Switchblade Serenade

TEARS OF FIRE pt 2











The trip to the hospital was something out of a nightmare. About halfway to safety, Yohji began seizing; his eyes fluttered open then rolled up into his head and his body began to flail around, snapping off several of the elastic cords holding him down. Aya threw himself over the wildly thrashing form, trying to keep their oldest team member from injuring himself worse. Their movements mimicked an older, more primal dance, not that Aya was in any position to notice. When they reached the security of the hospital, each of them were whisked away to separate examining rooms and treated for their various injuries.



After Aya received care for a severely sprained ankle, four knife cuts that required stitches and assorted other minor cuts, bruises and abrasions, he went looking for Ken and Omi. He found the former soccer player standing against the wall in the hallway, his arms folded across his chest and a serious expression on his normally cheerful face.



“Ken,” Aya said, limping up to him while carrying his crutches. “Any word?”



“They’re stitching Omi up right night,” the athlete said, giving his leader a strange look. “You know that those things work better if they’re under your arms, right?”



Aya gave the man one of his patented death-glares and went back to watching the activity around them. “Any word on Yohji,” he finally forced the question out from around the lump in his throat.



“They rushed him to the MRI about fifteen minutes ago. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine.”



“And?” he asked, nearly choking on the smell of the hospital. For some reason, every hospital building carried the same odor – a vile mixture of disinfectant, urine, feces and rotting flesh. No matter where Aya went or what floor of the structure he was on, the stench remained the same. A wave of nausea nearly swept him off his feet and he leaned against the cool, eggshell-colored, cinderblock wall. He looked down the hallway, taking in the bland, neutral color scheme of the place.



The building had been built after then discovery of the importance of Feng Shui and the layout had been designed to stimulate the body’s natural healing abilities. Or at least that had been the intent. But overcrowding and a need for more room had chopped up the well-meant plans and the resulting space could, and probably did, trap any evil humors in the rooms.



The squeak of gurney wheels coming down the corridor caught their attention. The figure on the bed filled it to the maximum, height-wise that was, and blood soaked golden hair hung over the edge of the creaking cot. Without thinking, Aya began to walk alongside the gurney and he took one limp, lifeless, ice-cold hand into one of his hands. The orderlies slipped the cot and its precious cargo into one of the stall-like emergency rooms. One of them picked up the manila envelope containing the test results, bowed slightly to Aya and stepped from the room. Ken and Omi soon joined him and they began their vigil.



Ghosts from the past began to chase through Aya’s mind. This wasn’t the first time that he had been on this type of a sentry duty. And the eerie similarities weren’t lost on him. Hopefully Yohji’s prognosis would be different from Aya-chan’s. But he didn’t have too much faith left in hope. The need to yell, scream, swear and chop things up with his katana simmered deep within him. Soon, he’d need to leave and do something physical. Either that or he’d go absolutely insane. Although, insanity did have its good points, he could go out, find that bastard of a German, and run him through. Or better yet, torture him slowly; let his external pain mirror the slowly dying soul deep in Aya’s chest. Unknown to him, icy tears burned their way down his cheeks.







Tears of fire;

From a heart so cold.

Tears of fire;

Feel my flesh explode.

Tears of fire;

Burn into my soul.

I could never let you go.





Yohji still hadn’t regained consciousness when they transferred him to a private room on one of the more elite wings of the hospital. Omi and Ken headed back to the Koneko to rest and recuperate from the various cuts scrapes and bruises that decorated their bodies. Kritiker sent over a few special guards and they sealed the floor up tighter than an eel’s ass. Nothing would get by these silent shadows or at least that was the plan.



Aya helped to move the injured Balinese from the extremely uncomfortable emergency room gurney to the somewhat torturous excuse for a bed. It never ceased to amaze the redhead that a community so committed to the wellbeing of patients could create something so unpleasant as the six-inch thick, Gore-tex covered excuse for a mattress that most healthcare facilities insisted on using. One of the orderlies brought him a chair, one that must have been left over from the Second World War. Its straight back and sagging caning looked about as welcoming as the bed. But since it was the only thing in the room to rest his weary body on, he dropped into it with a drained sigh.



He stroked a hand through the Eurasian’s matted hair - as soon as he got his breath back, he’d try to wash the clotted blood out of it. His sprained ankle throbbed with the steady beat of his heart, causing nausea with every strong pulse. The light in the room hovered between dim and murky and the steady, soft beeping of the telemetry unit soon lolled the redhead into a light, restless doze. In his dreams he relived the events of the night a thousand times, never once being able to change the outcome. A dry, rasping voice woke him from his terror-stricken sleep.



“Aya,” Yohji moaned. “Aya … sorry …didn’t mean … oh GOD!”



“Yohji!” Aya said, shaking the tall man by the shoulders. “It’s all right! Calm down, everything’s all right.”



“Didn’t mean … Aya … so lonely.” Yohji drifted back off into his land of dreams. The blonde’s words left Aya feeling lost. Emotions weren’t his strong point and he had tried his damnedest to disconnect his after he lost everything that truly mattered to him. He didn’t deserve to live and be happy when his parents were dead and Aya-chan slept the sleep of the terminally ill.



Sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t bad luck. Everyone that he had ever cared about had left him and the last two in situations that he should have been able to prevent. If he had gotten out of the house faster, he wouldn’t have been trapped under the rubble his family home and would have been able to pull his little sister out of the path of the speeding car. And Yohji, if that fool of a telepath from Schwarz hadn’t interfered in their lives, Aya wouldn’t have been pissed at the lanky blonde and they would have been side-by-side as they exited the chaos of the mission site. Of course, his tired brain gave him false information and he didn’t remember that this could have happened whether or not his anger was directed at the man in the bed or not.



He sighed and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, trying to stave off the impending headache. When he called the Koneko later in the day, he’d have to remember to have Omi bring up some aspirin or something else for his aching head and throbbing ankle. The emergency room physician had given him a prescription for something stronger, but he hated being muzzy headed, so the analgesic that they had at the Koneko would work just fine. He took Yohji’s hand, held it loosely and closed his eyes against the dim light. That was the last thing he remembered before sleep swooped in and took him prisoner.







* * * * * *





Strong, masculine fingers ran through his hair, brushing it away from his sweaty face. The room around them smelled of sex, sweat and something with deep, woody overtones to it; in other words, it smelled just like Yohji. But over his more male scent the light fragrance of rose lingered too. His aroma mingled perfectly with the tall blonde’s; just like he always knew it would.



“Aya,” Yohji said, smiling up at him with a sated, content look on his face.



“Hm?”



“Aya,” Yohji’s voice drew him from the comforting depths of sleep.



“Yohji?” he asked, coming partially awake.



“Yeah, it’s me. Where the hell are we and why the hell are all the lights out?”



Aya looked around the swiftly brightening room. The early morning light filtered in through the open drapes. It was bright enough in the room that Aya sneezed as his eyes tried to adjust to the brightness.



“What the hell are you talking about, Yohji?” he rasped, his voice still raw from the night. “It’s a perfectly sunny morning.”



“Aya,” Yohji said, panic rising in his voice. “Quit joking around and turn on the fucking lights!”



The tall blonde’s alarm cut through the morning fog in Aya’s brain. He quickly chose to lie to his teammate. “Looks like we might be under a blackout, Yohji,” he quietly said, breaking his own rule of very few words.