Warning: drug/alcohol abuse below.

Chapter 14: Leonardo-Flower in the Ashes

Minus three years…

First time he saw her he was high, he was sprawled out on the chair, the needle he'd just used to slam Meth into his system dangling from his fingers as his brain went off in some strange trail, and his body shuddered from the abuse. He'd lost a lot of weight since he started, but he relief from the horrors of his past was a good enough reason in his mangled mind.

Half of him hoped he'd over dose, end the agony, the other half hoped someone would care enough to save him from this self induced hell.

But her, leaning against the pole in front of him, she was familiar, didn't know why. Just knew it.

A koi fish, white skin, black and gold "gloves" on her hands and "boots" on her feet. Her eyes were gold, and she had a single burst of gold in her bangs.

She was beautiful.

He found himself staring at her the whole time, part of him wondering how he could've fallen so far to be in a strip club, shooting Meth and considering courting a stripper. But at this point what really made sense.

He hated himself, and ached for companionship all at once.

What would his father say?

Who cared…

Should he overdose tonight?

Why not have fun first?

He woke up the next morning to a blanket tossed over his thin frame and someone talking to him softly.

"Leon?" she whispered, "Leon oh God…wake up…wake up."

Groggily, lost and shivering from the sudden urge to shoot again, he slowly sat up.

He felt like hell, served him right.

The blanket slid off of him revealing the Sepia-like tattoos along his arms, carapace, and, plastron. Intricate tribal patterns with Japanese symbols interwoven with Spanish phrases. His carapace was quite literally a tribal styled Chinese dragon with red, blue, orange, grey, and purple tints to the scales. The 'fur" on the Chinese dragon was grey and the main color was the pitch black of his carapace.

She gasped, lightly touching his carapace, tracing the design.

"That must've hurt like hell," she sympathized.

He shrugged.

"Whatever," he muttered, "where…where am I?"

"My place," she replied, "you started seizing and I…you had left and were in the alley…I couldn't leave you there."

He looked at her and struggled through fragile memories.

"Hana?" he whispered, suddenly looking sick, "you…"

Hana bowed her head and touched his arm, he flinched.

"I'm surprised you remember my name," she whispered, "you were a mess…I have to get to Rich's diner….your shift if I remember right, starts soon too. You're clothes were ruined, I…there's some food in the fridge and…I guess I'll see you at work?"

He didn't respond, just looked away.

Something in her chest shattered.

"Just…um…lock the door on the way out will you?" she whispered.

He nodded curtly.

She seemed to shrink in on herself, lower lip trembling as she got up and gathered her things.

"For the record…I…I hate it," she whispered before slipping out of the apartment.

He didn't move for a while, then traced a finger along the rashes on his arms and grimaced.

"How can I judge her when I'm worse?" he muttered, suddenly feeling ill, "no wonder my family always called me a jerk…"

Tears exploded unbidden into his eyes, he bit down on his forefinger and fought sobs. He slammed a fist into the floor and struggled for control. He was so lonely, so desperate for a companion, a friend, for goodness sake he'd even be wiling to carry a stupid dog around for the sake of not being alone. Even thinking of his family make him dissolve into hysterics, for more than one reason. One he missed them with a deep festering agony, and two he dared not contact them in light of risking their safety and because he was sure that seppuku would be ordered at the revelation of all he had done under Karai's orders.

He hated himself so much.

He staggered to his feet and walked into the kitchen fumbling with her drawers he finally found a small knife and sliding to the floor he gritted his teeth as he sliced into the skin next to the kanji for Shi o Motarasu or "to bring death". Under that particular kanji was an empty space surrounded by tribal skull designs of both animal and human. Inside the empty space were small "tally-marks" of scars. His constant reminder of those he'd been forced to kill. So far, he was up to seventy.

He hated himself.

He eyed the knife, moved it slowly towards his wrist, touching the tip to where his vein pulsed.

He shuddered and threw it away from himself, burring his head in his arms, blood smearing across his face.

He scratched at his palms, vaguely aware that they were yet again shaking.

He was disgusting, he threw a fist into the wall beside him, flinching when a bone popped in protest.

Then finally he gathered himself and stood, blinking at the realization that he was naked, the tribal designs on his legs visible.

He struggled to remember why he wasn't wearing clothes and then recalled that Hana had told him his clothes had been ruined.

Wonderful.

He searched around and stopped, blinking at the sight of his bag hanging off of a chair and his only two pairs of shoes on the floor beside it.

He sagged, leaning against the wall.

She had been kind to him, she had been kind to him.

He hated himself so much.

With an exhausted sob he walked forward and pulled out his uniform for the restaurant, he got ready and checked to make sure his new injury was closing up on its own before grabbing his bag and other pair of shoes and locking the door behind him.

He made it to the stairs before a seizure slammed him into the ground, his bag fell and rolled down the stairs. He fell down the stairs slamming his head into the cement steps as he rolled.

When he woke up it was dark, and he moaned softly after trying to sit up.

Pain, everything hurt.

He retched, dry-heaving for what seemed like hours, before going limp and shivering.

He fainted, black overwhelming the edge of his vision.

He woke to frantic voices and someone holding his head.

"Easy Leon, easy," a woman whispered.

"Hana?" he managed.

"Shhh," she soothed.

"I….I'm….sorry…" he rasped.

"Shhhh," she repeated, "Kale…can you tell if anything's broken?"

"His wrist and right leg maybe," a man replied, "he's more bruised than broken from what I can tell…but I'm pretty sure he's got a concussion."

He moaned softly as Kale examined his right leg, all twisted into a weird angle.

Raw, white, hot agony seared through the area and after a yelp of pain everything spun into black.

He woke up again wrapped in blankets and resting in a bed, he frowned weakly at the sight of pale pink, yellow, and green on the blanket that was covering him.

He hated pink…it was a girl color…why?

Then it all came crashing into focus and he groaned in frustration.

"Easy," Hana comforted.

"…Hana?" Leon managed, slowly turning his head.

"Hey," she greeted, she looked like she'd been crying.

"What? I thought…how'd I get in here?" Leon asked.

"Kale…helped…" she whispered.

"What's wrong?" he asked, very aware of the fact that she was fighting tears.

"It's nothing," she insisted.

"No its not," he whispered.

She took a deep breath and then looked at him.

"I just got reminded of how much of an idiot I am that's all," she whispered.

He frowned, grimacing from the pain that stretched across his skull.

"He hurt you…didn't he?" Leon asked softly.

"In a sense yeah," she mumbled, "I thought he loved me and he saw…the…and yeah."

"He dumped you because of what you do at night?" Leon asked.

She nodded.

"I hate it, I was only for a few weeks so I could pay rent this month," she choked.

Leon closed his eyes.

"Why'd you help me?" he asked suddenly.

"I…felt bad…you kept muttering about being alone and wanting to die…and I was scared you'd kill yourself in that alley. You almost overdosed…I couldn't just leave." she whispered.

"How about this…we forget all the past few whatever…and…help each other out?" Leon offered.

"Like what?" she sputtered.

"You be my friend and I'll help you pay rent…purely selfish motives I swear," Leon muttered.

"Lonely?" she offered, smiling a little.

A flicker of sorrow past over his face.

"Been alone for seven years now," he whispered.

She reached forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinched, but seemed reluctant to push her away.

It was the beginning of a friendship and the flickering of a romance neither dared to consider. After his slow recovery from his injuries he left her home and went back to the streets, but he made her a promise.

If he was going to trip or drink he'd be at her place so she at least knew he was safe and that he'd do his best to get clean.

A/N: So, intriguing start of a friendship wouldn't you say? Now heard me out, I under NO circumstances advocate stripping or drug/alcohol abuse, in fact I'm very against it, this is simply to show how rough things were for them, how far Leo fell and how desperate Hana was to pay bills.

Rant over, review please!