Notes: To Sephy, for the beta. Because I am pathetically nervous about dipping into a new fandom and I needed the bolstering. Also, to Kira for bringing this up at the right time to get me searching for scanlations. This would be all her fault. ^^ This is based on the timeline set forth in the OAV, which I've since come to realize is not half as much fun as the manga, but this is what I had to work with before my copies of the books were finally sent. Circumstance A FAKE fanfiction by Amet "Just because the situation is hopeless is no reason to be negative." -Anthony Stewart Head, BtVS I'd always considered the idea that all old European houses were supposed to have a trap door or two hidden among the floorboards a little ridiculous. Dee made some offhand comment about the paneling in the dining room when we arrived, but I brushed it off, accusing him of basing his opinion of an entire culture on one too many Hammer Horror films, moving to unpack the suitcases before he could dump everything in his duffel onto the floor just to say he'd made the effort. Having the wind kicked out of me as my back hit the basement floor did a lot to modify my opinion. I'm going to die here if I can't get my legs to move, I know it. Kindly old Mr. Henry who just slit his loyal servant's throat with a butcher knife from the kitchen knows it too, and therein lies the problem. Hell, I think Mr. Peter Rabbit has an inkling of how things are going to go with the way his beady little eyes are twinkling, but that may be the drugs talking. I'm going to die here, cold and alone except for the stuffed animal clenched in my fist and the soulless corpses stacked against the wall. I say stacked, but the servant's rolled away to settle in a tangle of portly limbs at the foot of the stairs, and the girls are in such relaxed positions I can almost convince myself that they just had too much to drink and passed out down here until I focus on the blood. They look battered, bruised in several places and that just doesn't happen post mortem--how sick was this man that he'd played with them before they died? And for what? Because Arisa was Japanese? English-speaking and American-born, but what's a little technicality between friends? For that matter, why am I suddenly a target? Because Dee insists on calling me by my middle name? I'm so far removed from my Asian heritage I almost feel bad claiming it sometimes. My mother was the half-breed, and her mother was American-born, the daughter of immigrants who made the great pilgrimage to Hawaii before the second World War was even a consideration. Her maiden name was Cook, for crying out loud. If anything, there's more Scots in me than Japanese. Ironically it was my mother who had made me so comfortable with Arisa in the first place. Her straightforward, honest nature and the vague physical resemblance that most Japanese share made her seem comfortingly familiar moments after introductions had been exchanged. I wouldn't have been so quick to heed her advice otherwise, let alone even stood still long enough to let her give it. Something in me insisted that she had my best interests at heart, nosy though she was, and that made her efforts more endearing than annoying. I wish I could have known her better before she died, asked her last name, at least, or her fiancé's. Maybe if I survive this I'll look him up, send Mr. Peter Rabbit to the home Arisa had wanted for him. They named me Ryo because my mother thought it was pretty, and they actually called me that because Randy was my paternal grandfather's name and she'd hated it, despite capitulating to my father's wishes on the matter. No one used the name after my parents died until Dee came along and insisted, and I don't know how he ever figured out that I'd have an Asian name at all. The one time I asked him he laughed like a lunatic and told me his keen observational skills were why they paid him the big bucks. That makes a strange comfort, because as cocky as Dee can be sometimes, I know my partner will see right through our kindly host if I don't make it, when Mr. Henry inevitably stands to face Dee and Bikky with me mysteriously vanished and Carol unconscious upstairs. My makeshift family is sharper than he thinks, and God, the thought that I might never see them again somehow makes the nausea I've been fighting since I fell downstairs even worse. It's my fault I'm in this mess, really. Dee wanted to go to Key West and spend the week lounging in the sun, but I got it into my head to show Bikky some culture, take him someplace where I could expose him to history the way my Dad did when I was in high school. It sounds pretentious in hindsight, but the kid hadn't had much of a break in life before he came to live with me and I wanted to do something special for him, give him something that his father couldn't. Maybe I was just currying favor, but it was important to me that he feel like he was part of a real family even if the state wouldn't let me be anything more than his foster parent and after a little well-timed plying and a bit of a make out session Dee was more than willing to leave the reservations to me. Of course, Bikky hadn't come along at first, passing me a transparent excuse about an important assignment at school barely a day before we were set to leave like I couldn't tell from the maniac grin Dee was sporting what'd happened. I probably should have said something, but I figured if Dee had worked that hard to get me alone, I would let them have their little conspiracy. At least if they're plotting against me they're interacting beyond the usual Neanderthal insults and impromptu beatings. I wish to God they were here now. I just... I don't think either of them really understand how much they mean to me, how glad I am to finally have a family again after so long. I wasn't made to be alone, couldn't stand the silence of my own apartment when I moved back into the city and suddenly there were these two loud-mouthed, needy people pushing their way into my life and vying for my attention. It made me feel special, knowing them, knowing that they thought so highly of me. And it makes me sick to think that Bikky may not have a home tomorrow, that Dee won't have anyone to make sure he eats something healthier than the deep fried heart attack inducements he'd been surviving on before we met. But I'm not thinking about that, because therein lies a whole lot of pain. I'm out of time, I can hear Mr. Henry at the top of the stairs and somehow I will get my limbs to work. I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't just poison me outright, though I think that had more to do with his sense of sportsmanship than any truly noble reasoning, because if he'd done that Cal would have suffered along with me. I can imagine the kind of anger that would motivate this man when I think about that, how close she came to dying with me because Dee hadn’t been vindictive enough to drag her out into the rain with the boys, and for a moment I can almost sympathize with him. A quick glance at Arisa cures me of that. It seems stupid, but I can't help but think about Dee, because I always thought that if someone was going to kill me it'd be some half-witted gay bashing or some ex-con lashing out at the guys who arrested him. It seems cheap to die for something so totally out of my control when it seems I've worked extra hard since meeting Dee to thumb my nose at society. And it's probably stupid that even my nightmares involve being with him when I couldn't even bring myself to tell him that I cared beyond a few oblique hints, but I never said I wasn't selfish. The thing is, I wanted to make the whole arrangement permanent one day, maybe finally convince the state that I could provide a stable enough home environment to adopt Bikky once and for all, and being with Dee would make it infinitely harder to do that. Add to that the fact that for months I couldn't tell if Dee was being serious or just seriously trying to mess with my head with his cheesy pick up lines and I just couldn't bring myself to risk it. Yes, I know I'm an idiot. Even with Arisa telling me that she saw it herself, with Dee actually backing off for once when I told him I was confused, I couldn't say it. Couldn’t do much more in the way of communicating beyond obediently parting my lips when he kissed me, and if I'm going to die I might as well admit that I like letting him do that a little too much to just dismiss. Couldn't figure out my own needs long enough to put them into words and I may have sealed the lid on the proverbial coffin by waiting so long, dug my grave the prerequisite six feet deep and if Mr. Henry has his way now it's time to lay in it. Time. There's not enough time, never enough and I can't help but think of all the things I never said. You'd think that with the way I lost my parents I'd be desperate to tell the people I love how much they mean to me every time it sprang to mind, but I was just so scared of being intrusive, of being needy enough to drive them away that at every opportunity the words just stuck in my throat. What good are all these sentiments when no one will ever know? It's stupid. This whole situation is so stupid, so pointless, and for the record, standing on legs you can barely feel is a really weird sensation. It's hard to keep anything resembling balance, which is not helping my attempts to look defiant in the face of Henry's calm satisfaction. He's got me, and he knows it. It doesn't seem real until I try to take a step and find my foot actually dragging against the concrete, but there it is. I'll fight him, try to make as big and conspicuous a mess as I can in the time I have left, use all that investigatory knowledge to leave as much evidence as possible so that someone--maybe Dee, maybe that Lieutenant Rose or some anonymous MP will figure out that it really is possible for a fifty-something, white collar Englishman to take down a New York detective. It won't stop the dying part, but it could make a difference in the next poor man's life who wanders into the area with the wrong heritage to his credit. I almost want to laugh at that, twenty-four hour cop indeed. At the moment, I can honestly say I'll be fighting the good fight every second of every minute for the rest of my life. Somehow I don't think even Dee's perverse sense of humor would find that funny. return to splash page