The Devil You Know: Part 2

"Fuck."

Groaning as he rolled onto his back, Yohji hissed as a flare of pain erupted in his arm.

"Fuck."

Cursing might not have been very practical - or productive - at the moment, but it sure as hell made him feel better. Especially since it felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder. Everything hurt, and dammit, if that wasn't something to curse, he didn't know what was.

Lifting his head to take a look at his arm, Yohji's heart sank as he saw the ragged tear in his sleeve. *Dammit, there's no way I can get *that* fixed.* The fact that the arm inside the sleeve was bleeding heavily didn't seem to register in the Weiß assassin's mind as noteworthy; just as the thought that he might be in shock didn't.

Dropping his head back onto the floor, he coughed as the motion threw up a thick cloud of dust. Feeling too tired to move just then, Yohji scanned the remains of what had been the lobby on the main floor of the research lab.

Marble support columns lay in pieces, littering the floor like so many toppled dominoes. The elegant light fixtures that had so impressed him earlier were now nothing more than twisted lumps of metal and broken glass. Heavy support beams hung precariously from the ceiling, held in place by strained pieces of metal that groaned ominously. Sections of the inner walls had crumbled, covering the entire floor with a layer of thick dust.

As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, Yohji was surprised to see that the mirrored windows lining the front of the lobby were still in place, albeit riddled with hairline cracks. Thin beams of light filtered in through the cracks, offering the barest of light to see by. His eyes landed on a pair of dark forms nearby that could only have been human bodies - the outline was too rounded, too smooth to pass for anything else in that chaotic jumble. Swallowing the fear that had lodged in his throat, Yohji lumbered to his feet with an acute lack of his usual grace.

Unsteady on his feet, he staggered over to the nearest motionless figure, nudging it gently with his foot. He was rewarded with a faint grumble that was part annoyance, part something else.

"Oi, Ken. Get up. This isn't the time for a nap."

Yohji barely managed to evade the unexpected blow as Ken lashed out, the blades of his bugnuks gleaming dully in the dim light.

"Goddammit, baka! It's me!"

Blinking sheepishly, Ken relaxed, the claws retracting, as he stared up at his glowering teammate.

"Oh. Gomen, Yohji."

"'*Gomen'?* That's all you can say after you nearly gut me? *'Gomen*'?"

Shaking his head to clear it, Ken ignored Yohji's incensed splutters with practiced ease. Looking around, he realized that the dark profile to his right had to be Aya, the telltale glint of the katana at his side giving his identity away, but someone was missing...

"Where's Omi?" He blurted, turning to face Yohji.

"What?"

Shooting a concerned look at the older assassin, Ken's dark eyes narrowed. There was just something...off...about Yohji. "What's wrong with you?" He demanded, taking a step closer to the older assassin.

Yohji blinked at him in confusion, taking a reflexive step backwards as his personal space was invaded.

"What's wrong with you? You don't sound right."

Yohji opened his mouth to answer, and just as abruptly shut it. Green eyes narrowed in anger.

"*You.*" He snarled, his voice full of fury. Startled, Ken raised his hands in entreaty, eyes wide.

"Bastard, what did you do?"

Realizing that Yohji's anger wasn't focused on him, Ken turned, instinctively clenching his fists, the blades of his bugnuks snapping out. Moving as one, the two Weiß fanned out to form a protective shield in front of their fallen leader, weapons at the ready.

"Really, there's no need for that."

"Oh sure, like we're supposed to believe *that.*" Ken muttered, eyeing the bespectacled man before him warily.

The American leader of Schwarz stood before them, impeccably dressed as always. A rapidly darkening bruise covered one side of his face, giving him a strangely harlequin appearance. Standing behind him, carrying a small figure in his arms, was Farfarello.

"I'm telling you the truth, Weiß. We don't want to fight. Not now."

Something in Crawford's voice struck Ken as sincere, but he couldn't bring himself to completely lower his guard just yet. Not with Yohji so out of it, and certainly not with Aya unconscious and Omi missing.

"Why not?"

Ken winced as Crawford's statement turned calculating at Yohji's words.

"Am I correct in assuming you had nothing to do with the explosion?"

"Don't act like you had nothing to do with it, Crawford." Yohji bit out, shifting his weight slightly. The temperature seemed to drop as the two assassins glared at

each other, neither willing to give ground to the other.

"Where's Schuldig?" Ken asked sharply, raising his hands, and not incidentally drawing Crawford's attention.

"I'm...not sure."

Ken blinked in surprise, both at the American's uncertainty, and the fact that he had deigned top answer his question at all. Let alone truthfully.

"What the hell do you mean you're not sure?"

Crawford turned his steely gaze towards Yohji, although it seemed to have no effect on him that Ken could see. Farfarello shifted restlessly, no doubt itching to have one of his knives in his hand instead of the unconscious boy he held.

"You don't know where your fourth member is either, am I right?" Crawford returned, his voice full of icy menace.

"Are you saying that you had nothing to do with the explosion?" Ken asked, willing Yohji to keep his mouth shut for once.

"Schwarz may be many things, but we are not suicidal."

Yohji snorted, his eyes flicking to Farfarello, who bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. Noticing the Weiß assassin's gaze, Crawford's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his shoulders stiffening.

"So if you didn't set the explosives, and we didn't...then who did?" Focusing on Ken, Crawford reached up to push his glasses back where they had slid down his nose.

"That is what I would like to know, Weiß."

Sighing, Ken lowered his hands, watching Yohji from the corner of his eye. If Crawford's word could be trusted - and there was no guarantee that it could - then both assassin groups were caught up in something neither was prepared for.