Notes: Chardonnay and Sake are my characters too!

Chapter Two

Gin had only been awake for several hours when he knew that he had had enough of this imprisonment. He was not going to stay in this room, or anywhere in this doctor's clinic, no matter how bad off he was supposed to be. Painstakingly he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. After resting for a brief moment, he started to push himself up. His body ached in protest, but he ignored it. Grabbing onto the wall for support, he inched his way to the door. He knew that he had heard it being locked, but he reached for the knob anyway, wondering if there was the slightest chance that someone had unlocked it again.

As soon as he touched the metal, a harsh jolt went into his hand and throughout his entire body. The pain was so unexpected that he actually cried out as he pulled away, shuddering as he gripped at the injured appendage with his other hand. The door was wired with electricity. And when he looked up at the offending door a moment later, his eyes were burning with outrage and hatred. They were going to do whatever it took to keep him trapped in there.

Now he cast his gaze around the rest of the room, wanting to find some other way to escape. There were not any windows, but there was another door across the sparsely furnished room. Gin gazed at it for a moment, thoughtfully, and then began to look for something that he could use to test on the knob. He was not about to risk getting shocked again. At last finding a thermometer in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, he took it over to the other door and stood over the knob, dropping the object down upon it. Nothing happened, and Gin took hold of the knob, turning it.

What he found was a pleasant enough bathroom, also without any windows. It was large, about half the size of the bedroom, and there was a jacuzzi as well as a normal bathtub and shower. A linen closet was off to the side of the jacuzzi, filled with soft towels, and the marble tiles were clean and sparkling. Gin grunted. The Portman woman seemed to keep the bathrooms in a more inviting condition than the sleeping quarters.


"Did I hear a scream in here?"

He whirled around at the voice. Portman had unlocked the door and was standing in the doorway, casually looking into the room. And Gin's anger boiled over at her tone of voice. He stormed back into the main room, still not moving in a completely normal way, and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "What's the meaning of charging the door with electricity?" he demanded, his eyes flashing.

Momentarily surprised, Portman quickly recovered and looked at Gin calmly. "That's so that you won't get out needlessly, of course," she answered. "In your condition, you can't possibly wander up and down and everywhere."

Gin shoved her aside, stumbling into the hallway. "I'll do whatever I please," he retorted, and looked up and down the corridor. It was very plain and white, as he would expect from a clinic, but he could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. No normal hospital would keep its doors wired with deadly voltage to prevent escape. They would not dream of such drastic measures, which would undoubtedly hurt the patients even more.

"Now just settle down." Portman continued to speak in that blasted, calm tone of voice, as if there was nothing at all to be concerned over and Gin was simply overreacting. "You see, I get a lot of patients who aren't all there in their heads, and to keep myself and the others safe, I have to take such precautions. Many of these people are violent."

Gin was not impressed. "I didn't do anything to warrant being treated like a madman!" he said indignantly.

She smiled. "Your room was juiced up so that you would be protected from the one who actually was loose in the building," she replied. "Luckily, we found him now and he's been . . . subdued." Gin could not deny that he did not like the way she said that phrase. It was so ominous, and he was certain that there was a lot going on here that he did not know about---things that she would not tell him.

He growled. "Maybe he went insane from being locked up too long," he snapped. "I want you to let me go free."

She frowned at him now, crossing her arms. "That would be impossible at this point," she said. "You're far from recovered."

"I'm fine!" he cried. "Show me where a phone is. I'll call someone to come pick me up." He started off down the hall, furious, but he had only reached the corner before two muscular men about his same height came from around it to stand in front of him. Both were dressed in lab coats, and one was holding a needle.

"You should listen to the doctor," smiled the first in a nasty sort of way.

"This is where you're going to stay," added the second. "And it will only be longer if you struggle."

Gin cursed, not about to let them get the better of him. As they advanced, he started to back up slightly, giving the impression of not knowing what to do. But then he lunged, ramming his fists into the first's stomach. The man gasped in pain, doubling over, and Gin harshly punched him across the face.

Then the second was coming at him with the needle. Gin dove out of the way and then attacked, twisted the other's arm viciously. Grimacing, the dark-haired man tried to jab the sharp point into Gin's arm, but he was suddenly kicked back against the wall before he could. He slumped to the floor, dazed.

Gin looked at them both coldly and then turned, fleeing in the opposite direction before they could recover and give chase. Running into the first room that he saw, he immediately shut and locked the door after him. He would not be captured and drugged! There was not any telling what they would do to him then. He had to find some way to exit this building.

Hearing a weak moan, he turned around in surprise and found that he was in what seemed to be some sort of laboratory. There were tables and chemicals all around, and at the back of the room was a wall with manacles attached to it. Blood was splattered both on the wall and on the floor, and Gin caught sight of a foot disappearing under one of the tables. Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed up a nearby knife as a weapon and slowly advanced. "Who's here?" he demanded.

Another moan was his answer, and as he went forward, a hand abruptly shot out, grabbing at his ankle to pull him to the floor. Immediately he lashed out with the knife, cutting into the trembling, pale wrist. But instead of letting go, the hand attached to the wrist only tugged harder. Gin grabbed the edge of the table for balance.


"Let go of me!" he hissed, and pulled violently to get free, kicking out with his other foot. Though the mysterious person tried to keep hold of Gin, he was forced back. Then Gin was bending down, holding the knife out threateningly as he looked to see who had been attacking him. His eyes widened in shock.

Under the table was a figure with naturally curly blondish-brown hair that tumbled over its shoulders and down its back. It continued to shudder, looking up at him with wild eyes filled with fear and apprehension, and he took in the bruises and cuts across the ghostly flesh. The clothes were badly torn, barely even rags, and as the two gazed at each other, a lone tear of despair slipped down the purplish, damaged cheek.

Gin pulled back, still unable to believe what he was seeing. "Chardonnay," he breathed in shock. The agent codenamed Chardonnay had been missing for several weeks, ever since she and Sake had been on a mission to Okinawa. Every now and then, reports had come in that she had lost her mind, and now that Gin was looking at her, he could see that it did not seem far from the truth. She was badly shattered, physically and emotionally, and he could see that she did not recognize him. Slowly she started to crawl out from under the table, and he merely watched, waiting to see what she would do.

As she gained her balance, looking Gin over with distraught, violet eyes, she suddenly lunged with a harsh cry, obviously intending to do him harm. He dropped the knife, grabbing her wrists to restrain her, and she shrieked as if possessed, fighting against him with all of her might. Growling, he brought her close to him, taking both of her wrists in one hand while reaching around to press on the back of her neck. She continued to struggle and kick madly to get free, and he had a difficult time actually managing to press where he needed to in order to incapacitate her without injuring her worse. But then he found the place and held his fingers over it firmly. She gasped weakly, her eyes rolling back into her head as she went limp, falling unconscious into his grasp.

He caught her, his expression grim, and hoisted her up onto a nearby slab that was unoccupied. As he did so, he took notice of the raw marks around both of her wrists. They had been made by something hard digging into her flesh, and as he looked to the manacles on the wall, he realized that she had been held in place there. Then he realized some of what must have been happening to her before he had found her. They had been torturing her, perhaps even experimenting on her. That was why she had gone mad. It all made sense. He gave a low curse. He did not even know if there would be a way to give her back her sanity.

"It's a tragedy, what happened to her."

Immediately Gin's head snapped up at the voice and he looked around, trying to find the source. No one else was there. But soon he found the monitor near the ceiling, and the speakers. Portman was watching him, a sadistic smirk gracing her features. She could not care less what had happened to Chardonnay, just as she had not been truly sorry when she had told him that Vodka was dead.

"And what did happen to her?" Gin asked, his voice dark and menacing. Chardonnay had been a smart, perky woman, one of the Organization's most unique operatives, and one of the few women who knew how to talk to Vodka without getting him flustered. To see her reduced to this wild, mindless condition was absolutely appalling. Why had they done it?

"She . . . could not take the pressure," Portman answered then.

Gin's eyes flashed. "What pressure?" he snapped. "What did you do to her?"

"She was already in a poor condition when we found her," Portman informed him. "Our attempts to rehabilitate her only made her worse, as you can see. I don't quite know what we're going to do with her now." Her eyes glinted. "But it's fascinating, isn't it? I know what she was once like---so cheerful, so full of life, in spite of where she had to work. And now, well . . . she's fallen completely into disrepair. Even the strongest human minds . . . can still be so fragile." She hesitated on purpose, feeling that it gave more meaning to what she was saying. Then she smiled in a twisted, satisfied way.

"You're going to do the same thing to me," Gin breathed then in realization. "That's why you're keeping me here!"

"We'll see, anyway," Portman replied. "You're supposed to have one of the strongest wills and some of the most impressive endurance of anyone in your Black Organization. You're a prize catch for me to work on." Her eyes glinted as she adjusted her glasses.

Gin growled, furious. "What's the point?" he demanded. "Who are you working for?"

"Who am I working for?" Portman laughed. "Why, science, of course! The future of science depends on what we can learn about the human mind and how it operates. My methods have caused me to be shunned in most 'respectable' circles, but I could care less about that. Someday the world will realize how right I am, and my practices will become commonplace in legal interrogations everywhere. The police, the military, the crime syndicates. . . . Everyone will benefit!"

Gin clenched a fist. If there was not any way to leave the building, then there was only one other path he could take. "I'll resist you as long as I'm alive," he vowed then, his gaze of emerald ice piercing through the screen of the monitor. "We'll see who's the strongest---you, with your ways of breaking people, or me, with my mind and my endurance." He wondered how she thought that her methods would be useful during interrogations. If the result was always supposed to be what had happened to Chardonnay, or something similar, then he failed to see how the people conducting the questioning sessions would learn anything.

Portman smiled, looking pleased. "I accept the challenge," she purred. "But I promise, Gin, you don't know what you're getting into. If you're sane at all when I'm through, you'll be begging for mercy." With that, the monitor went blank.

Gin cursed, looking back to Chardonnay's limp form. He would never beg. But he would also never end up like this unfortunate woman. He would keep his sanity. If he could not, then as far as he was concerned, it meant that he was not anywhere near as strong as he should be. In a case such as this, failure was not an option.

----------------------------------

Vodka was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room of the suite that he and Gin shared. He was in a daze over the events of the previous night, and was smoking his third or fourth cigarette. He had a mild concussion, and was supposed to rest, but right now he did not feel like it. All he could think about was the blood he had found splashed over the white car and on the asphault, and what it could mean in light of Gin's disappearance.

There were various things whispered about on the base, and he had heard snatches of them. Some people were wondering if Gin had simply abandoned Vodka, which was nonsense. Others thought it more likely that he had been taken by whoever had planted the bomb and that he would be tortured for information. And still others had the suspicion that Gin was probably already dead. But Vodka was determined to believe that Gin was alive unless he received proof that showed otherwise.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. "What is it?" he called.

"I wanted to talk to you, Vodka," came Vermouth's voice from the other side.

Vodka groaned to himself. "The door's unlocked," he replied.

The knob turned and the blonde woman stepped into the room. "You look so tired," she remarked, shutting the door after her. "Thinking about Gin?"

Vodka sighed and shrugged. Talking to Vermouth was always a new experience in being flustered. Finally he looked up at her, holding the cigarette between his fingers. "I just can't figure out where he might be," he said then.

Vermouth came in further and sat on the chair opposite Vodka. "Well," she mused, "if it was the woman who arranged the bomb, it seems strange that she left her car behind." She took out a cigarette of her own and lighted it, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the easy chair.

Vodka knew that she was right. "But who else would even have a motive?" he exclaimed.

She shrugged. "It's hard to say. Any operative of the Black Organization is bound to have quite a collection of enemies."

Vodka was silent. While that was true, offhand he could not think of anyone bold enough to actually abduct Gin. Most of their enemies, despite hating Gin, would not dare to get into a situation where the blonde assassin would be in their domain. They would be too afraid of what would happen to them if they did. Though, if the plan all along was to get Gin too hurt to resist them. . . . He gripped the cigarette tighter, nearly crushing it.

"What did you want to talk about, Vermouth?" he said now, suddenly remembering that she was there.

She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I was just wondering," she purred, "if you knew that sometimes martinis are made by combining vodka and vermouth."

Vodka stared at her in disbelief. He could feel the color creeping into his face, and his only consolation was that she could not see his widened, appalled eyes. She had come to flirt with him, since Gin was not around for her to bother? He wanted to say something, and he could feel his mouth moving, but no words came out. He could no think of anything to say. If Gin were here, he would jump in at that point and change the subject, silently scolding Vermouth for being so ridiculous by giving her a deathglare.

She laughed softly and winked. "I'm only kidding," she told him. "Even though it's true." With that she got up and came over to him, her expression sobering. "What are you going to do about Gin?" she asked.

Vodka shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what there is to do," he replied. "I've been trying to follow up leads, but none of them are panning out." And so many people are thinking Gin's dead, he added silently. He wondered if Vermouth was one of them, but then decided that she probably was not. After all, Vermouth was always talking about how stubborn Gin was. Gin would never die easily.

Vermouth paused. "You know, Chardonnay's still missing," she said slowly. "And Sake hasn't been seen either."

Vodka blinked in surprise. "Are you saying there's a connection?" he demanded. He never would have thought of that. Chardonnay and Sake had vanished on Okinawa, and Gin had disappeared in Tokyo. And as far as he knew, the cases during which they had gone missing were unrelated.

Vermouth smiled. "Maybe it's something you should look into," she answered, taking the cigarette from his hand and placing it in his mouth.

Vodka wished that he was not blushing.

Vermouth straightened up, dropping a folder onto his lap. "Here's the reports Sake made during the time they were on their mission," she told him. "You can thank me later." Winking again, she turned and walked toward the door, shutting it behind her as she went into the hall.

Vodka stared after her blankly for a moment. She was such a confusing individual! She could be exasperating one minute, caring the next. Vodka could not figure her out at all. But he was grateful for her suggestion. It would probably be a dead end as well, but on the other hand, maybe it would actually yield something worthwhile.

At this point, he was willing to try anything that might help him find Gin. The blonde was his partner. Vodka was loyal to him and had a responsibility to look out for him, the same as Gin would have if their situation was reversed. But it was more than just that. Vodka was worried about the other. He wanted to know that Gin was safe. And somehow, he had the feeling that Vermouth knew that.

Looking down, he opened the folder and took out the first sheet.

---------------------------------

Gin was still in the laboratory a half hour later. He had not been willing to unlock the door, and on the other hand, Portman had not tried to force him to do so. He started to wonder if she had wanted him to go in there all along. Perhaps she had wanted him to find Chardonnay. Maybe she had wanted to see two Black Organization operatives fight each other, thinking, in her sick mind, that it would be a great source of amusement. But Gin was definitely not amused.

He glanced back to the female agent laying on the slab. It seemed to him that she should have regained consciousness now. He wondered if she could be faking senselessness out of fear, not realizing that Gin was the only one with her right now. Slowly he walked over to her, leaning down as he tried to determine her condition. Her vital signs seemed normal. Carefully he reached out, touching her shoulder. Immediately she tensed. She was conscious.

Her eyes flew open, and they still contained the wild, terrified look from earlier. Gin frowned, moving back to give her some space. "Do you remember me?" he asked after a moment.

She looked at him, her expression only growing more alarmed. Then she suddenly sprang up, lunging for him with her hands outstretched. But Gin had expected that, and he reached up, grabbing her around the waist and bringing her down harshly to her feet. "I don't want to hurt you," he said coldly, his eyes dark. "Don't you realize that you've been playing right into this woman's hands?"

She screamed, the sound echoing loudly in the closed room, and fought desperately to loosen Gin's grip. She slapped at his arms, kicked, and grabbed at his wrists and dug in her nails. Gin growled, but held on tightly. "Just listen to reason!" he said now. "I'm one of your associates. You've been missing for weeks. Do you remember?" She screamed again, but let go of his wrists.

Looking around wildly, she grabbed a knife that was laying on a nearby table. He glared, letting go of her and reaching for the weapon. Before he could get it away from her, she slashed his hand and then plunged the weapon into her heart. Her eyes widening in pain, she sank to her knees, shuddering as blood dripped from the wound onto her knees and onto the floor.

Gin cursed. Clutching his injured hand, he knelt down in front of her. "That's pathetic," he muttered, frustrated that he had not been able to get through to her. She had been too far gone to be helped. He wondered what Vodka would say when Gin told him that Chardonnay had lost her mind and killed herself. But wait . . . Vodka would never say anything about it. He was dead, was he not? No . . . that was not right. Vodka was alive. Gin just had not found him yet.

Chardonnay looked up at him, and he drew back in shock. Somehow she was not Chardonnay at all. The straight black hair, the blue eyes, the look of betrayal. . . . This was Akemi. But he knew that was not possible! His hand flew to his forehead. He was hallucinating. He had to be.

The vision spoke. "You thought you were saving me, Gin, but you didn't." Akemi's eyes flashed as she glared at him accusingly. Seemingly unaffected by the knife now, she stood, pulling it out of her flesh and throwing it carelessly across the room. "You could never save anyone, even if you wanted to. I warned you what would happen to you, but you never listened! You became cold and heartless, and you betrayed us! I hate you."

Gin growled. "You're already dead," he said flatly. "You can't be speaking to me."

"And yet I am." Akemi grabbed Gin and pulled him up by his injured hand, which, he noticed, was suddenly not bleeding any longer. "Could you ever have compassion on anyone? Are you capable of it?" Tears filled her eyes now, and Gin pulled his hand away, just wanting this to be over. He knew it was a fantasy, some drug-induced hallucination, and yet he did not remember when any such drug could have been administered.

"You killed me. You've killed Shiho. It's your fault Chardonnay is dead! And you killed your partner, too!" Akemi cried now.

Gin stared at her in shock. "Sherry isn't dead," he protested. "And Vodka . . . I didn't kill him. . . . It was an accident. . . ." And why should he justify himself to a trick of the mind? It was ridiculous! He fell back, looking around for the door. He would unlock it and leave. Whatever Portman and her men were planning, it could not be as bad as being trapped in here with Akemi's ghost accusing and berating him.

Catching sight of the door across the room, he left Akemi where she was and ran to it, turning the lock and flinging it open as he ran into the corridor. He only got as far as the nearest corner before he was stopped by a badly injured figure stumbling from around the other side. Gin nearly crashed into him before he realized that it was Vodka. He stared, surveying the many wounds that the other had taken into his body. How was it even possible for Vodka to stand at all? He must have lost so much blood. . . .

"What happened to you?" he demanded, reaching out to try to stop the bleeding.

Vodka slapped his hands away. "You happened, bro," he answered quietly. "You did this to me. Don't you remember? It was during our mission. We failed, then you suddenly said I wasn't any use to you any more, and you shot me before I could even fight back." Shakily he reached up, removing his sunglasses to allow Gin to see the hurt look in his eyes. In spite of himself, Gin felt chilled by that look.

"I didn't do that!" he retorted. "We were running from the house when it exploded! That's how you were killed. I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"We should've gotten out of there sooner!" Vodka retorted. "Your pride killed me, bro!" He grabbed Gin's shoulder, and Gin felt the warm blood running onto his bare flesh. Angry suddenly, he shoved the other away from him.

"It wasn't my fault!" he snapped. "You're not even here. None of this is real!"

"What about you, bro? Are you real?" Vodka asked, melting into the shadows. "Look at yourself."

Gin looked down at his hands. Both were dripping with blood, his own blood. It pooled around him on the floor, and he suddenly realized that he was lightheaded. He had lost too much blood, somehow, even though he did not even remember being cut. But wait . . . Chardonnay had done that, at least with one of his hands. He swayed as the room began to spin.

"You aren't so strong after all," Vodka murmured, watching him fall forward into the crimson liquid. "You're failing to stay conscious, just like you've been failing at everything else. Nothing you've ever done is worth anything."

Gin tried to force himself to rise out of the puddle of blood, but he could not. "That's . . . not true," he muttered weakly. "You're not Vodka. . . ."

Vodka kicked him down. "I just got tired of you treating me like I'm worthless," he retorted. "Now it's your turn." He started to beat the other, pounding his fists into Gin's body.

The blonde growled, wincing as one blow in particular hit hard. But then he struggled to get up again, fury surpassing all other emotions. He grabbed Vodka's wrists, squeezing tightly as he kicked the shorter man away from him. Vodka fell back, crashing against the opposite wall, and Gin ran forward, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

"I don't know who you are," he hissed, "but what you just did isn't funny. And you know it'll have consequences later on. I won't stand for it." He paused. "And you make a terrible version of Vodka." With that he delivered a harsh punch to the other, and Vodka slumped back.

"Don't forget your own wounds," Akemi whispered from somewhere behind him.

Gin growled, looking around for the source of the voice. There was nothing. But then, overcome by dizziness, he sank to the floor.

Portman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fascinating," she purred. "Simply fascinating." She smirked. "He won't be broken easily. I knew that before I even had him captured." She pushed herself back, placing her feet on top of the console as she continued to watch Gin on the screen. But he did not move now, apparently believing that he had passed out from bloodloss. Chardonnay stood over him, looking unsure of what to do. Finally she shook him on the shoulder, and he growled in response.

"What did you give him, boss?" one of her orderlies asked. He was standing in the doorway, watching as well, though discreetly.

"That new drug I've been developing," she replied. "When he thought he was being electrocuted, that was actually a needle in the doorknob jabbing into his hand."

The man blinked in confusion. "So he wasn't shocked?" he asked slowly.

"He was," Portman smiled, "and he was so focused on that, that he didn't realize he was being stuck with a needle at the same time." She reached for a nearby glass of lemonade, sipping it as she watched Chardonnay grab Gin by the wrist and pull, trying to get him up. But she soon realized that she could not, and she sat down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Portman smirked. "Poor girl," she remarked. "I wonder if she recognizes him now as being one of her associates. I'll enjoy watching her interact with him." She set the glass aside. "And I'll also enjoy seeing how he reacts to the drug as time goes on." She looked up at her lackey. "Of course, you know we won't be relying just on that." She picked up a whip that was laying on the other side of the console, running her hand over it. "Once we've worn him down enough, we can start on the physical torture. It won't just be an illusion then."

The man at her side smirked. "Do you really think he can be broken, boss?" he asked.

"Oh, all people can be broken," she answered calmly. "It's just a matter of finding the right combination. With this one, not failing seems to be very important. He has a lot of pride. Well, we'll take care of that, soon enough." She laid the whip down and took up the lemonade again, smirking in the darkness before taking another sip.

--------------------------------

Vodka sat tensely in the chair next to Gin's bed, waiting for him to awaken. The doctors had not found any internal injuries, and the senior physician had allowed Vodka to take Gin back to their suite. He was certain that Vodka would look after the blonde well, and he felt, as Vodka did, that it would be better for Gin to be somewhere familiar. The infirmary would only heighten the poor man's distress.

Vodka had laid the other on his stomach, where he would not have to lay on so many painful welts. Gin had stirred once, bringing the pillow closer to him, but otherwise he had not given any indication of being closer to shaking off the effects of the sedative. He looked fairly calm as he slept, and Vodka wondered if Gin was dreaming. He somehow doubted it. After what the blonde had been through, it was unlikely that any dreams of his would be pleasant.

Vodka had to wonder if Gin would even realize that he was actually there. He was still deeply disturbed by the way Gin had talked at the infirmary, asking if Vodka was truly there and mentioning how he would think that Vodka would come and talk to him after he had been badly beaten. Vodka clenched a fist. Gin would have had to have been very badly out of it to even admit to that much of what he had been through. Gin abhorred looking weak. And while Vodka did not think that it made the other appear weak, he knew that Gin would, if he was truly in his right mind.

He looked at the blonde again, shuddering as he noticed the marks across Gin's right shoulder, which continued on his back and were currently hidden by his long hair. Vodka hated to think of what would have had to happen to render Gin so helpless that he could be whipped so viciously. He would have done everything in his power to defend himself. He was a physically strong person, in addition to being skilled with a gun. Most people did not dare to cross him, for more reasons than one. Even though occasionally an agent had been taken by a rival organization and tortured for information, Gin never had been. Vodka supposed that he had always thought that if anyone ever did manage to get Gin, they would end up tortured instead of the green-eyed man.

"Are you ever gonna be your old self again, bro?" Vodka asked softly, leaning slightly on the chair with his uninjured arm.

Gin stirred again, as if in response to the other's voice. Slowly he returned to consciousness, forcing his eyes open and blinking as he tried to determine where he was. It did not seem ominous. It seemed pleasant enough, even familiar. But he had been subjected to those sorts of tricks before. He did not have any way of knowing that it was not that way again. He was fully expecting to hear Portman's heels clicking on the floor, followed by her sadistic laugh. When he instead heard Vodka's voice, he started violently.

Some Vodkas had taunted him, while others had said that they would help him and then taunted him instead, and still others had tried to help him and then were shot dead. He wondered which way it would go this time. He did remember that this Vodka had tried to assist him, and that he had even believed it was the real one. Maybe it even could be. Gin just did not know. He wished that he could, instead of being left to wonder if he was still insane.

Vodka sighed softly. Gin was still on edge. It was understandable, but Vodka wished for the umpteenth time that he knew how to get through to the blonde. "I brought you back home," he said slowly after a moment of silence.

Gin grunted, raising himself up partially to look around better. It looked like his room. It felt like he was laying in his bed. And it certainly seemed as though Vodka was there with him. With a sigh of his own he slumped back into the pillows. How would he know that he was not living in a fantasy, as he had so many times before? He did not trust his eyes. He did not trust his ears. He did not trust his mind. After several weeks of Portman's torture, he simply could not.

Vodka shifted uncomfortably. "Do you want me to get you anything?" he asked now.

My sanity, Gin thought to himself. He shook his head slowly, wondering if he would ever know if this was real.

Vodka sighed again, wondering if it would be best to just let Gin be for now. He did not seem willing to communicate. Maybe if he was left alone, he could more easily sort out his confusion and come to realize that he was safe. Perhaps Vodka's presence only added to Gin's perplexity. He started to get up.

"Vodka. . . ."

He started, feeling his sleeve being grabbed. Surprised, he looked down at Gin, who was looking back at him with an earnest question in his eyes. For a brief moment Vodka saw Gin's intense longing for this to be real, and how lost he felt, and it haunted him for many days afterward.

"How can I know that this isn't just a dream brought on by foolishness?"

Vodka swallowed, wishing that he had an answer for Gin that would help. Instead he could only shrug helplessly. "You have to trust me," he said at last, thinking that it sounded hollow. He could not expect that Gin could trust anyone right now. It was as the doctor had said---Gin's trust had been shattered. It would take a long time to be able to repair that. Vodka did not want to seem as though he was trying to rush the blonde. He knew that would not help and it would likely only cause Gin to push him away even more.

Gin raised himself up further, seeming to be scrutinizing the other. But then he sank down again, the look in his eyes fading to weariness. He had been deceived too many times by his mind. He was not willing to try again yet. It seemed like reality, but it would not be the first time. He did not want to get his hopes up.

Vodka watched him, his shoulders slumping. But he understood. Slowly he turned to go.

"Don't leave."

He stopped again, more surprised than before. For a second time he looked back, into those same, weary eyes. Somewhere there was a spark, a trace of the partner he had known for so many years now, but then it was gone, leaving only this exhausted and broken man behind.

"The others always left." Gin watched him, not wanting him to go but feeling certain that he would. He would be left alone as always, taunted and tormented and ridiculed until he could no longer take it. He had never wanted Vodka to see him in that state, but at the same time he had always longed for release. He had wanted to get away. And those first times when Vodka had come to him, saying that he would help Gin find the way out, Gin had believed him. Now, this Vodka was claiming that he could help Gin if Gin would only trust him. Gin still did not know that he could ever trust what was probably another figment of his imagination, but even so, he wanted the other to stay . . . just for once.

Slowly Vodka reached out, laying his hand on Gin's uninjured shoulder. He was shocked by the other's request, and also quite disturbed. It meant that Gin was much worse off than he had even thought. But he tried not to show the extent of his feelings. "I won't leave, bro," he replied quietly as he sat down again. Gin relaxed, ever so slightly.

It was a start.