Chapter Four

Chikako rolled herself over toward the cupboards, scrambling to find a knife. It was just after dawn, the cold, dark gray skies out the window starting to lighten, and the moonlight's remnants mixed with the early morning sunrise. She had to open her eyes wider to maneuver her way around Jake's kitchen, bound. She found the silverware drawer, yanked it open, and threw up her tied hands, feeling around for something to help her break free of the ropes wrapped around her wrists. Her fingers were pricked by something sharp so suddenly that she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain. Something warm oozed down the side of her palm, but she ignored the ache as she lifted the blade out of the drawer. It was a fat, rigid steak knife and the harsh grooves along the side were still dripping from the residue of her blood. Turning the weapon inward, she raked it across her bonds, fervently, until she was free.

Finally able to move, Chikako dropped the weapon to the floor and sat back on her hands in shock. Why was it so easy? Because Jake made sure… She shook her head, not wanting to think about him. She didn't want to relapse due to Stockholm syndrome. On the radio, she heard a familiar name in the Business Reports. "…and with the new Japanese assimilated company, Ootori-Akiyoshi, the co-head of the establishment, Kyoya Ootori is here in London at the Renaissance Hotel on 6th Avenue to meet with English advisors about…"

Chikako stopped listening. She had an address. Forcing herself to her feet, she stumbled over to the closet by the front and grabbed the first coat she saw. She knew how cold Britain was around this time of year. She yanked the door open and stared out at the dank, freezing road ahead of her. She hugged the doorframe, watching the sleet dart down onto the pavement before her. Hesitantly, she glimpsed over her shoulder into Jake's apartment one last time. Before she could help it, the words, "I'm sorry," slipped from her lips to no one in particular as she slammed the door behind her and fled down the back alley.

Kyoya rubbed his temples in rhythmic, slow circles, trying his best not fall asleep. This meeting was just a cover excuse to be in the city, but he had never been so impatient in his life. Three days in London and still no leads. These kidnappers, whoever they were, were smart. If it had been any other circumstance, he would have been impressed, but because it was Chikako, he was nothing if not perturbed. Secretly, he was scared, but not just of losing his wife, but of losing the business, the pursuit, his father's trust, his promise to the Club, and his dignity as a husband. And, as much as he hated to admit to it, he needed Chikako's balancing act. This company was impossible to run on his own; he needed her stiff upper lip and daunting wit to deal with their millions of irritated clients, their employees, and, most importantly, his father's monopolistic tendencies.

His phone buzzed once, and he jumped in his chair to answer it. Momentarily, he acknowledged that his anticipation would have been perceived as rude, and he peered around at the other board members. They were all looking intently at him, eyebrows furrowed in a slightly disapproving manner. He gestured to his mobile. "Forgive me, gentlemen, but I have to take this call. Please, continue the discussion. It sounds to me like you have issues you have to work out independently anyways."

The main client blanched and nodded, fervently, his lawyer glaring at him and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. Kyoya forced a fake smile out of propriety and fled the room, answering the call with a flick of his index finger. "Tamaki. What is it?"

There was a nervous chuckle. "You sound a little too anxious there, Momma," Tamaki joked, half-heartedly.

Kyoya sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. "What have you found? Is she here?"

There was a pause. "We don't know," Tamaki answered.

Kyoya pressed his lips together in irritation. "Then why are you calling?" he snapped.

"I wanted to ask you if you had…heard from…" Tamaki trailed off and sighed, loudly. "But your first question answers my own, I take it." There was another pause. "I'm sorry, Kyoya."

Kyoya pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, don't be," he answered, calmly. "I'm just cross and I'm channeling my anger in an unproductive way, so-"

"Aren't you in a meeting or something right now?"

Kyoya's eyebrow twitched in agitation. "I was until I was interrupted by an unnecessary phone call."

He heard a careless chuckle on the other end. "Sorry," Tamaki muttered, indifferently. "Haruhi asked me to check in with you. It's really bothering her that she can't be there to help look."

"Well, her bothered state of mind is none of my concern if it isn't affecting her work ethic in the club and in school. When Chikako gets back, Haruhi will have to be in charge of tutoring her if I'm not available because of business, and I can't have her useless annoyances toward me getting in the way of Kako's education."

"Kako…" he heard Tamaki chuckle at. "Well, that's a good way of thinking about the situation. 'When' Chikako will get back and all, I mean."

"It isn't a way of thinking; it's the way of thinking," Kyoya snapped, weary of this whole fiasco. He had been used to Tamaki's shenanigans, and he had even been able to handle the drama Haruhi had inadvertently brought to the club, but Chikako had always been a surprise. Spontaneous in everything she did, she was always a painful delight. She was a walking oxymoron and he hated missing such a paradox. "Thank you for calling, though. I do appreciate it and I promise to inform you, Haruhi, and the rest of the club if we find Chikako."

"When," Tamaki corrected, lightly. "Don't forget your firm way of thinking, Momma."

At that, Kyoya found himself cracking the smallest of smirks. "Goodbye Tamaki."

"Good luck, Kyoya."

Chikako regretted not eating since she had woken up. She should have taken something from Jake's house, an apple or some crackers, because she wasn't only hungry, but she was weak. She had started off down that first alley in a sprint, but London was big and confusing, and this hotel could be anywhere. She felt herself slowing down in the worst part of the city. The walls were darkened by soot and trash, the concrete was covered in all sorts of heinously derived colors, and it smelled of a mixture of feet and cat urine. She bit her lip and tried not to cry.

She didn't belong here; she was an Akiyoshi. She was elite, not a commoner. No, this was below commoner and even below beggar; this was where the street rats came to call. She could see roaches devouring weeks old sausages and stray ripped up clothing lying around, covered in dirt, oil, or even blood. She knew she had to be exaggerating this alley in her mind out of fear, but she couldn't help it. Even being tied up in Jake's apartment was better than this.

"Excuse me," she heard a shaky, coarse accent call out to her in English. She turned and saw an old woman peeking out of a back door.

Shivering in the cold, Chikako stuttered, "Yes?"

The old woman smiled, weakly. "You look lost, deary, and too pretty to be used to such a feeling. Do you need some help?"

Chikako shook her head, slowly. "No, I'm fine…" she trailed off, turning, but she stopped, doubling back on her slow decision. She spun back around before the old woman retreated back into her home again. "Actually," Chikako started, her voice raised. "Could you tell me where 6th Avenue is?"

The woman furrowed her brows. "Of course, deary, but why do you need to know where that exact street is?"

Chikako quickly adopted an innocent little girl act, tucking a strand of hair behind her unwashed ears. "You were right; I am lost and I'm not used to being alone. My family's at the Renaissance Hotel on 6th street," she started, knowing the woman wouldn't understand a seventeen year old claiming to have a husband. "I wanted to take a stroll, but…" she chuckled, nervously, her acting skills playing out the ploy beautifully. "I'm not very good at navigating cities. Everything looks the same and I'm not used to the time change, so it got darker quicker than I imagined it would."

The woman leaned against her door frame, a toothy grin expanding her wrinkled face. "Well, sounds like quite the sad story, miss. 6th street is that way," she added, directed to the left of the corridor. "But I doubt you'll get there in time."

Her tone had gone sour and her words slurred together in such a way that Chikako had trouble understanding her English. She did understand one thing, though, and that was that this "sweet" old woman was sour. She heard something rustle in the trash bins beside her, but she had taken off in a sprint before she wanted to question what was coming after her. Her silent inquiries were answered when two skinny men with scraggly beards jumped out in front of her. She screeched and ducked to avoid their drunken blows. She took a split second to glance back at the old woman and saw a brief image of another man, larger than the others, tossing her a wad of cash and pulling out a suspicious rubber bag.

Chikako bit her lip and darted in between the drunkards as fast as she could, but one of them snagged her arm and the other tried to loop her waist with the crook of his elbow. She bit down on one of the arms, not sure whose body it belonged too and not really caring, and when their grips loosened in surprise, she took her chance to escape. Trying her best to remember the few defense tactics Honey and Mori had taught her over Golden Week, Chikako lunged at the other man's shin with her fist. She didn't know if she had hit the right muscle, but she assumed she had done something right when he collapsed to the ground.

6th Avenue…6th Avenue…Left, left, left! she inwardly chanted, racing out into the street. Small cars, double decker buses, and yellow taxi screeched, trying not to hit her. She was now on pure adrenaline, the recent weariness subsiding. In retrospect, she was probably going crazy from the lack of nutrition and proper rest because the whole way to the hotel, she was murmuring fanatically to herself, "Home, home, home…"

Kyoya had finally gotten to his room when his phone exploded with yet another business call. This had been going on all day and, while he had been used to being kept busy in Japan, he wasn't exactly up for philanthropic chit-chat in London when his sole purpose being here was to look for his wife. However, his cover story for his father and the rest of the business executives was that there were wonderful international opportunities in the United Kingdom that someone young and able had to pursue.

He picked up his phone, reluctantly, but his voice was professionally cheery and corporate. "Hello, Kyoya Ootori-Akiyoshi here."

"Yes, Mr. Ootori," a man droned in Japanese, ignoring the name change. "This is Koga Matsunaga. I'm a business associate of your father's and a future cooperative to the new business."

"Of course, Mr. Matsunaga," Kyoya answered, cordially, as if he had known this stranger his whole life. "How may I be of assistance, sir?"

"I'm calling to convey a message from your father," the man continued, sounding just as dull as his message was bound to be.

Kyoya suppressed the urge to sigh in annoyance and chirped, "Of course. Thank you, and what is this message?"

"He inquires about your whereabouts."

"I'm sorry, but that can't be correct," Kyoya replied, carefully. "He knows my whereabouts."

"Well, more so, he wishes to know if you are truly where you say you are and when you are planning to return to Japan."

Kyoya narrowed his eyes. "That's kind of him, but kindness and paternity prowess do not take precedence in these cases, Mr. Matsunaga. Would you be so brave as to decline his request to convey this message of his to me?"

There was a loud, annoyed sigh, uncharacteristic with this man's apparent attitude. "Would you be as so brave to tell him this yourself, young Ootori?"

Taken aback, Kyoya realized he may have crossed over the line of decorum. "My deepest apologies, Mr. Matsunaga. That was rude and needless for me to say. You are quite right and I will tell my father my answer in person. If he dares to ask you again, tell him to simply call me and I would be more than happy to answer. Thank you again and have a good evening, Mr. Matsunaga."

There was a gruff, "Yes, you're welcome, Mr. Ootori," and then the man hung up his phone.

Kyoya rolled his eyes. He knew that his father didn't approve of this wild goose chase, but he hadn't realized how little faith the man had in his youngest son. There was a chirp of the landline, probably from the concierge desk. "Yes?" Kyoya answered, curtly in English.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Ootori."

He scoffed. He always seemed to have visitors; mostly of the businessman sort that wanted to strike a deal with him. He definitely was not in the mood. Seeing his phone buzz with an alert, he remembered about his second meeting down on the first floor past the lobby. He didn't have time for visitors. "Have security check them for I.D."

There was a pause as Kyoya quickly responded to the text message he had received, letting them know he would be there at the meeting as quickly as he could. The concierge came on the line again. "They have none."

Kyoya was already preparing to leave his room when he said, fleetingly, "Then send them away. I've no time for uncertified nonsense."

"Yes, Mr. Ootori." There was a loud, familiar voice in the background before the man hung up and Kyoya could have sworn it was… He shook his head; he was dreaming and late. He would pass the lobby anyways and perhaps the stranger would still be there. He could settle his doubts then.

Finally, she saw it! The Renaissance Hotel right next to an elegant street sign that read 6th Ave. Chikako glanced behind her, but the gang she had encountered was gone. She didn't want to take any chances, though. She dashed across the stand still traffic, a broken orchestra of horns blaring her way, and clung to a lamp post when she made it to the other side. She looked up at the looming castle of a hotel and knew that somewhere in this prestigious establishment was a ticket back home.

She swallowed her fear and walked through the front doors, noting the turned up nose of the doorman at her ragged appearance. She glanced down at her clothes and realized she was a little—actually a lot—worse for wear. She didn't care about that though; clothes could be changed, lineage could not and that was one thing she had on her side. If they doubted who she was, they could just check her background. She squared her shoulders, plastered a placid, but not too eager smirk on her face, and promenaded up to the front desk.

The young man there was in all red with straight blond curls poking out from underneath his hat, a nametag attached to his chest that read William Roche, and had daunting green eyes that already seemed bored with the world around him. He carefully assessed her and appeared to have already made a silent decision about her as he snipped, briskly, "Yes, may I help you?"

Chikako struggled to stand up taller, but her bravery cracked a bit in her voice from the running, adrenaline rush, and tears she was trying to hold back. "I-I'm looking for Mr. Kyoya Ootori."

The man sighed. "Do you know which room he's staying in, miss?"

She faltered a bit, but masked it well by narrowing her eyes. "If I did, don't you think I would have gone up there already?"

"No, miss, because security would have stopped you," the boy quipped. "This is a high class establishment, miss, and one cannot simply waltz around the halls without identification."

Chikako took a deep breath. She was so close and she was not going to let this boy ruin her chances. "You know which room he's staying in, don't you?" she accused him. "He's the recent leader of one of the soon-to-be largest monopolies in the Eastern Hemisphere and he's staying here on a whim during the company genesis. How could you not know which room he's in? Or perhaps this 'high class establishment' isn't as well run as I was led to believe?"

The man sucked on his lower lip in an unattractive thought process. Finally, he reached for the phone. "I'm calling security, miss, if he directs me to," he warned her as he dialed. There was a pause and Chikako could hear a muffled answer on the other end. The concierge straightened his posture as he spoke. "You have a visitor, Mr. Ootori," he said, eying Chikako carefully. She glared back at him.

There was another blurb of speech from the line. The young man put the call on hold and turned to Chikako. "Do you have identification, miss?"

"Excuse me?"

"Identification, miss?" he reiterated, slowly, as if she was daft.

She glared, angry at the realization that she did not. "Just tell him that Chikako O-"

"So, you don't have any, I take it?"

"No, but-!"

The young man shook his head, silencing her, and picked up the phone again. The HOLD light flickered off and he said, "They have none."

This time Chikako could hear the response. It was definitely Kyoya and he was being as apathetic and curt as he could possibly be. She could hear him telling the concierge to dismiss her and she swelled with fear, anger, and determination. "Yes, Mr. Ootori," the young man said.

As he went to hang up the phone, Chikako took her last chance at crying for help by yelling, "It's Chikako, you idiot, it's-!" But the phone was on the hook once again and Chikako could see the concierge press a small security button under the desk. Two men in dark blue uniforms headed her way and she barked at the incompetent young man, "Why didn't you say my name to him to at least check and see if I was telling the truth, you audacious, senseless little-!"

But her arms were already being grabbed, roughly, and a flashback of Randall throwing her around the apartment slammed into her vision, knocking the wind out of her. She screeched in fear, but a hand slapped over her mouth. "Alright, that's enough, miss," one of the guards growled. "We don't get nearly enough excitement around here, but please don't overindulge us."

The other guard chuckle at this stupid joke, and Chikako was growing tired. The adrenaline was wearing off and her previous fatigue was kicking in. She could feel herself going limp in the men's arms. They paused, surprised by her sudden secession of power. "'Ey, miss," one mumbled, carefully. "You feeling alright?"

She shook her head, slowly, but giving one last effort, she snapped. "I would …feel better if you… let go of me."

At this, they both hollered and one opened his mouth, probably to counter with something just as sarcastic but probably not as witty when someone yelled, "Stop!"

They turned and Chikako eyes widened, melting in relief. Kyoya was standing there in complete shock. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide. Flustered, he scrambled to recompose himself and repeated with more authority this time, "Stop."

"We're terribly sorry for disturbing your stay, Mr. Ootori, but-" the concierge fumbled, but Kyoya wasn't listening.

He took a menacing step toward the men and his glasses glinted in the little light the cloudy skies and curtained windows allowed. The security loosened, but kept their grip on Chikako, turning to the young man at the desk for orders. Kyoya did the same, but with more fury than Chikako could ever remember witnessing. "Would you please ask them to put my wife down?"

The policemen froze and immediately let go of Chikako. As if they had been waiting for this, a camera snapped and reporters exploded into the lobby. Kyoya ushered Chikako over, and while she tried to walk, she stumbled, her vision blurry. A guard caught her arm, daintily, as if he hadn't just been treating her like a fugitive two seconds ago. He gave her a light push toward her husband and they quickly covered the two from the paparazzi.

"Kyo-?" Chikako started, regaining her footing.

He didn't let go of his grip on her wrist as they rushed her down the corridor. With his other hand, he yanked out his phone. After dialing a number and waiting for the tone, he chirped, "Hello Mr. Leromey, this is Kyoya Ootori-Akiyoshi. I'm sorry to report that I will have to postpone our afternoon meeting today, but something urgent as come up," he added with a look down at Chikako. When she met his gaze, his eyes flitted away, swiftly.

She heard a gruff voice on the other end inquire about what was holding Kyoya up.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find out," Kyoya mumbled before hanging up and rushing into the elevator. The guards didn't follow them in and the shouts for the couple's attention faded as the doors closed, slowly.

Chikako glanced at the glowing buttons and wasn't too surprised to discover Kyoya was staying in the penthouse. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Kyoya."

She could hear his breathing pick up and he shifted his weight away from her a bit, his feet scraping at the red carpet of the shaft room. "H-How did you…? Where were you…?" he stuttered. It was the first time she could remember seeing him so speechless. He sighed, loudly, trying to organize his thoughts. "Why didn't you tell me—or how did you get back here if you were…?"

Chikako watched as the number rose the higher up the castle they ascended. Without thinking, she reached out and intertwined her fingers with Kyoya's. The sensation silenced him immediately. The floors clicked on the screen as they past, rising further up the hotel. Chikako stood there, weary in her boldness, clutching a limp hand. Finally, Kyoya responded by squeezing back on her hold. As if that was all it took, she sidestepped toward him, leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, never wanting to let go of his grasp.

"Welcome back," she heard him whisper.

A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update! As per usual, school is hell, plus senior year is not a walk in the park. Alongside both of those, like always, I'm doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)! However, I did have time a day or so ago to write this chapter for you guys, so I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought! I know it was long, so maybe tell me if you think it should have been shortened or you liked the length? Any other thoughts/criticisms would be much appreciated! Thanks!

~Kit Koko