The bulging eyes and red face of the man who murdered Maki hadn't phased Yohji at all. He'd almost smiled, watching the man gasp for air, watching thick fingers close uselessly over the wire around his neck. He'd barely even felt it as Omi's careful stiches popped, one by one.

Now he was bleeding. He could feel it soaking the bandage.

Aya, Omi, and Ken had left him alone with her body afterwards, as if there was anything he could do for her now. He'd always thought flowers shouldn't be wasted on the dead, but laying the orchid over her clasped hands seemed inevitable. He wondered if the moon he was sure to see in his dreams tonight would be that pale violet.

He went down the stairs and out the fire door at the back of the building. He dialed Aya's cell phone number, told him he'd get home on his own.

There was a pause before Aya replied. "Don't drink," was what he said, at last. "Your wound--"

"I know," Yohji snapped, and hung up. The alcohol would make it harder for the blood to clot. But damn, he really wanted a drink.

He wondered how he'd get home. He could walk, in theory. It wasn't that far. Maybe twenty blocks. He could call one of them for a ride later, but Ken or Omi would want to talk, and he couldn't face that. Aya would've been okay, except he'd apparently forgotten how to mind his own business.

Yohji paused in the shelter of a doorway to light a cigarette. He wasn't supposed to carry those on missions either. No wallet, no ID, no personal items of any kind. Fuck it; it wasn't as if he was going to leave the butts at the crime scene.

They were allowed to carry cash, but he'd forgotten. Just getting here had been as much as he could manage.

Street lights cast his shadow across the pavement, sharp and slanted, as he walked. It looked too distinct to be just a trick of the light, as if it had a life of its own.

"Just watch," Crawford had told him. "Don't interfere."

So Schuldig just watched. He watched four dark shapes go into the building. He heard the dying screams of the senior members of Riot in his mind. He watched three shapes leave.

Schuldig's job was over. The 50-50 chance that Takatori would choose this night to visit his business associates had not materialized. It would've been much easier to just make up Takatori's mind for him and ensure he'd spend a nice evening at home, but Crawford had said no. Which was weird, because normally Crawford was all for fucking with Takatori's mind.

So Schuldig was out in the damp night for basically no reason at all, while the rest of them ate pizza and watched Japanese-dubbed Alfred Hitchcock movies. Fuckers.

But as long as he was out here already, he might as well find out what had happened to the fourth member of the team. That one had felt familiar to him.

Schuldig didn't know that many people in Tokyo, and fewer still who killed for a living. When he rounded the back of the building, he wasn't exactly surprised by what he found.

Yohji was leaning in a doorway and he slid down to sit on the doorstep as Schuldig watched. He curled over, head resting on his knees. The hand holding his cigarette lay limply on the cement.

There was no guilt in his surface thoughts, which was a nice surprise. Had he really come that far in...what? Three weeks? Maybe a little longer. The loneliness was unsurprising, considering his team had just up and left him behind. Crawford could be a stone bastard and a fair few of Schuldig's scars came from his displeasure, but he'd never left one of them behind.

Schuldig studied Yohji's hunched figure for a second and then pushed a little deeper. Pain was his immediate impression, quickly followed by an anger that left no room for guilt, or at least not simple guilt at the lives he'd taken tonight.

Yohji raised his head, looking around, and Schuldig pulled quickly out of his mind.

"Who...?" Yohji said. He tried to get to his feet and didn't make it.

Schuldig stepped out of the shadows. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

Yohji groaned and lowered his head again. "Wonderful. Just what I needed."

"I am, actually, thanks for noticing. I mean, unless you want to sit there and bleed to death. Up to you."

"If that's the choice that involves you fucking off, then yeah."

Schuldig braced a hand against the wall, leaning over him. "Too bad for you, then. You don't get to die when I might still want to kill you someday. Get up."

"Make me."

"Fine."

There was a dizzying moment when Yohji thought he might lose the remains of his long ago supper, and then he was slung neatly over Schuldig's shoulder.

He punched him in the back as hard as he could, painfully aware that it wasn't very hard at all. "What the hell! Put me down!"

"Shut up. And if you hit me again, I'll take you to the hospital."

Yohji re-thought the kick he was planning to aim towards Schuldig's stomach. The hospital would mean police when the doctors saw the bullet wound.

"Where are you taking me now?" he asked instead.

"There's a first aid kit in my car."

A few more steps passed in silence. Yohji's weight was not on his wound, but while the position wasn't actually uncomfortable, it was still embarrassing.

"I can walk."

"Bet you can't."

"I can."

"Bet you your watch you can't."

"Put me down."

"Is it a bet?"

"Yes, all right? Just put me down." He'd killed three people tonight. Walking a few blocks shouldn't be a problem.

Schuldig put him down. Blood rushed to, or possibly away from, Yohji's brain. Darkness crept over his eyes, and the hole in his side throbbed. He took two steps and crumpled slowly to his knees.

He braced his hands against the sidewalk and let his head hang down until he was sure he wasn't going to pass out. When he looked up, Schuldig was squatting beside him.

"Hand it over," Schuldig said, grinning.

"You should've said which watch. I've got two more at home."

"But I want that one."

"Too bad for you."

Schuldig frowned. "I should just leave you here. Welsher."

"Feel free."

There was a brief pause.

"What are the other two?"

Yohji sighed. "One of them's a Rolex."

"Ding, ding, ding!" Schuldig sang out cheerfully. "We have a winner."

Yohji's arm was pulled over Schuldig's shoulders, so that when Schuldig stood, he was forced to his feet as well.

"I like that watch," Yohji muttered.

"I bet you'll like not dying more. It's fun. Trust me."

"I'm not going to die. It's just a scratch."

Schuldig helped him the last two blocks to his car, and Yohji lost track of his irritation in the pain of getting his body to move. He almost wished he hadn't asked Schuldig to put him down.

At the car, Schuldig yanked the passenger's side door open and dumped him onto the seat.

"Take your shirt off."

Yohji tried. He really did. He just couldn't get the sleeves to cooperate, and the world was going spinny again.

Schuldig smacked his cheek lightly, and he realized he'd been staring at his own reflection in a store window, one arm tangled in his sleeve.

"You are such an idiot." Schuldig tugged his shirt off over his head, and Yohji winced as the movement pulled the muscles in his side.

Schuldig peered at the wound. "You popped your stitches? Good job."

"Didn't do it on purpose," Yohji mumbled.

Schuldig did things to the wound that stung and soothed by turns. Yohji closed his eyes. He'd seen enough of his own blood.

Schuldig taped the bandage into place. The stitches would need to be redone, but that could wait. Would have to wait, anyway. This wasn't the place for it, and he could hardly drag Yohji back to Schwarz's apartment. Not without some very pointed questions from Crawford, anyway.

He looked at Yohji with mild annoyance. "Will they come pick you up if you call them?" he asked.

"...Who?"

"The people you came here with. I saw you. Don't bother lying."

Yohji sighed. "Yeah. Not gonna call though."

"Then call a cab."

"No money."

Schuldig frowned at him. "What exactly were you going to do if I hadn't shown up?"

He shrugged. "Hadn't gotten that far."

Schuldig backhanded him. Not too hard, but enough to make a satisfying noise. Two satisfying noises, since the crack of knuckles against Yohji's face was followed by a loud, "Ow!"

Yohji rubbed his jaw. "That hurt, you son of a bitch."

"Don't call my mother names. Get your phone out and call your little friends."

"You're not driving me home?"

Schuldig just stared at him. Yohji seemed to be as surprised by the question as he was.

"I thought...to get the watch...fuck. Never mind." Yohji stood up quickly and sat back down hard, clutching his head. "Fuck," he said again.

Schuldig pushed his legs into the car and closed the door. He got in the driver's seat and started up.

"Where are we going?" Yohji asked.

"Hotel."

"Don't stick me with the bill again. I don't think I can outrun anyone right now."

Schuldig pulled out his cell and dialed Crawford's number. It'd be easier to use telepathy, but telepathy wouldn't interrupt their viewing of North by Northwest.

"Was that your boss?" Yohji asked after Schuldig had hung up.

"Yeah."

"You..." He trailed off, wondering if it was a good idea to point out that Yohji now knew his boss' name.

Schuldig snorted. "Yeah, I used his name. It's Bradley Crawford, actually, but he gets really pissy if you call him Bradley. Please," he added. "You and your little band of merry men are not a threat to us. Not remotely."

"Why are you doing this?" Yohji asked.

"I told you. You don't get to die until I've decided whether or not I'm going to kill you."

"I wouldn't have..." He stopped. He didn't think the wound was life threatening, but the truth was he'd barely looked at it. He thought about bleeding out in that doorway, less than a block from the bodies of the men he'd killed. Two weeks ago, it would've seemed appropriate. Now it just made him shiver.

"Yeah, well," he said instead. "You let me know when you decide."

Schuldig didn't answer or look at him. After a minute or two of silence, Yohji wondered if he'd spoken at all.

That faint scent he remembered from their last encounter crept over him.

"Do you want to die, Yohji?"

"No." It felt different saying it out loud.

"If you ever change your mind..."

He rolled his eyes. "You'll be the first to know."

"Good boy."

Schuldig pulled into the hotel parking lot and skidded into a parking space with a twist of the wheel and a scream of the brakes. He grinned and leapt out of the car, around at Yohji's side and yanking him to his feet in a second.

Yohji tottered and swayed, and the world went a little dark around the edges. He closed his eyes, but Schuldig's grip on his arm was insistent. He was towed along until they reached the lobby and he could lean on the counter while Schuldig spoke to the girl behind it.

"Pay her this time," Yohji hissed at him.

Schuldig sighed deeply. "Fine. You're no fun at all."

But he did hand over a credit card and got a key card in the usual way. Thankfully, the girl asked no questions about Yohji's state, even with his shirt still off and blood seeping through his bandage. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice.

It was a nicer hotel than the last one; marble floor, fountain in the center of the lobby, glass elevators that let you look down as you rode up to your room. Or, in this case, gave everyone in the lobby a good view as you were groped by the man riding up to your room with you.

Yohji pushed weakly at Schuldig's chest. "Quit it." He could see the girl who'd checked them in staring.

Schuldig laughed and stuck a hand down the back of his pants. "You're too easy."

Yohji thought about kneeing him, but Schuldig stopped just then, still laughing as the elevator doors opened.

"You are such an asshole," Yohji muttered.

"Whatever. Come on."

Dragged down the hall and into a room that smelled faintly of roses, Yohji collapsed on the bed. Sleep would be good, he thought. Sleep would be fantastic. Miraculous, even. A reason to start attending church again.

Schuldig sat beside him, bouncing the bed. "You want those stitches now?"

"Whatever," Yohji heard himself mumble.

He felt himself rolled onto his side, felt the bandages peeled away. There was nothing else for a while except for easily ignored rustling sounds.

He slept.

Schuldig finished the stitches, but kept the pain block in place a little longer. The pain would wake him otherwise, and he'd just start griping. Not that that wasn't entertaining, but Schuldig needed to think.

He sat at the head of the bed, arms around his knees. The light from the open bathroom door was enough to let him see Yohji's shadowed face and the stained white of his new bandages.

This was a little too much work for a watch.

He drummed his fingers on his knee, thinking back, not quite sure how he'd gotten here. Each step had seemed logical enough. Yohji was a damn good lay. There was no point letting him die. Which, all right, he probably wouldn't have done, but a few bandages weren't much trouble.

The hotel and the stitches, that was something else. That seemed like maybe a little too much for a guy he'd only fucked twice.

On the other hand, Yohji was clearly an idiot, and who knew where the fuck he would've ended up if Schuldig had just left him there. Not that it mattered. But he was a good lay.

Yohji groaned quietly and curled further in on himself. Schuldig gave more concentration to the pain block and watched his face smooth out.

A light push with one foot rolled Yohji onto his back, sprawled diagonally across the bed. Half-naked and unconscious. Schuldig leaned forward and touched his lips, which parted. Schuldig's finger was drawn into his mouth.

Interesting. He drew his hand back, noting the slight suction and the wet heat of Yohji's mouth. Payment, he thought. It was only fair.

He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick, stroking it a few times. It didn't take much, not with Yohji lying there, lips parted and faintly wet. He knelt over over his chest and cupped the back of his head, lifting it. Bringing Yohji's lips in contact with the head.

Yohji made a face at the bitter salt of the liquid that slowly gathered at the tip, but it was the easiest thing in the world to make him believe it was sweet. Sweet like honey, no, like booze. Just a little twist in perception, and Yohji's tongue was lapping at him steadily, lips brushing and bumping against him until he'd had enough teasing and started to press inside.

He stopped with just the head inside, soothing Yohji's mind, keeping him from consciousness just a little longer. Yohji was sucking gently, idly, tip of his tongue pressing almost too hard against the slit in search of that taste.

Schuldig gasped, thrust forward, let go of his hold on Yohji's consciousness a little sooner than he'd planned. Watched his eyes open.

For a few seconds, Yohji kept sucking lazily at his cock, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Those few seconds made his cock pulse with heat, made him want to fuck Yohji's mouth right now.

Then the panic cut in, and Yohji was pushing him off, scrambling back across the bed and almost off it before Schuldig let up on the block and all the pain hit him at once. Yohji curled onto his side and groaned.

"You didn't have to stop," Schuldig said. "You were doing so well."

"I fucking hate you, you son of a bitch. What did you do to me?"

"I rescued you from certain mugging and stitched you up and paid for your hotel room. You could show a little gratitude."

"You drugged me."

"Do you feel drugged?"

"...It wore off. Just in time."

Schuldig snorted. "Right. Because that's a more logical explanation than you being a natural cocksucker."

Yohji just shut his eyes and turned his head away.

"I could make the pain go away," Schuldig offered. "If you finish what you started."

"No more drugs," Yohji said, voice muffled by the bedspread.

"No drugs. And it wasn't all that bad, was it? Tasted better than plastic, I bet."

He shunted some of the pain away, let it fizzle off harmlessly before it reached the brain, just a few chemical chains broken. Yohji breathed out in relief.

"What makes you think I ever--"

"Sucked Keiko's strap-on before she fucked you?" He smiled, watching Yohji's face turn a shade paler. "Girls like to gossip. So, did it? Taste better?"

Yohji frowned. "It didn't taste like...like I thought." Like women. Or like me.

Schuldig laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm just special. Doesn't hurt as much now, does it?"

Yohji shook his head. "How did you do that?"

"Does it matter? Get over here and finish what you started."

"No." Yohji yawned and laid his head back down on the bed, hand tucked under his cheek. "Gonna sleep now," he mumbled. "Night."

Schuldig stared at him, lips pressed tight. He could make Yohji do this. He wouldn't even have to control his movements. He could use the pain to push him into it. Yohji wasn't all that far from actually wanting it.

"Fucking hell," Schuldig said.

Yohji either didn't hear him, or chose to pretend he didn't.

He could force him, but then he'd probably have to force him next time too, and that got boring fast.

Schuldig sighed as loudly as possible, just in case Yohji was faking it, and took himself in hand.

Yohji woke up well rested and in surprisingly little pain. His side hurt when he sat up, but he could sit up, and his head wasn't spinning any more. He looked around for Schuldig, but the room was empty.

His stomach itched. He reached down to scratch it without looking and found himself scratching something off. It came off in flakes, and at first he thought it was skin. Then he looked down. Dried in white streaks across his stomach, it was certainly not skin. He groaned and dragged himself into the bathroom to wash it off. Nice, Schuldig. Very classy.

Even classier was the note written in soap on the bathroom mirror: Don't you fucking dare get room service! Yohji was heading for the phone with a smile on his face almost before he finished reading it.

He almost changed his mind when he noticed the neat stitches in his side. Almost.

Two hours later, well fed and reasonably clean, he left the hotel--through the back door, just in case. His cell phone rang as he stepped outside.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Aya demanded.

"Fuck, do we have another mission already?"

"Just answer the question."

"I'm..." He looked around and gave Aya the name of the hotel. "I don't know what street. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Just stay there," Aya said. "I'll pick you up."

Ten minutes later, the white Porsche pulled up, and Yohji got in.

"What's wrong?"

Aya said nothing. Yohji grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. "Aya, seriously. What is it? Is everyone okay?"

Aya shook off his hand. "Next time you're wounded and you choose to stay out all night..." He paused, clearly restraining himself from filling in what he thought Yohji's activities might have been. "Next time, call."

Yohji stared at him. "Were you worried about me?"

"It would be inconvenient to deal with a replacement. It took long enough to get used to you."

If you looked hard, there were dark circles visible under Aya's eyes. He looked crankier than usual. Somehow, Yohji kept himself from grinning.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just called a friend, and he got me a hotel room. I wasn't thinking real clearly."

Aya looked almost curious, but of course he wouldn't ask. Aya never asked. And last night's behavioral aberration had apparently been brought on by actual human concern, for all he was trying to hide it.

Yohji patted his shoulder. "Thanks for the ride, man."

Aya didn't quite shrug his hand off this time, though he looked as if he might like to.

"Do you still know people?" Yohji asked suddenly. "From before?"

Aya shook his head.

"No one at all?"

"No." Aya glanced at him. "Do you?"

Yohji shrugged. "Sorta." But he didn't, not really. He knew people to say hello to in clubs or on the street, and he still had contacts at the police station, but that was all.

There was no one from before who mattered, no one but Asuka. It had always been the two of them against the world, with no room for anyone else.

Well, there was plenty of room now.

He talked through the rest of the ride home. Aya's responses were monosyllabic, but at least he responded. Aya gave him an odd look when he suggested they all get take-out and a movie, but didn't refuse. When they got home, Ken and Omi jumped at the idea, even before Yohji said it would be his treat.

"Where'd you get that?" Nagi was staring at his wrist.

Schuldig held his hand up, turning it so the gold of the watch flashed in the light from the halogen track. He'd say this much for Tokyo; the apartment was nice.

"Like it? It was a present from our fearless leader."

Nagi glanced at Crawford.

"He's lying," Crawford said, without looking up from his computer.

"Did you steal it?" Nagi asked.

"No, I didn't steal it." He was about to say more when Farfarello looked up from the knife he was sharpening.

"His boyfriend gave it to him," Farfarello said. There was no hint in his face that he was joking, but amusement hung around him so thickly that it took no effort to pick it up.

"Excuse me?" Schuldig said. "I don't--"

"Fucked him three times, and not killed him yet," Farfarello said.

"Twice!"

"What were you doing all last night, then?"

"Were you following me?"

"Yes." Farfarello went back to his knife sharpening, point made. His attention span was short, but in this case not short enough.

"Well?" Nagi asked. "What were you doing if you weren't fucking him?"

"Tending his wounds," Crawford said. Schuldig could feel his smirk from all the way across the room. "In a hotel room, which Schuldig will be paying for out of his personal account."

Nagi almost laughed, except of course that Nagi didn't laugh, so it turned into a cough as it left his throat.

"I hate you all," Schuldig said. He turned up the volume on the TV.

Yohji climbed the stairs to his room, buzzed more on laughter than on beer. They'd rented something historically inaccurate with swords, which had given even Aya something to point and laugh at, though he didn't laugh so much as grumble. Still, everyone had looked like they were having fun. Yohji counted the evening as a success.

He switched the lights on in his room and kicked the door shut, pulling off his shirt at the same time. He dumped it in the hamper by the dresser, and his eyes were caught by a piece of folded paper propped against a bottle of aftershave.

A note. He picked it up and unfolded it.

What did I say about the fucking room service? You owe me.

His Rolex was gone from the back of his underwear drawer.

Yohji sat on his bed and lit a cigarette.

Schuldig could easily have called the hotel and asked for an itemization of his bill. That would explain how he knew about the room service charge. He was an assassin and was presumably capable of searching a room without leaving it looking like it had been searched, which explained the fact that the watch was gone and nothing else seemed to have been disturbed.

These things, with their logical explanations, brought back other things, which didn't have logical explanations.

Drunkenness was not enough of an explanation for that night in the alley. For not realizing he was getting fucked, for God's sake. And he couldn't begin to rationalize why the guy at the hotel had just handed over that key card with no payment.

And last night... He didn't want to think about last night.

He had no explanation, except that something fucking weird was going on. The credit card Schuldig had used at the hotel would have a mailing address attached to it. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He'd always liked mysteries.