Yohji pulled his stolen Lincoln Continental into a make-shift parking spot in the shadow of the building where Crawford had said Schuldich was holding Aya. Normally, he'd never park this close, but he still had a bad feeling about this whole thing, and he couldn't shake the nagging voice that kept telling him he'd need the car close at hand. Besides, Aya hadn't been in the best shape when Schuldich had grabbed him, and that was five days ago. Who knew what kind of shape he'd be in now. He might not be able to make it to a car parked too far away.
He stared at his target building for a few moments. The place was huge, and it was in the middle of a huge, twisting, rabbit-warren-type complex of warehouses and storage rooms near the docks. The tall blonde sincerely hoped this particular building was just one big room, as opposed to being broken up into a series of smaller spaces, which he'd have to take the time to search. One big room would definitely make finding Aya a lot easier.
Yohji frowned when he thought about how many times, since Aya's disappearance, he had probably walked right by this damn building without even knowing his friend was in here. The deserted little pier where he docked the motorboat wasn't too far from here. He had probably come by here at least a dozen times in the past five days, and that thought made him almost irrationally angry. Yohji sighed out his frustration and did his best to clear the anger from his mind. He could be pissed off about it later, but, right now, he didn't have time for it. He needed a calm, cool head to deal with Schuldich, even on the best of days, and, as nearly as he could figure, dealing with a half-crazed, raving Schuldich was probably going to require a lot more calm, cool thought than normal. This was most definitely not a time to be losing his temper, not if he wanted to get Aya back, unharmed.
He, along with Omi and Ken, had done recon of this entire area earlier that day. They had come here right after their lunch at the coffee shop, and had spent the better part of the day poking around in the area. Although they had interviewed enough witnesses who had seen Schuldich coming and going from this particular warehouse to confirm it was where the German was holding Aya, they hadn't dared do more than scout the immediate area, for fear of alerting Schuldich to their presence and making him move Aya to another location. Restraint hadn't been easy, though. Yohji had wanted to burst into the warehouse and take Aya back by force, right then and there. Ken and Omi had, just barely, managed to talk him out of it by telling him that cowboy tactics like that would, probably, get Aya killed, just like in Crawford's vision. Yohji hadn't liked hearing it. It had made him mad beyond reason, and he and Ken had, practically, come to blows over it, but, in the end, he had known his younger teammates were right, damn them. It was wiser to wait for the proper time, when darkness could provide him cover and a slim advantage that might mean the difference between getting Aya out alive and recovering nothing more than a dead body. He knew that was what Aya would have said, and done, too. But, it hadn't made the waiting any easier.
Yohji checked his weapons one last time before exiting the car. He drew out a thin sliver of wire from each watch, to make sure their release mechanisms worked smoothly. He hadn't bothered to bring Aya's sword. There was no way he could have used the damn thing, anyhow, but he had found the redhead's back-up pistol among Aya's things back on the yacht. He had decided to bring that along, just in case. Yohji sighted down the gun's barrel, and removed the cartridge for a cursory check of the bullets. He checked the firing mechanism and released the safety lock. He stared at the gun as he balanced it on the palm of his hand.
Yohji couldn't help but grin and laugh softly as he remembered how shocked he had been when he had discovered Aya actually carried a back-up pistol. It had been during a mission --- almost a year ago, now. He couldn't even remember what sort of evil, putrid scum they had been assigned to take down, but he did remember the fighting. It had been fierce. They had expected a single target, with only three or four bodyguards. Instead, they had walked into a hornet's nest full of enemies, and, within minutes, they had been fighting for their lives. After Aya had taken out the target and called for retreat, Ken and Omi had made it out just fine, signaling as much through their comm. link, but he had been trapped, pinned down by enemy crossfire, and unable to escape. Yohji could still hear Aya's voice snapping into his ear, over the comm.: "Stay put, I'm coming for you." He hadn't ever been so relieved in his whole damn life. If he had been smart, he wouldn't have wanted Aya to come. He shouldn't have wanted his friend to walk into that steady stream of hot lead, which promised only death to anyone approaching it. But, he hadn't been smart, at the time. He hadn't been anything but scared. Within minutes, Aya had turned the far corner, directly in front of Yohji and behind the enemies who had pinned him. The damn, crazy fucker hadn't even slowed down. He'd just come charging around the corner, yelling as if he had a whole damn army backing him up. It had worked, though --- surprised the hell out of the three guards who had had Yohji pinned down. They had immediately turned to open fire on Aya, who, unlike Yohji, was out in the open, a seemingly easy target. The redhead had thrown his sword, tossing it end over end, as if it was a machete. Even though he took a bullet in the shoulder just as he threw it, the sword had flown with unerring accuracy, embedding itself in the nearest guard's chest. Aya hadn't even paused, although it had appeared he was unarmed. He had grabbed the dying guard's body, using it as a shield, and, from somewhere in the depths of that swirling, purple-black leather coat of his, he had produced the gun Yohji now held in his hand. Just as quickly as he had arrived, he disposed of the remaining two guards, dealing in five seconds with a problem that had had Yohji pinned for the better part of fifteen minutes.
Yohji remembered that, later, after Aya had sufficiently recovered from the shoulder wound, he had teased his friend about such a superb swordsman using a gun, of all things. It had seemed almost perverse, for someone who spent so much time perfecting their sword work, down to the smallest stroke and hand position, to use a weapon that any Joe Blow off the street could use. Aya had just looked at him and said, as calm and unreadable as ever: "Getting out alive is all that matters." That had shocked the hell out of him. He wouldn't have ever expected to hear something like that from Aya, a man who placed such a small value on his own life. But, the redhead placed a very high value on the lives of those around him.
Yohji chuckled softly as he remembered the calm, unflustered look in Aya's eyes. None of them had known Aya carried a gun; they had all been shocked, but Aya had acted as if it was no big deal. That was Aya for you --- always painfully practical. Once he had thought about it, Yohji had instantly known why Aya had chosen a gun as his back-up weapon; it was something he could use even if he was wounded and unable to use his sword. As far as the tall blonde knew, the redhead was the only one of the group who was practical enough to even carry a back-up, let alone choosing one that could be used, no matter what. But, Yohji knew that, had it not been for Aya's practicality, he would have died that night. He, for one, would be eternally grateful for his quiet friend's simple, practical way of approaching life.
Yohji closed his eyes and leaned back in the driver's seat, still feeling the weight of the gun resting in his palm. Somehow, holding the gun made it almost seem like Aya was here with him. Yohji could still hear the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, as it had been on that night. He could still feel the way his heart had hammered wildly against his ribs, almost as if it had only happened yesterday. In all his years as an assassin, he couldn't ever remember being so damn scared as he had been that night, pinned down by enemy fire, counting the moments left in his life and finding them to be only a precious few. He had thought he was going to die. It had been the first time he had ever realized he really didn't want to die, and he could still remember how surprised he had been at that small revelation of his soul. It still seemed strange --- an assassin who was afraid of dying. He hadn't ever told Aya about that. Aya wasn't afraid of death, and he was sure the redhead would have just laughed at him.
Yohji looked down at the gun in his hand, and thought, 'Maybe not.'
After all, Aya did carry that gun. In sharp contrast to the redhead's apparent disregard for his own life, the gun seemed almost like a silent beacon, signaling Aya's desire to live. Maybe it was just human nature, which was strong and clung to life. Maybe that would always win out, in the end.
Yohji sighed and slipped the gun into the waistband of his black, leather pants. "No time for weird thoughts," he muttered, as he pushed his sunglasses up higher onto his nose and ran his gloved fingers through messy, slightly tangled hair.
'When this is all over, I'm getting a damn haircut,' he thought, as he opened the driver's side door and slid out of the car.
Yohji was wearing his assassin gear: black half-shirt and black, leather pants, topped by the long, black trench coat with the white crosses on its sleeves. Heavy, thick-soled, black leather boots, thick, black, leather gloves, and, of course, his "lucky" sunglasses completed the ensemble. His "killing clothes", he had always called them. It had always seemed like a funny joke, but, now, with Aya's life hanging in the balance, it suddenly didn't seem so funny any more. Maybe it never had been.
As he slid across the seat to exit the car, all the leather he was wearing rubbed against the vinyl upholstery, causing a series of small, squeaking noises. Yohji emerged into the cold, night air and stretched, glad to be free of the car's confined space. He pulled his ever-present cigarette pack from an inner coat pocket, tapped out one of the sticks and lit up. He smoked it quickly, and stubbed it out under his boot after it was burned only half-way down. It had only been a quick hit, just to settle his nerves before running, like a fool, right into the lion's den. Yohji smiled as he remembered Aya, yelling and charging around that corner, right into a rain of bullets. Hell, all things considered, breaking into one little warehouse, even if it was occupied by a slightly-demented telepath, was the least he could do for his friend. Aya had certainly been around to pull his ass out of the fire on enough occasions.
"After this, though, we're even," Yohji muttered as he crushed the still-burning ciggie under his boot, "At least, until the next time."
A small whine brought his attention toward the passenger side of the car, and he frowned at the big, black dog sitting there. After their recon mission that afternoon, he had asked Ken and Omi to return to the yacht with him, so that they could take Bubba back to the Koneko. The big dog had been whiney and needy ever since Aya had disappeared, and Yohji had decided it would be best for Bubba to be back in the familiar surroundings of the flower shop and their apartment above it. Besides, although he hadn't mentioned it to his teammates, he still had a gnawing feeling of dread about this rescue mission, and, in the event something happened to him, he didn't want the dog to be trapped out on the yacht, alone. The two younger men had quickly agreed, much to Yohji's surprise. They had actually missed having the big dog around. Bubba had been happy to see them, jumping on them, licking at their faces, and tugging gently at their hands and the hems of their coats, but the big dog had been extremely reluctant to leave with Omi and Ken. It had taken all three of them the better part of ten minutes to drag the dog out of the motorboat, when Yohji had dropped his younger teammates off that evening. Yohji hadn't given the dog another thought, until, later that night, when he had docked the motorboat in his usual spot and found the big dog waiting for him. Apparently, Bubba had had his own ideas about where he should be. Yohji hadn't had time to take him back to the flower shop, so he had simply called Omi and Ken to tell them the dog was with him. They hadn't even known Bubba was missing, and Yohji had silently sworn, if he ever had children, that he wouldn't let Ken and Omi baby sit --- ever.
"You stay here, in the car. It's safer," Yohji snapped at the dog, as he closed the door in Bubba's face with a decisive click.
He had only walked about ten steps when the sound of shattering glass caused him to stop, dead in his tracks. Within seconds, the big dog was at his side, shaking glass shards out of his short, thick coat. Bubba sat down and looked up at Yohji expectantly, with that excited-dog look he seemed to wear only around Aya. The dog definitely knew something was up, and Yohji silently wondered if Bubba somehow knew his favorite person was nearby. Whatever the cause for Bubba's excitement, Yohji knew there was no way he was going to get the dog to stay behind.
The tall blonde sighed, "Fine. But, you're gonna have to find your own way in. I'm not hauling your heavy ass through those itty-bitty windows. Those things have to be eight, maybe ten feet off the ground." He looked sternly at the dog, which whined and licked at his hand. "Forget it," he repeated, "I'm not doing it. You can come, but you find your own way in."
The argument seemingly settled, Yohji continued walking toward the building, hugging the shadows, with Bubba close at his heels.
*******************************************************
Yohji reached the back of the warehouse within a few minutes. He had looked all around the building that afternoon, and had quickly decided getting in wasn't going to be any picnic. There was only one door, padlocked from the outside. Yohji could have easily picked the lock and entered through there, but, after taking into consideration that he was dealing with Schuldich, and adding in the strong feeling he had that this whole scenario was a trap, he had decided the door was too obvious. The warehouse had a row of four or five windows along each wall, but they were high off the ground, perhaps eight to twelve feet, and very tiny. Along one wall of the building, crates were stacked up to the windows. It would have been easy for Yohji to use them as a make-shift staircase to reach the windows and gain access that way, but he had decided it was, also, too obvious. After all, this was Schuldich, he had sternly reminded himself that afternoon. It would be just like the crazy German to place the boxes there as a way of enticing him into using that entry point. Instead, he had decided the row of windows at the back of the warehouse, where he now stood, would be his best bet for entering the building. They were deeply shadowed, and there wasn't anything stacked around them. Plus, they were a little lower in the wall, which would make reaching them that much easier. Of course, the thought that Schuldich might have put the easily-breached padlock on the door and the rickety staircase of crates under the windows in order to force him into using these windows, the only seemingly-untampered-with entry into the warehouse, had crossed his mind. But, Yohji forced himself to quickly dismiss that thought. If he followed the rabbit trails of "what ifs" rolling through his mind, he'd never find his way out of there.
Yohji took up position and sent the wire sailing toward the nearest window. He smiled when he was rewarded with the soft clink of shattering glass, indicating that, as always, his aim had been true. He gave the wire a sharp tug, ensuring it was properly secured, and slowly began to haul himself up the wall, hand over hand, using the wire as a life line.
The window was a bit higher than he had estimated, and, by the time he finally reached it, Yohji was panting and slightly out of breath. As he used a gloved fist to quietly break out the rest of the glass, he briefly contemplated quitting smoking, but, almost as soon as the thought crept into his mind, Yohji chased it away as an absolutely ridiculous notion. There was no way he'd give up his ciggies. He loved smoking. He'd even do it when he was sleeping, if he wasn't afraid of incurring Aya's wrath by burning the house down.
'I could use a smoke right now, actually,' he thought as he cleared the last of the glass from the window. He balanced precariously on its tiny sill, squatting with his arms braced against the window frame, to peer into the warehouse.
As he had hoped, the building was one, huge room. It was dark inside, but his eyes adjusted fairly quickly, allowing him his first glimpse of what seemed like an endless expanse of concrete floor, punctuated every few feet with metal columns that reached upward into the darkness of the roof, where they supported the ceiling. There was a second story, of sorts, to the building. A balcony ran the circumference of the room, approximately six feet under the rows of windows in each wall. Yohji counted this as a stroke of good luck, since it meant he could descend to the floor in two, relatively easy jumps, as opposed to rappelling down twelve to fifteen feet of cold, slippery, metal wall. The balcony obstructed his view of everything except for the very middle of the floor, and, consequently, he couldn't see Aya anywhere.
Just before he ducked inside, Yohji peered behind him, to see if Bubba was still there. Moments before, the big dog had stood under the window, peering up and whining as Yohji climbed, but, now, Bubba was nowhere to be seen. Yohji shrugged, figuring the dog was, indeed, looking for another way into the building. Either that, or Bubba had decided to chase a rat. You could never tell with that dog.
"I still have a bad feeling about this," Yohji muttered, as he slid down his wire onto the balcony below the window.
He paused once he landed on the balcony, hugging the deep shadows right next to the wall and allowing his eyes to adjust to the murky, shadowy darkness within the building. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and it made his insides crawl, forcing him to follow his instincts and cling to the shadows along the wall, instead of following his heart's desire and darting right to the edge of the balcony to search the darkness below for his missing teammate. Being stupid right now wouldn't help Aya, he sternly reminded himself, as he crouched in the dark and waited for his eyes to adjust enough to reveal what the building's shadows hid. Within seconds, the shadows seemed to shift and then part, as his eyes finally got used to the dim illumination in the room. Yohji remained crouched next to the wall, and strained to peer into the distance across from him and around him. He was able to see fairly clearly now, and he didn't see anyone. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He strained his ears, struggling to catch the slightest sound, and heard nothing except the groaning, screeching, and creaking of metal walls as the wind outside caused them to shift and moan. The warehouse appeared to be deserted.
Yohji tried to shrug off his feeling as nothing more than superstition, or a bad case of nerves. He told himself he was just being overly jumpy, because of Crawford's prediction, but, still, the little, raised hairs on the back of his neck and his madly pounding heart refused to listen to reason. Yohji took a deep breath and carefully, moving in a half-crouch, made his way to the edge of the balcony, so that he could peer down onto the entire room below him. He found a little cover, in the form of a large crate that had been left against the balcony rail. It wasn't much, but it made him feel a bit better about being out of the shadows. He knelt behind it and peered around its edge into the murky black that seemed to swirl beneath him.
The area beneath the balcony was fairly empty, except for a few crates stacked near or around the metal columns, and, directly across from his current position, what looked like a pile of discarded clothing. Yohji stared at it, holding his breath, until finally, the shapeless pile seemed to coalesce into an identifiable form.
"Shit. Aya," Yohji muttered, his breath hitching in his throat.
Suddenly, Yohji forgot everything. Everything --- all of his planning, all of his resolve about approaching this situation wisely, all of his decisions about picking the fight carefully so that he would have the advantages he needed --- melted away with the frantic thumping of his heart and his burning desire to do nothing more than be at Aya's side. His mind and heart both screamed at him to hurry, to not worry about anyone else being around, to forget it was a trap, and he listened. He quickly recoiled the length of wire he'd used to enter the window, and, wrapping its end around the rail near him, he jumped over the balcony and slid down to the floor below before he could talk himself out of doing it. He landed with a thump that, although soft, seemed to echo and reverberate off the metal walls until it grew and magnified into a horrendous thudding that seemed to portend certain disaster. Yohji ignored it. He hit the ground running, and, severing the length of wire as he moved, quickly covered the open space separating him from Aya.
Yohji slid to a stop at his friend's side. Aya was half-sitting, half-lying against one of the walls, and, although his eyes were open, he seemed unaware of Yohji's approach, or of the tall blonde's presence. The normally sharp, clear violet-blue eyes were dull and glazed, and they stared out at nothing with a far-away look that made Yohji's stomach clench with fear. The defeated, empty look in those familiar eyes was enough to make the blonde's blood run cold. It was as if Aya wasn't even in there any more, and Yohji feared he had gotten there too late to really save his friend.
Without moving to touch Aya, Yohji quickly let his eyes slide over the redhead's body, taking stock of any injuries he could detect. It was too dark to tell the true extent of the damage, but the light-colored sweater he had been wearing on the day Schuldich had grabbed him was stained with dark patches in several spots, indicating either fresh injuries or old ones that, not yet having had a chance to heal, had, once again, broken through their sutures. The redhead's hands were tied in front of him, but, even so, his right arm hung at a strange, slightly twisted angle --- probably a dislocated shoulder. From the shallow, harsh way Aya breathed, Yohji guessed there were broken ribs. He could see bruising on the pale skin of Aya's face --- a long, dark bruise discoloring one side of his head, a deeper bruise on his cheek, and a black eye that looked as if it had almost healed. It was obvious Schuldich had not treated his captive kindly, yet, from what Yohji could see, the physical damage didn't seem too terribly bad. Aya had certainly had worse. But, there were still those eyes, with their lost, empty look. Yohji felt his heart thumping against his ribs, and his stomach clenched in anger and fear as he considered the possibility that the mental damage just might be irreversible.
Finally, when Aya gave no indication he was aware of Yohji's presence, even after several moments of careful, quiet watching on the tall blonde's part, Yohji reached out, with a shaking hand, to gently brush at his friend's cheek. "Aya? Aya? It's me. It's Yohji." When he still received no response, Yohji grabbed at Aya's uninjured shoulder and gently shook the younger man. "Aya? Aya, look at me."
Aya blinked, as if just coming awake, and the empty, violet eyes turned toward Yohji, slowly focusing on his face. At first, there wasn't anything --- no emotion, no recognition, nothing. But, ever so slowly, Yohji saw the faintest glimmer of recognition flash deep within his friend's eyes.
"Yo Yohji?" Aya asked, his voice soft and hoarse, cracking from lack of use, and, probably, five days of no food and little water. "I thought you wouldn't come. I I told him. I told him you wouldn't come."
"Shhh," Yohji soothed. He pulled his knife from his boot and quickly sliced through the ropes holding Aya's hands. "It's all right now. Of course I came. Omi and Ken wanted to come, too, but I wouldn't let them." He gently rubbed at Aya's hands, trying to restore some feeling while, at the same time, avoiding the ugly, raw, bleeding wounds the ropes had made. He looked back at his friend and forced a reassuring smile, "You think you can stand? We need to get the hell outta here."
"I told him. I told him you wouldn't come," Aya repeated, in that same, hollow, exhausted voice. He looked at the floor, and then, back at Yohji, "I told him you wouldn't come."
Aya's mantra was quickly unsettling Yohji's nerves. He shook the redhead and gently chastised, "Stop. Stop it, Aya. Stop saying that. You're giving me the creeps. Come on, snap out of it, OK?"
"No," Aya said, slowly, as if he was struggling to gather thoughts that had scattered, blown away by the wind like so many dried, dead leaves.
Suddenly, his thoughts, or whatever he was hearing in his mind, seemed to coalesce, and he looked up at Yohji, a look of pure terror written across his face, his eyes, previously empty and emotionless, now filled with the deepest fear the tall blonde had ever seen. Yohji found himself involuntarily backing away, but Aya, wincing at the pain of forcing his dislocated shoulder into action, grabbed for him, fisting his hands in the material at the front of Yohji's coat.
"No," the redhead repeated, "You you can't be here. You have to go. Now." He released his hold then, shoving Yohji roughly backward with a strength that, fed by terror, was completely at odds with his physical and mental condition.
Yohji stumbled backward a few steps, further into the middle of the room, before he managed to catch his balance. He frowned at Aya, but didn't try to come closer to the redhead, as he asked, "What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm not leaving without you." He held out his hand, as if he was trying to convince a small, unruly child, "Come on. We'll both go. We'll go now, OK?"
"No!" Aya yelled, forcing himself to his feet. He stood on shaking legs, facing Yohji with the terror still playing through the depths of his eyes. "No. I I told him you wouldn't come. He wanted it, but I said no."
Yohji scowled at Aya. The sense of dread he'd had about this rescue ever since his meeting with Crawford had finally managed to entirely take over, and his insides felt as if they were made of ice. He knew his voice was shaking, but he didn't even try to stop it, as he said, "Aya. Aya, come on. You're you're not making any sense. It doesn't make any sense. Just come with me."
"No," Aya replied.
His voice was also shaking, but Yohji couldn't tell if it was from fear, or from exhaustion. It seemed the redhead could barely stay on his feet, and he swayed back and forth, dangerously close to falling. Yohji desperately wanted to go to him, catch him in his arms, keep him from falling, and protect him from whatever terror was, obviously, eating him alive. But, he didn't. He knew one false move could send Aya right over the edge, so he forced himself to stay put, not straying from the spot where had ended up after Aya had pushed him.
"Can't you see?" Aya begged, staring at the floor next to his feet. "Please he'll never let me go. He wanted you, Yohji. Wanted to break me by forcing me to watch you die. But, I told him I told him you wouldn't come. I let him have me, instead of you. Shit! Why? Why did you come? I told him no. I told him you wouldn't come, but now now, you're here, and he's inside my head." Aya looked up, and Yohji was shocked to see tears shining in his eyes, "He's here inside my head, laughing at me. Because I let him break me. I I let it happen so that so that he wouldn't have you. Why!? Why the fuck did you come!?" Aya was sobbing so hard that he was shaking, and he leaned against the wall behind him, slamming his head into it, and screaming, "Get out! Get out of my fucking mind! I won't I won't let this happen. I won't let you have him. I won't! I won't! I won't!"
"Aya! Fuck, Aya, stop! Stop it!" Yohji screamed.
He started toward his friend, one hand held out before him in a pleading gesture. He was unsure of what to do, but determined to, at least, keep Aya from hurting himself any further. Yohji could feel his blood tingling through his veins, as if that cold feeling of dread had finally managed to freeze it, too. He hadn't ever seen Aya freak out like this, not even in the midst of a Takatori-murdering frenzy, and it scared him. It was like Aya was fighting a battle with his own mind, and watching it scared the living daylights out of Yohji. Sure, Aya was the most tightly-wound, up-tight bastard he knew. The redhead's emotions and feelings were always kept closely in control, and he was coiled up like a spring, ready to break at any moment. But, he always managed to hold it together somehow, and, in the process, he managed to hold all of them together, too. What would happen to them if Aya didn't survive this, if Aya didn't win this battle of wills raging inside his mind? Yohji knew it was a selfish question, but he asked it, all the same. He knew Aya was fighting for them, as much as for himself.
Yohji had taken two, halting steps forward when Aya stopped him in his tracks by spearing him with a death glare that left no doubt as to who was in control of his mind now. "You stupid fuck!" he hissed, as he launched himself toward Yohji, "It's just what he fucking wanted!"
Yohji thought Aya was attacking him, and he, involuntarily, took several steps backward, moving further into the unsheltered, open middle of the room. He was so shocked by Aya's behavior that he never heard the gun cock, or its report as it sent a bullet hurtling toward him from the balcony above. Aya moved with a grace, agility, and speed that belied his injures, and, just as the bullet reached Yohji, he threw himself onto the older man, bringing him to the floor under his weight and shielding the tall blonde's body with his own.
Yohji didn't understand what was happening, but, in that way split-second events seem to have of stopping time, it felt like he was moving in slow motion, like the whole world was moving that way. He felt Aya's weight hit him, driving him to the ground. As he wrapped his arms around the redhead, he heard the sickening thud of a bullet hitting flesh and felt the shudder that ran through Aya's body as it struck him in the back. Even as they were falling, Yohji managed to catch a glimpse of Aya's eyes. There was shock, pain, and then nothing --- just emptiness --- as they slid closed and Aya's body went limp and heavy in his arms. Yohji felt the floor come up to meet him, hard, and it took his breath away as he landed, seconds that had stretched into an eternity falling back into seconds again, as the normal flow of time resumed.
As he struggled for breath, Yohji heard it --- crazed, gleeful laughter that echoed through his mind. It was such a subtle presence, he almost thought the laughter was his, but he knew better. He knew exactly who it was --- Schuldich. The German had invaded his mind before, and Yohji had known then he'd never forget the sensation. This was the exact same feeling. Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place. It had been a trap, all along, just as he had suspected, just as Crawford had tried to warn. Aya's words hadn't been lunatic ravings at all. The redhead had been trying to warn him away, had been trying to tell him Schuldich had planned it this way all along. The German had always intended to take his revenge on Aya, not by killing the swordsman, but by taking away the things that mattered to him, that kept him sane: his position in Weiss, the support of his teammates, who were his adopted family, and, worst of all, his closest friend.
"It's true," the silky-sweet, sickening German voice purred in his mind, as loudly as if Schuldich were standing next to him, whispering in his ear. "I planned it this way all along. Why else go to the trouble of having Precious kicked out of Kritiker, hunted like an animal? If I had only wanted to kill him, it would have been easy, but I wanted to break him, just like he broke me when he killed Sergei." There was a brief pause, before the voice continued, in a tone that sounded almost like regret, "Of course, I had planned on keeping him. He fought me, you know, right up till the end, but, he couldn't win. I still broke him --- with images of you, lying dead at his feet. I was going to keep him, to be my plaything, to replace Sergei. Precious is so pretty he was so pretty once he'd broken, once he realized he was really my creature, and that he had nothing left to live for." Yohji heard a sigh whisper through his mind, followed by, "Oh well. Perhaps it's better this way. Animals that are suffering should be put down, after all. I can always find another pretty plaything."
"NOOOOO!"
Yohji heard someone yelling, and it took a few seconds for him to realize that the crazed, enraged voice was his. He wanted Schuldich --- out of his mind and dead at his feet --- and he wanted it now. The tall blonde shoved Aya's still body off of him, and leapt to his feet, pushing that single-minded thought, along with his white-hot, burning rage, at the German. He was rewarded with a slight jolt of shock and fear before Schuldich hastily retreated from his mind. Yohji couldn't see anything through the curtain of rage that had fallen over him. It blinded him to all reason, and he charged across the floor, which was devoid of cover, toward Schuldich, who was positioned on the balcony across from where he and Aya had fallen. The German's higher position, the lack of cover in the middle of the warehouse, and Yohji's blind rage, which prevented the blonde from exercising the good sense to use the columns for cover, all combined to give Schuldich a tactical advantage. After the momentary shock at feeling Yohji's rage, the German recovered, and, with another crazed laugh, took aim at the tall blonde.
Through the emotions blinding him, Yohji saw Schuldich aiming at him, and he had the presence of mind to think, 'Shit, I am so dead.' But, he didn't stop his forward charge, partly because he'd already come too far to turn back, but, mostly because he just didn't care. He kept seeing the way Aya's eyes had gone dead as the redhead fell, limp and lifeless in his arms, and that vision kept him charging across the open floor without even trying to find cover, even though his mind screamed at him for being a fool. Before Schuldich could pull the trigger, Yohji heard shattering glass. He was almost directly underneath the red-haired German at that point, and the broken glass shards showered down on top of him, forcing him to stop his forward progress and shield his face. Yohji looked up in time to see a huge shape, inky-black against the murky darkness in the building, sail through the falling shards and chunks of glass. For the first time that night, he was truly glad he had brought Aya's stupid dog with him. He vaguely recalled that the row of windows with the crates stacked underneath was along that particular wall, and he figured Bubba must have scaled them to get into the building.
The dog took Schuldich completely by surprise. A feeling of blind panic, along with a memory of the animal's teeth sinking into flesh, flashed through Yohji's mind, making the blonde smile. It seemed Schuldich was still afraid of Bubba. The German turned, intending to fire at the big, black dog, but Bubba was on him before he could aim. The dog was poetry in motion as he sailed through the window with a throaty bark of rage and a vicious snarl, teeth bared, muscles driving him forward, no thought in his mind except for sinking his teeth into this man, who was his most hated enemy. The dog's movements made Yohji think of the times he'd watched Aya practice his sword work; Bubba moved with the same sureness, grace, and agility, and, suddenly, Yohji realized why the dog had been so drawn to Aya, in the first place. The big, black dog and the silent redhead were alike; in so many ways, they were the same creature --- savage, brutal, yet beautiful, and selflessly devoted to those they loved.
Bubba was on Schuldich without ever touching the ground. He landed, paws first, on the German's chest, forcing Schuldich to the floor. In the process, the German dropped his gun, and it clattered to the floor at Yohji's feet. The tall blonde kicked it out of the way and watched as Bubba threw himself on top of Schuldich, snarling, snapping, and growling, biting at the German's shoulder, then his arms, and, finally, his throat. Schuldich was screaming, an unbroken string of unintelligible curses in English, Japanese, and German, as he struggled to shove the dog off, but Bubba was too big and too strong.
Yohji watched for a few seconds, allowing Bubba to have a little fun, before calling out, "Bubba! Off!"
The dog looked up at him and, even in the dim light, Yohji could see blood on his muzzle. Bubba looked at him with narrowed, yellow eyes that glittered with unspent anger, and then, the dog seemed to look a little beyond Yohji, to where Aya lay crumpled on the floor. Bubba snarled again, and appeared ready to return to his mauling. Yohji briefly turned back, following the dog's gaze to Aya's limp form, and frowned when it occurred to him that Bubba might not stop before he killed the red-haired German.
"Bubba! Off! Now!" Yohji yelled again, frowning and moving forward. He needed Schuldich alive, if he had any hope of getting Aya out of this mess with Kritiker, and he didn't want to leave his friend alone, lying on that cold floor, for the span of time it would take him to climb to the balcony and physically pull the dog off Schuldich.
To his relief, Bubba retreated. He stood slightly to one side --- snarling viciously, growling, hair bristling enough to make him look twice his size --- and glared at Yohji. No, Yohji realized, as he moved forward, unleashing another length of wire. Not at him, but behind him, at Aya. The dog was staring at his fallen master.
"I know," Yohji softly told the dog, "I feel the same way. But, the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get to him."
The blonde sent his wire sailing up toward the balcony, where it wrapped around Schuldich's wrist. The German, who had been dazed by Bubba's attack, immediately started fighting to strip off the wire, but one savage yank by Yohji threw him completely off balance and sent him tumbling over the balcony's edge. It was about a six-foot fall to the floor, not enough to kill or, considering Schuldich's uncanny survival instinct, even badly injure the German, but it was enough to knock the man unconscious, finally silencing the steady stream of nearly unintelligible, curses he'd been screaming ever since Bubba's attack. Yohji stood over Schuldich, who had landed slightly on his side, and roughly shoved the man over onto his stomach. He bound Schuldich's hands tightly behind his back with the wire, severing it once he was done, and, then, turned and quickly did the same with the German's feet. With his quarry secured, Yohji immediately turned his attention toward the still figure lying in the middle of the warehouse floor.
His breath catching in his throat, Yohji slid to his knees next to Aya. The redhead had fallen on his stomach, and he was lying with one arm underneath him, his dislocated shoulder twisted to the side in a sickening angle. Fresh blood had soaked half his sweater. It formed a small puddle underneath his body, and the thick, warm liquid continued to come, as if it poured out of him. With shaking hands and his heart thumping a crazy, terror-filled pattern that made his ribs ache, Yohji reached out and gently, ever so gently, turned Aya over, onto his back. Yohji felt tears stinging his eyes as he fumbled to pull off his gloves and slid his cold-numbed hands under the collar of Aya's sweater. He sighed in relief when he felt a pulse. It was weak, and unsteady, but it was there, a small sign of life. Aya was breathing, but just barely.
"Please, Aya," Yohji whispered, "Please, please, please. This isn't funny not a good joke at all, OK? So, just wake up, all right? Just wake up and tell me to fuck off tell me you're fine tell me to leave you the hell alone. Just talk to me."
The whole time he spoke softly to Aya, Yohji continued to fumble with the younger man's clothes. He cursed softly as he willed his cold, shaking hands to work properly, to obey the commands his mind gave them. After a few breathless moments, he managed to work his knife out of his boot, and he sliced open Aya's sweater, pulling the redhead slightly off the ground and into a sitting position, leaning against his chest, so that he could look at the wound in Aya's back. As the material parted under the sharpened edge of his blade and fell away from his friend's body, Yohji's heart clenched and his breath died in his throat. There was so much blood. It had soaked through Aya's sweater. It pooled around his body. Yohji could feel it seeping over his hands and soaking through the thick leather of his pants. And, with every struggling beat of Aya's heart, it seemed to bubble out of him, a never-ending stream.
"Shitshitshitshitshit," Yohji muttered. "Hang on. You have hang in there, Aya. Please, please, please. I mean it. This is not funny, not a funny trick at all."
Yohji's mind raced frantically from one thought to another: there just wasn't that much blood in a body; Crawford couldn't be right; it was just one possible future; it didn't have to be the only future; it can't end this way, it just can't. Thankfully, his hands worked of their own accord, completely independently of, and with no need for instructions from his mind. He tore Aya's ruined sweater into strips, rolling some of them up and stuffing them into the gaping wound on the younger man's back. He had hoped it would, at least, slow the bleeding. Yohji held his breath for a moment, and then sighed in relief as the flow finally started to slow. He took the rest of the strips, and, mindless of Aya's broken bones and dislocated shoulder, tightly bound the wound. He knew he was probably doing additional damage to some of Aya's injuries, but it couldn't be avoided. The gunshot wound was the worst, most life-threatening at the moment, and he had to stop the bleeding, no matter what.
A small, whining sound brought Yohji's attention away from Aya, and he looked up to see Bubba sitting near them, just on the other side of Aya's outstretched legs. Yohji didn't know how the dog had gotten down off the balcony, and, at the moment, he didn't care. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around his injured friend, before laying Aya back onto the floor.
"Stay with him," he snapped at the dog as he got to his feet and ran across the floor, to where he had left Schuldich. As he jerked the red-haired Schwarz off the floor and ran for the door, Yohji glanced over at Aya, relieved to see that the big, black dog had moved in to snuggle gently next to the injured man's side.
Yohji grabbed Schuldich by the collar and dragged him roughly over the hard, concrete floor toward the door. He was grateful the German was unconscious. He knew he needed Schuldich alive, but, it wouldn't take much to push him into killing the man. One smug word from the asshole's mouth would have done it. When he reached the door, Yohji sighed in frustration, as he had just remembered the padlock, which he had seen during his recon earlier that day. He silently cursed, thinking he would have to find an alternate way of getting Aya out of the building. Once he was in sight of the door, Yohji realized it was locked from the inside, this time, and he cursed himself for not noticing that when he had arrived for the rescue mission. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd had his mind on noticing little details like this one, he would have realized Schuldich was there. And, if he had, maybe, just maybe, Aya wouldn't be back there, bleeding his life out on the cold concrete floor. With one savage kick from his heavy boot, Yohji shattered the lock, causing the door to swing open and bang against the nearest wall.
Yohji dragged Schuldich over the rough ground outside the warehouse, rapidly covering the few feet separating him from his stolen car. It was cold, and he had given his coat to Aya. He shivered as the wind hit him, quickly cutting through the thin, half t-shirt he wore, but he quickly pushed thoughts of the cold from his mind. He opened the trunk and, without ceremony, dumped Schuldich's body in, grinning at the sound it made when it hit the bottom. Yohji peered in, and whistled when he saw there was still quite a bit of space left in the large, roomy trunk.
'Always steal American,' he thought as he ran back toward the warehouse, 'Enough trunk space for three bodies.'
************************************************************
Yohji glanced nervously over at Aya as he raced through the darkened city streets toward the hospital. Bubba peered at the redhead from the back seat, hanging his big, square head over the seat back, and whined, apparently seconding Yohji's feelings of helplessness and fear. The blonde fumbled for Aya's wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was still there, but it felt like it was fading quickly. After satisfying himself that Aya was, at the moment, still alive, Yohji allowed his hand to stray up to scratch Bubba's broad, square head.
"I know, boy," he whispered, "I know, but he's tough. If anyone can make it, he can."
Yohji steered with his knee as he reached over to fish his cell phone out of the pocket of his trench coat, which Aya still wore. Once he managed to find it, he pulled it out of the pocket and punched in Manx's number. Within seconds, he was rewarded with the sound of the red-haired Kritiker agent's sultry voice over the phone.
"Yes?"
"Manx. Yohji. I have something to exchange for our lives --- mine and Aya's. Mercy Hospital, ten minutes."
After that, he severed the connection with a click and concentrated on driving, glancing over ever so often to silently pray that his friend was still alive.
**********************************************************
Ken and Omi were downstairs, in the basement briefing room, glued to the computer as they surfed the Internet for any information indicating whether or not Yohji's rescue mission had been successful, when the phone rang. The abrupt, jangling noise broke the heavy silence that had descended on the room, and caused both of them to jump. It was their mission phone, the one only Manx, Persia, or Kritiker used, and the fact that it was ringing now, when, technically, they had been on "stand-by" for months, seemed to foretell ominous news. They stared at the ringing phone for a few tense moments, before Ken slowly crossed the floor to pick up the handset.
"Yeah?" he asked. He paused, listening quietly for a minute, and then said, "Understood."
Omi had watched Ken closely, straining to see any body language that might indicate what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but there wasn't anything. Nothing about the ex-goalie's expression or body language gave anything away, until he hung the phone up with a shaking hand. He turned to Omi, and the boy was surprised to see tears glistening in Ken's eyes.
"Get your coat," he said, "That was Manx. Yohji called her, said he had something to trade for Aya's freedom. She's meeting him at Mercy Hospital, and she thought, under the circumstances, we should, maybe be there, too."
Omi's blue eyes became wide with fear. "Aya?" he asked, his voice shaking with emotion.
Ken shrugged. "She didn't say. Come on, get your coat. We need to go."
Omi nodded, and darted for the stairs, Ken on his heels. As they pounded up the stairs to grab their coats, the young blonde looked back toward Ken, over his shoulder, and said, "It it doesn't have to end like Crawford said. It's just one possibility."
