Drama, drama, drama. What more could a girl want? Other than gratuitous sex and tons and tons of chocolate? Uhm... more drama? Maybe? -eeps-

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For a moment I just lie still, mind an incomprehensible, muddled mess. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for a long while now. I'm not up to betting on actual, factual time passages. Hours, minutes. They're all the same. If I move, my stomach will revolt and I'll wind up vomiting on myself. Something plays soccer around the inside of my skull.

My eyes close again, exhausted and sick. When I wake up next, the room is black, an unknown coffin for me. I reach a hand out, wanting Aya to put an arm around me, remind me that I'm not alone in this dark. Cold sheets to either side, a piece of paper crackles under my fingers. I freeze. Gods, the dark knows I'm here now; I made so much noise. I need light, but if I sit up, something will be there, grasping for my throat.

Half buried under covers, I mentally count to ten, prepared to lunge for the table that might be next to this bed, hoping for some sort of lamp. 'Ten' sounds in my mind. I can't make myself move. The dread is too great. I count again, goading myself with thoughts of Aya's scorn if he were here right this very moment.

Then the truth flares. He betrayed me. Aya did. Ran did. Fuck. What he did went beyond any attempt at protection. The son of a bitch. He drugged me! Like a stupid fucking child that can't even make its own decisions. It's the most hurtful deceit I've ever encountered. They all are at first, but this won't fade with the passage of time.

All thoughts of light are left in the dust as I lie there. What does it matter if someone hovers around in the darkness? All of them conspiring together. The closest thing he had to a family, Omi called us. Some fucking family. I saw his eyes, Omi's eyes. Guilty, but still standing firm. Aya's had nothing reflecting back but that eerie, blank indifference.

I shut out the world, drifting down into depression, sleeping again as the drugs reclaim me.

Thunder outside. Crashing and booming; loud enough to cut through my cloudy mind, to startle me into awareness. Another long count to ten as I try to steel myself for that blind grope into that unfathomable darkness.

Lightening flashes bright, illuminating the room, highlighting a hunched figure by the TV stand. Then the light is gone. I hastily twitch the covers up over my head, making a tiny loop for my eyes to peer out into the darkness. Gods, when the next flash of light makes things visible, I'll see his eyes an inch away from mine, his hideous, grinning face.

My heart thumps away so loudly I'm surprised no one has come descending down on me. Lightening again, nothing in front of my eye. I wait for the next flash. It's still where I last saw it. A dead body, an asleep one, an inanimate object, a predator in wait; it doesn't matter. It's not moving and there's a button I've spotted on the end table panel. I count again, arm slashing out to pound the button. I fling the covers back as light floods the room, wire strung between my bare fingertips, glad to have weaponry at my disposal once more.

It's only a chair, piled high with clothes. I pause to breathe, ignore the desire to burrow back under the covers and just shake. I'll be damned if I'm going to hide.

Paper on the other hotel bed pillow. I unfold it. A Spartan, emotionless note. 'I'm sorry. It was for the best.' Reader's digest condensed version of what for other people might be inner turmoil.

I wonder if my being uninvolved is best for them just now, or if this improvement is permanent. Has he left, are they all gone now? I tear the note into small pieces. The clock marks the time as early, early morning. They should have been back by now. Unless something bad happened. Unless they're not coming back. Ken and Omi would have been kind enough to leave some sort of farewell letter if they were really going off forever. Other than Aya's sterile letter, I see nothing else addressed to me.

Trying to take heart in my conviction that they haven't abandoned me, I stumble to the bathroom, scrubbing at my face with icy water. The drugs haven't entirely worn off yet. I stare at my reflection. A few yellowing bruises grace my exposed neck and face. Bloodshot eyes. Gaunt. I rub at my eyes a bit more. It doesn't help. I still look like shit.

After sitting on the edge of my bed for approximately fifteen minutes, I realize this could turn out to be a long wait. Especially if they're dead. Late night TV doesn't have a chance of competing with visions of my deceased comrades.

When the urge to put my fist through the television passes, I start pacing. I watch the time inch forward, minute by minute in red LED letters. Five o' clock now. There's never been a hit before this that kept any of us out until five in the morning. They're dead. They have to be.

"Damn." Aya's coat is draped across the chair that scared the crap out of me earlier. With the reflector suits a coat would be just one more things to leave behind. Turning the television back on to some inane comedy, I burrow down into his coat, legs crossed as I sit on the edge of the bed again. I wish I hadn't torn up the note from Aya. No simple assassination takes this long.

Two half-hour infomercials and one nervous breakdown later, the doorknob rattles. Eyes still burning with the rage-tears I'd yet to give into, I string my garroting wire out again. The son of a bitch, he killed Aya, Omi and Ken and now he's here to finish the job. I stay where I am, letting the wire coil back into my watch. If they're dead, it's only right that I be as well. I'm tired of the people I care for going off without me one way or another.

Exhausted amethyst eyes meet mine. He leans heavily against the door frame.

"You son of a bitch!" I jump to my feet, stomping towards him. He stumbles forward to meet me, no hint of remorse anywhere on his face.

"Where are Ken and Omi?" I force myself to push him away. The son of a bitch. He has the NERVE to still be alive after all of this? If they're dead now, because of him...

"There were other available rooms."

"Why the hell did they get another room? There's nothing wrong with this one." I hastily pull his jacket off my shoulders, throwing it at a wall. It wouldn't do to make him think I was worried.

"Because I told them too." He says flatly, sitting down right on the floor, slumping forward, holding his forehead up with his hands.

I don't have a witty reply for that one, so I grab him and start shaking him instead. When all else fails, a little violence usually clears the way. "You son of a bitch! You go and do something like that to me! And then you fucking take away the one consolation prize I was to have from all of this mess, Ko-ishi's head on a fucking silver platter. You come back and you're getting ready to talk mother fucking monosyllables at me!?"

He looks up at me, face drawn and defeated. I sit back.

"Be glad you weren't there." He finally says. "It was a bloodbath. It made our usual routine seem like a walk through the park. It's going to be a long time before all that blood is gone from my skin." He peels gloves off his hands, material stiff and clinging.

"I would give one of my limbs to have been there." I hiss at him. "But that apparently wasn't a fucking option in your mind. What did he do to you? Burnt your house down. Twice. You know what, I lived there too, and I went through a hell of a lot more from him than you ever did. You have no fucking idea!" I'm shaking him again by this point.

He lets me, head lolling back and forth with each jerk, eyes focused on something just over my shoulder. I'm starting to feel guilty here, like I'm kicking a puppy. Which is wrong in so many ways. For one, Aya and "puppy" just don't equate. Secondly, well, he's the asshole who drugged me and then took away my chance to kill the man I hate more than anything. I'll be damned if he gets sympathy from me.

He reeks of blood; the air around him reeks of blood, that metallic, sickening smell. "Whose blood are you covered in?" I start examining the flawless surface of the reflector suit he's still wearing, the glossy black fabric is stiff with some sort of dried liquid in many patches, but I don't see any tears that would indicate a wound.

"Some of theirs, some of mine." He fumbles for the side zipper, pale fingers slipping off the thin tab again and again. He slumps. I don't notice a request for help. I wasn't expecting one.

I sigh, one of my new favorite physical statements. "If you stand up I'll help you out." As always, I push aside my grudges, deferring to Aya and his belief that all he does is beyond correct and righteous. Why can't I ever stay angry with him?

Hesitantly, he looks up, and I remember why I'm always giving in. Wouldn't you? To such a big, sad pair of eyes? He's better at this than Omi when he wants to be. Stupid softy that I am.

"Gee, aren't I going to get my beating now?" he coolly snaps, effectively tearing down the whole cute/sad sway he was holding over me.

"Maybe later, after I've found out where you're bleeding from, and how badly."

"From hip to thigh. Multiple gun shot wounds." He makes another go at the zipper, stubbornly refusing to stand and receive assistance.

"Do you want some help up then?" I ask, a tad irked.

"Want a nice, soothing bath, Youji?" He retorts, rubbing my newly renewed fear of water in my face. Again, the urge to punch that smug face, take out of his flesh what I desired from Ko-ishi's.

Another sigh. He doesn't deserve that. I wish he did sometimes.

"Either you do or you don't. If you really do have bullets running up the length of your thigh, I think you might bleed to death a bit more slowly if you'd let me help." I extend my hand again, trying out my persuasive facial expression. I don't use it that often, it may be a tad rusty.

He reaches out, grasps my hand. It turns out he really does need help to stand up; no sooner do I have him on his feet, his leg is buckling underneath him as he attempts to fall on me and knock me over. We half walk/half drag him over to the bed, peeling off the clinging fabric as we go. He has almost as many bruises as I do now. I don't know whether to wince or pin a shiny blue ribbon on his chest.

It won't come off his side. Blood has spread in a wide ring and the edges are dried, firmly plastering fabric to skin. Blood could be the next big thing for the manufacturers of Elmer's Glue if what I'm seeing is any indication.

"This is going to hurt." I caution. He shrugs, eyes glassy and distant. Trying the band-aid approach, I just yank down on the fabric as hard as I can, trying to detach all blood-dried fabric in one fell wrench. He doesn't make any sounds, so I assume it didn't hurt any, until I look up. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth, teeth marks actually tearing open his lower lip, his eyes are clenched so tightly shut I wonder if he's seeing white spots behind his eyelids.

"I'm going to throw up." He partially staggers to his feet, stumbling forward as his leg refuses to hold his weight. I have no idea how he managed to walk around on it before. "I need to get to the bathroom." His voice is thick, muffled.

I haul him around again, managing to rush him to the lavatory just in time. I crouch on the floor with him, rubbing his back as shuddering heaves wrack his body. He's getting blood on the bathroom floor. It's all but pouring out of his leg now that I've stupidly reopened. No Boy Scout medal for me.

"Oh shit! You seriously cannot go dying on me now!" I grab one of the pristine white towels off the rack, trying to staunch the blood flow. "Where are Omi and Ken? What room number?" I transfer his hand into the key position, so he's the one holding the balled up terry-cloth, red already seeping through the many crumpled layers.

"Room 275." He frowns. "Don't get them. They can't know. I don't need their help."

"Like hell you don't need help, you stubborn bastard!" I pull down a second towel, drop it in his lap in case he'll need it, and dash off to find my two other teammates.

Gods, I can't fix him. Medicine has never been my area of expertise. Aya and Omi are the ones we rely on for that. I quietly knock on the door trying to be considerate of the uninvolved people all around us. What if this isn't the right room, or they're asleep, or they're busy bleeding all over themselves?

Omi opens the door in nothing but a towel, hair damp and eyes wide and wary. "Youji, please don't be angry right now. You can yell at me all you want tomo-"

"Fuck that! You didn't notice Aya bleeding all over himself? I need you to get your ass over to his room right now. His leg won't stop bleeding, there's blood all over the floor."

Omi bites his lip. "I'm going to let Ken know where I'm going." He disappears into their bathroom for just a moment, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.

He hurries after me, holding the towel in place with one hand. We burst into the room. Aya's still on the floor wearing nothing but blood soaked boxers.

"Aya! Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Omi pries the unresponsive hands away from the now crimson towel. His breath hisses between his teeth in sympathy as he tries to wipe enough blood away that he can actually see the wound itself.

"Youji, I'm going to need you to play errand boy." Omi looks up as he puts a new towel in place. "First, you need to get me some cling wrap, the stuff you wrap food in before you put it in the fridge. Any gas station will have it. Then hurry back here."

I don't ask why he wants cooking supplies. I grab Aya's car keys off the table, running out to climb into the shitty rental car we're still relying on for transportation. The first gas station I pass is closed, and by the time I come across twenty-four hour one, I'm battling panic.

It's been so long since there's been any doubt about one of us making it through the night. Why does it have to be Aya sitting there on the floor, his eyes blank as his life spreads out in a stain on the floor?

No one pulls me over; for all that my driving barely conforms to government-sanctified rules. They're still in the bathroom when I return, scant minutes later. Aya looks barely conscious.

Omi pulls a long swathe of the thin plastic off the roll, wrapping it tightly around Aya's leg, pulling the ends tight. The blood stops pouring out, trapped behind the plastic seal. He hands me the end to pull taut.

"I need to get Ken, we'll need his help." He's really giving me a few moments with Aya. Gods, that doesn't seem to bode well at all.

"If you even think about dying now, I'll kill you! Got it." I lean closer to Aya as soon as the blonde boy has left.

He awkwardly leans forward, looping a weak arm around my neck before falling back against the tub. "Not so angry with me anymore?" he rasps.

"I will be if you go and bleed to death on me. Well, not on me literally." The partial laugh turns to sawdust in my mouth, my voice breaks. "I haven't gotten a chance to yell at you for the stunt you pulled on me." I brush tussled bangs out of his eyes. "Omi can fix you, so I'll hold off on any scenes until you're a bit better." 'Cause I'm the king of wishful thinking...

Aya closes his eyes and doesn't open them again during the five minutes that Omi's gone.

I turn the collar of Aya's ill-fitting trench coat up against the wind as I pound on One-Eye's door. Not his shop entrance, but the alleyway door that leads to his above shop living quarters.

"What the FUCK do you want?" The door is flung open as I find myself facing down a shotgun barrel pointed right at my face.

"It's me, one of Weiss." I hold my hands up, not that he can see my gesture of surrender. The gun's aim is slightly corrected as he pinpoints the source of my voice.

"It's late. This had better be pretty damned important." One-Eye doesn't lower the weapon.

"I have to get a hold of a full first-aid kit." First aid kit in this business means the works. Medicine, antibiotics, burn crèmes, gauze, suturing thread, a cauterizing wand for if you're really in a hurry, government monitored pain killers; the works.

"Come back tomorrow." He shoulders the weapon and goes to close the door.

"But he's going to be dead by then! What sort of fucking use would it be tomorrow morning!" I block the door with my body.

"That's what you get for going up against such a major corporation. You're lucky you all aren't trying to hold your own slit throats closed with your bare hands." He's relenting though. "Fine, but it will cost you double for the late hour."

"I don't have money with me now, but tomorrow I'll return with account codes." I hope. Aya's the one who knows where the bulk of our money is, the account numbers, the banks, and the names they're under. If he dies... I force myself to stop that thought at its source.

Mumbling obscenities under his breath, the old man stomps off, fully familiar with his quarters. I wonder what it would be like to be blind, to always be in the dark.

Trying to distract myself with similar, pointless thoughts, I stand in the front room, jittering from one foot to another, hoping he'll hurry up. I didn't even want to be the one who came to fetch the kit, but Omi told me that I had no choice, that I'd just be in his way if I hung about. I'm just afraid Aya will die while I'm gone.

"Here you go then. Thank of it as more of a gift, if you'd like. I'm retracting all charges, this is free of cost. For all our years of successful business together." He's wheezing and out of breath as he thumps down the large metal case. Of course, he'd be happier if we showed up with money tomorrow anyway, as a sign of appreciation.

"Thank you." I don't waste time with small talk, grabbing up the heavy box, surprised by its weight and the fact that One-Eye could even carry it by himself.

Throwing it into the back seat, I race home, probably startling the woman up at the front lobby desk with my wild-eyed appearance.

They've moved him to one of the beds, towels spread out under his body. Omi himself still wears nothing but a drooping towel. He looks cold.

"Thank you, Youji." Omi grabs the first-aid kit from me, opening it up on the bed. He sighs in relief. "Everything I'll need. Youji, Ken, could you guys relocate somewhere?"

Ken has to drag me away in the end, when Omi's rationalizing doesn't convince me.

"You think you're the only one who's worried out of his mind?" Ken demands harshly when we're safely behind a closed door.

"I think I have the most reason to be!" I stand toe to toe with him. It's not him I'm angry at specifically, it's everything. He's just making the mistake of giving me a target.

"He took those fucking bullets for me!" Ken slams me back into the wall. "I got out of there with nothing but a few scratches. He pushed me out of the way when I was being shot at. I didn't know he was hurt! He took those fucking bullets FOR ME! I should be the one in his place!" He growls into my face, fists clenching the lapels of Aya's jacket. Nothing but guilt and desperation are written across his face.

He pushes me against the wall one more time before backing away until the back of his legs come up against the edge of a bed. He sits, face buried in his hands, shoulders slumped.

"He pushed you out of the way?" I ask softly, padding closer.

Wordless he nods, face still hidden. Gods.

"You can't blame yourself for that." I sit down next to him, pulling him into a rough hug. This shouldn't be me; it should be Omi telling him that everything is fine and he's not at fault. His arms fold against his chest as he rests his forehead against my shoulder.

"If I'd been hurt, I would have told someone, and I'd be fine now. Why did he do something like that! I'm not even worth saving." A dark undertone runs through all his words. I don't press for answers.

"What makes you think you have the most reason to be upset by all this?" Ken asks, a sort of 'delayed reaction' question.

I blink. Okay, now it's time for the talk. "Are you blind?" I wind up blurting out instead.

He shrugs. "Not really. Just wanted to see if I could get you to confirm out loud. It'd seem a tad more believable."

"What? That I'm sleeping with Aya?" I pull a Ken, bluntly stating the obvious.

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his head, looking like some nervous character nabbed out of an over-exaggerated anime series. "Aya with anyone. Just sort of unrealistic. He doesn't act like most people do. I thought maybe if you actually said it, it'd seem a tad more feasible. It doesn't."

"And you and Omi are what?" I jab defensively at his arm.

"I am the most horrible person in the entire world." He says desperately, staring down at the floor, slumping once again. "I would have deserved being shot, and worse. I am a horrible, cruel, heartless person."

"What are you talking about?" I inch away, wondering if his insanity is catching.

"I don't love him." He tells me.

I inch further away, fully out of my depth. "I'm not quite following you so far. Talk to me as if I were a very slow, very unintelligent child."

He sighs, hands dangling down between his knees. "I don't love him. He thinks I do. He does. Love me. I only wake up next to him every morning because I don't want to be lonely. How callous and, just, well, heartless is that?"

I start to say something; I'm not even sure what is going to come out of my mouth. He cuts me off before I can find out.

"You know what it's like. Living the way we do, you can't have anyone outside the team. You can't date some girl and tell her about your day, you can't be honest with her or feel anything for her, because she'll just wind up dead in the end. And, I just... When Omi came up to me... and when things started to happen... what was I supposed to say?" He looks up, eyebrows drawn together. "It was supposed to be one of those convenience things. That way there'd be someone to climb into bed with if you didn't feel like lying awake in bed, or if you were lonely for a while. And what am I supposed to tell him? That he can tell me he loves me all he wants, but no matter how many times I parrot it back, I don't mean it!?"

He stops, out of breath. "And I talk to much. I didn't mean to-"

"Look, I'm not known for being the understanding, intelligent one, so listen up, because I'm only going to be this full of advice this once. First, I'm going to ask you something. Does he make you happy?"

"Well, yes, but that's-"

"I asked a yes or no question. Do you make him happy?"

"Yes." He replies.

"Then both be happy. Don't feel guilty. You want company and someone you can talk to when you need it. He needs someone who makes him feel loved. You're all you both need. Don't feel so guilty. It's not like you're deliberately using him. We are in a dire position, and sometimes that requires dire things to survive."

"Like having sex with Aya?" He arches one eyebrow. I fight the sudden irrational urge to get offended, trying even harder not to flash back to visions of all that deceptively watery looking blood slicking the tan tiles of the bathroom.

"Not like that at all. I'm... well..." I trail off, uncomfortable.

He laughs, for the first time since this morning, then stops. "I can't just be like that though, taking things for granted. He makes me happy, yeah. I could keep going like this for years. We work out better than any relationship I've ever been in before... but, it doesn't. I lie to him, every morning; I wake up and lie to him. And I'm the reason you guys didn't know about us. For almost a year, and you guys didn't know. I was ashamed, worried what you and Aya would think about that. I guess I shouldn't have worried so much." He sighs again.

"I am a horrible person though, and you cannot deny that." He goes back to examining the floor. "I look into those eyes, and I willfully lie to him. What sort of worthless trash would do that? After everything he's been through, all the people who have used him before this, and I go on continuing the legacy."

"He came to you, you said?" I prompt.

"Yes."

"You're both using each other in your own fashion. That's what life is all about. As long as you don't deliberately hurt him, you're not a bad person." I cross my arms, through with the topic.

The door opens, right on cue. I jump to my feet as Omi peeps into the room. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?"

"I got all the bullets out. There was a long stab wound running down his leg, right through several of the bullet holes. I sewed shut most of the slash. He's asleep now, but you can go see him if you'd like."

I don't wait for any more before I'm down the hallway. Gods, he'd better come out of this all right!

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Ooo, worry! Feel the pain, feel the burn!

akainobaka@hotmail.com

Darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com