Sleepwake (Part 8/?)
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
"Look on the bright side, Jin, it could be worse," offered Xiaoyu with a weak smile.
"We're sitting in a jail cell and the Tekkenshu want to kill us. How could it be worse?" Jin's voice was muffled by his hands, which covered his face. Faint echoes bounced off the stone walls of the cell.
"We could be dead."
Jin peeked at her through his fingers. She was right, he realized. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. Death was infinitely worse than sitting here beside Xiaoyu on this bolted-down bench, in this silent, drafty cell. But then, when the Tekkenshu came, it wouldn't matter either way.
"Maybe they arrested us for speeding," said Jin, knowing he was grasping at straws. Xiaoyu knew it too. She looked away, and picked a particularly interesting piece of wall to stare at.
"What do you think the police are doing with Hwoarang?" she asked, changing the topic. The redhead was conspicuously absent from their cell.
"Torturing him?" Jin said hopefully.
"Jin! He saved us twice. He didn't have to."
"I know, I know." Jin's mouth quirked in the ghost of a smile. Actually, torture wasn't all that implausible, considering the trouble Hwoarang had given the police. Three dislocated jaws and one broken nose before the other eight officers managed to cuff him. The phrase 'kicking and screaming' came to mind. Especially the kicking part.
"Hwoarang does have a criminal background. They're probably just questioning him about it," he said, trying to be reassuring. Xiaoyu looked less worried. She fell back into a thoughtful silence.
Jin took the opportunity to study her. She sat straight, hands folded in her lap, looking so neat and obedient against the backdrop of the jail that in a different situation it might've been funny. Only the thing was that Xiaoyu wasn't a neat and obedient person: if she was acting this way, it was because something was . . . wrong.
Of course something is wrong, thought Jin, suddenly furious with himself. I had weeks to adjust to this and you only had one night. You don't belong here, Xiaoyu. Not in prison, and not with me.
"Jin, is something the matter?" she asked, noticing his attention. Xiaoyu's gaze was so caring that Jin ached inside. It made him want to go out and slay dragons, defeat giants, save the world to earn her trust. But over all of this, the question burned in his mind: what had he done to deserve it?
"Nothing," he whispered.
"Oh. You just look. . ." she let the words hang in the air. I look what, wondered Jin, scared? Weak? Like a man who'll ruin you?
Because I'm all those things, Xiaoyu, even if you don't realize it.
"Will I ever be able to convince you to leave?"
She gave him a slow, sad smile.
"You must be exhausted Jin," she said quietly, as though she hadn't heard him, "why don't you get some sleep?"
* * *
"Watch where you put your goddamn hands!" Hwoarang growled at the officer, who unlocked his handcuffs before throwing him into the cell with unnecessary gusto. The Korean picked himself up from the floor, rubbing at sore wrists.
"Opportunistic bastard," he muttered as the officer locked the barred door and left. He gave the bars a hard kick, the metallic ringing minimally satisfying. Seven years living on the streets in the bad side of town, fighting his way to the top to reign over all of the cutthroats before him, and to what end? The Blood Talon, arrested by a bunch of highway patrolmen.
"Oh, Hwoarang. You're back," said Xiaoyu, blinking at him drowsily from the bench.
Hwoarang cocked an eyebrow at the scene: Kazama looked rather comfortable, lying on his back with Xiaoyu's lap as his pillow. Hwoarang thought about commenting, but decided that the Firefly would probably slap him again for his trouble; he didn't know whether he admired her for her spunk or was amused by her foolishness. For some reason, he didn't think it was the latter.
"How the hell can he sleep?" Hwoarang said instead. Xiaoyu shrugged.
"I'm amazed he stayed awake for so long."
They listened to Jin breath, deep and slow. It was soporific just to watch him.
"So what happened?" she asked, tearing her eyes from Jin.
Hwoarang exhaled in a ragged sigh.
"Ironically, they were interrogating me about something that doesn't have anything to do with him." He nodded in Jin's direction.
"Then all of this isn't about the Tekkenshu?" she said quickly, hope in her eyes.
"Sorry Firefly, but I think it was just a lucky coincidence for them to catch me. A two for one deal." And strangely, Hwoarang meant it when he said he was sorry. For all of them.
"Oh."
"There's been a series of murders around town. Random, messy. They suspect me, my group. What's really funny is that I have no idea what they're talking about. Freakin' hilarious," Hwoarang said, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.
"Don't worry, they won't punish an innocent person," Xiaoyu declared with the firm belief born of naivete. Hwoarang stared at her for a moment before laughing once, a harsh bark.
"Don't I wish it were that simple."
"What?"
"They can't find the criminal responsible, so they're looking for the next best thing: a scapegoat. Who better to blame than the notorious Talon?" muttered Hwoarang, bitterness eliminating all possible pride in his words.
"You really hate them," said Xiaoyu in a matter-of-fact tone. She surprised him again, but this time with her insight. Hwoarang leaned against the wall, looking past the bars into the hallway.
"I have reason to." The image came unbidden: Pyo lying in the dirt, a small body broken and bloody. The smell of burning skin.
"My younger brother. . ."
No. He couldn't dwell in past grief, refused to.
"I'm sorry," said Xiaoyu with soft sincerity, somehow understanding. Was he that easy to read? Hwoarang turned his face away in disgust.
"I'd. . . appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that to Kazama." The less people that knew his weaknesses the better.
"Of course not," she said, sounding taken aback.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like morning fog. Hwoarang wanted to fidget, so he made himself still. Waiting did not agree with him.
A sudden sound jangled his nerves. Was she. . . humming?
" 'Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' ?" Hwoarang asked in disbelief.
Xiaoyu shrugged, blushing slightly.
"I can't stand the quiet." She stared at the floor in evident discomfort.
"Too much to think about," murmured Hwoarang. She nodded.
"What do you think's going to happen?" Her eyes on Jin.
"Nothing good," said Hwoarang truthfully, regretting his lack of tact when Xiaoyu's face fell.
"What I mean is, it's going to get worse before it gets better," he amended. Right, because that just sounds so much more comforting. Hwoarang mentally kicked himself. I suck at this, he thought. But then again, when was the last time he had tried to comfort anyone? He couldn't remember.
No, that wasn't true. He could remember: Pyo.
He shook his head. Stop it. Just. . . . stop.
"Um, Hwoarang? Do you still have those Band-Aids?"
He looked up, glad for the distraction. Xiaoyu was carefully turning Jin's head to the side.
"I'm afraid this cut might get infected," she said, leaning down to get an eyeful of the back of Jin's neck. Jin didn't stir: screaming banshees couldn't have woken him now.
Hwoarang dug around in a pocket.
"No, they must still be on him." He walked over to the bench to take a look at the damage; his handiwork, as it were.
The cut was swollen and dark with blood. Hwoarang felt a shade of regret for attacking a defenseless man, even if it was Kazama. But then, didn't he make it up to him? Saved Jin's ass more times than a man can die.
Xiaoyu's sharp intake of air drew his attention. The cut was . . .glowing.
"What the hell?" muttered Hwoarang, as the wound shined silver and then, to his disbelief, began to close on itself, like quicksand. Within seconds, it was gone. Only a faint shimmering line remained, and soon that too faded away.
Xiaoyu ran her fingers over the place where the cut should have been. The skin was unbroken, smooth and perfect.
"How can it be?" she whispered.
Hwoarang struggled to find his voice. He had to quell his instinct to step back, get as far away as possible from this, this. . . anomaly. In the city, 'strange' things happened from time to time, and he'd learned, like everybody else, to look the other way and be wary. The pressing need to survive had long ago subdued his primate curiosity.
"The Devil. It's true," said Xiaoyu, so softly that he almost missed it.
"What?"
"Jin's father- He passed it on. That's why Jin didn't die when Heihachi shot him. ."
"So all that time, he hadn't been hiding." . . .His attempts to hunt Jin down for a rematch-
"He _had_ been hiding. From the Tekkenshu. Hiding and recovering."
"If Jin is what Kazuya was," Hwoarang said slowly, "then the Tekkenshu have more reason to be hiding from _him_."
Xiaoyu bit her lip.
"I don't think It's . . . active in him. It just heals his injuries and makes him stronger, faster. He still acts the same. He's still Jin." Her voice wavered, threatening to crack. Hwoarang stared at Xiaoyu, wondering if she wasn't trying to persuade herself more than anything else.
"Maybe," he finally said, not wanting to upset her any further. "You could be right." And he hoped it was true.
Hwoarang dropped down and sat on the floor, back against the wall. Letting his head lean back, he sighed, and blew a strand of hair off his face.
God, did he hope it was true.
Author's notes:
::astonishment:: I can't believe it: I _finally_ updated. Yay! Happiness!
And it's finally winter break! More happiness!
Exclamation points all around!
!
Okay, I'll stop annoying you guys now ^_^.
Anyways, if you're still reading this, thanks for bearing with me. I know I'm really irregular with posting, but I promise I'm gonna finish this thing, by golly, even if it takes me five years. Although I sincerely hope that it won't ^_^;; .
Wow, I still can't believe it's really winter break now. Winter break = less schoolwork = more Sleepwake = happy Maomi ^_^. Yup, I actually enjoy spending my free time sitting in front of my computer and typing: social life? What's that?
Anyways, happy holidays, everybody! ^^_ (no, that's not a typo, I'm just feeling very Picasso.)
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to set fire to my Calculus book. Then again, the cursed thing probably doesn't burn. =_ =;;
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
"Look on the bright side, Jin, it could be worse," offered Xiaoyu with a weak smile.
"We're sitting in a jail cell and the Tekkenshu want to kill us. How could it be worse?" Jin's voice was muffled by his hands, which covered his face. Faint echoes bounced off the stone walls of the cell.
"We could be dead."
Jin peeked at her through his fingers. She was right, he realized. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. Death was infinitely worse than sitting here beside Xiaoyu on this bolted-down bench, in this silent, drafty cell. But then, when the Tekkenshu came, it wouldn't matter either way.
"Maybe they arrested us for speeding," said Jin, knowing he was grasping at straws. Xiaoyu knew it too. She looked away, and picked a particularly interesting piece of wall to stare at.
"What do you think the police are doing with Hwoarang?" she asked, changing the topic. The redhead was conspicuously absent from their cell.
"Torturing him?" Jin said hopefully.
"Jin! He saved us twice. He didn't have to."
"I know, I know." Jin's mouth quirked in the ghost of a smile. Actually, torture wasn't all that implausible, considering the trouble Hwoarang had given the police. Three dislocated jaws and one broken nose before the other eight officers managed to cuff him. The phrase 'kicking and screaming' came to mind. Especially the kicking part.
"Hwoarang does have a criminal background. They're probably just questioning him about it," he said, trying to be reassuring. Xiaoyu looked less worried. She fell back into a thoughtful silence.
Jin took the opportunity to study her. She sat straight, hands folded in her lap, looking so neat and obedient against the backdrop of the jail that in a different situation it might've been funny. Only the thing was that Xiaoyu wasn't a neat and obedient person: if she was acting this way, it was because something was . . . wrong.
Of course something is wrong, thought Jin, suddenly furious with himself. I had weeks to adjust to this and you only had one night. You don't belong here, Xiaoyu. Not in prison, and not with me.
"Jin, is something the matter?" she asked, noticing his attention. Xiaoyu's gaze was so caring that Jin ached inside. It made him want to go out and slay dragons, defeat giants, save the world to earn her trust. But over all of this, the question burned in his mind: what had he done to deserve it?
"Nothing," he whispered.
"Oh. You just look. . ." she let the words hang in the air. I look what, wondered Jin, scared? Weak? Like a man who'll ruin you?
Because I'm all those things, Xiaoyu, even if you don't realize it.
"Will I ever be able to convince you to leave?"
She gave him a slow, sad smile.
"You must be exhausted Jin," she said quietly, as though she hadn't heard him, "why don't you get some sleep?"
* * *
"Watch where you put your goddamn hands!" Hwoarang growled at the officer, who unlocked his handcuffs before throwing him into the cell with unnecessary gusto. The Korean picked himself up from the floor, rubbing at sore wrists.
"Opportunistic bastard," he muttered as the officer locked the barred door and left. He gave the bars a hard kick, the metallic ringing minimally satisfying. Seven years living on the streets in the bad side of town, fighting his way to the top to reign over all of the cutthroats before him, and to what end? The Blood Talon, arrested by a bunch of highway patrolmen.
"Oh, Hwoarang. You're back," said Xiaoyu, blinking at him drowsily from the bench.
Hwoarang cocked an eyebrow at the scene: Kazama looked rather comfortable, lying on his back with Xiaoyu's lap as his pillow. Hwoarang thought about commenting, but decided that the Firefly would probably slap him again for his trouble; he didn't know whether he admired her for her spunk or was amused by her foolishness. For some reason, he didn't think it was the latter.
"How the hell can he sleep?" Hwoarang said instead. Xiaoyu shrugged.
"I'm amazed he stayed awake for so long."
They listened to Jin breath, deep and slow. It was soporific just to watch him.
"So what happened?" she asked, tearing her eyes from Jin.
Hwoarang exhaled in a ragged sigh.
"Ironically, they were interrogating me about something that doesn't have anything to do with him." He nodded in Jin's direction.
"Then all of this isn't about the Tekkenshu?" she said quickly, hope in her eyes.
"Sorry Firefly, but I think it was just a lucky coincidence for them to catch me. A two for one deal." And strangely, Hwoarang meant it when he said he was sorry. For all of them.
"Oh."
"There's been a series of murders around town. Random, messy. They suspect me, my group. What's really funny is that I have no idea what they're talking about. Freakin' hilarious," Hwoarang said, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.
"Don't worry, they won't punish an innocent person," Xiaoyu declared with the firm belief born of naivete. Hwoarang stared at her for a moment before laughing once, a harsh bark.
"Don't I wish it were that simple."
"What?"
"They can't find the criminal responsible, so they're looking for the next best thing: a scapegoat. Who better to blame than the notorious Talon?" muttered Hwoarang, bitterness eliminating all possible pride in his words.
"You really hate them," said Xiaoyu in a matter-of-fact tone. She surprised him again, but this time with her insight. Hwoarang leaned against the wall, looking past the bars into the hallway.
"I have reason to." The image came unbidden: Pyo lying in the dirt, a small body broken and bloody. The smell of burning skin.
"My younger brother. . ."
No. He couldn't dwell in past grief, refused to.
"I'm sorry," said Xiaoyu with soft sincerity, somehow understanding. Was he that easy to read? Hwoarang turned his face away in disgust.
"I'd. . . appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that to Kazama." The less people that knew his weaknesses the better.
"Of course not," she said, sounding taken aback.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like morning fog. Hwoarang wanted to fidget, so he made himself still. Waiting did not agree with him.
A sudden sound jangled his nerves. Was she. . . humming?
" 'Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' ?" Hwoarang asked in disbelief.
Xiaoyu shrugged, blushing slightly.
"I can't stand the quiet." She stared at the floor in evident discomfort.
"Too much to think about," murmured Hwoarang. She nodded.
"What do you think's going to happen?" Her eyes on Jin.
"Nothing good," said Hwoarang truthfully, regretting his lack of tact when Xiaoyu's face fell.
"What I mean is, it's going to get worse before it gets better," he amended. Right, because that just sounds so much more comforting. Hwoarang mentally kicked himself. I suck at this, he thought. But then again, when was the last time he had tried to comfort anyone? He couldn't remember.
No, that wasn't true. He could remember: Pyo.
He shook his head. Stop it. Just. . . . stop.
"Um, Hwoarang? Do you still have those Band-Aids?"
He looked up, glad for the distraction. Xiaoyu was carefully turning Jin's head to the side.
"I'm afraid this cut might get infected," she said, leaning down to get an eyeful of the back of Jin's neck. Jin didn't stir: screaming banshees couldn't have woken him now.
Hwoarang dug around in a pocket.
"No, they must still be on him." He walked over to the bench to take a look at the damage; his handiwork, as it were.
The cut was swollen and dark with blood. Hwoarang felt a shade of regret for attacking a defenseless man, even if it was Kazama. But then, didn't he make it up to him? Saved Jin's ass more times than a man can die.
Xiaoyu's sharp intake of air drew his attention. The cut was . . .glowing.
"What the hell?" muttered Hwoarang, as the wound shined silver and then, to his disbelief, began to close on itself, like quicksand. Within seconds, it was gone. Only a faint shimmering line remained, and soon that too faded away.
Xiaoyu ran her fingers over the place where the cut should have been. The skin was unbroken, smooth and perfect.
"How can it be?" she whispered.
Hwoarang struggled to find his voice. He had to quell his instinct to step back, get as far away as possible from this, this. . . anomaly. In the city, 'strange' things happened from time to time, and he'd learned, like everybody else, to look the other way and be wary. The pressing need to survive had long ago subdued his primate curiosity.
"The Devil. It's true," said Xiaoyu, so softly that he almost missed it.
"What?"
"Jin's father- He passed it on. That's why Jin didn't die when Heihachi shot him. ."
"So all that time, he hadn't been hiding." . . .His attempts to hunt Jin down for a rematch-
"He _had_ been hiding. From the Tekkenshu. Hiding and recovering."
"If Jin is what Kazuya was," Hwoarang said slowly, "then the Tekkenshu have more reason to be hiding from _him_."
Xiaoyu bit her lip.
"I don't think It's . . . active in him. It just heals his injuries and makes him stronger, faster. He still acts the same. He's still Jin." Her voice wavered, threatening to crack. Hwoarang stared at Xiaoyu, wondering if she wasn't trying to persuade herself more than anything else.
"Maybe," he finally said, not wanting to upset her any further. "You could be right." And he hoped it was true.
Hwoarang dropped down and sat on the floor, back against the wall. Letting his head lean back, he sighed, and blew a strand of hair off his face.
God, did he hope it was true.
Author's notes:
::astonishment:: I can't believe it: I _finally_ updated. Yay! Happiness!
And it's finally winter break! More happiness!
Exclamation points all around!
!
Okay, I'll stop annoying you guys now ^_^.
Anyways, if you're still reading this, thanks for bearing with me. I know I'm really irregular with posting, but I promise I'm gonna finish this thing, by golly, even if it takes me five years. Although I sincerely hope that it won't ^_^;; .
Wow, I still can't believe it's really winter break now. Winter break = less schoolwork = more Sleepwake = happy Maomi ^_^. Yup, I actually enjoy spending my free time sitting in front of my computer and typing: social life? What's that?
Anyways, happy holidays, everybody! ^^_ (no, that's not a typo, I'm just feeling very Picasso.)
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to set fire to my Calculus book. Then again, the cursed thing probably doesn't burn. =_ =;;