Second chapter…whoo, something is already about to happen! Yeah, this is one reason I'm gonna be super slow with this story. Heh…

Anyway….hope you like.

Ch. 2: First Hand

Ventus probably owed his life to his car blowing up. Still, gratitude could roll over in a ditch and die.

Vanitas didn't seem to understand what the huge deal was with his attitude towards his exploded mode of transportation. According to him, no car meant less chance of getting his head blown up. In other words, he saw it as a good thing.

"Be grateful that the car didn't decide to blow up while you were sitting in it," he'd said in reply.

Well…yes, that was true, but it had been a close thing. Ventus had hardly set foot into the massive car lot when the entire structure shook with the force of a huge detonation, and he'd immediately (and idiotically, he realized in retrospect) run to find the source—only to find his car up in flames and smoke, now nothing but a twisted scrap of burning metal and shards of broken glass. It appeared as if some lunatic had dropped a crate-load of active dynamites onto it.

Ventus had been rightly horrified at the sight of his smoking and ruined vehicle, but that horror quickly turned into sheer frustration and annoyance once he processed all the consequences of this one moment. Jesus Christ; what were the chances that his car had gone nuclear out of all others in this gigantic lot? And he'd already been running late for work, which was only adding insult to injury by that point. Adding to that the inevitably high towing fees and repair/replacing costs for his already-expensive car because he had no proof that someone else was guilty of the vandalism (though it was a question in itself as to what sort of lunatic would blow up his own car), and this day was already shaping up to be a particularly dreadful one.

While he watched as his smoking wreck of a car was being towed away for the scrapyard, he phoned Officer Zack Fair to ask for a ride. Predictably, he had been just as flabbergasted as Ventus himself had been at the situation.

"Wh-whoa whoa; wait a minute—your car exploded?!" his fellow officer exclaimed on the other end. "I know that it's been ridiculously warm recently, but geez! Sorry to hear that, Reed."

"Yeah, could you feel sorry for me later?" Ventus sighed. "Just come and pick me up. If you can't do that, then just call me in sick."

"What; you're not taking the subway?"

"Damn those underground freight trains," Ventus grumbled. "I feel like cargo in those things—it's claustrophobic as all hell."

"I don't think that counts as a legitimate excuse for our boss to miss work today. Especially since he had all of yesterday off."

"Look, I didn't exactly plan on my car going nuclear on me!" He exhaled irritably. "So…I take it from your answer that you can't take me."

"Unfortunately so. I'm already at work." Ventus could hear his co-worker click his tongue on the other end. "It's not easy being your second-in-command; I tell ya."

Ventus felt a tic going in his forehead. "Yeah, I get the hint. Then I'll just have you take me back home, all right?"

"Crystal-clear, sir," Zack intoned spiritedly on the other end. "See you in twenty, Agent Reed!"

Ventus was met with the dial tone so quickly that it was clear Zack had done that on purpose. He just sighed and resolved to clock him in the head once he got to his workplace as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

No sooner had he done so and stepped out of the lot to head to the nearest subway station that he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen—Vanitas had sent him a message.

Don't forget to watch your back, it read. That explosion wasn't an accident.

Ventus deleted the message, his impatience with his roommate mounting by the moment. Typical of Vanitas; he just had to blow a situation way out of proportion with every incident. Relax apparently wasn't a word in that man's vocabulary. Ventus found this aspect of him to be particularly trying to deal with.

As such, Vanitas wouldn't get off his back if he didn't give him some sort of compliant response, so he typed out a quick message.

Right. Remind me the next time my car blows up and jeopardizes my means of transportation. Send.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and continued walking. If he was going to die today, it might as well happen in a spectacular fashion at a place where people would see it.

Vanitas had felt the overwhelming urge to hurl his phone against the wall after reading Ventus' message. Seriously? That man had the audacity to address this matter with sarcasm? He'd been in utter disbelief.

Though it was hard, he'd managed to hold himself at the last minute—this phone would be too expensive to replace if he damaged it (Lord knew how many times that had happened before). Even though it would come out of Ventus' paycheck, Vanitas didn't want to feel any more indebted to the man than he already was.

Even after the three hours that had passed since he'd received that message, he really couldn't think of a proper rebuttal that would be sufficient enough to not blow up in his face eventually, so he decided to just give up. He'd literally been sitting on the living room couch trying and failing to come up with a witty response, but with no luck.

Vanitas tossed his phone onto the coffee table in front of him and switched on the television, which was always set to the main news channel. Vanitas wasn't the best at handling technology, and he knew this, but he at least knew how to turn on a TV, which was good because this was the only way he could really find out about anything that went on in the world. He couldn't change channels without screwing something up, but that didn't really matter since the news was the only thing that interested him. Honestly, the whole idea of an LCD monitor with cable seemed extremely superfluous—who the hell watched all 400 channels on cable?

"—at least a dozen commuters injured," the anchor was saying when the screen turned on. "There are currently no suspects. Fortunately, there were no casualties reported, but thanks to the spontaneous explosion, this subway station will be down for maintenance and repairs until—"

Vanitas tuned out the rest of the anchor's words as clips of the devastation caught on security camera flashed onscreen—people were screaming and running while the station workers attempted to restore order, nurses moved injured commuters (with blipped-out faces) on stretchers, and replays of that one footage that had caught the explosion occurring kept flashing onscreen as if the news team was afraid that not enough people would see it.

Vanitas could feel the blood draining from his face as the clips kept playing over and over without rest.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself heavily, staring out the window in the direction of the station that Ventus was headed to. "So they're already making moves like that…you better not be where I think you are, detective…!"

Jesus, Ventus thought, does the whole world want to kill me?

It was just his luck that this bomb happened to be at the station that he was at. This time, he only escaped with minor burns and scorch marks on his clothes, multiple scratches from the debris, and a seriously pissed-off mood.

At least he didn't need to walk the rest of the way to work. As soon as Ventus exited the chaotic subway station, he saw several police cruisers pull up and drop off (at Ventus' count) around fourteen officers that immediately scrambled to evacuate the remaining commuters and tape off the station. Zack happened to be among them, and he was the first to notice him.

"Reed!" he called, speeding toward Ventus so quickly that he nearly knocked him over upon reaching him. "Thank God you're okay—we thought you were dead!"

"I'm actually kind of surprised that I'm not," Ventus said, still brushing dust out of his hair. "And you sure took your sweet time getting here—the ambulance got here ages ago."

"We only got the news right before we left!" Zack shook his head. "…Anyway. What the hell's happening here? First your car explodes, and now the station that you just so happened to arrive in had hidden bombs that went off the moment you got off the train. Is there some crazy demolitionist stalking you that you didn't tell me about? This seems like too much to be just a coincidence."

"It probably isn't." Ventus rubbed his injured shoulder —the explosion had aggravated the wound, and it was being mercilessly distracting. "I have a feeling I know who's behind this."

Zack blinked once before exclaiming, "Wait a minute, you're telling me that—?!"

Ventus immediately clamped a hand over the officer's mouth. "Go ahead and announce it for the entire world to hear, why don't you?" He glanced around furtively among the clamoring crowd before shooting Zack a look. "Listen carefully. I have every reason to believe that someone working for them is out for my head, taking into account the events that occurred four months ago. To them, I'm probably nothing but a threat that needs to be eliminated—I don't know why they'd want that, to be frank, but things are going to get a whole lot more dangerous around here if I stick around; that's for damn sure."

Zack backed up, waving his hands in disbelief. "Whoa, whoa; wait a second. If you're saying what I think you're saying, then I'm not so sure I like what you're implying, chief."

"Well, that's too bad, because that just so happens to be how it is." Ventus glowered pointedly at his right-hand officer. "Can I trust you, Zack?"

Zack clenched his jaw, not answering for a moment, but eventually he sighed and looked at Ventus meaningfully. "You owe me for this, Reed."

"Oh, right. That reminds me." Ventus raised a hand and knocked Zack in the temple. The officer yelped in pain and backed off, cradling the spot where Ventus had struck him.

"What was that for?!" Zack protested.

"Condescension toward your superiors is not permitted."

Zack stared at him in bewilderment before realization crossed his features. "It's because of the phone call, isn't it?" he guessed flatly.

Ventus couldn't help but smirk. "You catch on quick."

"That was still uncalled for, y'know. And you even used your right hand."

"Well, of course I did. I'm not left-handed, Zack."

Zack looked peeved. "You know what I mean!"

"What; did you want me to tear a ligament or something?"

"…I swear; I can't ever win with you."

"I'm going to take that remark as a compliment."

"Please do. My livelihood depends on it."

"Right. Anyway…" Ventus grinned. "I appreciate it, Zack. I'll be counting on you."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Zack crossed his arms. "So, does that mean you're not coming down to the station with me?"

Ventus scoffed. "After all the nagging you dished out at me for trying to skip work today? Don't think so."

"Wait, what?"

Ventus sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. Just get me out of here before the paparazzi gets here."

"…Oh. Roger that." The two headed for the first cruiser in line as Zack turned to Ventus and raised an eyebrow. "Y'know, it wouldn't exactly kill you to take some credit for what you do every once in a while."

"Easy for a nobody to say."

"…Reed, do you try to piss people off when you talk to them?"

"It's a great questioning tactic. Get them upset enough, and they'll forget to watch what they say."

They reached the cruiser and Zack moved to the driver's side while Ventus took the passenger side. Zack made a face as he slid into the driver's seat.

"You think you're freakin' funny, don't you?" he noted dryly.

"Yeah, hilarious. Now get us out of here."

"Ven! Ven, are you okay?!"

"I'm fine, Naminé. Quit freaking out."

"But I saw you—"

"I know; I know. Just relax, okay? I'm still alive."

Unfortunately, Zack hadn't been quick enough to get him away from the scene in time—the news crew had somehow managed to capture his visage on camera and continuously pestered him with questions as he and his cohort struggled to drive through a crowd without running anyone over. It was just rotten luck that Naminé happened to be watching at the time—so she'd called in (Ventus was manning the phone for that moment) to check up on him, freaking out over his welfare.

"Are you sure?" Naminé insisted. "Are you absolutely sure that you're okay?"

"Yes, Naminé. I am absolutely, positively, one hundred percent certain that I am whole and mostly undamaged." Ventus pinched the bridge of his nose and fought back a groan. "Look, Naminé, I appreciate your concern, but you're holding up our line. If you really need to see for yourself that I'm just fine, I'll have Zack drop me off at your place after work. Okay?"

"O-okay. I'm sorry. I'll see you later, then."

He finally hung up the phone and sighed heavily. Well, he thought, Crap in a hat. I got caught on TV. Now they know that I was there for sure. Goddamn it.

His life felt like a game of cat-and-mouse. And Ventus was the mouse.

The phone rang again almost immediately, and it felt so deliberate that Ventus was tempted to just let it go to voicemail, but at the fourth ring, he groaned inwardly and decided to answer it—better safe than sorry, or some such.

The person on the other end was not someone he'd ever expected to receive a call from.

"Whoa, hey; didn't expect the head honcho himself to answer the call," the caller remarked. "I feel honored."

Ventus had to do a double take at the speaker's voice on the other end. "Wait a second—Riku, is that you? Why're you calling all of a sudden?"

"Well, why else would I be calling you? I've got a problem that I want you to take care of." Riku paused. "So, can you come down to my place later?"

"Later?" Ventus' mind went back to the promise he'd made to Naminé earlier. "When exactly is 'later'? 'Cause I have another appointment right after work."

"Ah, of course. I guess it makes sense that someone like you'd be busy with things like that."

"Yeah, sorry for the inconvenience. But I'm available in the evening; is that workable?"

"Sure, whatever floats your boat. Just as long as it's as soon as possible."

Ventus frowned. "What's so urgent about it that I need to meet you as soon as possible?"

"…Well," Riku said after a click of the tongue, "can't really say too much on it at the moment, but it concerns Sora."

Ventus stiffened involuntarily at the sound of the name. He narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion. "What business could you possibly have with a dead man?" he asked in a low voice.

"You'll just have to wait and see later tonight," Riku replied simply. "Well, I'll see you in the evening, then! Give me a call once you're on your way."

Riku then hung up on him before Ventus could even voice a retort, leaving him listening to the dial tone for a few seconds before he remembered to set the receiver down.

Things are starting to get weird now, he thought in trepidation. Why do I get the feeling that it's gonna get much worse…?

He reclined in his chair and palmed his face with a weary sigh. He had to remember to call Vanitas and let him know that he'd be coming home late today, if only to stave off the fugitive's perpetual paranoia for even a moment. This evening would be stressful enough as it was without it.

"What? You're coming in late tonight?"

"Yeah, a couple clients requested to see me in person. I'm sure you can survive the rest of the night without me."

Vanitas bit his lip. He wasn't so sure. He'd never admit this out loud, of course, but he was, in truth, genuinely nervous about the prospect of going this night alone.

"The rest of the night? Does meeting with two people normally take that long?"

"Vanitas, they're not exactly next-door neighbors. It's going to take time."

Vanitas exhaled sharply. "…Anyway, how late do you think you'll be?"

"Huh…" Vanitas heard Ventus click his tongue on the other end. "Can't say, really. I'll call you, so keep your phone on your person, okay?"

Vanitas felt his face grow so hot that he was immensely glad Ventus couldn't see him over the phone. "Fine."

"Great. Oh, and you know where the food is, so seriously—eat more than a cupful of cereal this time. I'm not buying food for two just for half of it to go to waste in my pantry. Got that?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just go and take care of business, detective."

Vanitas hung up before Ventus could have a chance to snark on the other end, trying his hardest to undo the knot tightening in his chest. He had never gone this long without company since finding and locating the detective. As much as he wanted to, he really couldn't deny the anxiety that he felt.

Without warning, Vanitas collapsed onto the nearest couch with a hand grasping his chest. His limbs had suddenly gone shaky, and he felt cold chills throughout his body.

Fuck. He was having another anxiety attack.

No, no; not now! he thought angrily through the haze in his brain and the ringing in his ears. Damn it!

Vanitas tried to control his breathing and calm himself down, but he was met with minimal success. Yet again, he was forced to tough it out without outside help.

—Don't—trust—him—

Vanitas' breath caught, and immediately his anxiety attacked passed as if it had never existed in the wake of the interruption, or…no, wait…maybe it was the interruption?

Whatever the case, the whole experience left him utterly bewildered.

What was that? he wondered warily, scanning the area in the case of an intruder, but finding none. I could've sworn that I heard…

He shook his head once to clear it. No. That wasn't possible. It had probably just been a hallucination. It wasn't the first time he'd heard voices in the midst of a panic attack, after all.

He sighed as his muscles slowly relaxed one by one, but he didn't move from his spot on the couch. He just rested his forearm over his eyes and took long deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

It wasn't his first time…but why did those words fill him with so much foreboding? Did that voice come from somewhere in his subconscious? The other times he'd heard voices, they'd usually been either gibberish, random nonsense, or both. Not once had they ever been comprehensible in his mind, let alone make any sense.

…Not that he could make sense of what he'd heard just now, but…it had been extremely clear, if somewhat disjointed.

Don't trust him.

He lifted his arm away from his face, deep in thought. If it was a message from his subconscious, then what was it supposed to mean? Who was the 'him' that the voice had been referring to that couldn't be trusted? Could it be someone he knew?

A sharp ache lancing through his temples told him that it would be a good idea to set the matter aside until later—at least until Ventus returned from meeting with his clients—because the round of intense contemplating that that phenomenon had brought on was not being kind to his brain. If anyone would believe something this outlandish, it would be him. He scoffed lightly at the irony.

"'Don't trust him', huh…" he muttered aloud to himself. "Wonder where that came from…"

Thankfully, Ventus' visit to Naminé's place only took upwards to about half an hour (as much as a worrywart she could be sometimes, she knew when she should back off and give people breathing room), so he managed to make it to Riku's place before it hit seven on the dial, which was good—he would be able to return home earlier than he'd previously expected.

"Hey, glad you could make it," Riku greeted him amiably at the front door. He was dressed casually, in a white tee and gray sweats with his ever-present left-arm wrist warmer. Even his hair appeared to be scragglier than usual.

"Don't know if I could say the same with much confidence, to be honest with you," Ventus answered him dryly, briefly scanning his host's disheveled appearance.

"Well, gee; I'm glad to see you, too, Detective Stuffy." Riku waved him in. "Anyway, just come inside. It's pretty chilly out tonight, and all the warm air is getting out."

Ventus accepted the invitation wordlessly and stepped into the dimly-lit building as Riku clicked the door shut behind them. He could make out hints of cigarette smoke in the air, and there were sounds coming from the living room—presumably a television or a radio, because no one could really afford to go without constant news nowadays.

"So, how's your shoulder holding up?" Riku asked him as he sidled up next to the detective. "Has it gotten any better?"

"Not really," Ventus grunted in response, carefully shrugging off his thick jacket—it was much warmer indoors. "If only it was that simple. Nerve damage isn't exactly easy to fix, unfortunately. This is probably going to last until the day I die, but I'll have to hang in there somehow."

Riku grinned. "Tough, aren't ya?"

"Shut up, Riku."

"Sorry, Chief."

"Don't push it." Ventus slung his jacket over the backrest of one of Riku's kitchen chairs (his dining room was pretty close to the front door) and turned to eye him critically. "So, what did you want to talk about that we needed to have a private conversation about it?"

Riku blinked at the prompt. "Oh, right. Almost forgot."

"Yeah, sure you did." Ventus sighed and ruffled his own hair. "Anyway, can we try and hurry things up? My roommate doesn't appreciate being left alone for too long. Anxiety issues, and all that."

"Don't worry; I'll make it snappy." Riku turned his back to Ventus and made his way to the living room as he said, "Before we start, though, let's sit down and make ourselves comfortable. You're probably going to need it."

Ventus raised an eyebrow in suspicion as he followed. "What're you talking about?"

"Well, here's the thing." Riku paused and turned back to look at him, his cyan eyes uncharacteristically stormy. Ventus instinctively braced himself for his next words, but somehow, it still wasn't enough.

"How would you react," Riku began, "if I told you that Sora might not actually be dead?"

…

…

…Yeah, that just happened. That last line was not a typo. So where on earth could this shocking development lead?

…Have fun contemplating that for the next three months! :D *runs away*