A/N: Sorry, this took a little longer than expected! College has restarted, and I have a full course load, but I promise to keep writing for this fic. I love a concerned Ken. Anyway, comments to your guys reviews are at the bottom, thanks to all who read!

Disclaimer - No, within the last month, I still haven't gained the rights to Weiss. Pity.

-Chapter 2-

With one arm encircling loosely drawn up knees, the other bracing himself against the floor, Yohji gazed up at the bright stars that shone amidst a cloudless night. While he couldn't exactly say that he saw the stars, the stellar units more like colliding shiny blurs due to unfocused eyes, but he knew they were there.

It probably should've reminded him how insignificant he was, a speck on a planet that was, for all intents and purposes, one out of many, but it didn't. To his reasoning, the world should've stopped mid-rotation to deal with his pain; his grief. Why couldn't he be the center of the universe when he needed it? Why did he always have to be the bigger brother, cradling hurt feelings and bandaging wounds? Who did he have when the world came crumbling down, drowning him in a sea of anguish and guilt? Sometimes, people forgot that even the strongest person needed to break down, and that they needed an ear to just listen.

However, he was glad that no one seemed to understand this. Somewhere deep in his psyche, he knew he still had to be the strong one, no matter what. To be dependant on no one, but the dependant of others.

His mind would unconsciously flee back to the memories of Asuka, basking in her strength to cling to that ideal, and his mind grabbed hold of them as though they were a magical talisman, able to protect him from life's cruelties. However, all it did was hurt even worse, digging at old wounds until they reopened and bled.

She couldn't help him anymore; no more than he could help her.

Their time was over.

Asuka. Or Neu. He knew he was being selfish; what with one of their own just downstairs unconscious, but that also didn't matter. She'd died by his hand, one of many that met their end at his razor-sharp wire, but her death hit hard, even knowing she'd have, in turn, killed him.

Perhaps he should've let her. What good was he to the team? He'd nearly gotten them killed earlier that night, one of them still feeling the repercussions of such a rash discussion. His unconscious mind sat precariously on the edge of sanity, clearly ready to dip forward and down into the depths of despair if he thought too hard about the night's happenings. Unfortunately, he felt ready to take the plunge, his heart aching more than it had any right to.

The night was silent, taunting Yohji's mind into replaying those few moments when he could've let his wire go lax, therefore allowing Neu to have the last laugh. She'd have died by Aya's hand if he'd taken that easy road out, that much he was sure of, and he owed her more than such a meaningless death. But that's how it had played out, and no one, not even a member of Schwarz, could let him relive that moment.

The gentle hum of the hospital's ventilation shaft filtered into his mind, creating a safety net of the damned that wouldn't allow him to fully immerse himself in such deadly thoughts.

What was done, was done.

Yohji had to say that he cherished this time alone, finally able to let his guard down and allow himself to just float away with the silence. It never happened often, everything considered, but when it did he tried to make the most of it. There were thoughts that needed to be sorted out, and the only way to do so was by cutting himself off from the others. He didn't need their problems, which would only blur with his own. Like a child's finger painting, too many vibrant colors made one, ugly brown blob.

It was wonderful to be by yourself.

Yes it was.

Oh who was he kidding? It sucked.

Being alone sucked, and being alone with memories tumbling inside your head sucked even more. It was a wonder on why psychiatric wards used solitary confinement, considering the time spent by yourself seemed to make every innocent thought have a delicate lace of crazy intent. The mind was definitely a prison full of traps, and Yohji had never learned the art of disarmament.

"What am I supposed to do? WHAT!" his voice, fueled by the anguish of the day, carried into the night sky, echoing off of the surrounding buildings and seemingly mocking his situation. In all honesty, he wouldn't put it past whatever deity watched over him to do so, if there actually were any. Who knew? If he'd had to guess, he couldn't exactly say anyone seemed to watch his back, other than the other members of Weiss.

At least, that was how it was now. He couldn't be sure of what lay ahead, but could the boys ever understand why Asuka was a piece of his life that he wasn't willing to throw away? That he really couldn't just toss it aside as if it'd never happened? She'd been his guardian angel, watching over him when no one else could give a damn. Being a private detective didn't exactly buy you a lot of friends, after all.

No, they wouldn't understand. Their attitudes had been pretty clear on that fact, as was the growing bruise on Ken's face. There weren't many things in the world that could set Yohji off, but the claw-wielding assassin seemed to be able to find them like he had a dowsing rod specially made for the task.

Speaking of Asuka like she were a criminal. How dare he!

But, Ken had been right. Asuka... Neu... who can you trust when you can't even trust yourself to know?

A cooling breeze flowed over his body, alerting him to the fact that his face was covered in tear tracks that he swiftly brushed away. It wouldn't do well to cry in front of the boys, which was going to be the situation soon if he knew them.

Ah yes, he did. That was one thing he prided himself on, after all.

And yet, sometimes being 'right' was a pain in the butt.

With a sigh, Yohji resigned himself to his fate. One of the boys was about to intrude upon his pity party, the heavy footsteps now coming from the open stairway a testament to that fact. From the sounds of it, it was Ken, most likely catching his foot on one of the steps if his cursing was any indication. For being an assassin and ex-soccer goalie, the man surely couldn't be labeled as 'nimble'.

Why couldn't they just leave him be? If they were worried, which, knowing Ken, was the most likely reason, couldn't they find a better way of checking up on him?

"Yohji?"

If he hadn't known that he would be having company, Yohji never would've heard Ken's soft call. The mind was full of twists and turns, the largest labyrinth having nothing even close to what you could lose yourself in. It was a way to retreat, but he couldn't tell which would be worse at the moment: near insanity or Ken. It was a double edged sword.

As it was, he didn't have time to figure out the answer. The brown-haired assassin slowly walked over to him, a beverage carrier nestled in his arms.

"Anyone answerin' you out here?" he asked, slipping one of the luke-warm cups into Yohji's hand. At the blank look he received, Ken added, "The vents are directly linked to the cafeteria. I heard you, and by your loud ass voice, so did the Martians on Mars. So, I ask again, anyone answering you? 'Cause if so, I think there are magazines that pay money for that type of thing."

"Oh."

"'Oh'? I get an 'oh'? What's up with that? I think I at least deserve a two syllable word, considering I bought you a drink."

"Bought?" Yohji asked, idly wondering if he'd have to reimburse the assassin.

"Yeah, you'd think Kritiker would splurge, but hey, whatever," and Ken slumped down next to Yohji, feet splayed out in front of him while juggling the last lone cup of coffee. "Sorry, it's all they got. Vending-machine type, which I know you hate, but whatever. And since you don't eat before missions, at least it's something. And of course, we don't have far to go once this stuff kicks our stomachs to hell, right?"

A seemingly endless bout of silence followed Ken's attempt at lightening the mood, a slight nod of Yohji's head the only indication he'd actually heard anything. Ken did like to ramble at times. Would he leave if Yohji ignored him? After all, Omi was still downstairs, so he'd have to go check on the kid sometime.

Omi.

Damn it all! There was no reason he should feel so badly about this. Omi was a grown man... ok, sort of, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was...

"I messed up, Ken."

"Yep."

"No man, I mean... I really screwed up," Yohji fixed his jade eyes on the darkened horizon, barely sensing his friends sudden spike of concern at the emotionless voice he was unconscious of using. Best make it seem like things are alright, he deducted, adding, "and not in the good sense that screwing usually implies."

"Do you hear me denyin' it? Hell, beat yourself up all you like... better you than me, anyway," apparently Yohji's small fake act of normalcy was enough to deter the younger man from asking any heartfelt, bonding questions. In their stead, Yohji could see from the corner of his eye that Ken unconsciously rubbed where his fist had connected to the man's cheek earlier that day.

Well, whatever. He'd already apologized for hitting the athlete.

"You're not making this any easier."

"Well, do you really want me to? C'mon Yohji, I mean... hell! Omi's downstairs, unconscious, because of you y'know!" obviously it was a statement that Hidaka had been just dying to make clear as it burst from his lips in an outraged half-shout.

"Because of me? What the hell does that mean, Ken!"

"'Betrayed by one of your own', that's what Schoen said, isn't it? Did you betray us, Kudoh?" At Yohji's silence, Ken added with much more fervor and anger, "Well, did you?"

A low growl accompanied Yohji's voice as he spoke with a softness that belied his current state of mind. He'd learned that tactic from Aya, sad to say, but it seemed to work on most people. "And do you believe it?"

"No. No, I don't," Ken stated after a moment of hesitation through gritted teeth, his hand having clenched into a fist at the very start of their argument. Whether the soccer-player wished his weapon had still been equipped to begin a fight, Yohji didn't know, and frankly didn't care. Right then, he would've gladly taken the opportunity to let off a little steam.

How could he ask him something like that, after everything they'd been through together! If he'd wanted Weiss dead, they'd be dead already.

Whoa. Where'd that thought come from?

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Well hell, Yohji! You haven't asked a single thing about Omi since we got here! If you'd just listened to us about your precious assassin-girl, this never would've happened. I mean, how dense are you? She played you!"

A sudden wetness engulfed his palm and Yohji didn't need to look down to know that his fingernails had pierced skin from the tight fist he'd made. Without any conscious thought, that fist landed hard across Ken's left cheek, sending the brunette splayed across the rooftop. "And what the hell do you know about it! Last I knew your stats with the girls wasn't that up to par, y'know. So take some lessons from Aya; be quiet, stay out of my business, and just leave me alone, Ken!" Yohji stood without remorse, subsequently walking down the stairs and leaving Ken to his own stupidity.

He didn't know anything! Yohji shouted mentally, his dark presence making sure that no one in the halls approached him. They gave him a wide berth, which he was thankful for in the small part of his brain that was still functioning By the amount of times that he and Weiss made trouble for each other, no one could honestly believe that they were still friends.

Yohji made a quick bee-line into the men's bathroom, grabbing paper towels from the dispenser to clean his bloodied hand. The deep red caused his mind to replay his quarrel with Ken, and he looked up into the lavatory mirror, grateful no one seemed to be in the room as his haunted eyes seemed to crystalize with resolve.

So what if Omi was hurt? They were all hurt that night, and it wasn't as if that was the first, or last time, either. Yohji's fault? No! How dare Ken say that! If anything, it was Omi's own damn fault!

A sharp gasp followed that thought, Yohji swallowing hard as his hand pounded the wall to keep upright. There was some truth in there, wasn't there? A sick type of sense, but it made sense nonetheless.

Neu was Asuka, or at least, she'd been Asuka. He was sure of that much. For no matter how cheesy it sounded, seemingly pulled from a B-rated movie, it was still the truth; the woman he'd killed that night had been brainwashed. She'd been unwilling. She'd had to have been. She was Yohji's 'Asuka', no one could ever change his mind about that. The similarities were too many to be a coincidence. And even so, her memories... they'd shared something, even if she didn't realize it now, and you just didn't forget those things. But... Masafumi Takatori had taken everything from him. He'd been killed by Weiss, but he was still causing trouble and pain. That's all the Takatori's did; create pain. And there was still a Takatori in their midst.

Omi, a.k.a. Mamoru Takatori.

Yohji could nearly see red as his mind's rambles finally came to a head, all logical thought pushed aside to leave this feeling whole and making sense. He needed it, a tangible thing he could take out the frustration of the day on. This notion must've been what Aya fed on every time he saw Omi... Mamoru... whoever.

It was the Takatori's that must die to avenge Asuka!

His jaw tensed, teeth painfully biting together as it all seemed to make perfect sense, his eyes nearly spelling out rage. Looking back down at the bloodied paper towel, he knew whose blood it should've been on his hands.

He knew what he had to do. After throwing the used piece of tissue away, Yohji made his way back out into the hall and back to Omi's room. There were still workers wandering the halls, but they went unnoticed by the one-track-minded assassin.

Someone had to pay for Asuka.

Those words must've been painted in blood around Yohji, for Aya straightened up from the wall to glance at the newcomer.

"Ken's lookin' for you Aya. He's up on the roof, you should go see him."

Aya didn't answer, but Yohji didn't seem to notice. His eyes were as sharp as stone as he focused on the bed with Omi's form lying nearly motionless. The slow rise and fall of the sheet was the only indication that the boy still lived, even the low breaths barely making any sound in the hospital room. "Something he didn't want the kid to overhear. I'll watch him. You go."

If Yohji had been paying attention to detail, he'd have seen Aya's violet eyes narrow in anger, but as it was, his only viewpoint was the symbol of everything that'd been taken from him. To his rage-induced mind, it didn't matter that Omi hadn't known until recently who he was. Nor that the kid was literally dying. Nothing mattered, only revenge.

"Well, well, finally come down, have you?"

Kudoh's head twisted to look over his shoulder, the anger abating slightly at seeing the familiar form leaning against the door frame. "Yeah, seems like. What are you doing here anyway, Manx?"

"Well I got a call from the staff and had to see what sorry shape you boys were in for myself. I thought you guys could handle yourselves a little better than this. Persia would be so disappointed."

Aya gave no indication to show he acknowledged her arrival, but he refused to retake his space against the wall. Instead, he chose to walk closer to the bed, on the opposite side of Yohji in silent support of the youngest assassin.

"Just a little banged up," he shrugged, the usual air of nonchalance missing from the gesture. "Nothin' to worry yourself over," Yohji returned his focus onto Omi, the kid mimicking death so well that he felt his heart skip a beat. What was he thinking? Omi Tsukiyono was one of them. One of Weiss. But still, he was a Takatori. He couldn't let them get away with what they'd done to Asuka!

"Yohji? Hey, are you in there?"

He turned his head, the red head looking back at him with worry deep in her eyes. She must've been trying to get his attention for awhile now if she actually cared enough to look concerned. Yohji returned a simple nod as his answer.

Obviously the woman didn't believe him, because the look of concern took on a hint of her usual aloofness. It was her way of saying, 'don't you lie to me'. Oh well, they could believe what they like.

"Why don't you go home and get some rest, Yohji. We can take care of the squirt, and you look beat to hell and back. C'mon, I'll call you a cab, and I'll even pay," without waiting for his answer, Manx turned and retreated from the room. Anyone with half a brain knew that when Persia's assistant gave an order, you listened and followed through. Well, Yohji wasn't about to leave. He'd blame it on the fact that more than half of his brain wasn't functioning at the moment.

"It's not his fault," Aya commented, arms crossing over his chest as Manx's form disappeared from view. Yohji felt one of the traps in his mind lose a spring, the metallic 'ching' nearly audible as he nonchalantly gazed over to Aya. How many parts could be lost before a trap sprung? Yohji idly wondered, fully understanding Abyssinians tactics as his anger returned full force. The question was very akin to 'how many licks it took to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?'. No one knew, but the answer was very highly sought.

"Sorry, don't think I know what you mean."

"Like hell," Aya returned, and as if Yohji's barely controlled remark wasn't an indication of how he felt, the man's green eyes narrowed into thin slits that contained enough venom to make a cobra jealous. "Those who play the idiot often lose themselves in the role, but you obviously needn't worry for you're already there. It is not his fault."

"You think because your sister is the way she is, you understand everything, don't you Aya?" Yohji insisted, one hand striking out to lay atop Omi's throat before he even thought about the action. It was a show of intent, or a challenge, but the kid made no motion, and Balinese wasn't putting any pressure into the move. If he lost his nerve now, he'd never get another chance. Aya growled beneath his breath, barely hearing the ragged breathing of his fellow assassin. "Tell me you don't fantasize of this every time you see him all bubbly, like the good little boy he pretends to be; all the girls swooning over him in the shop, not knowing just what he is. Tell me this isn't what makes your dreams at night worth having. Tell me you don't come home and look at his door, thinking that maybe if you did something about it that she just might wake up! Damn, even tell me you wouldn't just love to see my wire do another dance of death and spill a little more blood tonight. Tell me, damnit! Aya, tell me now!"

"If you think killing him will solve your problems, then go right ahead. You have my blessing. But you remember that your hands are covered in blood as well, her blood if you've already forgotten. Tell me you can be that much of a hypocrite and still close your wire around that flesh. You're looking for a way out of your grief, an easy road. There is no such thing," Aya spoke with a harsh, quiet voice that was either in pity for their youngest who slept unawares, or because the message got through much clearer than shouting. For which ever reason, it still had the desired outcome and Yohji had to consciously retract his hand from the archers throat before another piece of his bear-trap mind was lost to the swirling vortex his brain had recently become. "Asuka has been dead a long time coming now. It's unfair to ask Omi to pay for their wrong deeds and you know it."

"I don't need you babysitting me, and I damn well don't need your opinions! Just keep them to your goddamned self like usual Aya and leave me alone," needing those last parting words, and fearing what he'd do if he'd allowed himself to stay just a few moments longer, Yohji stormed off into the bare hallway, his retreating footsteps as well as a few parting comments to the staff audible as the battle was lost.

In the small part of his mind that was still functioning, he knew that Aya would've protected Omi. The man's reasoning was sub-par most of the time, after all. It wouldn't have phased him to protect a Takatori, considering that the particular Takatori in question was 'Omi', and Yohji hardly felt like grappling with the swordsman. There was no reason to; Aya wasn't a part of the equation, and he refused to spill the blood of an innocent.

Asuka had been innocent, but she'd received no such mercy.

He quickly pushed the thought away.

"God, what nearly happened back there?" he asked himself, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him as the cool air of the night surrounded him, the flame of anger flickering with sanity. He'd nearly killed Omi, and would have if Aya hadn't stepped in.

And it had been so easy for Aya, too.

More than anything, Yohji hated it when Aya was right. As Weiss, they went after those whose hands were covered in blood but could not be touched by the law. They did not kill without reason, and they certainly didn't destroy those who had no part in it.

They were not murderers.

"'Hypocrite'... I am, damn it. All that talk about teamwork and friendship... Goddamnit!" Yohji roared into the night, the final spring of his sanity fortunately clipping back into place before he lost everything. The unfortunate thing, however, was the fact that somewhere deep within him, the urge to destroy his friend wasn't completely banished. A part of him wanted to see Mamoru's blood drip bright red as he fought for his young life against the wire-yielding assassin.

That part of himself scared Yohji.

He loved Asuka more than anything, but was he so willing to go that far for her?

He knew that he needed to clear his head, and soon.

He needed to be alone.

Ken snagged an ice pack from a supply shelf as he walked past the storage room, pressing it painfully to a bloodied cheek. That damn Yohji. When was he gonna get it through his thick head that he'd been trying to save a lost cause? That his friends were just trying to help?

Knowing him: never.

A deep growl issued forth from taunt nerves, everything piled upon his mind to a dangerously high level. Omi's illness, Yohji's ignorance, Aya's unsually high degree of stoicism... but the most obvious distress was that he understood Yohji's feelings. Ken would've done anything for Yuriko, short of leaving the country as she'd asked him to do. She'd been there for him when he needed her the most, when he thought things were chipping away at a foundation that couldn't take much more wear and tear.

She'd given him power and strength that was different from anything the boys of Weiss could offer.

And he'd lost her.

Damn, he didn't like where these thoughts were taking him. That was another time. He couldn't dwell on it right now, because at that moment, his only mission was to keep Omi safe, and figure out what could be done for him. That was all. Yohji's self pity would have to wait.

"Hey man, I'm ba... whoa, Manx, when'd you get here?" Ken asked, sliding comfortably back into the chair he'd vacated earlier by Omi's bedside, unconsciously checking him over. Well, the kid was still alive, so there was a small blessing.

"Not too long ago. How are you feeling, Ken?"

Ken could feel her eyes focused on the ice pack. Aya was watching as well, though with him it was more of a 'I'm not looking, you only think I'm looking' type thing.

Boy did he hate that look.

"Just fine. Few bruises, few scrapes. I've had worse," he disregarded any other comments on his health by glancing over at Aya. "No change, huh?"

Aya only shook his head, having taken his spot against the wall after Yohji had stormed out as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Ken heaved a sigh, his hand unconsciously brushing a few strands of sweat damped hair from Omi's forehead. A low moan from Bombay accompanied the motion and Ken found his nerves fray just a little more around the edges of a bundle he couldn't afford to lose. Omi's skin had taken on a translucency that Ken couldn't exactly describe. Whether it was from the poison, sweat, or even the lights, he couldn't tell. The oxygen mask was still firmly placed over the child's mouth, but Ken could see the difficulty that Omi was still having.

"You guys can go home if you want," he offered, hand clasping Omi's as if he could manually keep him tied down to the world, "gotta be tired. I'm staying here in case Schrient tries finishing the job."

"Come now Ken, do you really think they could even set foot in this place? Let alone find it?"

"Hell Manx, all they gotta do is listen for Yohji's poutin' and it'll be no sweat for 'um to find this place. Besides, they beat us, do you really think a few security guards could do anything against them?"

"You think highly of yourselves, I see. Or perhaps just less of others," a smile that hid all the cherished secrets of the world sprouted on the redheads glossy lips, sending a chill down Ken's spine that coincided with a tightening of Omi's hand on his. What was this place hiding? It was Kritiker run... and nothing good came of that.

"I wouldn't worry about them just yet."

Noticing that neither of the two red-heads were moving to leave, Ken voiced the question that had been banging at his mental door since they'd left the military installation, vying for entrance against his guards.

"So, what do we do Aya?" Ken asked, watching as his leader turned his head ever so slightly to question him in his own condescending way.

"Why ask me?"

"Well I was sorta hopin' you had some type of plan in that head of yours is all," Two could play this game, he thought.

"We wait."

"Wait? What do you mean, wait?" Ken never appreciated the fact that, in conversation, Aya could switch from 'interested' to 'nonchalant' in a split second. They were in the second stage of speech now where Aya decided to lean back against his wall and attempt to act as if nothing was wrong.

"Exactly what I said."

"You've gotta be kiddin' me! What kind of a plan is 'wait'! 'Waitin'' ranks right up there with 'runnin'... and that's somethin' you do when the plan has failed! Maybe we should go after Schrient..."

"We wait."

"Goddamnit Aya!" Ken nearly rose from his seat, just to punch the living daylights out of Abyssinians usual stoic face. He most likely would've, too, if Omi hadn't coughed weakly from behind the mask.

"The revenge is not our's to exact. It's Omi's."

"Yeah? Well what the hell happens if Omi doesn't wake up?" was the answering question to Aya's cold glare. Only the self-inflicted shock, which trailed up and down his body in a painful torrent, kept him from leaving the room at such a question.

How could he even think such a thing?

"Siberian, be quiet. This is a hospital, and you'd do well to remember that," Manx ordered, and Ken felt his face slacken. Codenames were only used on missions, or for orders that had to be followed. This was the latter, and Ken could sense Manx's growing irritation at the concern he'd brought up. The only reason he didn't say more on the subject was because Omi was moaning in distress, trying to calm the kid by intertwining his hand with Omi's once more.

"Shh, you're alright... It's ok, you're ok. I'm sorry Omi, I didn't mean that. You will wake up, who'll take care of the freesia flowers if you don't? You know we suck with those," Ken regained some of his own composure as he murmured reassurances to the kid, but not nearly enough to control his temper at the situation.

An uncertain silence filled the air, taking the room words should have filled. It had been a question on all their minds, Ken was sure of it. So why the hell did he always have to be the one to voice those questions? Couldn't someone else be the subject of Aya's glares for once? Not that it mattered, it still needed an answer. And considering no one seemed ready to do anything about it...

"I'm going back to that place and see what I can dig up."

"Ken, are you an idiot? It was on fire last you knew, correct?"

"Yeah, but something's gotta be done. Maybe it's out by now, I don't know. The doc said they couldn't do much until they knew what Omi got in his system, so maybe I can find something to help him. I can't just sit here and pray he gets better, Manx, you know that. Praying isn't our thing."

As if Omi could sense that his family was falling apart, his hand minutely tightened on Ken's, his moaning nearly taking on the syllables of words. It was no use, they couldn't understand anything other than the fact that he understood what was going on. The doctors would probably tell them it was a muscle reaction, but Ken knew better than that.

The kid was afraid for his friends.

"Don't worry kid, I'll come back home, I promise," Ken stood, pressing a kiss to Omi's forehead as he straightened to glare at the others in the room. "I'm going, and I don't care what the hell you say. I'll find out what's happening to him, since no one else seems to care," without waiting for his words to sink in, for an answer or permission, or even the choice of backup, Ken stalked out of the room, leaving Manx with a few choice words on the tip of her tongue.

Well, might as well swallow those comments sweetie, because I'm not coming back until I know what's going on.

One of those feelings that sunk like a pebble to the bottom of the river had overtaken Ken in the last few moments in Omi's hospital room. The hacker wouldn't survive without some sort of help... help that the doctors couldn't provide, that much he was sure of. Now all he had to do was get back before Omi took a turn for the worse, Aya and Yohji be damned.

"I promise I'll return, Omi. I promise..."

-Chapter 2 Fin-

Yay! Reviews

MikaSamu - Thank you very much for the kind review! I believe myself to be horrible with dialogue, so your comment really made my day. I hope I won't dissapoint you in the future.

Barbara Akers - I'm glad to hear you thought them in-character, as that is something I truly strive to keep in my fics. Thanks so much for the comment!

Narijima - -insert evil laugh- I love cliffhangers, I really can't help it. Thanks for letting me know that I actually pulled the readers in, it's hard for me to know if I have.

Dessa - You made me extremely happy with your comment! Glad I could get you to watch the rest of Weiss, and it surely was a strange ending, no? Hope I haven't dissapointed you with this chapter!

Shiroi no Kitsune - Sorry hun, but out of all my readers/commenters of every place I posted this, you were the only one who said this. You don't have trouble breathing because of a wounded leg, especially five-to-ten minutes after it happened. Bombay wasn't breathing hard after he fell, he was flush when Ken was holding him, the purple coloring gave way to poison, he nearly passed out, and Omi looked to be having a slight asthma attack while Ken held him long after they fell into the hole. Thanks for finding something to nitpick about though! -sarcasm-

Kachie Kurayami - It is fun, isn't it! And yes, I think the bishies are drawn that way, just so we can have fun torturing them. Thanks very much for the comment, you really made my day with your review! Hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much, and I'll strive to keep them IC with just the right amount/context of detail.