Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Pistol-whipped ❯ The Raven and the Crow ( Chapter 12 )

This one took longer than expected ._. Thanks for waiting guys. For everyone that takes the time to read and regularly review my various piles of crap ^^.

 

“There is no Good or Evil, but thinking makes it so.”

William Shakespeare

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Grey-silver eyes pierced him from behind dark bangs; “Who the hell are you?”

 

 

The city had been loud. The air had been noxious and the streets crowded with people and cars. Neon lights; tall buildings; flashing signs. The sound of millions of feet meeting the floor in fast succession, singing voices heard from the karaoke bars, loud announcers speaking vibrantly out of giant speakers. The swarms of people crossing the roads when the walking lights went green. The colours; the sounds; the smells. Everything about Tokyo was too...hectic.

 

So Ryunosuke was relieved when he squeezed his way off the cramped train and stepped into the calmer outskirts of the city. It hadn't taken long to find her. Of course it was difficult. Like finding a needle in a haystack. But finding a needle in a haystack isn't nearly as difficult when you have a covert government organization behind you and all its resources at your disposal.

 

He had found her.

 

She wasn't far from Tokyo; twenty minutes from Ueno station at most. He had predicted it would take longer than it did, a handful of days, but there he was; standing outside a tall, thin house with a small garden out the front and a brown chair on the porch. It had taken him almost two days; he didn't know how he had done it so quickly. Maybe the weather had somehow been to his favor, or perhaps lady Time was simply on his side.

 

Or perhaps it was the violent sense of urgency that had driven him beyond the need to eat, drink or sleep.

 

The need to find her had been far greater.

 

He had found the house Naomi was staying in. He was standing right in front of it; the grass squashed under his shoes. His chest swelled and he was satisfied at the feat - albeit, swaying a little in his exhausted state as he treaded across the front yard and stepped onto the porch.

 

Humidity was heavy in the late afternoon air - the plants and trees were damp from the recent rains and the grass left trails of water on his shoes. He was sweaty beneath his dark clothes; the tall collar of his jacket irritating the skin along his jaw. The planks of wood on the porch creaked under his weight and he stepped closer to the front door; it had a dark reddish-brown colour. His throat flashed as he swallowed, reaching for the small white button off to the side that would sound the doorbell.

 

A tiny breeze kissed the sweat on his neck.

 

He paused in the afternoon warmth, taking a moment to listen to the voices inside, searching for Naomi's lovely sound. Small insects that were not quite moths and not quite butterflies fluttered around the flowers to the side of the porch. A man on a simple bicycle - the ones with the basket on the handlebars - whooshed down the street behind him, the broken bell making small tingling sounds with every sudden movement. Ryunosuke's attention snapped to the house and its occupants when he heard wooden chair legs screech across tiled floor inside.

 

“It's so hot!” said an exasperated female voice. It was a nice voice, but it wasn't Naomi's.

 

A heavy male sigh, “You think?” he said dryly. Ryunosuke heard some light footsteps - the woman had gotten up - and then the sound of a fridge opening. The man inside spoke again, “Can you put some more clothes on at least?” his head made a small knocking sound when the back of it hit his chair.

 

“It's hot,” the woman said with a smile in her voice, “And I'm sure you can control yourself.” Ryunosuke heard the `tink' of glass bottles against each other, and then the suctioning sound of a freezer door opening, “Ahh, the cold is nice...” she moaned prettily.

 

“Fucking tease,” he spat, “May as well go ahead and take your shirt off,” he told her, even more aggravated. By the sounds of things she had obviously ignored him and continued to rummage in the freezer. “Humph.”

 

“Ah-ha!” said the woman, suddenly excited.

 

The man sounded lazy and annoyed, “What?” The fridge and freezer doors closed and Ryunosuke heard more light footsteps as the woman walked across what he assumed to be the kitchen.

 

“Popsicles!” she said proudly. By the rustling of plastic he figured she was holding them out to her company.

 

The man groaned, “Are you shitting me?” His chair grated along the floor, “I have to watch you prance around all sweaty and dressed in next to nothing, and I can't touch you because you're cousin's upstairs and she'll hear us,” he said; Ryunosuke could imagine the man rolling his eyes.

 

“It's common courtesy, Artemis!” she scolded, and much like the man had earlier, let out a little `humph'. “She needs a place to stay,” she reminded “we're family, whether you like it or not.”

 

He scoffed, “That's all good and fair,” Ryunosuke heard him get up off his chair, “But I'll be damned if I have to sit here and watch you sucking on popsicles.” The wooden chair legs were noisy against the tiles and the eavesdropping Ro agent heard what sounded like bare feet walking across the house.

 

And then the footsteps were coming towards him, getting louder and louder.

 

The woman sighed, “Baby, where are you going?”

 

The footsteps paused near the other side of the door and Ryunosuke froze, not sure if he should run away, ring the doorbell or just...stand there. He was too tired to make the decision fast enough. His stomach growled.

 

“I need some fresh air,” the man called Artemis told her as he pulled open their front door, moving to step outside.

 

He stopped and stared at Ryunosuke, seeing the grey bags under the boy's eyes and the exhaustion hanging off his frame. The Ro agent's extended finger was poised over the doorbell. He simply stared at Artemis; saw him dressed in a white t-shirt and light blue cotton boxers. He was taller than Ryunosuke, had broader shoulders, but a similar build.

 

Slim muscles made for stealth and silence.

 

Grey-silver eyes pierced him from behind dark bangs; “Who the hell are you?”

 

Ryunosuke opened his mouth to speak but his voice caught in his throat. The grey eyes had him frozen, locked with his own dark orbs, and he couldn't find the words to talk. There was something about this man...it was subtle, hard to pick out...like a whisper. It was saying something...

 

He stuttered stupidly; “E-excuse me, but -” the man narrowed his eyes and Ryunosuke felt them dig deeper, “-is Arai Naomi staying with you?”

 

Artemis raised an eyebrow, “Who's asking?” There was a short pause.

 

Ryunosuke hesitated for a second.

 

“...Nagara Ryunosuke.”

 

The woman called softly from inside, “Baby?”

 

Artemis `tched' in annoyance and kept his narrowed eyes on the teenager in front of him, “Fucking teenagers,” he mumbled under his breath and sighed. He turned his head a little over his shoulder to talk to his wife.

 

“Put some clothes on, Chidori,” he told her, “We have another guest.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Again?” she sighed, “But you went just a few days ago!”

 

Alexander Craft looked apologetically at his girlfriend, shrugging off his school bag. It thudded onto the apartment's floor and sagged against the wall. He shoved the protesting pager in his pocket, muffling the annoying `beep' that was the call from Sigma, and took the holster for his gun off the kitchen bench and secured it at his hip.

 

“Sorry, baby, but I gotta go whenever they call,” he said, a soft plea in his voice.

 

Jennifer frowned and rid herself of her own school bag, tossing it on the bland living room couch and stomping towards the bedroom. Alexander's lip curled into a sad smile and he followed her; ignoring the insistent buzzing in his pocket.

 

He leaned against the doorframe to their room and watched her as she sat on the edge of the bed with a huff and crossed her arms, making no effort to hide frustration. They stayed in silence like that: Jennifer glaring away from him at the wall and Alexander appreciating the way her folded arms pushed up her breasts. She broke the silence.

 

“When will you be back?” her eyes shot up to meet his and he dropped his gaze to the floor to avoid the piercing pale green.

 

“I don't know,” he told her.

 

He didn't know what she was thinking; he couldn't tell how she felt. She had been quiet all day at school, and the day before, and the day before that. Of course, he understood that the language barriers and differences in culture were a shock to her, but she had made friends, hadn't she? And she had him. She wasn't alone; he would never leave her alone.

 

But he had, hadn't he?

 

He had left her in California the day after he received orders from Sigma. He left her still, even after she followed him here, whenever they called for a report. He left her every time he needed to go to Nagara's place and go over suspects; he left her every time that damn beeper would go off and interrupt their time alone. The amount of their time together weighed much less than the amount of their time apart. It was understandable then, her anger and frustration towards him. They were understandable, the quiet tears pooling in her eyes.

 

She was sick of being alone.

 

He sat beside her and his weight caused the bed's mattress to dip. “I won't be long,” he promised. A promise they both knew he couldn't exactly keep. She shuddered and blinked, the moisture in her eyes overflowing and spilling down her cheeks. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to her and turning her face towards his, cupping her cheek with his palm. “Please don't cry.”

 

“How long will it take...” she began, biting her bottom lip. Alexander held his attention there, overcome with the shrieking urge to kiss her. He leaned forward, intent on owning her lips when they moved again, cutting him short, “...for us to have a normal life?”

 

“What?” he drew back a little to look into her eyes.

 

“When will they stop calling you?” she asked slowly, painfully, afraid of the answer.

 

Will they ever stop calling you?

 

“Jen...” he whispered, lowering his eyes. “We've talked about this.”

 

“I know,” she said, swallowing and wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand, “and I know I said that I'd wait,” she saw the panic in his eyes, the way his breath hitched and that little movement in the lower eyelid of his right eye. He was getting a headache again. “I'm still going to wait for you.” she said almost hurriedly, cupping his face with her hands, “But it's just that...I'm...” her eyes darted between the two of his.

 

“Sick of all the drama.” He finished for her and pulled away.

 

She smiled a little and nodded, “When can it just be us? No Sigma or Ro - just Alex and Jen?”

 

Like asking someone when will they learn how to fly.

 

He frowned, “I told you, I don't--” he pinched the bridge of his nose when she interrupted him with an outburst.

 

“I'm tired, Alex! I'm sick of running around with these organizations, I'm sick of not being able to just be a normal person! I just want to get out of here!” She got up, shocking him into silence when she sobbed and cried out; “And I'm sick of feeling so selfish and guilty for feeling this way!” She whipped around, turning her back to him, fighting the voices in her head. You cry too much. Don't be such a baby. Normal teenagers don't act like this. Stop being a drama queen.

 

He shot up from his seat; “So get your ass back on that plane and go back to the fucking states!”

 

Silence.

 

He was breathing heavily, a scowl on his features. She looked much smaller to him now that he was standing up, now that her shoulders were quivering and her own arms were wrapped around her, shrinking her frame. The dingy orange light that hung from the cracked ceiling kept blinking off and on with little zaps.

 

“Wow,” she said bitterly, “you actually think I'd leave you?”

 

You should have left already. He doesn't even need you here.

 

Her shoulders jerked and her voice broke, and the sound of it tore his gut from his body.

 

In one stride he was behind her and he spun her around to face him, his hands tightly gripping her shoulders, “You know I'd do anything to live a normal life with you! You know I'd love to run away, sweep you off your feet, and have not another care in the world!” He crushed her body to his, wrapping his arms around her and running them over her small frame as she cried into his chest. “I want to forget all about Sigma and just be with you, Jen.”

 

But it's just...impossible.

 

He hugged her tighter and she whimpered, pulling her arms free and sliding them around his neck.

 

“You know I want to marry you, I want to make babies with you, I want to live the rest of my life with you,” he whispered hotly into her ear, the intensity of his words almost crushing her. “You know that.”

 

Beep, beep, beep.

 

 

***

 

 

“Let me get this straight,” he began, taking a sip of lemonade and placing the cup back on the table.

 

The sun was setting and the temperature was going down, but little beads of water condensed and ran down the tall glass, pooling on the polished wood. The kitchen lights were on overhead, warm and bright, and pots were boiling on the stove. Entreri Chidori was bustling around her kitchen, doing her best to ignore the grumpy man she called husband.

 

He leered at her, “Now we have to take care of two teenagers?” His glare followed her around the kitchen, slowly losing its intensity when he realized she wasn't going to look back at him. “Since when did we become a charity house?”

 

Chidori frowned over the boiling spaghetti, “He said he wouldn't leave without her. We can't just let him sleep on the lawn!” she turned to Artemis and met his glare. Icy grey glinted from the shadows cast by his bangs and dark eyebrows lowered slowly, framing the cold orbs. The corner of his mouth curled up, and he looked simply evil.

 

It wasn't easy, locking eyes with the most notorious assassin in the world.

 

Chidori was the first to crumble, biting her lower lip and turning back towards dinner. Artemis smirked, knowing victory when he saw it (though it had become surprisingly rare these days...).

 

“You owe me,” he told her darkly.

 

The chair screeched a little as he got up and he cringed at the sound, cursing under his breath - something about a dodgy salesman and a brainless ceramics guy. He swiped his lemonade from the table and went to the living room, practically throwing himself on the couch in the effort to make as much noise as possible, and turned on the T.V. He took a gulp of lemonade and enjoyed the way the cold ran down his throat. The news caught his attention.

 

Artemis Entreri had settled. Suburban life had its disappointments and extremely boring points, but he had settled comfortably. A good plain office job, the smell of home cooking every night, the sound of the news and game shows coming from the T.V, and then the rest of the night spent in their bed, not sleeping. Gone was the thrill of his younger days, the dangerous rush and pumping adrenaline that sprung out at you from around every corner. Being married and...settled...had a whole other mood. It was warm, comfortable, full of safety and ease. Entreri leaned back on the puffy, worn couch.

 

The mood upstairs was a little...different.

 

When Arai Naomi opened her temporary bedroom door to find a sweating, exhausted Nagara Ryunosuke leaning on the doorframe towards her, she had thought she was dreaming. Of course, she had dreamt of a moment like this. Out of nowhere, the boy she ran away from would appear at her door, and out of nowhere, he would tell her what she wanted to hear. Those three words that have been torturing her for years of her young life. He would pant in her ear, she'd feel the soft caress of his hand on her cheek, he would whisper and the warm breath would tickle her. He'd press his body to hers and he'd say `I love you.'

 

And even in her dream, she could tell he was lying.

 

This room was a lot like her bedroom at home; warm orange-pink walls and a cushy single bed tucked into the corner. There were two small bedside tables on opposite sides of the room whose polished surfaces were covered in photo frames of her and Chidori's family. The room had a cozy feel. A sense of shelter and security; of family and childhood. Yes, the only thing that made this room different from hers at home was the lack of a study desk stacked with papers, and that small balcony that had a certain special view.

 

“Naomi,”

 

His gruff voice tore her mind from its detour and she realized that she wasn't dreaming. His head was hung and he gazed up at her from behind some black, messy hair. Her hope - her desperate, grasping hope - went into overdrive. What hope! Nagara Ryunosuke was really there! Had he followed her? Tracked her somehow? Was he worried? Had he come to apologize? Her heart thudded against her ribs and the cotton of her baggy nightshirt was suddenly irritating her sensitized skin. She was drowning in his dark, dark eyes...

 

Wait.

 

Naomi stepped backwards away from him, her features suddenly going cold and hard.

 

“Get the fuck away from me,” she spat.

 

His reaction was subtle, but there was one there. He blinked and flicked his gaze to the floor before he met her eyes again, “Naomi--”

 

“I said, get the fuck away from me,” She stepped back and gave him a look that mirrored her words. Her cheeks were flushed with fury; and her hair, a full, black, silky mass, tumbled down her back. His breath was actually caught in his throat.

 

“I just need to--”

 

Sudden moisture sprung into Naomi's eyes and she took another step backwards, “Get out!”

 

Ryunosuke almost flinched. She put even more physical distance between them by stepping back once more, away from his hunched form at the door. Her movements spoke of something he'd never wanted to see in her. That intense something he had seen pass though her watery eyes just after he'd hit her that night. The emotion that told him she didn't trust him anymore.

 

That fear.

 

He knew it well.

 

Naomi watched carefully when his throat moved as he swallowed and took a slow step forward. Her hands trembled at her sides and he moved closer, looking larger somehow as he drew near. It made her feel weak, small, and it made her feel vulnerable. She was always vulnerable around him; her heart was always out there, available for crushing. With Ryunosuke, always with Ryunosuke, she was weak, small, vulnerable.

 

She was sick of feeling that way.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

 

He paused in his advance, “I want to talk to you,” he told her simply.

 

“And I want you to get away from me!” her hands tightened into fists and her chest expanded as she drew breath in through her parted lips. “I'm sick of getting hurt!”

“Naomi, plea--” he couldn't finish. He didn't have the time. Ryunosuke could tell she was going to scream. He kicked the door closed behind him.

 

“ARTE--mph!”

 

He was on her in a flash, a dark-skinned hand secured tightly over her mouth and another at the back of her neck, holding her in place. With his momentum, he pushed her back to a near orange-pink wall and pressed her against it firmly. Her reaction was instant; she struggled and thrashed with all her strength, her face going red and her eyes watering at the strength of her useless muffled yells. The stern, confident look on his handsome face and the small, faint reminder of his strike on her cheek only drove her to fight him off with more severity.

 

Her fight died down when she became more aware of the slender, hard body pressed against hers, the powerful arms that held her in place. Her breasts pressed up against him with every deep breath she took, and she remembered exactly how little clothing she had on. She registered his hot breath tickling her ear, the tiny grunts he made with every exhale.

 

She renewed her resolve and started banging on his broad shoulders, clutching at his black shirt, tugging at the collar. The side of his face pressed against hers and she could feel the rough stubble of a sideburn.

 

It didn't take her long to realize she was getting far too excited.

 

When his left hand on the back of her neck snaked down and snatched both flailing arms by the wrists and pinned them above her head, she knew she was trapped. The baggy shirt she was wearing rode up her thighs and the blue cotton of her panties became visible. Ryunosuke pulled away a little so he could look at her, his lips an inch away from the hand covering her mouth.

 

And they stayed like that in silence, the faint, muffled noises of television coming from downstairs. Ryunosuke's eyes were fixated, unmoving, on hers, and Naomi's eyes darted from side to side at other parts of the room, avoiding the dark shadow in the middle.

 

“Look at me,” he commanded.

 

So she looked at him immediately. And she was scared. Her love and desire for the boy pressed against her was long forgotten when the spiky chill of fear filled her insides. His gaze was far too dark; his grip was far too strong.

 

Is he going to rape me?

 

“Naomi...” his eyes softened and he could feel his own breath on the back of his right hand, “I'm not going to hurt you.” She relaxed, only slightly.

 

Her brows knitted together and she made a `mph' sound. She didn't realize the effect of her lips against his palm on the Ro agent's self-control.

 

“I don't want you to be afraid...” he sighed and pressed his forehead against hers, “You don't ever need to be afraid of me. I just want to talk.”

 

She only nodded.

 

“Can I let you go?” There was a pause.

 

She nodded a second time.

 

He released her wrists and she lowered her arms slowly, feeling the hem of her nightshirt slide to its original place mid-thigh. Her shoulders slumped in a relaxed gesture and Ryunosuke felt comfortable with taking his hand from her mouth. He immediately regretted it though, when the cooler air hit the warm moisture in his palm and her full, wet lips came into view. When he tried to step back to calm himself, he felt a hand on the back of his own neck, stopping him from moving away.

 

Naomi played with his hair, “Why did you come?” her palm slid down; over his shoulder and down his chest before she cut off the intimate contact and hung her arm at her side.

 

His eyes betrayed him and stole a quick glance downwards where Arai Naomi's incredible thighs stood mere inches from his hands. He saw them wrapped around his hips, he saw his hand, the dark skin contrasting with hers, run up one leg over the creamy expanse. He could almost feel the roundness of the ass he had fanaticized about filling his palm. Imagination was a cruel thing.

 

“I needed to talk to you.” He said.

 

He cleared his throat after it came out weak and boyish.

 

“So, talk--”

 

“I'm so fucking sorry, Naomi,” he blurted out, “I hurt you. I hurt you, Naomi! And I don't even know why! I don't even know anything!” He scrunched his eyes shut and buried his hands in his hair, gripping hard. “All I do is hurt you,”

 

She opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off. His eyes opened and he looked at her intensely.

 

“And all you do is cry.”

 

The rough stubble on his chin grazed her skin in the most exciting way as his soft, warm lips covered hers.

 

 

***

 

 

The familiar glare of the clinical white lights in Ro's hallways only made his headache worse. The echoing sound of his shoes on the spotless floor filled the otherwise silent east wing of headquarters. The pager in his pocket was still beeping.

 

It must be important.

 

The sound of the heavy steel doors of the interrogation room groaning open had also become a familiar one. Alexander had learned his way around, had gained a lot of respect, and had generally become more comfortable in the heartless atmosphere that was Ro.

 

Not a good sign.

 

“I'll ignore the fact that you're so late, Craft.”

 

Ben Arc looked older than ever. His baritone voice was tired and scratchy, his eyes were sunken and surrounded in shadow. Alexander watched as the older agent put a cigarette in his mouth; even his hands looked older. The veins stuck out and they looked...wrinkly It was as if in the two days since Alexander last saw him, his mentor had aged eight years.

 

“We need to prepare for the questioning.” He lit the cigarette and closed his eyes peacefully as the smoke streamed out of his mouth, “I'm disappointed that you decided it wasn't important enough to be worth your time. Preparation is everything.”

 

“I have better things to do than run around like a dog.” Alexander took a seat across from Ben before a look of confusion dawned on his features, “What questioning?”

 

Ben sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, I'm sorry boy, but we have to question her weather you like it or not. You've had some time, and I sympathize, but this is what you've been trained to do.”

 

Alexander frowned, “Question who?” he asked, leaning forward.

 

The older man stared at Alexander as if he'd gone mad, then a look of pity crossed his features. He stretched out an arm and gave the teenager a comforting pat on the shoulder.

 

“I know you're having a hard time, son.”

 

The young Craft tore away as if the touch had burned him and he stood abruptly, “What the fuck is going on!?” The white light shone down on him and cast a strong shadow on the table and an eerie shadow over his features.

 

The man narrowed his eyes, “They didn't tell you?”

 

Oxygen suddenly became difficult to come by; the air in the room was too stifling. Alexander's panic hit him before he realized and before he even knew why. He took deep, hasty breaths and fought the urge to vomit. His headache split his skull.

 

“Alexander,” Ben began, realizing that the boy hadn't gone crazy. The poor boy. He hadn't gone crazy.

 

They just hadn't told him.

 

He sighed a heavy sigh, the sound joining Alexander's struggle for air, and pulled a manila folder from the pile of many on the table before him. He flipped it open, the smell of freshly printed paper coming to him, and he read out the details of the single sheet of information there. The light glared off the white paper and the tiny printed words were lost to Alexander.

 

“As reported today, and according to DNA results, at 17:52 on Tuesday of this week, while making her way to her shared apartment after school, Jennifer Richards, 17, was captured and raped inside the building.”

 

Ben paused because Alexander had sat back down and his chair had grated against the floor. He studied the boy, but was only met with a blank stare covered in shadow. He cleared his throat and continued.

 

“Said DNA results show no match for the assailant's identity, and initial questioning has been conducted. Proceed with the full interrogation of Miss. Richards.”

 

 

 

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To be continued...

 

A/N: Moohahaha ._.

 

*points to the `review' button*