by asking.
Kaname and Sousuke chorused their affirmations.
Auntie templed her finger and practically radiated killing intent. "Good. Because I want to clarify something with the two of you before I make it clear to High Command. You are mine. You signed the papers to join MCA, and that contracts goes both ways. Mithril has violated its terms of that contract by demanding that you serve double duty."
Auntie turned her full attention to Sousuke, and Kaname felt him shift a fraction of an inch toward her, as if Kaname could protect him from Auntie's fury. Kaname shot him a look that said You're on your own, babe. Sousuke began to sweat.
"Mr. Sagara," Auntie went on, "It is an undue burden on your mental health to ask you to continue to pilot Arbalest on the whim of High Command during your tenure at MCA. It is the opinion of myself and the rest of the the MCA faculty that you are far more valuable as future leader in fully-equipped Lambda driver squads. The face of war is changing, and your unique skills are critical for the commanders in this new world. Squandering your time on tactical operations that jeopardize your long-term viability to this organization is unforgivably short-sighted. Emergencies are one thing. Recalling you to Urzu for dangerously ill-conceived scouting missions was hardly an emergency. I am a firm believer that poor planning on the part of others does not constitute an emergency on mine. You will accompany me to a meeting this evening at 2000 hours where I will make these factors clear to your former commanders. Am I clear?"
Sousuke looked visibly relieved when he nodded his assent, and Kaname felt better, too. She had worked hard to ease the tension on TDD-1 between Sousuke and the crew, but it would take a long time to heal the hurts caused by the friendly fire accident. Sousuke needed time to heal as well. He had been coping with multiple missions and divided loyalties since he had been first assigned to guard Kaname. The long-term damage from the stress was starting to show. The most troubling sign for Kaname was that Sousuke had lost a noticeable amount of body mass. Kaname didn't like the gauntness in his face these days, so she had forced him to eat for days before he finally admitted that his stomach hurt. Peggy diagnosed him with acid reflux and suspected that he had an ulcer forming in his gut. Peggy also got him to confess that he'd been suffering from headaches, and the medic speculated that he was grinding his teeth while he slept. She put in a request to outfit him with a biteguard to wear at night. The good-natured physician had made Kaname promise to report any changes in Sousuke's appearance or behavior right away, which made Kaname suspect that Peggy's concerns for Sousuke were greater than she let on.
Auntie turned her hard gaze to Kaname, and the young woman cursed mildly under her breath for flinching when Auntie's eyes fixed on her.
"Miss Chidori, my attempts to protect your position at MCA have been met with more resistance. Dr. Twomey's group needs someone with your expertise, and unlike Lambda driver operators, we cannot 'train up' new Whispereds. The new arms race is on, and the interesting developments we observed during the AS battle on this island warrant further study," Auntie explained.
"I know," Kaname sighed.
She had passed out in the command room so she didn't remember much. While she was out, however, Kaname's brain had disgorged a notebook's worth full of new data right there on the floor of Auntie's command center. The tapes that Kaname had watched later were quite revealing. Kurz and Melissa had talked to her a little about what had happened on the island when they found some spare moments together after the funeral, too. Melissa's unexpected use of the Lambda driver to protect Kurz's AS had surprised everyone, and when word of the romance between Kurz and Melissa hit the rumor circuit, the traditional rules governing relationships between squad members went flying out the proverbial window.
"I am afraid that I cannot fully shield you from the demands of other groups," Auntie apologized.
"So will I be forced to join the R&D team?" Kaname asked. She didn't want to get stuck underground in Building F. Kaname had tasted leadership, and she knew that she was good at it. She wanted to command, not debate the structrual intergrity of support beams.
"Not under my watch," Auntie scoffed. "I have no plans to surrender you to anyone. Unlike Sagara here, no division in Mithril has a previous claim to you. They have to get my permission to steal away your time. However, Dr. Twomey has some rather powerful allies in High Command, and as much as I would like you to remain under my tutelage for the next two years, I don't have the political sway to counter R&D's proposal totally. Fortunately for us, Dr. Twomey is a reasonable man, and your performance in the command room during the siege solidified the growing opinion that you will be a fine officer soon and very soon. You will work in Twomey's lab two evenings out of the week. Zio and I will endeavor to keep your individual workload low on those days, and you will be compensated for your effort and time by R&D. If you elect to do any additional work for them in your spare time, R&D will pay time and a half, but MCA will not adjust its expectations of you beyond the agreed upon two evenings. Does this arrangement sound feasible to you?"
"Yes. I can do it," Kaname decided.
"Good." Auntie's face relaxed, and though she didn't smile (Kaname thought her blood might have frozen if Auntie smiled at her right then), the instructor looked relieved. "I shouldn't have to explain to you that it appears that the crisis with Amalgam has passed. They will doubtlessly be back in time, but we will have some months to regroup and continue your training. Your progress had been more than adequate so far."
"Thank you, ma'am," Sousuke said robotically.
Auntie frowned, and Kaname could have hugged the woman for her powers of observation. Healing Sousuke's raging case of self-doubt and guilt was far from over, and Kaname was nearly exhausted from trying to do it all alone. With all the drama with Leonard, she'd been the only one able to support Sousuke through the funerals. He needed to talk it through with someone other than his girlfriend.
"Sousuke, I read the reports from the incident in Venezuela," Auntie said in a low voice.
Sousuke stared straight ahead and nodded once.
"I would like to debrief with you as soon as possible. I've also taken the liberty of arranging some time with a counselor for you as well," Auntie said.
"Thank you, ma'am, but that won't be necessary," Sousuke countered.
"Believe me, Sousuke, it's necessary and you're going," Kaname told him.
Auntie laughed. "Zio had concerns about your relationship, but I told him it was the best thing that ever happened to Sagara here. I must admit that I rather enjoy being right, and now he owes me $50. Kaname, I will see you tomorrow morning at the normal time. Please let Del and Dibs know that we are resuming classes as usual. Sousuke, you will join me for coffee and a debriefing until our meeting tonight."
"If he gets out of line, you know where to find me," Kaname offered.
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. See you tomorrow," Auntie replied.
Kaname squeezed Sousuke's hand on the way out. "Come by and let me know how it goes, okay?"
"I will," he agreed.
Kaname left Auntie's office feeling better than she had in weeks.
Back in her dorm, she checked her e-mails to kill time but found nothing special except a weird series of photos of a small stuffed Bonta-kun in front of various famous landmarks. Bonta-kun and the Mayan pyramids of Chichen Itza. Bonta-kun and British Parliament. One of the first ones was Bonta-kun and the Tokyo Tower. Kaname guessed the her mystery photographer was Wraith. Only a few people knew about her love of the cute, mouse-like character. Her friends in Tokyo didn't travel that much, so Kaname could rule them out. She knew where her Mithril friends were. That left Wraith.
The last shot was Bonta-kun large clock tower with a golden face. It looked European, but Kaname couldn't place it. Maybe Switzerland? She spent the longest looking it over because it was the only photo that came with a note.
If anyone has a conscience it's generally a guilty one.
Kaname was distracted by her consideration of the note by Del and Dibs, who broke into spontaneous song and dance when they opened the dorm room door and found Kaname at her desk.
"Are you drunk?" Kaname asked as Dibs and Del did a wobbly do-sa-do to the tune of some crazy tune Del was clearly making up on the spot.
"What? We don't drink. That's ridiculous!" Dibs slurred.
"Beer? What's that?" Del hiccuped. "I make it a point to avoid it."
"Whisky is better," Dibs nodded like a bobble head.
"Much better," Del agreed. She smacked Kaname on the shoulder. "Good to see you again, sweet-cheeks. Where's your virginal boyfriend?"
"Oh, shut up," Kaname groused. She was trying hard to be offended, but it was too much fun to see her friends again. "Sousuke and Auntie are at some meeting. He'll be back tonight."
Dibs held out his arms for a hug and pulled a sad face. "You miss me, Kaname? Del said she didn't. She's so mean to me."
"Yeah, I missed you, you big lug. We both missed you. Don't listen to Del. She's just bummed that she can't have your room to herself anymore," Kaname said.
"You slept in my room?" Dibs yelled at Del. "How did you get a key?"
"How do you think, dumb ass?" Del yelled back. She had flopped down on her bed, and Dibs flopped over her. She didn't seem to care. They were both too drunk and happy to get offended by anything. Kaname rather envied them.
"That damn Greek bastard," Dibs complained.
"Where is that chauvinist pig anyway? Is he back yet?" Kaname asked.
Del got quiet really quiet all of the sudden and shoved a pillow over her face.
"Hey, we heard that Sousuke had a bad time, but we knew that you would take care of him," Dibs said too loudly.
"He'll be okay. Auntie is getting him off SRT duty as we speak," Kaname told them.
"That's good. Sousuke's a good guy. He's done enough already," Del's broken voice came from around the pillow.
If Kaname didn't know better, she would have thought that Del was crying, but when the dark-haired woman bolted upright to shove Dibs off of her and send him sprawling on the floor, Kaname saw nothing but dry eyes and a big smile.
"Ouch! That hurt!" Dibs whined. "You're such a bitch. No wonder you can't get a boyfriend."
Del jumped on the poor guy, and a rather sloppy wrestling match began on Kaname's rug.
"That take back before I beat you like the red-headed stepchild you are!" Del threatened.
"Not a chance, chica," Dibs shot back. "Someone's got to keep you in line until they find who-know-you."
Kaname watched Del pin Dibs in a rather impressive Dragon Clutch while the slow realization that something was very wrong came creeping over her. What it her imagination or was their jovial rambunctiousness kind of forced? Was there a reason why they refused to say Aristo's name?
"Hey, is Aristo alright?" Kaname asked.
Dibs slipped Del's hold and got her in a headlock. "The greasy Greek? I think he's moving in angles."
"He's making idiots angry," Del giggled.
"Matching indigo apples!" Dibs laughed.
"Mating in Antwerp!"
"Mailing internet apologies!"
They dissolved in a fit of uncontrolled laughter while Kaname stared at them, absolutely convinced that they had lost their drunken minds.
And then it hit her.
MIA.
Missing in action.
Author's Notes on this chapter at unkeptsecret (dot) insanejournal (dot) com.