Long blurb
Sep. 30th, 2006 08:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archiveFor the past few days I've been tinkering with this. XD Another thing based off of the RP, only this is the twist we actually ended up doing, with a few different things thrown in by me.
**drops to knees.** I would very much like people's opinions on what I should do for the ending of Breakdown! Is the original ending blurb that I posted the best way to do it? Is the one where Gin has to revive Vodka the preference? What about what I'm posting now? Or should I take a little bit from different things and mix? You know, I was considering a fourth thing: just incorporating the part with Gin rescuing Vodka from the gang and leaving out all the snow stuff, instead going into more or less the conversation from the original first draft ending.... What I'm afraid of is that throwing in any amount of action near the ending is anti-climatic, but on the other hand, I think it might be good for Gin to have to take care of Vodka for a little bit.
Of all people who could have been there at that moment, when Vodka discovered that he was overwhelmed and needed help, the last person he expected to see was his partner. After their argument, Vodka had found himself honestly wondering whether Gin would ever forgive him. Vermouth had tried to reassure him that Gin would not stay angry, but Vodka had not known if he could believe it. But now Gin was there, having come out of seemingly nowhere, his green eyes dark and cold as he pointed the gun at the man who had been about to stab Vodka for the third time.
"Leave him alone."
That was all that Gin said before he pulled the trigger. Vodka watched the gang member fall, his eyes widening in shock behind his sunglasses. Gin shot the remaining two as well, when they tried to attack, and then looked back to Vodka, his green eyes still not revealing any of his inward thoughts as he came over to the other. Slowly he lowered the gun.
Vodka swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Bro . . . ?" He stared at Gin in disbelief, his heart racing.
Gin did not speak. Instead he took hold of the knife's handle, easing it out of Vodka's flesh. Then he studied the wound, frowning somewhat. "This looks deep," he muttered. "What are you going to do about it?"
Again Vodka was surprised. He glanced over his shoulder at Gin, seeing the blonde's serious expression. "I . . . I can't reach it," he answered finally, stammering over his words. He still felt somewhat tense, in spite of the fact that Gin had saved him. He wanted to ask his partner so many different things, but he did not dare. Still, Gin did not seem angry, as he had earlier. The mask was back.
Gin grunted. "Hold still," he ordered, and after a moment Vodka felt a cloth being pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. The shorter man froze, shocked, and tried to let Gin do what he needed to without flinching or tensing. His back hurt more than he would ever want to admit. Gin tended to it in silence, and Vodka finally wondered if the other would ever speak again.
At last Gin did. "It would have been easier for you to have let Aoshi take me when he wanted," he announced then, still working to quell the bleeding. "Why didn't you?"
Vodka blinked again, trying not to let his immense surprise be seen. That was Gin's way of saying that he knew things had been difficult for Vodka and that he himself had caused a majority of the problems. Gin would not expressly say he was sorry for what had happened, but that was as close to it as he would come, and his partner was one of the only, if not the only, person Gin would say it to. With most people, Gin did not respect them enough to bother regretting things he had done or said to them. Vodka took a moment to gather his thoughts before replying.
"It wouldn't have been easier for me, bro," he said at last. "Aoshi wouldn't have given you a fair chance to get better. He would've treated you like dirt, locking you up in a dark room like you were some wild animal. I didn't want to see that happen to you. . . ." He was speaking quietly, but he knew Gin had heard. He could tell from the way the other had pressed down harder on the injury, as if deep in contemplation. He resisted the urge to wince.
Another long silence. "Even after everything that happened today, you would still say that?" There was a touch of desperation in Gin's voice, as well as disbelief. It was as if he could not comprehend that anyone would still care about him, and believe in him. He had long ago given up hope in himself, and he felt that what had occurred earlier---not being able to successfully complete the assignment nor to drive the car---only served to reinforce that. He continued to work with the wound. "Vodka, do you feel that everything you've done has been worth it?"
Vodka could easily hear the almost pleading tone to Gin's voice. He correctly sensed that what happened next depended on his answer to his partner's query. And he answered truthfully as he nodded. "It's been worth it," he said firmly. "If Aoshi had taken you, it would've been a lot worse. . . ." He did not know how much more he could bear, but to get Gin back to his normal self, he had lain everything on the line---his time, his patience, his very sanity. And he could see that Gin had made a lot of improvements. For him, that did make his efforts worthwhile.
Gin grunted. "You probably wouldn't have had to have dealt with me at all, then," he pointed out.
Vodka carefully considered his response to that. It was true, he probably would not have interacted much with him. Gin would not have attacked Vodka in his crazed states of mind. He would not have been stubbornly closed-off, refusing to speak or to acknowledge that he needed help. He would not have gone on assignments too soon and ended up frustrated with himself, nor would he have taken it out on Vodka. The shorter man swallowed hard.
"There's no telling what would've happened to you instead," he said at last, "or how you would've ended up. . . ." But he was certain that Gin never would have recovered in such a situation. It would have been a continuation of the misery he had suffered at Portman's hands, with no end in sight.
Gin fell quiet. His question had been answered to his satisfaction. His bare hands shaking slightly from the cold, he moved the cloth away from Vodka's back, examining the wound again. The bleeding had stopped, but Gin did not have any way to affix any kind of makeshift bandage. He looked up at the snow, frowning as the flakes swirled faster. They were stranded.
Vodka turned to look at him, and he happened to catch Gin rubbing subconsciously at his forehead. The heavyset man found that to be a concern, but he knew Gin would not explain it. Still, he wondered if the apparent injury had something to do with the reason why Gin had not answered his phone. "What are we going to do now?" he asked finally.
Gin half-turned away. "The car's a few blocks away," he said flatly, "stalled. But going to it is really our only option. If we stay out in this, we'll freeze to death." He knew that they needed to keep moving in order to keep the blood circulating. Once they would get back to the car, perhaps together they could figure out how to fix it.
Vodka nodded slowly, admittedly feeling a bit lightheaded from the stab wounds he had taken. But he would not say anything aloud.
It was hard to know how long they wandered through the snow after that. The blizzard swirled around them mercilessly, the flakes nipping at any exposed flesh, and they soon became disoriented. A few blocks became a mile, perhaps two, possibly three. Neither had expected such weather. Vodka winced as he felt the snow stinging his wound.
At some point he started to feel his mind going blank. He continued to move forward, but it was on auto-pilot. One step, another, a third. . . . His thoughts were ages away from this reality. He wondered about Gin again, what had happened to him, and why the blonde had come. He wondered where Portman was, and if she would ever be caught and killed. He wondered how much farther he had to walk, and why he needed to. Surely he could stop and take a rest. That should not upset the comings and goings of everyone else on earth. . . .
Suddenly the snow rushed up to meet him. It took a moment before it fully set in, but then he realized that he had collapsed. He groaned, struggling to get up, but he was so tired. . . . It would not hurt if he just went to sleep, for a short while. He would wake up again in a few minutes and they could continue.
He felt himself being shaken roughly on his uninjured shoulder. "Get up!" Gin's dark voice snapped. "Do you want to freeze to death? You'll never wake up if you fall asleep out in this." Before he could even gather the strength to respond, Gin was grabbing his arm and hoisting him up, or trying to. Vodka resisted vehemently, pulling away.
"Leave me alone!" he cried irritably. He was so cold, and tired. His clothes had never dried from when he had been out in the rain. And it was because of Gin. It was all because of Gin and his ungrateful attitude. . . .
Vodka frowned to himself, trying to fight his way out of the mists of confusion trying to encircle his mind. That was not true. Gin was suffering, and Vodka was suffering, and their emotions had simply spilled over. Neither had meant to hurt the other. And Gin was not ungrateful, was he? A few minutes ago he had indicated that he was sorry for his angry words from before, and also that he did understand and appreciate what Vodka had done for him. And in any case, it had been Vodka's own choice to go out in the rain. He had just become so overwhelmed. . . .
He felt both of his upper arms being gripped now. "I'm not going to leave you alone," Gin growled, "unless you want to die that badly. But do you have more of a reason to want to die than I do? Neither of us have any ties to anyone else. The only reason we exist is because we're useful to the Organization. If it wasn't for that, we would have been dead ages ago, just like everyone else who isn't useful to them any longer. Get up." He pulled, trying to force his companion to stand. Vodka could feel the other trembling from the cold, as he was himself, and somehow he was able to get his legs to cooperate. In a moment he was on his feet again, grabbing at Gin for balance.
He looked up at the blonde, blinking away the fog from his vision. "Bro . . ." he said softly, shuddering. He did not know how much longer he could go on. Now that he was standing, he felt so weakened. And Gin's hands were ice cold. . . . Or was it his own that were?
"Start walking," Gin ordered, and he gave Vodka a firm push forward. Vodka could hear the other coughing, and he took several wobbly steps in the direction Gin had indicated. He did not have any idea how long it had been since they had first started out, but he did have the feeling that it had been longer than the few minutes he was imagining in his mind.
After a moment he felt Gin's hands on his shoulders again. Then the blonde removed them, but Vodka somehow felt a bit warmer. He glanced down at himself, trying desperately to focus through the fog that was trying to take over, and realized that a dark coat had been draped around him. In Vodka's confused state, he could not comprehend at first. But when he looked over at Gin and saw the blonde hair sweeping over the other's turtleneck sweater, he understood. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but then could not piece together anything that would make sense.
Gin looked at him with eyes of emerald ice, his expression never lightening. "Just keep moving," he hissed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
And Vodka did just that, for another indeterminable amount of time. The added warmth helped him to go forward, and he stumbled over snowdrifts as more of the icy whiteness nipped at his face. He knew somewhere in his mind that they must be lost. They had gone much more than a few blocks, but they had not found the car. As he turned a corner, he suddenly was at a hill, and tumbling down it to land in a snowbank. He moaned weakly, trying to force himself up, but he could not. He was too weary.
Vaguely he heard Gin come up beside him. "You have to get up," the blonde said roughly, and took hold of Vodka's arm. But Gin only managed to pull him halfway up before Vodka crashed back down and Gin fell across him.
The blonde muttered to himself, pushing himself away from his partner and trying to stand. The cold tore at his skin and at his energy, and he found himself slumping down on his stomach next to Vodka. He cursed, trying and failing one final time to get up. They would both die out in this. But then he frowned darkly. He would not have given Vodka his coat if he had planned to die himself. He was determined to endure the cold, and Vodka had to survive as well. That was what Gin wanted.
Shuddering, he pushed himself over next to his partner's side. "We have to stay as close together as possible," he growled, "and conserve all the warmth we can."
Vodka nodded, the action barely discernable, and scooted up against the green-eyed man's body. He could not bring himself to say anything. Every time he tried, he could not get any words to come out. He was too exhausted.
He let his mind continue to wander, instead. Would they come out of this alive? Would the experience be a setback for Gin as he tried to recover from Portman's doings? What would happen to them if they both died here? Gin felt warm, but he was also growing limp. Then he would suddenly start, as if dragging himself back to consciousness. Somewhere in his mind Vodka knew that Gin needed the coat he had relinquished, but Vodka could not make himself move enough to give it back to the other. It was as if his body was already frozen, though he knew it was actually because he was so weary.
Then Vodka started himself, feeling his own body starting to sag against Gin. The blonde grunted as Vodka's head came to rest against his shoulder. "Stay awake!" he muttered, shoving Vodka and trying to force him to keep grasping consciousness. Snowflakes were falling over them both, but Vodka did not have the strength to remove any of them. Gin brushed several of the crystals off of Vodka's hands. His own hands were trembling, but at least he could still feel the cold. He had the feeling that Vodka no longer could.
Vodka mumbled something unintelligible. He blinked, struggling to stay awake as Gin had ordered, but he only succeeded for several moments before he slumped wearily against the other once more.
Gin knew it was hopeless. He tried to yell at Vodka, but his voice only came out as a rasping near-whisper. He knew his partner had slipped into the unconsciousness from which there might very well not be any awakening. Still, the blonde reached out with a fumbling hand, half-shaking, half-hitting his partner. Vodka never responded.
The older of the two growled, his green eyes narrowing. The wind swirled around them furiously, pelting them with further snow, but Gin tried to ignore it. He coughed, trying to shield Vodka from the ice crystals by leaning over the other without disturbing the wound on his back. "I'm not going to let you die," he said darkly, placing his hands on Vodka's shoulders as he hunched forward. He was still kneeling in the snow, too weakened to even sit up straight.
His mind wandered to all sorts of places as he tried to force himself to remain conscious. Vodka had looked after him for months now, trying to guide him back to normalcy after what Portman had done to him. Gin had come to realize that it would not have been easy. Vodka had never lost his temper over the situation, until earlier that evening, but there had surely been many times before that when it had taken all of his possible strength to not. Gin had not been easy to take care of. His pride would always get in the way, and he would feel that he did not need anyone or any help. Or perhaps . . . Gin had known that he did need someone and that had been what had made him repeatedly push Vodka away. He could never seem to accept that he was only human. He always felt it a weakness if he needed someone there.
"Why would you say it was worth it?" Gin muttered, his long locks flying out and blowing into his face. "After everything that you went through because of me, after what you're still going through, why would you still say it was worth it? How could this make it worth it?" He coughed again, ducking down as more harsh snow blew over his head.
He had vowed that he would keep Vodka alive, and he intended to. And he realized now that he could not feel the cold as much. He cursed to himself. He was not about to die himself, either. Somehow he would make it. If he could not pull through, then this seemed pointless to him. Gin had struggled to recover from the madness Portman had brought upon him, and Vodka had strived for him to achieve that result as well. If Gin died, then what would it have all been for?
And he never intended to give his life for anyone, either, not that he had thought there would be anyone in the first place that he would care about enough to even do it for. But the way he saw it, such a thing would be more difficult on the one he had died for than on himself. If he was willing to do it, then the other person would be someone who cared about him enough to not want to see him dead. And it would be very hard on that person to deal with Gin being gone.
Gin did not know how long it had been by now. It seemed like hours since Vodka had fallen unconscious. And he was so tired himself. . . . He could feel his body shutting down. He growled weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open but failing for the most part. He knew he could not stay awake any longer. He would force himself not to die, but he knew that he was going to slip into senselessness. "Sorry, Vodka," he muttered as his body went limp.
****
"Oh come on, Vodka, this isn't how you plan to go, is it?"
The familiar voice reached Vodka's senses, piercing through the immense confusion that had spread over his being. He grasped for that voice, trying to hang on and focus and to let it drag him back into the real world. He could feel warmth there, so much warmth . . . and he had been cold for so long. . . . He could not stand the cold. . . .
Slowly his eyes opened. Everything was a blur at first, a somewhat oddly colored blur, and then he realized that he was not wearing his trademark sunglasses. He also realized that Vermouth was bending over him. Immediately color spread across his cheeks.
The blonde woman smiled, looking pleased. "I was afraid you'd decided to leave this world, and me, behind," she purred, touching his chin before leaning back. "You weren't breathing at all when we found you."
At the moment, Vodka was too dazed to really wonder about how he had started breathing again. If he had stopped to actually think about it, he surely would have blushed all the more. But only one thought was registering in his mind right now. "Bro . . . ?" he mumbled, trying to look around. It had dawned on him that he was laying on a soft bed, and he wondered if Gin was nearby, on another.
He was stunned to see a stricken look pass across Vermouth's features. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone again, though her trademark smile did not return. She leaned back further, either because she was trying to give Vodka more space or because she could not bear to be that close to him any longer, for whatever reason. "Vodka . . . I'm sorry," she said softly. Before he could get the strength to ask where he was, Vermouth continued. "I'm afraid Gin wasn't as lucky as you. . . ." She indicated the coat that Vodka was just now realizing had been laid over his chest.
Vodka's mouth suddenly felt dry as he registered the probable meaning of Vermouth's words. It was not possible. She could not mean what it sounded like. Gin could not be. . . . "But . . . no, he . . ." He trailed off, looking around the room again in a panic before seeing the other laying lifeless on another bed near the fire. Gin looked asleep, his eyes obscured by the long bangs, but Vodka could see how pale the blonde's skin was. It looked much too whitish-gray to be that of a living person's.
"That stubborn jackass . . . he must have thought he could stand the cold, even without his coat. . . ."
Vodka looked back to Vermouth, and was surprised to see that her eyes almost seemed to be glistening. But then she blinked and it was gone.
As Vodka woke up more, the panic began to come over him with increasing fury, along with denial. "No!" he cried, forcing himself into a sitting position despite the pain. "No, he's not . . . he's not. . . . Did you even check?" he demanded, remembering Vermouth's earlier frustration and anger towards Gin. Maybe she had given him up for dead without any reason. Maybe he would revive, too, if she tried. . . .
Vermouth looked at him sadly. "Of course, Vodka," she answered. "We've been trying to bring him back, along with you. . . . I guess there's still a chance he could come to, if we give him a little more time and keep trying, but at this point I really think that would just be giving you false hope." She started to climb off the bed. "He must've really wanted you to make it. . . ."
Vodka did not answer. He clutched the coat, his hands shaking. Even though that seemed to be true, Gin would not intend to sacrifice himself, either. Vermouth was right, Gin must have planned to survive as well. But . . .
"You were worse off than he was," the woman's voice broke into his thoughts.
Vodka's eyes narrowed. "Then why was he the one to die?" he shot back.
Vermouth did not have a reply for that. Her expression changed to concern. "Do you need anything, Vodka?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I just want to be alone," he answered quietly.
Vermouth understood. She crossed the room to the door and made her exit, shutting the door gently behind her. Then she leaned against the other side, gazing at the ceiling as she ran a hand through her hair. She muttered something to herself, which was probably another rebuke directed at Gin, and then started to walk off down the long hall of her manor.
Slowly Vodka climbed off the bed, stumbling over to the other one. He could not believe that Gin was dead. Vermouth had admitted that maybe he was not, that maybe he would still come back. Setting the coat aside, Vodka reached out and took hold of Gin's cool wrist, checking desperately for a pulse and silently pleading for there to be one. But there was nothing. Vodka shut his eyes tightly in pain, then opened them and took hold of the coat again. Spreading it open, he laid it across his partner's body before sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. He wanted to look away, but he could not.
"Why, bro?" he asked in a low tone. "Why did this have to happen. . . ."
And the words from their argument suddenly echoed all around him in the otherwise quiet room, the room that was too quiet. Vodka hated them, hated listening to them repeat over and over. . . . Gin angrily saying that he was not a child, that he knew what he was doing. Vodka saying that he wanted Gin to live long enough to recover, that Gin was not well enough to be the leader right then, that he simply could not. Gin snapping that if Vodka had so little faith in him, why did he even bother. And Vodka screaming the question right back before getting out of the car.
If I hadn't gotten out, maybe none of this would've happened, Vodka thought then, and felt indescribably disheartened. His moment of weakness had perhaps cost Gin his life in the end. And Vodka could not bear it. They had resolved their argument earlier, before getting lost in the snow, but what did it really matter, if Gin was dead? Vodka could, and probably would, blame himself.
He knew he should pull the sheet up over the body, but he could not bring himself to do that right then, either. He wanted to continue believing that somehow Gin would be okay, that maybe he just needed more warmth. . . . But it looked so eerie, to see him laying there like that. . . .
Contrary to popular belief, he had not been Vodka's first partner. Vodka had originally been assigned to work with Jenever, a highly disagreeable senior operative. Vodka still remembered how much he had dreaded working with him, having heard horror stories about how Jenever had never worked well with others during classes. And as it had turned out, such rumors had not been exaggerated.
Jenever had not liked Vodka at all. Everything Vodka had done had been incorrect in that man's eyes. Depending on the situation and how Vodka reacted, he was too quiet, too loud, acting like too much of a know-it-all, knowing too little, he smoked too much, he took charge of something when he should have left it to Jenever, he did not take charge when he should have. . . . It had been a nightmare for Vodka, and he had been relieved when Jenever had dissolved the partnership. That was something that rarely happened in the Organization, but the two of them had honestly not been able to work well together at all. The only thing Vodka had disliked about the solution was that Jenever had thrown all of the blame onto Vodka, and Vodka had been too stunned over how sudden it had been to protest much.
After that, Vodka had also started to be concerned about how he was supposed to act in any future partnerships. He had never been extremely self-confident, and the experience with Jenever had not helped. When he had later learned that he would be assigned to Gin, one of the most deadly and intelligent operatives, he had felt extremely nervous. He had been certain that Gin would not remember their childhood meeting (and he was correct), that Gin would be even more difficult to get along with (which he had been, initially), and that such a partnership would fail badly (which it had not).
Gin had been irritated by Vodka's lack of assurance on what he was supposed to do. And Vodka had been very intimidated by the blonde's cold, downright icy personality. He had stumbled and stammered over what he would try to say, while Gin would stand there giving him a deadpan look with those unsympathetic green eyes. The first couple of assignments for them had not gone well, though they had succeeded in the end. But Vodka had remained sure that they would not stay partners very long.
Still, somehow they had struggled along for nearly a couple of months. Vodka still recalled how they had then been assigned to the dangerous mission of bringing down a group of saboteurs working for another crime syndicate. It had required quick thinking on both Gin's and his parts, and he knew that if he had not been able to push his lack of confidence aside, they would probably have not made it out alive.
It had been after that when Gin had first started to genuinely respect Vodka, and Vodka had slowly started to feel more comfortable around him. Vodka had finally told Gin about his previous experiences with Jenever, and Gin had not been surprised. He did not respect Jenever, he had said, because that man did not know or care about working in a team with anyone. Nothing was ever good enough for him, and while he did alright with his assignments, he had mostly flattered his way to his current position. He had also said that it was better the way it had ended up, with that partnership being dissolved. Then he had lighted a cigarette and nothing more had been said.
Vodka sighed softly, his shoulders slumping. They had only worked together three years shy of a decade, and yet during that time they had definitely formed a certain bond. They worked together excellently as a team, and they were always highly sought after for many of the more complex missions. Vodka had not thought Gin would die, and certainly not like this. He felt so guilty, as if somehow it was his own fault.
He did not stop to think about or care that as a trained assassin, he was not supposed to feel guilt. He was still a human, first and foremost, and he cared about Gin and would miss him.
He did not know why, but he decided to try one more time to check for a pulse. It was as Vermouth said, him having false hopes, but still. . . .
Again he took hold of the clammy wrist, searching desperately for any gentle throbbing that would indicate a heartbeat. He did not think he was finding anything, or was there something very vaguely . . . ?
Before he had the chance to actually think much about it, Gin's eyes snapped open and he jerked his wrist back violently, not seeming to really be aware of much other than that someone had grabbed him and he did not like it.
Vodka yelped in shock, tumbling backward off the edge of the bed to crash on the floor. When he shook the cobwebs from his mind and dared to look up a moment later, he saw that Gin was leaning over the bed, simply staring at him with that gaze of emerald ice that had frozen many of their enemies in their tracks.
Vodka slumped back against the mattress, looking up at his partner with a mixture of disbelief, shock, confusion and awe. Gin was alive. . . .
Jenever was picked on purpose and it is an in-joke sort of thing. XD Mainly because of something said near the beginning of its Wikipedia article: Jenever (also known as genever or jeniever), juniper-flavored and strongly alcoholic, is the traditional liquor of the Netherlands and Flanders, from which gin has evolved. I just thought that was rather interesting.
**drops to knees.** I would very much like people's opinions on what I should do for the ending of Breakdown! Is the original ending blurb that I posted the best way to do it? Is the one where Gin has to revive Vodka the preference? What about what I'm posting now? Or should I take a little bit from different things and mix? You know, I was considering a fourth thing: just incorporating the part with Gin rescuing Vodka from the gang and leaving out all the snow stuff, instead going into more or less the conversation from the original first draft ending.... What I'm afraid of is that throwing in any amount of action near the ending is anti-climatic, but on the other hand, I think it might be good for Gin to have to take care of Vodka for a little bit.
Of all people who could have been there at that moment, when Vodka discovered that he was overwhelmed and needed help, the last person he expected to see was his partner. After their argument, Vodka had found himself honestly wondering whether Gin would ever forgive him. Vermouth had tried to reassure him that Gin would not stay angry, but Vodka had not known if he could believe it. But now Gin was there, having come out of seemingly nowhere, his green eyes dark and cold as he pointed the gun at the man who had been about to stab Vodka for the third time.
"Leave him alone."
That was all that Gin said before he pulled the trigger. Vodka watched the gang member fall, his eyes widening in shock behind his sunglasses. Gin shot the remaining two as well, when they tried to attack, and then looked back to Vodka, his green eyes still not revealing any of his inward thoughts as he came over to the other. Slowly he lowered the gun.
Vodka swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Bro . . . ?" He stared at Gin in disbelief, his heart racing.
Gin did not speak. Instead he took hold of the knife's handle, easing it out of Vodka's flesh. Then he studied the wound, frowning somewhat. "This looks deep," he muttered. "What are you going to do about it?"
Again Vodka was surprised. He glanced over his shoulder at Gin, seeing the blonde's serious expression. "I . . . I can't reach it," he answered finally, stammering over his words. He still felt somewhat tense, in spite of the fact that Gin had saved him. He wanted to ask his partner so many different things, but he did not dare. Still, Gin did not seem angry, as he had earlier. The mask was back.
Gin grunted. "Hold still," he ordered, and after a moment Vodka felt a cloth being pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. The shorter man froze, shocked, and tried to let Gin do what he needed to without flinching or tensing. His back hurt more than he would ever want to admit. Gin tended to it in silence, and Vodka finally wondered if the other would ever speak again.
At last Gin did. "It would have been easier for you to have let Aoshi take me when he wanted," he announced then, still working to quell the bleeding. "Why didn't you?"
Vodka blinked again, trying not to let his immense surprise be seen. That was Gin's way of saying that he knew things had been difficult for Vodka and that he himself had caused a majority of the problems. Gin would not expressly say he was sorry for what had happened, but that was as close to it as he would come, and his partner was one of the only, if not the only, person Gin would say it to. With most people, Gin did not respect them enough to bother regretting things he had done or said to them. Vodka took a moment to gather his thoughts before replying.
"It wouldn't have been easier for me, bro," he said at last. "Aoshi wouldn't have given you a fair chance to get better. He would've treated you like dirt, locking you up in a dark room like you were some wild animal. I didn't want to see that happen to you. . . ." He was speaking quietly, but he knew Gin had heard. He could tell from the way the other had pressed down harder on the injury, as if deep in contemplation. He resisted the urge to wince.
Another long silence. "Even after everything that happened today, you would still say that?" There was a touch of desperation in Gin's voice, as well as disbelief. It was as if he could not comprehend that anyone would still care about him, and believe in him. He had long ago given up hope in himself, and he felt that what had occurred earlier---not being able to successfully complete the assignment nor to drive the car---only served to reinforce that. He continued to work with the wound. "Vodka, do you feel that everything you've done has been worth it?"
Vodka could easily hear the almost pleading tone to Gin's voice. He correctly sensed that what happened next depended on his answer to his partner's query. And he answered truthfully as he nodded. "It's been worth it," he said firmly. "If Aoshi had taken you, it would've been a lot worse. . . ." He did not know how much more he could bear, but to get Gin back to his normal self, he had lain everything on the line---his time, his patience, his very sanity. And he could see that Gin had made a lot of improvements. For him, that did make his efforts worthwhile.
Gin grunted. "You probably wouldn't have had to have dealt with me at all, then," he pointed out.
Vodka carefully considered his response to that. It was true, he probably would not have interacted much with him. Gin would not have attacked Vodka in his crazed states of mind. He would not have been stubbornly closed-off, refusing to speak or to acknowledge that he needed help. He would not have gone on assignments too soon and ended up frustrated with himself, nor would he have taken it out on Vodka. The shorter man swallowed hard.
"There's no telling what would've happened to you instead," he said at last, "or how you would've ended up. . . ." But he was certain that Gin never would have recovered in such a situation. It would have been a continuation of the misery he had suffered at Portman's hands, with no end in sight.
Gin fell quiet. His question had been answered to his satisfaction. His bare hands shaking slightly from the cold, he moved the cloth away from Vodka's back, examining the wound again. The bleeding had stopped, but Gin did not have any way to affix any kind of makeshift bandage. He looked up at the snow, frowning as the flakes swirled faster. They were stranded.
Vodka turned to look at him, and he happened to catch Gin rubbing subconsciously at his forehead. The heavyset man found that to be a concern, but he knew Gin would not explain it. Still, he wondered if the apparent injury had something to do with the reason why Gin had not answered his phone. "What are we going to do now?" he asked finally.
Gin half-turned away. "The car's a few blocks away," he said flatly, "stalled. But going to it is really our only option. If we stay out in this, we'll freeze to death." He knew that they needed to keep moving in order to keep the blood circulating. Once they would get back to the car, perhaps together they could figure out how to fix it.
Vodka nodded slowly, admittedly feeling a bit lightheaded from the stab wounds he had taken. But he would not say anything aloud.
It was hard to know how long they wandered through the snow after that. The blizzard swirled around them mercilessly, the flakes nipping at any exposed flesh, and they soon became disoriented. A few blocks became a mile, perhaps two, possibly three. Neither had expected such weather. Vodka winced as he felt the snow stinging his wound.
At some point he started to feel his mind going blank. He continued to move forward, but it was on auto-pilot. One step, another, a third. . . . His thoughts were ages away from this reality. He wondered about Gin again, what had happened to him, and why the blonde had come. He wondered where Portman was, and if she would ever be caught and killed. He wondered how much farther he had to walk, and why he needed to. Surely he could stop and take a rest. That should not upset the comings and goings of everyone else on earth. . . .
Suddenly the snow rushed up to meet him. It took a moment before it fully set in, but then he realized that he had collapsed. He groaned, struggling to get up, but he was so tired. . . . It would not hurt if he just went to sleep, for a short while. He would wake up again in a few minutes and they could continue.
He felt himself being shaken roughly on his uninjured shoulder. "Get up!" Gin's dark voice snapped. "Do you want to freeze to death? You'll never wake up if you fall asleep out in this." Before he could even gather the strength to respond, Gin was grabbing his arm and hoisting him up, or trying to. Vodka resisted vehemently, pulling away.
"Leave me alone!" he cried irritably. He was so cold, and tired. His clothes had never dried from when he had been out in the rain. And it was because of Gin. It was all because of Gin and his ungrateful attitude. . . .
Vodka frowned to himself, trying to fight his way out of the mists of confusion trying to encircle his mind. That was not true. Gin was suffering, and Vodka was suffering, and their emotions had simply spilled over. Neither had meant to hurt the other. And Gin was not ungrateful, was he? A few minutes ago he had indicated that he was sorry for his angry words from before, and also that he did understand and appreciate what Vodka had done for him. And in any case, it had been Vodka's own choice to go out in the rain. He had just become so overwhelmed. . . .
He felt both of his upper arms being gripped now. "I'm not going to leave you alone," Gin growled, "unless you want to die that badly. But do you have more of a reason to want to die than I do? Neither of us have any ties to anyone else. The only reason we exist is because we're useful to the Organization. If it wasn't for that, we would have been dead ages ago, just like everyone else who isn't useful to them any longer. Get up." He pulled, trying to force his companion to stand. Vodka could feel the other trembling from the cold, as he was himself, and somehow he was able to get his legs to cooperate. In a moment he was on his feet again, grabbing at Gin for balance.
He looked up at the blonde, blinking away the fog from his vision. "Bro . . ." he said softly, shuddering. He did not know how much longer he could go on. Now that he was standing, he felt so weakened. And Gin's hands were ice cold. . . . Or was it his own that were?
"Start walking," Gin ordered, and he gave Vodka a firm push forward. Vodka could hear the other coughing, and he took several wobbly steps in the direction Gin had indicated. He did not have any idea how long it had been since they had first started out, but he did have the feeling that it had been longer than the few minutes he was imagining in his mind.
After a moment he felt Gin's hands on his shoulders again. Then the blonde removed them, but Vodka somehow felt a bit warmer. He glanced down at himself, trying desperately to focus through the fog that was trying to take over, and realized that a dark coat had been draped around him. In Vodka's confused state, he could not comprehend at first. But when he looked over at Gin and saw the blonde hair sweeping over the other's turtleneck sweater, he understood. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but then could not piece together anything that would make sense.
Gin looked at him with eyes of emerald ice, his expression never lightening. "Just keep moving," he hissed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
And Vodka did just that, for another indeterminable amount of time. The added warmth helped him to go forward, and he stumbled over snowdrifts as more of the icy whiteness nipped at his face. He knew somewhere in his mind that they must be lost. They had gone much more than a few blocks, but they had not found the car. As he turned a corner, he suddenly was at a hill, and tumbling down it to land in a snowbank. He moaned weakly, trying to force himself up, but he could not. He was too weary.
Vaguely he heard Gin come up beside him. "You have to get up," the blonde said roughly, and took hold of Vodka's arm. But Gin only managed to pull him halfway up before Vodka crashed back down and Gin fell across him.
The blonde muttered to himself, pushing himself away from his partner and trying to stand. The cold tore at his skin and at his energy, and he found himself slumping down on his stomach next to Vodka. He cursed, trying and failing one final time to get up. They would both die out in this. But then he frowned darkly. He would not have given Vodka his coat if he had planned to die himself. He was determined to endure the cold, and Vodka had to survive as well. That was what Gin wanted.
Shuddering, he pushed himself over next to his partner's side. "We have to stay as close together as possible," he growled, "and conserve all the warmth we can."
Vodka nodded, the action barely discernable, and scooted up against the green-eyed man's body. He could not bring himself to say anything. Every time he tried, he could not get any words to come out. He was too exhausted.
He let his mind continue to wander, instead. Would they come out of this alive? Would the experience be a setback for Gin as he tried to recover from Portman's doings? What would happen to them if they both died here? Gin felt warm, but he was also growing limp. Then he would suddenly start, as if dragging himself back to consciousness. Somewhere in his mind Vodka knew that Gin needed the coat he had relinquished, but Vodka could not make himself move enough to give it back to the other. It was as if his body was already frozen, though he knew it was actually because he was so weary.
Then Vodka started himself, feeling his own body starting to sag against Gin. The blonde grunted as Vodka's head came to rest against his shoulder. "Stay awake!" he muttered, shoving Vodka and trying to force him to keep grasping consciousness. Snowflakes were falling over them both, but Vodka did not have the strength to remove any of them. Gin brushed several of the crystals off of Vodka's hands. His own hands were trembling, but at least he could still feel the cold. He had the feeling that Vodka no longer could.
Vodka mumbled something unintelligible. He blinked, struggling to stay awake as Gin had ordered, but he only succeeded for several moments before he slumped wearily against the other once more.
Gin knew it was hopeless. He tried to yell at Vodka, but his voice only came out as a rasping near-whisper. He knew his partner had slipped into the unconsciousness from which there might very well not be any awakening. Still, the blonde reached out with a fumbling hand, half-shaking, half-hitting his partner. Vodka never responded.
The older of the two growled, his green eyes narrowing. The wind swirled around them furiously, pelting them with further snow, but Gin tried to ignore it. He coughed, trying to shield Vodka from the ice crystals by leaning over the other without disturbing the wound on his back. "I'm not going to let you die," he said darkly, placing his hands on Vodka's shoulders as he hunched forward. He was still kneeling in the snow, too weakened to even sit up straight.
His mind wandered to all sorts of places as he tried to force himself to remain conscious. Vodka had looked after him for months now, trying to guide him back to normalcy after what Portman had done to him. Gin had come to realize that it would not have been easy. Vodka had never lost his temper over the situation, until earlier that evening, but there had surely been many times before that when it had taken all of his possible strength to not. Gin had not been easy to take care of. His pride would always get in the way, and he would feel that he did not need anyone or any help. Or perhaps . . . Gin had known that he did need someone and that had been what had made him repeatedly push Vodka away. He could never seem to accept that he was only human. He always felt it a weakness if he needed someone there.
"Why would you say it was worth it?" Gin muttered, his long locks flying out and blowing into his face. "After everything that you went through because of me, after what you're still going through, why would you still say it was worth it? How could this make it worth it?" He coughed again, ducking down as more harsh snow blew over his head.
He had vowed that he would keep Vodka alive, and he intended to. And he realized now that he could not feel the cold as much. He cursed to himself. He was not about to die himself, either. Somehow he would make it. If he could not pull through, then this seemed pointless to him. Gin had struggled to recover from the madness Portman had brought upon him, and Vodka had strived for him to achieve that result as well. If Gin died, then what would it have all been for?
And he never intended to give his life for anyone, either, not that he had thought there would be anyone in the first place that he would care about enough to even do it for. But the way he saw it, such a thing would be more difficult on the one he had died for than on himself. If he was willing to do it, then the other person would be someone who cared about him enough to not want to see him dead. And it would be very hard on that person to deal with Gin being gone.
Gin did not know how long it had been by now. It seemed like hours since Vodka had fallen unconscious. And he was so tired himself. . . . He could feel his body shutting down. He growled weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open but failing for the most part. He knew he could not stay awake any longer. He would force himself not to die, but he knew that he was going to slip into senselessness. "Sorry, Vodka," he muttered as his body went limp.
****
"Oh come on, Vodka, this isn't how you plan to go, is it?"
The familiar voice reached Vodka's senses, piercing through the immense confusion that had spread over his being. He grasped for that voice, trying to hang on and focus and to let it drag him back into the real world. He could feel warmth there, so much warmth . . . and he had been cold for so long. . . . He could not stand the cold. . . .
Slowly his eyes opened. Everything was a blur at first, a somewhat oddly colored blur, and then he realized that he was not wearing his trademark sunglasses. He also realized that Vermouth was bending over him. Immediately color spread across his cheeks.
The blonde woman smiled, looking pleased. "I was afraid you'd decided to leave this world, and me, behind," she purred, touching his chin before leaning back. "You weren't breathing at all when we found you."
At the moment, Vodka was too dazed to really wonder about how he had started breathing again. If he had stopped to actually think about it, he surely would have blushed all the more. But only one thought was registering in his mind right now. "Bro . . . ?" he mumbled, trying to look around. It had dawned on him that he was laying on a soft bed, and he wondered if Gin was nearby, on another.
He was stunned to see a stricken look pass across Vermouth's features. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone again, though her trademark smile did not return. She leaned back further, either because she was trying to give Vodka more space or because she could not bear to be that close to him any longer, for whatever reason. "Vodka . . . I'm sorry," she said softly. Before he could get the strength to ask where he was, Vermouth continued. "I'm afraid Gin wasn't as lucky as you. . . ." She indicated the coat that Vodka was just now realizing had been laid over his chest.
Vodka's mouth suddenly felt dry as he registered the probable meaning of Vermouth's words. It was not possible. She could not mean what it sounded like. Gin could not be. . . . "But . . . no, he . . ." He trailed off, looking around the room again in a panic before seeing the other laying lifeless on another bed near the fire. Gin looked asleep, his eyes obscured by the long bangs, but Vodka could see how pale the blonde's skin was. It looked much too whitish-gray to be that of a living person's.
"That stubborn jackass . . . he must have thought he could stand the cold, even without his coat. . . ."
Vodka looked back to Vermouth, and was surprised to see that her eyes almost seemed to be glistening. But then she blinked and it was gone.
As Vodka woke up more, the panic began to come over him with increasing fury, along with denial. "No!" he cried, forcing himself into a sitting position despite the pain. "No, he's not . . . he's not. . . . Did you even check?" he demanded, remembering Vermouth's earlier frustration and anger towards Gin. Maybe she had given him up for dead without any reason. Maybe he would revive, too, if she tried. . . .
Vermouth looked at him sadly. "Of course, Vodka," she answered. "We've been trying to bring him back, along with you. . . . I guess there's still a chance he could come to, if we give him a little more time and keep trying, but at this point I really think that would just be giving you false hope." She started to climb off the bed. "He must've really wanted you to make it. . . ."
Vodka did not answer. He clutched the coat, his hands shaking. Even though that seemed to be true, Gin would not intend to sacrifice himself, either. Vermouth was right, Gin must have planned to survive as well. But . . .
"You were worse off than he was," the woman's voice broke into his thoughts.
Vodka's eyes narrowed. "Then why was he the one to die?" he shot back.
Vermouth did not have a reply for that. Her expression changed to concern. "Do you need anything, Vodka?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I just want to be alone," he answered quietly.
Vermouth understood. She crossed the room to the door and made her exit, shutting the door gently behind her. Then she leaned against the other side, gazing at the ceiling as she ran a hand through her hair. She muttered something to herself, which was probably another rebuke directed at Gin, and then started to walk off down the long hall of her manor.
Slowly Vodka climbed off the bed, stumbling over to the other one. He could not believe that Gin was dead. Vermouth had admitted that maybe he was not, that maybe he would still come back. Setting the coat aside, Vodka reached out and took hold of Gin's cool wrist, checking desperately for a pulse and silently pleading for there to be one. But there was nothing. Vodka shut his eyes tightly in pain, then opened them and took hold of the coat again. Spreading it open, he laid it across his partner's body before sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. He wanted to look away, but he could not.
"Why, bro?" he asked in a low tone. "Why did this have to happen. . . ."
And the words from their argument suddenly echoed all around him in the otherwise quiet room, the room that was too quiet. Vodka hated them, hated listening to them repeat over and over. . . . Gin angrily saying that he was not a child, that he knew what he was doing. Vodka saying that he wanted Gin to live long enough to recover, that Gin was not well enough to be the leader right then, that he simply could not. Gin snapping that if Vodka had so little faith in him, why did he even bother. And Vodka screaming the question right back before getting out of the car.
If I hadn't gotten out, maybe none of this would've happened, Vodka thought then, and felt indescribably disheartened. His moment of weakness had perhaps cost Gin his life in the end. And Vodka could not bear it. They had resolved their argument earlier, before getting lost in the snow, but what did it really matter, if Gin was dead? Vodka could, and probably would, blame himself.
He knew he should pull the sheet up over the body, but he could not bring himself to do that right then, either. He wanted to continue believing that somehow Gin would be okay, that maybe he just needed more warmth. . . . But it looked so eerie, to see him laying there like that. . . .
Contrary to popular belief, he had not been Vodka's first partner. Vodka had originally been assigned to work with Jenever, a highly disagreeable senior operative. Vodka still remembered how much he had dreaded working with him, having heard horror stories about how Jenever had never worked well with others during classes. And as it had turned out, such rumors had not been exaggerated.
Jenever had not liked Vodka at all. Everything Vodka had done had been incorrect in that man's eyes. Depending on the situation and how Vodka reacted, he was too quiet, too loud, acting like too much of a know-it-all, knowing too little, he smoked too much, he took charge of something when he should have left it to Jenever, he did not take charge when he should have. . . . It had been a nightmare for Vodka, and he had been relieved when Jenever had dissolved the partnership. That was something that rarely happened in the Organization, but the two of them had honestly not been able to work well together at all. The only thing Vodka had disliked about the solution was that Jenever had thrown all of the blame onto Vodka, and Vodka had been too stunned over how sudden it had been to protest much.
After that, Vodka had also started to be concerned about how he was supposed to act in any future partnerships. He had never been extremely self-confident, and the experience with Jenever had not helped. When he had later learned that he would be assigned to Gin, one of the most deadly and intelligent operatives, he had felt extremely nervous. He had been certain that Gin would not remember their childhood meeting (and he was correct), that Gin would be even more difficult to get along with (which he had been, initially), and that such a partnership would fail badly (which it had not).
Gin had been irritated by Vodka's lack of assurance on what he was supposed to do. And Vodka had been very intimidated by the blonde's cold, downright icy personality. He had stumbled and stammered over what he would try to say, while Gin would stand there giving him a deadpan look with those unsympathetic green eyes. The first couple of assignments for them had not gone well, though they had succeeded in the end. But Vodka had remained sure that they would not stay partners very long.
Still, somehow they had struggled along for nearly a couple of months. Vodka still recalled how they had then been assigned to the dangerous mission of bringing down a group of saboteurs working for another crime syndicate. It had required quick thinking on both Gin's and his parts, and he knew that if he had not been able to push his lack of confidence aside, they would probably have not made it out alive.
It had been after that when Gin had first started to genuinely respect Vodka, and Vodka had slowly started to feel more comfortable around him. Vodka had finally told Gin about his previous experiences with Jenever, and Gin had not been surprised. He did not respect Jenever, he had said, because that man did not know or care about working in a team with anyone. Nothing was ever good enough for him, and while he did alright with his assignments, he had mostly flattered his way to his current position. He had also said that it was better the way it had ended up, with that partnership being dissolved. Then he had lighted a cigarette and nothing more had been said.
Vodka sighed softly, his shoulders slumping. They had only worked together three years shy of a decade, and yet during that time they had definitely formed a certain bond. They worked together excellently as a team, and they were always highly sought after for many of the more complex missions. Vodka had not thought Gin would die, and certainly not like this. He felt so guilty, as if somehow it was his own fault.
He did not stop to think about or care that as a trained assassin, he was not supposed to feel guilt. He was still a human, first and foremost, and he cared about Gin and would miss him.
He did not know why, but he decided to try one more time to check for a pulse. It was as Vermouth said, him having false hopes, but still. . . .
Again he took hold of the clammy wrist, searching desperately for any gentle throbbing that would indicate a heartbeat. He did not think he was finding anything, or was there something very vaguely . . . ?
Before he had the chance to actually think much about it, Gin's eyes snapped open and he jerked his wrist back violently, not seeming to really be aware of much other than that someone had grabbed him and he did not like it.
Vodka yelped in shock, tumbling backward off the edge of the bed to crash on the floor. When he shook the cobwebs from his mind and dared to look up a moment later, he saw that Gin was leaning over the bed, simply staring at him with that gaze of emerald ice that had frozen many of their enemies in their tracks.
Vodka slumped back against the mattress, looking up at his partner with a mixture of disbelief, shock, confusion and awe. Gin was alive. . . .
Jenever was picked on purpose and it is an in-joke sort of thing. XD Mainly because of something said near the beginning of its Wikipedia article: Jenever (also known as genever or jeniever), juniper-flavored and strongly alcoholic, is the traditional liquor of the Netherlands and Flanders, from which gin has evolved. I just thought that was rather interesting.
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Date: 2006-10-01 02:51 am (UTC)XD I'll have to write some actual flashback blurbs about Vodka and Jenever, and maybe a bit about how things went when Vodka and Gin were first working together.
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Date: 2006-10-01 02:56 am (UTC)