Disclaimer: Kazuya Minekura owns Wild Adapter. I do not. If I did, it would be updated daily.

Warning: Slight religious bastardization, language.

Notes: Hahaha. Oh, Kubo-chan...

Special: I would like to dedicate this particular chapter to Hawkstra and dk-joy, whose heartfelt reviews made me laugh (not in a sarcastic or mocking way). I really do appreciate you guys taking the time to comment, honestly. It just helps me figure out if you like the direction that the story is taking and how I'm writing the characters. Anyone who says that fanfiction is easier to write than original crap is full of it--it's a hell of a lot more difficult to stay within "IC" guidelines for someone else's little literary monsters, and Kazuya Minekura is a very hard author to pantomime!!

Beretta 12

brkstrtrcr

June 2009

"I've been here before."

Ryoji turns from your cat to you with an expression of mild disbelief. "Been here recently... or?" he trails off dubiously. You both know damned well what Tokitoh meant by that cryptic comment, though. He'd said not even ten minutes ago that he had never heard of the Church of the Sacred Heart, and even if he had inadvertently passed by this building before, that recognition would do nothing to explain how frightened he looks, right now.

No, Tokitoh is talking about that elusive memory of his that was lost the moment he awoke screaming and swinging in your bedroom two years ago.

And now that fear of his is contagious. You feel the fine hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end.

"...You think that he may have regained his memory."

"I've heard that it's common for people with amnesia, when they recover, to forget what happened during their illness."

You gaze at your roommate and try valiantly to ignore the roiling in your gut, the worry that screams in the back of your brain like locked-up wheels on a freight truck. If Tokitoh looks up at you now and asks you who you are, you might just swallow your fucking gun.

"Tokki, are you okay?" Ryoji doesn't understand the sudden turmoil those simple words have created in your chest. You want to turn around and walk away, from Tokitoh and Izumo and breathing, but you've never been a runner. You fight the good fight, head-on, eyes wide and guns blazing.

So when Tokitoh does finally bring those wide violet eyes to meet your unsure hazel gaze, you have to consciously will yourself to stay put. It's definitely a first for you. "Kubo-chan?" he says quietly, solemnly, and you think your heart might burst through your chest and leave a cabbage-sized exit wound in its furious wake. "I want to go in there."

You aren't very confident in your ability to form coherent sentences at the moment, so you watch him trudge up the marble steps and take your sleeve in his gloved hand. You allow him to pull you towards the doors, then through, and the sound of a foreign language, not unpleasant, greets your ears.

Ryoji shudders at something that only he can hear, but he presses on behind you, walking through a small entryway and into the main assembly hall. The cavernous room is almost empty, save for the aged wooden pews that stand at silent attention to the middle-aged priest at the altar reciting what you can only guess is scripture. Your second-in-command slides self-consciously into an unoccupied pew to your left, and you follow suit without a word.

The atmosphere in this place is a little stuffy, a bit mystical, and you've never put much stock into begging invisible ancient powers for guidance through a life for which you never asked. You muse that people need God to give themselves a higher purpose, and without people God would simply not exist. You understand that your only true purpose on this shithole of a planet is to die, and the manner in which you perish is not important.

Or at least it wasn't, until Tokitoh wandered into your life.

And your cat is sitting in this rather uncomfortable booth, hip pressed against yours out of habit, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his lips are moving, and you lean closer to hear him muttering vehemently under his breath.

"...Adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua..."

It takes you a moment to understand that he's reciting scripture in a language that you don't comprehend, and he's speaking in time with the priest's booming voice. Beside you, Ryoji is doing likewise, though at this point he's simply mumbling and staring around you in mild astonishment at your roommate.

"...et dimmitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris..."

Tokitoh's quiet voices washes over you with the force of a car accident and you can't help but stare at his handsome face, and the pain etched into his features. His violet eyes are tightly closed as he whispers at the ground.

"...et ne nos inducas in tentationem..."

To your left, Ryoji is steady in his recitation of this litany but his brown eyes are fixed onto Tokitoh.

"...sed libera nos a malo..."

Your roommate and your partner look up at each other and their words are in lilting vernacular now as they finish.

"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever."

The priest shuts his well-worn book at the alter and sets it carefully upon the lectern before straightening to look over his shoulder at the image of the crucifixion hanging against the wall. "Amen."

Ryoji shakes his head incredulously at Tokitoh. "I'll be damned," he murmurs. "Who taught you Latin?"

You cat looks from him to you and the confusion in his eyes makes you want to break something. "I-I don't know," he breathes. He's searching your face for some sign that you know what this is all about, an answer of some kind, but you have no witty remarks or reassurances to offer him, right now. Truth be told, you're speechless.

Tokitoh looks away from you and up to the altar, where the Father is stepping down from the raised stage area and disappearing through a side door. And before you can stop him, your cat is sprinting down the aisle after him. Ryoji mutters a string of inappropriate explicatives beside you but doesn't hesitate to follow you at a healthy run, past the altar and through the door where Tokitoh has vanished.

You find yourself in a small antechamber filled with warm, ambient light and the heavy smell of incense. The walls are lined with religious frescoes, and the priest from moments ago is staring stunned at the young man kneeling at his feet. "Father, I need your help," Tokitoh asks emphatically. "I think I used to live here."

The priest takes a calming breath and reaches down, taking Tokitoh gently by the chin and lifting his bowed head. As his kindly grey eyes survey your roommate's face you see a spark of recognition and he smiles gently. "Yes," he says, and you notice the tremor that runs the length of Tokitoh's spine. "I don't think I could forget those eyes."

Tokitoh's entire demeanor screams for information, but the priest shakes his head. "If my memory serves me correctly, you came to us as a child, but you did not stay long." He gestures for your cat to get to his feet, and smiles warmly at you and Ryoji. "Come with me."

You're lead towards the back of the building, past several rooms and into what you assume is an office of some sort. The Father sits at a desk in the corner and opens several drawers, searching for something. Ryoji looks a little awkward and out-of-place here, but you suppose that two Yakuza would tend to stand out in a sacred place like this. As you wait patiently your eyes wander around the room, over bookshelves with dusty but well cared-for volumes and more crosses than you've ever seen in one room. The walls are covered in hand-drawn pictures and finger paintings by various children, and in the center of the wall closest to you is a photograph that catches your attention.

As you step closer to it, you overlook the yellowing edges curling up away from the bright plaster behind it and focus on the smiling faces lined in rows depicted within it. At least thirty happy children gaze back at you, along with a younger version of this kindly priest, but seated on the lap of a tired but friendly-looking nun is a brooding young boy. Her arms are locked firmly around his waist; his are crossed adamantly over his small chest, and he glares out at the camera with angry violet eyes.

Tokitoh's eyes.

It almost makes you laugh aloud, because you've seen that same damned expression on your roommate's face more times than you can recount. It's his trademark 'fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on' look, the one that steals over his handsome face when you show him up at video games, or when Kasai puts him in a headlock just to rile him.

This photo is proof enough that Tokitoh did in fact live here at some point in his life before you.

"That's strange," the priest finally speaks, his voice laden with confusion. "The records seem to have been misplaced."

The pointed look that Ryoji throws you confirms that you're thinking the same thing--those records did not simply walk out of the church. Someone took them. And that means that someone not only knew about Tokitoh's past but took the precaution of confiscating the evidence to ensure that no amount of amateur sleuthing would yield any results here.

You gesture at the photograph on the wall and address the priest. "Father, can you remember anything at all that might help him?"

The older man walks over and gazes at the picture with a warm smile. He points to the angry little boy trapped within the nun's clutches. "Ah, yes. Matthew." He turns to Tokitoh standing beside you and chuckles. "That was what we called you. You were a very... spirited child."

Ryoji snorts rudely from somewhere over your left shoulder and tries to cover it with a cough. The Father smiles kindly at Tokitoh. "This photo was taken several months after we found you. You were left at the gates one morning. I believe you were no older than six. We never did identify the good Samaritan who left you in our care."

The Father's smile takes a sad note as he continues. "Sister Agnes took it upon herself to socialize you. She had a way with headstrong youngsters." You take mental note of his past-tense reference to the nun and assume that you'll have to rule out interrogating her. "You stayed here at the orphanage for a little over two years before a relative finally managed to locate you."

The fierce longing that sparks through Tokitoh's eyes hurts your chest, but you don't mention it. How could you fault him for wanting to know his own family, even if it's shredding your tiny black heart right now?

"Do you remember a name?" Ryoji interjects helpfully.

With a frown of concentration, the priest pauses for a moment. Then a flare of recognition crosses his weathered features and he nods. "Yes, I believe it was a man named Ichimoya."

Your eyebrow ticks, and you know that you've heard that name somewhere. It sounds so damned familiar, and so does the bile rising up the back of your throat and the flare of resentment that reddens out your vision for a moment. Ryoji gives you a blank look and a shrug, and Tokitoh's thin shoulders slump in defeat.

"Thanks anyway, Father," he sighs. The disappointed expression weighing his face down is gut-wrenching. You all three nod your gratitude to the kindly old priest before leaving the church with more questions than you'd had an hour ago. As you're passing through the iron gates outside Tokitoh pauses to take one last look at the beautiful stained-glass window inset into the bell tower. Then he's back at your side, more subdued than normal, but he still reaches out to slip his hand into your coat pocket and lace his slender fingers through your own.

Ahead of you, Ryoji is fighting with his lighter and the cigarette hanging from his lips. "Damn. I just bought this thing!" He tosses it into the street, and you understand that his frustration is not directed so much at a cheap lighter but at coming so close to finally uncovering Tokitoh's past, and having it all shot to hell by a lack of paperwork. "Y'know, we should probably relay this to Sanada--"

You freeze mid-step and stare at Ryoji in absolute horror.

Sanada.

Your mind flashes back to a police station, to a homicide investigation, to an overzealous detective interrogating you about a hotel room and a dead prostitute.

"We know all about you, Makoto: your assault and battery charge, your stint in prison, you involvement with Izumo."

Beside you Tokitoh's violet eyes are full of concern and a little trepidation, like he isn't sure what has come over you so suddenly, but your brain is replaying that conversation as clearly as if it had happened five minutes ago.

"Tell me, how is Sanada doing these days? Oh, you look surprised. Yeah, we know all about Sanada Ichimoya and his shady business ventures."

Ichimoya.

Sanada Ichimoya.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," you smile dangerously.

Your voice sounds foreign to you, a low growl with homicidal intent. Tokitoh's eyes widen in surprise and he takes a step away from you, your hands still entwined in your coat pocket.

That son-of-a-bitch knew this entire time...

"Uh, Kubocchi, are you okay, man?" Ryoji's eying you hesitantly, as if you've finally flown off your rocker and lost your whole goddamned mind, and who knows--maybe you have?

Maybe you're tired of the lies and the deceit and the fucking mind games. Maybe you're closer than you've ever wanted to be to cold-blooded, premeditated murder. Maybe you're going to march into Izumo Headquarters this very instance and introduce a few well-aimed bullets to that back-stabbing bastard's smug face. He's been leading you around in fucking circles, and you were too stupid to realize that he was the ringleader.

"Kubo-chan?"

Tokitoh's soft voice is almost enough to bring you out of this blood lust and into some semblance of rational thought.

Almost.

"We all know Ichimoya," you announce calmly, fingering the trigger guard of your gun with your unoccupied hand. You laugh brokenly and turn your eyes on Ryoji.

"What are you talking about?" he asks slowly.

Tokitoh's confused violet eyes narrow. You meet his gaze and smile with an edge of hysteria to your own voice that you have never heard there before. "Sanada Ichimoya."

Ryoji gapes at you stupidly. Tokitoh shudders at the name. Your murderous intent solidifies. You shove past them both roughly, walking boldly up West Yokohama Crossing without regard to traffic, pedestrians, or your companions. You're going to Izumo Headquarters, and you're going to commit a historic murderous rampage. Then you're going to burn the building to its very fucking foundations.

And you're going to enjoy every last goddamned second of it.

You pull your Glock out of your coat and rack the slide, chambering a round. You don't care about police, or witnesses, or the unfavorable odds, right now. You don't care that you're strolling down the busiest street in this town brandishing a firearm. Your mission is as clear as glass in your mind. As you dart across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a sedan, you ignore the two sets of pounding footsteps behind you and Ryoji's shouts for you to stop, wait, don't.

"Sanada Ichimoya," you seethe, "What the fuck did you do to my cat?"

____________________________________________________________________

Okay, so the rough translation for those Latin verses is:

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done...

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...

Matthew 6:9

No, I'm not a Bible major--I'm a Japanese Folklore undergrad. I do not speak Latin. These are someone else's translations.