Catch Me When I Fall
A Weiss Kreuz / Gravitation crossover
By Miko no da
Disclaimer: Gravitation belongs to Maki Murakami. Weiss Kreuz belongs to Koyasu Takehito, Tsuchiya Kyoko and Project Weiss. I'm not making any money, from this or anything else, so suing me would really be a waste of your time. C&C is ALWAYS appreciated, flames will be laughed at, MSTed and forwarded to various MLs to be laughed at further, and cheerfully used to roast marshmallows.
For those of you who haven't seen one or the other series (no real spoilers): Gravitation is a short (13 ep + 2 OAV) series that centres on the lead singer of the boy band 'Bad Luck', Shindo Shuuichi. Shuuichi falls in love with famous author Yuki Eiri, and the series is basically the roller coaster ups and downs of his life. Other people of note: Nakano Hiroshi (whom this fic centres on) is Shuuichi's best friend and guitarist, and the other original member of Bad Luck. Fujisaki Suguru is the keyboardist and music writer for Bad Luck, but was a late addition to the band. 'Nittle Grasper' was an extremely popular band, now disbanded - Ryuichi was the lead singer and song writer, Touma was the keyboardist and now runs the production company NG who produce Bad Luck's albums. Sakano is Bad Luck's producer, K was originally Ryuichi's manager but left Ryuichi to manage Bad Luck.
Weiss Kreuz is a series about four young men who work in a flowershop by day and are secretly assassins by night. Youji, Aya, Ken and Omi work for the organization 'Kritiker', and their job is to bring justice to those who think they can escape it. Their primary target for the first half of the series was Takatori Reiji, a corrupt politician - for the second half it was Schwartz, a group of psychic assassins who work for Esstet. Other people of note include: Manx, Persia and Birman, Kritiker agents (Weiss uses cats for codenames), Aya-chan (Aya's little sister), and Momoe, who owns the flowershop Weiss use as a cover.
WARNINGS: Violence, bombings, SPOILERS for Omi's past, the end of Weiss, and a few bits and pieces of Gravitation.
Author's note: You don't HAVE to have read 'Falling Forever' to understand this, but it would probably help. ^_^
CHAPTER 1
Hiroshi felt like he was still flying on an adrenalin high as he lovingly packed away his guitar and amps into their respective boxes. The concert had been fantastic, absolutely mind-blowing in intensity - the energy had been there, the crowd had been responsive and the band had sounded better than they ever had before.
It doesn't hurt that for once Shuuichi and I are both in good moods at the same time, he reflected to himself wryly. Over the last year the group had been through a lot of ups and downs - first because of Shuuichi's obsession with the writer Yuki Eiri, and then because of Hiroshi's own roller-coaster love life with Tsukiyono Omi.
Even after several months of adjusting, he still couldn't quite get used to the idea that his sweet, caring boyfriend was a deadly assassin by night. Weiss, the group that Omi worked in, were vigilantes who had dedicated their lives to protecting innocents from the powerful and influential people in the city who believed they were safe from justice. Hiro did everything he could to support his lover, from soothing him through his nightmares to reassuring him - sometimes on an hourly basis - that what Weiss did was both necessary and right. Omi did not kill easily, despite his years of experience at it, and Hiroshi was glad for that. If ever Omi stopped fretting about the blood on his hands, THEN Hiro would start to worry about him.
It could still be difficult, though, watching him go out at night and knowing that he might be hurt, or even killed, before Hiroshi ever saw him again. He kept his fear for Omi's safety buried deep in his heart where the sensitive teen would never see it - otherwise Omi would have been torn to pieces trying to both fulfill his duties to Weiss and keep Hiro from worrying about him.
Take tonight, for example. Omi had been forced to miss the concert due to a last-minute lead on the location of a ring of kidnappers. With over twenty kids under the age of ten currently missing, Hiroshi knew that Omi couldn't risk losing a lead, certainly not over an issue as mundane as attending his boyfriend's concert. But Omi had fretted right up until he'd left for the mission, afraid that Hiro would feel slighted or ignored. Hiroshi had practically pushed him out the door, assuring him over and over that there would be other concerts for his lover to attend, and this was more important.
That didn't stop him from worrying about Omi, though. He knew this had been a particularly difficult mission, both in terms of mental and emotional involvement for the youngest White Hunter. Kidnapping missions always hit Omi harder than others, because of his fuzzy memories of the terror of his own kidnapping at age eleven - the event that had started into motion his current life as a vigilante. He hadn't been sleeping well, and Hiro had barely seen him because he spent most of his free time at the Weiss headquarters under the Koneko no Sumu, searching for a clue with his other three teammates.
He was looking forward to the end of this mission, which had dragged on for nearly a month now. Kritiker always gave Weiss a week off between missions at a minimum, and for once it happened to coincide with some time off NG had given Bad Luck. Hiro planned to take his koi out and work hard at making sure the boy didn't think of Weiss or his secret double life once all week. A lustful grin spread across his face without his realizing it - given past experience, it likely wouldn't be difficult to distract the sexy teen.
"Oi, Hiro... what're ya grinning about?" Shuuichi demanded, waving his hand in front of his guitarist's face. Hiro blinked at him, then blushed a little.
"Nothing," he answered a little too quickly, and Shuuichi gave him a knowing smirk.
"Planning what you're going to do to celebrate the concert with Omi, huh?" he snickered, and Hiro smacked him irritably. "Itai! Hey, where is Omi, anyway? He's usually back here helping us pack up after a concert." Shuuichi looked around like he was expecting to find the boy hiding in one of the boxes or something, and Hiro shrugged.
"He couldn't make it - had to study for an exam," he replied easily. He didn't like lying to his best friend, but as Omi pointed out, it was bad enough that Hiroshi knew who and what he really was. Kritiker, the organization backing Weiss, would not appreciate the information making its way to anyone else - particularly a loudmouthed gossip like Shuuichi. Omi had enrolled in a few correspondence college computer courses, mostly to provide just such an excuse.
"Maa, that sucks," Shuuichi commiserated with him. After a rocky start, the vocalist had finally begun getting along with his best friend's boyfriend, and they were slowly but surely forming a real friendship based on their mutual adoration of Nittle Grasper. "Are you gonna be able to tear him away long enough to..." he waggled his eyebrows ridiculously, "celebrate?"
Hiroshi blushed a little harder, and rolled his eyes. "None of your business," he chided his friend, chuckling. "Do I ask you for details of your love life with Yuki?"
At the merest mention of the man, Shuuichi went starry-eyed and swooned. "Yuuuukiiiiii..." he mumbled, wandering off with a sappy grin on his face, walking into the wall beside the door three times before he found the doorway itself. Hiroshi laughed outright at his star-struck best friend.
He jumped as his cell phone rang, the sharp beeps sounding from the pocket of his jacket laid over the back of his chair. His mouth twitched downwards in a frown - the only person who would be calling him at this time of night was Omi, and he never called unless he was in trouble...
He leapfrogged over the amps to get to his jacket, fishing for the little phone and stabbing at the 'talk' button on the fourth ring. "Nakano," he answered, breathless and worried.
"Hiroshi," the man on the other end greeted him, and Hiro's eyebrows rose. It wasn't Omi, it was Ken - one of his friends and a fellow member of Weiss. It had been Ken who had made Omi and Hiro talk it out and get over it both times they'd nearly broken up, and Hiro was always aware that he owed a great deal of his current happiness to the ex-soccer player.
"Ken!" he exclaimed in surprise. A bad feeling started to form in the pit of his stomach - why would Ken be calling him and not Omi?
"Omi's hurt," the other man told him, confirming his suspicion. Hiro drew in a sharp breath and collapsed into his chair, shaking. Ken sounded exhausted and in pain, and that didn't bode well for Omi's condition.
"How bad?" he managed to get out through the clenching sensation in his gut.
"A couple of knife wounds and he was shot in the shoulder, but he's gonna be okay," Ken hastened to assure him. "They'll be releasing him soon, but he can't drive his bike with his arm in a sling, and none of the rest of us are in any shape to take him home. I'd just put him in a cab, but he's pretty shaken and I thought he'd appreciate seeing you."
"Where are you?" Hiro asked, already shrugging into his jacket and reaching for his helmet and keys. The equipment could wait - Omi was more important.
"Police hospital," Ken replied predictably. "Aya and I are in the waiting room outside the emergency surgery - Youji and Omi are still in there."
"I'll be right there," Hiro promised, and clicked the cell phone off. He jumped out of the seat and strode for the door, a grim look on his face.
"Oi, Hiro! Where are you going?" Shuuichi collared him a few steps from the door out of the change rooms. "We still have all this equipment to move!"
"Omi was in an accident," Hiro told him, not slowing his steps at all. Shuuichi's eyes went wide, and Hiro saw Fujisaki and K behind him looking worried as well. "He's okay, but he needs a ride home - and a friendly face, I think," Hiroshi added. "I said I'd go pick him up. Sorry guys - I'll clean up double next concert, I promise."
"Don't worry about it," K told him airily, waving off his concerns. "Take care of Omi, and we'll clean up here." With his typical ingenuous ease, Omi had captured the hearts of Hiro's friends hook, line and sinker. There were very few people in the world who could resist the sweet combination of adorableness and sincerity that was Omi. Hiro nodded his thanks, and vanished down the hallway.
It was a twenty-minute ride to the police hospital, and Hiroshi cursed every second of it. He kept telling himself to calm down, that Omi was fine, but his heart was racing in his chest and he knew he wouldn't believe his lover was actually okay until he saw it for himself. Parking the bike took another two minutes, and then he was running for the emergency entrance.
He skidded to a stop in the waiting room, seeing Ken slumped over in one of the hard plastic chairs and Aya leaning up against the wall with his customary scowl firmly in place. They both looked up and nodded as Hiroshi entered, and he nodded back, panting for breath. Weiss were all aware that Hiro knew who and what they were - it had seemed foolish to try to hide it from them, and it came in handy for cases just such as this.
Ken had a bandage around his head, and his eyes didn't seem to be tracking quite right. Aya was pale, even more so than usual, but there weren't any visible injuries on him. Ken gave him a weak grin. "Omi should be out any..."
The doors swung open, and the boy in question limped out, pale and sweating, with his arm in a sling. The tatters of his t-shirt and jackets hung off his shoulders, the long, thin tears showing off the white bandages beneath them. He caught sight of his boyfriend standing with his teammates, and his face lit up. "Hiroshi!" he breathed out, collapsing into Hiro's waiting arms. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you! How did you know?"
"Ken called me," Hiro told him, holding him tight and stroking his hair, trying to surreptitiously check out his lover's wounds. "You okay?"
"I'll be fine," Omi assured him, the pain in his eyes and strain on his face belying the casual statement. "We ran into Schwartz, and I got on the wrong end of Farfarello's knife, that's all." Hiro repressed a shudder - his sole encounter with the other assassin group had been with Schuldich, the German telepath; but he'd heard enough stories from Omi, and seen enough of his lover's nightmares, to realize just how bad Schwartz could be. "A couple of new scars on my chest, and I have to keep my shoulder immobile for a few weeks, but nothing life-threatening. I didn't even break anything," Omi added with a wry twist of his lips.
"Any news of Youji, Omi?" Ken asked, and Hiroshi realized for the first time that he hadn't seen any sign of the fourth and last member of the team. Omi shook his head.
"No, he was still in surgery when they let me out. The nurses and doctors aren't saying a damn thing," he added, his frustration clear as he swore. "Youji-kun was shot as well," Omi told Hiro at his questioning glance. "We think the bullet nicked a lung - his breathing wasn't very good, and he was coughing up blood."
Hiro hugged him a little tighter, understanding now the worry on everyone's faces. They all knew that any of them might die at any time on a mission, but the reality of it was always more difficult to face. He didn't even suggest leaving with Omi - he knew his lover wouldn't be willing to move from this room until they had assurances that Youji was out of danger. The alternative - that the lanky playboy wouldn't make it through the operation alive - just wasn't worth considering. He steered Omi to one of the chairs, sitting beside him and drawing his head down to his shoulder to rest. Omi snuggled against him gratefully, holding his hand in a death grip.
Another half hour went by, every second seeming to drag on into eternity, before a tired-looking doctor in scrubs came through the swinging doors. Instantly everybody was on their feet, staring at her; she didn't even blink, used to being the sole focus of attention from worried families and friends.
"Kudou-san is out of danger," she said, and the rest of what she'd planned to say was drowned out by whoops from Ken and Omi. Hiro grinned at the two madly cheering boys, and even Aya looked infinitely relieved. The doctor waited until the noise had died down, then continued, "We'd like to keep him here for observation for the next few days, but he should be ready to go home after that. He'll need complete bed rest for at least a week after that; we'll want him to come in for a check up then, and we'll decide whether more bed rest is needed or whether he can do some light activities."
Ken made a face and rolled his eyes. "Keeping Youji in bed shouldn't be difficult," he commented dryly, using humour to cover the relief of fear he felt. "It's getting him OUT of it that's usually the problem!"
Omi giggled with him, the sound more a release of tension than anything else. His good arm squeezed Hiro tightly around the waist. "Let's go home," he whispered to his lover, sounding exhausted. "Youji-kun won't be able to have visitors until the anaesthesia wears off, and that won't be for hours yet. I need sleep!"
Smiling softly, Hiro nodded, and started to guide him out of the emergency room. Ken and Aya were likewise getting ready to go, Aya limping badly and actually leaning on Ken's shoulder for assistance. Omi waved at them as he and Hiroshi exited the room.
Back at the bike, Hiro got the extra helmet for Omi and got him arranged on the back of the bike. "Can you hang on okay with your good arm?" Hiro asked, noting the bandages on Omi's forearm. The boy nodded sleepily, the adrenalin rush that had been keeping him on his feet finally wearing off. "Okay, but we'll take it slow so you don't fall off."
He kept the bike well under the speed limit, feeling Omi leaning against his back like a warm, human blanket. The arm around his waist went lax quickly, and Hiro knew his passenger had fallen asleep on him. They made it back to their condo without incident, and Omi woke just enough to stumble into the elevator with him. Hiro manoeuvred him into the apartment they'd been sharing for the last three months, helped him strip out of the ruined clothes and tucked him into bed. Omi was asleep before his head even hit the pillow, but the frown didn't leave his face until Hiro was in bed beside him, curled around his body like a shield. Hiro smiled softly at him, grateful for the warmth against him and the soft sound of Omi's breathing that meant his lover was alive and well beside him. He refused to think of what he would do on the day that it was Omi on that surgery table...
The next morning dawned bright and early - much too early and far too bright for the comfort of the two exhausted men curled up in bed together. Hiro awoke with the sun in his face, Omi mumbling a sleepy protest and burying his face against Hiroshi's shoulder to block out the light. Chuckling, Hiro rolled over and checked out the alarm clock. Eight o'clock - much as he would love to stay and just hold his lover all day, he needed to get up. They had one last meeting at NG Productions today before Bad Luck started their well-earned vacation, and he didn't want to be late.
"Omittchi," he whispered into his koi's ear, his breath feathering the soft hair lying there. Omi wrinkled his nose adorably, and turned his head to escape the irritant. Hiro snickered again, and shook the boy's shoulder gently. Gently, because with his shirt off the bruises from the battle the night before were far more obvious, as were the stark white bandages against his pale skin. Hiro could see a few streaks of dried blood that hadn't quite been cleaned up, and his heart squeezed again at the knowledge of how close he'd come to losing the most important thing in his life. "Wake up, koi," he murmured, shaking insistently. "I have to go to work."
Omi blinked sleepy blue eyes at him, yawning adorably. "Mou," he complained blearily. "Why can't you stay here with me?"
"K insisted on one last debrief on the concert before he would let us go for the week," Hiro reminded him regretfully. "I should be done by lunch - when I get back we can go out to the park for a picnic. Sound good?"
Omi nodded, yawning again. "I don't want to be alone, though," he said, and Hiroshi nodded in understanding. It was a common complaint after a tough mission - Omi needed human contact to reassure him, and he hated being alone after one of Weiss had been hurt. "Can I come in with you?"
"I don't see why not," Hiro answered after thinking about it for a moment. "You've sat in on the meetings before. But it does mean you have to get up now!"
Omi made a face, but sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Ite!" he exclaimed, wincing. "Ooh, I'm stiff. God, do those bruises on my back look as bad as they feel?"
"At least," Hiro agreed, wincing himself at the sight. Omi's back was livid with bruises, and it looked like he'd been lucky he hadn't broken his spine.
Omi sighed. "That's what happens when you try to take on both Farfarello and Nagi at the same time," he muttered sourly. "Teach me to be the distraction!"
Hiro's eyes widened. "Nagi... that's the telekinetic, right?" he asked, and Omi nodded confirmation, reaching awkwardly for a pair of jeans. "And Farfarello is the insane one with the knife fetish. Why were you dealing with both of them?"
"Ken-kun was setting the last of the explosives," Omi told him, struggling into the pants one handed. Hiro knew better than to offer to help - Omi stubbornly insisted on handling everything himself unless he was truly stuck, no matter how injured he was. "And Youji-kun was covering Aya-kun on the other side, that's why he got hurt."
"And Ken and Aya?" Hiro asked, scrambling into his own clothes. He grabbed a brush and started tugging it through his hair, wincing as it caught on the knots.
"We had to set off the explosion early, because of Schwartz," Omi told him, now working on a shirt. He'd gotten himself tangled up in it, unable to lift or move his left arm at all, and his big blue eyes peered out at Hiro over the hem. "Uh... help me, please?" he finally asked, and Hiro moved to straighten out the shirt, carefully keeping the laughter off his face. "Ken-kun was hit in the head by a piece of debris, and got a concussion. Aya-kun was carrying Youji-kun, and he wrenched his knee. But we got the targets and destroyed the building despite Schwartz's interference, so all in all it went pretty well."
Hiro grimaced at that assessment - all four teammates injured AND one almost fatally so didn't seem like it 'went pretty well' to him, but then again Omi had a slightly different set of priorities than he did. All Hiroshi cared about was keeping his boyfriend safe, while Omi would happily risk his life to save the innocents he fought for.
"We didn't find the kids, though," Omi concluded, his eyes going dark with that flat hardness that had surprised Hiro so much when they'd first started dating. It was only when he had that look on his face that you realized he'd seen so much more of the dark side of life than anyone his age had a right to. "There was a case full of money, and records of transactions, so they must have been sold before we got there. We turned the info over to Kritiker to see if they can track them - it's beyond our abilities."
Hiro put a comforting hand on Omi's head. "It's not your fault," he told his lover firmly. Omi had a bad habit of taking the blame onto himself for everything that ever went wrong in a mission, and this was no exception. "You guys did everything you could to get there in time - and you stopped them from kidnapping any MORE kids."
Omi gave him a watery smile, and a brief hug of thanks. "I know," he replied softly. "Thank you, Hiro."
They finally got themselves straightened out, and even managed to find time for a quick breakfast before they got to NG. They came into the meeting moments before it was supposed to start. Not surprisingly, Shuuichi wasn't there yet, so they had plenty of time to spare.
K raised an eyebrow at the sling Omi's arm was in. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. Omi gave him, Fujisaki and Sakano a sunny smile.
"I'm fine," he reassured them. "I decided to get some snacks to munch on while I was studying, and my bike slid on some loose gravel. Didn't even damage the bike, but I got cut up from the stones and dislocated my shoulder." Hiro kept his face carefully neutral - it was a good cover story, but it never failed to surprise him just how easily and how well Omi lied about this sort of thing. With his big blue eyes and innocent manner, Omi seemed like he should have been a terrible liar - which of course made his lies all the more believable. Even his eyes were full of sincerity, as if it would never cross his mind to lie about anything.
"I'm glad you're okay," Sakano told him sincerely. Fujisaki nodded as well.
"Thanks," Omi replied warmly. "I appreciate it. I hope you don't mind me sitting in - Hiro was worried about leaving me alone at home while I'm sort of helpless like this."
"No problem," K answered in English, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. The action revealed the grip of his gun sticking out of the ever-present shoulder holster. Hiro saw Omi's eyes flick to it automatically, felt the subtle tension in his boyfriend's shoulders before Omi made himself relax. The White Hunter always reacted that way to K and his guns, and Hiro supposed he couldn't blame him. If he got shot at on a regular basis, he would probably be hyper-aware of guns as well!
They settled into their seats, Omi shifting a bit until he found a comfortable position. The others had been watching the morning news, and Hiroshi glanced over to see what was on the screen as Sakano fussed with the sound.
"...act of terrorism, according to police experts," the pretty reporter on screen was saying. Behind her the wreckage of a building was prominent, twisted girders and chunks of concrete scattered over the street. "Several powerful bombs were set at strategic locations throughout the building, sending the twenty story office building crashing to the ground at two a.m. this morning."
Hiro glanced sideways at Omi, and saw that his lover looked just as shocked and dismayed as everyone else in the room. Only someone who knew him as well as Hiro did would have caught the flicker of darkness that flashed through his eyes, and Hiro knew that this was the building Weiss had attacked the night before. He caught Omi's hand under the table, and felt the White Hunter squeeze his fingers back gratefully.
"What is the world coming to?" Sakano complained, waving the remote at the screen for emphasis. "Why would someone want to bomb an office building?"
"Shh!" Fujisaki hushed him. "They're explaining it now, I think."
"Several bodies have been pulled out of the wreckage already," the reporter told her viewers, walking backwards so that the camera panned over the rescue efforts. "Prominent local businessman Matsura Kazuya, owner of the building, has already been discovered along with several of his associates. Four men the police have identified as powerful Yakuza lords have also been uncovered, leading police to suspect that the bombing may have been the result of a Yakuza falling-out. Matsura has been suspected of dealings with the Yakuza in the past, but no charges have ever been laid."
Hiro saw Omi nod minutely, as if satisfied with something. The look in his eyes was still grim, however, the darkness putting the lie to the shock on his face.
A shout went up from the rescue workers, and the reporter hurried over to see what was causing the fuss. Her eyes widened, and her face went pale as she clutched at her microphone and stared into the pit the rescuers had dug.
"Oh my god," she said, her voice broken and shocked. Hiro traded glances with Omi, who shook his head slightly, indicating that he didn't know what might have caused such a reaction. "A hidden room has just been revealed in the basement level," the reporter continued, voice still shaking. "It looks like one of the bombs was set almost directly above it." She swallowed, and turned away as if she couldn't bear to look at it. Her haunted eyes stared into the camera, sharing her horror with the audience. "The bodies of several young children have been revealed - at first count it looks like nearly a dozen, and workers are still uncovering more from the debris..."
Omi's hand tightened on his painfully, and Hiro turned to see that he looked like he was going to be sick. His mouth was open in a silent gasp, his eyes wide and horrified. "It's awful, isn't it?" Fujisaki said, misinterpreting his reaction. "How could anyone do such a thing..."
Omi turned those big, pain-filled eyes to Hiro, who saw all the things that Fujisaki had missed through ignorance. Guilt, misery, shame, and horror were just a few of the more nameable emotions floating across his face. He leaned over abruptly and buried his face in Hiroshi's shoulder, his body shaking with suppressed sobs. "We didn't know," he whispered, his voice thankfully muffled by Hiro's shirt so that the others couldn't understand him. "Kami-sama, we didn't know!"
CHAPTER 2Omi knew he was in shock - he had all the classic symptoms; his heart was hammering in his throat, his skin was cold and clammy, and he felt dizzy and detached from the situation. He stared at the TV, each tiny body they hauled out of the pit feeling like a blow to his system. Vaguely he was aware of Hiroshi's concerned voice, of the others asking if he was okay as he started to hyperventilate. He was incapable of responding, too caught up in the horror of what he was seeing.
His fault. It was all his fault. Ken and Aya had planted the bombs, but HE was the leader, HE was the one who had decided where the bombs went, HE was the one who had declared that the children must have already been moved - and most damning of all, HE was the one who had pressed the detonator. If they had searched harder, longer for the missing kids, they might have found that room; if they had put the bombs somewhere else, that room might have survived; if they had held the raid another night, the kids might not have been there... twenty-three children, from age five to age ten, and every one of their deaths was on HIS head.
Someone slapped him, hard, across the cheek, and he jerked in reaction. "Wha..."
"You were having hysterics," Shuuichi told him, crouched in front of him with wide eyes. Omi wasn't sure when the pink-haired vocalist had gotten there, but he gathered from the concerned looks of everyone around him that he'd been out of it for some time now. The story on the TV had changed, and was now showing a report on a car crash that had happened early that morning. "Did you know one of the kids or something?"
Omi shook his head, unable to explain to them just why this was so upsetting to him. Hiroshi understood, and Omi could feel his comforting warmth against his back - at some point he'd been pulled into his boyfriend's lap, and Hiro was holding him tightly. He was shivering in his lover's arms, unable to still the uncontrollable shaking in his limbs. "I... I have to..."
His cell phone rang, startling them all. Sliding off Hiro's lap back into his own chair, Omi reached for it numbly. "Omi," he said into the speaker, already knowing who was going to be on the other end.
"Come to the Koneko as soon as possible," Manx replied without any pretence at a greeting. Omi nodded though he knew she couldn't see him, and the line clicked off. He stared at the phone for a moment, still trying to process what was happening.
"Who was it?" Hiro asked him, dark eyes full of concern for his shaken lover.
"Manx," Omi replied, not even thinking about the presence of other people in the room. "I need to go to the Koneko."
"I'll take you..." Hiroshi started, but Omi shook his head. He stood, feeling like he was walking through a dream - the world had that kind of one-step-removed-from-reality quality to it.
"I'll take a cab," he insisted. "You stay here - I'll see you this afternoon. Probably. Maybe." He drew a deep trembling breath, willing himself to stay together. He could fall apart AFTER he got to the Koneko, not before.
Hiro gave him a searching look, before finally nodding reluctantly. "I'll walk you to the door, at least," he said, and took Omi's arm before the younger boy could protest. "You guys hold the meeting for a few minutes, okay?" he asked the room at large. "I'll be right back."
They walked out of the conference room towards the lobby together, Omi still feeling like everything was not quite real. "What's going to happen?" Hiro asked him under his breath.
"I don't know," Omi replied, shaking his head. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. At a guess... I'd say Weiss is going to be put on hold for a while. Kritiker has enough other teams now that they don't need us as badly, and we'll be second-guessing every move we make if we don't take the time to deal with it." He heard his own voice as if from a great distance, and marvelled at its steadiness.
Hiro waited with him until the taxi showed up, watching him in concern. Omi knew he ought to say something to reassure his lover, but there just didn't seem to be anything to say that wouldn't be trite or patently false. Instead he stayed silent, listening to his own thoughts chase themselves around in guilty little circles in his head. My fault, it's all my fault...
Finally the taxi arrived, and Hiro piled Omi into the seat with care, handing money to the driver and giving him directions. Omi smiled a thank-you - he was in no shape to deal with the mundane realities of life, he knew. As the car pulled away from the curb, he saw Hiroshi watching with a scared look on his face.
The shop was all but deserted when he got there - not surprising, first thing on a Saturday morning. All the girls were in school until noon, and it was still too early for other casual shoppers to drift in. Momoe sat in her accustomed place, petting her cat absently, but her usual sunny smile was missing. Omi nodded at her briefly, passing by on autopilot for the mission room.
The descent down the stairs seemed to take forever, even though it was only a few steps. As the room came into view, he became aware of a stifling tension and a misery that matched his own. Aya was slouched into one of the couches, while Ken paced back and forth behind him, Manx and Birman watching them with cool eyes. Ken turned at the sound of Omi's footsteps on the stairs, and reached over to pull his friend into a hug.
At the feel of those strong arms around him, knowing he'd finally reached a place where people who understood the horror he felt surrounded him, his iron control broke at last. He broke down in wracking sobs, his shoulders shaking as he clung to Ken and wept. Ken cried as well, murmuring reassurances through his own tears. "It's not your fault, Omi, you couldn't have known, it's not your fault..." His teammates were well aware of his tendency to take the blame on himself, apparently, despite his constant attempts to hide it.
Aya watched them, his own face impassive, but Omi saw through his tears that the stony-faced man's violet eyes were filled with deep sorrow and shock. He was no less affected by this tragedy than Omi and Ken, he just couldn't show it as openly.
At last the tears wound down, and they wiped their faces on their sleeves before guiding each other to the free couch. They huddled together there, as if seeking each other's warmth to stave off the chill horror they all felt. Manx cleared her throat.
"Boys, we realize how difficult this must be for you," she said, her own voice just a touch unsteady. Somehow that made Omi feel worse - Manx was always cool and unflappable, nothing ever got to her. "I'm sure you realize that Kritiker can NOT allow you to go out on any further missions in this state. Investigations are being made into the tragedy, but I am certain that you will be absolved of all guilt."
Omi was shocked - it hadn't even occurred to him that Kritiker might question how the children had been killed. "It's just a formality," Birman added, seeing the looks on their faces. "No one in the organization believes that this was anything other than a horrible accident."
"However," Manx continued firmly, "For the foreseeable future, Weiss is being disbanded."
"Disbanded!" Ken exclaimed, eyes wide. "You can't do that, Manx! Weiss is all we have!"
"After everything we've been through," Omi added his voice to the protest. "After everything we've done! You're just going to walk away and abandon us?" His voice was shrill, and he forced himself to calm down a bit. Manx was giving them all her usual immoveable look.
"We are not 'abandoning you'," she repeated coolly. "Weiss was disbanded once before under extreme circumstances, and you all managed all right then. Youji will remain at the police hospital until he is well enough to function on his own, and Kritiker will of course cover his expenses. Once the internal investigation is finished, you'll all be given severance bonuses as well." She hesitated, then added in a somewhat softer voice, "Technically I should be requiring you to leave the Koneko immediately, however we don't have anyone currently set up to take your place here, so you may stay until you find alternative accommodations."
"Gee, thanks," Ken said, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. Omi could see that he was furious, and Aya didn't look happy either. "Nice to know you're not going to shove us out the door on our asses."
Omi knew Manx better than the others; only he caught the flicker of guilt in her eyes before she turned away from them. "How long?" Omi asked her, his voice still unsteady. "How long until we can come back?"
Manx didn't turn to look at him, and it was Birman who answered. "That depends on you four," she answered calmly. "But I have to tell you, at this point we're looking at a permanent disbanding."
"Permanent!" Aya exclaimed, rising to his feet in anger. He winced as the move put weight on his bad knee, and collapsed back into the seat again. "Why?" he demanded.
"You have given almost three years of your lives to Weiss," Manx replied, turning to face them once more. "You SHOULD have been retired after Takatori Reiji's death, but circumstances dictated that we call you back in. You certainly should have been retired after Esstet's collapse, but again, circumstances were such that we needed you more than ever. Weiss has been together and in operation longer than any other group in Kritiker's history. You all need a break - you need to remember what it means to live like normal people again."
"IF after some time, you decide that you want to return to Kritiker, a position will certainly be made for you," Birman added. "In the unlikely event that all four of you return - and it IS unlikely, in our experience, no matter how much you doubt it now," she told Ken before he could interrupt her. "Then Weiss will be reformed. You have all learned to work well as a team together, and Kritiker values that ability. Otherwise, you'll be assimilated into other groups, or assigned individual work."
"How long before we can come back?" Omi asked uncertainly.
"A minimum of six months," Manx told him. "Though we'd prefer at least a year." She glanced at each of them in turn, then sighed. "It has been a pleasure and an honour working with you, boys. In case you're not aware of it, you are the best team that Kritiker has ever fielded. You have more solved cases and a higher ratio of successful missions than any other two teams combined. No one currently in the organization has half your experience - we're going to be hard pressed to replace you."
She nodded to them crisply, then turned to vanish up the stairs, Birman following at her heels. There was silence in the mission room for a long moment, as if they were afraid to speak and make it real.
"What the hell is Youji supposed to do?" Ken finally burst out, getting up to pace again. "He's supposed to be getting complete bed rest - how's he supposed to do that if he doesn't even have anywhere to live?"
"You're all welcome to come live with Hiroshi and I," Omi offered impulsively. "It'll be a little cramped, but we can manage..."
Ken shook his head, giving his youngest teammate a brief smile. "No, there's no point. We'd still need to be looking for another place, and since they're not kicking us out of the Koneko right away..." he sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair, carefully avoiding the bandage still in place around his head. "This sucks!"
"What are you guys going to do?" Omi asked, wishing he could find something to say to comfort his friend. Of them all Omi was the best off, since he already had another life waiting to welcome him. He knew Hiroshi wouldn't object to the end of the missions that took his lover from him, despite how supportive he'd been. And he could enrol in college for real, take some courses that weren't easy enough for him to pass without doing the homework, ones that wouldn't just be a cover for his nightly activities.
Of course, the problem he'd discovered the last time they'd left Weiss still remained. It was hard to watch things happening around you - kidnappings, murders, other unspeakable crimes - and KNOW that you could be doing something about it, and not do anything at all. How could he just sit by and watch people getting hurt, knowing he could help? It went against everything he lived for.
Ken snorted, and flopped back into the couch beside Omi. "Who knows?" he muttered, answering Omi's question. "You guys at least have Aya-chan and Hiroshi to go home to - Youji and I don't have anybody or anything."
Aya looked thoughtful at the mention of his sister. "Maybe I'll go visit her in Kyoto for a while," he said reluctantly. "It would be good to see her again..."
"You'll find something, Ken-kun, and so will Youji-kun," Omi reassured his best friend, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Just promise we won't all lose touch, the way we did after Takatori died. Please?"
They both nodded, and silence settled over them once more. It wasn't a comfortable silence, filled with all the things they couldn't find the words to say. Weiss had been a family, however dysfunctional, and it would be hard for them to leave it. Finally Omi shook his head and stood up, catching his breath at the pain of his stiff limbs.
"I need to get back," he told them reluctantly. "Hiroshi must be going out of his mind - he was there when I saw the newscast." Ken stood as well, and caught the smaller boy up in a tight hug.
"Take care of yourself, Omi," he whispered in his friend's ear. Omi gave him a weak smile and hugged him back.
"You too, Ken-kun. And you, Aya-kun. I... I'll miss you both!" He turned and bolted for the stairs, knowing he would break into tears again if he stayed any longer. Welcoming the pain of his bruises to distract him from the pain of his heart, he walked out the door of the shop that had been his home for nearly three years for perhaps the last time.
CHAPTER 3"Tadaima!" Omi called, slamming the front door behind him. Hiro leaned around the corner from the kitchen and waved to his lover in the entranceway.
"Okaeri nasai," he called back, smiling. In jeans and a sweater, with a backpack slung over his right shoulder, Omi could have been any typical college student coming home from classes. The last of the cuts had healed, his shoulder was fine - and with no more missions, there had been no new injuries to take their places. The permanent shadows under his eyes from all the sleep lost to missions had faded, and the darkness that had so often been present in his sweet blue gaze was a rare sight now.
Omi smiled back at him, the expression lighting up his face. "Whatever you're making, it smells good," he commented, kicking off his shoes and dropping his backpack in the hall. He rolled his shoulder to stretch out the sore muscles, grimacing. "I swear, carrying fertilizer and potted plants around all day was easier than hauling the tonne of books they want us to carry!"
Hiro grinned back at him, ducking back into the kitchen to stir the pot on the stove. "I'm making ramen," he said as Omi joined him, sniffing appreciatively. "It's not much, but I figured I should do something to celebrate the end of your midterms. How'd it go?"
"Pretty good," Omi replied, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. He laid his head in his arms, resting after a long day of exams. After a few weeks of sulking around the house being miserable, Hiroshi had forced his lover to do something to get his mind off the deaths of the children. Omi had signed up at a local university, taking a full course load and then some to help distract himself. "Next time I decide to take extra courses, remind me how I feel right now, please," he added wryly, turning to peer up at Hiro with one weary blue eye. "I knew my sensei in high school went easy on me because I was an 'orphan' and working to support myself, but I didn't realize just HOW easy I had it! These exams are killer!"
Hiro chuckled, and turned off the stove. "It's ready," he said, pouring the broth and noodles into two bowls. He set one before Omi with a pair of chopsticks and a mug of tea, and settled into his own place at the table.
Omi sat up and reached for his chopsticks, then hesitated. His gaze was focused on something over Hiro's shoulder, and he turned to see what had caught his lover's attention. The TV had been on while he cooked, providing background noise - the six o'clock news had just come on.
The lead story was a series of grisly video shots of five or six bloated bodies that had washed up in Tokyo harbour earlier that day, and the reporter was saying that police suspected the involvement of a local Yakuza group in the murders. Omi's eyes had gone dark, and his hand shook.
"Turn it off, please?" he asked quietly, and Hiro jumped up to comply. He turned back to see Omi staring down into his ramen, hands clenched tightly in his lap.
"Are you okay?" he asked, resting a hand on his lover's shoulder. Omi nodded, taking a shaky breath.
"Yeah," he muttered, sighing. "It's just... hard. As soon as I see something like that, I automatically start planning the mission, because that sort of stuff ALWAYS went to Weiss. Then I remember that... that there's nothing I can do to help anymore."
Hiro settled back into his chair, regarding the younger man across the table. "You know, maybe Manx was right, about you guys needing some time off," he commented hesitantly. "Watching the news shouldn't produce that sort of reaction, Omi. I think all four of you were coming close to getting burned out."
Omi smiled thinly. "I know," he replied, picking up his chopsticks again. "It was hard to see at the time, but we were all on edge. Everyone seems much happier now that we've settled into somewhat normal lives. Birman may even have been right - I know I'll eventually end up back in Kritiker, but I'm beginning to think none of the others will."
Hiro paused in the act of bringing some noodles to his mouth. "You will?" he asked, surprised. He got a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach - he'd thought the days of his having to worry about Omi coming home injured or worse were over. Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face, because Omi smiled reassuringly.
"I doubt I'd be assigned to a field team, Hiro," he soothed his lover. "I'll probably end up back where I started, before Weiss was formed - doing preliminary research for other teams. Hacking, tracking computer trails, that sort of thing." He shrugged. "Why did you THINK I was taking the criminal psych and forensics courses, anyway?"
"I figured it was just stuff you'd become interested in through Weiss," Hiro replied, feeling the knot of tension ease a little inside him. What Omi was describing was a desk job, not something that would put him in the line of fire.
The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet, both of them happy just to be together. They didn't get to spend much time together these days, between Omi's studies and the tour Bad Luck had just completed. Finally Omi leaned back, smiling, his bowl empty.
"I brought the mail in with me," he commented, standing and stretching. "I'll go get it." He trotted off to the hall, returning momentarily with a stack of mail. He flipped through the envelopes rapidly. "Phone bill... internet bill... have I mentioned how much I HATE dial-up?" he added, rolling his eyes.
"Only ten times so far today," Hiroshi teased him in return. As addicted to the Internet as Omi was, the transition from the T1 connection he'd had at the Koneko to the 56K modem he had at their apartment had been difficult.
"Ooh, a letter from Aya-kun!" Omi squealed, dropping the rest of the mail to the table and hastily opening the letter. Hiro picked up the pile and started opening them one by one. Omi scanned his letter quickly, grinning at some parts and looking wistful at others. It was a surprisingly long letter, considering the sender - almost two whole pages.
"How is he?" Hiro asked idly as Omi reached the end and returned to the first page to read it more carefully. Ken and Youji had kept in touch; they had ended up moving in together just a few blocks away from Omi and Hiroshi, and the four of them sometimes met for dinner. The two men had, of all things, wound up opening their own little flower shop - "Stick with what you know," as Youji had put it with a wry grin. But Aya had followed his sister out to Kyoto, where he was attending classes of his own, and they didn't hear from him very often.
Omi smiled. "They're doing well," he said, his voice soft with affection. "Aya-kun says spending time with Aya-chan has been good for him, and he's really enjoying his classes. He's planning to visit in a couple of weeks - we'll have to go out to dinner with him or something. He says he misses Weiss, though - he's got the same problem as the rest of us, he can't stand watching the news." Omi chuckled. "For someone who had to be dragged back to Weiss kicking and screaming after Takatori's death, he's certainly gotten hooked."
"He did?" Hiroshi exclaimed, surprised. "I can't imagine that. How come?"
Omi shrugged. "Aya-kun originally joined Weiss for the sole purpose of getting revenge for his family's death," he replied idly. "There were a few missions where he totally abandoned the objective and the target because he caught a glimpse of Takatori and wound up chasing HIM instead - he was totally obsessed. Once Takatori was dead he didn't see any reason to continue in Weiss - all he wanted was to be left alone with his sister. But then Schwartz kidnapped Aya-chan for the summoning ceremony, and that was that."
Hiro grimaced. "I still can't believe they were actually trying to summon a demon," he muttered under his breath. As many times as he'd heard the story of Esstet's takeover attempt, it just didn't seem real. Demon summoning was something that happened in bad sci-fi movies, not in real life.
"Hey, this one's for you," Omi said, setting aside Aya's letter and flipping through the mail again. He nudged a plain white envelope addressed to "Nakano Hiroshi, Bad Luck" across the table. "Looks like fanmail!"
Hiro rolled his eyes. "The fangirls are the one part of being a musician I could really have done WITHOUT," he growled, but he opened the envelope and drew out the single sheet of heavy paper within.
He glanced at it, and for a moment his eyes didn't make sense of what he was seeing. Typed letters had been cut out of a magazine and pasted sloppily on the page like something out of a murder mystery, spelling out the words, "BAD LUCK ENDS, OR YOU DO!"
"Holy shit," he whispered, eyes wide. Omi glanced up and saw how pale he was.
"Hiro? What's wrong?"
Wordlessly Hiroshi slid the paper across the table to him. Omi took one look and his face went grim, that dark look sliding into his eyes again. He picked up the paper by its edges, examining it.
"Looks like all the letters were cut out of the same magazine," he said, his voice clinical and detached. Hiro watched him with fascination - he didn't often get to see Omi at 'work'.
"How do you know?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Because the typeface is all the same," Omi replied, "and the glossiness of the paper. It MIGHT be from several different issues of the same magazine, or the writer might have gone to the trouble of finding several magazines that had the same typeface and paper type, but I doubt it." He laid the paper down carefully on the envelope, and stood to go to the cupboards. He rummaged around, finally coming up with a plastic sandwich bag.
"Whoever it is, is an amateur," he commented, sliding the letter and envelope into the bag and sealing it. "I wouldn't worry about it too much - people who make vague threats like that tend to just be attention seekers, not a real threat. Give it to the police to dust for fingerprints, but they probably won't find anything after it's been through the mail and you've handled it like that. Unless you get more of them, it's not a big deal."
Hiro shook his head. "You look so innocent, it's easy to forget you know more about this sort of stuff than most policemen," he replied, picking up the baggie and twisting it to see the letter.
Omi smiled, the darkness fading from his eyes. "Not really," he demurred, sitting down again. "I got most of that from the Internet and spy movies. Stalkers really don't fall into Weiss' realm of operations, unless maybe if they're serial killers or something."
The phone rang, and Hiro leaned over in his chair to grab it off its cradle. "Nakano and Tsukiyono residence," he said. "Hiroshi speaking."
"Yo, Hiro!" Shuuichi bubbled on the other end, sounding more agitated than usual. "You'll never BELIEVE what I just got in the mail!"
Hiro glanced at the baggie still on his table. "A threat made of cut-up magazine letters?" he guessed, smiling a little.
Shuuichi audibly deflated. "How'd you know?" he asked, disappointed that he hadn't stumped his friend.
"Because I got one too, baka," Hiro replied with a snort. "Probably Fujisaki did as well."
"Yuki says we should just take it to the police and ignore it," Shuuichi confided. "He says he gets stuff like this all the time, that it doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, that's what we figured," Hiro answered. "We can give them to K tomorrow morning, I suppose - he'll know what to do with them. I'm sure Ryuichi got all kinds of death threats."
He could practically hear the stars light up in his friend's eyes. "We're famous enough to be getting death threats now!" Shuuichi exclaimed. "Do you know how COOL that is, Hiro?"
In the background he thought he heard Yuki mutter, "Baka", and Hiro chuckled. "Sure, Shuuichi," he replied. "Look, we'll talk about it in the morning, okay? I'll see you tomorrow at NG."
"Okay. Bye, Hiro!"
Hiro hung up the phone still chuckling. "Shuuichi is a nut," he commented to his boyfriend, who grinned back at him.
"Mochiron," Omi answered. "That's why you love him. He wouldn't be half as much fun if he were normal."
K had taken one look at the three letters the next morning, and said much the same thing Omi and Yuki had. "No big deal," he'd told them, shrugging. "The police will tell you the same thing. Though I'm surprised whoever it is bothered to send each of you one, rather than just mailing Bad Luck care of NG." He paused to think about it, then shook his head. "Probably they just knew that NG security would have disposed of it."
That seemed to be the end of it, and by a week later Hiroshi had nearly forgotten about the entire incident. He and Omi were hosting a party to celebrate NG's decision to produce a second Bad Luck album, due to the wild popularity of the first one. They were just setting out the take-out food they'd ordered - Chinese, pizza, and ramen - when the front door buzzer rang.
"I've got it!" Omi chirped, and jumped over the coffee table to reach the wall unit. "Hello?" he said, pressing the button.
"It's us!" Shuuichi replied.
"Come on up!" Omi told him, hitting the second button that would release the security door. After a few seconds he let go, returning to help Hiro with the last of the food.
The exuberant knock on the door coincided almost exactly with the ring of the buzzer, and Omi and Hiro traded amused looks. "I'll get the door, you get the buzzer," Hiro said, striding towards the door. Omi giggled and nodded.
Shuuichi was just winding up for another knock when Hiro pulled the door open. Shuuichi barely recovered in time to keep from punching his best friend in the face, and gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry," he said, and Hiro grinned at him.
"C'mon in, guys," he said, moving to let them past. "You've been here before, you know your way around. Make yourselves at home." Shuuichi bounded past him, heading straight for the food almost before he'd kicked his shoes off. Yuki entered with a little more decorum, giving Hiro a semi-friendly nod - his version of an enthusiastic greeting.
"That was Sakano, K and Fujisaki," Omi told them, turning from the wall unit. "They ran into each other downstairs. You might as well hold the door, Hiro - they'll be right up."
Hiro obediently held the door, peering down the hall to the elevators. Between Bad Luck's success and the money saved up from Weiss, he and Omi had been able to afford a decent condominium, rather than renting an apartment from month to month. They were on the fifteenth floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows all across one end of the living room giving a spectacular view of the Tokyo skyline. They'd gotten a two-bedroom unit, and used the second bedroom as a computer room for Omi while the 'den' became a soundproof practice room for Hiro. The building was well maintained, and the gym and pool on the ground floor were more than worth the dues they paid, even if they didn't have a lot of time to use the facilities.
The elevator doors opened with a discreet 'ding', and the three men they were waiting for exited. For once K actually had his suit jacket ON, and it covered the ever-present shoulder holster completely. Hiro wasn't sure if that would make Omi less nervous because he couldn't see it, ore MORE nervous because he couldn't keep track of it as easily.
Sakano seemed typically upset about something, fretting and twisting the hem of his own suit jacket until it was a mass of wrinkles. "What's up?" Hiro asked him, grinning.
"This was sticking out of the top of your mailbox downstairs," K said, pulling a slim envelope from his inside pocket. It was plain white, with no postmark or stamp, and had only the words 'Bad Luck' written on the front in blocky katakana.
Hiro felt a chill. "Another one?" he asked, taking the envelope gingerly from K as the three men entered the apartment.
"What's wrong, Hiro?" Omi asked, sensing his lover's distress. He came to stand by his boyfriend, eyes widening when he saw the envelope. "Don't touch it!" he cautioned as Hiro started to tear it open. "The police weren't able to get any clear fingerprints from the last one because you'd already handled it, but there WERE fingerprints."
"Right," Hiro nodded. By this time Shuuichi and Yuki had joined them, Shuuichi practically bouncing up and down with his impatience to know what was going on. "What do we do with it, then?"
"What is it, Hiro?" Shuuichi demanded. Hiro held up the envelope so he could see it, and his eyes widened. "Ooh, we got another one? Cool! Does that mean we're twice as popular?"
"Baka," Yuki smacked him on the head. "That was hand-delivered - you said it was in the mailbox?" he asked K.
"On top of it," the American replied.
"It wasn't there when we came through. That means whoever it was must have come in just after we went up but before you came in." He frowned. "Do you have any tweezers or something we can use to open it without damaging any evidence?" he asked Hiro.
"I do!" Omi exclaimed, and scampered off towards the computer room. He returned moments later with two pairs of different sized tweezers. "I use them for setting jumpers and connecting small wires," he told the group as he took the envelope and opened it gingerly.
Using the larger tweezers, he pulled the single sheet of heavy paper out. He unfolded it, and they all crowded around to see.
"It's typed this time," Omi noted, tilting the paper a bit. "Still no watermark, but that looks like an inkjet printer. The police should be able to tell what make and model, at least, though I'm not sure if that will help."
"I know you're all there," Hiro read aloud, the chill in his gut growing with each word. "I'm watching you. Call NG and tell them that Bad Luck is breaking up, or one of you will die."
As one they all turned to look at the large plate-glass window, automatically searching for some sign of an observer. "If we pick up the phone, how do they know we're calling NG and not the police?" Fujisaki wondered aloud.
"Easy enough," Omi replied absently, eyes still intently scanning the skyline after everyone else had turned away again. "They obviously know where we live, and they've been watching long enough to know that we were all going to be here tonight. They could pose as building maintenance or a window washer, and plant a listening device somewhere in or near the apartment..." he broke off when Hiro nudged him with his elbow, and blushed as he realized everyone was staring at him. "Err... I read a lot of mystery novels," he offered as an explanation.
K gave him a sharp look, but didn't comment. "So, whoever it is, they're probably watching and listening right now, is that it?" he asked instead. Omi nodded. "Wonderful. How are they planning to kill one of us?"
"Assuming it's not an empty threat, a sniper through the window would be simplest," Omi replied grimly, eyeing the building across from them.
"We're not actually planning to listen to this freak, are we?" Shuuichi demanded, incensed.
"Of course not," Hiroshi replied. "But I think maybe we'd all better go into the main bedroom - the window there face a different direction and is much smaller, and we can call the police from there..."
"LOOK OUT!" Omi snapped abruptly, flinging himself at Shuuichi. They hit the ground in a tumble, Shuuichi protesting loudly. There was a cracking noise and a tiny hole appeared in the window, webbed around with cracks that spread rapidly. There was another hole in the wall just about where Shuuichi's head had been, and everyone stared at it in disbelief. "Get DOWN," Omi insisted, tugging on Hiro's ankle. K was already down beside Omi and Shuuichi, taking cover behind the couch with his gun drawn and ready, peering around the corner.
Belatedly Hiro started to drop to his knees, reaching out to grab Fujisaki's arm to take him down as well. Another cracking noise sounded, and fire blossomed in his shoulder. "Ah, shit!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his left shoulder and feeling blood making his palm sticky. "I'm hit!"
"One at a time, into the bedroom - stay as low as you can and move FAST," Omi ordered them, his face set and cold. He gave Hiro's shoulder a cursory examination. "Flesh wound," he declared after a moment. "It grazed your shoulder as you dropped - you moved at just the right moment. Keep pressure on it, you'll be fine." He reached out and shoved at Sakano, pushing him out of the scant cover of the sofa. "Get moving," he insisted. "That's a high-powered sniper rifle, it'll blow through this couch like paper." As if to emphasise his point, another crack sounded and a hole was torn through the stuffing of the couch. K muffled an exclamation as it struck his thigh, using the hand that wasn't holding the gun to clamp down on the wound. Sakano scrambled for the bedroom, whimpering.
"Fujisaki - GO!" Omi said, but his hand flew out to grab the boy's shoulder and hold him still. His instincts were good - another bullet whined through the air just beyond the couch, as the listening sniper expected the keyboardist to emerge. Instantly Omi shoved the boy's shoulder, and Fujisaki made it to the bedroom without injury.
Omi gestured at Hiro and Shuuichi, and indicated the door to the computer room with a silent nod. It was almost directly across from the couch, which meant they wouldn't be visible to the sniper until the last moment before they reached the door. 'Close the door behind you,' Omi mouthed to Hiro, who nodded. "Hiro - GO!" he said aloud, and Hiro scrambled for the computer room, Shuuichi at his side. As Omi had anticipated, the sniper had been aiming at the side of the couch, expecting his target to emerge there - he didn't manage to shift his aim quickly enough, and the bullet bit into the wood of the door Hiroshi slammed behind them.
He tugged his best friend under the computer desk, not trusting the flimsy door to stop the bullets. "Now what?" Shuuichi hissed, eyes wide. "And how the hell does Omi KNOW all this stuff?"
"He's a genius, he watches a lot of movies, and he's taking a double minor in criminal psychology and forensics on top of his computer degree, Shuuichi," Hiro reminded him, hoping the explanation would suffice.
"Hiro, call the police," Omi called to them, his voice now coming from the direction of the kitchen. "Our landline's been cut. Yuki and K are in the music room. The sniper was shooting from the third apartment on the right, sixteenth floor of the building across from us - he'll bolt as soon as he realizes we've called the police, but they can check for clues.
Hiro dug into his pocket for his cell phone, trying to ignore the burning pain in his shoulder. He flipped the antenna up and punched the emergency number. "This is Nakano Hiroshi," he told the man who answered the line. "I've got a sniper firing into my apartment - we're all under cover now, but we've got two shot, one is a flesh wound and the other one looks serious." He reeled the address off quickly, and added in what Omi had told him about the location of their attacker.
"A sniper?" the man repeated incredulously. "This had better not be a joke..."
"YES," Hiro gritted through clenched teeth. "A sniper. I'm a member of the band Bad Luck - we've been getting death threats, and apparently they weren't bluffing."
"The ambulance is on its way, sir - the police will check the apartment the sniper was in first," the officer replied, something in Hiro's voice apparently convincing him. "Stay under cover - the gunman may not have left yet."
It seemed to take hours for the paramedics to arrive, every minute of which Hiro cursed whoever it was that was attacking them. He wanted to know if K was all right, but the soundproofing in the music room meant that Yuki and K wouldn't be able to hear them with the door shut.
Finally there was a pounding on the front door. "Medics!" came the hurried shout.
"Guys, stay under cover," Omi instructed them all, and Hiro heard him moving around. Thankfully, it was possible to reach the front door from the kitchen without going through the living room. "Show me your ID," Omi demanded of the medics at the door.
"Are you kidding me?" one of them replied. "I thought you had wounded!"
"We do, and I'm making sure we won't have any more," Omi replied coldly. "We just had someone shooting at us - and it's been more than long enough since they fired the last shot for them to have made it over here and be pretending to be the paramedics. Slide your ID under the door."
Hiro had never heard his lover sound so cold and unmoveable before, and he shivered. "Damn, Omi's kicking ASS," Shuuichi whispered, sounding like he was in awe. After a long moment, the sound of the front door opening reached Hiro.
"The police checked the building, there's no sign of the sniper," Omi told them a moment later as he opened the door to the computer room. His eyes flicked over Hiro and Shuuichi, assessing them for further damage. "You can come out now - but get into the kitchen as quickly as possible, just in case. I made the paramedics wait in there." The too-familiar darkness was present in his blue eyes, and the skin around his lips was white as he pressed them tightly together. Hiro could see the strain this was putting on him.
He stood shakily and headed for the kitchen, watching Omi move on to tell Sakano and Fujisaki it was clear. K was already there, the paramedics doing a hasty bandage job to stop the bleeding long enough to get him to a hospital. One of them took a moment to examine Hiro's shoulder.
"Flesh wound," he echoed Omi's earlier assessment. "Doesn't even need stitches - you got lucky. I'll just put some antiseptic on it and bandage it - change the bandage once a day and put more antiseptic on for the next week."
Omi entered the small room with Fujisaki and Sakano in tow, making it crowded. "How's K?" he asked, still sounding detached from the situation.
"Christ, that kid is cold," Hiro heard one of the medics mumble under his breath, giving Omi a sideways look. Omi didn't miss the comment, but other than a flicker of his eyes he showed no reaction.
"He'll be fine - it missed the artery, but it didn't go all the way through," another medic answered. "The couch must have slowed it down enough that it didn't have the force to punch through. We just need to get him to the hospital and get the bullet out."
"Good," Omi nodded, and turned to Hiroshi. The darkness in his eyes faded a bit as he gazed at his lover, replaced by fear and worry. He reached out to touch the dressing on Hiro's shoulder, and Hiro forced himself not to wince. "Are YOU okay?" he asked softly.
Hiro pulled him into a tight hug. "Thanks to you," he whispered in reply. "You saved all our lives, Omi."
"Remind me never to argue with you anytime you feel like tackling me," Shuuichi added shakily, clinging to Yuki. The taciturn author didn't even make a token protest, stroking the vocalist's hair soothingly. The taller man was watching Omi closely, his face suspicious, but he said nothing.
"Hopefully it will never come up again, Shuuichi," Omi replied wearily. Hiro could feel the subtle shaking that was starting in his lover's limbs, and he guided him to a chair as the medics carried K out on a gurney. Two uniformed police officers and a man in a suit came through the door as the medics left.
The suit flashed a badge, his dark eyes rapidly assessing the situation, much as Omi had done just moments before. "My name is Detective Kurosaki," he said, his voice rough as though he'd spent a lifetime smoking. "And I'd like to ask you all a few questions..."
CHAPTER 4"I'm glad K is going to be okay," Omi sighed as they exited the front doors of the hospital. They'd been visiting the American, who was scheduled to be released the next day. He shifted his backpack on his shoulder and stamped his feet to warm them - it was getting closer to winter, and the breeze had a chill edge to it.
"I'm glad that damn detective has finally decided to leave us alone," Hiroshi groaned in return, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I thought he'd never give up hounding you!"
"He had a right to be suspicious," Omi pointed out, quoting some of the questions the police detective had harangued him with over the last week. "How did I know he'd go for Shuuichi first? How did I know he would fire then? How did I know what apartment he'd been firing from? How did I orchestrate getting everyone under cover like that?" He shrugged. "Plus the fact that I wasn't freaking out like the rest of you - if you don't know that I've been in situations like that before, it looks like I must have been expecting it to happen."
"And of course you could hardly explain why you had experience in a firefight," Hiro concluded, grimacing. The light they'd been waiting at finally turned, and they crossed the road to the parking lot where their bikes were parked. "What I don't get is why he finally stopped harassing you - he didn't seem like he was convinced."
"Strings got pulled from higher up, most likely," Omi told him. "Kritiker is pretty diligent about things like that - Persia was the Police Commissioner, did I ever tell you that? Manx is still well connected at the various precincts."
"No, you didn't," Hiro replied in surprise. "I didn't know Kritiker had any ties to the police. It does explain a lot, though."
"I had full access to the police files," Omi said, thinking back to the days when Persia had still been alive. "It made researching some stuff a lot easier!" He scanned the parking lot, trying to remember where they'd parked. "Mou, I can never find my bike... hey!"
They rounded a van and caught sight of their bikes parked side by side in one spot; a dark figure was crouched over Hiro's, fiddling with something. He looked up at Omi's startled exclamation, and yanked at what looked like wires from the ignition. "He's hotwiring the bike!" Omi growled, and took off in a run. They still had half the parking lot to cover before they would reach the thief.
The boy - he looked to be about fifteen, with long, greasy hair and a permanent snarl - hopped up onto the seat of the bike, twisting the wires as he jumped up to kickstart the engine. Omi shouted at him, "Hey, what do you think you're..."
The boy's foot came down on the pedal and suddenly the world was a ball of fire and heat, sweeping towards them. Omi yelped and hit the ground, tugging Hiro down after him automatically, and the worst of the blast passed overhead, shattering the windows of several cars nearby. He threw his arms up over his head to protect himself from the falling glass, and hoped Hiro would have the sense to do the same.
Finally the air began to cool again, the sound of the explosion echoing in his ears as he raised his head tentatively. The bikes were a mass of twisted metal and flame, the charred body of the thief lying nearby, burned beyond recognition. Omi swallowed hard, and got up on his knees. "Oh, damn..."
"What the FUCK?" Hiro exclaimed, his voice sounding distant and tinny. At least he knew the blast hadn't damaged his ears permanently, Omi thought giddily as more sound started to come back. "What was THAT?"
"Car bomb," Omi croaked, coughing on the ash that was now drifting in the wind. "Set to go off when the motor kicked over. That should have been US, Hiro..."
They both stared at the body of the thief, feeling numb. Only an incredible coincidence had saved their lives - if not for that larcenous teen, it would have been Hiro who started the bike, with Omi right beside him. For all they knew, there'd been a bomb on Omi's bike as well.
Emergency personnel were already pouring from the hospital across the street, and in the distance they could hear the wail of sirens. "Looks like it's back to the precinct for us," Hiroshi muttered, rolling his eyes. "At least they can't claim YOU had something to do with it, this time."
Omi shook his head, pulling out his cell phone. "I'm going to call Shuuichi and Fujisaki, warn them not to start their cars or anything, until the bomb squad gets there to certify them," he said, punching in the numbers. "I just hope I'm not too la... Shuuichi?"
"Hey, Omi!" the vocalist's cheerful voice came back over the line. "What's up?"
"We just watched our bikes blow up in front of us," Omi replied grimly, and heard Shuuichi gasp. "Car bomb, set on the engine. Someone was trying to steal Hiro's bike, or we would have gone up too. Tell Yuki NOT to drive his car until the police have been there!"
"Holy shit!" Shuuichi exclaimed, sounding shaken. "These guys... they're really not kidding around, are they?"
"Someone wants Bad Luck gone or dead," Omi agreed grimly. "It's a good thing we all decided to move so our addresses wouldn't be known. I think they caught us here at the hospital because they knew that sooner or later one of us would go to visit K - they must have been watching."
"You guys come over here when the police are done with you," Shuuichi ordered. "Take the subway, or a cab. Oh, and I don't know if you heard, but Touma arranged for Fujisaki to be out of the country for the next little while - visiting relatives, or something."
"Oh, good!" Omi sighed with relief. "I'll call ahead and let you know when we're coming over, okay?"
"See you then! And be careful!" Shuuichi replied.
"That's my line," Omi said with a weary chuckle. He clicked off the cell phone just as the first of the medics and police reached them. Heading the pack was none other than Detective Kurosaki.
"Well, it seems you boys are just magnets for trouble, aren't you?" the detective drawled, flipping open his notepad. "Since neither of you appears to be injured, we'll just start with the basics, shall we?"
Omi sighed as they walked up the path to Shuuichi and Yuki's newest condo. The author and vocalist had moved around so much in the last six months, it hadn't been anything but a nuisance for them to move again after the sniper attack. Omi almost envied them - packing up and finding a new place had been a much more difficult process for Omi and Hiro.
He squeezed Hiro's hand in his, and got a warm smile in response. They were both shivering - the walk from the subway station to Yuki's flat was mostly unsheltered from the bitter wind, and their leather jackets and jeans were hardly sufficient to block it out. The sun had set while they were answering questions at the police precinct, and the night was much colder now that the warmth of the sun was gone.
Hiro rang the bell, and they waited for someone to answer it. After a moment the buzzer sounded, and Hiro reached out to pull the door open. "They've got a security camera that feeds into their TV," Hiro told Omi when he looked puzzled, pointing at the camera mounted above the door. "They know it's us."
"Oh, okay," Omi sighed with relief. "I thought Shuuichi was just being careless." It was considerably warmer in the elevator than it had been outside, and his shivers had just about abated when they reached the fourth floor.
Shuuichi was waiting for them, leaning out the door dressed in his usual shorts and double tank top, seeming uncaring of the cold. Omi glanced at the suspenders hanging from around his waist, and suppressed a wistful smile. "Hey, guys," the genki vocalist greeted them enthusiastically. "Boy am I glad you two are okay! C'mon in, I made hot tea - you must be freezing!"
"Pretty close," Omi agreed, laughing a bit with the relief of finally being 'safe' again. "And I could use a few friendly faces after dealing with that detective for two hours!"
"That guy's really got it in for you," Hiro agreed as they kicked off their shoes and came into the apartment. Yuki was sprawled out on one end of the 'L'-shaped couch, beer in hand. He nodded a curt greeting at them, and they waved back. "I swear he would have booked you if he could have thought of something to charge you with."
Omi flopped down on the opposite side of the couch from Yuki, gratefully accepting the mug of warm tea Shuuichi offered him. Hiro sat beside him, leaning against him a little to keep as much contact as possible, and Shuuichi plopped himself down practically in Yuki's lap. The taciturn author growled at him, but Omi hid a smile behind his mug as he saw that the older man made no move to shove his lover off of him. Shuuichi and Yuki hardly had a fairy-tale romance, but at least since they had come back from New York things had been going better between them.
"I have to admit to some curiosity myself," Yuki said, watching Omi as had become his habit over the last week. "How DID you know to shove Shuuichi out of the way?"
Omi thought fast, and decided that telling most of the truth was probably the best way to go. "I saw the sunlight glint off something in the building across from us. It could have been ANYTHING, really, but my body was moving before my brain thought about it. We got lucky."
"Why Shuuichi?" Yuki persisted, and Hiro frowned at him. "Hiro was closer to you, and he's your lover while Shuuichi is only your friend."
"Geez, Yuki, lay off," Hiro growled, sliding one arm around Omi's shoulders and squeezing protectively. "He's had enough of this from the police already."
"No, Hiro, it's okay," Omi replied easily. "Shuuichi is the lead singer and lyric writer - taking him out is the surest way of destroying Bad Luck. Fujisaki wasn't part of the original band anyway - if he died, Shuuichi could just go back to writing the music as well, or NG could find someone to take his place. It wouldn't be GOOD, but it probably wouldn't destroy the band. And... I hate to say it, but Hiro is the most expendable member of the band. Of course most people know that Shuuichi probably would refuse to play without Hiroshi, but..." he shrugged. "Shuuichi is still the most logical first target."
"Hiro is NOT expendable!" Shuuichi protested, incensed.
"No, Omi's right," Hiro soothed him. "After all the fuss that was made about your relationship with Yuki, you're the most well known and the most visible member of the band. You are the logical person to strike at."
"Why the bomb on your bike today, then?" Shuuichi persisted.
"Probably they had the hospital staked out, and we were just the first ones they caught," Omi replied grimly. "What doesn't make sense to ME is the way this whole thing is set up. The letters were done by an amateur - using the same magazine to make all three of the first letters, using a generic printer to print the last one, and fingerprints all over the letters."
"The police couldn't identify the fingerprints they got from the printed letter," Yuki pointed out. "Whoever it is, they have no prior record. So it hardly matters if they left fingerprints..."
Omi shook his head. "No, it still makes a difference. It means that when they DO get a suspect, if the fingerprints match the evidence won't just be circumstantial. And it's sloppy, regardless. But that's not what I was getting at - the sniper attack was done by a professional. They were in and out of the building with no clues for the police, no fingerprints, nothing. Their aim was fantastic - sniper rifles are difficult to aim, even with the target scope, because of the distance involved. Moving the rifle a millimetre to one side can throw off the aim by several inches. They were careless about letting the sun flash off something, probably the targeting scope, but still..."
"And the car bombs?" Yuki asked, eyeing him narrowly.
"Could be either, but my guess is professional. There was just enough explosive to take out the bikes and the person on them, but the cars around weren't very damaged except for the shattered windows and some scorching. Unfortunately the evidence went up with the bikes - there was nothing left to find, which again argues for a professional."
"So you're saying someone put out a contract on us?" Shuuichi exclaimed incredulously. "We've got hit men stalking us? This is like something out of a bad Yakuza movie!"
"That would be the logical conclusion, yes," Omi nodded. "If the letter writer is the person who's actually after you, and they hired a professional to perform the actual hit, that would fit the profile."
"And you learned all this from movies and your courses?" Yuki demanded suspiciously.
"And the Internet, yes," Omi agreed, forcing himself not to tense up. He hated lying to people, especially to his friends. "It's amazing what you'll come across online when you're suffering from insomnia at four in the morning." He didn't like the way Yuki was looking at him - the author was a very intelligent man, and he knew something was fishy about Omi's story. And he was just the type of endlessly persistent person who wouldn't leave it alone until he was satisfied. K had been starting to look at him the same way, but the American was safely out of the picture in the hospital, at least for the moment. He was going to have to do something to head Yuki off, though, before he started asking questions Omi couldn't answer.
The door buzzer rang before Yuki could come up with any more of those awkward questions, and the blond man punched a button on the remote lying on the table beside him. The TV flickered on, showing a grainy view of the entranceway downstairs, where a man in a delivery uniform stood holding a brown package.
"I'll get it!" Shuuichi declared, shooting up off the couch and out the front door before anyone could stop him. Yuki rolled his eyes.
"Were you expecting something?" Omi asked him, watching the deliveryman carefully. He wished the picture was better quality - the uniform LOOKED okay, but there was no way to really see if there was anything out of place.
"No," Yuki replied, frowning. "But my sister is always sending me things. Or for all I know, it might be something Shuuichi ordered without telling me about."
Omi felt Hiro fumbled for his hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly. On the screen Shuuichi appeared, practically bouncing up and down as he signed the delivery slip and snatched the package out of the man's hand. He shook it, holding it to his ear, then looked up at the camera and shrugged before disappearing back into the building.
Omi had a bad feeling about this. Of course, considering everything that had happened in the last week, it might have just been paranoia. People got packages all the time; there could be a perfectly innocent explanation for why an unexpected package was showing up NOW, of all times.
Shuuichi bounced back in through the door, still clutching the unopened package. "There's no return address," he noted curiously, making the tension in Omi's gut spike sharply. "I wonder what it is..."
The vocalist started to tear into the wrapping, and Omi was moving before he even consciously realized the conclusion he'd come to. "Shuuichi, no! Don't open it!" he cried, hitting the pink-haired boy around the waist and tackling him to the floor for the second time in a week. The package flew out of Shuuichi's hand and went spinning across the hardwood floor, fetching up against the far wall.
"Itai!" Shuuichi exclaimed, struggling beneath him. "I know I said I'd never argue with you if you ever felt like tackling me again, but was that really necessary?"
"Shuuichi, Hiro and I had our bikes blown up this afternoon, we were just in the middle of a conversation about why someone is trying to KILL you, and you were going to just tear open an unmarked package?" Omi said breathlessly, sitting up.
Shuuichi blinked up at him, and had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry."
Yuki and Hiro were eyeing the package like they expected it to explode at any moment. "What do we do now?" Hiro asked nervously.
"We call the bomb squad," Omi replied, moving to gingerly pick up the package. It was light, but that didn't mean anything - with the advanced explosive compounds and detonators available, bombs could weigh practically nothing at all, as he well knew. "Yuki, it's your house - care to do the honours?"
Yuki nodded, and strode over to the kitchen to grab the phone there. Omi continued to examine the box as Yuki punched in the numbers for the police station. "Is there any way to tell?" Hiro asked, coming to crouch beside Omi and Shuuichi. "I mean, should we be evacuating the building or something?"
"Not just by looking," Omi said, sighing. "I wish I had my... oh! Hiro, run and grab my backpack, will you? I left it in the hall."
Hiro moved to obey, and Shuuichi gave him a funny look. "What's in your backpack that could possibly help?" he asked as Hiro returned with the bag.
Omi opened the flap and rummaged through it, his fingers searching for a familiar feel of metal and plastic. "This," he said, pulling it out triumphantly. "It's a very sensitive magnetic detector. Electricity running through wires produces a very faint magnetic charge, which this can measure. Since it's not ticking, if it IS a bomb, it must have an electronic detonator." He flipped the switch to turn the device on, and waited impatiently for it to run through its calibrating sequence. He'd designed the device to help him detect security systems and booby traps in missions, and it had proven endlessly useful.
"Uh... why do you have something like that in your backpack?" Shuuichi asked, and even Hiro was giving him an odd look.
"I designed it," Omi admitted. "I was bringing it to show my electronics professor, that's why I have it in my bag. It IS useful for other things besides finding bombs, guys - it works on all kinds of electronics. It's great for finding the break in a delicate circuit that I'm trying to fix." The scanner beeped twice at him to let him know it was ready, and he passed it slowly over the top of the package. The display showed him a graphic representation of the magnetic levels it detected, even minute changes registered as a slight bump in the graph.
There were lots of the little bumps, evenly spaced over the entire surface of the package. A slightly larger concentration was in the centre, and Omi swore under his breath. "It's a bomb, all right," he said, punching some buttons to change the scale, allowing him to get a better reading of the central device. "All these little wires are contact leads - if any of them is broken, the bomb goes off."
"Jeez," Shuuichi whispered, eyes wide. "I would've killed us all! Omi, you can tackle me any time you like!"
Omi couldn't help a slight smirk at that. "I don't know if Yuki would be too happy with you making that offer," he teased, earning himself a smack from Hiro. At least it lessened the tension somewhat.
"Now what?" Hiro asked. "So long as we don't touch it, it won't go off?"
"Not necessarily," Omi frowned, studying the display. "I don't like the looks of this centre device. It MIGHT be a timer - but the only way to find out for sure is to open it." He reached into his bag again, fishing for one of his throwing knives. Force of habit had dictated that he keep some with him at all times - after all, even though he was technically a 'civilian' now, Schwartz was only one of several groups who would love to get their hands on a defenceless Weiss member. He set the razor sharp blade against the side of the package, double checking his scanner, and started to cut.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Shuuichi exclaimed, wide-eyed.
"Now that I know where the wires are, I can cut between them and look inside without disturbing them," Omi said absently, most of his attention on the package. He peeled back the layers of paper carefully, seeing the tiny wires everywhere.
"There's been a bomb threat called in to Tokyo tower," Yuki told them, returning from the kitchen. "Every bomb squad in the city is there. It will take a while for one of them to be redirected here - several hundred lives in the tower takes precedence over the few dozen in this building. They said we should evacuate the building until they get here..."
"There's no time," Omi interrupted, staring at the timer he'd uncovered with a sick fascination. The display read '120', and from the way it was counting down it didn't mean minutes. "It's set to go off in less than two minutes!"
"What do we do?" Hiro blurted out fearfully. "There's so many people in this building, and that looks like a LOT of explosive..."
"You're going to go with Yuki and Shuuichi and get the HELL away from here, as fast as you can," Omi replied, fingers already sorting through the multitude of wires radiating from the timer. "There's enough C4 in here to take out half this block, never mind the building. I'm going to try to defuse it, but I want you out of the way just in case."
Hiro started to protest, but Yuki clamped a hand on his shoulder and started dragging him towards the door. He already had Shuuichi firmly under one arm, kicking and protesting. "If he wants to try, it's his life," the older man growled at the guitarist. He glanced back at Omi. "There's a lot of innocent people involved - let him try."
Omi didn't have time to worry about them - the counter was at '90' now. He muttered to himself under his breath as he worked, trying to be careful not to jostle any of the contact wires. It would be awfully silly for him to defuse the timer only to set it off by dislodging a contact.
"All these are contact wires... ah, here's the main wires. Let's see... red, blue, green, yellow, black, and white... what the hell do they need so many wires for?" He felt sweat forming on his brow, but didn't take the time to wipe it away. In the movies it was always just a matter of knowing which colour wire to cut, but in real life it wasn't that simple. This was obviously a handmade bomb, timer and all, and that meant the bomber could use any damn colour of wire he pleased. In fact, if he was half as intelligent as he'd already shown himself to be, he probably would have set the wires so that cutting the 'right' colour would set off the bomb.
Sixty seconds... he couldn't figure out which wire did what. In fact, they all seemed to lead nowhere at all, going around in circles...
His eyes widened, and he gently lifted the timer, peering underneath. Sure enough, there was a second small electronic box there, with four tiny wires, all white. One connected to the explosive, the other three to the bottom of the timer.
"A decoy," he breathed, propping the timer up so he could work on the detonator without dislodging any wires. "Very clever... cut ANY of the wires on the timer and it goes off."
NOW he had some idea of what he was working with. He used his throwing knife to cut and strip two of the white wires, twisting the ends together hastily. When he was sure there was good contact between them, he reached out and cut the wire leading into the explosive compound, holding his breath. If he was wrong about this, he was about to be rewarded with a very abrupt death...
The timer stopped at '9', and he let out a whoop of relief, rocking back onto his heels. NOW his hands started shaking, as the adrenalin started to drain from his system. He clambered to his feet and reached for his cell phone, punching a button on the speed dial and listening to it ring as he pulled his shoes on.
The phone clicked, and a woman's voice said, "Manx."
"Manx, it's Omi," he said quickly.
"Omi!" Manx exclaimed, surprised. "The six months aren't quite up yet - are you planning to come back already?"
"I'm not sure, but that's not what I'm calling about," Omi replied, heading down the hall to the stairs. They were faster than the elevator, at least on the way down. "I don't know if you've heard, but Hiro and the rest of Bad Luck have been receiving death threats, and they're not idle threats."
"Yes, I'm aware of the sniping," she said. "I had to pull quite a few strings to get you off the suspect list."
"I figured," Omi answered with a half smile. "You may not have heard yet, Hiro's bike was bombed earlier today. We just got out of questioning an hour ago - someone was trying to steal the bike, and they set off the bomb instead of us."
"You were lucky," Manx replied seriously. "Someone is obviously very determined about this..."
"More than you know," Omi cut her off. "We just got a mail bomb at Yuki and Shuuichi's place. I defused it, but only barely - there was enough C4 in there to take out half the neighbourhood. Whoever it is, they're getting pissed off that they haven't succeeded yet, I think."
"And you're telling me this because..." she prompted him curiously.
"One, because you're going to have to pull a lot MORE strings to keep that detective from wondering about how I knew how to defuse the bomb," he answered. "And two, because I want your help tracing it. They made a mistake - they sent it through a delivery service. I'm betting they're planning on hacking the server and deleting the record, but if you get people on it quickly, you should be able to follow the paper trail. Please?"
There was a long silence as he reached the front door and went out, looking around to see where the others had gone. Finally she replied, "Very well. From your descriptions and what I've seen so far, this is a professional hit job, which technically falls under Kritiker's purview. Up until now this hasn’t been the sort of thing Kritiker gets involved in, but..." she paused, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she continued. "I must admit I'd like to ensure you are still alive to return to Kritiker, should you choose to do so."
Omi smiled as well. "Thank you, Manx," he said affectionately. "I appreciate it." He spotted the others walking down the street towards him as he shut off the cell phone, and waved to them, trotting up to them.
"We figured when the building didn't explode after a few minutes, it was safe to come back," Hiro said wryly, his teeth chattering. They had all run out without even putting their shoes on, much less their coats, and they all looked like they were freezing. In the distance sirens were screaming, rapidly approaching their location.
"Sounds like the bomb squad is finally on its way," Omi commented as they all waited just inside the door. "We got lucky - the bomb wasn't very complicated. But it was definitely the work of a professional - you can learn how to defuse something like that on the Internet, and even theoretically how to build it, but actually producing a bomb that intricate and delicate without blowing yourself up in the process is very difficult. I wouldn't try it for a million dollars!"
He hoped that oblique explanation would be enough to satisfy Yuki and Shuuichi's curiosity about how he'd managed to defuse the bomb. Shuuichi was looking at him with something akin to hero worship, at least, but Yuki looked even more suspicious than before. He sighed.
"Oh look," Hiro commented sarcastically. "It's our favourite detective, heading the pack." Sure enough Detective Kurosaki was climbing out of the lead squad car, striding towards them with a determined look on his face. The bomb squad piled out of the van behind him. Omi groaned and buried his face in his lover's shoulder. "I think, after they're done raking us over the coals, we should all go out for a nice, stiff drink," Hiroshi added under his breath just before the police reached them. "I know I for one will NEED it!"
CHAPTER 5Hiro lined up his shot, balancing the dart carefully and trying to make the target stop wobbling in his vision. Pulling back, he let fly, and watched as the little projectile soared through the air in a perfect arch, landing squarely in the centre... of the open door of the dartboard cupboard. He sighed, and Shuuichi cheered him on.
"Yeah, Hiroshi!" the pink-haired man shouted, drawing curious looks from other patrons of the English pub-style bar. Yuki had suggested the location as being out of the way and not very crowded, with good beer on tap. "Bottoms up, buddy!"
Gamely Hiro picked up his mug and drained half the liquid in it in one long gulp, feeling more than a little unsteady on his feet as he set it down again. "Okay... your turn," he told the grinning Shuuichi.
He settled against the railing of the raised table area beside them, leaning back and trying to conceal how bad his sense of balance really was. "Whose idea was this again?" he asked vaguely, glancing around as if looking for the culprit.
"You and Shuuichi are both equally guilty, I think," Omi told him cheerfully from where he was perched at one of the tables. He sipped his own drink, grinning. Beside him Yuki was on at least his fourth beer, not counting the ones he'd already had at home - he was drunk enough that his eyes were tracking Shuuichi like a homing beacon, and there was a look of soft affection on his face that he would never have permitted if he were even a little bit sober.
"I told you it was a bad idea to take a drink every time you missed," Omi added with bright eyes. Of the four of them he was the least drunk - he was only on his second drink, and he was nursing that. "It's a downward spiral - it can only end one way."
"Yeah, with us being so drunk we can't even remember our own names, much less that someone is trying to kill us," Shuuichi growled, downing his forfeit. Hiro glanced over and saw one dart sticking out of the wall, with two on the ground below it - apparently they hadn't landed point first. "Quit bein' such a spoilsport and come down and PLAY with us, Omi!" he added petulantly.
"Oh, no!" Omi laughed, holding up his hands as if to stop the suggestion. "You two can make fools of yourselves all you like, I'm staying right here."
"If you beat me, I'll make you a copy of the Nittle Grasper video Ryuichi gave me," Shuuichi wheedled. Hiro saw Omi's eyes light up - the video was out of production and had been a limited edition to start with; it was almost impossible to find and Omi had been begging Shuuichi for a copy for months.
"For THAT I will make a fool of myself," Omi happily conceded, getting up and coming around the railing to the lower area and picking up a handful of darts. "You're already plastered, this shouldn't be hard!"
"Yeah, but I've got a higher alcohol tolerance than you, 'cause you NEVER drink," Shuuichi reminded him with a wicked grin.
"We'll see about that," Omi replied, settling the darts firmly in his right hand. Hiro smothered a chuckle behind his hand as he saw his lover blink, look down at the projectiles he held, and hastily switch two to his off hand and adjust his grip on the third. He'd been holding them the way he did when he used his poisoned darts against a target - all three poised to throw at once, and with a flicking motion to fire them instead of a toss. Old habits died hard, he supposed - his lover was going to have a tough time winning this game without giving himself away.
Omi was just rearing back to throw the first dart when the sound of automatic gunfire shattered the quiet atmosphere of the pub, sending people shrieking to the ground, trying to hide under tables. Omi dropped to the floor instantly, and Shuuichi and Hiro hastily followed his example, glancing up to see what was going on.
Six men with armed with Uzis came in through the ruined doorway, their dark suit jackets flapping in the breeze from the shattered window. They looked like stereotypical mobsters from a bad American gangster movie, right down to the fedoras and dark shades at night. They had been firing over the heads of the crowd, their intention to alarm rather than injure.
Behind them came two women in leather, carrying semi-automatic pistols like they'd been born with them in their hands. One was tall and willowy, platinum blond with ice-blue eyes, dressed in skin-tight leather pants and shirt dyed sapphire blue. White boots and gun belt accented the outfit, and the smirk on her lips echoed the cruelty in her eyes. The other was shorter and voluptuous, dark curly hair and flashing green eyes, with an identical outfit in red and black as though they were trying to look like perfect opposites.
The brunette looked around with a smirk firmly in place that reminded Hiro of the German telepath who had once kidnapped him. "All right, ladies and gentlemen," she purred, her voice smooth with a trace of an accent. Something from the southern U.S., he wasn't sure what. "All of you that AREN'T one of those four pretty boys in the back, feel free to leave. In fact, I highly suggest you do so."
To emphasise her point, the six gunmen fired over the heads of the crowd again, and screaming people exited the pub en masse. Most went through the broken window; a few brave souls sidled by the gunmen to the door. Hiro felt frozen to the floor, his throat too dry to speak and his knees shaking. Beside him Omi had also gone still, his blue eyes tracking back and forth between all the gunmen, keeping track of exactly where they all were.
"You stay right where you are, honey," the blond drawled, aiming her pistol at Yuki, who had half-risen from his chair. One of the machine gun-toting men trotted up to the table area, and held his gun an inch from the writer's temple. With an ill-tempered growl, Yuki subsided. "Good boy," the woman said patronizingly. "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep behaving. The rest of you, stand up."
"Wh-what the hell do you WANT?" Shuuichi demanded as they scrambled to their feet, edging behind Omi as if to put the other boy between himself and the guns.
"You boys have given us the toughest time killing you," the brunette told him, hopping up to sit on the edge of a table and swinging her legs, for all the world like they were just a group of friends sitting in a bar together. "I've hunted ex-military that went down easier than you. Two bombs and a sniper attack, and the worst you get is a scratch on the shoulder," she added, saluting Hiro with her gun briefly. "And a bullet in the thigh of a friend, I hear, but that was just a lucky shot on my part. Couldn't see a damn thing through that couch."
"You were the sniper?" Hiro blurted out, shocked. She nodded, smirking. "Jeez, I figured you were..." he trailed off, realizing that insulting the people holding guns on him and his friends might not be the smartest thing in the world to do.
"A guy?" she finished for him helpfully, and laughed when he flushed. "Most guys do, honey. Don't feel bad about it. Now... you boys have sure managed to piss someone off. My partner and I don't come cheap, and he's going full out to get you dead. Right now, you have a choice - you can either co-operate, or we can do it the hard way," the woman said. "Our orders are just to kill the two band members, nothing was said about your pretty lovers. If we do it the easy way, we MIGHT just be persuaded to let them live."
"You won't let any of us leave alive," Omi bit out, his voice as hard and cold as it had been during the sniper attack. Hiro saw that his eyes had darkened, and there was a tenseness about his shoulders that suggested he was ready for a fight. "We've seen what you look like, you can't afford to let us talk to the police."
The blond looked at him curiously, like a scientist might examine a lab rat that had surprised them. "You're the same boy that got everyone under cover, aren't you?" she asked thoughtfully. "I bet you're the one that defused the mail bomb, too. Who ARE you?"
Omi pressed his lips together and stayed silent, and she shrugged. "No matter. You're right, of course. But my partner is right about one thing - we can do this the easy way, or the difficult way. That is to say, your deaths can be quick and easy, or..." she trailed off, smiling nastily, and Hiroshi hastily revised his opinion of her as 'the nice one'. The coldness in her eyes promised a great deal of pain and suffering, and told you that she would enjoy every second of it.
He fumbled for his lover's hand, knowing that their minutes were limited and they were out of options. He found Omi's hand clenched in a fist, and the boy shook Hiro's fingers away instantly with a brief warning look. Hiro fought not to show his surprise - Omi was planning something, that much was clear, and he wanted his hands free for it. Suddenly Hiro had a bit more hope for their survival.
The brunette sauntered forward, pulling a knife from a sheath on her belt. It was fully six inches long, and looked sharp enough to split a hair. "The police are on their way, so we don't have much time - but I'm sure we could enjoy ourselves a bit before we go." She touched the point of the knife to Shuuichi's cheek, sliding it down over his face and leaving a wire-thin trail of blood behind. Yuki growled and tried to stand up again, and was slammed back into the chair by the butt of the Uzi. Laughing at the whimper Shuuichi couldn't quite swallow, she slipped the knife under the straps of his tank tops on one arm and jerked upwards, slicing through them cleanly. It fell to hang from the other shoulder, exposing part of his chest and one flat brown nipple. Yuki snarled something rude, but stayed where he was.
There was a delicate, fragile look in Shuuichi's eyes, and Hiro knew the hell he must be going through. This had to be all too reminiscent of the rape and beating he'd suffered at the hands of that bastard Aizawa Taki, the lead singer of Ask. He prayed that Omi would do whatever it was he was planning to do soon, before Shuuichi broke.
Omi had tensed further beside him, his eyes steady on the gunmen. Another rip of fabric and a terrified little moan from Shuuichi told Hiro the tank top was gone, and he couldn't bear to watch his friend fall apart.
The gunmen's eyes darted towards Shuuichi as he moaned, for just an instant. That was what Omi had been waiting for - with a lightning-quick motion he flung his hand forward, releasing the darts he'd been holding. The little projectiles weren't poisoned like his usual weapons of choice, but he managed to catch one gunman in the eye and another in the throat.
He leapt forward, shouting, "Shuuichi! Hiro! RUN!" as he lashed out at the nearest man. His foot caught the man squarely in the groin - as he bent over double, clutching at his privates, Omi rolled over his back and landed a punch in a second man's nose. There was a crack of bone splitting and a horrible wet sucking noise, and the second man dropped like a rock to join his dead companions on the floor.
Hiro was already moving, grabbing Shuuichi's arm and hauling him along when it appeared the vocalist was in too much shock to run himself. He saw Yuki turn and sucker punch the man holding a gun on him as he turned to fire at Hiro and Shuuichi.
The two women were shouting at their men, their guns drawn but hesitating to fire because they would hit their own people. The last upright gunman loomed before them, but Omi had a grip on his gun and wasn't letting him get it around to aim at Hiroshi and Shuuichi.
The man ducked out of the shoulder strap, sending Omi tumbling to the ground off balance with the gun on his hands. He charged Hiro and Shuuichi, and Hiro made a split second decision. "Shuuichi, go!" he shouted, shoving his best friend at the door. He met the rushing man with his shoulder, firmly planting himself and knocking the wind out of the big man. Shuuichi was still running, and he was in the clear now, still hidden from the women's line of fire by Hiro and the gunman. "Find Ken and Youji, tell them what happened!" Hiro added, praying Shuuichi had heard him.
Hiro wound up for a punch, but froze when he felt a gun barrel pressed to the small of his back. "Move and I'll blow your spine to pieces," the blond growled. Omi had the gun in his hands, but hadn't quite managed to aim it at anyone. He froze when he heard the blond threaten his lover. "Good boy. Drop the gun, stand up slowly and come over here."
"You're going to kill us all anyway," Omi pointed out calmly, as though he weren't discussing his own death. His eyes were frozen and hard, the eyes of a killer.
"I can shoot him in the head and kill him fast, or I can shoot him in the stomach and kill him slow," she promised sweetly. "Your choice."
Omi set the gun gently on the floor, aimed towards the wall. He stood slowly, his hands in the air, his eyes watching Hiro's captor intently. In the distance Hiro could hear police sirens growing rapidly nearer, and he knew they would be killed soon, before the police could reach.
"We don't have time for this," the brunette snapped. "Gerald, Orrin, Vince - round them up and get them out to the van." The three men still standing nodded and herded the three of them together, shoving them towards the door with the barrels of their guns.
"Why aren't they just killing us?" Hiro whispered to Omi in confusion. The blond boy shook his head slightly, indicating that he didn't know.
"Shut up," the brunette woman ordered irritably. "We're not killing you yet because we owe you for the deaths of three of our men. Good, willing cannon fodder is hard to find these days, you know."
"We're going to hear you scream before you die," the blond promised, her eyes alight with an unholy glee. Hiro realized that she wasn't entirely sane.
"You promised..." Omi blurted out, and the blond pistol-whipped him across the face.
"Don't be naive," she told him in an almost friendly voice. He fell silent, but Hiro could see the despair mixed with determination in his eyes.
They were shoved into the back of the van, both gunmen climbing in after them to keep control of them. Omi looked like he was debating attacking one of them when the van started moving, but he lost his chance when one of them tied him securely with heavy rope while the other two held guns on them.
Hiroshi was terrified, and he wasn't reluctant to admit it. The look in Omi's eyes told him that the ex-assassin didn't think their chances were very good - he was looking more for ways to kill them before they could be tortured than for a way to escape, now. Hiro shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort. Yuki had the same resigned look in his eyes as Omi, and that didn't bode well for their future either. At least Shuuichi had escaped, and who knew? Maybe Kritiker could even rescue them, if the vocalist made it to Ken and Youji in time.
The ride to wherever it was seemed interminable to Hiro, as though time had slowed to a crawl. The adrenalin in his system was wearing off, and he felt exhausted and weighed down, like his limbs were filled with lead. Finally they were herded back out of the van into what looked like a warehouse, and shoved into three makeshift cages in a small storage room. Two of the gunmen took up poses on either side of the door, and they both kept a sharp eye on Omi.
"Now that we won't have any interruptions," the brunette purred as she and her partner entered the room, "we can play with you boys properly. Bring the little blond out," she ordered one of the men, and he moved to comply while his partner kept his gun trained on Omi. They weren't taking any chances - well, small wonder, when the boy had single-handedly killed three of their men with nothing more than three darts and his fists. Hiro gripped the iron bars of his cage and watched, mouth dry with apprehension as they tied Omi's arms and legs to a chair in the centre of the room.
'What are you going to do to him?" he demanded, rattling the side of the cage. The enclosures were clearly jury-rigged, but strong despite that, and he knew he wouldn't be able to break free. Yuki watched them all with wary eyes from his side of the room.
"I've got a few questions I want to ask him," the brunette said, moving to a table at one side and fiddling with something there. She turned to display a needle full of clear golden fluid. "Do you know what this is?"
"Sodium pentathol?" Omi exclaimed, sounding surprised. "That stuff is useless, everyone knows that," he added derisively. "It makes the victim intoxicated enough to babble, but it doesn't force you to tell the truth!"
"Close, but not quite," the blond said, smirking. "It's a derivative of that so-called 'Truth Serum', chemically related but quite different. This stuff actually WORKS."
Omi eyed the approaching needle with trepidation. "Not possible," he muttered, working the bonds at his wrists frantically. "Governments and police forces have been trying to formulate something like that for YEARS, and they haven't managed it!"
"We have our sources," the brunette proclaimed mysteriously, and stabbed the needle into his arm. Omi went rigid, choking. Slowly, his tense muscles started to relax, and his head nodded a bit as though he didn't have the strength to keep it upright.
"How do you feel?" the blond asked solicitously after a few moments.
"Fuzzy," Omi replied, then blinked slowly as though he hadn't expected himself to answer her. His eyes got a panicked look in them, and he started to struggle again.
"Good," the brunette murmured. "Let's start with something easy. How old are you?"
"N-n-nineteen," he choked out, sounding like the words were forced from his throat. The panic in his eyes turned into full-blown terror, and he whimpered softly.
Hiro could only clutch at the bars and stare at his helpless lover, wishing there was something he could do. Omi looked past the brunette, right into Hiro's eyes, his gaze sorrowful and pleading. 'I love you,' his eyes seemed to say, 'please forgive me'.
Hiro watched as Omi did something odd with his jaw, moving it in a way that it just didn't normally go. It looked like he was trying to bite down on something at the back of his mouth...
"Hold his jaw!" the blond abruptly snapped. Startled, the brunette grabbed his chin and pried his jaws apart, holding him that way. Omi made a frustrated noise and started to thrash around as much as he could, while the blond approached and peered into his mouth. "I thought so," she said grimly, turning to the table. She grabbed a pair of wicked-looking tweezers, so big they could really almost be called tongs. "Hold him still - he's got a poison tooth. He was trying to suicide!"
Hiro felt his blood run cold, and saw the despair in his lover's eyes as the tall woman pried something out of the back of his jaw on the right side. The brunette let go of him and he dropped his head again, spitting blood. It had never occurred to Hiroshi that Omi might have a suicide capsule of some sort, tucked away where he could get to it in an emergency - probably because despite his awareness of Omi's constant danger as a member of Weiss, it had never occurred to him that Omi might one day be tortured for information.
He glanced over and saw that Yuki had come to stand at his own bars, staring hard at the boy in the chair. Hiro couldn't blame him for being suspicious; 'I spend a lot of time on the Internet' just didn't explain why Omi would have been fitted with a poison tooth.
"Now, let's try this again," the brunette said coldly, the warmth vanished from her voice as though it had never been. She appeared to have been angered by Omi's attempt to escape her, as though it were a personal affront. "What's your name?"
"Ts-tsukiyono Omi," Omi slurred, his voice a bit garbled by the blood still in his mouth. He spat again, turning a spot on the floor bright red. Hiro winced at the sight.
"Is that so?" the woman responded. "What's your REAL name?"
Omi hesitated, resisting for a brief moment. "Ts-ts-tsukiyono Omi!" he finally got out, panting.
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't think so," she replied caustically. "Tell me your real name, boy!"
"Tsukiyono OMI!" Omi said, this time with no hesitation at all. The woman pulled back her hand as if to backhand him, but was stopped by her partner.
"Subtlety, my dear," the blond chided, as though this was a lesson her partner had failed to learn many times before. "If the victim can convince himself he's telling the truth, the drug can't force a different answer from him, you know that. You must learn to word your questions better." She turned to Omi. "What name were you born with?"
Omi choked, struggling not to answer. Hiro held his breath - he knew that 'Omi' wasn't his lover's real name, but he never had found out what it was. The one time he'd asked, Omi had replied that he WAS 'Omi' now, and didn't want to be known by any other name. The pain and sorrow in his eyes had convinced Hiro to drop it.
"Ts.... ts..." Omi stuttered helplessly, fighting the influence of the drug. "Ts... T-takatori Mamoru," he finally gasped, slumping in the chair. Hiro thought the name sounded vaguely familiar - hadn't the Prime Minister who'd been assassinated last year been named Takatori? Yuki straightened up as though he'd been smacked - obviously he recognized the name.
"Takatori!" the blond exclaimed, surprised. Apparently she recognized it too, Hiro thought a little sourly. "Well, well, that's a surprise. The little lost Takatori boy - I thought you were dead."
"I w-was kidnapped," Omi blurted, apparently compelled to answer even though it hadn't technically been a question. "M-my father refused to p-pay the ransom..."
"Oh, poor little thing," the brunette chirped, voice dripping with insincere sweetness. "Who do you work for, poor little thing?"
"No one," Omi replied, hanging his head.
"Oh, don't give me that. Who do you work for?"
"No one!" Omi repeated insistently. She backhanded him, too quickly for her partner to stop her this time.
"Who do you work for?"
"No one!" he cried, tears on his face.
"Well who the hell trained you to be so damned GOOD, then?" she snapped in frustration, and Omi fought the compulsion once more.
"N-n-no... Kritiker."
"Kritiker!" The blond jerked upright from where she'd been leaning against the wall. "What's your codename?"
"I don't have a..."
"What WAS your codename," she interrupted his reply, apparently catching on that he was using the fact that he was no longer IN Kritiker to evade the questions.
"Bombay," he replied brokenly. He didn't have any tricks left, and couldn't resist any more. They were going to get everything they wanted from him. Hiro clenched his fists around the bars, fuming.
"What group were you a part of?"
"Weiss," he answered, and Hiro saw Yuki look surprised again.
"I thought Weiss were dead?" the brunette asked curiously, and the blond shook her head thoughtfully.
"No... it's just that no one has seen hide or hair of them for about six months. Everyone in the business assumed Schwartz had finally gotten tired of playing with them. Are the rest of your teammates still alive?"
"I don't know," he answered listlessly. She snorted.
"You're going to be bloody literal about this, aren't you? When was the last time you knew for a fact that all of them were still alive?"
"L-last week."
"Are they still in Kritiker? Is Weiss still operational?"
"No. Weiss was disbanded."
"How long ago?"
"Almost six months."
"Who runs Kritiker?"
"Persia."
"Who is Persia?"
"I don't know."
She frowned at him. "Who is Persia?" she asked again.
"I don't know," he replied again.
"Oh, for bloody... who WAS Persia?"
"T-takatori Shuichi," Omi struggled a bit with that one, but the drug had too strong a hold on him now.
"Eh?" She looked surprised. "Takatori Shuichi has been dead more than a year. Who's been running Kritiker in the meantime?"
"Persia."
She glared at him, then light dawned. "Has there been more than one Persia?"
"Yes."
"And you don't know who the current one is," she concluded. He shook his head. "How did you get your orders, then?"
"Through Manx or Birman."
She sighed. "Do you know who THEY are?" He shook his head again. "Can you describe them?"
"Yes."
She waited for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Well, DO it!"
There was a frantic banging at the door before Omi could get more than a word out, and the third guard burst through. "Ma'am! Intruders at the front gate, three of them!"
"Oh for God's sake," the blond exclaimed. "Can't you numbwits do anything right?" She gestured for one of the men at the door to follow her, telling the other, "Stay here and guard them." Her partner followed her out the door, leaving the three of them alone with just one guard.
Omi slumped over in his chair, looking miserable and exhausted. "Omi, are you okay?" Hiro called, worried.
"I'm dizzy," Omi replied, his voice a bit slurred. He made a face. "And I really don't like this drug."
"You're a member of Weiss?" Yuki asked him, his tone biting.
"Yes," Omi answered automatically, and his eyes widened. "Yuki... please, don't ask me any..."
"The same Weiss that assassinated Takatori Reiji last year?" he demanded coldly.
"Y-yes," Omi stuttered, frantic. "PLEASE, Yuki, I can't tell you... don't ask me to..."
"You killed your own father?"
Hiro blinked. "Father?" he repeated. It made sense, he decided - Omi had told him once that his father had been a powerful, corrupt politician.
"No," Omi choked, tears running down his face again. "Please..."
"Leave him ALONE, Yuki!" Hiro ordered, incensed. "God, hasn't he just been through enough?"
"Don't you understand?" Yuki growled back, gesturing at Omi. "Your boyfriend is an assassin! He killed his own father!"
"I didn't kill Reiji," Omi protested weakly. Yuki glared at him.
"But one of your teammates did," he guessed. Omi nodded. "And you were involved." Omi nodded again, crying harder. "And your brothers?"
"I killed Hirofumi," Omi admitted in a strained whisper. "Masafumi died in an explosion of his own creation - but we were there, fighting with Schreient."
'Schreient' was a name Hiroshi hadn't heard before, but he figured it was just another group like Schwartz. "Back OFF, Yuki!" he snarled, rattling the bars of his cage.
Yuki gave HIM a sharp look. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
Hiro sighed. "I knew he was in Weiss," he agreed. "If Weiss went after Takatori Reiji, it was because Reiji deserved to die, nothing more, nothing less."
"Like all those people who died because of the bombs Weiss planted back then?" Yuki demanded.
"NO!" Omi blurted out, straining forward against his bindings as if to emphasise his point. "We didn't set those! Schwartz did, to frame us and give Reiji an excuse to call out the Special Defence Force and put the city under martial law!" He choked again on his tears. "We would NEVER endanger innocents like that," he finished in a whisper.
Yuki looked surprised. "You're telling me you've never killed an innocent person?" he snorted.
The tears came harder, and Hiro winced. "I have," Omi replied, sobbing. "I've stood by and listened while innocents were tortured, killed, because saving them would mean losing the target. I've hurt and killed guards, bystanders - people who weren't involved or who were just doing their jobs. I..." he hung his head further, "I'm the one who set off the bomb that killed all those kids!"
The tears were flowing faster now, like one constant stream of water. "We didn't know they were in there. We were trying to RESCUE them! I thought they'd already been handed off to the buyers - I made the decision, I pressed the detonator. It's my fault!"
"Omi, it's not your fault," Hiro protested, glaring at Yuki and promising death if the writer dared to contradict him. "You didn't know they were there, you couldn't possibly have known. You stopped the bastards from taking any MORE kids! You've saved a dozen lives for every life you've taken, maybe more. It's not your fault!"
There was a kind of wary respect in Yuki's gaze now, and Hiro softened towards him a little. He couldn't really blame the writer for his reaction - after all, hadn't he thought exactly the same thing when he'd first found out about his lover's night-time activities? "You're saying that Weiss are vigilantes," Yuki said slowly, coming to the same conclusion Hiro had.
"Kritiker tracks those who are too powerful or wealthy to be caught by the police," Hiro replied grimly when it looked like Omi wasn't going to say anything. Apparently the damn drug was finally wearing off. "People who keep buying their way free, who think they can get away with anything. I've known about it for a while now, and I support Omi and the others a hundred percent in what they're doing."
Something heavy slammed against the door, and their guard swung around to aim his gun at it nervously. He fired a spray of bullets, stitching a line of holes along the door and wall at chest level. There was silence for a moment when he'd stopped, Hiro's ears ringing from the noise of the gun being fired in such an enclosed area.
When there was no sound from the other side after a long moment, the guard hesitantly unlocked the door and eased it open. Almost immediately he was ensnared about the throat and shoulders by a nearly invisible wire, choking to death. He dropped his gun to try to pry the wire from around his neck, his efforts futile. Youji appeared in the doorway, holding the wire in his gloved hands. He tightened it a little further, watching impassively as blood flowed down the length to his hands.
Finally he dropped the man, Ken shoving by him to get through the door. "Omi!" the brunette exclaimed, hurrying over to slash at his friend's bonds with his claw. He saw the blood on the floor and on Omi's shirt and swore. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Omi replied, looking up at his friend gratefully. "They got my poison tooth, that's all." Ken grimaced, and helped him stand. "I'm still a little woozy - they drugged me, some kind of weird truth serum that actually works!"
Ken looked at his teammate in the door. "Youji? Can you get Hiro and the other guy out?"
"Yuki," Omi corrected him as they staggered towards the door together. Youji got the keys to the cells from the dead guard, and Hiro ran over to take his lover's other arm as soon as he was free. "That's Yuki Eiri, Shuuichi's boyfriend."
"Right, sorry," Ken grinned over his shoulder at the tall blond man. "No offence. Let's get out of here."
They exited the room, and found Aya standing guard in the hallway, katana drawn and ready. He nodded at Omi. "Are we ready to go?" he asked.
"YES," Omi replied fervently. They made their way back through the corridors, passing the bodies of the two women as they went. Omi looked at the claw rake across one throat and the deep wound on the other's chest. "Oh, good," he said with a sigh of relief. "I don't think I'm up to killing anyone tonight."
Yuki shot him a wary look, presumably for the ease with which he made that statement, and Aya seemed to take note of the other man for the first time. "What do we do with him?" the redhead growled as they reached the outside, jerking his thumb at the writer.
"Yuki won't tell anyone about us, will you?" Omi answered, looking up at Yuki with pleading eyes. "Please, Yuki..."
"Not even Shuuichi," Hiro added for good measure. "I love him like a brother, but anything Shuuichi knows, the whole city knows five minutes later."
"I know that," Yuki snapped, rolling his eyes. "I won't tell anyone," he agreed. "I... can't say that I agree with what you do... but I don't disagree with it, either," he added wearily. Aya nodded, satisfied.
"Good. Then let's get out of here."
Hiro helped support Omi to the sleek sports car that awaited them - Aya's Porsche, he figured, remembering Omi mentioning something about that once. They squeezed in, Omi sprawled across Hiro's lap since there wasn't enough room. Hiro buried his face in his lover's neck, breathing deeply of the scent he loved and feeling Omi's pulse against his cheek.
"Kritiker caught the jerk that set you up," Ken told them, shifting to take some of Omi's weight as well. "The idiot used his own credit card to pay for the mail bomb delivery - these two must have just made it for him and given it to him. He was taken into custody just as we were leaving to track you guys, and his fingerprints matched the ones on the letters. Aizawa Taki."
"You've got to be kidding me!" Hiro blurted out. "Didn't he learn his lesson LAST time?" Yuki growled assent from beside him.
"Last time?" Omi asked sleepily from his shoulder. "Who is he?"
"The lead singer of Ask," Hiro replied grimly. "It happened during that period when you and I weren't speaking for a month - he paid three guys to rape and beat Shuuichi, to try to get him to drop out of Bad Luck."
"Oh my god!" Omi exclaimed, shocked. "What happened?"
"Yuki went and beat the crap out of him, and we haven't heard from him since," Hiro said. "We thought that was the end of it - I guess not."
"The little bastard," Yuki snarled. "When he gets out of prison, he'd better find a deep, dark hole and crawl into it, or I will go after him again, and I will kill him this time."
"We didn't hear that," Youji drawled from up front. "No death threats in front of the vigilantes, please. We might be the ones tracking you down."
Omi giggled, and Hiro smothered a chuckle as well. They were safe, the nightmare was over, and they were still together. What more could a man ask of the universe?
EPILOGUEOmi glanced around curiously as they walked up the sidewalk. They still hadn't gotten around to getting their bikes replaced, so they'd been taking the subway for the last few weeks since the bomb and the kidnapping. They were on their way to Shuuichi's family's house, where a party was being hosted to celebrate the end of the terror.
"What did Manx say?" Hiroshi asked him, referring to the meeting Omi and the rest of Weiss had gone to that morning.
"Weiss is back in operation, but as a training group," Omi told his lover. "We won't be doing field work, we'll be training new groups to do what we used to do. Plus she's got me doing research for missions for the groups, since I'm still the best hacker Kritiker has." He rolled his eyes. "From some of the things she was saying, I think she's got some crazy idea of making ME Persia in a few years!"
Hiro chuckled. "I can't think of anyone better," he said, ducking the mock-punch his boyfriend swung at him.
Omi tugged at his shirt for the thousandth time as they approached the front door. "I can't believe Shuuichi's mother agreed to host this party," he whispered to Hiro as his lover rang the doorbell.
Hiro grinned at him. "She started speaking to him again after she heard about the bombs and the sniper on the news," he told him. "I guess she realized that her son being gay wasn't worth losing him over. I'm glad - Shuuichi's pretty close to his family. They're great people."
"How are they going to take the news that YOU'RE gay, too?" Omi asked him impishly, and Hiro rolled his eyes.
"Gods only know... Hey, Shuuichi!" he greeted his friend as the door opened.
"C'mon in, you're the last ones here," Shuuichi scolded them, ushering them inside and showing them where to put their jackets. "Everyone else is in the living room, and my mom's in the kitchen making snacks. Can you believe it? She's a fan of Yuki's writing - she hasn't left him alone since he got here!" he rolled his eyes at the vagaries of parents, and bounded back down the hallway. "C'mon, hurry up!"
"Some things will never change," Hiro chuckled as they followed him more slowly. Shuuichi disappeared around a corner ahead of them as Omi nodded his agreement.
The hallway was lined with framed photographs, showing all manner of places and people. Many had Shuuichi in them, surrounded by people Omi assumed were his parents and younger sister. Hiroshi was in a fair number of them as well, and Omi paused to exclaim over a picture of the two boys at age five. "Awww, you were cute!" he crowed, pointing. Hiro blushed.
"Shuuichi's dad is an amateur photographer," he told Omi. "He takes pictures of EVERYTHING, so be prepared to be blinded by the flashes today."
Omi giggled, and turned to look at the rest of the pictures. A formal black and white portrait caught his eyes, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. "Oh my god..."
"Omi?" Hiro caught his arm to steady him, looking concerned. "What's wrong?"
Omi stared at the photograph with a sort of sick fascination. He knew that picture, knew it very well - he'd last seen it when Ouka had introduced him to her mother. Two men stood behind a woman with a toddler in her arms, two teenagers filling out the rest of the picture. "Does everyone in the world have a copy of this picture except ME?" he exclaimed, voice shaking.
There was a crash behind them, and he spun to put his back to the wall, heart racing. A plump, forty-something woman stood with a hand over her mouth, staring at him; the ruins of a tray of teacups lay at her feet. Omi stared back at her, feeling eerily like he should know her.
"Mamoru?" she finally breathed out, making him jump again. "You're Mamoru, aren't you?"
"H-how do you know that name?" he nearly squeaked, shaking. Everyone who knew him by that name was supposed to be dead - everyone in the photograph behind him.
She took a step towards him, but stopped when he jerked away from her, keeping the same distance between them. Distantly he was aware of observers in the other doorway, the one that led to the living room. "Mom?" he heard Shuuichi ask hesitantly.
"Don't you know who I am?" she asked Omi, ignoring her son entirely. "Don't you remember me?"
"I..." Omi choked on the word, and felt Hiro's hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "I have amnesia," he told her, glad that his voice stayed relatively steady. "I really don't remember much before I was eleven."
She collapsed down to her knees, looking faint, and Shuuichi raced over to catch her. She waved him away. "They said you were dead," she murmured, still staring at Omi like she'd seen a ghost. "Reiji said they'd taken the ransom money and killed you anyway..."
Omi's lower lip trembled, and he controlled it fiercely. "He refused to pay," he said hoarsely, bitterly. "He told them they were welcome to me. They never got any money from him."
"That unmentionable bastard," Shuuichi's mother swore, tears on her face. "First he took my sister from me, and then you..."
"Your... sister?" Omi repeated uncertainly. She got to her feet again, coming towards him when it seemed he wasn't going to bolt.
"Your mother was my oldest sister," she told him gently, and his eyes widened. "I was very close to her, but after she married Takatori I hardly ever saw her. Just before she killed herself, she asked me to watch over you - but Reiji would never let me near you, and then it was too late."
"Omi and I are COUSINS?" Shuuichi blurted out, amazed. Omi felt like he would surely wake up any moment - this was too good to be true.
"It would explain the remarkable resemblance between you," K pointed out from where he leaned on his crutch in the doorway.
"I... I thought my family was all dead..." Omi stuttered, in shock. "I... cousins?"
She gathered him up in a huge hug, and he didn't protest, embracing her back slowly. "I still have family?" he whispered, not quite believing it.
"This ROCKS!" Shuuichi exclaimed, punching the air as his mother pulled away. "Wow, this is so cool! I never had a cousin before - Mom's other sister doesn't have any kids, and Dad was an only child, and we NEVER saw you and your brothers!"
"You're lucky," Omi muttered under his breath, but thankfully no one caught it except Hiro. The guitarist gave Omi's hand a reassuring squeeze, and the look in his eyes showed the he knew just how much this meant to his lover.
"You are always welcome in my home, Mamo... Omi," she amended perceptively when he flinched at the hated name. She glanced down at his hand clasped in Hiro's, and sighed a bit. "Though it appears I'm going to have to get used to the idea that this apparently runs in my family." She patted his hand to show that she meant no offence, and he gave her a watery smile.
"Thank you," he whispered, squeezing Hiro's hand back. "Thank you so much! You'll never know how much this means to me..." He trailed after her into the living room - into his COUSIN'S living room - feeling somehow as if he'd been rewarded for surviving everything bad that had happened to him. He had his lover by his side, his friends all around him - and he had FAMILY again. He couldn't ask for anything more.