Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Kaifuku ❯ Chapter 7

Status: Betaed by Avatar-chik.

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Kaifuku

Ch. .7.

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"Japan had three options: One - leave the Philippines out of their conquest, and by doing so, avoid provoking the Americans. Two - attack the Philippines and hope that since the United States was still recovering from the Great Depression, they wouldn't retaliate. But there was also a third option, what was it?"

He was eleven-years-old again, sitting on a single student chair & desk in the middle of a small gray room. In front of him, standing by a large whiteboard, was his tutor for 'Military Strategy' - Lt. Commander Baranski. 'M.T.' was just one out of the many classes he had to go through on a daily basis. He never complained, though. Compared to the other things he was forced to do during the training, sitting in class was one of the better ones.

"What was Japan's third option?" Baranski repeated the question.

"To attack the United States' Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, sir," he answered swiftly, reciting from memory.

"Exactly," his tutor approved, nodding his head.

Baranski was one of his favorite tutors. He wasn't as arrogant and disrespectful towards him like the others were. He could finally relax after a long day (the lessons were usually in the evening), and even lean casually over the table. The Lt. Commander never told him to sit up straight like the others did; he understood how tired he was.

"Japan's third option was to destroy the U.S.'s capability to retaliate, so they could conquer South East Asia. Pearl Harbor was a classic case of a surprise preventative action. Who planned the attack?"

"Fleet Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, sir."

"Good. And whose tactics was he using when he planned the attack on Pearl Harbor?"

"Sun Tzu, who wrote 'The Art of War' during the Chinese Warring States period, 6th century B.C., sir," he replied smoothly, relaying the answer like an automaton. He had been taught about Sun Tzu's writings quite thoroughly and Baranski loved to mention him at every opportunity.

"Good. And what was the main principle behind the attack?"

"The element of surprise; it was the largest naval attack to that day. No one had believed that Japan was capable of bringing six aircraft carriers across the Pacific, sir."

"Correct. The Americans also never expected Japan to attack, since the U.S. had no interest in the South East Asia conquest. How many aircrafts did Japan use in the attack?"

"Three hundred and fifty three aircrafts named 'Zero'. They were the most advanced of their time. The U.S. pacific fleet was destroyed in two hours, sir."

"Pop quiz - did the Japanese use these tactics before?"

"Yes sir; they used the same basic strategy when attacking Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese war, 1904. The Russians never saw them coming and the Fortress fell, sir."

"Very good, I see you've done your reading. Now, I want a three page essay discussing Sun Tzu's tactics used by the Japanese during the Russo-Japanese war, compared to the Pacific Ocean War, due by next week's class, understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Dismissed," Baranski said, smiling in amusement at the boy's eager response - he was very keen to learn history. "Now, go get something to eat before they close the mess hall."

"Yes sir," he agreed.

As he stood up, he turned to look at his tutor and gasped.

The man standing by the desk wasn't Lt. Commander Baranski, but another man with familiar broad shoulders and short blond hair. Odin was standing where Baranski once stood. He had somehow taken the Lt. Commander's place, gathering his notes from the teacher's desk as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But Odin was dead. Why was he standing there?

"Is there a problem?" Odin asked, using Lt. Commander Baranski's voice.

His eyes widened, completely stunned. Was he losing his mind?

"N-no sir..."

"Then hurry up before there's nothing left for you to eat."

"Yes sir. Anou, thank you sir," he mumbled, gathering his books hastily.

He hurried out of the classroom and ran towards the mess hall, trying to dismiss what he had seen. Odin was dead. He couldn't be at the training grounds. Sure, sometimes he secretly wished that Odin would somehow come back for him and take him away from J, but those were only pointless dreams. Of course, Dr. J would have his head for such wishful thinking, so he tried to stop hoping for the impossible. He only thought about Odin when times were hard; when all he could do was comfort himself by dreaming. But he wasn't in any distress now, so why was he thinking - no, he was actually seeing - Odin?

Sighing quietly, he entered the mess hall, already knowing that the food would be cold and scarce. His mouth watered at the imaginary scent of Odin's spaghetti and meatballs but he quickly banished the thought from his head.

The mess hall was empty and kitchen staff was already cleaning up after dinner. Placing his textbooks on a table at the far end of the hall, he went to the serving lines. His eyes sought out Private First Class Moretti, who was always kinder towards him compared to the others. Most of the base's personnel didn't like the idea of an eleven-year-old kid being destined for things greater than their own fates. At least, that's what Dr. J had said when he asked him why people didn't like him that much.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted quietly when he finally spotted the man.

"You're late kid," Moretti said, shaking his head, "there ain't much I can get ya."

The mere thought of skipping dinner (for the second time that week!) made him pale. "Nothing's left, sir?"

"'fraid not."

He sighed resignedly and then looked up at the man, his blue eyes shimmering resolutely. "What if I helped around the kitchen, sir?"

No one would ever refuse the opportunity to make him work his butt off; it amused them immensely.

"For that, kid, I'll make you my special - macaroni and cheese!" Morett smiled broadly.

It wasn't the same as spaghetti and meatballs, but who was he to complain?

"C'mon, I'll find you something to do."

"Yes sir..." he muttered tiredly and followed Moretti into the kitchen.

After an hour of scrubbing industrial-sized pots, he was given a hot meal, and went to the table where he had left his textbooks. Grateful for finally being able to rest, he sat down to eat.

"The son-of-a-bitch calls this shit macaroni and cheese?" a voice commented from somewhere to the left. He looked up, but there was no one there; the mess hall was empty. He returned to eat silently.

"I wouldn't feed a dog this crap," the voice muttered angrily. "C'mon, I'll make you something edible."

"You can't," he whispered so that no one would hear him talking to himself, "You're dead."

The man let out a bitter laugh. "If you say so."

Ignoring him, he continued eating. He had to report to J for his daily checkup. Thanks to Moretti, he had no time left to rest.

From his left, he heard the man sigh lengthily, as though disappointed. "You let them use you, kiddo. You should know better than trusting people so easily; they'll end up taking advantage of you. I taught you better than that."

He rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore the man. Dead people shouldn't be speaking to him. It wasn't real. Perhaps he was dreaming?

"And you let that girl Anya get to you too!" the man continued as if he was supposed to be alive and lecturing him. He was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

"I didn't let her get to me," he retorted, "she needed my help."

"Yeah right," the man still didn't turn to face him, "Whatever happened to your flawless paranoia? You trusted J when he showed up after me, you trusted strangers with your life all through the war... I think the war had softened you. You met too many kind people.”

Annoyed, he jerked his head up to glare at the man. "Shut up. What do you know about it?"

Odin let out a short laugh. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo; I'm glad you're still capable of trusting people. It makes my job here a whole lot easier."

"What do you want from me? I don't understand why you're here."

"Yes you do."

"No, I don't. You're not real. You're dead. Stop talking," he whispered harshly, unable to cope with the idea that the man he was speaking to was actually alive.

"I'm not dead," Odin muttered, shaking his head as though disappointed, "Didn't you figure it out already?"

"Yes you are. I saw you die. Stop appearing everywhere. It's not real."

"It's your dream, kiddo, not mine. Stop making me appear in it." Odin laughed again, taking the whole matter all too lightly.

"That's not funny! I'm not dreaming! I remember this happening!" Still a child, his boyish voice became high-pitched as he shouted.

Odin shrugged. "Whatever, kiddo, it really doesn't matter. Believe what you like."

"I remember every single, miserable day I've been here - and you were never here with me! You died and now I'm here! It's your fault!"

At long last, he man turned to face him.

He could finally see the features he had longed to see for years. The sight of Odin's short blonde bangs, his crooked nose and strong jaw line was always a little out of reach for him. Now Odin's bluish-gray eyes were looking straight at him, shimmering sadly.

Yes, he could finally see the familiar features, but they weren't Odin's. Sitting by the table next to him was a man he knew was Odin, and yet, he looked exactly like Nicolai.

"This is a dream," he reminded himself, "It's not real."

"Hiiro," Odin/Nicolai whispered, "Please open your eyes."

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He woke up to be seventeen again, lying safely in his own bed. The awkward dream melted into the back of his mind, replaced by the grim present.

His body ached from recent injuries. His clothes had been changed and his wounds were carefully dressed. He could feel the raw sting of fresh stitches.

By the sound of the engines, he gathered that the boat was on the move. The slight rocking movement made him queasy, most likely due to the loss of blood.

The bed was warm and comfortable, reassuring him that the danger had passed. Rolling over to lie on his side, Hiiro nestled deeply into the covers in an attempt to hide from the world. It wasn't Anya and her accomplice he was hiding from - it was the man currently steering the boat.

There were issues that needed to be addressed. Nicolai's identity needed to be sorted out; Hiiro was sick of speculating. He wasn't sure if he could handle the truth, but he'll be damned if he didn't at least confront it. If his suspicions were to become true, then he needed to know now, before he offered any more of his trust.

Unlike in his dream, Nicolai Smirnov bore little physical resemblance to the man he remembered as Odin Lowe. Then again, plastic surgery could be held accountable for that. However, Nicolai did have a few shared features with Odin, such as his well defined chin and crooked nose. But above all, it was the man's actions that were so painfully familiar to Hiiro. Subconsciously, he had already suspected that Nicolai could be Odin, but had refused to accept it. Everything Nicolai had done for him rang distant bells of a time he fought hard to forget; a time when he had felt safe and cared for. It was a childhood that ended too soon, shattered by a single bullet that took the life of his caretaker.

Or had it? Could Odin be alive? Had he returned from the dead? No, no, of course not. People don't come back from the dead, and certainly not the people he cared for. If Nicolai was Odin, then that would mean that he had faked his own death, or somehow escaped it. If that was the case, then the betrayal would be too much to bear.

Hiiro sighed and rolled over to lie on his back, troubled. He stared at the ceiling and reread the note still pasted above him: 'Your name is Hiiro. You woke up from a coma. You are on a boat with me, Nicolai. You're safe.'

'Safe'. Was he safe? It felt as though he was in more trouble than he had ever been. Nicolai was constantly plotting against him, he was sure of it. Would a man return from the dead only so he could hurt him? Wasn't his death enough of a betrayal? He never forgave Odin for dying; he won't be able to forgive him for being alive either.

Anger bubbled inside him. He took a long deep breath, trying to calm his childish irrationality. He needed to keep calm. It was time to get some answers.

Throwing the covers aside, he swung his injured feet off the bed and onto the floor. Unlike his resolve, his body faltered while attempting to get up. He knew that he should remain in bed and rest, but if he stayed in bed a moment longer he would risk losing his mind to speculation.

Stepping out of the room required quite an effort. His legs were weak and injured. Both of his ankles were wrapped tightly in white bandages. Wincing, he balanced himself on two feet and reached for the door. He felt like an old man who could barely keep his back straight while walking.

The hum of the engines was much louder in the main section of the boat. Hiiro carefully climbed the few steps leading to the living area. He spotted Nicolai sitting by the inner-helm, the man's face was grim and his eyes gazed straight ahead. When he noticed Hiiro climbing slowly up the stairs, he turned to him and his features softened.

"How are you feeling?"

Hiiro, who was leaning on the wall for support, offered no reply. He counted three breaths before climbing the last two steps. He slowly made his way to the sofa and lowered himself into the seat, sighing thankfully, for his legs were ablaze with pain.

"Are you sure you don't want to get some more rest?"

"I'm fine."

Nicolai nodded and turned back to the helm. Hiiro allowed the man to drive the boat silently for a few long moments. He kept his eyes on him, thoughtful.

"I'm sorry, Hiiro," Nicolai said, "I had no idea they would find us here."

"You knew we were being followed?"

"Not exactly, but I know some faction want you dead."

"No kidding," Hiiro muttered, rubbing his injured arm, trying to stop the pulsing pain. Even though he was being sarcastic, he couldn't blame those who wanted him dead. Anya was right; he shouldn't be allowed to live.

A few more minutes passed in silence, with only the hum of the engines filling the air. Hiiro forced himself to concentrate on breathing to ease the pain and dizziness. A few Sparks flickered in his head, but quickly diminished. Even they were too tired to do anything at the moment.

"They were Russian," Hiiro decided to point out, turning to look at the man. He noted Nicolai's back become rigid. "You're also Russian."

The man heaved a heavy sigh. "That's just a coincidence."

He didn't believe him, but said nothing. Turning to look out the window, he watched the scenery race by, trees and water mixing into a greenish brown blur.

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Nicolai turned to look at him, his hand still on the steering wheel, "Even when I just saved your life."

Hiiro turned to look at him coldly. "I saved my own life, you were shopping."

"I go shopping every morning. They just happened to use the opportunity to attack you while I was gone."

"They've been following us all week," Hiiro said. "Didn't you find that the least bit suspicious?"

"Did you?"

Hiiro didn't answer. The man sighed deeply.

"You're really a tough guy to convince, Hiiro."

"Then stop trying to convince me. Tell me the truth."

"I'm hoping you'll figure it out on your own."

"Don't take me for a fool, I've figured it out already."

Nicolai turned to look at Hiiro, raising a skeptic eyebrow. "You have?"

Hiiro folded his hands over his chest. He leveled his gaze along with Nicolai's, looking at him intently and saying nothing.

Nicolai heaved a frustrated sigh. "I wish you'd give me a little more credit," he said, shaking his head.

They sat in silence for a while longer, Nicolai driving and Hiiro looking out the window. Hiiro needed the pause so he could gather his thoughts. It wasn't easy for him to engage in such a conversation, especially one that could ultimately lead to his heartbreak.

"I knew a man once," Hiiro decided to say, "he also used to take care of me."

Nicolai said nothing, trying to appear uninterested.

"He was Russian too."

He received no reaction from Nicolai. Out the window, more trees blurred into a mixture of gray, green and brown as they sped past them. Heavy rainclouds threatened the foliage with an upcoming storm. Heavy raindrops fell against the window. Hiiro remained silent, his eyes fixated on the intensifying rain.

"Was he any good at it?" Nicolai spoke up.

Hiiro turned to look at the man but said nothing. Admitting to someone - even to Odin himself - that his life began and ended with Odin, would be exposing something that was too personal, too deep. Sometimes he even refused to admit it to himself. He'd been taught to care for no one, to never let himself get attached. That left only Odin, a person he had cared for before the training; the only person he kept in his heart during years of hardship.

When he received no reply from the teen, Nicolai tried again. "What did you do after he died?"

Hiiro turned to glare at the man "I didn't say he was dead," he pointed out dryly. Nicolai looked away, as if caught lying.

"Yes that's true," he muttered, "I just assumed."

Hiiro allowed the silence to stretch for a few more miles while he contemplated how to proceed.

"Why did you decide to take care of me?" He finally asked.

Nicolai frowned. "When - now?"

Hiiro rolled his eyes. "Yes now - when else?"

Nicolai was acting as if they were playing a game. Perhaps they were. Fine; he was good at games. If Nicolai was hinting at their shared past, then so would he.

"You could have easily left me in the care of others, why did you insist on taking care of me yourself?"

"I felt that I owed you that much," the man answered honestly.

"Owed me? You don't even know me. We never met before."

Nicolai 'tsked in annoyance and turned to look at the teen, clearly frustrated with his behavior. "Hiiro, if you have something to say - then just say it. I'm sick of mind games."

"And I'm sick of lies."

"I never lied to you."

"You never told me the truth either."

Nicolai sighed lengthily, obviously tired of Hiiro's adolescent attitude. "Just answer me this - what have you figured out about me?"

Hiiro gazed intensely at the man sitting by the helm. He counted the passing seconds in his head, warring with himself if he should dare speak what was on his mind.

Nicolai turned to face him again, his gray eyes bitter. "Come on Hiiro, I know what you're thinking. Just say it so we can get it over with."

"And then what? We'll hug like father and son and you'll send me off on one of your missions? No thanks, I've had plenty of those." Each word he spoke reeked with poison. He was being bitterly sarcastic and even that wasn't enough to vent out the pain burning in his chest. He was speaking to a ghost; he was speaking with Odin Lowe.

"You abandoned me. You left me to fend on my own while you lived your life somewhere else. I was nothing but a tool for you to use and discard; a weapon."

There - he said it. He finally said what he'd feared to accept for years. Perhaps his belief that Odin looked after him out of care was just a lie he made up so he could comfort himself during the lonely nights under J's mistreatments. Now he had to come to terms with the fact that all he ever was, and all he ever will be, is a tool for people to use and discard; a weapon.

Nicolai sat silently, his face a mask of stone. He didn't appear to be stunned, or angry, or anything for that matter. What Hiiro couldn't see from where he sat was the dark shimmer in the man's gray eyes. It was something distant, something pained. Regret.

"So you have figured it out." Nicolai spoke almost too quietly for Hiiro to pick up his words. An unholy silence hung in the air. A sense of fragile hope hovered above the two, but refused to make its presence known. Both the teenage soldier and the grown assassin were shielding their hearts.

"But you're wrong," the man continued speaking, "my motives weren't as corrupt as you think."

"Don't flatter yourself, Odin." Hiiro muttered and looked away. Speaking the name lucidly for the first time left a strange taste in his mouth. It felt unnatural, unholy. An ideal image he had in his mind since childhood was slowly shattering before his eyes.

Odin winced at the sound of his name, as if he'd sliced by a knife. The contempt in Hiiro's voice did not escape him.

"Hiiro, if you recall, I told you back then that I was planning to leave you at the colony. I also knew that you wouldn't accept it, so I had to fake my own death."

The rage he had been keeping on a low flame for years finally reached its boiling point.

"I was a child! What did you expect me to do?! Life with you was all I knew!"

"That's why I wanted you to move on, to go to school, to get adopted by a good family. I couldn't keep you around me; you would have ended up just like me."

"I did end up just like you!" Hiiro accused harshly, standing up, his nerves demanding some type of movement. All of the things he felt after Odin's death resurfaced with a vengeance. His mind was eight-years-old again; angry, hurt and betrayed.

Odin cast his gaze to the floor. "Yes... I know you did. Believe me, that's the last thing I wanted for you, to have ending up like me..."

"I thought you were dead. I grieved for you!"

"I know, Hiiro, I'm sorry. I thought it was the only way to set you free."

"Free? I don't even know what that word means! I was taken in by a monster - you have no idea what that man did to me! You fucking bastard!"

His voice became hoarse with rage. His heart pounded so powerfully he thought it might explode. The anger raised The Sparks from their slumber and they scattered around his brain, chattering mindlessly until they formed a splitting headache. He began trembling so hard that some of his wounds reopened and blood stained his bandages.

"Those people came to kill me for what I am, but it's you they should be after. You're the reason I became a killer! You're the one who should pay with his life! I could kill you myself!"

"Hiiro, I swear to you, I would have gotten you out of there if I knew."

"FUZAKENNAYO!" (Don't bullshit me!) He burst out shouting, his face red with anger. "All you cared about was moving on with your life! Abandoning me was just as easy as throwing out the trash!"

"No! It wasn't like that!" Odin insisted, a storm raging in his gray eyes. Hiiro's accusations were pushing the right buttons.

"Hiiro, I hope you'll realize that that's not true. I was trying to keep your best interest in mind. I raised you for over five years. I cared for you; cared enough to finally let you go. Believe me, if I had known you were taken into Operation Meteor, I would've come for you."

"Then why didn't you?!" Hiiro called out desperately, his mind that of a child again. Nothing made sense while The Sparks ran amok in his head. He didn't care; there was so much pain inside of him, so many emotions waiting to finally be free. He didn't care what made sense and what didn't, he simply needed to shout it out.

"If you really cared for me, then why didn't you come?! Why did you die?! Everything hurt after you died. Everything!" Tears stung his eyes but he stubbornly refused to let them fall. He hadn't cried in nearly a decade; he wasn't about to start now.

"Hiiro, please," Odin tried to calm him, for he could see that the boy was losing his rationality. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do!" he shouted, on the verge of hysteria. "I'm not your weapon!"

His shoulders trembled, his wounded body shaken by the outburst of emotions. His legs could no longer support him and finally gave way. Hiiro fell to his knees and onto the floor.

Odin quickly jumped to his side, but Hiiro pushed him away violently. "Don't touch me! Don't ever come near me again - kusoyaru!" (bastard!)

The Sparks chuckled madly. They flickered on and off like crazy. Grabbing his head, Hiiro panted harshly to ease the pain they caused. His brain pulsed with agony as logic and emotion fought for dominance. For the first time in years, his logic was losing; it was impossible to restrain his heart any longer. Emotions spurted out of him like vomit to the floor. He wanted to scream out the pain, but his well built defenses did not allow such a cry to crawl out of his throat. Hiiro felt the pressure rising in his chest, begging to come out, but refused to surrender. He will not cry. He will not scream. He will not give in. Not ever.

The tidal wave of emotions rippled through his body, flooding him from head to toe. Like any other wave, it eventually receded, slowly vanishing into the corners of his heart. There they joined the pools of silent agony which stood untouched by the waves. Dark anguish dripped from the walls of his heart, causing small ripples in the water. That was the kind of pain Hiiro always carried in his heart; it was a kind of pain he could handle. He drowned the pain deep into those dark pools of calm water and was finally able to compose himself.

Odin used the time to step outside and dock the boat at the pier in front of the Portumna Bridge. When he returned to the living area, he found Hiiro still sitting on the floor, looking tired and small. His body was slumped forward, his head bowed, his eyes staring unseeingly at the carpet.

Sitting down carefully on the sofa, Odin waited patiently for Hiiro to recover. Seconds ticked by until Hiiro slowly blinked his eyes. Finally, he lifted his gaze from the floor and turned to look at the man. His blue eyes were calm once more, shielded.

"How did you find me?" He asked quietly, his tone of voice almost indifferent.

Odin gazed deeply into his eyes, to indicate that he was about to speak the truth.

"After you crashed your Gundam into the Brussels' palace, your face was all over the news. Your blue eyes gave you away. I recognized your face the instant I saw your photo in the newspaper. It was that same little face I remembered, only grown up."

He paused, giving Hiiro time to process the words. "There were talks about prosecuting you for Crimes of War. Some even wanted to carry out the sentence without a trial, to take you off life support. I had to come and get you out of there."

Hiiro nodded. "So you approached Relena with an offer to take me under your care."

"Yes. She was desperate for a solution. I offered to help you disappear off the radar. I explained everything to her, since she wouldn't let me near you otherwise."

When he got no reaction from Hiiro, he continued. "I made her promise not to tell you who I was. I needed you to come to the conclusion on your own. I needed you to trust me."

"Trust you?" Hiiro echoed weakly, shaking his head as if Odin just told a joke. He bowed his head again and took a moment to think. He had to struggle to keep the inner voice above The Sparks' constant chatter.

"If all this is true, then who were you reporting to all this time?"

"Reporting to?" Odin seemed genuinely surprised. "Hiiro, I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Hiiro's eyes flared with anger, but his voice remained calm. "Don't lie to me; you've done enough of that already. I heard you on the phone, every night. You were telling someone about my condition. You said you wanted me to join you someplace. I heard everything."

Odin seemed to realize what Hiiro was referring to, but he didn't look worried. In fact, he seemed amused. "Well, if you would have paid closer attention you would have realized that I was simply calling my fiancée."

"Your fiancée?"

"Yes," Odin smiled weakly, "Natasha. She's eight months pregnant and she can't wait for me to come back home. I was only filling her in on what was going on."

Thinking back on all the conversation pieces he had heard, it made sense somehow. He had his doubts about the so-called "reports" but his paranoia never allowed him to simply dismiss what he heard as being harmless. His distrust led him to the wrong conclusion. It was all in his head.

Odin was engaged to be married; he had obviously established a whole new life without him. And yet, for some reason, the words wouldn't sit right with him. In all the time he had spent with Odin as a child, he couldn't recall any ladies. Perhaps the man did have affairs without him knowing, but never something as permanent as a 'fiancée'. It felt odd thinking about Odin in such manner.

"Natasha and I live in Dublin," Odin explained, "We're expecting a baby. I hope you can understand that in your condition, I was afraid to let you near her. I needed to earn your trust first. I needed you to figure out who I am."

Hiiro remained quiet, guessing where Odin was getting at. He wasn't sure he was ready for that yet.

"Natasha knows about my past. We served together in an underground resistance group in Siberia."

Hiiro continued to stare at the floor, waiting to see where the man was getting at.

"We all have our scars. Natasha knows about mine and I know about hers. She also knows about you. And, if you'd like, we were hoping you'd come stay with us, at least until you get better."

This was all too much. Was Odin offering him a place to stay, along with his fiancée and upcoming baby? Was he offering him a home? Was he out of his mind?! First he abandoned him, then he lied to him, and now he wanted them to be one big happy family? It was absurd!

"Hiiro, take your time. You don't have to answer me right now," Odin said and stood up, looking at the teen, who seemed very lost all of a sudden.

"Hiiro—"

"I heard you," he snapped, and looked up at him heatedly, "I'll consider your offer."

Odin nodded, understanding the boy's angered response. "All right," he stood up, "I'll go prepare lunch."

"Don't bother," Hiiro muttered, and got up as well, "I'm going out for a walk."

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He could feel Odin's eyes on him as he stumbled with much difficulty out of the boat. His injured body protested against each step, but Hiiro couldn't care less. He needed to get away from Odin before his mind would overload. He needed time to calm down before facing the new dilemma Odin had placed before him.

He walked across the pier towards the Portumna Bridge, which was closed for boat traffic. His strength left him soon after he reached the bridge. While he wanted to get as much distance as he could from Odin, his healing body did not allow it.

Sighing heavily, he unhurriedly made his way off the bridge and into a small field. He chose a small patch of grass to sit on, leaning against an ancient stone wall. From where he sat, Hiiro could see the river and the piers. Squinting his eyes against the winter sunlight, he gazed at the boat.

Now what should he do? Should he take Odin's offer? Was he willing to trust the man? Was he willing to forgive him for everything and just go back to how things used to be? Did he even want things to be as they used to be?

Life with Odin was the closest thing he ever had to a normal life, but there was nothing normal about them. Odin taught him how to handle a weapon; he taught him how to kill. In many ways, Odin was no better than J or any other person who tried to use him as a weapon.

And yet, there was something different about Odin. Perhaps he was biased since he had cared for Odin so much as a child, and perhaps not. His feelings towards Odin were as real now as they were then. Indeed, they were mixed with a lot of hurt that had accumulated over the years, but the basic emotion always remained. It was the same prime emotion he supposed any child would feel towards a parental figure; it was something hard to dismiss no matter how much hurt was involved.

Hiiro sighed and bowed his head, playing with the soft grass between his fingers. He curled and uncurled the long weeds around his fingers, sinking into thoughts about the past; memories of his time with Odin. Some were pleasant, some were dark. Most were too blurry for him to remember.

He had always wondered what it would be like to have Odin back, and now he knew: it was painful, confusing, frustrating, troublesome and upsetting. To choose a life with Odin, the way he had always dreamed of, didn't feel like the fairytale ending he had always thought it would be.

But what else could he do? It was the obvious next step to take. There wasn't even room for hesitation; he had made the decision a long time ago, back when his heart still busied itself with childish wishes. If it felt right, then he must do it - no regrets. He'll stay with Odin for as long as it would take him to decide if he could truly trust him.

Finally resolute, Hiiro slowly made his way back to the boat. Mindful of his injuries, he climbed carefully onto the stern. He opened the glass door that lead down to the main cabin, and took a step down the stairs.

A gunshot blasted through the air.

Hiiro recoiled, and with a surprised yelp, he collapsed onto the stern floor.

A pool of blood gradually formed around his torso. The acrid scent of gunpowder burnt his nostrils as his consciousness began to slip away.

Odin..?

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o. o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

To be continued.

Author's Note: I hope that the discoveries made in this chapter didn't come completely out of the blue. It was hard writing the fic without making things too obvious or even worse - totally unexpected. I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter: Were you surprised, or were you disappointed at how obvious it was? Also, I was wondering if you found Hiiro too OOC while confronting Odin? I tried really hard to make him IN, I'd imagine even he would be upset by the situation.

I hope I didn't make you lose your interest in this story. I promise that there's a lot more to come. Please bear with me.