Notes: Wow, it took ages to write the next chapter. I'm so bummed out right now because, thanks to the stupid snow, my Christmas plans are all ruined since I couldn't get any flights out of here. And the minor depression sinks in…but at least, now I have time to write.

Please review!

Chapter Three

"Pick up, Shizu-chan! Pick up, pick up, pick up," Izaya repeated, squeezing his eyes shut as the ringing continued, but nobody picked up. A few tears of anger squeezed out of his eyes and he yelled angrily, slamming his hands against the wall as his call was sent to voicemail. He hung up, cursing and punching the wall again.

He called a second time…

Then a third time…

Finally, after his sixth call it finally filtered through his jumbled thoughts that Shizuo wasn't going to pick up, that he'd actually left him stranded and trapped in a freaking coffin.

Okay, not that Shizuo knew he was in a coffin. Izaya had made sure not to describe the details of his situation, merely let Shizuo know that he was being held somewhere against his will with nothing but this phone and the bodyguard's number. His pride hadn't allowed him to reveal where he was, hadn't allowed him to reveal his true fear of how dire this situation was. Shizuo probably thought he was just tied up in a room, only in danger of starving to death or getting a little roughed up by his captors. He probably found the situation hilarious – considering he hated Izaya and wanted him to suffer.

The informant dropped the phone, gasping for breath and hissing vicious insults under his breath.

"Fuck, it's hot. Why isn't there some goddamned air conditioning in here?" he wheezed, laughing softly, hysterically. It was stuffy, but he didn't think he was in danger of running out of oxygen yet. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious and in the coffin, but he hoped it wasn't long.

He tried not to imagine the moment he'd realized just how little oxygen he would have left, and the moment when it would all run out and he'd be left coughing and gasping for breath, clawing desperately at his wooden prison until his fingers bled and his nails broke and-

The very thought made terror bubble up in his mind and he inhaled quickly, the exhaled as slowly as possibly, ignoring his shaky breath and the fact that his limbs felt like they were made of water.

He turned his body and heard a strange sound – the sound of a heavy object hitting wood.

"What the…"

It was coming from the pocket of his fur-lined jacket. He reached in – a wonderfully familiar move – and pulled out his beloved switchblade. He sobbed with happiness, not even sure why he was so happy with this discovery. Perhaps it was just the familiar weight in his hand, or the sudden realization that he had other options besides suffocating to death.

Okay, so the choice was between slitting his throat (or wrists) and running out of air. It was a shitty choice. But it still gave him some semblance of control, which was what he needed right now. Control.

He flicked the blade open, feeling calmer than he had been two minutes ago, and admired it for a second. Then he slid the blade into the crack between the planks a few inches to the right his head and jiggled it slightly. There was slight resistance on the other side, but it wasn't much. It was probably dirt, but he ignored the thought, hoping against all odds that maybe he wasn't actually buried. Maybe the coffin was just sitting on the ground and he was making a big deal out of nothing.

He knew it was a stupid thought. The muffle thuds he heard when hitting the walls of the coffin indicated that he was surrounded on all sides by something. But he shook this thought away and began to work fervently and cutting a small strip of the plank away, right next to the crack. It took several minutes, but he managed to hack off a small sliver of the plank, widening an inch of the cracks ever so slightly. He dug his knife into the small sliver and frowned when the tiniest amount of something fell through the crack and onto the wood next to him.

He scrambled for the flashlight, gripping it tightly and shone it onto whatever had fallen.

Dirt. Moist, crumbly dirt.

His breath hitched and he moaned, shutting his eyes. He really was buried in the ground. There was no denying it now.

He wondered how deep underground he was, how far under the surface he was buried. It couldn't be that deep if he was getting a signal. Maybe if he weren't trapped in this damn coffin he could somehow struggle to the top, dig himself out. The dirt wouldn't be that resistant, wouldn't be that compact yet considering he hadn't been down here for that long.

He probably could have if…if…if…

"Damn it," he muttered, feeling his anger growing at that. "Damn it. Shit, shit! Fuck! FUCK! Fuck you, Nakamura! Fuck you and your wife! And fuck you Shizu-chan! I hope you all rot in Hell you bastards!"

He grabbed his blade and began stabbing the wood viciously, uncaring of when his hand slipped and he sliced his palm slightly, uncaring of when he nearly stabbed his own fingers. The blade almost broke several times when he stabbed it into the corners. Eventually he stopped yelling and dropped the blade, hearing it clatter onto the wood next to him.

He pressed his palms against the wood, feeling the dents where his knife had made an impression on the material. He calmed himself, knowing that all he was doing was wasting precious oxygen. None of this panicking would help him at all. The only one who could help him had currently abandoned him and left him to die.

He sighed, feeling ashamed. Ashamed for acting so hysterically.

Ashamed for acting so human.

- 0 –

- 0 –

He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt inside of him. It followed him wherever he went, no matter what he tried to do to forget what had just happened.

He went down to go have some ramen, then could barely step foot inside the shop. Then he went for a walk in the park but about two minutes after entering the park he let out a growl of frustration and left. He even considered watching a movie just to distract him, but he knew he'd just walk out.

He couldn't understand why he felt so damn guilty about this.

Izaya was a manipulative, evil person, and he deserved what was coming to him. He had spent his time ruining other people's lives, so why shouldn't he get a little payback for once? He doubted that Izaya had ever felt remorse for what he'd done. The flea was probably incapable of feeling guilt or shame. He probably hadn't even spared a thought for Nakamura's poor wife.

Shizuo didn't give a damn about the drug dealer, but he hadn't been able to shake his rage at the thought of some poor, innocent woman's life crumbling around her until she was driven to kill herself.

But it's not like Izaya wanted to hurt her. He didn't even want to hurt anyone. He just did his job.

As much as Shizuo hated the flea, he found discomfort in the image of Izaya tied to a chair somewhere, bruised and beaten and bleeding and starving…probably cursing Shizuo right now. As much as he hated the flea, he couldn't justify the fact that he'd completely abandoned someone in his time of need. He'd always considered himself superior to the flea - knowing that no matter how many times Izaya called him a brute or a monster, the informant was the one who truly lacked any sliver of humanity.

But now he had to reconsider this. He'd turned a purposeful deaf ear to Izaya's pleas, knowing that he was in danger of maybe even dying. Knowing that he was the only person who could help Izaya. And worst of all, knowing just how much pride Izaya had had to push down just to make the call.

"Ahhh, shit. Why the hell do I even care?" he growled, hitting himself in the head to clear his thoughts. A few people glanced at him, startled. Then once they realized who it was they were staring at they quickly averted their eyes and continued walking, just a little faster than before. A troubled Shizuo wasn't considered a good thing by anybody.

He tried to clear his head, convince himself that it had just been a stupid prank and he was falling for it by letting these doubts crowd his head. But he couldn't shake the images in his head and the mere idea that maybe, for once, Izaya wasn't manipulating him for his own sick entertainment.

Finally Shizuo relented, trudging back to his apartment at a semi-rapid pace. Everyone who saw him coming gave him a wide berth, knowing the dark cloud hanging over his head. Obviously he wasn't in a good mood, and nobody was stupid enough to approach him. He sent a death glare to anyone who dared to come within a 3-meter radius of him.

Once he reached his apartment he made a beeline for his phone, which was no longer ringing. Izaya must have given up. He felt another inexplicable flash of guilt when he saw that he had six missed calls from him. The flea was persistent at least.

Though he still felt like this could just be some trick. He could just be playing right into Izaya's hands, letting himself be manipulated by the flea just like all those other times.

He stared down at his phone, then decided to call Shinra. Maybe he would know something about this. At least, it would be the safest route to take.

"Hello? Shizuo? Is something wrong?"

Shinra sounded tired, even though it wasn't at all early.

"Why the hell do you assume something's wrong?" Shizuo muttered grumpily. Did people just associate him with bad things? Couldn't he just call to chat?

"Uhh…no reason," Shinra said nervously, obviously noticing the warning tone in his friend's voice. "You just usually never call me unless it's an emergency or something."

"You sound tired."

"Eheheh, my darling Celty kept me up all night with-"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear about that," he said, cringing at the imagery. "Look, I need you to call Izaya."

There was a surprised pause.

"Uh…what? Why do you want me to-"

"Don't ask me why. Just do it," Shizuo said. He was met with a hesitant silence – not that he could blame Shinra. The demand was highly suspicious and the doctor obviously suspected that this wouldn't lead to a happy ending. He most likely didn't want to be a catalyst in some catastrophic turn of events. "It's an emergency, Shinra. I promise I won't do anything to hurt him."

"…you promise? I don't want Izaya coming after me for revenge."

"Look, I'm not asking for his number. I just want you to call him, and if he picks up don't tell him I asked you to do this. Make up some random excuse, yeah?"

"Fine, fine. I'll call back in a second."

Shizuo waited impatiently, his hand wrapped tightly around the phone. For some reason he felt like every second counted. There was some strange urgency that he hadn't felt before and now it was bothering him and he willed Shinra to hurry up. He tapped his fingers against the table.

What was taking Shinra so long?

A few more minutes passed and just as he was about to call Shinra, his phone vibrated.

"What did he say?" Shizuo asked gruffly, not sure what to expect.

"He…didn't answer his cell phone. It was turned off." Shinra sounded slightly anxious, maybe even…concerned? "Izaya never turns off his phone."

"Why the hell did you take so long if his phone was turned off? How many times did you call him?"

"Twice. Then I dialed the number to the phone in his apartment and spoke to Namie."

"Who?"

"She works for him," Shinra said, his voice still heavy with worry. "She says that he's disappeared since last night. Apparently when she left for home he was still in his apartment, but when she arrived today he was gone. It's not unusual for Izaya to disappear, but it is unusual for him not to have his phone turned on."

"Oh…" Shizuo felt slightly sick, starting to understand that maybe this wasn't just some stupid prank. Maybe Izaya really was in trouble after all. And Shizuo had just hung up on him, leaving him to possibly die.

True, he hated Izaya, but he wasn't a monster. There was a difference between wishing someone dead and actually killing them. Or letting them die.

"Do you know something about this, Shizuo? Is there something wrong with Izaya?

"No, nothing's wrong. I just…had a feeling," he said lamely. Even the ever-gullible Shinra wouldn't be fooled by his pathetic excuse of a lie. The doctor was silent and probably carefully trying to choose his next words without pissing him off.

"If something's wrong, Shizuo…" he began, sounding unsure. "Izaya's my friend. I care about him, even though he's not always a good person. Celty too. You're hiding something from me, and it's serious."

Shizuo sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn't want to reveal anything to Shinra until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, in case he was dragging them along some wild goose chase that would just get everyone in unnecessary trouble.

"I can't tell you anything, Shinra. I have to go," he blurted, hanging up the phone and feeling guilty. He went to his received calls to call back Izaya, resolving not to get angry and this time, to listen to what Izaya had to say with the sincere intention of helping him.