Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Reflections ❯ Firsts ( Chapter 14 )

Reflections: Firsts

Chapter 14

A Weiss Kreuz fanfic by L.A. Mason.

Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought.

*************

Author's Note(s): Yes, yes… they're long this time… Deal.

First, I have a special one: "Reflections" has been gifted with a sidefic, titled "Darkness." I cannot describe how tickled I am, and that the character is true to what I envisioned in MY head is icing on the cake. Please, go read it, and give some warm encouragement (so that maybe she'll write us another one!) "Darkness" is posted here on mm.org under the pen-name drunkelnatt, or on ff.net under the story ID 2185187 (pen-name natt_syuusuke). I have included it in the clutter of my favorites list, as well. Thank you, Lyl!

And, second, as a side bonus (and because some of the clues Lyl had to work with for "Darkness" were very well hidden) I'm posting a portion of the timeline for "Reflections." Yeah, there really is such a thing. Although I seem to have encountered a time warp around chapter 12 because somehow the dates don't match the outline. *wince*

Solo Mission

Feb 12th, leave on vacation

Feb 14th, art viewing

Feb 15th,auction

Feb 16th, Aya checks out of his hotel. Moves to Fujita's apartment.

Benson leaves for Houston.

Feb 19th, Birman's last contact with Aya.

Aya's Abduction

Feb 19th, early evening. Aya is `mugged' in the alley, taken prisoner. Locked in basement.

Feb 23rd, Aya is fully conscious again. Cleans and cares for himself.

Feb. 24th, Aya's first (spontaneous) escape attempt. His captors cut his hair and bandage him up. They leave his overnight bag with him (change of clothing and book). Implication is that they have searched the Fujita apartment.

March 3rd, Aya makes an attempt to escape and is seriously injured. His bag with book and clothing is taken away. He remains unconscious for longer and longer stretches of time until the police raid.

Aya's Rescue

March 10th,(2:00am) raid on the Hot Body by police.

Aya is recovered by police.

March 11th, (early)Ken and Omi see Aya's picture on the news.

(late) Weiss steals Aya from the hospital. He's been in police hands for 30 hours.

March 12th, (2:00am) view tape of Aya at art viewing.

(Dawn) team sacks out in den with Aya.

And, last but far from least, thank you to those who have kept encouraging me. The usual guilty parties, and also those of you who have written reviews. I appreciate each and every one of you. (Hey! GreenLady - you write Gundam stories, don't you? I remember something about ties… and shopping… Thank you for the compliment on my use of words. *grin*)

And finally, Chapter 14: Firsts…

Enjoy,

Lisa

****************

"I'm worried about Aya-kun."

Coming out of the blue, the statement took Ken by surprise and he stumbled over a crack in the uneven sidewalk. He slid a sideways glance at his companion, taking in the firm set to the normally smiling mouth, and the way it made the childish jaw jut in a decidedly adult way; Omi wasn't joking. But at the same time, it wasn't as if they hadn't talked their way around the topic before. "Oooo-kay…" he said cautiously. "Not like this is news, or anything, considering everything that's been going on, but why bring it up now?"

"What he said about Yohji-kun, about how everything he cares about, dies? I think he was talking about himself. The problem is that he's withdrawing again, Ken-kun. Every time I look at him, he's farther away. Pretty soon, he's going to stop being there at all." The answer was barely audible as the petit blond addressed the words to the concrete beneath their feet. It was the soft sniffle that punctuated the end, though, that made Ken wrap an arm around the thin shoulders and pull Omi into a rough hug as they continued to walk down the shabby street. Tanagawa in the waning daylight was even less impressive than it had been at night, but at least no one was likely to care about two boys walking so close together; the few pedestrians were just as absorbed in their own business as they were in theirs.

The illusion of privacy was welcome. Earlier, when they had walked in from the smaller train station on the outskirts of the industrial part of the town, the stares and catcalls had fanned Omi's embarrassed blush, and kept his eyes firmly focused on the ground, while Ken's temper had gone into a slow burn. People - or at least the blue collar, rough factory workers - had leapt to the obvious conclusions as to their shared profession, and it made the hot-headed athlete want to go straighten out a few misconceptions. Preferably with his fists. An oddly subdued Omi had seized his elbow and hustled him safely out of view, only releasing Ken when there was no chance he would go back. Disgruntled, Ken had let him have his way, and stomped along with his hands crammed so deep in his pockets that the pants rode dangerously low on his hips. Then it was Omi who kept staring appreciatively, and the frustrated brunet couldn't decide if that was better, or worse.

Christ, he had been ogled by his best friend, when said best friend was dressed up like an underage whore. There had to be something seriously wrong with that.

The only good part to the whole mess was that while Omi might look, he didn't touch the way Yohji did. And that thought of course brought up a whole host of its own annoying issues… Belatedly, Ken realized that Omi's serious, upturned face was still waiting for a reply. He grunted. "Ri-i-i-i-ght. If you ask me, they're both of them heading for trouble. But it does make sense that Aya would understand what Yohji's doing, because it's how he feels, too. What I don't know is how do we stop Aya from hiding. There has to be some way to make him pay attention." Ken tried to adjust his longer stride without knocking the smaller youth off his feet. The stumbling rhythm bumped their hips together, and the teenager stifled a giggle. Leaning into his companion, Omi slid an arm around behind and hooked his fingers into the empty belt loops of Ken's sagging jeans. The thin fingers were pleasantly warm where they brushed against the small of Ken's back.

"I kind of don't think it would work, but we could try tying both of them to chairs, and make them listen to us." the hacker suggested, his giggles becoming out-right laughter as the ridiculousness of it appealed to his innate, positive mind-set. He tugged lightly at the older youth's pants, and Ken fought off a shiver as the cooling air of approaching night got in through the rips to places that really ought to be better protected. Silently, he damned the jeans again, and Yohji, and wished that he had been able to wear briefs under there, without having them show. Distracted, Ken was only half listening as his partner continued to prattle cheerfully on. "Or we could both pounce them in bed? That might not be such a good idea; Yohji-kun might like it a little too much, and who knows with Aya-kun-- "

Guilt flared in Ken's memory, together with a picture of Aya, flushed and panting. "Uh, Omi? I've been meaning to tell-- " Ken began awkwardly, but then the blond waved the words away before he could untangle them.

"Pfft. Yeah, I know. I mean, I don't know know, but I figured you and him would get around to it with me out of the picture. It's okay. I expected it when Aya turned me down." Suddenly old blue eyes flickered up, peering at Ken through a fringe of fine gold. "But it doesn't stop me from worrying about him. Or about you."

The athlete's steps faltered and he nearly tripped the two of them up again. The youngest Weiss' name came out in a groan, "Omi-- "

"No. Listen, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a teeny bit jealous-- " Interrupted by Ken's rude snort, Omi smacked him lightly on the gut and laughed. "Oh, all right. A lot jealous. But that's beside the point."

"You mean, there's a point to this beside you not getting any?" Grinning, Ken couldn't resist. He was so relieved that Omi wasn't mad that his own mood immediately flipped back the other way to match his friend's.

"Ke-en!" The aggravated teen blushed scarlet and stomped lightly on his older companion's instep, making Ken hop clumsily on one leg for a couple of steps. He had to clutch at the waistband of the old jeans, too, just to keep them up, anchored as they were in his companion's fist. Omi's blue eyes went wide, then shuttered behind the concealing veil of his long lashes.

"Ow! You brat! You kick damned hard for such a little pain in the a-Mmph!" Eyes wide, Ken stumbled backwards to find himself pinned to the corner of the storefront they were passing by a slender, hard body that surprised him with its strength. The fingers that had been still tangled in the waistband of the disreputable, faded jeans fluttered onto the rise of Ken's hip, and the gesture translated into an embrace when the blond's other hand joined his first.

"Ken…" The soft voice was throaty, and the distracted athlete nearly missed the fact that Omi had dropped the `kun' after his name, shifting to a more intimate form of address. Suddenly nervous, the smaller Weiss cleared his throat. "You, ah, shouldn't let Yohji-kun tease you. You look very nice."

Nice…? That certainly wasn't the word anyone else had used to describe his artfully shredded pants. Yohji's comments had been verging on the pornographic. Hell, what `verging?' When combined with the expression on that handsome, lazy face, and the teasing, feather-light stroking of the wire man's casual fingers, Ken ended up feeling like a nun on the road to purgatory: it felt oh, so good, and was oh, so, so wrong. He looked down at the sweet, vulnerable features, noting absently that `down' wasn't quite as far as it used to be… Omi had grown a couple of inches in the past year. Somewhere along the way, he had shifted from pretty little boy, to swan-graceful, with the sculpted lines of his delicate throat and the exposed wings of his collar bones. Ken swallowed hard against the sudden dryness of his throat.

"Uh, t-thanks. Y-you do, too." he stammered. Pressed snuggly against his chest, each thudding beat of the hacker's heart was easily discerned, and Ken's sped up to match that rhythm. The sleek, gun-metal gray fabric hugged every ripple and curve of the musculature beneath his shaking finger tips, and Ken was seized by the urge to strip away the clinging fabric, to explore with more senses than just that fleeting touch.

Omi let go of the tattered jeans where they drooped on Ken's hips. One small hand wove into the athlete's dark-streaked hair, while the other curled along the line of his jaw, holding Ken steady while the teen rocked up onto his toes, and indigo-blue eyes wide, seemed determined to kiss the daylights out of the astounded ball-player as their lips met.

"Don't tease unless you intend to follow through." a husky voice commanded. Sinking down from tip-toes to the flats of his feet, Omi nudged the taller brunet around the corner and into the privacy of a narrow, shadowed alley.

"O- Omi!" Ken protested faintly, "What happened to worrying about Yohji? Aya? Remember them? Both tall, good-looking? One's blond? The other has red hair? You know, pissy temper-- "

"Ken, you're babbling. I haven't forgotten them." This time the kiss was slower, but just as breathless. "You're distracting me, you know? Yohji-kun was right about those jeans - they are damned sexy." The soft alto sank into a low purr that was completely at odds with its origin's apparent age. The delicate frame pressed up against Ken again, stretching to match him, knee to knee, hip to hip… and groin to groin. A softly insistent kiss that turned ardent again accelerated the process of turning the brunet's brains to mush.

"Oh, God… Somebody is going to see us. We've gotta stop." Helpless, Ken's hands hovered over his friend's back. The slither-hiss of the dark, metallic shirt Omi wore against his own, faded tee-shirt was arguably the most sensual sound he had ever heard… or it was until the childishly soft voice moaned "Ken, shut up," against the side of his throat, a prelude to the teasing slide of a tongue down the line from ear to collar. Whimpering, Ken repeated, "They're gonna see us."

The ghost of Omi's laugh tickled the hollow at the base of his throat, exposed where the ridiculously outsized shirt dipped low. The smaller Hunter whispered, "Ken-kun, in this neighborhood, people who are having sex are probably less likely to attract attention than those who aren't."

A thread of light, reflected from the clouded glass of the shop windows across the street, was still enough to light Omi's fair hair from behind like a halo. Looking down into the upturned, shadowed face, Ken felt a lump collect in his throat, and had to swallow hard to get past it. Corny though it sounded, at some point when he hadn't been watching, it had stopped being a question of if he was falling for his best friend, and just become one of when. Without even thinking about it, his hands curved gently, palm and strong fingers fitting themselves to the delicate jaw, wonderingly stroking the smooth skin. How did this happen? he asked himself, dazed. He couldn't remember waking up at some point, and thinking, Today, I'm going to fall in love…

And to do it not once, but twice, now that was a miracle.

Omi and Aya? He was going insane. His feelings for the sweet boy - young man, Ken reminded himself - were nothing like what being around Aya did to him. But it was. In some weird, understated, time-warped kind of way, it was exactly the same.

Christ on a crutch! Ken shook his head in disgust. The next thing I know, I'll be falling for that asshole Yohji… And hard on the heels of that disturbing thought came the realization that he had begun to care about the playboy, had begun to feel an exasperated affection for him, just as he did for the rest of his team.

Three other young men, who were all incredibly different. Yet, also, exactly the same.

Ken let his head fall back against the grimy brick with a thunk, and groaned out loud. Damn whichever one of his teammates it was who had put the idea of Kritiker wanting to built a closer bond between them into his head. In the space of the week that they had been on the run, Ken had fallen, and fallen hard for more than one of the men he had to work with. He toyed briefly with the constricted sensation in his chest, and finally acknowledged that he suspected that the feelings had been there for a long time before his admittedly slow brain had caught on to them. It wasn't just Omi, at this moment, or Aya when the cold man was hurting enough to allow his touch, but his entire team - the unit - that was front and center in his mind. He cared about all of them.

Although, if Kritiker had entertained visions of a group orgy, he was sorry to have to disappoint, because that image was just too unnerving to give solid form to.

Oh, God… he was actually thinking about Yohji, and sex, at the same time, and when he wasn't blind drunk. The groan became a soft, frustrated whine of distress.

"Ken-kun? What's the matter?" Soothing fingers rubbed the twitching muscles of his stomach, the palm innocently staying far away from the crotch of his jeans. Guiltily, the ex-soccer player twitched as it sank in that he'd been staring out into space, making sounds like a dog that had just limped home after being on the loosing side of a spat with a cat.

Ken blinked at the anxious face peering up at him. "Jesus, Omi… " he whispered, "How can you stand to do this? How can you bear to take a chance on us… on me? Don't you realize how screwed up I am?"

"You're not, Ken. At least, not any more than I am. I mean, I don't even know, really, who I am. Even with being given a family and a name, I'm just as lost as ever. All I know is, I'm tired of being alone." An unexpectedly bitter laugh, as out of place as snow in the Sahara, gusted from between his lips.

"But… You wanted to wait."

"I did." Omi shrugged, the movement sending a darkly silver gleam rippling over the fabric of his shirt. "But I'm not stupid, Ken. What we're doing is dangerous. Seeing Yohji and Aya acting like that just makes me understand even more that I may not have the time to wait. We could get killed. We could all get killed by this."

Killed. Dead. No more chances, no more opportunities to follow up on what would have to remain a regret forever, for whichever of them survived. Oh, he definitely understood. Ken got it on a visceral level, his stomach clenching with the beginnings of a familiar panic. It wasn't that they didn't live with risks every day, because they did. Any mission could go sour, and then one of them wouldn't be coming home any more. But this, this bizarre game of cat-and-mouse, this hunt where Weiss was the prey, not the predators, was different. More deadly. More dangerous. They had been so lucky, each time they clashed with their unknown opponents, and who could say how long it would be until that luck ran out?

Something flashed ominously in the smaller teen's shadowed eyes. He closed the distance between them again, leaning his lesser weight into the solid brunet. Determination roughened the childishly sweet voice.

"Let me, Ken-kun. Let me touch you." Omi's fluttering fingers trailed up between them, tracing the edges of the tears in the denim. A small thumb rubbed with blatant determination over the contours of Ken's erection, daring him to deny its existence.

Helpless, the older youth's breath escaped in a gasp.

"Remember a few months back, the assignment where Youji-kun wouldn't stop teasing me because I kept blushing?" At the wry grimace in the husky voice, Ken found himself grinning. He definitely remembered the episode; it had ended with an exasperated boy shouting `Next time you crawl in the ventilation shafts!' and Yohji laughing until the tears came. Ken had never completely gotten the why of it, but he did remember, and it had been damned funny at the time.

"This was why - I was stuck in an air conditioning duct in the building for over an hour, because I was afraid to move, because I might make too much noise, or the movement might be seen. The grate I was by, this guy was looking straight at it the whole time…" Omi's voice faltered, threatening to crack in embarrassment, but after a moment, he continued. "Anyway, he was lying on the desk in the office, with his trousers off, but still wearing his suit coat, and this other man was licking him, and sucking on him… The second guy's head was in the way part of the time, so I couldn't always see what he was doing, but the one on the desk, he had this naked, stripped look to his face. It was so beautiful. I want to see your face like that, Ken-kun."

The thumb was joined by four fingers, and a toughened palm, gripping with exquisite strength through the worn fabric. Ken moaned and had to lock his knees to keep from sliding down the grubby wall.

How in God's name had he gotten from swearing off sex totally, to this? The part of his brain that was busy squealing NO! Bad idea! was rapidly getting drowned out by the deprived part that was exulting Yes! We're gonna get some! Or maybe that was the `depraved' part, Ken thought fleetingly, because screwing Omi in a dirty alley was definitely not one of his purer daydreams. But then the agile fingers found one of the more strategically placed rips in the tattered jeans, and rational thinking came dangerously close to being a thing of the past. Desperate, the older youth tried imagining running laps as a punishment, and the first thing that came to mind was an image of Omi with the near-transparent shirt limning every curve of his slender body as it became soaked with sweat. "Eep." Ken whimpered, and gave in. Wrapping his arms around the trim torso, he went to work returning Omi's kiss with interest.

Tension of a different sort than embarrassment was thrumming through the too-small body as Omi hugged him hard in return. They had been this far down the road before, and Ken was used to - assuming it was possible to get used to being drugged half out of his mind - the eager touch of tongue, lips and teeth against his mouth, and the side of his throat. His own body remembered how wonderfully sweet his best friend tasted and felt, and the instinctive tightening of every muscle couldn't be faked. At least, that was Ken's excuse when he found himself cursing and panting as Omi squirmed loose of his bear hug, and began to slowly slide down, rubbing with innocent lasciviousness all the way.

The jeans were so loose that he didn't really feel it when the button in the waist gave way, but the warm puff of Omi's breath nearly put the back of Ken's head through the bricks.

His skull impacted the unyielding surface again when the zipper inched down, and teasing wetness cautiously licked at him.

Omi was really going to go through with it? The idea alone was enough to shut down most of the impulsive athlete's higher reasoning functions. Of the four members of Weiss, he was always the one who acted first, and thought about it much, much later. He was the one with the short fuse, quick to anger… and he had also been the one who had the fiercest sympathy for the victims they encountered, making their cause his, making the battle against the Dark Beasts personal. On some level, Ken was vaguely aware that the road he was on would eventually destroy him; already, he was beginning to take the harsh, furious thrill of being a Hunter, of feeling his claws ripping life, as the center of his metaphysical universe. Or he had been, until the moment they had seen Aya's picture on the news broadcast. From the instant of that first shock, the world had shifted subtly on its axis, and begun leading him to this, to Omi acting out a weird echo of his own encounter with Aya, to the overwhelming surge of emotion.

My team. Mine.

Gasping, Ken jerked helplessly against the wall. Hard time - pun intended - though he was having imagining the words spilling out in that slightly hoarse, young voice, the soft murmur of Omi's voice was going to make him crazy. A thought zinged through his mind, and he snatched at it before it was lost: Omi had picked the site of his seduction with typical, methodical care. The Weiss tactician knew that the publicness of their location would serve two purposes. The guilty rush of doing something forbidden would push Ken to act, even as it would also keep him from allowing things to progress past a certain point, thereby providing the inexperienced blond with a kind of safe word. The frightened trembling of Omi's fingers where they gripped the upper curve of Ken's hip-bones just served to confirm the suspicion.

He was scaring Omi, and Omi intended to go through with sucking him off, anyway.

Somehow, it was so typically Omi, to be frightened, but to continue on. Yohji's words curled through Ken's brain, terribly muddled by the lust that gripped him, but none-the-less too important to ignore. You only get one first time. And this would be both Omi's first encounter with sex, and Ken's first time doing it with the innocent young Hunter. "H-hey… N-not like this. Okay?" Ken whimpered. "S- stop. Not… here!" The words were getting all tangled up, and he had to fight for coherency. "I don't want our first time to be in a hole like Tanagawa, in some gross alley."

The wet, velvet heat left him, and Ken had to fight to keep from thrusting, from trying to follow what had felt better than anything that he could imagine. He bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from begging, from saying that he'd changed his mind and that Omi could do anything he wanted, just so long as it didn't stop.

"W-why not, Ken?" Sobbing, the words caught in the petit blond's throat, coming out so thickly that the older youth could barely understand them. "I thought you would like it… That you would like me."

"Oh, God… Omi!" Grabbing the quivering shoulders, Ken dragged the boy up and into a crushing embrace, wrapping his arms completely around the too-small body. He buried his nose and mouth into the shining soft hair, and said fiercely, "I want you so much I think I'm going to explode. But I don't just want a quick blow job in an alley, got that? I want you. And, when the time comes, I want you to be just as hungry for me. Got that?"

The delicate features went from flushed with a mix of frustrated lust and embarrassment, to wide-eyed with something approaching terror. "You want me??" He swallowed hard. "Oh, oh no. Oh, Ken… It'll hurt, won't it? I-- " An apprehensive shiver ran the length of his body, instantly telegraphed to Ken by virtue of their close contact.

What the fuck-- ?

Well, that was sure a serendipitous choice of words… the brunet thought queasily. Replaying precisely what he had said out loud, and factoring in the tone of his voice, it was easy to see why Omi was turning into a nervous wreck. Because, being Omi, and being as organized and driven as he always was, it was obvious that the hacker had done some research. And his research on gay sex probably was pretty explicit on the fact that the littler one usually bottomed, and that it was - to put it mildly - painful the first time. Very painful. Disgusted with himself, Ken let his sweat-clammy temple rest on top of his best friend's head, and sighed. The realization that Omi was attempting to be determined, no matter what, together with the cooling effect of the chilly breeze on exposed body parts, was doing a dandy job of wilting any lingering interest he might still have had concerning continuing. "I want you." he agreed soberly. "But we're going to do this at your speed, not mine. And that means that it's going to be a good long time before I ever fuck you into a mattress."

Omi twitched at the blunt wording, but he made no move to escape from Ken's grasp. Heartened by the fact, the brunet found himself grinning into the soft, silken hair. "Actually," he drawled, breathing carefully into the nearer of the quivering teenager's ears, "I think you should be the one to try it out on me first… Once you see how good it is, I'll bet you get over being scared. Just think… you can do anything you want, and get some ideas as to what you think would feel good when I do it back. To you."

Having Omi's face pressed against the juncture of Ken's neck and shoulder was doing a good job of muffling what sounded like swearing. Then Omi lifted his head a fraction, swallowing thickly, and mumbled, "How long till we can go home?"

Snorting, Ken lost the battle and let out choked laughter. "Soon." he promised. "Let me pull myself together, and we can go start parading you around, and see how long it takes for the shark to take the bait."

Omi swatted the athlete's hand away, and reached down between their bodies. His strong, slender fingers rubbed regretfully over Ken's groin. "Sadistic jerk." he muttered, amending it to "Sadistic jerk who won't let me jerk off, either." when Ken began to snicker. The trembling fingers briefly cupped Ken's balls before slipping deeper, moving like a serpent into the cleft between his shaking legs. Those fingers moved with the same betraying precision that they did everything with, and Ken gasped weakly, sagging against the blond's shoulder.

"Mission." he wheezed. "Mission first, right? Then we go home." Against his chest, Omi nodded just as weakly, stroking his companion's erection as it was gently tucked back inside the sinfully torn up jeans.

"Promise?" he asked in a whisper. Ken nodded fervently.

"Fuck, yes. I'll even pinky-swear."

************

It was getting more and more cold as night settled fully onto the city streets, and Ken was seriously regretting not digging out his ski jacket back at the lodge, never mind that it wouldn't have fit his cover. And, if he was cold, Omi had to be ready to die in his baggy black cargo shorts and see-through shirt. There was a thin wind-breaker in Ken's backpack, but he wasn't about to put it on when his partner had nothing, and Omi had already glared and refused when Ken had offered it to him. But at least the biting wind was something to believe in, unlike the grimy, desperate gaiety around them.

Headlights and neon strobed, painting the dingy two and three story building in garish color, flashing reflections that silhouetted the other people on the street. Business men. Factory workers. Drug dealers. Whores. All in a confused mingling of genders and ages, making it hard to tell who was a customer, and who was a supplier. All with the same furtive, hopeful/beat-down air about them: Maybe tonight is the night… Maybe tonight I'll get lucky.

The two disguised Weiss had been warned away more than once from choice corners, from places where the lighting provided a spotlight to focus attention on someone with more importance than they had, and Ken was beginning to wonder if they were making a mistake. They had been meandering up and down the main drag of the red light district for close to two hours, and hadn't seen any sign of their quarry. Omi leaned against his side, shivering a little, and said quietly, "Patience, Ken-kun. We've had stake-outs before where it took days to get a nibble."

Reluctantly, Ken nodded in agreement. Oh, he didn't like it, and not just because he had extended his little finger in a binding oath to his closest friend, either. It had more to do with the fact that the longer they stayed, the greater the chance that some bastard playing hooky from his respectable day-life was going to try to pick one of them up, and he didn't really want to find out if his dedication to the mission extended to the same lengths as Aya's. And, even less, did he want to know what Omi was capable of. It was well into the busiest part of the night, and a lot of the other street-walkers had already gotten into cars, or retreated to places with flashing neon signs advertising rooms by the hour. At this rate, they were going to get noticed just for being the only ones left.

With a guilty jerk, the brunet realized that he had let himself get distracted from watching the people around them; anyone of whom could be an agent of the enemy. Take the woman walking in front of them, who wore a purple satin mini-skirt that clung to the contours of her rear, and a matching short-short jacket trimmed in fluffy white fake fur. Something about her swaying walk, impossibly graceful despite the four-inch spike heels, teased at Ken and he scowled. Then, caught by a gust of chilly wind, her hood fell back, exposing bleached blond hair and he knew why she had seemed so familiar.

It was Honey. The whore who had given them the bogus information about where Aya had been held prisoner, and who had damned near caused Omi and Yohji to get killed in the garage ambush. Before he could even think, he was running after her.

Instinct made the woman spin around, a thin-bladed stiletto appearing magically in her hand just as Ken slammed her into the privacy of a recessed doorway, seizing her wrist and giving it a sharp pinch that send the knife spinning into the gutter. Omi moved smoothly past him, scooping the knife up and taking a flanking position leaning against the grimy wall out in the open. His deceptively casual gaze flickered over the few remaining pedestrians, and the passing cars, watching for anyone who might interfere even as his ears were tuned to catch every nuance of the conversation inches away in the alcove.

"Stupid bitch!" the athlete snarled. It didn't matter that he would have been shorter than the hooker even if she had been in stocking feet - in his rage he would have taken on anyone. Viciously, he twisted her imprisoned wrist until the bones grated together and she gasped at the pain.

"If you want your money back, I don't have it!" she cried, flinching futilely back against the locked steel door.

"It's not the God damned money, you bitch! You made me think he was at the Hot Body and he never was! Why?"

The woman looked shiftily to the side, finally muttering, "They told me to say that, if anyone came around asking questions."

Furious, Ken grabbed a fistful of her jacket, drawing the woman toward him and then slamming her back against the solid panel. Another pained gasp burst from Honey, and she sagged a little in his hold. "Who? And why would you go along with it for?"

"Those guys… the foreigners. They said they had contacts in the police department, and that they would help out Mishakawa and Iida… Those two idiots may not look like much, but they're family. I figured, `what the hey?' It couldn't hurt…" she drew in a trembling sob, adding as Ken's hold on her wrist tightened impossibly, "Fuck… it does hurt, you little shit."

"And it's gonna hurt worse if you're lying." Ken growled. Adrenaline was making his thoughts race, and he wished desperately that he could ask Omi for help with the impromptu interrogation, but his partner was watching his back. A stray idea came winging across his brain, and he demanded, "Was selling us the videos their idea, too?"

"No. That was mine. With my cousins out of business, cash's been getting tight to come by. It seemed like a good idea at the time…" A whimpering laugh accompanied the boneless sag as the last of her resistance bled away. Dimly, Ken recognized the passive helplessness of a victim, and felt a surge of disgust at himself. In the past, when he had seen women like this, they had been the ones Weiss was intent on rescuing, on freeing from the Dark Beasts, not someone that he had been the one threatening. Revolted, Ken licked at suddenly dry lips and eased the pressure a degree, both that on the woman's wrist, and that of his imprisoning weight.

"If you're lying, so help me God, I'm gonna hunt you down and kill you." he whispered. A flicker of fear in dark eyes surrounded by smudged mascara told him that every word had been received - and believed. In that instant, he and Omi stopped being just a couple of punk kids, and moved sideways into a more dangerous category in the self-sufficient whore's mind. Ken could almost feel her instinctive recalculation of his place in the universe.

Why was he surprised that Honey had sold him out? It wasn't as if the woman owed him any loyalty. Ken took a deep breath and held firmly to his fraying temper. Screaming at the hooker would get him no where. Honey was just another victim of circumstances, nothing more. Quietly, he asked, "So exactly what was the deal with these guys?"

"If anyone came asking about the man found in Mishakawa's basement, I was to tell them the story I gave you, and to call them immediately."

"Then what?"

"They asked me to describe you."

Ken's blood ran cold. "And… did you?"

"Yeah." The woman proceeded to give an unnervingly accurate description of the former soccer player, right down to the edge of the burn scar visible on the underside of his forearm. Releasing the front of her jacket, Ken's hand closed protectively over the mark.

"And… my friend. The guy who brought the money? Did you tell them about him"

She shrugged. "Nah. They weren't paying enough for that. Besides, they said they wanted to know about the person who came looking, and kept asking if I gave exactly the story they said to."

Yohji hadn't been compromised. Or, at least not at that moment. Relief washed over Ken, but then annoyance shorted it out. The strangers had primed him with a made-up story, available presumably only at a single source. That story had then surfaced at the police station, but out of the mouth of a boy who looked nothing like the one she had told it to. From Omi. For a panicked moment, Ken felt like pulling out the emergency cell phone concealed inside its hidden pocket at the bottom of his backpack, and calling Yohji and Aya to warn them. He squashed the urge, instead demanding, "What else? What else did you tell them?"

"Nothing." she protested. "They asked a bunch more questions about you, like had I ever seen you around before, and if I could get a hold of you again."

Crap, crap, crap. Yohji had written his number on the last yen bill that he had shoved into her halter top. But, wait, that was a Kritiker number… carefully kept untraceable. Omi switched them out on a regular basis, and even if he didn't, the number only led to an anonymous voice mail box that could be picked up from any phone, so long as one had the pass code. It was as close to fool-proof as Kritiker could make it. And, better yet, as close as Omi could arrange. He willed his shaking muscles to relax. Still more quietly, he asked, "Are you going to call them now, and tell them that I came back?"

"Hah. As if. They haven't done shit for my cousins. Why should I help them out any more?" The bitter tone of betrayal was surprising, given what Honey, and Mishakawa, and Iida did for a living, but real none the less. Somehow, the hooker had actually held onto a forlorn hope that the foreigners using her family would come through and save them.

Maybe he could salvage something out of the disaster. "The phone number they had you call. Give it to me." When she rattled it off without hesitation, Ken glanced over at Omi, and took a deep breath. "Okay… here's what I want you to do, Honey. You're going to call them. You're going to tell them that I'm back, and that you saw me tailing a kid. Him." Ignoring the baffled look on the woman's face, and the apprehensive pain that seized his gut at the dawning comprehension on Omi's, Ken nodded toward his friend, and continued. "Tell them that you kind of recognize the kid - he had a regular customer and kept mostly off the streets, but something's happened and now he's walking `em like anybody else. And then you're going to give me that cell phone, and you're going to take a really long vacation. I don't give a shit where, just a long ways from Tanagawa, and any of your fucking relatives. Am I clear?"

The whore's intent gaze shuttled rapidly between the two younger males, and Ken was painfully aware that his tattered, baggy clothes made him look barely older than Omi. "You two…" she murmured, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "You two are trying to set a trap for them, aren't you?"

Omi seized the initiative, and before Ken could open his mouth to deny it, said, "Yes. Absolutely. They hurt a friend of ours. A part of our family. And you understand how that feels, don't you?"

Anger kindled in the woman's heavily made up eyes, breaking past the careful façade of indifference. "Fuck, yes. Punch `em a couple extra times for me, okay?" She pulled a small phone out of hiding in the skin-tight purple mini-skirt that she wore, and flipped it open. A moment after she prodded a speed dial button with one long, lacquered nail, she began speaking, "Hey… You still want info on anybody who asked about that redhead, right? Well, I've got something for you - if you make it worth my while. Yeah? Well, nothing is free, asshole. Sometimes, the payoff just isn't in hard cash…"