Richard Ravencroft sighed through his thick moustache at the depressing stack of paper spread out over his desk. The head of the southeast asian division for the CIA had been jumping from mini-crisis to mini-crisis all day. It was only now he could turn his attention to his more important goal: eliminating the obstacles of his organization, and more importantly its profit margins, in Roanapur.
He checked the time. It was 7:44 p.m. He rubbed his eyes. He'd likely be working for most of the night. Coffee was an immediate, even urgent need.
"Kathy!" He called to his secretary, who looked at him darkly. Poor thing had been working as long as he had, but he couldn't concern himself with her comfort right now. "Coffee. And add enough cream and sugar to make a stack of pancakes!"
Kathy rolled her eyes but did as she was told. She'd long since given up trying to persuade her boss to adopt a healthier vehicle for his caffeine addiction. Besides, if he had a heart attack now she could go home.
He turned his attention back to the report on top of the pile, which was the very last thing he wanted to see. The little garden his agency had been growing in Roanapur for years had sprouted weeds, and the report detailed their thus far failed attempts to root them out. During the last crime-war profits from firearm sales had skyrocketed. Sales to the faction called "Hotel Moscow" alone had funded their entire operation for a year. Since then however, sales had sharply fallen. An odd peace had swept over the city, and thus fewer guns and bullets were bought. They tried to make up for the shortfall by diversifying more into the drug market, but the crime syndicates that had previously been at each-other's throats had formed an odd sort of pseudo-government. They'd set policies describing exactly where and when such goods could be sold and had been far more effective at policing than anyone had anticipated. He'd learned recently that this was largely due to the organization and intelligence network of a Japanese businessman. Ravencroft had authorized his assassination, only to find the local talent they'd subcontracted about as competent as a democrat. He could only hope the intel about that one Chinese girl-bodyguard would prove the decisive factor.
He sighed as he read the report. A lot depended on this operation. The CIA had plenty of black ops around the globe, and not all of them were politically correct. Congress wouldn't approve funding for certain projects, but the higher ups had decided they were too valuable to abandon, so they turned to Richard and his team to come up with the cash. Selling guns and drugs in a lawless city had proven highly lucrative over the years, so it was a logical move. Besides, the wares were unlikely to harm American citizens, at least none who could call their congresspeople.
Ravencroft yawned as Kathy brought him his coffee. She set it down with an expression of dead-eyed indifference and stalked back to her desk. He picked up the cup to take a sip, but suddenly she called out.
"I've got the state department on the line!"
Perplexed, Ravencroft stopped just before the cup touched his lips. With his right hand still holding the cup, he reached for the receiver with his left.
"This is Ravencroft, CIA," he monotoned.
The female voice on the other end of the phone was low and venomous.
"Good evening."
Ravencroft froze. He felt his heart rate increase. He recognized the voice. He'd heard it on the news often enough. It was the secretary of state, Madeleine Albright.
"Erp, Madam Secretary?" he croaked.
"Yes. Ravencroft, explain to me why I have the Thai foreign minister on the phone asking about Roanapur."
Ravencroft felt his heart stop. He slowly lowered his coffee cup. But he was so consumed with the implications of that name, uttered by one of America's highest public officials, that he misjudged the distance, and coffee spilled all over his already chaotic desk.
Chang lay on his hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He wasn't wearing his usual suit and overcoat. He could understand that, even if he didn't like it, but he wished they'd let him keep his scarf. Even if he wouldn't need it anymore, he wanted it in his hands. It was his trademark, his thing. Something that made him recognizable. Instead he had only a pathetic hospital patient gown. The really stupid kind that doesn't close all the way in the back. His dignity was only maintained by a blanket that covered his lower half. It was hard to believe, after over a decade as the head of the Sun Yee On Triad in Roanapur, this was how his career would end.
Part of him supposed he should be grateful. After all, if this had happened a year ago, it's likely that the meager medical resources then available in Roanapur wouldn't have been able to save any of him. Then again, another part of him wished they'd have just let him die.
Slowly, with a deep breath, he drew back his blanket to survey the damage one more time.
He lifted what was left of his right leg.
Most of it was gone. In its place was nothing more than a bandaged stump.
The grenade had shattered it just above the knee. By the time he'd realized that the kid in the Cartel's HQ had cooked and dropped the grenade just for him, it was too late. If it had been a few years ago he might have been able to kick it away in time, but he'd gotten too slow with age. From what his men had told him, they'd found him in a heap of black clothes and blood. They'd only recognized him because of his scarf. They'd carried him outside and taken him to the hospital. The doctors had managed to save his life, but they couldn't save his leg. Chang didn't know if he wanted to thank them or gun them all down. Then again, he supposed it didn't really matter anymore.
He let the stump fall back onto the bed with a dull thump, then covered it with the blanket again. He had posted guards outside his room and instructed for there to be no calls. He knew what would happen now, and he didn't need Hong Kong to tell him. They'd wanted him gone ever since the Ivan War, and now no amount of money could buy them off. His personal combat effectiveness had been one of his biggest assets. Now, that was gone.
He heaved a deep sigh. Maybe it was for the best. He could take whatever severance package Hong Kong would offer him, plus what he'd managed to squirrel away, and set himself up elsewhere. Maybe Fry-Face would come and see him.
His heart sank.
Balalaika…
She was his lover, but she was also a crime-baroness. Hotel Moscow had played second fiddle to the Triads ever since he'd pumped two bullets in her back in 93'. Then by some miracle Rock had managed to persuade her to fall in line with his little scheme. But all that was over. With him personally weakened and no new leader for the Triads yet there was an excellent chance that she, or her bosses in Saint Petersburg, would see this as a chance to strike. Her forces were already mobilized with their families safely ensconced in her fortress. For all he knew, his people were being slaughtered right now.
Chang sighed deeply. The hospital was neutral territory, they all knew that. Whatever was happening outside wasn't his problem, not that he could do much anyway. He could take a few minutes for himself.
His mind turned back to her. If the opportunity to take him out for good didn't signal the end of their affair, the loss of his leg certainly would. He couldn't guess at all the reasons she'd dragged him into bed back in Mrs. Sabai's Thai bungalow over a year ago, but he had to believe that being a badass mobster gunslinger had at least factored into the equation.
And that was gone. Permanently, unalterably gone.
He shifted the sad remnant of his leg again, just to be sure, and felt it just above the knee where it had shattered.
Everything below that was gone.
His life, his career, his lover, all gone. Part of him wished he had a gun.
"Fuck," Chang swore as he closed his eyes, wishing he could scream but not having the energy. After he got over his anger, his thoughts turned to her again. He missed her golden hair.
Suddenly, his rapture was interrupted by a tapping on the door. Chang groaned. He'd ordered for no visitors, but he knew his man wouldn't be breaking that order unless he had one hell of a reason. He lay quiet for a moment. If he didn't respond, his man might take the hint and leave him alone.
"Tap! Tap! Tap!"
Chang groaned again, but he couldn't feign deafness any longer, not without looking weak. He turned his head in the direction of the glass door.
"Yeah?! What?" he snapped.
The door and the curtain slid open. With a swish of her overcoat and golden hair Balalaika swept into the room followed closely by a Triad guard.
Chang didn't know if he was happy to see her, or terrified. At the moment, he couldn't manage either. He put on the best smile he could.
"Why, Miss Balalaika. Always a pleasure."
He tried to sound nonchalant, but couldn't keep the exhaustion out of his voice. She could tell he was trying to put on a face. She smiled at him with what seemed genuine sympathy.
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Chang. Might we have a moment?"
The guard shot Chang a look of alarm. Even without her gun, Balalaika was deadly with her hands. Chang was in no condition or position to fight. Chang however, trusting in his relationship to Balalaika or simply because he didn't care anymore, merely nodded.
"Wait outside," he ordered the guard.
The Triad shot one last distrustful look at Balalaika before turning on his heel and shutting the door.
Chang looked at his sometimes enemy, sometimes lover, and had no idea what to say.
"So, how's it going, baby?" she asked.
Chang smiled as well as he could.
"Never better," he answered. "How's things on your end?"
Balalaika returned the smile.
"All operations were a complete success," she reported. "Our enemies are dead, and those who backed them have been driven out of our city. It's just us again, and Rock."
Chang smiled.
"Well, you've got the advantage this time. I'm not going to be so fast."
Balalaika's smile fell away instantly. She crossed the room in a few long strides and sat in the chair beside his bed. She looked at him with an expression reminiscent of the one she'd shown after Rock's coup. A mixture of fierce protectiveness and deep affection.
"Chang. Of the many individuals who I want to see dead, you are nowhere on that list."
Chang felt his heart rise slightly.
"Aww, I'm touched. Does Saint Petersburg feel the same way?"
Balalaika snorted with contempt.
"They'll go along with what I say. No one in that sniveling pack of former KGB shit stains can hold things together here as I can. Gives me some leverage."
Chang didn't know what to say. He closed his mouth to stop looking stupid.
"What about Hong Kong? Will they replace you?" she asked.
Chang couldn't help but feel touched. He couldn't look her in the eye, so he spoke to the ceiling.
"The sad truth is, I was probably on my way out even before this. It was only Rock's jacked-up tributes that stopped Hong Kong from dragging me into retirement a year ago. Now, they've got their silver bullet. It's sweet if you're not planning on taking me out now, but you'll never convince them. This is a young man's game in a violent place. I stopped being young a long time ago, and now I can't handle the violence. No. This is it. All that's left is to take my severance pay and head out, if they let me live."
Even as he said it, Chang felt a chasm open up in his chest.
Balalaika leaned forward.
"Roanapur has become noticeably more peaceful since last year," she argued. "The recent violence notwithstanding, Rock's peace had been holding up quite well."
Chang met her gaze again.
"That's only because we agreed to be part of it," he countered. "I'm out. Whatever moron they get to replace me will probably get the job on the promise of taking you and Rock out. Makes for a bigger take."
Balalaika narrowed her eyes.
"What if you weren't out?" she asked.
Chang smiled sadly, then grimaced. He pulled back the blanket and lifted the stump where his leg used to be. It was indecent. Besides the bandages wrapping the tip there was nothing but naked flesh and hair.
"And how do you figure that would happen?" he asked.
Balalaika looked at the stump. Chang couldn't read her expression. It was soft and sad and deeply kind. She extended her left arm, and gently cupped the leg just below the bandage. She half-lowered, half-pulled it gently down to the bed, and helped him cover it with the blanket.
She turned back to his face, but didn't meet his gaze.
"Learn to sleep on your other side," she croaked. "It'll help."
Chang didn't know what to say. He stared at her. And then he witnessed something he never thought he'd see. Balalaika's lower lip began to tremble, and two small tears emerged below her eyes and ran down her cheeks. One was impeded by the scar tissue that covered the right side of her face. It twisted and turned in the folds of the old chemical burn, and Chang wished he could smash his head against the wall. Her face contorted with anger and sadness.
She turned towards his bedside table, pulled out a couple tissues from a box, wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and threw them away. She took a breath, and when she looked at him again she was back to her normal, warrior-self, though her eyes were still a bit wet.
"I won't let you be out. Should you choose to stay, we will make it happen."
Chang raised an eyebrow, so she elaborated.
"You may be underestimating the loyalty of your men," she began. "You were injured leading them in battle yourself, to obliterate a hated enemy. From what my sources say, many of the Triad would be displeased to see you go. Also, I won't allow it."
Chang blinked. Balalaika leaned in even closer and spoke in a hiss barely above whisper.
"I'll kill any Triad they send or promote to replace you. Rock will tell me where they are, and then I'll blow them to hell. I'll have their bloated bodies dumped on the streets of Hong Kong in broad daylight, in front of whatever brothel they're most fond of these days. I told you, baby. I will not work with some arrogant bastard with more ambition than common sense. I have lost too many men who I loved. I'll be damned if I lose another."
"Balalaika," Chang began, but she pressed a finger to his lips.
"For starters," she whispered, smiling again. "When we're alone, you can call me Sonya."
Chang's mouth fell open in shock, and she smiled at the expression. Then she pressed her lips to his, and Chang forgot why he wanted to argue.
The lights were too bright. They always were in juvie. Flat, white, fluorescent bulbs that were entirely devoid of warmth. Like the glowing corpses of dead stars. Revy stood in line, along with thirty or so other little shits, and felt the familiar cold. The metal handcuffs dug deep into her wrists.
A white feather drifted in front of her face and landed at her feet.
"Count off!" a bull with a megaphone ordered.
In order, each loser kid shouted her number. It was a daily ritual she knew all too well. Just after breakfast, before the yard. Always the count. It was partly so the bulls would know they were all there, partly to remind them who was in charge.
"... eight… nine… ten… "
It would be Revy's turn any moment.
"... eleven… twelve… thirteen."
Revy was number fourteen. Her lucky number. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
"Lee! Sound off!"
She opened her mouth again, and again could only wheeze. When she tried to speak, her chest hurt.
The bull marched up to her. Now that she was closer, Revy could see it was Balalaika, dressed as a New York City Correctional Officer.
"Report to the boss, Lee!" she ordered through her megaphone.
Revy winced. The cuffs unlocked of their own accord and clattered to the floor. Revy stepped out of line, towards the door, then out into the hallway. She opened the door to the warden's office. She entered, and Chang looked up from the desk.
"Two Hands… "
Revy smiled, slightly relieved.
"Heya, boss."
Chang fixed her with a look behind his sunglasses and Revy felt her breath catch in her throat. As she had felt many times, it was as if he were looking through her rather than at her.
"Did you take care of that job yet?" he demanded.
She knew immediately the one he was talking about. She felt her stomach turn over.
"Not yet. Got held up by your girlfriend."
Chang narrowed his eyes at her.
"Get to it then. Call me when you're done."
As she turned to leave another feather fluttered down in front of Revy's face. But she thought nothing of it and headed out the door.
Next thing she knew, Revy was walking down a different hallway. In contrast to juvie, this one was poorly lit. Flickering lights danced across the walls. The paint was peeling in several places. She smelled the familiar combination of mildew and flop-sweat. A poorly maintained shower dripped water from it's head. In the near-total silence every drop sounded like a bullet. She felt herself tense. She had never liked the stupid child welfare center.
She came to a glass case. Inside were pictures of the kids this place had actually been able to help. Little brats off the streets who'd come there and gotten their high-school diplomas or jobs or better lives or whatever. One particular girl caught her eye. She was Chinese. A teenager she looked like. Revy didn't know her name, but she'd had to stare at her face so often while waiting in line the image was burned into her memory. Apparently she'd won some sort of science fair thing, so she got a nice trophy and her picture in the case.
The girl smiled out at her. Smiled a smile of pride and happiness, and Revy wanted to smash her teeth down her throat.
Her reflection looked back at her with a scowl. She groped for one of her Cutlasses, and was relieved to find it in its holster. She drew it out, checked the clip, and backed the hammer. She approached the end of the hallway, and a familiar, crummy office. At least it had solid lighting. The door was open. Through the window she could see a stern looking Indian woman behind a desk. The brightness inside the office contrasted sharply with the semi-darkness of the hall. Smoke was rising from her cigarette. She wore round glasses under a head of graying black hair tied back in a bun. Her face was half-buried in a file.
Revy frowned in concentration. She raised her pistol and took aim.
"I know you're there, Lee."
Revy froze, her finger on the trigger. The woman hadn't even looked up from her papers, but she spoke with the same command as ever.
"Well? Come on. You're gonna do it, do it," she continued, in a tone that dripped with a combination of impatience and indifference.
Revy lowered her Cutlass to her side, stood up, and smiled.
"Hey, Ms. Gupta."
The woman looked up. Her cigarette continued to smoulder.
"How ya doin'?
Ms. Gupta didn't even bother to put down her folder, or take the cigarette from her mouth. She shrugged.
"Me? I'm fine. What you have there?" She jerked her head at Revy's right hand. "Is that the cock you've always wanted so bad?"
She chuckled at her own joke.
"Dumb bitch," she muttered, more to herself than Revy.
Revy looked down at her gun for a moment, then up to the woman.
"Ya know, you oughta talk to me with more respect."
Ms. Gupta put down the folder and drew the cigarette from her mouth.
"Why?" she demanded, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
"Cuz I ain't some little kid anymore."
Ms. Gupta shook her head.
"No," she agreed. "Now you're a big tough gangster."
Her tone and the way she moved her head illustrated that she was utterly unimpressed. Revy found that annoying.
"Yeah, I am," she snarled. "I've got a bodycount in the hundreds. People pay me to kill other people. I don't even remember how many."
"Well, whoop de do," the woman said. "Congratulations. You actually managed to graduate from something."
Revy felt her shoulders sag. Every snide, defiant response she might have thought of fell away leaving only the sad empty girl behind.
Ms. Gupta took another draft of her cigarette.
"I always knew, Lee. All of us did. You were the rudest, dumbest little bitch I've ever seen, on top of everything else. We knew that anyone with an ounce of decency would take one look at you and run the other way."
"That isn't true," Revy argued, her voice low and dangerous.
"Oh? Name one good thing that you have, besides the wanna be dick in your hand there."
Ms. Gupta chuckled again. Revy looked down at her gun, then up at her.
"I got a boyfriend now," she answered.
Ms. Gupta drew back in surprise.
"You?!"
Revy smirked.
"Yeah, I do."
Ms. Gupta made a dismissive motion with her hand. Her cigarette continued to smoulder.
"So what? Shake your ass, you can make any idiot drop his pants."
"He ain't no idiot," Revy snarled.
"Oh?"
"Nah. He's got a business. He's got employees and clients and friends who rely on him, and he comes through for them every time."
Ms. Gupta flared her nostrils as if someone had forced dung under her nose.
"Drugs?"
Revy scowled and shook her head.
"No."
Ms. Gupta seemed mildly impressed for a moment, then shrugged again.
"So what? He likes to get his rocks off just like any other guy."
"We've been together for over a year," Revy persisted, her blood pressure rising. "He cooks for me. He takes me on dates and writes me love letters, cuz I'm special. Cuz no matter what you say, I'm worth it."
Ms. Gupta smirked.
"Hate to burst your bubble, Lee, but it won't last. Even if he can get past your pissant attitude, you'll take him out the normal way. What the fuck could he possibly see in you?"
Revy smirked, reached around to her back pocket and drew out the envelope that contained Rock's letter.
"Heh. Wouldn't you like to know?"
Suddenly, Revy felt something wet on the paper. Looking, she saw blotches of red. It dripped onto the floor. She dropped it in horror. When it hit the floor it burst into flames.
Panicked, Revy dropped to the ground, intent on beating the fire out.
Suddenly, a gunshot sounded behind her. Revy wheeled, raising her Cutlass defensively. Forgetting the letter, she looked down the hallway into Dad's old bedroom. She could see his leg lying on the bed through the open doorway. Somewhere, she heard panicked footsteps on metal stairs. Someone was going down the fire escape.
She advanced, gun at the ready, and entered the room.
There he was. Sprawled on his mattress with the pillow over his face, just like she left him. Revy smiled.
She stood up and turned. Ms. Gupta was standing in the doorway.
"See?" She pointed her gun at the corpse. "This is why you should respect me."
Ms. Gupta looked at her with a mixture of contempt and dislike.
"What? For killing your boyfriend?" she asked.
The smile dropped off Revy's face. She looked at the bed again. Now that she looked more closely, she could see that the man lying on it was wearing slacks much nicer than anything Dad ever wore, and a lime-green tie was poking out from under the pillow.
With a mounting sense of horror, Revy reached down and ripped off the pillow. Rock was lying here. A bullet hole through his forehead. His eyes were blank and staring. White feathers from the shattered pillow were strewn around his head. Some were splattered with blood.
And Revy screamed.
"Beeeeeeeeeeep!"
The doctor freezes. The scalpel's in his hand, but the heart rate monitor gives that dreaded long, flat tone that indicates cardiac arrest. The bullet in her lung is no longer a priority.
He looks at the nurse.
"One milligram of epinephrine. Prep twenty units of… Fuck!"
The doctor spits behind his mask. He had been about to order units of red blood cells for transfusions. With bullet wound victims the most common cause of heart failure was acute blood loss, and she was bleeding bad. The heart just didn't have enough left to pump, so it had stopped pumping altogether. Best treatment was one milligram of epinephrine with regular transfusions and CPR. But there was a problem.
"What's her blood type?!" he yells to no one in particular because he has no other ideas. She's fresh off the street, no charts.
Above them a male voice answers.
"O-positive!"
The doctor looks around. The patient's boyfriend, who he recognized because he's one of the hospital's biggest donors, is watching from the observation lounge. His face is pressed against the glass.
"Same with me!" Rock adds, tapping his chest. "You need blood?!"
Revy had told him her blood type a while ago.
The doctor looks at the nurse.
"One milligram of epinephrine," he repeats. "Prep twenty units of O-positive, and prep him for donations," he orders, jerking his head in roughly Rock's direction. "We may need it."
The hospital's resources weren't limitless. Most of their stock of O-positive had been eaten up by that leg amputation earlier. The doctor didn't know how much they had left, and wasn't turning down a donation.
One nurse nods and turns to the side table. Another scampers from the room.
The nurse preps the dose in the I.V. The doctor waits until she's ready.
"Push one milligram of epinephrine," he orders.
The nurse obeys.
"One milligram of epinephrine in," she reports.
A few seconds later and the heart is back, but not cleanly. Monitor shows irregular heart rate. Time for CPR.
He's grateful the bullet missed her pericardium. If it had even grazed the membrane enclosing the heart then CPR could do even more damage. One less thing to worry about. He places his hands on her chest directly over her sternum, locks his fingers, and shoves downward.
One, two, three, four… thirty.
Now, open her mouth and force in whatever air you can.
One, two, three, four…
Five cycles. Still nothing. Keep going. Still hope.
Rock feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see a small asian nurse in surgical getup.
"Come with me," she orders from behind her mask.
Rock nods and follows her at a run.
One, two, three, four…
Breathe for her. More.
One, two, three, four…
Ten cycles.
The nurse pelts Rock with questions as they run. They burst through a set of doors and down the stairs towards a room adjacent to the O.R.
"Do you use drugs?"
"No."
"Smoke?"
Rock feels a pang of guilt.
"Yes."
"Alcohol?"
"Yes."
They burst open the last set of doors. A standard examination room. A fancy doctor's chair in the middle.
"Have you ever traded money or drugs for sex?"
Rock feels a slight spasm of pride.
"No."
He sits in the chair. The nurse pulls up a rack and hangs a deflated bag just below him. Gravity will help take out the blood.
"Have you ever had sexual contact with a man?"
"No."
She extends his left arm and starts tapping it. She's looking for a vein.
"Ever been diagnosed with H.I.V.?"
"No."
"Have you donated blood in the last twelve weeks?"
"No."
She's found the vein. She marks it with her highlighter.
"Are you taking any medication?"
"Yes. They gave me vicodin after I had surgery about a week ago."
She rounds on him, eyes wide.
"What type of surgery?"
Rock closes his eyes, trying to remember.
"I had two broken ribs and a collapsed lung. I got shot but I was wearing a bulletproof vest."
The nurse nods. No problems there. She turns back to the rig. As she finishes prepping she peppers him with the rest of the questions. None of his answers raise a red flag. She holds up the needle, tube attached.
Rock swallows. He hates blood, and needles.
"Extend your arm."
Rock holds out his arm and looks away. The nurse places what feels like a deflated balloon in his hand.
"Squeeze this whenever it inflates."
Rock nods and swallows. He still doesn't dare look. His stomach starts to turn.
"Ok. Here it comes," warns the nurse.
Rock holds his breath. He feels the pinch. His stomach backflips as the needle slides in. When it enters his vein he feels the weight of the tube tug it slightly as the nurse lets it go. Cue another round of nausea. Then she tapes the whole setup to his arm and he lets himself breathe again.
"It's in. You're good."
His head is spinning. He's nauseous. But as soon as he feels the balloon inflate he squeezes it with everything he's got. After about twenty seconds it deflates and he breathes a slight sigh of relief. It feels like the world is spinning like a top, but he's just sitting. He can handle this. He dares to look. The bag hanging below his chair is slowly filling with red.
"I love you," he breathes, as the balloon inflates again.
The doctor takes his mouth off hers. Twenty-five cycles. He's soaked in sweat.
"Red cells!" he barks.
On the other side of the table the nurse hooks up the first bag of red. She connects it to the I.V.
"Push red cells!"
She pushes the auto-injector.
Hopefully they got her some oxygen.
Open her chest, find the bleed. Lungs: might as well be charcoal. Heavy smoker. The doctor guesses she's about ten years from cancer, but that's not his problem today. He finds the bleed. Not hard. The bullet gives it away. He removes the bullet and staunches the bleed.
He checks her vitals. They're not great. Heart rate monitor looks like an irregular mountain range. Craggy rocks.
"Paddles!" He orders the nurse.
A better heart rate will help the new blood circulate.
The nurse hands them to him.
He takes what look like two small spatulas and places them gently on her beating heart.
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
The defibrillator sends two hundred joules straight to her heart.
"Beep… beep."
Still too slow. Almost as if her heart doesn't want to come back. She's lost a lot of blood, and her brain doesn't have much oxygen. Still, he keeps trying.
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep… beep."
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep… beep."
Back to CPR. Twenty-five cycles. No need to workout today.
First bag of red cells is in. The nurse hooks up the next bag. This one's fresh. Right from next door. The donor.
No time to think. Back to the shocks.
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep… beep."
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep… beep."
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep… beep."
The nurse checks the clock and feels her shoulders sag. It's been almost fifty minutes and her vitals have barely improved. The doctor's head is soaked in sweat.
"Charging! Clear!"
"Thump!"
"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep."
The doctor's breath catches in his throat. The sound coming from the monitor has changed. The beeps are quicker. He checks the screen for confirmation. Sure enough, it shows a regular heart rate. Vitals are improving. The doctor takes a deep breath, stands up straight, and stretches his back.
Revy looked out from the front deck of the Lagoon. She had always liked this view. No matter how pissed she might be at the world, here she could just sit and smoke and let the sea make her forget.
Miles of gentle waves. Puffy clouds in the sky, like white cotton candy. Night was falling. The setting sun to her left cast a deep red glow on the horizon. Far to her right the sky was settling into black.
She stood up and turned. She glided along the starboard side of the torpedo boat until she got to the side door.
She looked up. Fabiola Iglesias, the little hispanic maid, was sitting above the door. She dangled her legs over the side, playing with something in her hands.
"Hey," Revy called.
Fabiola looked at her.
"Almost time for lights out."
"I'll go soon," she answered. "We all will."
Suddenly, Revy heard sounds coming from inside the ship. Laughter, and what sounded like mariachi music. Guitars, maracas, tambourines, and singing. Fuckin' singing. A light flickered out from the open hatchway. And she could smell… tacos? Cooking meat? Something smelled incredible.
She looked up at Fabiola.
"What's going on?" she asked, gesturing to the door.
Fabiola looked at her for a moment, then spoke.
"Did you bring the vegetables?"
"Huh?" Revy asked.
"The vegetables," Fabiola repeated. "From your stall in South America. It's the day of the dead, dia de los muertos. We're celebrating, and we need vegetables from your stall."
Revy blinked. Then suddenly, she heard a new sound from her left. Looking away from the ship and out to sea, she could see the wind gently churning the waves.
"Revy, come back," a familiar voice called from the water.
Revy didn't understand. She looked at Fabiola again.
"Why do you need vegetables?" She asked.
"For you," Fabiola answered. "You give us the vegetables, and then you can eat with us. The master told us to get everything ready for you."
Revy looked at the open door. She couldn't see inside, but the sounds and smells of merriment were enticing. She took a step forward.
"Stop," Fabiola commanded.
Revy stopped and looked up at her. She pointed towards Revy's chest.
"No business inside. You have to leave those here."
Revy looked where she was pointing, and realized she was pointing at her Cutlasses.
"Why?" She asked.
"No business inside," Fabiola repeated. "You already killed everyone. You don't need them anymore."
Revy looked down at her Cutlasses. If she just took them off she could get some food. She was awfully hungry.
She reached up to remove them, and then she heard the voice again.
"I love you, Revy. Please, come back to me."
It was still coming from the sea. Revy looked out to see it, but all she saw were waves.
She looked at Fabiola again.
"I gotta bring 'em inside. We might need 'em."
Fabiola shook her head.
"No. We don't want a repeat of last time."
"What happened last time?" Revy asked.
"Revy?" the voice called again, louder this time and more desperate. Revy looked out to sea again. "I love you. Please. Come back to me."
Revy stared out into the gathering dark. The sea seemed to be shimmering. A faint white glow, like fireflies in the water, shifted and danced across the surface. She didn't understand.
Fabiola jumped down from her perch above the door and turned to face her.
"I'll take those for you," she said, holding out her hand.
Revy looked at her again.
"Huh?" she asked.
Fabiola pointed at her guns.
"Those. I'll hold them for you while you eat."
Revy backed away.
"Please, Revy," the voice in the sea said again, and again she turned to face it. "I love you. Please, come back to me."
Revy blinked, then she looked at Fabiola.
"I'm gonna take a swim."
She turned left, took a running start, and jumped into the water.
"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep."
Something was beeping nearby. It annoyed her. She was gonna shoot it if it didn't stop soon.
"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep."
Damn it. Where was her Cutlass? And the room was too hot. Did Rock turn off the A/C again? That shit. She tried to move her arms, but they were too heavy.
"Revy, I love you. Please, don't go."
Now she recognized the voice. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Rock was sitting beside her bed, looking at her like she was a ghost. Upon seeing her awake, his face lit up with delight.
He turned to the door behind him.
"Nurse! Nurse! She's awake!" he called excitedly.
Revy's head ached. She wished he would stop yelling. But she didn't have long to think because the next thing she knew she was in his arms and he was kissing every inch of her face that he could reach.
The doctors came in and gave her the rundown. She'd been admitted with a bullet in her right lung and they'd had to get it out. Her heart had stopped during surgery, so they brought her back. The operation was a success and she was expected to make a full recovery. Revy wasn't really listening. She noted that her right arm was hooked up to a bunch of tubes. Only her left was usable. She raised it and felt her chest. Sure enough she felt a long scar running over where her heart would be. It fascinated her, somehow. She'd had plenty of injuries throughout the years, but nothing like this. As she felt the scar her eyes occasionally flitted to the only person in the room who mattered to her.
"Also," the doctor continued. "Due to acute blood loss we had to administer transfusions. Mr. Okajima served as the donor."
"Huh?" Revy asked, not quite comprehending.
The doctor looked impatient for a moment, then said.
"Mr. Okajima donated blood for you. You were bleeding internally. We gave you two pints."
Revy's mouth fell open. She looked at Rock, who smiled and held up his left arm, which she now saw was wrapped in a bandage.
He gave his blood for me?
Revy was utterly speechless. She turned to the doctor again, who continued with his spiel. She wasn't listening. In her head, two of her most powerful aspects came into conflict.
Rock had given her his blood.
She could feel it move around her veins, dutifully delivering oxygen from her lungs. It was like Rock himself, in a way. Just doing its job. She felt warm, somehow. Part of him was part of her now, in a very literal way. He was helping to keep her alive, even while she lay there breathing. Part of Revy couldn't help but think that if that wasn't love, what was?
That thought was stupid, so she pushed it away.
Now, he knew.
Rock knew that she'd killed her father. Whatever dogshit he'd felt for her before couldn't possibly be the same. How could it? It was sweet for him to wait around, she guessed, but it wouldn't last for long. Nothing good ever did for her. He might have made that donation out of some sick sense of penance. She'd saved his ass often enough, maybe this was just him returning the favor. It'd be like him well enough. And the minute they'd start talking, which of course he'd fucking want to, she'd lose her shit and they'd be finished.
Besides that, there were also the events of the last two days. She'd left him after agreeing to guard him, and had been absent during an attack. If he were the Chang, she'd be lucky not to have to shoot her way out of the city. Rock might not have that kind of brutality or firepower, but she didn't harbor any illusions. They were finished. It was just a matter of time.
It was just as well, she supposed. Ms. Gupta was right. If she didn't lose him this way, she'd lose him another. She didn't have anything valuable to give him, apart from her guns and her ass.
And he could get ass anywhere.
"Do you have any questions?" the doctor asked, smiling.
Revy looked up at him. She wanted to ask him why they didn't just let her fucking die already, but that would take longer than she cared.
She shook her head.
"Nope."
The doctor's smile flickered. Maybe he had been expecting thanks. Moron. You don't get thanks for bringing back a corpse. Besides, it's your job.
"Okay. We'll leave you alone then. If you need anything else just ring for the nurse."
The nurse, whom Revy now recognized as the same nurse she had first met when she and Dutch came to visit Rock, cast a nervous expression at the doctor, but didn't say anything.
They all trundled out. The doctor and the two nurses. Revy kept her face looking forward. She didn't want to look at him just yet, not now.
Not now he knew…
"How are you feeling?" Rock asked.
She shrugged.
"Fine."
"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep."
The heart rate monitor was still too loud. Revy wished it would shut up.
"You were out for a long time," Rock continued. "I was worried."
Revy shrugged again.
"Whatever."
Rock could see this was going nowhere. Part of him wanted to just leave her alone, but he'd been waiting for her to open her eyes for too long to leave now. He decided to up the ante.
"I love you," he tried, hoping for a reaction.
Familiar creases of anger rippled through her face. She fixed him with her glare.
"Don't fuck with me," she warned in a tone that was low and dangerous.
Rock set his jaw and furrowed his brow.
"I love you," he persisted.
Revy reached over with her left hand, grabbed an empty bedpan that was lying on her bed, and chucked it at his feet. It hit the floor with a loud crash. Rock stood up.
"Don't fuck with me god damn it!" she screamed. "Don't fuck with me! Not you!"
Rock looked down at the bedpan, then at her. Revy could see now that he looked tired as shit. His hair was tousled, his face was pale, and there were dark shadows under his watery eyes.
Tears.
As Revy looked she could see tears well up from those big beautiful brown eyes of his and she felt her heart turn over.
Rock looked at her, teary eyed, and reached out to her.
"I love you," he croaked, his lower lip trembling. "I love you more than I have ever loved anything. Please… please don't push me away."
Revy choked. She searched his face for the lie, but couldn't find it, and hated herself for looking for it. And the process of looking became much harder as her vision blurred. For the first time in more than twenty years tears welled up in her eyes and began to flow down her face. She curled herself into a little ball of limbs on the bed. The killer in her chest cowered in shame. She wished she had her Cutlasses. She wished she could blow her own brains out then and there. She pressed her left hand over the right side of her face as she gasped and wheezed and sobbed.
She closed her eyes. In the resulting darkness a flurry of images filled her vision. Ms. Gupta sneered at her over her file. Fabiola demanded something she couldn't give. Rock's head. Rock's head with her bullet wound, surrounded by white feathers splattered with blood.
She sobbed as she felt her head spin. She wanted her Cutlass so badly. She wanted…
From across the room, Rock dried his eyes and stood in surprise and concern. He had never before seen Revy cry. It was an incredible sight, in its own way. Revy, Two Hands, the bloodied berserker, who had joyfully killed more people than he could count, cried like an actual human.
He couldn't just stand there. He came to her and sat on her bedside and collected her in his arms. To his enormous relief, she didn't push him away.
With her one free arm she reached around his back and held him as tightly as she could.
"Oh god!" she screamed and sobbed into his shoulder. "Oh my god I'm so sorry!"
She drew a deep breath and screamed again.
"Oh my god I'm sorry, Rock! I'm so sorry!"
Rock held her to him and whispered in her ear.
"It's ok. It's ok. Let it go. Let it all go. I'm here for you. I love you."
His last words set her off. She pressed her face into him and raggedly screamed.
And screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
Neither of them knew how long it took for the tears to stop completely. After the world broke apart and reassembled itself in softer shades of black Revy finally seemed to have cried herself out. Rock continued to hold her. He had managed to get them both to lie down as she cried. It was more comfortable that way, and she didn't fight back. He had never seen or heard anyone cry that hard or that long, like a dam bursting on a lifetime of pain.
She lay there in his arms now, apparently catatonic. She wasn't moving.
"Revy?" he asked the top of her head. "Are you okay?"
For a few seconds, Revy didn't respond. Rock began to worry that something had gone seriously wrong with her, but then he felt her stir.
"Yeah. Jesus. I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
Rock smiled, kissed her forehead, and held her.
"It was a big bullet they had to dig out of you. Do you want it? They gave it to me."
Revy blinked, and a kind of morbid fascination overcame her. She nodded.
Rock extracted his arm from her back and reached over to the bedside table. He picked up a little plastic baggie and held it up. Inside, Revy could see a dark little ball of lead.
Her curiosity became stronger. She reached out her hand and took it from him. She stared at it for a moment before speaking.
"Nine mil," she ground out. "From a glock seventeen L. Eda."
Her voice betrayed a certain bitterness when she said the name. She looked at Rock again.
"Did I get her?"
Rock nodded.
"In the morgue as we speak."
Revy closed her eyes.
"Good," she breathed.
She passed the baggie back to him and he put it back on the table. She buried herself in his chest. Exhaustion weighed on her senses and his warmth promised empty dreams. After what her nutso brain had shown her over the past twelve hours she could use a little peace.
"Revy?" Rock asked.
"Hmm?"
"What happened last night?"
Revy cracked an eye. She had expected this, but still didn't want to go through with it. She closed her eye again
"Tomorrow," she muttered.
She felt Rock tense and her heart sank. This could turn bad fast.
"Revy, three of my guards are dead. They were good people."
Revy drew back from his now stifling heat and glared up at him. He matched her gaze unblinkingly, without any trace of fear, and after a few seconds she looked down in defeat. She didn't have her guns, and he could always out-talk her. She had two pints of his blood in her veins. It was the only reason she was alive. She couldn't speak to his face, so she spoke to his chest.
"I got a call yesterday, while you were out getting the pizza," she muttered. "They used a voice modulator. Whoever it was on the other end, I guess Eda, she said she knew that I…" she swallowed. "That they had dirt on me from when I was a kid. She said that she'd tell you if I didn't do what they wanted. Said if I wanted proof I should check your email when we got home. I… I put you to sleep… and…
She looked him in the eye for a moment, but Rock didn't say anything so she dropped her gaze again and continued.
"Email was there. Bad as I thought. I loaded up and went out to the car. That's when I got another call. They asked if I got the email. I said yes. They said that unless I wanted them to call you I had to go to this little town a few hours away and off this guy. Gave me a name and an address. I… I knew that if I did I'd be leaving you open for a while, but I thought your guys could cover you and by the time you woke up I'd be back."
Her eyes flitted to his again. His expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything so she looked at his chest again and continued.
"I got to the place they said, but I didn't drive up to it. I dunno, something just felt off. I parked a few blocks away and hoofed it there. When I got to the place I checked around the other buildings first. That's when I saw… "
She closed her eyes and sighed again before continuing.
"It was being watched. I saw a pair of binoculars in a window looking at it, and a rifle pointing from a rooftop. If the moon wasn't so bright, I'da missed it. That's when I knew it was a set up. Like just before your first hit. Fake job took me away then too. I high-tailed it back to your place. When I got there, it was wrecked. I saw the busted door, the chalk outline. You weren't there, so I called you."
"And after that you went to the Ripoff Church," Rock finished for her.
Revy nodded. "Yeah."
Rock nodded slowly.
"The chalk outline you saw was for one of my guards," he explained. "Good kid. Lotton hired him. Chang called me last night, after you left. He woke me up. We talked for a bit. Then that kid came into the room. He said we were under attack. I rapeled out the window and made it to Dutch. He brought me to the office. They killed all three of my guards, including that kid, and they almost got me."
Revy gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and shoved her face into the pillow.
"God damn it," she growled.
Rock let her stew for a moment. Then he asked his final question.
"What was the dirt they threatened you with?"
Revy met his gaze with her glare. "You're seriously gonna make me say it?"
"If it was enough to put my life and those of my people at risk, yeah."
Revy glared at him for a moment. Then dropped her gaze back to his chest. All the fight went out of her. She shut her eyes tightly and braced for the hit.
"It… was… my… dad," she said, in a tone that rang of utter defeat. "When I was a kid, day after that night in the cell. Ya know, the one I told you about?"
Rock nodded.
"Yeah. After they let me out I went home and I shot him."
Hearing the words come out of her mouth took the remaining breath from her lungs. Part of her couldn't believe she had actually said it. For over a decade she had tried as hard as she could to forget that day, that night. For years she'd buried it deep. But two recent events had dragged it square into the open: Rock's curiosity, and Eda's threat.
"What happened?" Rock persisted.
Revy glanced at him, then back at his chest, and elaborated.
"The cops let me out, I dunno, around nine the next morning. Made me shower and give 'em my clothes first."
Her face contorted with new rage.
"They laughed at me," she hissed. "I limped outta that station. It hurt. I was bleeding, Rock. I was bleeding bad. And they laughed at me. And I wanted to kill every last fucking one of them! I wanted to rip off their balls and shove it down their throats. And I wanted to go to their houses. Those nice, pretty, fucking houses with their nice, pretty, fucking families and I wanted to kill all of them too. And then I wanted to kill everything. Everything that I could find. And then I wanted to burn that fucking city until there was nothing left to burn!"
She caught her breath, panting. It hurt to breathe too hard. She took a few seconds before continuing.
"I went back to dad's place. I don't even know why. I don't remember how I got the gun or the pillow in my hand. I was seein' red, Rock. I remember standing over him in the doorway. Passed out, like always. Piss drunk. And then he woke up and he saw me."
She paused again, seething.
"He started to yell at me to get him another drink, just like he did after I got back from juvie. And I shoved the pillow over his face, and I shot him."
Revy breathed for a few moments, not daring to look at Rock's face. She lay there and breathed and stared into the void.
Somewhere in the distance, Rock started nodding.
"Yeah," he said.
Revy met his gaze. Confusion made her angry.
"'Yeah, what?" she demanded.
"What you just said. It makes absolute sense."
Revy blinked.
"I shot and killed my dad," she repeated, with an air that suggested he must not have heard her right the first time.
Rock nodded.
"A slight addendum," he added. "You shot and killed your abuser. Or rather, one of them."
Revy blinked again. Rock continued.
"After our last conversation, I did some research. I'm by no means an expert, but similar scenarios to the one you just described have happened before. I remember, one woman I read about was attacked at a party in college and had to drop out of school. Another got raped by her boyfriend and she eventually shot and killed him herself. A lot of survivors describe feeling anger, fear, shame, guilt, humiliation, or even blacking out entirely. Here's an interesting thing I learned, the presence of a gun in a domestic violence situation increased the odds of a homicide by about five hundred percent. That's not an exaggeration."
Revy couldn't see where he was going with this, but she was listening all the same.
"Within five minutes of you telling me your story, you mentioned your father hurting you at least twice," Rock continued. "I'm still thrown by his reaction to your first kiss. Sure, some parents can be overprotective. But if he were that sort I'd expect him to care more that you had to steal to survive. But no. That night was the trigger I think."
He met her gaze for a moment. She still looked skeptical, so he tried a different tact.
"Let's pretend, for just a moment, that I'm your lawyer. And I've been hired to defend you. I wouldn't argue that you didn't do it. That's impossible. Instead I'd argue that you're not responsible for what happened. First, you were fourteen years old. Teenagers don't make the best choices and the court would have to consider that. Second, you had been abused by your father for your entire life. Abuse victims often develop violent tendencies themselves. It's a sad fact. It's also possible that part of you was afraid he'd hurt you again. We already know how he reacted to your first kiss. How would he have reacted to your first time?"
Revy's mouth fell slightly open. She had never thought of that.
"Third, your dad kept unsecured guns in the house. I'll bring back that five-hundred percent statistic I mentioned before. Teenagers and guns are already not a great mix. Throw in the abuse and that makes it worse. But most importantly Revy, you had just been raped."
He put extra emphasis on the last sentence and looked her straight in the eye.
"Revy, I read a lot of rape survivor stories after you told me what happened to you. It is without question one of the worst ways any human can be hurt. The fact that it was done by one of the people who is supposed to uphold the law makes it worse. Look."
He drew back and lifted his shirt. In the dim light Revy could still see the bruises from the five gunshot wounds he'd taken a few days before.
"A few days ago I was shot. You might have noticed I haven't been walking very well. And that's with an army of doctors and a lot of money behind me. What you went through was much much worse, and you had nothing and no one."
He let his shirt fall back to his waist. With his newly freed hand he gripped her shoulder.
"Add it all up, and my defense is that you can't possibly be held morally or legally responsible for what happened to your father. You were so badly hurt, by so many people, and so young, you can't be expected to behave rationally. It was pure dumb luck you had the gun. That's my defense, and my take on what happened."
Revy weighed his words for a few seconds. Her eyes flitted down as she turned it over in her mind. Then…
"Sweet defense," she muttered. "You're a regular fucking lawyer."
Rock let the silence settle between them for a moment, then he continued.
"I'm not saying that what happened to your father was good."
Revy's eyes met his again.
"He was by any reasonable measure a terrible parent. The punishment for that isn't usually death. What I am saying is that I'm not going to pass any kind of moral judgement on the behavior of a fourteen year old abuse and rape survivor. I know too much about what abuse and rape can do to you now."
Revy didn't know what to say. This had been it. Her darkest secret. To keep it hidden she had been willing to kill any rando fuck, along with a bunch of other shit. A big part of her felt… relieved? She guessed so, but she needed more reassurance.
"So, we're good? We're still, I dunno, fuck-buddies and what not?"
Rock blinked, then burst out laughing. When he'd calmed down enough, he responded.
"Sorry. Uh, if you're asking 'do I still want to be with you,' I do. But a few things are going to have to change starting now."
"Like what?" Revy asked, her heart sinking.
"To start with, you can never take any kind of violent action against me again, ever. I don't care how pissed you get. Throwing things, hitting, punching, pointing your guns, even swearing at me. All of that is off the table forever. Frankly, this is a conversation we should have had a long time ago. We're equals in this, partners. So, unless you're ok with me doing any of that, which is a nonstarter anyway because I don't want to, you can't do it either. That starts now.
"Second, I want to know what you actually want out of this relationship. You clearly value it, that's obvious, but I want more than a 'fuck-buddy.' I've told you what I want, and it goes well beyond that. If you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend I'm all for that, but I want to hear that from you right now. So I'm going to ask again: what do you want?"
Revy took a few moments, looked away, did some very quick thinking, looked at him, and knew what to say with absolute certainty.
"You."
Her face contorted again, tears leaked out. She hated herself for letting them, but she screwed up her courage and continued.
"I want you, Rock. This is the best I've ever had, hands-down. Sweet christ you're the best man I've ever known. You're the best thing in my life. I…
She paused for a moment and swallowed.
I love you."
She could see the hitch in his breathing at the same moment she realized she said it. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, but when she opened them he was still there, so she continued.
"I love you, Rock. I couldn't say it before, cuz of all my bullshit. But I'll say it now and I'll say it whenever you want. I love you more than anything. I wanna, (hic) I wanna go back to your place with you. And I wanna be your girl, and I wanna go on dates with you. And I wanna go to Hawaii with you. I wanna be with you forever because I fucking love you!"
Cue another round of crying she thought to herself angrily as she belted out the last four words and pressed her face into his chest and sobbed again. When she came back up he was smiling at her. He kissed her again, full on the lips, and for the first time that night Revy felt everything was right with the world.
"I love you too, Revy."