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Chapter Six

Vodka did not know how long he simply sat on the floor in a daze, watching Gin and half-listening to Vermouth asking if he was going to let her in. He honestly did not want to. She would only make him nervous, and Gin would not want her to see him in the condition he was in. Gin would feel revolted with himself once he came back to normal.

If he came back. . . . But of course he would. He had been much more well-off several hours ago, and that had shown Vodka that his partner was still there. Buried under the effects of the torment, but still there. If Vodka could just focus on that, then he held more hope for Gin's eventual, complete recovery.

"Oh come on, Vodka, surely you're not going to leave me out here, are you?" Vermouth said now with a mock pout. "After telling me things aren't alright, you can't expect me to simply go away like nothing happened. I'm worried about you, and Gin dear too, of course."

Vodka flushed. Now that he had collected his thoughts a bit better, he was frustrated at himself for admitting to Vermouth the state of things. That was not something that he should have done. He honestly did not think that she would be able to correct the problem. He would just have to wait for Gin to come out of this on his own. Judging by the way he had been acting now, Vodka did not think that he would be able to help Gin by going over to him. That would probably only alarm the blonde.

"I really don't think it would be a good idea for you to come in, Vermouth," Vodka managed to say at last. He removed his sunglasses, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Oh? Why not? You don't think Gin would try to attack me, do you?" He could hear Vermouth leaning on the door.

Vodka opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it again. Actually, he honestly could not say. That was not what he had been thinking of, but it was possible. There was no guarantee that Gin would not attempt to hurt her. Vermouth might not even use discretion and end up going over to him when she should not, and then Gin would retaliate out of a need for self-defense. "It just . . . wouldn't be a good idea," he sighed.

"Well, maybe you should come out here, then," Vermouth responded. "You sound like you need to talk to somebody."

"I'm okay," he said then. "Anyway, I don't think I should leave him. . . ." He doubted that it would be good at all for Gin to be by himself. The possibilities of what he might do were almost endless. And Vodka considered nearly everything. Gin might simply stay as he was, it was true, but on the other hand, he could try frantically to escape. And if he did, he could easily end up attacking someone if he felt threatened. Or what if he would even. . . . Vodka clenched a fist as his dream went through his mind again. Gin would not kill himself. Vodka had already determined that. Gin had survived through everything Portman had done to him. He would not give in now. Still, what if something went wrong and he accidentally hurt himself? Or what if he did attack someone and they hurt him out of defense, or even anger? He could see Brandy doing either of those things. No, Vodka did not dare leave.

"Well, for Heaven's sake, what did he do?" Vermouth exclaimed. "He seems pretty quiet right now." She frowned slightly. "You didn't have to hurt him, did you?" she demanded then, getting an image in her mind of Vodka being forced to render Gin unconscious. She knew that would not help matters, and that Vodka would be extremely distraught if he had been left with no other choice but to strike his partner.

"No!" Vodka cried in response. "No, I didn't. . . ."

He did not know how it happened, but he found himself telling Vermouth what actually had taken place, all while the door was still between them. He did not even stop to think about that for a moment. It felt so good to actually tell someone. And while he was not looking at Vermouth, he found it somewhat easier to talk to her. But even though she made him nervous, he did know that she was most likely the only person he would ever feel like talking to about the subject. She understood, and he knew she would not look down on Gin, even though Gin would not be pleased for her to know.

Vermouth was silent when Vodka finished. He started to wonder if she had ended up leaving. But at last she said, "Vodka, do you think I should go find a doctor?"

Vodka was surprised to hear that she sounded completely serious. Almost all of the time, when she spoke, there would be a certain teasing lilt to her voice. "I don't know," he said helplessly. "I don't think Gin would let anyone get close to him right now. If anyone tries, I think they'd probably make things a lot worse. . . ." He looked back at the blonde, who was now leaning forward across his knees, his bangs completely obscuring his eyes. But Vodka did not need to see Gin's eyes to know that the other was terrified. He could not stand it. For him, this was far more disturbing for him to see than any of the other phases Gin had gone through. And it made him hate Portman all the more, as well as being aghast and further bewildered over the methods she must have used.

"Maybe you could go find out what a doctor might say to do," Vodka reflected then, and swallowed hard. "But I wouldn't want Aoshi to find out. . . . He'd try to take Gin with him."

"He would, wouldn't he," Vermouth mused softly.

"He's already got Chardonnay and Sake," Vodka mumbled, "and I know he can't be treating them right, after how he acted with Gin. . . ."

Gin looked up slowly, his hair parting and revealing part of a green eye. Vodka blinked in surprise when he noticed that first confusion and then recognition appeared in that eye. Slowly the blonde took in his surroundings, as if unable to believe where he was and what he was doing, and then he gave Vodka an incredulous look.

"How did I get here?" he growled.

Vodka simply stared at him for a moment, not certain whether to be relieved or disturbed. Gin was back to himself again, but the fact that he did not remember his actions seemed like a concern. Vodka wondered if this was something that would happen frequently over the next while, and he hoped not. "Bro . . . you put yourself there," he said then, his voice quiet. He had forgotten that he had not replaced his sunglasses, and he was revealing to Gin all of his current emotions through his eyes.

Gin's expression darkened as he studied Vodka. Slowly he got up, looking down at the other as if trying to recollect something. "Did I hurt you?" he asked then.

Vodka blinked. "When?" he asked. Subconsciously he raised a hand to his cheek, where Gin had punched him a moment before.

"Just now." Gin followed Vodka's actions with his cold gaze. "I did, didn't I?"

Vodka shook his head. "I'm okay, bro," he replied.

They both started at the sound of Vermouth's voice. "Well, it sounds like everything's back to normal in there," she remarked. "I'm glad to hear it. I have to be going now, but you'll call me soon, won't you, Vodka?" Vodka felt himself turning crimson. "And Gin, I hope I'll be seeing you around before long. It's really been lonely without you to tease." Smirking, she turned and walked back up the hall, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor.

Gin growled, listening to the sound until it faded away. Then he subconsciously shuddered, as if it reminded him of something else---Portman, perhaps. "Get up off the floor," he muttered, looking back to Vodka.

Slowly the other got up, and he had to wonder how long Gin would stay like this. Vodka wanted to believe that Gin would not have another spell of going out of his mind, that instead he would only get better from here, but he had the feeling that it was likely that Gin would continue to have moments where he would forget reality and lose himself in the living nightmare he had endured. Vodka watched the blonde apprehensively as he sank into a chair, running his fingers through his long bangs.

After a moment Gin looked up again. "Why did I go into the corner?" he demanded, and Vodka could only helplessly shake his head.

"I don't know, bro," he admitted quietly. "I really don't know. . . ." He swallowed hard. "I think you must've thought that someone was going to hurt you, and that maybe in the corner you'd be safe. . . ."

Gin grunted and fell silent. He was losing his mind. No matter what Vodka said, Gin was certain that this was true. If he was not out of his mind, why would he have fled into the corner, and why would he not remember it now? For him, there was not another explanation. After what he had gone through, how could he possibly hope to be sane again?

At some point the torture stopped. Gin did not know when it was. He had eventually fallen unconscious, unable to stand it any longer. When he finally started to open his eyes again, it was because he had heard a voice calling to him. He coughed weakly, tasting blood, and then winced as pain rippled through his back. He remembered the whipping now, and that they had kept hurting him after setting aside that instrument. He struggled to get up and then weakly moaned. He could not move right now. It was too much for him.

"Bro . . . ?"

He heard the voice again, and he tensed, recognizing it as Vodka's. "Don't hurt me again," Gin hissed brokenly, and recalled how he had longed for his partner to come and rescue him when he was being beaten. He had known then that it was impossible. And it was just as impossible now. Vodka could not be there. It had to be an illusion, a hallucination, his mind playing tricks on him. And Gin hated it.

Vodka knelt down in front of him, and through Gin's bangs the green-eyed man could see the concern in the other's expression. So it would be a kind Vodka today. But they were just as nerve-racking as the intentionally cruel ones, or perhaps even moreso. They would only talk to him, and never actually help him.

"What have they done to you, bro?" he said softly, but did not reach for Gin or to try to quell his bleeding wounds. He simply stayed where he was, watching Gin expectantly, yet worriedly.

Gin gave a weak growl. "What does it look like?" he snapped, his temper flaring up at having to go through this as soon as he had regained consciousness. "Get me out of here, Vodka. . . . If you're not going to do anything, then just leave me alone. Don't always just stand there and stare at me with sympathy! I don't need your pity. I need you to help me!" Vodka was not real. Gin could yell at and curse him all he wanted, letting loose with his frustrations and his despair over his situation.

To his surprise, Vodka nodded. "Of course, bro," he agreed. "I'll help you. I got in through a back way. We can go out through there and they'll never see us."

Gin looked up at the other in awe and confusion. He had been expecting so many responses, for Vodka to say in various ways that he wanted to help, but that he could not, but instead Vodka was actually going to offer assistance? Was it at all possible that this was not an illusion at all? Could it be real? "Is it really you this time?" he mumbled, too weary to properly express his surprise, and the hope that he was starting to feel. "I thought you were dead. . . ." The Vodkas had never offered to help him escape before. The passive ones would say that they could not do anything, and the aggressive ones would beat him.

"Portman was lying to you, bro," Vodka answered, starting to get up. "I"ve been looking for you all this time. . . . Everyone's been saying that you're dead, but I wouldn't ever believe it." He searched over the room, finally locating the first aid kit he was looking for, and started to bring it over to where the blonde was still laying. "Here, I'll fix these wounds for you, and then we'll go," he said. "Can you stand at all?"

"I don't know," Gin had to admit through clenched teeth. He hated this show of weakness. He hated that he would probably have to be carried out of here. But at least . . . at least he would be able to get away. . . . And Vodka actually was alive. . . . Gin had continued to believe it somewhere in his mind, even after Portman had denied it, but now he knew it was true. Vodka was alive, and he had not forgotten his partner.

Abruptly a gunshot rang out and Gin heard a clatter as the container slipped from Vodka's hands to crash onto the floor. Blood splattered across it and the tiles, and as Gin tried to raise himself up to see what had happened, Vodka's limp body fell in front of him. More of the crimson substance was flowing from a wound on his back, and as Gin shakily reached out and grabbed Vodka's shoulder, yelling for him to respond, it quickly dawned on the green-eyed man that Vodka was dead. The bullet had travelled into Vodka's chest and struck his heart, killing him instantly.

Still, Gin refused to accept it. He forced his protesting body into a kneeling position and leaned forward, unable to straighten up from the pain in his back. "Vodka!" he snapped, shaking the other again. "Wake up. . . . Vodka. . . ." But he could not get a response, and his wounds finally dragged him back to the floor, where he ended up resting his head against his partner's shoulder. He could feel that the heavyset man was completely still. Vodka was not breathing, and his heart had been permanently stopped by the lead that had entered it.

Gin did not know what to think. The bullet had come from out of nowhere . . . neither of them had heard it. Gin had always partially considered the thought that Vodka was already dead, even though he wanted to believe otherwise. And he had believed at first that this Vodka was an illusion. But . . . he had not behaved as the previous, fake ones had, and Gin had allowed himself to entertain the thought that Vodka was real this time. His death seemed real. . . . The body that Gin was slumped against felt real. But in this world of make-believe, how could Gin be sure of anything? Maybe not even he himself was real any longer.

He cursed weakly. Escape was too good to be true. He actually found himself envying Vodka, or whoever it was who had been fatally shot. He had found a way out of this torment, but Gin would have to remain. His eyes started to close as he felt himself falling back into unconsciousness.

Somewhere nearby he heard high heels clicking on the marble tiles, followed by Portman's cruel laugh. "Poor Gin," she remarked. "You're just going to have to stay with us longer. I'm sorry about your partner, but I couldn't let him take you away right now." The footsteps came closer, and Gin heard them stop nearby. "I'll treat your wounds, and I'll have my men take the body away. You just sleep, Gin. That's all you have to worry about right now. Just sleep. . . ."

Gin felt her hands on his back and he jerked weakly, wanting to get away from her. "Don't touch me," he hissed. "Don't you dare touch me!" He cursed her then, and received a rough kick in the ribs as a response.

"Don't you know talking will make it worse, Gin? Don't use all of your energy. Go to sleep." He felt a sting begin to spread over his back as she started to dab at the wounds with a disinfectant pad, and he hissed in pain, again trying to pull away. He did not want this creature to tend to him! He wanted her to suffer as he was suffering, but he wondered if she even would be capable of it. The way she worked, operating in the shadows while tormenting her victims and draining them of their energy and their very sanity, reminded him of some sort of vampire or witch. Maybe that was what she was, he thought sarcastically, and she was not actually alive at all.

But he was not able to ponder over it any longer. The pain and the bloodloss, combined with the strain of trying to get up and the shock of seeing Vodka being shot, sent him back into senselessness.

Vodka was relieved when he was able to get away from Vivalene's abode. After the dinner, she had wanted him to stay longer and "get acquainted better", but he had to refuse, saying that he needed to get back to the search for Gin. Vivalene had pouted, and Vodka had blushed, but he had remained firm. After thanking Vivalene for the food, and most of all for the information, Vodka had departed.

Now he was back at his hotel room, opening his laptop. He did not know if he would even find anything out about this Portman woman. Maybe Vivalene had been telling him lies. Maybe she wanted to lead him on a wild goose chase. But he would have to take that chance. He would do whatever it took to get Gin back.

For the next two hours, he pored over the articles, clippings, and other information about Alice Portman that was available, and the more he read, the more disheartened and panicked he became. It was as Vivalene had said, she was a poorly respected scientist due to her views and methods. Apparently she believed that more firm methods were needed to learn information from criminals and other enemies, and to torture them as punishment. According to one article, after a controversial presentation of her ideas at the university where she had been employed, she had been immediately fired and blacklisted. She had vanished from the public eye afterwards, though several times the police had found mysterious and abandoned laboratories with severely emotionally damaged people inside, and they had been led to believe that it was Portman's work.

Vodka slumped back in the chair, removing his sunglasses and running a hand over his face. It was sounding more and more as though Portman could easily have Gin. She seemed to be erring drastically to the right, and would probably enjoy experimenting on someone like Gin for more reasons than one.

Reaching for the phone, he quickly dialed the number that Vivalene had left with him and waited nervously for someone to answer. He had started to think that she was either teasing and tormenting him by not doing so, or that she was meeting with Portman at that moment, when there was at last a click on the other end.

"Hello?" Vivalene purred in her sultry tones.

Vodka shifted uncomfortably. "Ms. Arnold . . . I need to know everything you know about this Portman woman," he greeted then. "Do you have any address for her, or a telephone number?"

Vivalene chuckled. "I knew you would be calling again, Vodka," she remarked. "I do have a phone number for her, but when I tried to call it the last time, it had been disconnected. She can't stay in any one place very long, or the police will catch up to her. And the only address I have for her is cleared out as well." But she gave Vodka the information anyway, and he could not help but notice the pleased tone to her voice.

Vodka felt that he had to comment. "Why are you even trying to help me, Ms. Arnold?" he asked slowly. "You know she'll be in trouble with us when we find her. . . . And you acted like she was someone whose employment you valued."

"I have valued it, while it lasted," she answered flippantly, "but it seems obvious that she's moved on, without even giving me notice, and I won't stand for that, you know. I'm helping you so that you can help me, frankly. I want you to find her for me, because she's in trouble with me as well as with you." He had the feeling she was smirking. "Even though she's a wonderful scientist, and should be more respected, that doesn't change that she's betrayed me. I don't stand for that sort of thing, you know."

Vodka pondered on that for a moment. So he was being used. That was not a surprise. But he found that he did not care that much. All he wanted was to find Portman, and hence, find Gin. Any assistance that Vivalene could give him was welcome, no matter the reason why she was doing it. Gin's safety was the most important thing to him.

"Well, then I can count on you to tell me anything else you find out?" he demanded.

"Of course, of course, darling." Vivalene leaned back into her soft pillows. "I enjoy having other people do my errands for me, whenever possible. You will, in turn, tell me if you learn anything?"

Vodka flushed. "After I'd tell my superiors," he said then. His loyalty was to the Organization, not to Vivalene. And she knew that, of course.

As he thought more about it, this situation did make him quite uncomfortable. But it was the price he would have to pay. She was the only one he knew who had some connection with this woman. She might be useful. But he knew he would have to stay on guard, just in case she would turn against him. He had not worked for many years with Gin without learning things from him. And one such thing was that people could not be trusted, no matter who they were.

He glowered across the room as this thought entered his mind, as it was inevitably followed again by the words of those who insisted that Gin was alive and well, and had simply betrayed his longtime partner. It was outrageous for them to even suggest such a thing. Were they so blind as to not know that Gin was fiercely loyal to his comrades? He was that way with Vodka. If nothing else, Gin had always been loyal to him.

Though Vodka still had the feeling sometimes that Gin possibly might actually care about him. Gin certainly treated him differently than he treated most people, at any rate. The two of them had spent so much time together, both on and off duty, and Gin had often allowed Vodka to get away with saying a lot of things to him that he would never have put up with from other subordinates. Vodka had come to feel that he could speak casually to his partner and that Gin would not be angry with him. Vodka felt more at home with Gin than he ever had with anyone else in his life.

And ironically, they had both been convinced at first that their partnership would never last. . . .

"Oh, Vodka, darling, are you still there?"

Vodka started back to the present, nearly dropping the telephone. Then he flushed in realization. He had completely forgotten that Vivalene had not hung up yet! "I'm still here," he said slowly.

"Good." Vivalene relaxed further into her bed, her silky negligee billowing out around her. "Well, I'd say there's probably not a lot you can find out on Okinawa, darling. I've looked all around. She's probably in Tokyo, as she said. Tokyo's a large place, as you know, of course. It would be easy for her to hide there. And I wish you all the luck you can possibly have, for both of our sakes." With that she hung up.

Vodka slowly replaced the receiver back in its cradle, leaning back in the chair. So it was back to Tokyo then. . . . But if Portman moved around so much, what was the guarantee that he would find her there? Maybe she had already gone somewhere else, taking Gin with her.

He looked back to the article that was still being presented on his laptop. One thing that seemed to hold true no matter where she went was that she left the victims for a particular place when she moved on. And so he supposed he had to hope that Gin would still be in Tokyo.

He clicked the Back button on the browser to look over what was left that he had not read. Among them was a piece on some of her suspected victims, how they had been when they had been discovered, and how they were recovering. He swallowed hard, hesitating for a long moment, and then clicked out of the site. He already had nightmarish images of Gin's suffering going through his mind. He did not want to feed his fears. And reading what could be happening to Gin would not help Vodka find him any faster.

The next return to consciousness came even more slowly. It might have been hours, or even days, since Gin had been awake. He did not know, and he had long ago stopped caring. At least in senselessness he did not have to suffer. It was his only release. Not even normal sleep, when he had it, was helpful to him. But he could not even recall the last time he had voluntarily fallen asleep. It seemed that it was always unconsciousness that he was slipping into these days. They had been hurting him endlessly every time he was awake, and neither his body or his spirit could stand much more. . . .

Weakly he moved his hand across the surface he was laying on, which was hard and cold. At first he thought that he was still on the floor, but then his fingers came to the edge. They had laid him on a metal slab. He growled weakly in anger, trying to gather the strength to open his eyes.

Before he could, a harsh weapon came down on his hand and his eyes flew open as the pain swept over him. He jerked his hand back protectively, searching for the source of the attack.

"You're not allowed to move," a sadistic, unfamiliar voice laughed from somewhere above him. "You're just supposed to lay still."

Gin growled in anger and confusion, immediately trying to look up at his attacker. In response, a thick fist slammed onto his head, forcing him back down. He gripped the edges of the slab, shaking in pain and fury. They could not do this to him! This was an outrage. He would not have it.

"Just do as you're told, and maybe the doctor will be nice and let you sleep in your bed again. Maybe she'll even let you have that pretty dark-haired girl, the one that she sent to you before." More laughing, followed by repeated strikes to his back and legs.

Gin gasped as he was hit again and again. He had not moved this time! What was this creature doing to him? Every time he was struck, he cringed out of reflex and from the pain. And then he would be hit once more.

"You can't move at all," the thug told him. "The only movement you're allowed to make is breathing! Can't let Portman's prize subject die, after all!" He cracked the weapon over Gin's shoulders, and the blonde hissed, clutching even more tightly at the slab underneath him.

Gin did not know how long this went on. Sometimes he was not even aware that he was moving, and he would still be hit. He knew that this person was trying to break him, to make him so weary that he could not resist the pain at all---the way he ended up after being beaten for a long period of time. And after everything that had happened, he felt the fight going out of him much more quickly than it had in the past. He was weakening. Despite his strong will and his mental strength, not even he was able to keep fighting Portman.

This agony happened to him over and over when he would regain consciousness---being punished in various ways for even the slightest movement, and sometimes for making any sounds. Talking was too much for him then, but there were still times when he would moan in pain without half realizing, and then he would be shocked roughly with electricity, or struck with the whip. It did not always happen, either, and sometimes he would have periods of peace before the torment would start anew. This made him paranoid, and he found himself constantly on edge, wondering what they would do to him next, and when. And even as the worst of his physical wounds healed, the emotional and mental lacerations tore all the more.

Gin was quiet for the rest of the day. It worried Vodka greatly, especially in light of what had happened earlier, and he wondered for the umpteenth time what had happened and how he would be able to mend his partner's broken spirit. He did not have the confidence in himself that he could do anything for the blonde. And he dreaded to know the truth behind Gin's behavior, as well as wanting to know. Vodka could not comprehend the level of torture that would have been administered to ever be able to reduce Gin to a frightened child.

He sighed, watching as the blonde lit his fourth cigarette and gazed off into the distance. But Vodka could not bear the look of pain in the other's eyes, and he quickly averted his gaze.

"Bro . . ." he said quietly, and then was not sure how to proceed. But he had gotten Gin's attention, as the tired, tormented eyes focused on him. Vodka shifted slightly. "Bro, I want to help you. . . ."

Gin seemed to consider this for a long time. At last he removed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers. "How?" he asked, in a voice so quiet and despondent that Vodka barely heard it. But it chilled him.

The heavyset man swallowed hard. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted sadly. "I . . . I know what happened to you must have been horrible, and that I'll never really be able to understand it. . . ."

Gin growled. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. He wanted to put it all behind him now. If this was real, then he no longer had a need to be haunted by the past. He could move on with his life, get everything back into place again, and forget what had happened with Portman. And yet, he knew that he would not, that he could not. She would continue to torture him as long as she could, despite not even physically being there any longer. The damage was done. Talking about it would not make it go away. Gin felt that it would only tear open the wounds all the more. Then he would relive everything even more than he already was.

His dreams were filled with Portman and her cruel tactics. Every waking moment was spent thinking about what had happened, no matter how hard he tried to not think about it. He felt lost, distant, detached from the world he was in now. Vodka was with him again, at last, but for Gin, Vodka was still far from him. Or perhaps he was far from Vodka. He wondered if he would ever feel differently again. At this point, it seemed impossible.

Vodka sighed, his shoulders slumping. He could sense as much, though Gin did not say anything further. But it was obvious that the green-eyed man still did not feel as though he was actually there. He seemed to have some understanding that he was safe and that he would not be harmed, and yet it was almost as if Gin felt like he was living in a fog or mist, separated from everyone else. He did not think that anyone could understand his pain, and he himself did not understand it. He wanted to lock it away, but he could not. And Vodka felt so helpless.

Both of them were startled by an abrupt knock on the door, followed by an unkind voice. "Open up in there!" Vodka recognized it all too well as Brandy's, and Gin's eyes narrowed darkly.

Quickly Vodka got up and went to the door, only opening it partway. "What do you want, Brandy?" he asked, feeling a definite sense of dread as he looked at the older, cold agent. Two visits in one day from Brandy could never be good news. One visit was worrisome enough.

"I've brought Aoshi with me," Brandy responded, stepping out of the way so that the physician would be visible. "I told him what I heard earlier. He wants to take Gin."

Immediately Gin got out of the chair, tense and ready to fight if he had to. Vodka narrowed his own eyes, disgusted and appalled that Brandy had decided to take this matter into his own hands. "Gin's staying here with me," he said coldly.

Aoshi glowered. "It's not safe for you or for any of the other agents here," he retorted. "Brandy said that it sounded like Gin was trying to kill you earlier. If he's allowed to run free, he could easily do that, and then kill a good number of the others."

Gin gave him a smouldering look as he came over to stand near Vodka. He was certain that Aoshi would actually be pleased if that happened, but that he would not let it solely because he wanted to give the illusion of doing his job. But if Gin was taken by him, he doubted that he would ever get free. And he clenched a fist tightly. He would fight Aoshi again, if he had to. He would kill the wayward doctor, as he should have done the previous night. He would never allow anyone to hurt him again as Portman had done.

Vodka took a deep breath. "Brandy never saw what was happening," he said then. "He only assumed."

"I didn't need to see!" Brandy interrupted. "It's obvious that he was out of control. You're not a medical doctor. You don't have any qualifications to look after that . . . that wild man!" he finished. "If he can even be called a man anymore. . . ."

Gin looked at him with hatred. "Get out of here," he hissed. "Both of you."

Vodka looked back at his partner in concern, afraid of what Gin might do if Brandy and Aoshi pushed their self-appointed mission any further. Gin would never stand for it. And Vodka would not, either. They would never take his partner, not as long as he was able to do something about it.

"I have better qualifications than you," Vodka answered then, looking from Brandy to Aoshi. "I actually care what happens to Gin." He gripped the edge of the door, his knuckles turning white. "Neither of you have any right to be here." He was surprised at his own firmness, as he had been the previous night when he had punched Aoshi, but he knew he could not stand idly by and allow any of this to happen.

Brandy pulled out his gun, his eyes cold and hard. "We'll take him by force, if you won't help us," he said darkly.

Vodka swallowed hard when he saw the weapon. He had not been expecting that. But he remained firm, never loosening his grip on the door. Brandy would not scare him. "You wouldn't dare shoot me," he said then.

Brandy brought the gun up to Vodka's throat. "Wouldn't I?" he replied, a sick smile twisting his features. "I'd be happy to, really. I never have liked you. If you'd drowned in the pool all those years ago, no one would have known the truth except me and the others, and none of us would have ever told. It would have just been thought of as an accident, since you couldn't swim. But you had to be rescued by the brat who ended up being your partner."

Suddenly the unmistakable sound of a bullet echoed throughout the room. Everyone started in shock, and Brandy quickly and shakily lowered the gun to his side. Then Vodka saw that the reason for that was because blood was emerging from Brandy's shoulder. He whirled around, and his mouth dropped open when he saw that Gin was holding Vodka's gun, which he had grabbed off the table. The blonde's eyes were not visible, but Vodka could feel the other's rage and hatred. He clutched tightly at the gun, and when he spoke, the tone of his voice chilled his partner.

"Your problem is with me. Leave him out of it. I'll kill you if you try that again." Several bangs fell away, revealing his flashing eyes. "And I'll kill you if you try to take me with you." There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he meant it.

Brandy gaped at him, at a loss for words at the moment. But Aoshi was not.

"You see?" the doctor cried. "He's not in his right mind! It's not safe to be around him." He looked to Vodka. "I don't care what your personal feelings are, or his. He needs medical treatment to control him!"

Vodka finally found his voice. "Medical treatment?" he sputtered. "You . . . you don't even know how to give him medical treatment!" He reached for the door again, hoping to shut it and lock them out. "Your idea of 'medical treatment' is to shut him up in a room where he'll be all alone and won't ever get any care or proper attention from anyone! How do you think that will help him? That will make him worse!"

"Oh, and allowing him to kill you will help?" Aoshi snapped back.

"He won't kill me!" Vodka practically yelled.

Aoshi regarded him with disgust. "I'm tired of these games," he declared, shoving Vodka aside enough that he could slip into the room.

Immediately Vodka retaliated, grabbing the physician and tackling him to the floor. Aoshi was not a good match for him, and though he struggled, Vodka soon had him pinned down. When Aoshi tried to get up, Vodka struck him across the face. He would not stand for any of this! They did not have any right to barge in here and attempt to enact their own will. Vodka decided then and there that he would be making a formal complaint against them both. If it was just himself, he would not bother. But because of what they were trying to do to Gin, he would.

Behind him he could hear another gunshot going off, and he looked over in alarm. Brandy had fired his own gun, clipping Gin on the cheek. The blonde stood in surprise for a moment, not having expected the attack, and then he raised his weapon again, ready to defend himself against Brandy's assault.

Vodka panicked. "Stop!" he yelled. This gun battle was making everything worse, for several reasons. Not only was it making Gin become all the more anxious and on edge, but it would be ammunition that Brandy would twist and use to his advantage. Quickly Vodka pulled out the gun that he had discovered Aoshi had been carrying inside his white coat, pointing it first at Aoshi and then at Brandy. "Stop!" he ordered again, as he stood up. "Just leave! What happens to Gin isn't your business. He's my partner."

Brandy cursed him spitefully. "Go ahead and shoot," he retorted. "That will only make it worse for you."

Slowly Aoshi got up from where he was still sprawled on the floor. "Let's just go, for now," he said in a dark tone, looking to his accomplice as he took his gun back from Vodka. "We don't have to give up the war, only this battle." Without waiting for Brandy's response, the doctor pushed past him to the door, then turned and grabbed Brandy's wrist. "I'll treat your wound." This statement was said with a certain warning tone that indicated he would not put up with any resistance.

Brandy glowered, but finally turned to follow him. "This isn't over," he declared coldly, looking from Vodka to Gin in emphasis. Vodka was certain that was true, and he did not relish the prospect of their next meeting.

Quickly he shut the door after them, relieved as he locked it and turned the bolt. Then he turned to look back at Gin, still stunned over what had just happened and how the blonde had reacted.

If Gin was aware that he was being watched, he did not care. He set the gun back on the table before crossing the room and sinking into a chair, almost as if nothing had happened at all. Then he lit another cigarette, slumping back into the softness of the furniture. Vodka could feel that the other's fury was still there. Not that he blamed Gin in the least. He was angry too.

Slowly Vodka sat down as well, wondering what to say, if anything. He was grateful for what Gin had done on his behalf, but confused as well. Normally he did not think Gin would actually have shot Brandy, though he most likely would have threatened to. But for Gin to have actually done it showed how on edge he was right now. He was not willing to take any chances, nor to give Brandy any benefit of the doubt.

"Bro?"

"What."

Vodka swallowed, shifting again. "Why did you do that?" he asked quietly.

Gin did not need to inquire as to what Vodka meant. "Because," he growled, images of Vodka being shot dead flashing through his mind, "this time I actually could."