Here we are, just two chapters away from completion! Woo hoo for reaching goals!
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Aya relents, actually goes out and buys alcohol for me. Any brand I put on the list, he gets it. Maybe he thinks he can keep me more manageable this way. I stash the goods in our room, sip enough to taint my breath, pour a few cups down the drain on a regular basis. It's easy to act drunk when you've spent a large percent of your life actually being the real thing.
It's a waste of good liquor, but it would be an even bigger waste of my few remaining physical resources to dull all my nerves with it. Aya's spent a lot of time glaring daggers at me and making a point of not being in the room with me. That stings a little, but he'll get over all this.
"Do these clothes make me look fat?" I slur at Aya, having struggled into publicly acceptable clothing bare minutes ago. We're going out again for numerous errands we need to take care of.
Aya frowns. "You're drunk." He states the obvious with his usual dead-on accuracy. Congratulations, we have a winner. Except, he's not the winner. I am. I haven't been this sober in a LONG while. Tomorrow, tomorrow night they go to kill Ko-ishi. And I'll go with them. They just don't know that yet.
I lean in, giving Aya a big sloppy kiss, letting him get a taste of what I've been "drinking". He sighs, letting me, then pushing me away, trying not to act thoroughly disgusted with my behavior. I'm a bit worried about pushing him away for good, and I wouldn't risk it if it weren't for something so utterly important.
"They do, don't they?" I tug at the shirt, pulling it out. I love aggravating people a little too much. "Gods, I'm ruined. I couldn't fit through a window! How can I ever be an assassin again?" I force it to come out as a sort of bereaved moan.
Aya throws a pillow at me and angrily stalks out of the bedroom. Alone finally, I relax a bit, letting the slaphappy smile fade off my face for a moment. That expression was starting to hurt. My cheeks ache.
"Where are we going again?" Downstairs, I throw a comradely arm around Ken's shoulders, laughing at his startled expression.
"Scared the crap out of me, Youji!" He pushes me away. He doesn't like being hung on, even by Omi. I pinch one of his cheeks.
"C'mon, you can tell me, where are we going to again?" I get up into his air space, playing my part to the hilt.
Ken sighs. "They're holding a memorial service for us tomorrow. They think we're dead." He talks slowly, thinking me drunk and therefore stupid as well. "We have to let people know that we're not, so they don't have funerals for us. Then we can disappear without a trace again and not have to worry about explaining away an unexpected return from the dead. It's hard to get things done if you can't access your own bank accounts due to death." He shakes his head, no doubt thinking of all the annoying, sobbing fan girls we've broken the hearts of, now unable to fantasize about becoming one of our girlfriend's.
I nod as if processing the information. I don't go so far as to ask him to outline our plan of action yet another time. It's simple, and I don't want to have to hear it again. We go down to the Police Station, talk with the people in charge of investigating our supposed deaths, clear things up a little. Nothing too well thought out. It doesn't require any effort at this point.
Tired of playing the bumbling drunkard, I slump down on the couch, letting my hair cover my face as I lean forward. I should get a life-like mask, impose it over my features and just FROWN behind it, give my face a break from smiling. I'm starting to hate being happy. It causes physical pain. It really does.
"Don't whine at me when you have a hang-over." Aya's feet appear in front of my line of vision. "Get up. It's time to go." He turns on his heel, disappearing from my sight again. I get up and follow like the good little dog that I am.
- - - - - - - -
"Yeah. So, we just wanted to point out that we're not dead so our over elaborate funeral won't go through tomorrow." Ken explains for about the sixth time to a frowning police officer.
"Why is it again, that none of you showed up here right after learning your home and place of business had been razed to the ground." His frown deepens. He looks more than a little incredulous. Aya's expressionless face and my drunken sniggers immediately put us on his bad side.
"It's a very long story-" Ken starts again, sighing as he acts as spokesperson yet again.
"Does this story explain why he looks like he's been abused by an entire street gang?" The officer gestures at me, frowning as my eyes follow his hand's path with fixed fascination. "And why he's drunk out of his ever-loving fucking mind." That really sets me off laughing. Ever-loving fucking mind? Where does he get it?
Aya positively looms over me. "Shut up and sit still." He does a fairly passable impression of what most people think Satan would look like, complete with terrifying growl and contorted expression of fury. Just for appearances sake, I comply.
"That's why we were out. To get this drunken imbecile's ass back. We ran a flower shop, as I'm sure you know. High school girls would flock there by the dozens with their stupid crushes." Aya steps up, ready with some explanation that will probably far outweigh Ken's tired inventions. "Some girl's brother decided that Youji must have slept with his beloved little sister. He and some of his friends got a hold of him and knocked the crap out of him. While we were gone, someone torched our home."
He's so blank and lifeless I'm afraid he's blown it all for a moment before I see the cop's face relax. "Well, I'm awful sorry about what's happened. I'll go see if Deramb is still in." He leaves the small office to go find yet another person we'll have to repeat all this to. Oh goodie.
It takes another two hours to sort everything out. By the end I'm getting one of those lovely migraines between my eyes, too tired to put forth a front of sodden joviality. They're not paying much attention to me by this point anyway. I made it clear I didn't want to press charges against the guys who'd supposedly beat me, and we made it clear that we couldn't identify any of the fictitious characters who supposedly decimation our property. I slump in a corner, wanting to go, wanting some food in my stomach. I'm getting spoiled in that department.
By the end of the first hour of their callous questions and endless prying, Omi was 'emotionally overwhelmed'. He sits next to me now, head bowed, body shivering. I'm not sure if he's faking it or not. He's a fairly talented actor. Either way, his outburst seems to have made a good impression on everyone who saw it. Apologies flew think through the air for the next few minutes.
"It's not a problem. We'll contact everyone involved with your upcoming memorial." Detective Deramb is telling us. He's young to be in such a high position, clear skin, bright expectant eyes. Maybe 27, 28 year old. Naïve, I'd say. He sat us down to explain to us that it was no accident that the building went up like a Christmas tree. He could clearly see signs of arson during his tour of the gutted wreck that once was our humble abode. We all bite our tongues to keep from rudely 'explaining' to him that we KNOW all of this already.
When asked to produce a list of possible suspects we play dumb and tell him with wide eyes that we couldn't think of anyone that would do something so horrible to us. It seems to work. At about six o' clock on the dot, they let us leave after obtaining our new address in case they have any further questions. Deramb pats Omi on the shoulder before we leave, sympathy written in bold letters across his kind face.
"Can we eat now?" The words are out of my mouth before my feet hit the pavement. "I'm going to starve here if I don't get something in my stomach." Omi looks up and agrees. He smiles at me. He was faking it, the little brat. I cuff him lightly. "Good show, tricking us all."
He falls into step beside me as Ken and Aya go over details a few feet ahead. "Almost as good as you, eh Youji?" He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I stop breathing.
"I'm afraid I'm not following you." I tell him, hoping he's not saying what I think he is.
"I won't tell them. I know you were pretending to be drunk. I know you're probably planning on following after us two nights from now when we go after Ko-ishi. I won't tell them. You're a grown up, you can make your own decisions." He sighs. "I wish you wouldn't though. You're going to get hurt somehow. You're still slow, injured." He links his elbow around my closest arm, looking up at me as we walk. "I really wish you wouldn't."
I thousand things flash through my mind at once, all of them wanting to be voiced immediately. "How?" Is all I can manage.
"How did I know you were acting? I'm perceptive like that. Also, I've lived in the same building as you for a long while. I know what you're like when you're absolutely smashed, and it's very similar to what you were doing, but different." He struggles to explain. "Underneath the laughter and reeling about there was an almost visible streak of cunning. You're never calculating when you're really drunk. When you're really drunk you're either absolutely, hysterically amused, or depressed and upset. There's never anything concealed underneath it, there's no middle line."
Ken slows down, waiting for us to catch up. Omi lets go of my arm. "Please listen to me. It's going to be dangerous for you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a family, you and Ken and Aya. I don't want you to die." He squeezes my hand and then transfers his glomp to Ken.
"Ken! We're hungry!" He does that "BIG EYES" thing and Ken practically melts. I don't blame him. He was doing that to me the whole time and I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Gods. He knows but he won't tell. He could still slip up though. My mind runs ahead, trying to recalculate things to my satisfaction.
After piling into the car we spend only a few moments discussing where we want to eat. Aya's driving, so it's ultimately up to him, we decide. I don't think he cares either way. He goes back to where we ate only a few days before, not being one to try for spontaneity.
This time no one complains about my eating too little, stuffing myself to the point of pure gluttony as I do. We head back out to the car, start to head back home.
I'm the one who notices the bright sky first. "Hehe, looks like someone's having a big old barbecue up ahead." I laugh.
Then I stop. Our street is blocked off by police tape, people hovering all around, watching whatever spectacle is occurring up ahead. I dash out of the car before anyone can stop me, run up to the blockade.
"What the fuck is going on?" I grab a hold of the first person in a uniform I can find. Sirens up ahead. I see a fire truck. Several of them. Something major is on fire. A building perhaps.
"There's a fire." He tells me as if I'm beyond stupid. "You're not supposed to cross the tape." He scowls at me, thinking me to be another morbid spectator.
"I FUCKING LIVE HERE! WHAT HOUSE IS ON FIRE!?" I'm shaking him. Arms pry me away; I whirl, ready to knock someone's teeth out. Aya frowns back at me.
"It's not us." He assures me.
No, the firefighter I was shaking a few moments ago agrees. Then he gives us the address of the house that's really burning. A direct match. I do punch Aya then, seeing his lip spread and then split under my fist, blood immediately staining his chin.
No one stops me as I rush towards the source of the glow. Deramb himself comes after me. The pretty boy cop from earlier. What the hell is he here for? To satisfy his curiosity? To watch something burn?
"That's my fucking house!" I yell at him, voice all but drowned out by sirens.
"Coming up with any suspects now?" His words fall on deaf ears. I walk until I can see it all. Until I can watch my new sanctuary burn. It's like getting the chance I never had with the shop. People scramble to put it out, with their foam and their water. It's too late for. Even I can see that.
"Youji." Soft words behind me. All of them behind me, watching with me. I feel numb. Empty. I'm not safe anywhere, am I? I can't count on a haven where I can lay my head down. Someone wants us dead. Someone burnt down our home. Two times.
"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCKFUCK!" I yell, slamming my fists into the side of a labeled truck, feeling my knuckles make interesting cracking noises. I sink to my knees, forehead pressed to the achingly cold side of the vehicle, throbbing fists grinding into the paved road under me. How could this have happened? Why didn't I see it coming? I should have known something bad would happen. When doesn't something horrible happen these days?
Omi is shouting. The words don't register anymore than Deramb's did to my cotton filled mind. I stand back up, unsure of what I'm going to do. I look at the flames, look at the glowing orange sky. Aya stands alone, as far from everyone else as he can get, staring at the same things I am. Suddenly I don't want to see it anymore. I push back past all the people I came by on my way towards the pyre, open the car, climb into the back seat. Sit there, sirens and raised human voices muffled squeals and rumbles.
If only I could pass the rest of my life this way, muffled from anything too forceful or two unsettling to cope with. After a while, Aya comes to find me, climbs into the back seat as well, takes one of my hands in his, chilling me, but cooling the pain with the same efficiency of ice. We sit, listening to the mere murmur of chaos outside.
----
No one comes into the bathroom to bother me. They couldn't have even if they'd wanted too. I locked the door. I don't want someone in here watching me repeatedly throw up. All that food I'd crammed into my stomach is going to waste. I cannot even stop to think, or my stomach starts to roil again.
My eyes water and burn from the strain, limbs trembling beneath me as I lean against the tub. Stupid fucking hotels. I hate them. Too many one night stands. Too many mornings like this present evening. Vomiting up my guts after a night of drunken revelry. Only this time I'm not smashed, and it's not even morning yet. I'm so tee-totaled that it hurts. I press my forehead against the side of the tub. Cold, like his hands. I'm starting to wish someone would come and see if I'm okay. Or is everyone as wrapped up in themselves as I currently am?
I wait. My stomach calms down. I'm a fucking idiot. The house I'm living in is burn to the ground for a second time and I cope with it by throwing up. What kind of idiot am I? I should be plotting revenge, tracking down the culprits, raging and venting. Instead I throw up repeatedly.
Even the bland water from the tap tastes metallic like blood in my mouth. I rub a damp hand across my eyes, wiping away tears from my bloodshot, watering eyes. Silence greets me outside the safety of the bathroom.
There are only two people in the room when there should be three. There is only one room available, the man at the front desk had informed us. Some sort of game in town tomorrow, don't you know? Aya argues. No positive response is forthcoming. We stick with the one room, too tired to find another less occupied hotel.
There were two double beds in the one room. We hadn't even thought to ask about that, picturing the four of us crowded into one small bed, too tired to be amused or annoyed by the mental image.
Ken and Omi sit together, swathed in blankets on one bed. No one else.
"Where's Aya?" I ask dully, looking around, wondering if he's perhaps hiding beneath one of the beds.
Omi's asleep against Ken's shoulder; his closed eyes are about all that show, the rest of his face hidden by the coverlet.
"He's not here. He went out."
No shit. If he's not here, he must be out somewhere else.
"He didn't tell me." Ken shifts around, making sure not to wake Omi.
I sigh. Look around. Gods, why isn't he here? I didn't know it was possible to feel this lost and alone. The empty bed across the room mocks me. You aren't going to sleep here all alone, are you? Because no one bothers to stick around? Nothing is permanent.
My feet move towards the already occupied bed. Without asking, I crawl across the mattress, push the blankets on Ken's side away, cross my legs and lean against his side. Human contact. It's all okay. Aya isn't here, but we're all okay. Just as always. Shattered into a million pieces, but still breathing.
His arm comes up almost as a reflex around my waist. I pull the blankets back around us, sitting with them. It's too scary to lie down. Flat on your back and vulnerable. Sitting, you can still spring to your feet to escape the dropping guillotine blade, the licking flames.
"Did he say where he was going to? Any guesses?" I whisper softy, mission style against his ear, consonants soft. Omi sleeps on, the sleep of the exhausted righteous. I don't think I'll ever sleep again.
I stop shivering as our body heat reclaims the space under the blankets, and the vomiting induced shakes finally recede. His rough warm hand on my side, soft breaths from the sleeper. I keep raw eyes on the door, waiting for him to return. Eventually, Ken nods off, head leaning against Omi's blonde one. I promise myself that I won't give in. Someone has to keep watch. Someone has to be up and awake in case something bad happens.
I fail. The next thing I know, I'm curled up on my side being awoken by the slightest of sounds, the door is opening almost noiselessly, footsteps padded on the carpet. I tense up, ready to say the word to wake the other two if it's not who I desperately hope it to be.
Red hair peeks around the doorway; hand on the katana at his waist. I blink again. Their weapons were all in the building. He must have gotten a new one. He sets down a dark bag on the floor, gently shutting the door. He spots me.
Ken mumbles as I disentangle myself, never opening his eyes. They're exhausted, claiming much deserved sleep. Why are we always so tired? Is that our burden? Absorbing the forfeited lives we steal?
Aya smells of smoke as I engulf him in a desperate embrace. "Where have you BEEN?" I growl in his ear, arms tighter around him than I wanted them to be. I feel desperate, clingy. I thought I was supposed to be on a new independent kick.
"Had to retrieve our weapons from the safety box." He whispers back, not bothering to elaborate. He lets some of his weight rest against my body, swaying on his feet. I press my forehead to his, breathing in the same air.
"Did you go back to the house?"
Even softer. "It's just the same. Nothing was salvaged. Nothing was spared." He looks so worn down, defeated. He only used to have that look when he'd come back from day-long trips all on his lonesome. When he'd be visiting his sister, I'm assuming. A sudden rush of trepidation strikes me.
"Aya? Your sister?" I immediately dread repercussions. If he has been, and she's not okay, if she's gone, or dead, how will he react? It's not as if he'd tell me without prompting that anything was wrong.
"This evening. I went. She's okay." Halting but calming in its expected expressionless tones. By this point, most of his weight in propped up against me, unable to even keep on his feet. He looks so fucking tired.
"Which bed?" That's my only question. The made up bed across from us looks harsh and uninviting. Lonely.
I watch as he toes off his boots, simply drops his coat on the floor. He must be about ready to collapse. I've never really seen him less than fastidious when it comes to neatness. One by one his garments are shucked off, left in a pile around his feet. He stops at boxers, moves past me without making eye contact, stands looking at the untouched bed.
Ken and Omi are already warm, the air underneath the blankets a nice soothing temperature. Being surrounded by human flesh on all sides sounds fairly pleasant to me at this point. It's obvious by the look on Aya's face that he'd much rather be cold and alone then in a bed with three other people. Standoffish asshole. I'm cold and tired, and I know they won't mind in the slightest.
I turn away, pulling off the stiff material of my shirt, keeping the pants on. Gods, it's always so cold. Hotel rooms specifically. Their heaters are geared to displease. Either it's ice cold, or its' desert hot.
Aya presents his back to me; shoulders slumped, standing in front of that fucking creepy bed. Gods, I'm doing that mental thing again. Even I realize that by now. Adding human characteristics to inanimate objects. That doesn't stop the feelings though.
"Aya?" I hold out a hand when he turns around. "It's cold over there."
He doesn't shiver like I do, the cold in my bones more mind induced than physical discomfort.
"It's just as cold over here." He stubbornly points out, whispering much as I do, a watchful eye on both our teammates.
He would never do something as weak and human as that, depend on someone else. I bet even as a child he was the sort who would lie in the dark, trembling after a horrible nightmare, rather than run to someone for comfort. A weakness, needing other people.
I need other people. I think I'd die without them. People would forget me, and then I'd be nothing, no one. Dust in the wind. No, don't worry. I won't start singing that song just now.
He pushes the covers back, lies down right next to the wall, facing away from us. Set in his misery. Alone.
The sigh is too loud to stifle. Taking one last look at the comforting tangle of limbs on the other side of the room, I slide between the glacial sheets. I hate cold sheets, being an avid worshipper of electric blankets myself. He jumps when I crowd up against his back. He's going to have to provide all the body heat then, I'm holding him to that expectation.
"You don't have to." He mumbles, body strung tight with tension, offended dignity. "If you'd much rather-"
"I'd much rather it was the four of us. I'm cold. I'm tired of things always fucking up. I'm tired of being alone. Tired of everything." I trail off.
"I am certainly not going to-" He rolls over, indignant.
I cut him off before he can start ranting and waking everyone up. "I know. I didn't really expect you to. That's why I'm here. You always play the loner. I bet even you get tired of being alone though. It's no shame." I reposition his arms around me to my liking.
"Mmmm, warm." I purr, making the best of things. He's back and he's safe. And damn but his skin is warm. I almost smile for the first time this evening. Then his hands curl against my back. I clench my teeth to stop the yelp. "You and those hands! Wear fucking gloves." I reach around, pry his hands away from the small of my back, make a point of pushing them back towards him.
A soft chuckle leaves his throat. I prop myself up on one elbow, leaning over him, hair trailing in my eyes. His eyes close as I lean in, the tips of my hair brushing across his face. They flutter back open when I drop a kiss onto his forehead.
Overwhelming feelings rush me, looking down at his slightly startled expression. Does it really confuse him that much when I do something that's simply nice or caring?
"Ah, what would I do without you?" I whisper against his skin, tucking neglected hands against my chest in a gesture of apology. "You really should wear gloves though."
I tuck his head under my chin, feeling old and protective for a moment.
"Tomorrow night." He murmurs.
"You're still going to try and kill him?"
"Even more than before, he has to pay. I will see him burn in hell." The words are spoken as an ultimatum. I sigh and rub my cheek on the top of his head.
"Go to sleep, you make me tired."
I stay awake to watch him sleep, all funned out for the day, not really tired at all. Several days of bed rest have sapped the need to sleep from me, I guess. There's little to do but watch through the night into the early morning.
My foot is cold. My foot is very, very cold. That could be what finally wakes me from another accidental doze, either that, or the very, very hot mouth sucking on my earlobe. I mentally wish for luck and hope I won't be coming back to one of my more bizarre situations. I slide cautious fingertips along the face I find next to mine, unable to see in the absolute dark of the room.
"Morning." A sleepy kiss is pressed to my lips. Things slowly trickle back into my mind as I settle down next to a blissfully warm body. Yesterday, the days before. I hate waking up. One moment you're all warm and content, thoughtless; the next your head is full of a bunch of things you'd rather not ever think of again. That's why I'm considering forgoing sleep forever.
I kick at the covers, trying to get some heat to thaw out the foot I've had hanging off the edge of the bed for who knows how many hours. Lacking any better idea, I roll over, pressing my numb toes to the back of his calf. He doesn't complain. He has no room to.
"How long have you been awake?" I mumble against his collarbone, making myself as small as I possibly can, reveling in the smothering warmth all around me. Did I mention how much I like being warm?
"An hour or two."
"What time is it?" I'm facing away from the clock I'm sure must be on the nightstand between the two beds. There are always clocks in hotel rooms. Clocks and bad heating systems. Gods. That mattress on the floor was pretty comfortable. There were uncovered windows too, with moonlight and sunlight, not this stifling blackness. I'd open up the curtains... but I'd get cold as soon as I left the bed.
"Early."
Thanks for the help, Aya. It's early. "To early for me. I'm going back to sleep." And, feeling hugely justified, I do just that.
The next time I jolt into awareness, he's climbing over me, trying to get off the bed without waking me. He sees my opened eyes, my glare. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."
I push him off the bed, pulling covers back over my head, listening to his muffled cursing. Serves him right. If you're going to sleep with a late riser, you must rise late yourself, or face the consequences. I will not let him corrupt me with his sleeplessness.
The shower runs after a few moments, barely audible behind the closed door. Ken moans something unintelligible.
"What?" I push the covers back.
"I blame you." He says, moments before a well-thrown pillow hits me square in the face. Spluttering, I sit up; throw the pillow back at him. Accidentally bean a still slumbering Omi on the head. He wakes up swinging. Literally.
"Wha?" Ken catches Omi's fist in midair, laughing uproariously. For a moment, it's just any other morning, nothing horrible on our minds. It's disturbing in a nice sort of way. Omi smiles, that huge adorable grin I haven't seen in a while, picking up the pillow and pounding Ken with it. "Nice way to wake a guy up!" He pretends to rage.
After receiving several facefulls of pillow, Ken manages to gasp out my culpability. Omi dashes to retribution and without thinking, I grab up Aya's pillow, muscles moving in that old familiar fight-dance. He counters, and suddenly it's a full on pillow-fight between the three of us. A free for all. None of yesterday exists. It's all okay.
Then Aya stomps out of the bathroom, wearing last night's clothes again, hair damp, face set and definitely unpleased. We immediately fall silent, guilty children, having laughed in the face of tragedy. I feel like I should bow my head and scuff my toe. Instead I steel myself for any upcoming repercussions and smack Aya upside his head with the pillow still dangling from my hands. I for one plan on kicking depression's ass.
Aya steps back, growls and tackles me, pummeling me with the stuffed rectangle for all it's worth, heedless of my busted up ribs, I swallow the pain like so much annoyance. After a moment of startled staring as I attempt to fight back, Omi and Ken jump into the fray, brandishing pillows with a vengeance.
By the time we finally wind up collapsed on the floor in a panting heap, it's a wonder that no one is banging on the wall telling us to shut up. I can barely catch my breath from laughing so hard. My sides ache from over exertion of healing body parts, but it's a good sort of ache, not the sickly pain of infection.
Aya rests his head on my stomach, both of us sprawled out on the limited floor space. The corner of his mouth is lifted just the slightest bit, an almost smile. The place I was living after having been tortured and brutally raped multiple times burnt down the night before, and I'm laughing. I must be insane or emotionally disturbed.
Apparently the others are starting to think the same things, the grins fading away to untimely demises.
"I shouldn't have been laughing. Things aren't exactly funny right now." Omi sighs, looking beyond guilty.
"What have we had to laugh about lately?" I point out. "Stop feeling guilty. Laughing at inappropriate times about inane things is better than moping or committing suicide or some other such dreary reaction." Aya's head rises and falls with each one of my exhaled and inhaled breaths.
Ken shrugs. "I do feel a bit better, actually." He admits after a few moments. "It's like something has been lifted from the air, some hanging oppression." His posture sags. "We are still down by another home, without belongings or a safe place to live."
"Tomorrow night, as planned." Aya speaks up.
"You cannot possibly mean to carry on with that!" Ken sits up, startled.
"The persecution will not stop until Ko-ishi is dead. He's behind all this; he's been behind everything happening recently. How can any of us sleep safe at night knowing he's out there, ready to burn, to kill at any given moment. Next time he may not be nice enough to wait until we're all not home." I immediately take up Aya's side. Not because I'm all-supportive now that I'm sleeping with him. I really just want to kill Ko-ishi. You can't blame me though. It's not like you didn't already know how self-serving I can be.
Ken sighs, unhappy again. "You're right. I don't want you to be, but you are. I'm assuming you've already gone and picked up our weapons and the like?"
"Speaking of which, what exactly is going on with that?" I bust in.
"They weren't stored at the house, no incriminating evidence was supposed to be in that home in case of something like tonight. We left them with One-Eye."
One-Eye should actually be called No-Eye. He's missing one, torn out with a fishinghook, or so the story goes, and he's blind from cataracts in the other. He's one of our main contacts for illegally procuring many of the implements needed in the assassination business. He's a tad eccentric and more than a little frightening, but he owns at least one of everything.
"Could he fix up another watch for me, with my wire inside it?" I too sit up, sending Aya thumping to the floor. "One-Eye'd have something similar in stock, would he? If all else fails, a gun with a silencer will do the trick. I lost my watch way back when." I gesture with a hand, knowing they'll all know when it is I lost my weapon.
"There's a whole day to get things done before night falls." Aya replies in his usual semi-cryptic manner. He says nothing about my still being banned from tonight's excursion. Maybe it's finally hit home for him, bringing down Ko-ishi is more important than attempting to protect me.
"I have dibs on the shower!" I jump up, hobbling towards the shower when my limbs refuse to catch onto the enthusiasm.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Well, I can get you all this, but it'll take some time. Or some adequate compensation." One-Eye's being somewhat sane today. Either a cause for worry, or relief. He's usually only full of coherent sentences when he's plotting against you. He's ratted us out to major corporations many a times, but there are no hard feelings. He's a neutral force unless you offer him a large enough settlement, then he's all yours. He's useful though.
"We have no time to spare, but we have a surplus of money." Aya thumps down a duffle bag on the counter in front of the old man; it's obvious from the weighted thump that it's full of something solid and heavy, paper. Money.
One-Eye gimps past us, turns the "Open" sign on the door over, locking the entrance while he's at it. "You have my attention."
We give him a repeat of the list of things we need. Everything has been wiped out, except for the clothes on our backs and the like, we're essentially bereft of all necessary items. A wire for me, communication units, small and soundless, night goggles for the lot of us, though some of us have better developed night vision than others. One-Eye even has reflector suits in stock. Reflector suits: sort of glorified cat suits in their own right. The material they're made of all but absorbs light, sending off nothing but darkness, bouncing back even delicate alarm laser lines. I personally have never needed one, having stealth and common sense enough all on my own, but One-Eye assures us we'll need them. Aya asks for explosives. I don't bother wondering why.
"I know who you'll be needing all these pretty toys for. The ones that have burnt your bases down, the ones that wait by your doorstep at night for the slightest slip up. They live in a fortress. You'll not get by with anything less than the best of protection."
I wonder how he knows these things. He once tried to tell me the loss of his sight made him some sort of oracle or another. Bull shit. I told him I thought so, and laughing he'd made some obscure comment and gone onto another topic. He always knows what we're up to. I think we're in all likelihood some of the more amusing customers he has, most of them being personality-less yuppies, certainly not the paragons of death that we are.
Heaving a sigh Aya asks the important question. "And how much is this all going to cost?"
"I'm a poor old man, I need expensive medicines, a roof over my head. Such a tired old man." He moans, his way of trying to dredge pity out of our unsympathetic hearts. Unsympathetic for a reason. He has enough money to not only retire on, but to retire to a nice tropical island with a few hundred nubile young girls if he so desired. He's not going to get any poor-old-man-ing out of me.
"How much?" I press, stepping forward, not that he could see me doing it anyway.
"Calculated costs come out to be a bundle." He slides a hand written estimate across the counter top, every object's price written out and then totaled up. The handwriting is a tad unintelligible (give him a break, the man's blind), but the final figure at the bottom certainly isn't unclear. More than we'd get paid for a complicated, all night affair from desperate men. More than I've certainly ever made in a night's work.
"Cash or account transfer?" Aya calmly asks, finalizing the deal without even a blink. I forget how single-minded Mr. Revenge can get sometimes. I'm not sure, but I think I like that in a man.
"Oh, cash would be JUUSSST fine by me." He shows us a gap toothed grin.
Aya spends a good ten minutes counting out the final amount. I decide not to ask when he managed to procure a bag full of bills. One of those things I'm better off not asking. In a matter of seconds, One-Eye has it run through a cash counting machine, which verbally verifies the required amount. He smiles again.
"Come back in half an hour and I'll have everything ready for you." He takes a few smooth bills off the top of the neat stack on his front counter, holding the money out to Aya. "You boys go out and have a nice lunch, a treat from Uncle One-Eye." He smiles again, showing even more of his blackened gums. Any thief and murder would be proud to call him kin. He's a devious old bugger. I shake his hand in parting.
We go out to get some food, but not with the old man's money. Aya put that back on top of the stack on the front counter. It'll be gone when we get back anyway, gods knows where he'll stuff all that paper money. He's a bizarre one.
When we stop back he's got two small suitcases packed up and ready for us. We don't insult him by opening them and checking through them. That would be just plain rude. He's trustworthy; he has our money, doesn't he?
We check into a new hotel to make ourselves a bit less of a target, run back out to buy suitcases of our own and a few changeable pairs of clothes. On a whim I pick up some vodka for tomorrow morning when I get home. I'm thinking it's going to be one of those time when only passing out will get my mind to shut down, my body to wind down to a manageable level.
Omi whips up some coffee on the complimentary coffee-machine in the hotel room. I'm glad, I'm going to need all the energy I can get. We only have two cups in the room to go with the two beds. I'm the only one who's willing to go and get two more cups. Lazy dopes.
The hallways are like ice, and my hands are cold when I get back. Aya hands over his untouched cup of coffee without a word, taking one of the proffered empty Styrofoam cups. Bitter coffee. I don't bother to sweeten the dark liquid. It's not worth it. After gulping down another cup, I sit down to hash things out one last time. I don't want a Reader's Digest summary from Omi this time.
Fifteen minutes later my mind is swimming a few feet above my head. Gods, I'm tired, disjointed. It's cold in here, making me lethargic, discombobulated. I slump to the side, resting my head on Aya's shoulder, waiting for the spell to past. Fucking hell, why hasn't that coffee kicked in yet.
"You look tired, Youji. Why don't you take a nap. We'll wake you up when it's time to go." Omi gnaws on his lower lips, eyes doing that sad and old thing again. Oh gods.
"No!" I stand up, legs unsteady underneath me. Gods, I've been drugged before, why didn't I notice- "Aya?!" I whirl, not knowing what to expect on his face.
Nothing. His eyes and face are carefully schooled, nothing revealed at all.
"It was necessary." He tells me. He manages to stand and deflect the punch I aim at his face. The fucking son of a bitch!
"Necessary! I was fine until you put that shit in my coffee, or however you did it! You need four people. You son of a bitch!" Nothing but rage now. He betrayed me. It doesn't matter that I wouldn't have listened to him and gone after them anyway. He fucking drugged me, doesn't trust me, deceived me.
He lets go of my arms when I don't take another swing at him. Everything whirls wildly around me as my quickly beating heart speeds the tranquilizer throughout my body. I push away from him, refusing to look at those guiltless, expressionless eyes again.
Things start to fuzz out as I fall to my knees.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, I bet no one saw that coming. -laughs- akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aya relents, actually goes out and buys alcohol for me. Any brand I put on the list, he gets it. Maybe he thinks he can keep me more manageable this way. I stash the goods in our room, sip enough to taint my breath, pour a few cups down the drain on a regular basis. It's easy to act drunk when you've spent a large percent of your life actually being the real thing.
It's a waste of good liquor, but it would be an even bigger waste of my few remaining physical resources to dull all my nerves with it. Aya's spent a lot of time glaring daggers at me and making a point of not being in the room with me. That stings a little, but he'll get over all this.
"Do these clothes make me look fat?" I slur at Aya, having struggled into publicly acceptable clothing bare minutes ago. We're going out again for numerous errands we need to take care of.
Aya frowns. "You're drunk." He states the obvious with his usual dead-on accuracy. Congratulations, we have a winner. Except, he's not the winner. I am. I haven't been this sober in a LONG while. Tomorrow, tomorrow night they go to kill Ko-ishi. And I'll go with them. They just don't know that yet.
I lean in, giving Aya a big sloppy kiss, letting him get a taste of what I've been "drinking". He sighs, letting me, then pushing me away, trying not to act thoroughly disgusted with my behavior. I'm a bit worried about pushing him away for good, and I wouldn't risk it if it weren't for something so utterly important.
"They do, don't they?" I tug at the shirt, pulling it out. I love aggravating people a little too much. "Gods, I'm ruined. I couldn't fit through a window! How can I ever be an assassin again?" I force it to come out as a sort of bereaved moan.
Aya throws a pillow at me and angrily stalks out of the bedroom. Alone finally, I relax a bit, letting the slaphappy smile fade off my face for a moment. That expression was starting to hurt. My cheeks ache.
"Where are we going again?" Downstairs, I throw a comradely arm around Ken's shoulders, laughing at his startled expression.
"Scared the crap out of me, Youji!" He pushes me away. He doesn't like being hung on, even by Omi. I pinch one of his cheeks.
"C'mon, you can tell me, where are we going to again?" I get up into his air space, playing my part to the hilt.
Ken sighs. "They're holding a memorial service for us tomorrow. They think we're dead." He talks slowly, thinking me drunk and therefore stupid as well. "We have to let people know that we're not, so they don't have funerals for us. Then we can disappear without a trace again and not have to worry about explaining away an unexpected return from the dead. It's hard to get things done if you can't access your own bank accounts due to death." He shakes his head, no doubt thinking of all the annoying, sobbing fan girls we've broken the hearts of, now unable to fantasize about becoming one of our girlfriend's.
I nod as if processing the information. I don't go so far as to ask him to outline our plan of action yet another time. It's simple, and I don't want to have to hear it again. We go down to the Police Station, talk with the people in charge of investigating our supposed deaths, clear things up a little. Nothing too well thought out. It doesn't require any effort at this point.
Tired of playing the bumbling drunkard, I slump down on the couch, letting my hair cover my face as I lean forward. I should get a life-like mask, impose it over my features and just FROWN behind it, give my face a break from smiling. I'm starting to hate being happy. It causes physical pain. It really does.
"Don't whine at me when you have a hang-over." Aya's feet appear in front of my line of vision. "Get up. It's time to go." He turns on his heel, disappearing from my sight again. I get up and follow like the good little dog that I am.
- - - - - - - -
"Yeah. So, we just wanted to point out that we're not dead so our over elaborate funeral won't go through tomorrow." Ken explains for about the sixth time to a frowning police officer.
"Why is it again, that none of you showed up here right after learning your home and place of business had been razed to the ground." His frown deepens. He looks more than a little incredulous. Aya's expressionless face and my drunken sniggers immediately put us on his bad side.
"It's a very long story-" Ken starts again, sighing as he acts as spokesperson yet again.
"Does this story explain why he looks like he's been abused by an entire street gang?" The officer gestures at me, frowning as my eyes follow his hand's path with fixed fascination. "And why he's drunk out of his ever-loving fucking mind." That really sets me off laughing. Ever-loving fucking mind? Where does he get it?
Aya positively looms over me. "Shut up and sit still." He does a fairly passable impression of what most people think Satan would look like, complete with terrifying growl and contorted expression of fury. Just for appearances sake, I comply.
"That's why we were out. To get this drunken imbecile's ass back. We ran a flower shop, as I'm sure you know. High school girls would flock there by the dozens with their stupid crushes." Aya steps up, ready with some explanation that will probably far outweigh Ken's tired inventions. "Some girl's brother decided that Youji must have slept with his beloved little sister. He and some of his friends got a hold of him and knocked the crap out of him. While we were gone, someone torched our home."
He's so blank and lifeless I'm afraid he's blown it all for a moment before I see the cop's face relax. "Well, I'm awful sorry about what's happened. I'll go see if Deramb is still in." He leaves the small office to go find yet another person we'll have to repeat all this to. Oh goodie.
It takes another two hours to sort everything out. By the end I'm getting one of those lovely migraines between my eyes, too tired to put forth a front of sodden joviality. They're not paying much attention to me by this point anyway. I made it clear I didn't want to press charges against the guys who'd supposedly beat me, and we made it clear that we couldn't identify any of the fictitious characters who supposedly decimation our property. I slump in a corner, wanting to go, wanting some food in my stomach. I'm getting spoiled in that department.
By the end of the first hour of their callous questions and endless prying, Omi was 'emotionally overwhelmed'. He sits next to me now, head bowed, body shivering. I'm not sure if he's faking it or not. He's a fairly talented actor. Either way, his outburst seems to have made a good impression on everyone who saw it. Apologies flew think through the air for the next few minutes.
"It's not a problem. We'll contact everyone involved with your upcoming memorial." Detective Deramb is telling us. He's young to be in such a high position, clear skin, bright expectant eyes. Maybe 27, 28 year old. Naïve, I'd say. He sat us down to explain to us that it was no accident that the building went up like a Christmas tree. He could clearly see signs of arson during his tour of the gutted wreck that once was our humble abode. We all bite our tongues to keep from rudely 'explaining' to him that we KNOW all of this already.
When asked to produce a list of possible suspects we play dumb and tell him with wide eyes that we couldn't think of anyone that would do something so horrible to us. It seems to work. At about six o' clock on the dot, they let us leave after obtaining our new address in case they have any further questions. Deramb pats Omi on the shoulder before we leave, sympathy written in bold letters across his kind face.
"Can we eat now?" The words are out of my mouth before my feet hit the pavement. "I'm going to starve here if I don't get something in my stomach." Omi looks up and agrees. He smiles at me. He was faking it, the little brat. I cuff him lightly. "Good show, tricking us all."
He falls into step beside me as Ken and Aya go over details a few feet ahead. "Almost as good as you, eh Youji?" He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I stop breathing.
"I'm afraid I'm not following you." I tell him, hoping he's not saying what I think he is.
"I won't tell them. I know you were pretending to be drunk. I know you're probably planning on following after us two nights from now when we go after Ko-ishi. I won't tell them. You're a grown up, you can make your own decisions." He sighs. "I wish you wouldn't though. You're going to get hurt somehow. You're still slow, injured." He links his elbow around my closest arm, looking up at me as we walk. "I really wish you wouldn't."
I thousand things flash through my mind at once, all of them wanting to be voiced immediately. "How?" Is all I can manage.
"How did I know you were acting? I'm perceptive like that. Also, I've lived in the same building as you for a long while. I know what you're like when you're absolutely smashed, and it's very similar to what you were doing, but different." He struggles to explain. "Underneath the laughter and reeling about there was an almost visible streak of cunning. You're never calculating when you're really drunk. When you're really drunk you're either absolutely, hysterically amused, or depressed and upset. There's never anything concealed underneath it, there's no middle line."
Ken slows down, waiting for us to catch up. Omi lets go of my arm. "Please listen to me. It's going to be dangerous for you. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a family, you and Ken and Aya. I don't want you to die." He squeezes my hand and then transfers his glomp to Ken.
"Ken! We're hungry!" He does that "BIG EYES" thing and Ken practically melts. I don't blame him. He was doing that to me the whole time and I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Gods. He knows but he won't tell. He could still slip up though. My mind runs ahead, trying to recalculate things to my satisfaction.
After piling into the car we spend only a few moments discussing where we want to eat. Aya's driving, so it's ultimately up to him, we decide. I don't think he cares either way. He goes back to where we ate only a few days before, not being one to try for spontaneity.
This time no one complains about my eating too little, stuffing myself to the point of pure gluttony as I do. We head back out to the car, start to head back home.
I'm the one who notices the bright sky first. "Hehe, looks like someone's having a big old barbecue up ahead." I laugh.
Then I stop. Our street is blocked off by police tape, people hovering all around, watching whatever spectacle is occurring up ahead. I dash out of the car before anyone can stop me, run up to the blockade.
"What the fuck is going on?" I grab a hold of the first person in a uniform I can find. Sirens up ahead. I see a fire truck. Several of them. Something major is on fire. A building perhaps.
"There's a fire." He tells me as if I'm beyond stupid. "You're not supposed to cross the tape." He scowls at me, thinking me to be another morbid spectator.
"I FUCKING LIVE HERE! WHAT HOUSE IS ON FIRE!?" I'm shaking him. Arms pry me away; I whirl, ready to knock someone's teeth out. Aya frowns back at me.
"It's not us." He assures me.
No, the firefighter I was shaking a few moments ago agrees. Then he gives us the address of the house that's really burning. A direct match. I do punch Aya then, seeing his lip spread and then split under my fist, blood immediately staining his chin.
No one stops me as I rush towards the source of the glow. Deramb himself comes after me. The pretty boy cop from earlier. What the hell is he here for? To satisfy his curiosity? To watch something burn?
"That's my fucking house!" I yell at him, voice all but drowned out by sirens.
"Coming up with any suspects now?" His words fall on deaf ears. I walk until I can see it all. Until I can watch my new sanctuary burn. It's like getting the chance I never had with the shop. People scramble to put it out, with their foam and their water. It's too late for. Even I can see that.
"Youji." Soft words behind me. All of them behind me, watching with me. I feel numb. Empty. I'm not safe anywhere, am I? I can't count on a haven where I can lay my head down. Someone wants us dead. Someone burnt down our home. Two times.
"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCKFUCK!" I yell, slamming my fists into the side of a labeled truck, feeling my knuckles make interesting cracking noises. I sink to my knees, forehead pressed to the achingly cold side of the vehicle, throbbing fists grinding into the paved road under me. How could this have happened? Why didn't I see it coming? I should have known something bad would happen. When doesn't something horrible happen these days?
Omi is shouting. The words don't register anymore than Deramb's did to my cotton filled mind. I stand back up, unsure of what I'm going to do. I look at the flames, look at the glowing orange sky. Aya stands alone, as far from everyone else as he can get, staring at the same things I am. Suddenly I don't want to see it anymore. I push back past all the people I came by on my way towards the pyre, open the car, climb into the back seat. Sit there, sirens and raised human voices muffled squeals and rumbles.
If only I could pass the rest of my life this way, muffled from anything too forceful or two unsettling to cope with. After a while, Aya comes to find me, climbs into the back seat as well, takes one of my hands in his, chilling me, but cooling the pain with the same efficiency of ice. We sit, listening to the mere murmur of chaos outside.
----
No one comes into the bathroom to bother me. They couldn't have even if they'd wanted too. I locked the door. I don't want someone in here watching me repeatedly throw up. All that food I'd crammed into my stomach is going to waste. I cannot even stop to think, or my stomach starts to roil again.
My eyes water and burn from the strain, limbs trembling beneath me as I lean against the tub. Stupid fucking hotels. I hate them. Too many one night stands. Too many mornings like this present evening. Vomiting up my guts after a night of drunken revelry. Only this time I'm not smashed, and it's not even morning yet. I'm so tee-totaled that it hurts. I press my forehead against the side of the tub. Cold, like his hands. I'm starting to wish someone would come and see if I'm okay. Or is everyone as wrapped up in themselves as I currently am?
I wait. My stomach calms down. I'm a fucking idiot. The house I'm living in is burn to the ground for a second time and I cope with it by throwing up. What kind of idiot am I? I should be plotting revenge, tracking down the culprits, raging and venting. Instead I throw up repeatedly.
Even the bland water from the tap tastes metallic like blood in my mouth. I rub a damp hand across my eyes, wiping away tears from my bloodshot, watering eyes. Silence greets me outside the safety of the bathroom.
There are only two people in the room when there should be three. There is only one room available, the man at the front desk had informed us. Some sort of game in town tomorrow, don't you know? Aya argues. No positive response is forthcoming. We stick with the one room, too tired to find another less occupied hotel.
There were two double beds in the one room. We hadn't even thought to ask about that, picturing the four of us crowded into one small bed, too tired to be amused or annoyed by the mental image.
Ken and Omi sit together, swathed in blankets on one bed. No one else.
"Where's Aya?" I ask dully, looking around, wondering if he's perhaps hiding beneath one of the beds.
Omi's asleep against Ken's shoulder; his closed eyes are about all that show, the rest of his face hidden by the coverlet.
"He's not here. He went out."
No shit. If he's not here, he must be out somewhere else.
"He didn't tell me." Ken shifts around, making sure not to wake Omi.
I sigh. Look around. Gods, why isn't he here? I didn't know it was possible to feel this lost and alone. The empty bed across the room mocks me. You aren't going to sleep here all alone, are you? Because no one bothers to stick around? Nothing is permanent.
My feet move towards the already occupied bed. Without asking, I crawl across the mattress, push the blankets on Ken's side away, cross my legs and lean against his side. Human contact. It's all okay. Aya isn't here, but we're all okay. Just as always. Shattered into a million pieces, but still breathing.
His arm comes up almost as a reflex around my waist. I pull the blankets back around us, sitting with them. It's too scary to lie down. Flat on your back and vulnerable. Sitting, you can still spring to your feet to escape the dropping guillotine blade, the licking flames.
"Did he say where he was going to? Any guesses?" I whisper softy, mission style against his ear, consonants soft. Omi sleeps on, the sleep of the exhausted righteous. I don't think I'll ever sleep again.
I stop shivering as our body heat reclaims the space under the blankets, and the vomiting induced shakes finally recede. His rough warm hand on my side, soft breaths from the sleeper. I keep raw eyes on the door, waiting for him to return. Eventually, Ken nods off, head leaning against Omi's blonde one. I promise myself that I won't give in. Someone has to keep watch. Someone has to be up and awake in case something bad happens.
I fail. The next thing I know, I'm curled up on my side being awoken by the slightest of sounds, the door is opening almost noiselessly, footsteps padded on the carpet. I tense up, ready to say the word to wake the other two if it's not who I desperately hope it to be.
Red hair peeks around the doorway; hand on the katana at his waist. I blink again. Their weapons were all in the building. He must have gotten a new one. He sets down a dark bag on the floor, gently shutting the door. He spots me.
Ken mumbles as I disentangle myself, never opening his eyes. They're exhausted, claiming much deserved sleep. Why are we always so tired? Is that our burden? Absorbing the forfeited lives we steal?
Aya smells of smoke as I engulf him in a desperate embrace. "Where have you BEEN?" I growl in his ear, arms tighter around him than I wanted them to be. I feel desperate, clingy. I thought I was supposed to be on a new independent kick.
"Had to retrieve our weapons from the safety box." He whispers back, not bothering to elaborate. He lets some of his weight rest against my body, swaying on his feet. I press my forehead to his, breathing in the same air.
"Did you go back to the house?"
Even softer. "It's just the same. Nothing was salvaged. Nothing was spared." He looks so worn down, defeated. He only used to have that look when he'd come back from day-long trips all on his lonesome. When he'd be visiting his sister, I'm assuming. A sudden rush of trepidation strikes me.
"Aya? Your sister?" I immediately dread repercussions. If he has been, and she's not okay, if she's gone, or dead, how will he react? It's not as if he'd tell me without prompting that anything was wrong.
"This evening. I went. She's okay." Halting but calming in its expected expressionless tones. By this point, most of his weight in propped up against me, unable to even keep on his feet. He looks so fucking tired.
"Which bed?" That's my only question. The made up bed across from us looks harsh and uninviting. Lonely.
I watch as he toes off his boots, simply drops his coat on the floor. He must be about ready to collapse. I've never really seen him less than fastidious when it comes to neatness. One by one his garments are shucked off, left in a pile around his feet. He stops at boxers, moves past me without making eye contact, stands looking at the untouched bed.
Ken and Omi are already warm, the air underneath the blankets a nice soothing temperature. Being surrounded by human flesh on all sides sounds fairly pleasant to me at this point. It's obvious by the look on Aya's face that he'd much rather be cold and alone then in a bed with three other people. Standoffish asshole. I'm cold and tired, and I know they won't mind in the slightest.
I turn away, pulling off the stiff material of my shirt, keeping the pants on. Gods, it's always so cold. Hotel rooms specifically. Their heaters are geared to displease. Either it's ice cold, or its' desert hot.
Aya presents his back to me; shoulders slumped, standing in front of that fucking creepy bed. Gods, I'm doing that mental thing again. Even I realize that by now. Adding human characteristics to inanimate objects. That doesn't stop the feelings though.
"Aya?" I hold out a hand when he turns around. "It's cold over there."
He doesn't shiver like I do, the cold in my bones more mind induced than physical discomfort.
"It's just as cold over here." He stubbornly points out, whispering much as I do, a watchful eye on both our teammates.
He would never do something as weak and human as that, depend on someone else. I bet even as a child he was the sort who would lie in the dark, trembling after a horrible nightmare, rather than run to someone for comfort. A weakness, needing other people.
I need other people. I think I'd die without them. People would forget me, and then I'd be nothing, no one. Dust in the wind. No, don't worry. I won't start singing that song just now.
He pushes the covers back, lies down right next to the wall, facing away from us. Set in his misery. Alone.
The sigh is too loud to stifle. Taking one last look at the comforting tangle of limbs on the other side of the room, I slide between the glacial sheets. I hate cold sheets, being an avid worshipper of electric blankets myself. He jumps when I crowd up against his back. He's going to have to provide all the body heat then, I'm holding him to that expectation.
"You don't have to." He mumbles, body strung tight with tension, offended dignity. "If you'd much rather-"
"I'd much rather it was the four of us. I'm cold. I'm tired of things always fucking up. I'm tired of being alone. Tired of everything." I trail off.
"I am certainly not going to-" He rolls over, indignant.
I cut him off before he can start ranting and waking everyone up. "I know. I didn't really expect you to. That's why I'm here. You always play the loner. I bet even you get tired of being alone though. It's no shame." I reposition his arms around me to my liking.
"Mmmm, warm." I purr, making the best of things. He's back and he's safe. And damn but his skin is warm. I almost smile for the first time this evening. Then his hands curl against my back. I clench my teeth to stop the yelp. "You and those hands! Wear fucking gloves." I reach around, pry his hands away from the small of my back, make a point of pushing them back towards him.
A soft chuckle leaves his throat. I prop myself up on one elbow, leaning over him, hair trailing in my eyes. His eyes close as I lean in, the tips of my hair brushing across his face. They flutter back open when I drop a kiss onto his forehead.
Overwhelming feelings rush me, looking down at his slightly startled expression. Does it really confuse him that much when I do something that's simply nice or caring?
"Ah, what would I do without you?" I whisper against his skin, tucking neglected hands against my chest in a gesture of apology. "You really should wear gloves though."
I tuck his head under my chin, feeling old and protective for a moment.
"Tomorrow night." He murmurs.
"You're still going to try and kill him?"
"Even more than before, he has to pay. I will see him burn in hell." The words are spoken as an ultimatum. I sigh and rub my cheek on the top of his head.
"Go to sleep, you make me tired."
I stay awake to watch him sleep, all funned out for the day, not really tired at all. Several days of bed rest have sapped the need to sleep from me, I guess. There's little to do but watch through the night into the early morning.
My foot is cold. My foot is very, very cold. That could be what finally wakes me from another accidental doze, either that, or the very, very hot mouth sucking on my earlobe. I mentally wish for luck and hope I won't be coming back to one of my more bizarre situations. I slide cautious fingertips along the face I find next to mine, unable to see in the absolute dark of the room.
"Morning." A sleepy kiss is pressed to my lips. Things slowly trickle back into my mind as I settle down next to a blissfully warm body. Yesterday, the days before. I hate waking up. One moment you're all warm and content, thoughtless; the next your head is full of a bunch of things you'd rather not ever think of again. That's why I'm considering forgoing sleep forever.
I kick at the covers, trying to get some heat to thaw out the foot I've had hanging off the edge of the bed for who knows how many hours. Lacking any better idea, I roll over, pressing my numb toes to the back of his calf. He doesn't complain. He has no room to.
"How long have you been awake?" I mumble against his collarbone, making myself as small as I possibly can, reveling in the smothering warmth all around me. Did I mention how much I like being warm?
"An hour or two."
"What time is it?" I'm facing away from the clock I'm sure must be on the nightstand between the two beds. There are always clocks in hotel rooms. Clocks and bad heating systems. Gods. That mattress on the floor was pretty comfortable. There were uncovered windows too, with moonlight and sunlight, not this stifling blackness. I'd open up the curtains... but I'd get cold as soon as I left the bed.
"Early."
Thanks for the help, Aya. It's early. "To early for me. I'm going back to sleep." And, feeling hugely justified, I do just that.
The next time I jolt into awareness, he's climbing over me, trying to get off the bed without waking me. He sees my opened eyes, my glare. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."
I push him off the bed, pulling covers back over my head, listening to his muffled cursing. Serves him right. If you're going to sleep with a late riser, you must rise late yourself, or face the consequences. I will not let him corrupt me with his sleeplessness.
The shower runs after a few moments, barely audible behind the closed door. Ken moans something unintelligible.
"What?" I push the covers back.
"I blame you." He says, moments before a well-thrown pillow hits me square in the face. Spluttering, I sit up; throw the pillow back at him. Accidentally bean a still slumbering Omi on the head. He wakes up swinging. Literally.
"Wha?" Ken catches Omi's fist in midair, laughing uproariously. For a moment, it's just any other morning, nothing horrible on our minds. It's disturbing in a nice sort of way. Omi smiles, that huge adorable grin I haven't seen in a while, picking up the pillow and pounding Ken with it. "Nice way to wake a guy up!" He pretends to rage.
After receiving several facefulls of pillow, Ken manages to gasp out my culpability. Omi dashes to retribution and without thinking, I grab up Aya's pillow, muscles moving in that old familiar fight-dance. He counters, and suddenly it's a full on pillow-fight between the three of us. A free for all. None of yesterday exists. It's all okay.
Then Aya stomps out of the bathroom, wearing last night's clothes again, hair damp, face set and definitely unpleased. We immediately fall silent, guilty children, having laughed in the face of tragedy. I feel like I should bow my head and scuff my toe. Instead I steel myself for any upcoming repercussions and smack Aya upside his head with the pillow still dangling from my hands. I for one plan on kicking depression's ass.
Aya steps back, growls and tackles me, pummeling me with the stuffed rectangle for all it's worth, heedless of my busted up ribs, I swallow the pain like so much annoyance. After a moment of startled staring as I attempt to fight back, Omi and Ken jump into the fray, brandishing pillows with a vengeance.
By the time we finally wind up collapsed on the floor in a panting heap, it's a wonder that no one is banging on the wall telling us to shut up. I can barely catch my breath from laughing so hard. My sides ache from over exertion of healing body parts, but it's a good sort of ache, not the sickly pain of infection.
Aya rests his head on my stomach, both of us sprawled out on the limited floor space. The corner of his mouth is lifted just the slightest bit, an almost smile. The place I was living after having been tortured and brutally raped multiple times burnt down the night before, and I'm laughing. I must be insane or emotionally disturbed.
Apparently the others are starting to think the same things, the grins fading away to untimely demises.
"I shouldn't have been laughing. Things aren't exactly funny right now." Omi sighs, looking beyond guilty.
"What have we had to laugh about lately?" I point out. "Stop feeling guilty. Laughing at inappropriate times about inane things is better than moping or committing suicide or some other such dreary reaction." Aya's head rises and falls with each one of my exhaled and inhaled breaths.
Ken shrugs. "I do feel a bit better, actually." He admits after a few moments. "It's like something has been lifted from the air, some hanging oppression." His posture sags. "We are still down by another home, without belongings or a safe place to live."
"Tomorrow night, as planned." Aya speaks up.
"You cannot possibly mean to carry on with that!" Ken sits up, startled.
"The persecution will not stop until Ko-ishi is dead. He's behind all this; he's been behind everything happening recently. How can any of us sleep safe at night knowing he's out there, ready to burn, to kill at any given moment. Next time he may not be nice enough to wait until we're all not home." I immediately take up Aya's side. Not because I'm all-supportive now that I'm sleeping with him. I really just want to kill Ko-ishi. You can't blame me though. It's not like you didn't already know how self-serving I can be.
Ken sighs, unhappy again. "You're right. I don't want you to be, but you are. I'm assuming you've already gone and picked up our weapons and the like?"
"Speaking of which, what exactly is going on with that?" I bust in.
"They weren't stored at the house, no incriminating evidence was supposed to be in that home in case of something like tonight. We left them with One-Eye."
One-Eye should actually be called No-Eye. He's missing one, torn out with a fishinghook, or so the story goes, and he's blind from cataracts in the other. He's one of our main contacts for illegally procuring many of the implements needed in the assassination business. He's a tad eccentric and more than a little frightening, but he owns at least one of everything.
"Could he fix up another watch for me, with my wire inside it?" I too sit up, sending Aya thumping to the floor. "One-Eye'd have something similar in stock, would he? If all else fails, a gun with a silencer will do the trick. I lost my watch way back when." I gesture with a hand, knowing they'll all know when it is I lost my weapon.
"There's a whole day to get things done before night falls." Aya replies in his usual semi-cryptic manner. He says nothing about my still being banned from tonight's excursion. Maybe it's finally hit home for him, bringing down Ko-ishi is more important than attempting to protect me.
"I have dibs on the shower!" I jump up, hobbling towards the shower when my limbs refuse to catch onto the enthusiasm.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Well, I can get you all this, but it'll take some time. Or some adequate compensation." One-Eye's being somewhat sane today. Either a cause for worry, or relief. He's usually only full of coherent sentences when he's plotting against you. He's ratted us out to major corporations many a times, but there are no hard feelings. He's a neutral force unless you offer him a large enough settlement, then he's all yours. He's useful though.
"We have no time to spare, but we have a surplus of money." Aya thumps down a duffle bag on the counter in front of the old man; it's obvious from the weighted thump that it's full of something solid and heavy, paper. Money.
One-Eye gimps past us, turns the "Open" sign on the door over, locking the entrance while he's at it. "You have my attention."
We give him a repeat of the list of things we need. Everything has been wiped out, except for the clothes on our backs and the like, we're essentially bereft of all necessary items. A wire for me, communication units, small and soundless, night goggles for the lot of us, though some of us have better developed night vision than others. One-Eye even has reflector suits in stock. Reflector suits: sort of glorified cat suits in their own right. The material they're made of all but absorbs light, sending off nothing but darkness, bouncing back even delicate alarm laser lines. I personally have never needed one, having stealth and common sense enough all on my own, but One-Eye assures us we'll need them. Aya asks for explosives. I don't bother wondering why.
"I know who you'll be needing all these pretty toys for. The ones that have burnt your bases down, the ones that wait by your doorstep at night for the slightest slip up. They live in a fortress. You'll not get by with anything less than the best of protection."
I wonder how he knows these things. He once tried to tell me the loss of his sight made him some sort of oracle or another. Bull shit. I told him I thought so, and laughing he'd made some obscure comment and gone onto another topic. He always knows what we're up to. I think we're in all likelihood some of the more amusing customers he has, most of them being personality-less yuppies, certainly not the paragons of death that we are.
Heaving a sigh Aya asks the important question. "And how much is this all going to cost?"
"I'm a poor old man, I need expensive medicines, a roof over my head. Such a tired old man." He moans, his way of trying to dredge pity out of our unsympathetic hearts. Unsympathetic for a reason. He has enough money to not only retire on, but to retire to a nice tropical island with a few hundred nubile young girls if he so desired. He's not going to get any poor-old-man-ing out of me.
"How much?" I press, stepping forward, not that he could see me doing it anyway.
"Calculated costs come out to be a bundle." He slides a hand written estimate across the counter top, every object's price written out and then totaled up. The handwriting is a tad unintelligible (give him a break, the man's blind), but the final figure at the bottom certainly isn't unclear. More than we'd get paid for a complicated, all night affair from desperate men. More than I've certainly ever made in a night's work.
"Cash or account transfer?" Aya calmly asks, finalizing the deal without even a blink. I forget how single-minded Mr. Revenge can get sometimes. I'm not sure, but I think I like that in a man.
"Oh, cash would be JUUSSST fine by me." He shows us a gap toothed grin.
Aya spends a good ten minutes counting out the final amount. I decide not to ask when he managed to procure a bag full of bills. One of those things I'm better off not asking. In a matter of seconds, One-Eye has it run through a cash counting machine, which verbally verifies the required amount. He smiles again.
"Come back in half an hour and I'll have everything ready for you." He takes a few smooth bills off the top of the neat stack on his front counter, holding the money out to Aya. "You boys go out and have a nice lunch, a treat from Uncle One-Eye." He smiles again, showing even more of his blackened gums. Any thief and murder would be proud to call him kin. He's a devious old bugger. I shake his hand in parting.
We go out to get some food, but not with the old man's money. Aya put that back on top of the stack on the front counter. It'll be gone when we get back anyway, gods knows where he'll stuff all that paper money. He's a bizarre one.
When we stop back he's got two small suitcases packed up and ready for us. We don't insult him by opening them and checking through them. That would be just plain rude. He's trustworthy; he has our money, doesn't he?
We check into a new hotel to make ourselves a bit less of a target, run back out to buy suitcases of our own and a few changeable pairs of clothes. On a whim I pick up some vodka for tomorrow morning when I get home. I'm thinking it's going to be one of those time when only passing out will get my mind to shut down, my body to wind down to a manageable level.
Omi whips up some coffee on the complimentary coffee-machine in the hotel room. I'm glad, I'm going to need all the energy I can get. We only have two cups in the room to go with the two beds. I'm the only one who's willing to go and get two more cups. Lazy dopes.
The hallways are like ice, and my hands are cold when I get back. Aya hands over his untouched cup of coffee without a word, taking one of the proffered empty Styrofoam cups. Bitter coffee. I don't bother to sweeten the dark liquid. It's not worth it. After gulping down another cup, I sit down to hash things out one last time. I don't want a Reader's Digest summary from Omi this time.
Fifteen minutes later my mind is swimming a few feet above my head. Gods, I'm tired, disjointed. It's cold in here, making me lethargic, discombobulated. I slump to the side, resting my head on Aya's shoulder, waiting for the spell to past. Fucking hell, why hasn't that coffee kicked in yet.
"You look tired, Youji. Why don't you take a nap. We'll wake you up when it's time to go." Omi gnaws on his lower lips, eyes doing that sad and old thing again. Oh gods.
"No!" I stand up, legs unsteady underneath me. Gods, I've been drugged before, why didn't I notice- "Aya?!" I whirl, not knowing what to expect on his face.
Nothing. His eyes and face are carefully schooled, nothing revealed at all.
"It was necessary." He tells me. He manages to stand and deflect the punch I aim at his face. The fucking son of a bitch!
"Necessary! I was fine until you put that shit in my coffee, or however you did it! You need four people. You son of a bitch!" Nothing but rage now. He betrayed me. It doesn't matter that I wouldn't have listened to him and gone after them anyway. He fucking drugged me, doesn't trust me, deceived me.
He lets go of my arms when I don't take another swing at him. Everything whirls wildly around me as my quickly beating heart speeds the tranquilizer throughout my body. I push away from him, refusing to look at those guiltless, expressionless eyes again.
Things start to fuzz out as I fall to my knees.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, I bet no one saw that coming. -laughs- akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com
