Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Parental Revenge ❯ Parental Revenge ( Chapter 1 )

Parental Revenge One-shot Written by:chochowilliams Disclaimer:I do not own Gravitation or any of the characters from it.  I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Story summary:Bad Luck is on tour in the States.  Right before they are scheduled to go on at Madison Square Garden, a man somehow is able to sneak backstage.  He is out for revenge and his target?  Shindou Shuichi. Warning:Coarse language, violence A/N:   This was posted previously, but has been edited.  Enjoy!   +---+---+---+   February   It was nearing ten o'clock when Scott Keene stepped out of the elevator.  That was when he heard it.  With each step he took towards his apartment, the louder it became and the angrier he got.  Rounding the corner, he saw a crowd outside his apartment door.   “Son of a mother fucking bitch,” he spit.   One of his neighbors saw him coming and marched towards him with her hands fisted on her hips.  She was wearing a fluffy pink robe and matching slippers.  Her greying black hair was up in curlers.  A few were hanging loose around her face.  Even with the creepy green slime covering her face, Scott could see she was beyond annoyed.  “Mr. Keene,” she snapped.  “This is ridiculous!”   “That's right,” agreed another woman in a rumbled black suit.  “I have to get up at five to go into the office!  How the hell am I supposed to sleep with this shit shaking my whole apartment?”   Scott recognized her as the woman from the apartment next to his. She was always complaining and bitching about one thing or another.  She was such a nuisance.   “Tell your daughter to listen to her music at a descent level,” a youngish woman in her twenties demanded.  Her hair was sticking on end and a robe covered her nightgown.  In her arms was a tiny baby not much bigger than Scott's hand.  Over the blaring music emanating from his apartment, he could not hear the baby's screams, though he could see its mouth working and its face was as red as a tomato.  “It's hard enough getting him to sleep!”   “That's right, Mr. Keene!  This's been going on all night!”   Scott was not only angry at his daughter for deliberately disobeying him when he told her he did not want her listening to that crap, but for pissing off the neighbors and bringing their shit down on them.  He was also annoyed at the neighbors for taking it out on him.  If they had a problem with his daughter, who was at home and he at work, then they should have asked her to turn it down.  What was he supposed to do about it?  He worked two full time jobs in order to support him and his daughter.  He was gone all day and could not keep an eye on everything that was said and done when he was not home!  But these batty idiots all believed that he should have better control over his daughter.  And how did they expect him to do that?  He did the fucking best he could!   “She's been listening to that same CD over and over all day,” another woman told them calmly but loudly so as to be heard over the music as she stepped out of her apartment.   “We've been trying your apartment to tell her to keep it down, but of course who could hear a doorbell over that crap!”   “I was seriously this close to calling the cops!”   “Alright!  Alright,” Scott snapped as he pushed passed them towards his apartment.  “Get the fuck out of my way and stop chewing my goddamn ass off!”   Complaints and curses followed in his wake as he roughly brushed past the gathered ladies to get to his apartment, but he ignored it all.  He hated every single one of these people.  They complained about every little thing!  Even when Deborah did listen to him, they always managed to find something to bitch at him about.  It was seriously beginning to piss him off.   “I've been at work since six this fucking morning!”  He rattled the doorknob.  It was locked.  He dug into his pockets for his keys.  “I told her a millions times to not listen to that shit!  And if she was going to listen to the radio to keep it down!  What the fuck do you expect me to do when I at work all fucking day?!”   Finding his key ring, he slipped his key into the lock and threw the door open with more force then he intended. The door crashed into the wall, the doorknob leaving a deep indentation in the wall.  It wobbled and swung back at him.  He caught it before it hit him.  A wall of sound blasted out of the apartment.  The thumping bass of the music sounded louder now than it had earlier.  The gathered crowd winced and groaned in pain, covering their ears with their hands.   Without bothering to take off his shoes, he marched into the house towards his daughter's room.  He flung the door open with the same force he used to open the apartment door.  He stood in the doorway and searched the room for the radio.  Seeing it on the dresser, he strode over to it and yanked the plug out of the wall.  Immediately silence filled the apartment building.  Cries, whistling and clapping accompanied the silence.   “Deborah Keene!  Deborah Ann Keene,” he yelled.  “You got some explaining to do young lady!”  He waited and glanced around the room.  “Deb-”   His gaze swept passed the closet with its rod, which was intended for a curtain in lee of a door. Only the beaded curtain that he had bought for his daughter this past Christmas was gone.  Instead, what he found drained the color from his face.  The room spun around him.  With a strangled cry, everything went black.   +---+---+   “We talked to her friends, schoolmates, teachers and even her school counselor.  Apparently, she has been very depressed lately,” a detective in a crisp grey suit was saying.   His partner nodded in agreement.  “They all said her boyfriend dumped her for some cheerleader when he found out she was pregnant,” she continued.   “Tests confirmed she was three months pregnant when she hung herself.”   Scott heard it all, but took none of it in.  It flowed in one ear and out the other.  There was nothing wrong with his daughter.  She was a happy-go-lucky girl, top of her class; all the colleges were fighting over her.  She had several scholarships, a high paying part time job.  Everybody loved her.  She had no enemies.  She did not drink, smoke, take drugs and certainly did not have pre-marital sex.  They talked about that.  His Debbie was a good little girl, not some slut.  No, what had killed her was that crappy music, that damn techno pop music from that sinful, immoral whore!  He did this to his baby!  He tainted her, turned her against her own father and her beliefs!   He felt a rectangular piece of paper in his pocket.  A sly, twisted smile lit his face as he thought how he was gong to make that bastard pay for what he did to her little girl.   +---+---+   Shuichi sat in his dressing room at Madison Square Garden in New York City, staring forlornly at his reflection.   Bad Luck had been on their world tour to support their latest album, Loveless for the past six months, which of course had debuted at number one and was still on the charts seven months later.  Now they were starting their North American leg of the tour. Shuichi was exhausted.  Physically, mentally and emotionally.  At least when Eiri was on tour with them, he gave Shuichi the strength he needed.   Unfortunately, Eiri left the day before to go on a book tour his editor had thrown together at the last minute when his latest book hit the best seller's list.    Sighing, Shuichi dropped his head back and closed his eyes.   Shuichi already missed him.  He started missing him the second his editor called with the “good news”.  Sometimes he really hated that woman.  Both men were so busy that they hardly had time to spend together anymore.  Eiri going on tour with Bad Luck was pretty much the only time they could get some time alone and to have that bitch blackmail his lover into going home early, really pissed him off.   Lifting his head, he studied his reflection.  His hair stylist had chopped his hair off and styled it into spikes.  They had dyed his hair white this time, but dyed his bangs hot pink.  He was wearing a pair of tight, low waisted black leather pants, a tight red sleeveless cropped shirt and a knee length black trail duster with white swirl filigree patterns across it.  The diamond earrings that Eiri had bought for him right before the tour began glinted in the light.  The perfectly applied makeup accentuated his features and made him appear exotic.   Standing up, he began pacing his dressing room restlessly.  He jumped in place.  Shook his wrists and legs.  Rotated his neck.  He then did his voice exercises.   Glancing at the clock, he noticed that their opening act would just be going on.  They still had some time.  He wondered where Hiro and the others were.  They certainly were taking awhile getting ready.    A hand flew to his stomach as it let loose a loud growl.  He chuckled and went to the door.  He had been so busy today that he had forgotten to eat dinner.  If he did not eat something, Eiri would have his head.   “Hey, Isaac,” he called out in his native Japanese tongue.   Isaac Smith was one of his bodyguards that Tohma had assigned for the tour.   “Can you-?”  Shuichi blinked and glanced around.  There were a bunch of people racing around like chickens with their heads cut off.  Everyone was shouting.  It was chaos backstage.  It was nothing new.  But what he did not see was his bodyguard.  “Huh?  I wonder…”  He stepped out into the hall and spied Suguru yelling at one of the techies.  “Hey!  Fujisaki!” he yelled over the loud din with ease.   Suguru paused his tirade in mid-yell and glanced over at his star.   “Have you seen Isaac?”   The manager of one of the world's hottest band blinked stupidly.  When it finally sank in, he exploded.  “What?!  He's gone?”   Shuichi nodded, biting his lip.  He was not that worried that his guard was gone, not with all these people backstage.  He hated to admit it, but he had become a little dependent on them always being there, especially since his fans, and some non-fans, had increased tenfold.   “Goddamn it!  As if I did not have enough to worry about!”  He pointed a finger at the singer.  “Stay in your dressing room until I can either find your damn guard or until the show starts.  Got it?”   “But,” he started to protest, “I'm hungry!”   Suguru sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.  “Fine.  Just stay in your dressing room and I'll have something sent to you.”   Shuichi smiled widely.  “Thanks, Fujisaki!  You're the best!”   His face-growing warm at the praise, Suguru turned his back on his singer and started walking down the hallway, muttering something Shuichi could not quite make out.   Grinning madly, Shuichi went back into his dressing room and shut the door firmly behind him.   Even before he turned around, he knew something was very wrong.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  He felt very uneasy all of a sudden.  He reached out slowly for the doorknob.  A hairy, pale arm appeared from out of nowhere around his waist and pulled him violently back against a wide, hard chest.  Shuichi went still.  Fear stilled his heart and stole his breath.  His eyes widened in terror.  Another large hairy arm appeared around his throat.  Shuichi felt the sharp edge of a blade press against his neck right below his Adam’s apple.  The color drained from his face.   A husky voice whispered angrily in his ear.  Shuichi recognized it as English immediately.  He felt himself shaking and tears filled his eyes.  He had no idea what the man was saying, but he got the jest by the tone alone.    “What do you want?” he stuttered in Japanese.   He was not fluent in English and never would be.  He was too much of an idiot to learn a second language as good as his native tongue, especially English, which was one of the hardest to learn, but Eiri, Hiro and K- before he left Bad Luck- had taught him a few things, just not what to do or say in a situation like this.  This was why Tohma had hired bodyguards for him.   The man tightened his arm around Shuichi’s waist and pressed the blade tighter against his throat, forcing Shuichi to hold his head up higher.  The man dragged the singer farther into the dressing room, whispering in that same angry tone the whole time, but it was Greek to Shuichi.  Tears poured down his face, ruining his perfectly applied makeup and sobs wracked his body.   What was going on?  Who was this guy and what did he want?   “I-I do not sp-speak English!  I do not understand!” he cried out in heavily accented English.  They were one of the only things he knew how to say in English.   Suddenly Shuichi felt the man’s grip in him loosen, but before he could act, the man grabbed Shuichi’s shoulder and spun him around.  Shuichi's face twisted into a mask of shock, disbelief and horror.  The man was dressed in all black.  In his gloved hand was a long knife that looked like the one he had used on that cooking show all those years ago.  He watched in horror as the large chef's knife rose up.   “Please!” Shuichi sobbed in fright.  He tugged on the man's viselike grip on his shoulder.  “Do not do this!  What have I done?” he pleaded with the man in Japanese.   Sneering, the man snarled something the singer could not understand and brought the knife down in a swinging arc.    Shuichi screamed and instinctively brought up his arms to protect himself.  He gave a strangled cry as he felt the cold steel of the blade slice across his arm.  It did not hurt.  That was a bad sign.  It meant the cut was deep.  In reaction, he tugged and jerked harder against the man's grip as he felt something trickle down his arms.  But it was useless.  The man was too strong!   Behind him, he heard a stampede of feet and an orchestra of yells and shouts.  The door to his dressing room was flung open.  There was a loud gasp.  “Shindou-san!” yelled several familiar voices.   The man wielding the knife stumbled.  Catching himself, he froze when he glanced over Shuichi's head at the intruders.  But he would not be stopped.  He snarled and glared down at Shuichi.  He tightened his grip.    Shuichi glanced into the man’s eyes and shivered.  They were twisted and hard.  There was something to them that sacred Shuichi.   “Let me go!  Please!”  His whole body was shaking like a leaf in a tornado.  Tears blurred his vision.   As the deranged man brought his knife back up, one of the technicians that had burst into the dressing room let out a loud ear-splitting screech.  It caused the man to pause once again.  This time Shuichi took advantage of the man's inattention.  He summed all the strength his five-foot-four stature could muster and smashed his fists into the man's face.  The masked man let go of Shuichi and howled in pain as his head snapped back.  Blood gushed out from under his hands.   Shuichi spun on his heels and raced out of the dressing room, sobbing hysterically.  A group of men and women stormed the dressing room.  Half of them were roadies and various other technicians, the others were guards assigned to the other members of Bad Luck for the tour.   “Shuichi!  Shu!”   “Hiro,” he sobbed.  He flew into his best friends arms.  Burying his tear soaked face into his friends shoulder, he sobbed, clutching fistfuls of his shirt.  “Oh, God, Hiro!  I was so scared!”   Shaking himself, Hiro held his friend tight.  He buried his face in Shuichi's hair and hushed him, trying to calm him down.  “It's alright, Shu.  It's alright.”   Michael, Kei and Kai were being held back by various roadies.  They were shouting and cursing into the dressing room.   The masked man was dragged kicking and screaming out of the dressing room and down the hall to an empty room to await the police.  Shuichi instinctively shied away from him as the guy passed him.  The man spit and continued yelling in English.   +---+---+   Shuichi sat hunched over in the emergency room.  A blanket was draped around his shoulders.  He gazed at the wall blankly.  Distantly he heard the nurse speaking and Hiro translating for him.  He was vaguely aware of his new guard, Jacob, standing at attention outside the small examination room.  Apparently, Isaac had decided to take “a little break”.  He was found in the bathroom snorting cocaine.  To say the least, the man had been fired on the spot and Tohma assured them all that Isaac would never work in Japan again.   The knife wound Shuichi suffered was indeed as deep as he feared.  He had been told that the man responsible was Scott Keene and from what they discovered, his daughter hanged herself last week.  Playing on endless repeat was a Bad Luck CD.  The man had not approved of his daughter's fascination with the JPOP band to begin with.  He felt that homosexuality was an outrage and a sin.  It was immoral and disgusting.  He believed that any kind of association with “their kind” would “taint” his precious daughter.  So after she killed herself, he snapped and blamed Bad Luck, Shuichi in particular.  It had been proven, though, that his daughter was suffering from severe depression among other things, but the guy did not care.  In his mind, his daughter killed herself because of Bad Luck.  That sinful music from a sinful man brainwashed his daughter.  As he was led away, the man continued to proclaim his innocence.  Apparently in his mind, he did nothing wrong.  He was “doing the world a favor by getting ride of Shuichi Shindou”.   A hand on his shoulder startled Shuichi.  The singer jumped, yelping.   “Shu!  Shu!  It's only me!”   Shuichi blinked and brought his friend's face into focus.  “H-Hiro?”   “I called Yuki-san and he is flying back on the first available flight.”   Shuichi's eyes bulged out of his head.  “What?”  He shook his head vehemently.  “No, no, no!  He can't!  Hiro!”   The red haired guitarist smirked at his friend in confusion.  “Why not?”   “You have no idea how protective he is, Hiro!  The first thing he's going to do is march down to the police station and, and….”   “Good.”   Shuichi stared wide eyed at his friend.  “What?  ‘Good’?  Hiro-”   “Shuichi, he loves you.”   “I know,” Shuichi blushed deeply, looking away from the man.   The nurse glanced up at the two men briefly from stitching up the deep gash on Shuichi's arm, curious to know what they were discussing in rapid Japanese.   Shuichi raised his head, panic written all over his face.  “But, but, Hiro-”   Hiro shook his head.  “Shu…You were almost killed tonight.  Yuki-san almost lost you.  Do you have any idea how that makes him feel?  I'd rather be down at the holding cell bashing that guy's head into the cement wall right now myself.”   “That's just it!” Shuichi cried, tears streaming down his face.  “Eiri'll kill that guy and then, then…He'll be sent to prison!  Hiro!”  Shuichi grabbed hold of his friend's jacket, staring pleadingly into his face.  “I can't lose him!  I can't live without him!  Please!  Call him back!  Tell him to stay home please!”   With a sigh, Hiro hung his head in defeat.  “All right.  All right!  I'll call him.”   Shuichi had to fight the urge to fling himself at his friend.  He grinned widely, his smile chasing away the shadows of panic and fright.  Hiro could not help but smile back.  He kissed his friend lightly on his head and left the examination room.  He talked briefly with one of the guards who stepped into the room before vanishing to find some place to use his cellphone.   Shuichi studied the second guard that had been placed on active duty.  His name was Koji, if he was not mistaken.  The man bowed deeply.  “Shindou-san.  I am Koji.  I will act as interpreter until Nakano-san returns.”   Shuichi blinked.  “You speak English?” he asked incredibly.   The man bowed.  “Hai.”  Koji introduced himself to the nurse who was almost done stitching Shuichi's arm.   The nurse was dying of curiosity.  She could not help but ask, “Was that man that just left your partner?”   Koji translated the English into Japanese.  At first, Shuichi was confused as to what she meant, but when Koji told him what he thought she meant; a blush tinted the singer's face.  He shook his head vigorously. “That was Hiro, my best friend.  He plays guitar in my band.”   The nurse nodded, to indicate that she understood, once the translation hit her.   “My boyfriend's back home.  He's a writer.”  His face fell as he realized it would be another couple of months until he saw his lover again.  An ache filled his heart and tears filled his eyes.   “I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to bring up such a sore subject,” Koji translated for the nurse.   Shuichi blinked in surprise.  “You…you aren't disgusted?”   The nurse looked at him in confusion, and then shook her head.  “Should I be?”   Wow, Shuichi thought with a smile.   “I leave you for one second and look what happens?” came a sudden voice.   Shuichi's head snapped up and around.  His eyes grew wide as he took in the man standing at the door of the examination room.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Koji's hand fly inside his jacket as he stepped in front of him.  “No!  No!  No!” he cried out to his guard.  “It's okay!  That's Eiri!”   Eiri eyed the stranger blocking his lover closely.   “Are you sure?” Koji asked him, his intense eyes never leaving the blond haired stranger.   The nurse, who had finished stitching the white haired singer and was now wrapping white gauze over the wound, watched the exchanged in open curiosity, though she had no idea what was being said.   “Yes,” Shuichi nodded, his voice cracking, “I'm sure.”   Koji lowered his hand and stepped side, pulling on his jacket, though he kept his eyes locked on Eiri.   Eiri stepped inside the examination room, giving the obvious bodyguard one final look before turning towards his lover.  “Baka,” he smiled.  “I can't leave you alone for a minute can I?”   Tears streaming down his face, he shook his head.  Sniffling, he jumped off the table with a sob.  Ripping his arm out of the nurse's hands, he rushed towards Eiri.   He had been scared of what Eiri would do if his lover was to come to New York, but he was glad he was here.   “I'm so glad you're here,” he cried, flinging himself at his lover, hugging him tightly.   Eiri hugged Shuichi tightly.  His eyes stung with tears.  Burying his face in his lover's stiff hair, he tightened his hold.  He had been so scared that he would not be able to hold him again.   Halfway back to Tokyo, he wondered what he thought he was doing.  He decided to go on tour with Bad Luck so that he could be with Shuichi.  Both of them have been so busy lately; they have not been able to spend a lot of time together.  If Mizuki really wanted this stupid book tour, he figured it could wait until after the tour finished in a few months.  Once on the ground, he immediately booked a flight back to the States.  The last thing he ever expected was to receive a phone call from Nakano just after his plane landed telling him about the attack on Shuichi.  He had never been so scared in his entire life.   “So am I,” he whispered back. He was never letting Shuichi out of his sight again.   ---OWARI---     A/N:This was written several years ago.  So it may not be as good as my current stuff.  Sorry.