Such a weird interpretation of this prompt. Sort of like Trapped, except not at all. I'm taking prompts in strange directions lately, and it certainly doesn't stop here.

Theme provided by: FicletMistress

Rating: T

021. Slumber

Sleep never came easily to Seifer; often it didn't come at all. It was probably the main reason he'd started up a gang that went by the unassuming name Twilight Disciplinary Committee, he needed something to do on the three or four nights a week he couldn't fall asleep. His friends signed on simply because they loved him and would put up with his shit even when he was asking completely unreasonable things. Things had been getting gradually more dangerous as they got older and more fearless. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror and thought about it, he terrified himself. There was something completely neurotic about showing up to an armed robbery in progress with nothing but his fists and being certain of victory. Just because he hadn't been proven wrong yet didn't mean a bullet in the chest wasn't right around the corner, literally. He wanted to be able to sleep but he preferred to avoid the eternal kind of slumber.

The trio had moved about two years ago to attend college in the metropolis of Radiant Garden, and from there the danger had increased tenfold. Not only were they no longer in a sleepy town with a low crime rate, but the people here had no reason to fear them. They were building a reputation, bodies accruing scars along the way. Fuu was too quick for most people to hurt her, but both Rai and Seifer had been in the emergency room their fair share of times. It's not until much later, days before his twenty-third birthday, that he realizes he's very much mortal, even if he didn't need sleep.

They had managed to dispatch most of the armed assailants not really understanding what four guys with high-caliber pistols were doing in an alley attacking someone who took off before Seifer could get a look at them, but questions weren't all that important when people were shooting at him. The last of the men, however, managed to slip out from the pack and was well out of his reach when he aimed the .45 at Seifer's head. A gunshot rang out, but it definitely wasn't from the thug's gun because he was dead on the ground, instead belonging to the person the scarred blond had thought was long gone. Whoever it was had a pistol with a silencer, which immediately set him on edge. People didn't carry that kind of shit around unless they fully planned on killing people and getting away with it.

"You are definitely in entirely the wrong line of work, my friend," the man said, voice sounding incredibly familiar, if a bit deeper than he remembered.

"Hayner?"

"So you do remember me, it's been a few years," the brown-eyed man said with a hint of fondness, walking out of the alley far enough to be illuminated by the streetlight.

"What, since you fell off the face of the planet?" The elder of the two clarified, noting a dark spot on the other's black shirt at the shoulder and the way he was putting pressure on his left side.

"That is actually precisely what I did, in metaphorical terms of course. Can't really explain further, but," and here he paused to press a button on his shoulder holster, "If you're interested in doing more for the populace than downing a few minor criminals, I can take you to someone who can."

"Maybe you should be going to a hospital first, Hay," he commented despite his curiosity.

"Can't, not in this area. If we were farther away from HQ, maybe, but they have their own medical wing there, and no one asks questions," he replied as he started climbing up the fire escape.

Shrugging, deciding he could probably trust his childhood rival, considering Hayner hadn't killed them yet, he followed the lithe gunman. The other two-thirds of his group were hot on his heels, silent, because sometimes it was just better not to argue with him. Within a few minutes a helicopter traversed the skyline and hovered over the rooftop they were waiting on, Hayner climbing up the skids and into the open belly. Shaking his head in disbelief, the man with ice-colored eyes followed him, offering a hand up to his friends.

"So, can you tell me why you, a professional of some sort, was cornered by a bunch of purse snatchers?"

"They were bodyguards, actually. Working for the man I just killed. I would have been able to take care of them even if you hadn't have shown up, but it was nice not having to take the extra bullets. I'm an assassin working for an exceptionally underground order. Sort of like the Free Masons, except less crazy, more secret, and more inclined toward political murder."

"Any sort of government affiliation, or are you just mercenaries?"

"Can't tell you that, couldn't explain it very well even if I could."

"Fair enough. How much farther is it to your destination? I only ask because you're bleeding out and there's a first aid kit above the copilot's chair."

"You're just as sharp as ever, suppose you have to be. It's not terribly far, maybe half an hour? At worst I'll need to be resuscitated."

"You're just as stubborn as you always were," he replied with a shake of his head, standing long enough to gesture to the copilot to hand him the med kit, a small smile on her face, "Definitely hotter though."

"Could say the same, but that would be…unprofessional."

"Not unprofessional to have eyes," he throws back before sitting next to the injured man and pulling his hand away from the wound in his side.

It's not the worst he's patched up after a fight, but it's still pretty bad. That the smaller man can still speak is rather impressive. He bandages it as tightly as he can lacking the ability to do temporary stitches and then moves onto the gash on the other's shoulder where a bullet grazed him. By the time he's done his hands are covered in the sandy-blond's blood and he's been close enough to notice the loss of color in his normally tan face.

"ETA ten minutes, agent. Shall we inform them you're bringing presents?"

"You probably should say recruits, otherwise I'm going to get bitched at for not wrapping them," Hayner replied with a wry smirk.

The cabin fell silent again until Seifer decided to break it the only way he knew how, "So, are you single then?"

Clutching his side, Hayner laughed breathlessly, grin unbelieving, "You maintain a sense of humor about everything, don't you? Love that about you. Yes, I'm single, but if you play your cards right, I might not be pretty soon."

"I always was good at poker," the muscular fighter replies, because that's as good as an engraved invitation.