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“Dammit! I’ve lost the signal!”
“Cool it, Siberian,” Yohji hissed, gesturing for his friend to fade back into the warehouse shadows. “It’s this old metal frame, it blocks everything.” He strained his eyes against the dark, trying to catch sight of their third.
A flicker of more solid dark darted against the gloom, heading further into the building.
Yohji scowled to himself. “He’s going the wrong way. What’s he up to?” He resisted the urge to call out: they hadn’t been able to confirm that the building was, in fact, empty, and they’d just lost radio contact with Omi. “Siberian, why don’t you –”
The rest of his question – “go see what he’s after” – died in his throat. Where Ken had stood moments ago, only shadows lingered. “Damn!” Yohji backed toward the wall, readying a length of wire.
“Three little kittens, they lost their mittens, and they began to cry…” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, an insolent drawl maddeningly familiar.
“Schwarz! Show yourself!” Yohji snarled, searching the darkness in vain.
“Oh, mother, dear, we sadly fear, our mittens we have lost. Though, it doesn’t look much like a mitten, does it?”
From above, Ken’s headset spun idly to the floor.
Yohji’s teeth ground together in fury. “Bastard!”
Quick as thought, the redhead appeared in front of him, grinning ear to ear like a fox. “No pie for you, I’m afraid.”
Yohji jumped, swinging a loop of wire down to wrap around his enemy’s throat as he vaulted over.
His target looked up. Familiar dark eyes shone with terror behind the shattered visor, asking, begging: “Yohji, why? Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Asuka?” Concentration shattered, Yohji fell hard, landing on his shoulder as he wrenched the garotte away. “No, it’s impossible!”
“It’s impossible,” Neu – Asuka – whispered, crouching low beside him, “because you already killed me, is that it?” A cool hand caressed his cheek, bringing with it a whiff of leather and cigarette smoke.
Yohji fought to clear his head; that fall had nearly knocked him out. “You can’t be real, I’m imagining this!”
“Why should tonight be any different?” Her pale lips hovered just over his own, her breath kissing him with every word. “Just because you’re on a mission and the others don’t know about me, why should I stay away, my love?”
Letting out a howl of rage and terror, Yohji kicked at the apparition, forcing it back and gaining his feet. He picked up the radio headset and tried it, needing to anchor himself to something outside this ghastly situation. “Bombay! Bombay, come in! Abysinnian? Anybody!”
A burst of static answered him in an idiot crackle.
Movement to his right startled him, and he flinched as something fluttered past his ear.
Aya’s glove crumpled to the floor like a shed skin as the mocking voice returned. “What! Soiled your mittens, you naughty kittens…”
“Damn you!” Yohji flung the headset aside and lunged toward the spot the glove had come from, all the while trying desperately not to think about being the only one left of the three.
The red-haired assassin appeared to his left and grappled him down, forcing him to his knees. His lips brushed Yohji’s ear as he whispered, “I know, it’s so much blood, isn’t it? It’s all you can think about, no matter how hard you try. Oh, I’m sorry – were you fond of them?”
Yohji closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.
“Balinese!” A clatter of bootheels, the scuff of leather on concrete, and familiar hands were shaking him. “Snap out of it!”
“Aya?” Yohji blinked, not sure where he was. This didn’t look like the warehouse… “Where’s Ken?”
Aya glowered at him, moonlight gleaming off his hair like blood. “Ambulance. He’ll be in hospital for a while. What happened to you?”
“I –” The words stuck in his throat. “Aya, where’s the warehouse?”
“Where’s the –? Ah, hell, not again…” The swordsman looked away, his jaw set in a harsh line. “I thought you were cleared for duty, Balinese. If you’re going to continue having these blackouts, we’ll have to get that checked out.”
Yohji felt his skin go pale. His stomach twisted miserably. He couldn’t reconcile the events of the mission in his mind.
“Aya, I don’t –”
Aya gripped him by the back of the head and kissed him hard on the mouth before gazing into his eyes and growling, “I will not lose you again!”
Yohji followed numbly as Aya led him to the Porsche, then drove him back to an apartment – their apartment. He watched as his feet climbed the steps, noticed that the moon had climbed the sky as well, and prayed that the roiling memories would soon still into a form he might recognize.
Aya stripped him gently, then shed his own clothing. They didn’t make it to the bedroom, tumbling to the floor together just feet inside the doorway. Aya claimed every inch of Yohji’s sore, battered body, touching and tasting and entering, anchoring him to this very solid moment.
Exhausted and dazed, Yohji lay on the floor for several minutes after Aya had gone to clean up before he realized there was no sound of water running in the bathroom. He stumbled to his feet and headed for the pool of light spilling out from the open door.
Aya lay in a pool of blood, his sword thrust upward through his chest.
On the mirror, written in green soap: I cannot go on with this lie. Forgive me.
Yohji sank to the floor and screamed.
* * *
“The doctors still don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Aya murmured, neatening the edge of a thin blanket. “It’s as if he can’t wake up.”
Omi wiped at his eyes and nodded. “It’s only been three days. Maybe…”
Aya brushed his fingers against Yohji’s cheek, then turned on his heel and left the room.
Ken picked up Yohji’s limp hand and rubbed at it as though willing his strength to enter his friend through touch alone. “Maybe he’s happier there.”
* * *
Yohji opened bleary eyes and stared into the night-thick darkness of the warehouse. He shook off a lingering feeling of déjà vu and strode inward, following his teammates on the start of his last mission.
* * *
Unseen in the hospital room, a red-haired man bit his knuckle to silence a fit of laughter. To himself he murmured, “You’re good kittens! But I smell a rat close by.”