Aoshi removed himself from behind the pillar he had hastily hidden behind as a horde of guards stampeded by him, and made a mental note to hurt Sagara for that later. Hopefully, the boy could keep the guards distracted for long enough – Saitou had given them a map of the house, yes, but there was still no telling where the bitch was keeping Katsu. He'd already tried five rooms, and each of them had been quite noticeable in their lack of blue-eyed, long-haired artists. The sixth door stared at him balefully, and Aoshi carefully opened it, mindful that there could be guards in it. Not likely, after all the noise Sagara made, but possible.

There were no guards, but there was a black-haired man lying with distressing stillness on the floor. Aoshi wasted no time in rushing over, kneeling by Katsu's prone figure and turning him so he lay on his back. A pain-filled groan that would have had Aoshi frantic with worry at any other time instead relieved him so much he didn't notice when Katsu's eye's opened.

"Hey . . ." Aoshi did notice when Katsu spoke in a tired voice and lifted a trembling hand to tug at his sleeve. The taller man opened his mouth to speak, but found it covered by fingers that still – still – had ink-stains. "Hey . . . your turn's in a few minutes, okay? I'm gonna talk now."

"Katsu . . ." Aoshi wanted to remind him that they could talk later, wanted to get Katsu out of this house as soon as possible, but something in Katsu's eyes made him relent, just a bit.

"Okay . . ." Katsu leaned back with a pained grimace, and Aoshi started as he realized that the artist was covered in mottled bruises and injuries, old and recent. Clear blue eyes looked up at him frankly. "I'm in . . . quite a bit of pain here, really, so when I'm done, do you think you could somehow . . . somehow knock me out in a way where I won't have any lasting damage?" When Aoshi nodded, reluctantly, Katsu sighed in relief. "Good. You do that. Okay. The thing is . . . the thing is that I like you. I like you a lot, really, and I wouldn't mind seeing if I could maybe love you. No, don't say anything." Katsu's fingers pressed again against Aoshi's lips, and Aoshi stayed in wide-eyed silence. "I know there are better places to say this than in the house of a psycho bitch who would probably have you killed if she heard that, but I am really beyond caring. Now can you please knock me out here, because this really fucking hurts."

Aoshi stared at Katsu in disbelief for a few seconds before his last words registered. Numbly, he reached out and struck Katsu just so on the back of his skull . . . very lightly, too. With luck, by the time he woke up he would have already been given enough medicine for his other wounds that he wouldn't feel the headache. He picked up the now-unconscious artist, trying to hold him so that none of his injuries were aggravated, and walked back to where he left Sagara.

When Aoshi got back to the hall, all bodies were strewn everywhere. A cursory glance told him that the majority of them were merely unconscious (as he already knew they would be) . . . and that "the majority" included Sagara. Must have collapsed after defeating the guards . . . about fifty of them, if Aoshi counted right, which meant that they must have been fairly skilled, for Sagara to fall after only fifty. Just to be sure, though, he gently set Katsu down, and reached to check Sagara's pulse.

A noise at the doorway made him look up, though he already knew who was standing there.

Saitou was staring at the fallen Sagara – not with an unreadable expression, which was his norm, but with almost no expression whatsoever. "Almost," because his eyes were just a slight bit wider than usual, his pupils dilated just a fraction of a millimeter.

Aoshi would not have been surprised if Saitou's world was starting to crumble at the corners – he should reassure him, quickly.

"He is unconscious, but his pulse is strong," the ninja said, steadily watching the policeman and looking for a reaction. "He is in no danger of dying at all."

There was a slight flicker, perhaps, a small flash of – relief? gratitude? happiness? – something in Saitou's eyes, but then he sneered, and it was as if nothing had ever been there at all.

"Of course he is – that ahou is too stupid to die."

Still, Aoshi could not help but notice as he walked to pick up Katsu again, Saitou was remarkably careful – almost gentle – as he lifted his human burden off the floor, and his hand clutched a bit tighter than was necessary to that white gi.

And, unnoticed by all, two shadows crept out of the house again.

When I wrote this one, I was so unbelievably happy with it, but by now I can recognize all the things I should have added and didn't. And that is what rewrites are for. :D

Faery: I know you do. ::kisses::

Lychee2: Well, there is a reason that is known as the "Pit of Voles." Likely some whiney little 12-year old bitched to them about a story having sex in it, and they took it down. The only reason I am staying here is that it is good publicity (sorta). Otherwise, I would have washed my hands of them long ago. (I am a review-whore at heart, as Strider is fond of telling me.) Sorry, no gratuitous snogging . . . this chapter. :D As for the Saitou/Sano bit . . . well, what do you think the sequel is going to be??? :P