That _dumbass_.

An hour ago I was amused. Half an hour ago I was worried. Now I'm fuming. Pacing back and forth along this deserted stretch of road, kicking at litter, and hoping for a ride is no way to spend a Saturday afternoon. I should either be out hunting dark devils or else getting the laundry done, maybe trying to talk Aya into a movie. He hates being cooped up in the trailer as much as the rest of us. Just because he's determined to never show a human weakness doesn't mean he doesn't get bored. Right?

Instead, here I stand doing absolutely nothing while one very stupid assassin chases down the blond kid who _stole_ _my_ _car_.

Which is going to need serious time in the shop if it even survives whatever's happening right now miles down the road out of my reach.

The blond kid had a shotgun. Ken never carries a gun, hates the things.

If he comes back alive I may kill him myself. Especially because I ran out of cigarettes twenty minutes ago.

The rumble of an engine fades into hearing from behind, and I jump to one side of the road. It's Aya with the trailer, yes! He must have realized we'd been gone too long and used the tracker. One of the more humiliating bits of the job, that is - I raised holy hell when Manx told me. She just smirked and then six medics sat on me and stuck a chip under my skin like a dog. Next they'll be scheduling me for walks.

As soon as the vehicle slows enough I've got the door open and myself up into the passenger seat. Aya looks a question at me with his eyebrows. He's not mad today, though I expect that to change in a few seconds; tired, though, and worried. There are little lines around his mouth that I want to kiss away.

I wiggle my thumb at him in the hitchiker's sign. "Thanks for the lift."

"What happened to Ken?" Aya starts the engine, and I hastily pull the door shut as the trailer lurches into motion.

"Blew up and chased after him."

His eyes are so cold. Aya has one of the meanest scowls I've ever seen, and no goddamned sense of proportion. Much too casually I turn to look at the road, pushing the sunglasses up to hide my eyes. That was smooth, Kudou.

Okay, so what should I have done? Aya would have called his name in that deadly velvet tone and Ken would have skidded to a halt, cursing. For some reason my voice lacks this power except on women. And the last time I wrapped wire around Ken he laughed at me, pulled it away with his claw, and ran on with his leg spilling blood.

Aya knows this perfectly well. I think he just likes seeing us flinch; not Omi any more, not since I blacked his eye for it the first time and the kid spent half the day crying in his room. But Ken and I are fair game or something.

I want a cigarette. If I light one he'll just throw it out the window, though. None of them will let me smoke in the trailer, the bastards.

"There's more," I sigh. "And you're not going to like it any better."

No answer. I don't turn back to look.

"Snipers got the girl while we were talking to her. We chased them, then this kid on a bike showed up and mixed into the fight. Saved our lives, we saved his, then he pointed a gun at us and stole my car. Then Ken took the bike."

It's a pretty sad report. Not that we're equipped to fight soldiers with guns and grenades anyway. What the hell is Manx thinking?

"I see..." Thoughtful, not angry. I look over behind my shades. Aya's expression has smoothed out to its usual calm mask, but he's biting his lip. A very bad sign. We merge onto the main road going north, towards the army base.

"Look in the glove compartment," says Aya after a moment. I pop it open to see an all-too-familiar manila folder. The contents slide into my lap: records, summary, photos... oh.

"Yeah, that's the kid." He looks younger in the photograph, his hair black instead of white-blond. "Hibana Akira. Familiar name. Why are we supposed to kill him?"

Aya knows by now it's faster to give me the summary. "He was a police officer until Nichols killed his family. Since then he's been stealing weapons, attacking US army installations and infiltrating their networks for vengeance." His tone is neutral.

I frown. "That's all nice, but aren't we on our way to kill Nichols right now? Why should Kritiker care if somebody messes with the US army?" The kid doesn't sound that bad, either, but we've killed people for less because we were told to.

Of course we've killed people just because they were in the wrong building on the wrong Tuesday. I try very hard not to think about that, ever.

Aya doesn't say anything else. I watch him watch the road for a little while. "Omi in the back?"

"He's at the hospital."

I snap my fingers. "Right, still visiting the girl oh shit." The girl in Omi's class. Oh shit. Hibana Kaori. Oh _shit_.

She and her roommates had been hacking for fun - we thought, heh - and gotten too close to Nichols. So the bastard sat in his little untouchable slice of U.S. territory and sent out snipers to kill them all. Kaori's the only one left now, and Omi's been at her bedside for - almost a day now. I drove him there yesterday and stayed for a while.

He really likes her. And we have to go kill her big brother now.

"Let's leave him out of this." Silence from Aya means agreement. And I watch him watch the road some more.

* * *

Sometimes we overprotect the kid. It's easy to forget he has more blood on his hands than any of us; once, during one of those late-night tell-me-your-first-time conversations, he told me he was twelve.

Fucking _twelve_. When I was twelve I'd already had sex - well, third base anyway - but death was something for the movies, or for old people. You didn't ever hurt someone worse than a bloody nose no matter how much you hated them. You didn't shoot them with a crossbow and watch while they choked on blood, watch their eyes pleading for help and do nothing.

Omi's exactly the other way around. During the same conversation he admitted to only ever having kissed Ouka. Twice. Of course, this makes more sense now that I know he doesn't want the swarm of girls hanging off him, but _still_. At eighteen he should be out seducing the local soccer team or something.

What the hell did Persia teach him anyway? I know he had sole custody of Omi from four on, but that's it. The kid doesn't like to talk about it. Me, I wonder how you raise someone to be sweet as lychees and too young for their age in the daytime, and a ruthless killer when the sun sets.

This morning Ken snapped at him and he looked so forlorn, it was like he was fourteen again and we'd just met. Aya glared at Ken and then all of us felt lousy for a minute. Typical breakfast.

So I pulled him out of his seat and danced him around the main room, singing one of those American pop songs you can pick up on the radio here:

Omittchi, you're so pretty, can't you understand
You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand
Omittchi, it's a pity you don't understand
It's guys like you, 'Mittchi

until he was laughing too hard and we fell over in a tangle. Ken was giggling helplessly and Aya suddenly found it necessary to pick up the sports section and read it with great care.

Saa, I'm good, Aya. Admit it.

* * *

The trailer lurches to a stop, and my eyes flutter open. We're on the road to the hospital, about a quarter of a mile away, standard. Out in the open, not standard. "Aya?"

"Too slow otherwise." He shifts in the seat to look at me. The dark lenses still hide my eyes and I can look right back. Memorizing those features.

He trusts me now to do a hit alone and for Aya, that's a great deal. At the same time -

"No backup?" I try to keep it light but it doesn't come out that way. "Aya, it's an army base. Full of soldiers? With guns? There were supposed to be four of us!"

"I can handle it." His mouth compresses into a line. Wonderful, I've threatened his assassin-machismo now.

"Let me guard your back." Always, Aya.

"No. Get out already or you'll miss the target."

Every single time I lose. Cursing, I jump down and slam the door, and watch him turn the trailer around. Hell of a getaway car that's going to make there, Aya. I don't move until it's out of sight.

Then I sigh and start walking towards the hospital. Hibana Akira will most likely come looking for his sister up through the sewers. If I get to him first Omi never has to know and neither does she.

And Aya will take care of himself and come back alive, the way he has from every other dumbass suicidal stunt he's pulled.

I really need to get a picture of him. You'd think memorizing someone's face a thousand times would engrave them in your memory, but it doesn't. That's the tragedy. The precise curve of Asuka's smile and the highlights in her hair are gone now because I never thought to take a stupid picture. You know those Kodak moment commercials? I hate them.

Manholes are easy when you always carry the right toolkit. I hang for a minute, listening, then drop lightly onto the concrete. The sound of rushing water helps mask footfalls, and the water makes patterns of light and sound everywhere in the dimness. Obvious lurking spot: first corner near that ladder, which probably surfaces near the hospital entrance. I fold into the shadows and wait.

Twenty minutes later my prey approaches from the wrong direction. Black combat boots climb down the ladder. Then blue teenage-girl sneakers. Then black-and-white sneakers that I know far too well, and then muddy brown boots.

Akira and his little sister are clinging to each other tensely. I guess the army snipers made another try at taking her out, up there. But no doubt they both feel safe, because Omi and Ken are flanking them with weapons out. Just radiating good-guy-protectiveness.

This is very, very bad.

* * *
Part Three | Part One

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