They watched over her from a distance, kept vigil until the woman's eyes fluttered open and she slowly sat up. Her eyes were brown, Kyoya noted, and immediately darted around in assessment. The last thing she looked at was them, and her brows furrowed with- what? Concern? Confusion? He was so tired. Too tired to read people.

"Are you okay?" Tamaki said, his Japanese coming out formally. He was nervous.

"Yes," she said, then was interrupted by something Kyoya had not heard. He looked at Tamaki, but the blonde was equally puzzled.

Then footsteps, dragging down the hall of the concrete corridor. There was breathing, loud, and the tinkling sounds of metal, quiet.

The woman flicked dirty hair over her shoulder with as much grace as a royal. "Just so you know, I'm faking."

Before either of the men could speak, a figure stopped in front of the door. There was a scratchy, clinking sound of a lock and then blinding florescent light.

"So you two are the heirs." The smoke that drifted from his cigar had nowhere to go in their cramped cell. Kyoya coughed, and the man seemed to find it funny. "Don't seem like too big a deal."

Then his eyes cut to the woman's, keenly interested. "You, though. Why'd he warn me about you, little girl?"

The Woman just smiled, perhaps with a bit too many teeth.

"She's nothing," Tamaki said indifferently. He didn't even spare her a glance, but it wasn't an effective enough act. For up the shoulders Kyoya had taken particular fondness of crept rosy blotches, all the way up to his starkly pale cheeks.

Without taking his eyes off of the blonde, the man strode over to the woman and struck her across the face. As the impact came, the woman crumpled to the ground with a cry.

"Don't!" Tamaki flinched and moved to go to her, but Kyoya gripped him tightly.

Kyoya felt sweat drip between his shoulder blades. Then came a sickening revelation: they didn't know he was the last son. Absurdly, he tried to envision his oldest brother Akito in his place. Tried to see him here, next to Tamaki- who Akito didn't know or care for much, didn't see how valuable Tamaki was- bound and shackled in a concrete cell.

He couldn't do it. He didn't even know Akito well enough to try and act like him. How could Kyoya emulate someone who never gave him the time of day? All he knew was Fuyumi. Kyoya didn't even really know his father, or his mother.

Would anyone but her give a shit if he died?

"… with him?"

"Maybe he's allergic to mouthy assholes," a woman- The Woman- shot back. "Best if you go now while the reaction's not severe."

A swear. The crack of flesh on flesh. A thud.

"Kyoya!"

Tamaki's hissed whisper snapped Kyoya back to himself, gray eyes blinking in attention. His entire torso felt stressed with tension, and he honed in on The Woman's bleeding, moving mouth. He gave a start as he realized The Woman was still talking back to the yakuza.

"… a disgrace-" her body flew back as she was struck again, and she finally laid in crumpled silence. The yakuza gave an incensed tsk and left.

And then The Woman sat up.