[fic]Retribution Five
Two updates in one month. I'm feeling totally accomplished. ^___^
Title: Retribution Five
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Descriptive rape scene (and not of yaoi style), major angst
Characters: Fei Long, Yoh, Mikhail, Feodora
Spoiler: Spoiler for NT arc
Disclaimer: All characters belong to YA sensei.
Beta: angel0399
Previous Chapters: For new readers, 'Retribution' is the third arc of a Mik x Fei trilogy that I've suffered my readers with since 2007. In order to make sense of it I'm afraid you will need to read 'Cruel Intentions' and its sequel 'Revelation' before you begin 'Retribution.' All the links are organized on the side bar of my lj kajornwan along with the trilogy's one-shot fillers. Russian, Chinese and Polish translations by readers are also found here. To make life even easier, a dear reader gryffin-draco has gone through the trouble of putting these in PDF files for download. Cruel Intentions and Revelation. Thank you so much sweetie.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Some parts of this chapter has been rewritten and modified to save your sanity from my junk after it has been beta-ed. Any grammatical mistakes are my stupidity alone and has nothing to do with my poor beta. I just don't want to overwork her on this ^^! And my apologies if it still sucks. I must have rewritten this about 5 times. I can't do this anymore. T_T It's a very difficult chapter for me.
The ride home was long and quiet despite the deafening sound of the helicopter’s engine. Seated behind the pilot, Mikhail stared blankly out of the window. Ever since the news of Alexei’s death there had been few words spoken from Mikhail Arbatov, all of them lacking emotion. The only times he spoke was to issue a command and each time it would give the men a jolt. The tension within the organization had grown to the point that allowed no one to breathe freely. It was one of those events that affected everyone and changed everything. Feodora could see the anxiety written clearly on the men’s faces as they looked to their boss for a decision. Even then, Mikhail had not made any significant moves nor revealed the slightest hint of his plans. From the moment he'd learned of his brother's death, her husband had disconnected himself from everyone, including her. He sat through the long flight from Russia without a word spoken and barely moved from his seat. There had been no tears, no anger, nothing, just the same blank expression that was suffocating everyone around him.
The helicopter landed twenty minutes later at the Arbatov villa in Macau. Mikhail stepped out and headed towards the house, his pace quick and hurried, leaving a trail of bodyguards behind him. With every step he could feel a certain craving, a thirst, or perhaps hunger that needed to be fulfilled. His heart was beating violently, as though someone was punching his chest from the inside. Many times a day his brain would manifest several flashes of events. Sometimes it was something that had happened in the past, other times it must have been his pure imagination. Lately, he could hardly tell the difference. But these visions had been far apart and blurry, only after the moment he saw that face was when they'd become increasingly frequent and as clear as day.
Stop, he said to himself as the flashes occurred again. There he was, Fei Long smiling at him, or was it at Alexei? He closed his eyes and tried to blink the vision away. The images were gone for a second, and then it was replaced with that of Alexei lying in his own blood.
Stop.
He hurried inside as the sharp pain in his chest grew stronger. He needed something, anything, to keep these flashes under control. It wasn't clear to him which room he'd rushed into, nor did he care. His hands were trembling as he searched through the drawers, yanking them down and scattering their contents on the floor. There had to be something around he could use, something quick and strong, before the flashes come back again.
‘Do what you want, he's not my problem anymore.’
Did he say those words to Alexei, or was it just another manifestation? Did he give his brother the permission to go after his lover? Did he ...
Stop. He shook away the thought before he could finish the dreadful question, hurling yet another drawer off the cabinet in hope that it would distract him from these visions and flashbacks. He couldn’t care less if they were real. Just fucking stop.
When there were no more drawers to search, he turned to the bar and grabbed the first bottle he could get his hands on. The lid sliced open the palm of his hand as he struggled to open the drink. Infuriated, he cursed at the pain and the open wound before he gulped down the liquor as if it was water. When he realized it wasn't working as fast or as well as he'd hoped, the bottle went flying across the room and landed on the wall near the entrance.
Under the door, Feodora stood as still as a rock, staring at the broken glass at her feet and the content that spilled onto her clothes. Mikhail was in one of those moods again, when there was something happening in his head that he felt the need to respond with an outburst of violence. It had been occurring more and more often lately, but that day she could almost predicted it considering who they’d just ran into at the hospital.
She made herself look up at him even though she was afraid to look. By the bar, Mikhail stood with his hands on the table to support his weight, his chest heaved up and down as a sign of his heavy breathing. He stared at her from across the room like a wolf marking it's prey, his blue eyes turned a frightening silver. It gave her a chill running down her spine but she managed to ignore it and moved towards him. I am not afraid of him, was what she kept repeating to herself. After all, she had known him for over twenty years. Yet at the same time she couldn't help questioning her own words. For one thing, the look in those eyes was of a stranger, for another, Mikhail had been on drugs and his rationality had been somewhat impaired.
She did manage to make her way to where he stood. Holding her breath to keep her anxiety in check, she reached out to touch his cheek. "Talk to me," she said. "Let me help you." The truth was, at that moment, she wasn’t entirely sure if it would lead to him crying on her shoulder or beating her until she bled out whatever pain he was holding inside. For the past few weeks Mikhail had been increasingly violent, and she had taken it as the only way he could release some of the anger. Most of the time, it was a half-conscious reflex. But it was those few events that frightened her the most, when he was fully aware and would not stop until he could put a bullet into someone’s head. As a result she had grown increasingly fearful of his unpredictable state of mind. But there was no one else to rescue him from this hell he’d thrown himself into. No one to put an end to this madness.
He looked at her quietly, tracing the outlines of her face as if he had never seen it before. Slowly, he raised his hand to her cheek and began to caress it, softly at the beginning and growing harder at each stroke. There was something in his eyes that she could not make out then - something that gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Ever since he came home, Mikhail hadn't touch her in that fashion, not once. When he needed sexual release, he’d go look for someone easy and eager to be his whore, but never her. She was his wife only in name, but his regard to her as a friend had not changed - at least while he was conscious. But as much as she longed for him to touch her again like he used to, the way his hand caressed her cheek then was more frightening than affectionate. She could feel the anger rising inside him as the hand on her cheek became more and more forceful to the point of being brutal. She whimpered as he tugged at her hair, securing her in place with his iron grip. It was then that she realized something was wrong.
"Be quiet," he whispered sharply against her cheek as if he could read her thoughts, his voice as cold as a murderer threatening to cut her throat if she disobeyed. The way he looked at her made her limbs frozen and stiff. She bit her lower lip as he began to undo the buttons of her shirt. It all happened slowly, but there was something sadistic about the way he moved. He undressed her as if he was carving away the flesh of his victim, and every time his fingers touched her skin it felt like a blunt blade being dragged across her body.
"Please... don’t," she begged, her voice trembled at the thought of what was going through his mind. Deep down, she knew exactly what he was about to do - something she couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive.
"I said be quiet," he repeated as he jerked her hair more violently, making sure she'd heard him this time around. At that moment she knew, the man in front of her was indeed a stranger. And as she looked at him again, she realized the reflection in those cold, vicious eyes was an image of someone else - someone she knew and despised with all her heart.
“Get away from me!” In an instant, anger and detestation overcame her fear. She threw a punch at his face and struggled to break free. She would not allow herself to be used as a whore, much less a substitute for that man.
But all it did was added fire to his fury. He grabbed her arm with the force that made her yelp in pain and spun her around onto the table violently, holding her down by the back of her neck. Her cheek slammed so hard against the cold marble of the tabletop she could feel her skin crack opened. She shut her eyes and bit down her lower lip as she heard him undo his belt buckle. This is it, she thought, this is the moment of shame she would have to live with for the rest of her life - when the last remaining bit of her pride gets stripped away from her, never to be restored.
He slid his hand under her skirt and pulled down her underwear, ripping them apart in one forceful tug. The sudden movement made her jerk up from the bar whimpered. He shoved her head down again, this time she could taste blood seeped from her lips. When he entered her, she didn’t make a sound, only her shallow, constricted breathing escaped her tightly gritted teeth. Be quiet, she remembered his warning. A part of her wanted to scream, the other told her he would make her pay if she did. She didn’t make the right sound, didn’t have the right voice, and hearing it would bring him back to the reality that he loathed with every inch of his skin. The evidence of it was right in front of her, in the mirror behind the bar. There was no pleasure on Mikhail’s face, only the agony of a failed attempt at escaping the nightmare that was catching up with him.
Hold on, she told herself again and again. It will soon be over. But every time he thrust into her the word ‘soon’ seemed like an eternity. Sometimes it would seemed that he didn’t feel much, other times it appeared something in his mind was driving him to slam harder into her, as if doing so was going to make it go away. What frightened her the most was the fact that it wasn’t really a sexual release that he wanted, but the need to inflict his pain onto someone else. In a way it almost felt like punishment, and whether it was meant to be upon her, himself, or the person she was substituting for, Mikhail held nothing back. By the time he was done, her lips were bruised and bleeding from being smashed repeatedly on the table and her neck ached enough to make her whimper every time she tried to move.
She waited until he’d stepped away before she pushed herself up from the bar. For the first time in her life her limbs felt heavy and weak, and she lost her footing as she tried to stand up straight. When she’d managed to hold herself upright, she could feel his semen dripping down the inside of her thigh. The smell of it mixed with her own blood made her nauseous, but she forced herself to swallow it back down her throat. Even then, she’d hoped that when it was over Mikhail would come back to his senses and there would be a look of guilt in his eyes, as was always the case when his temper had gotten the better of him. But that day it didn't happen - the expression on his face hadn’t changed. His eyes were still blank and empty when he poured himself another drink and lit a cigarette as if nothing had happened. Yet, there was a trace of frustration on his lips that showed he was far from fulfilled. Feodora looked at him, now with eyes full of hatred. She was no fool- she knew exactly why he did what he did, and who it was Mikhail thought he was fucking as he slammed into her a few minutes ago. The only thing about it that gave her a little satisfaction was the fact that Mikhail didn’t do it out of desire for that man- it was out of spite.
Gathering what little strength she had left in her, Feodora turned to face him, adjusting her dress and wiping away the blood and tears on her face as he continued to watch in silence. When her breathing became more stable, she lifted her chin and slapped him across his face. She couldn’t care less if he would decide to strangle her now. All it would do was put an end to her misery.
“I’m not your whore,” she spoke loud and clear to make sure the words were understood. What he did that day would stay with her like a plaque in her memory. She would never get over the fact that in the end, she’d turned out to be nothing more than one of those women he’d pissed upon before moving on to someone else. For a moment she wondered if he would ever do this to Fei Long. She wanted to ask if he’d seen this side of Mikhail- the monster he had created. She decided that she wished he would, and when it happens, she’d be there to witness it.
Mikhail didn’t care to answer her outburst. Instead, he took a puff on the cigarette and blew smoke in her face with the same absent look in his eyes. It was just noise to him. Everything was.
She reached over for the pack of Marlboro he kept inside his jacket and lit herself one. Drawing a breath from the cigarette, she showed a hint of detestation to the taste in her mouth. It was apparent Mikhail no longer cared what he put in his mouth or injected into veins. Looking in the mirror, she came to realize the resemblance in their reflection. They were the same now more than ever- damaged and broken beyond repair. Her pride, her husband’s sanity, and Alexei’s life, all of it stripped away from them because of one man.
You will not take one more thing from me, she swore to herself. Now was not the time to break, not when everything was at stake. They had to pull themselves together, whatever it took. She had been through worse things in her life at a much younger age and if she could survive it then, she told herself she can survive this now.
"Have you checked the background of Alexei's men?" she asked, adjusting her voice so that it sounded as normal as she could, even though her lips seeped blood and her hands still trembled. One of the things Vladimir Arbatov had taught her was to never feel sorry for herself. You will lose sight of your enemy, and then you will lose everything, he told her on the day of her family’s funeral twenty years ago. They still had enemies, and she still had something to lose.
Mikhail moved to sit down on a couch with his legs crossed and his head tilted back towards the ceiling. "No," he replied in almost a sigh. He was too tired to think about those details.
"Who do we trust?"
"No one you don't know," he said irritatingly, closing his eyes for a moment before forcing them open again. He knew just as much as she did that some things had to be done quickly, and in a way, it would keep him busy enough to avoid some of the thoughts that had been keeping him awake at night.
"Are you going to do the cleaning or am I?" she asked in a tone that was strictly business. Information had been leaking, and that leak had to be dealt with as soon as possible if they still wanted to keep things under control.
"Someone will have to take over Macau while I'm gone," he explained. It would have to be soon before his father learned the truth about Alexei from someone else. "Can you manage?"
Feodora gave him an offended sneer as she took her time breathing out the cigarette smoke. "Can I? The last time I checked Vladimir Arbatov raised me as he did his sons, if not better." Her foster parent had taught her everything he taught his children and put her through all the same classes and training, most of which she'd finished with higher scores than the boys. Can she manage Macau? She'd been Vladimir Arbatov's right hand since Mikhail left and Alexei decided to be unemployed for five straight years.
Mikhail nodded in acknowledgement. He knew she was capable, but he had to check whether she was up for it. "Under the bar and on your right," he told her, pointing at the spot with the burning cigarette in his hand.
Feodora reached under until she felt the cold metal on her fingertips and tugged it free from the holder. She placed the gun on the table.
"Can you still shoot?"
Her answer came readily enough as the glass he'd placed on the nearby coffee table exploded. Mikhail turned to look at it briefly, then turned back to her and nodded. "Good," he said and rose from the couch to pour himself another drink. "I will have Dmitri send you the list of Alexei's men. Line them up in the courtyard tomorrow morning. Pick two, and shoot them," he told her. It will give her the authority she needed in a short period of time.
"And the rest of the moles?" she asked, tracing her eyes along her husband's facial structure that had become more prominent lately. Mikhail seemed dehydrated and tired, and she knew that he hadn't slept since the news of Alexei’s death had reached him. There were also more needle wounds on his arms since they'd left Moscow- ones that she secretly peeked at when he changed his clothes. She wondered which drug he had been using and how much, but asking him was simply not a possibility. She’d promised herself to go through his belongings to find the stash later. But considering what just happened, she wondered if she would ever worked up the courage to interfere. And if she ever does, she asked herself if she would be able to survive him.
"How you kill them is your choice," he replied, sipping his drink in between. "Depending on how things are, I will return as soon as I can to deal with whoever ordered the attack. Meanwhile, try to gather information and keep things together. You will have access to all my accounts. Confide in no one, not even Dmitri."
She nodded slightly. “When will you leave?”
“When you’re ready,” Mikhail replied, his eyes grew increasingly fatigued.
“Give me three days,” she told him. It wasn’t Macau she was worried about, but what would happen back home. Mikhail had intended to take Alexei’s body back to Moscow on his own. Looking at the state he was in, she wasn’t sure how long he could hold it together. In fact she wasn’t sure how he would make it through another day. It wouldn't matter how many times he abused her or how much heroin he took. Mikhail needed something else that would give him the will to break through this loss before it's too late. In her mind were questions that kept eating away her strength: What if he overdosed? What if they lose Vladimir too? Is she supposed to go through it all over again? It seemed to her that the real nightmare had yet to begin, and still, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had three days to settle into Macau and to make sure that Mikhail would go back to Russia as a different man than the one sitting in front of her that day, or everything would be lost.
***
The Baishe headquarters had become increasingly noisy with whispers and gossips that were heard on every floor. Some were furious about the attack on the boss, some questioned the way it happened, but most had a thing or two to say about a traitor being admitted back into the compound. Yoh couldn’t care less about what they said. As always, he did what he had to do, with or without permission.
It had been three days since the attack, and Fei Long had locked himself in his room most of the time. The reaction was quite normal considering what he’d just been through, but Fei Long wasn’t a normal person in any way nor was he allowed such a privilege. Unless he starts making moves, things were about to get ugly. The incident at the hospital would soon be heard by all, and this feud between Baishe and Arbatov would be a golden opportunity for many to step up and take action. As far as Yoh was concerned, Fei Long was not prepared to deal with yet another threat to the organization. The man didn’t have time to grieve, no matter how much he needed it.
He stood in front of the door to Fei Long’s quarters and knocked. When there wasn’t an answer, as there had not been for the last few days, he opened it without permission. Fei Long was sitting exactly where Yoh had left him that morning, in the dark, by the window. The Baishe leader held a piece of gold jewelry he’d saved from the penthouse- the pendant he always wore that now appeared to be a burden. Many times Fei Long would stare at it as though it was something he must get rid of, other times his hand would close around it so tightly it would be impossible to pry his fingers open. He could see it clearly on Fei Long’s face- the agony of choosing between what must be done and what one's heart desired. He understood it more than he wanted to, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why Fei Long had allowed him to be there.
Yoh moved quietly towards the Baishe leader and placed a small object on the table next to him. “I found this at the penthouse,” he explained. “Among a few dozens others.”
Fei Long looked up from the Love Key and glanced at what seemed to be a small microphone.
“It was bugged?” he asked in a tone that showed he already knew the answer. It made perfect sense, after all. How else would they have known when and where to launch the attack so precisely? For a short moment there was anger on his face, and then it slipped away behind the mask of indifference he'd been wearing since they'd returned from the hospital.
“The question is, by whom?” Yoh said in a riddle. In truth, it was something he could have found out on his own, but this was something that Fei Long had to act upon by himself, for himself.
“What difference does it make?” the Baishe leader replied with a sarcastic smile. “I’m not supposed to interfere.” Mikhail had made it clear, and he’d given his promise. Because of him Alexei had died. If only he’d let the penthouse go. If only he didn’t invite Alexi up for a drink. If...
“Since when have you become such an obedient puppy?” Yoh said with his usual, expressionless face, even though the words were potent enough to interrupt his thoughts and made Fei Long glare at him in a mixture of disbelief and irritation.
"You will watch your mouth when you speak to me," Fei Long warned. It wasn’t everyday that someone would dare call him a puppy, much less his subordinate- or even an ex-subordinate. The man had crossed the line and must be put back in his place.
"In case you forgot, I no longer work for you," Yoh responded and lit himself a cigarette, knowing it would infuriate the man even further. Smoking was something Fei Long had strictly forbidden his subordinates to do in his presence. Yoh had learned such a trick back in prison. No matter what state he was in, Liu Fei Long of Baishe was never one to stand for insults. "But I'm here to help you and it requires listening to whatever I have to say."
Fei Long closed his eyes and tried to control his temper. He'd always known the stubborn streak of Yoh's personality, but until then it had been somewhat contained, being his subordinate. For the past few days the man had been quiet and would speak only when spoken to. However, on this day it would seem Yoh had had enough of silence. "Why are you here?" Fei Long asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. In the past few days he wasn’t in the mood to ask about the oddity of Yoh's appearance, but today it was time he found out. "Who sent you?"
"Someone sent me, yes," Yoh replied, pausing to take a puff on the cigarette before he continued. "But it's not Asami Ryuichi, if that's who you think it is." After all this time and all that had happened, it seemed the Japanese man still lingered somewhere in Fei Long's mind. Just as his existence would never be separated from his former boss, Fei Long would never forgive nor forget what he'd done. It wasn't so much the act of deception itself, but Fei Long had taken him to be the evidence of his foolishness, his ignorance, and his incompetence as the head of Baishe. For as long as he and Asami Ryuichi lived, Fei Long would never stop punishing himself.
"And you honestly think I would listen to you, knowing you're here on somebody's errand?"
"I'm here because my new boss lets me do as I please, so long as I protect you from harm," Yoh replied readily. For once he was on a job where he didn't have to lie, and he was beginning to like it more and more, especially for the position it puts him in front of Fei Long. "For your own good, you would find it profitable to listen to me."
"And who might my mysterious guardian angel be?" Fei Long asked in a mocking tone, when in truth his patience was nowhere near the point that allowed him to take a joke.
"I think you already know," Yoh replied, his eyes glanced down at the pendant in the other man's palm and lingered there long enough for the truth to be realized. He'd never stopped caring for you, he wanted to say, but that would be beyond his job description. That fact, once told, would profit his new boss too much than he'd been paid for.
A part of Fei Long seemed to understand, and for a short moment its implication made his expression soften. Still, there had been too much doubt left in him, and the betrayal and deception in the past had left scars too deep for him to trust someone so easily.
The truth was that Yoh found it a predicament that Fei Long still wanted to trust people at all, even after everything he’d been through. As bitter as he was, there was still a child within the Baishe leader that had never given up on love or trust, no matter how many times they had hurt him in the past, and no matter how difficult it was for him to do either. It was the strength unique to the man- one that gave Yoh no choice but to surrender his heart, among other things.
"How long will you continue to lie to my face?” Fei Long asked. He’d had enough of lies and deception to last him a lifetime. The man must have thought him a fool to show up and expect him to believe in such a story - a fairytale infact. “You and I both know he'd rather have me die in his brother's place," Fei Long said with a painful smile. You were there, you saw it. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"If that's all you saw, then you are a fool," Yoh replied more sharply than his tone had ever been. "A selfish, self-centered fool at that!"
The answer had caught Fei Long off balance, and he could only part his lips to defend himself before Yoh cut in abruptly.
"You think you're in pain, but the truth is, it's not always about you. Have you ever considered how this is affecting Tao? Have you spared a thought for your subordinates? Do you have the slightest idea what that man is going through?" Yoh continued without giving the other man a chance to speak. Despite the meaning of his words he was calm and controlled, as always, and that made it sink deeper than coming from any other person. "You're sitting here, drowning in your own sufferings and mistakes when you should have gone out there to fix it."
"I am trying to fix it," Fei Long countered irritatingly. In truth, he wasn’t sure if it was Yoh he needed to convince or himself.
"Then fix it," Yoh replied without a moment of pause, pushing the tiny microphone forward with his right hand. "Fix it, Fei Long. Or you will lose everything."
The Baishe leader stared at the small device, his words stuck in the back of his throat. For the first time in his life he felt completely defenseless and at a total loss for words. Whether or not Yoh had been sent there by Mikhail, what he said had held some truth.
"You can stay here and lock yourself up in your own prison, or you can move on and be the man I know is in there somewhere," Yoh continued. It was time someone told Fei Long what his problem was. He figured it had to be him- someone who had nothing more to lose. It didn’t matter if Fei Long would end up hating him for this, or if he would be killed this time for saying these things out loud. He owed it to himself just as much as he owed this man to say the truth. "Tao needs you, your men need you, and he needs you, now, more than ever. It's your turn to save them. The question is, will you?"
For a long time the room fell completely silent. Yoh knew it would take some time for those words to sink in and take effect. Fei Long looked at him for what seemed to be an eternity, then the revelation came gradually as his eyes became more focused and intense. Rolling the pendent between his fingers, Fei Long smiled.
Yoh found himself holding his breath at the sight before him. There was a certain sense of tranquility about Fei Long that day, one Yoh had never seen in the head of Baishe. Ever since the day they’d met, it had never been his looks that captured Yoh's heart, and until then he had been rather immune to it. In that moment, for the first time, Fei Long’s beauty took his breath away.
"I should have just pulled the trigger when I had the chance," Fei Long said with a sneer, one that Yoh knew better than to take too seriously.
"You may still get another chance yet," he said, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette as he headed for the door. The butterflies in his stomach were beginning to bother him more than he could stand, and for once, he was maddeningly jealous of Mikhail Arbatov. Lucky bastard, he wanted to say, only he knew it was far from luck that had gotten the man this far. There wasn't a single person Yoh knew who would have tried harder and suffered more for Fei Long. Even he could not abandon his pride and beliefs to stand by the man he’d served and come to love for seven years. Yoh had often asked himself what would happen if he’d chosen to betray Asami Ryuichi and turned himself to Fei Long. The answer was always the same, that he would never be able to live with himself, much less be the man who deserved to stand by Fei Long’s side. While he would willingly die to protect this man and was certain no one understood the Baishe leader more than he did, it simply wasn’t what Fei Long needed. What Fei Long needed was someone who can give him the affection he’d never had, someone with the will and stamina to pull him out of whatever hell he believed he was in. He could only point Fei Long the way, but the man who can give Fei Long the will necessary for him to move on was Mikhail Arbatov.
"Yoh," Fei Long called, and then he remembered. "Is that even your real name?"
Yoh turned around and shrugged. "I have many names, most of them mean nothing to me," he replied with indifference. "But I like the one you call me with well enough." It wasn’t a lie. The name he’d taken for the past seven years held more meaning to him than others, just as those years were the most important ones in his life. He would not have Fei Long call him any other way.
The answer forced Fei Long to hide a smile. Perhaps the man had learned a thing or two from his new boss about flattery, or maybe it had been there after all this time and he just never had a chance to see it. "If I can make it so, will you come back to Baishe?" This time for real.
"And put up with your tantrums again?" Yoh asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, lifting his chin slightly. "Not a chance in hell." He’d had enough being Fei Long’s subordinate. From now things were going to change, he’d promised himself that when he resigned from his old boss’ employment.
The Baishe leader chuckled softly at the unexpected response. He'd decided that he liked this new Yoh much better anyway. "What is he paying you?"
"A job I would have done without getting paid," Yoh replied with a nod. He was growing more and more fond of this job after all, the way it puts him near Fei Long without having to obey his commands, the way he could call Fei Long just Fei Long.
Once more, the Baishe leader found himself smiling. He still couldn't trust this man completely, but it was a good start- a fresh one.
"And you were wrong about one thing," Yoh said before he disappeared through the door. "The only reason he's still standing is because you survived."
***
P.S. This time it's me you need to flood with comments (rotten tomatoes welcome, and I may deserve it for what I've written here), because I'm half way through chapter six, ... and I can still take a 6-month break XD *is evil* To the Yoh x Fei writers, you now owe me a Mik x Fei fic in exchange for giving Yoh such a big role!
Title: Retribution Five
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Descriptive rape scene (and not of yaoi style), major angst
Characters: Fei Long, Yoh, Mikhail, Feodora
Spoiler: Spoiler for NT arc
Disclaimer: All characters belong to YA sensei.
Beta: angel0399
Previous Chapters: For new readers, 'Retribution' is the third arc of a Mik x Fei trilogy that I've suffered my readers with since 2007. In order to make sense of it I'm afraid you will need to read 'Cruel Intentions' and its sequel 'Revelation' before you begin 'Retribution.' All the links are organized on the side bar of my lj kajornwan along with the trilogy's one-shot fillers. Russian, Chinese and Polish translations by readers are also found here. To make life even easier, a dear reader gryffin-draco has gone through the trouble of putting these in PDF files for download. Cruel Intentions and Revelation. Thank you so much sweetie.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Some parts of this chapter has been rewritten and modified to save your sanity from my junk after it has been beta-ed. Any grammatical mistakes are my stupidity alone and has nothing to do with my poor beta. I just don't want to overwork her on this ^^! And my apologies if it still sucks. I must have rewritten this about 5 times. I can't do this anymore. T_T It's a very difficult chapter for me.
The ride home was long and quiet despite the deafening sound of the helicopter’s engine. Seated behind the pilot, Mikhail stared blankly out of the window. Ever since the news of Alexei’s death there had been few words spoken from Mikhail Arbatov, all of them lacking emotion. The only times he spoke was to issue a command and each time it would give the men a jolt. The tension within the organization had grown to the point that allowed no one to breathe freely. It was one of those events that affected everyone and changed everything. Feodora could see the anxiety written clearly on the men’s faces as they looked to their boss for a decision. Even then, Mikhail had not made any significant moves nor revealed the slightest hint of his plans. From the moment he'd learned of his brother's death, her husband had disconnected himself from everyone, including her. He sat through the long flight from Russia without a word spoken and barely moved from his seat. There had been no tears, no anger, nothing, just the same blank expression that was suffocating everyone around him.
The helicopter landed twenty minutes later at the Arbatov villa in Macau. Mikhail stepped out and headed towards the house, his pace quick and hurried, leaving a trail of bodyguards behind him. With every step he could feel a certain craving, a thirst, or perhaps hunger that needed to be fulfilled. His heart was beating violently, as though someone was punching his chest from the inside. Many times a day his brain would manifest several flashes of events. Sometimes it was something that had happened in the past, other times it must have been his pure imagination. Lately, he could hardly tell the difference. But these visions had been far apart and blurry, only after the moment he saw that face was when they'd become increasingly frequent and as clear as day.
Stop, he said to himself as the flashes occurred again. There he was, Fei Long smiling at him, or was it at Alexei? He closed his eyes and tried to blink the vision away. The images were gone for a second, and then it was replaced with that of Alexei lying in his own blood.
Stop.
He hurried inside as the sharp pain in his chest grew stronger. He needed something, anything, to keep these flashes under control. It wasn't clear to him which room he'd rushed into, nor did he care. His hands were trembling as he searched through the drawers, yanking them down and scattering their contents on the floor. There had to be something around he could use, something quick and strong, before the flashes come back again.
‘Do what you want, he's not my problem anymore.’
Did he say those words to Alexei, or was it just another manifestation? Did he give his brother the permission to go after his lover? Did he ...
Stop. He shook away the thought before he could finish the dreadful question, hurling yet another drawer off the cabinet in hope that it would distract him from these visions and flashbacks. He couldn’t care less if they were real. Just fucking stop.
When there were no more drawers to search, he turned to the bar and grabbed the first bottle he could get his hands on. The lid sliced open the palm of his hand as he struggled to open the drink. Infuriated, he cursed at the pain and the open wound before he gulped down the liquor as if it was water. When he realized it wasn't working as fast or as well as he'd hoped, the bottle went flying across the room and landed on the wall near the entrance.
Under the door, Feodora stood as still as a rock, staring at the broken glass at her feet and the content that spilled onto her clothes. Mikhail was in one of those moods again, when there was something happening in his head that he felt the need to respond with an outburst of violence. It had been occurring more and more often lately, but that day she could almost predicted it considering who they’d just ran into at the hospital.
She made herself look up at him even though she was afraid to look. By the bar, Mikhail stood with his hands on the table to support his weight, his chest heaved up and down as a sign of his heavy breathing. He stared at her from across the room like a wolf marking it's prey, his blue eyes turned a frightening silver. It gave her a chill running down her spine but she managed to ignore it and moved towards him. I am not afraid of him, was what she kept repeating to herself. After all, she had known him for over twenty years. Yet at the same time she couldn't help questioning her own words. For one thing, the look in those eyes was of a stranger, for another, Mikhail had been on drugs and his rationality had been somewhat impaired.
She did manage to make her way to where he stood. Holding her breath to keep her anxiety in check, she reached out to touch his cheek. "Talk to me," she said. "Let me help you." The truth was, at that moment, she wasn’t entirely sure if it would lead to him crying on her shoulder or beating her until she bled out whatever pain he was holding inside. For the past few weeks Mikhail had been increasingly violent, and she had taken it as the only way he could release some of the anger. Most of the time, it was a half-conscious reflex. But it was those few events that frightened her the most, when he was fully aware and would not stop until he could put a bullet into someone’s head. As a result she had grown increasingly fearful of his unpredictable state of mind. But there was no one else to rescue him from this hell he’d thrown himself into. No one to put an end to this madness.
He looked at her quietly, tracing the outlines of her face as if he had never seen it before. Slowly, he raised his hand to her cheek and began to caress it, softly at the beginning and growing harder at each stroke. There was something in his eyes that she could not make out then - something that gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Ever since he came home, Mikhail hadn't touch her in that fashion, not once. When he needed sexual release, he’d go look for someone easy and eager to be his whore, but never her. She was his wife only in name, but his regard to her as a friend had not changed - at least while he was conscious. But as much as she longed for him to touch her again like he used to, the way his hand caressed her cheek then was more frightening than affectionate. She could feel the anger rising inside him as the hand on her cheek became more and more forceful to the point of being brutal. She whimpered as he tugged at her hair, securing her in place with his iron grip. It was then that she realized something was wrong.
"Be quiet," he whispered sharply against her cheek as if he could read her thoughts, his voice as cold as a murderer threatening to cut her throat if she disobeyed. The way he looked at her made her limbs frozen and stiff. She bit her lower lip as he began to undo the buttons of her shirt. It all happened slowly, but there was something sadistic about the way he moved. He undressed her as if he was carving away the flesh of his victim, and every time his fingers touched her skin it felt like a blunt blade being dragged across her body.
"Please... don’t," she begged, her voice trembled at the thought of what was going through his mind. Deep down, she knew exactly what he was about to do - something she couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive.
"I said be quiet," he repeated as he jerked her hair more violently, making sure she'd heard him this time around. At that moment she knew, the man in front of her was indeed a stranger. And as she looked at him again, she realized the reflection in those cold, vicious eyes was an image of someone else - someone she knew and despised with all her heart.
“Get away from me!” In an instant, anger and detestation overcame her fear. She threw a punch at his face and struggled to break free. She would not allow herself to be used as a whore, much less a substitute for that man.
But all it did was added fire to his fury. He grabbed her arm with the force that made her yelp in pain and spun her around onto the table violently, holding her down by the back of her neck. Her cheek slammed so hard against the cold marble of the tabletop she could feel her skin crack opened. She shut her eyes and bit down her lower lip as she heard him undo his belt buckle. This is it, she thought, this is the moment of shame she would have to live with for the rest of her life - when the last remaining bit of her pride gets stripped away from her, never to be restored.
He slid his hand under her skirt and pulled down her underwear, ripping them apart in one forceful tug. The sudden movement made her jerk up from the bar whimpered. He shoved her head down again, this time she could taste blood seeped from her lips. When he entered her, she didn’t make a sound, only her shallow, constricted breathing escaped her tightly gritted teeth. Be quiet, she remembered his warning. A part of her wanted to scream, the other told her he would make her pay if she did. She didn’t make the right sound, didn’t have the right voice, and hearing it would bring him back to the reality that he loathed with every inch of his skin. The evidence of it was right in front of her, in the mirror behind the bar. There was no pleasure on Mikhail’s face, only the agony of a failed attempt at escaping the nightmare that was catching up with him.
Hold on, she told herself again and again. It will soon be over. But every time he thrust into her the word ‘soon’ seemed like an eternity. Sometimes it would seemed that he didn’t feel much, other times it appeared something in his mind was driving him to slam harder into her, as if doing so was going to make it go away. What frightened her the most was the fact that it wasn’t really a sexual release that he wanted, but the need to inflict his pain onto someone else. In a way it almost felt like punishment, and whether it was meant to be upon her, himself, or the person she was substituting for, Mikhail held nothing back. By the time he was done, her lips were bruised and bleeding from being smashed repeatedly on the table and her neck ached enough to make her whimper every time she tried to move.
She waited until he’d stepped away before she pushed herself up from the bar. For the first time in her life her limbs felt heavy and weak, and she lost her footing as she tried to stand up straight. When she’d managed to hold herself upright, she could feel his semen dripping down the inside of her thigh. The smell of it mixed with her own blood made her nauseous, but she forced herself to swallow it back down her throat. Even then, she’d hoped that when it was over Mikhail would come back to his senses and there would be a look of guilt in his eyes, as was always the case when his temper had gotten the better of him. But that day it didn't happen - the expression on his face hadn’t changed. His eyes were still blank and empty when he poured himself another drink and lit a cigarette as if nothing had happened. Yet, there was a trace of frustration on his lips that showed he was far from fulfilled. Feodora looked at him, now with eyes full of hatred. She was no fool- she knew exactly why he did what he did, and who it was Mikhail thought he was fucking as he slammed into her a few minutes ago. The only thing about it that gave her a little satisfaction was the fact that Mikhail didn’t do it out of desire for that man- it was out of spite.
Gathering what little strength she had left in her, Feodora turned to face him, adjusting her dress and wiping away the blood and tears on her face as he continued to watch in silence. When her breathing became more stable, she lifted her chin and slapped him across his face. She couldn’t care less if he would decide to strangle her now. All it would do was put an end to her misery.
“I’m not your whore,” she spoke loud and clear to make sure the words were understood. What he did that day would stay with her like a plaque in her memory. She would never get over the fact that in the end, she’d turned out to be nothing more than one of those women he’d pissed upon before moving on to someone else. For a moment she wondered if he would ever do this to Fei Long. She wanted to ask if he’d seen this side of Mikhail- the monster he had created. She decided that she wished he would, and when it happens, she’d be there to witness it.
Mikhail didn’t care to answer her outburst. Instead, he took a puff on the cigarette and blew smoke in her face with the same absent look in his eyes. It was just noise to him. Everything was.
She reached over for the pack of Marlboro he kept inside his jacket and lit herself one. Drawing a breath from the cigarette, she showed a hint of detestation to the taste in her mouth. It was apparent Mikhail no longer cared what he put in his mouth or injected into veins. Looking in the mirror, she came to realize the resemblance in their reflection. They were the same now more than ever- damaged and broken beyond repair. Her pride, her husband’s sanity, and Alexei’s life, all of it stripped away from them because of one man.
You will not take one more thing from me, she swore to herself. Now was not the time to break, not when everything was at stake. They had to pull themselves together, whatever it took. She had been through worse things in her life at a much younger age and if she could survive it then, she told herself she can survive this now.
"Have you checked the background of Alexei's men?" she asked, adjusting her voice so that it sounded as normal as she could, even though her lips seeped blood and her hands still trembled. One of the things Vladimir Arbatov had taught her was to never feel sorry for herself. You will lose sight of your enemy, and then you will lose everything, he told her on the day of her family’s funeral twenty years ago. They still had enemies, and she still had something to lose.
Mikhail moved to sit down on a couch with his legs crossed and his head tilted back towards the ceiling. "No," he replied in almost a sigh. He was too tired to think about those details.
"Who do we trust?"
"No one you don't know," he said irritatingly, closing his eyes for a moment before forcing them open again. He knew just as much as she did that some things had to be done quickly, and in a way, it would keep him busy enough to avoid some of the thoughts that had been keeping him awake at night.
"Are you going to do the cleaning or am I?" she asked in a tone that was strictly business. Information had been leaking, and that leak had to be dealt with as soon as possible if they still wanted to keep things under control.
"Someone will have to take over Macau while I'm gone," he explained. It would have to be soon before his father learned the truth about Alexei from someone else. "Can you manage?"
Feodora gave him an offended sneer as she took her time breathing out the cigarette smoke. "Can I? The last time I checked Vladimir Arbatov raised me as he did his sons, if not better." Her foster parent had taught her everything he taught his children and put her through all the same classes and training, most of which she'd finished with higher scores than the boys. Can she manage Macau? She'd been Vladimir Arbatov's right hand since Mikhail left and Alexei decided to be unemployed for five straight years.
Mikhail nodded in acknowledgement. He knew she was capable, but he had to check whether she was up for it. "Under the bar and on your right," he told her, pointing at the spot with the burning cigarette in his hand.
Feodora reached under until she felt the cold metal on her fingertips and tugged it free from the holder. She placed the gun on the table.
"Can you still shoot?"
Her answer came readily enough as the glass he'd placed on the nearby coffee table exploded. Mikhail turned to look at it briefly, then turned back to her and nodded. "Good," he said and rose from the couch to pour himself another drink. "I will have Dmitri send you the list of Alexei's men. Line them up in the courtyard tomorrow morning. Pick two, and shoot them," he told her. It will give her the authority she needed in a short period of time.
"And the rest of the moles?" she asked, tracing her eyes along her husband's facial structure that had become more prominent lately. Mikhail seemed dehydrated and tired, and she knew that he hadn't slept since the news of Alexei’s death had reached him. There were also more needle wounds on his arms since they'd left Moscow- ones that she secretly peeked at when he changed his clothes. She wondered which drug he had been using and how much, but asking him was simply not a possibility. She’d promised herself to go through his belongings to find the stash later. But considering what just happened, she wondered if she would ever worked up the courage to interfere. And if she ever does, she asked herself if she would be able to survive him.
"How you kill them is your choice," he replied, sipping his drink in between. "Depending on how things are, I will return as soon as I can to deal with whoever ordered the attack. Meanwhile, try to gather information and keep things together. You will have access to all my accounts. Confide in no one, not even Dmitri."
She nodded slightly. “When will you leave?”
“When you’re ready,” Mikhail replied, his eyes grew increasingly fatigued.
“Give me three days,” she told him. It wasn’t Macau she was worried about, but what would happen back home. Mikhail had intended to take Alexei’s body back to Moscow on his own. Looking at the state he was in, she wasn’t sure how long he could hold it together. In fact she wasn’t sure how he would make it through another day. It wouldn't matter how many times he abused her or how much heroin he took. Mikhail needed something else that would give him the will to break through this loss before it's too late. In her mind were questions that kept eating away her strength: What if he overdosed? What if they lose Vladimir too? Is she supposed to go through it all over again? It seemed to her that the real nightmare had yet to begin, and still, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had three days to settle into Macau and to make sure that Mikhail would go back to Russia as a different man than the one sitting in front of her that day, or everything would be lost.
***
The Baishe headquarters had become increasingly noisy with whispers and gossips that were heard on every floor. Some were furious about the attack on the boss, some questioned the way it happened, but most had a thing or two to say about a traitor being admitted back into the compound. Yoh couldn’t care less about what they said. As always, he did what he had to do, with or without permission.
It had been three days since the attack, and Fei Long had locked himself in his room most of the time. The reaction was quite normal considering what he’d just been through, but Fei Long wasn’t a normal person in any way nor was he allowed such a privilege. Unless he starts making moves, things were about to get ugly. The incident at the hospital would soon be heard by all, and this feud between Baishe and Arbatov would be a golden opportunity for many to step up and take action. As far as Yoh was concerned, Fei Long was not prepared to deal with yet another threat to the organization. The man didn’t have time to grieve, no matter how much he needed it.
He stood in front of the door to Fei Long’s quarters and knocked. When there wasn’t an answer, as there had not been for the last few days, he opened it without permission. Fei Long was sitting exactly where Yoh had left him that morning, in the dark, by the window. The Baishe leader held a piece of gold jewelry he’d saved from the penthouse- the pendant he always wore that now appeared to be a burden. Many times Fei Long would stare at it as though it was something he must get rid of, other times his hand would close around it so tightly it would be impossible to pry his fingers open. He could see it clearly on Fei Long’s face- the agony of choosing between what must be done and what one's heart desired. He understood it more than he wanted to, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why Fei Long had allowed him to be there.
Yoh moved quietly towards the Baishe leader and placed a small object on the table next to him. “I found this at the penthouse,” he explained. “Among a few dozens others.”
Fei Long looked up from the Love Key and glanced at what seemed to be a small microphone.
“It was bugged?” he asked in a tone that showed he already knew the answer. It made perfect sense, after all. How else would they have known when and where to launch the attack so precisely? For a short moment there was anger on his face, and then it slipped away behind the mask of indifference he'd been wearing since they'd returned from the hospital.
“The question is, by whom?” Yoh said in a riddle. In truth, it was something he could have found out on his own, but this was something that Fei Long had to act upon by himself, for himself.
“What difference does it make?” the Baishe leader replied with a sarcastic smile. “I’m not supposed to interfere.” Mikhail had made it clear, and he’d given his promise. Because of him Alexei had died. If only he’d let the penthouse go. If only he didn’t invite Alexi up for a drink. If...
“Since when have you become such an obedient puppy?” Yoh said with his usual, expressionless face, even though the words were potent enough to interrupt his thoughts and made Fei Long glare at him in a mixture of disbelief and irritation.
"You will watch your mouth when you speak to me," Fei Long warned. It wasn’t everyday that someone would dare call him a puppy, much less his subordinate- or even an ex-subordinate. The man had crossed the line and must be put back in his place.
"In case you forgot, I no longer work for you," Yoh responded and lit himself a cigarette, knowing it would infuriate the man even further. Smoking was something Fei Long had strictly forbidden his subordinates to do in his presence. Yoh had learned such a trick back in prison. No matter what state he was in, Liu Fei Long of Baishe was never one to stand for insults. "But I'm here to help you and it requires listening to whatever I have to say."
Fei Long closed his eyes and tried to control his temper. He'd always known the stubborn streak of Yoh's personality, but until then it had been somewhat contained, being his subordinate. For the past few days the man had been quiet and would speak only when spoken to. However, on this day it would seem Yoh had had enough of silence. "Why are you here?" Fei Long asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. In the past few days he wasn’t in the mood to ask about the oddity of Yoh's appearance, but today it was time he found out. "Who sent you?"
"Someone sent me, yes," Yoh replied, pausing to take a puff on the cigarette before he continued. "But it's not Asami Ryuichi, if that's who you think it is." After all this time and all that had happened, it seemed the Japanese man still lingered somewhere in Fei Long's mind. Just as his existence would never be separated from his former boss, Fei Long would never forgive nor forget what he'd done. It wasn't so much the act of deception itself, but Fei Long had taken him to be the evidence of his foolishness, his ignorance, and his incompetence as the head of Baishe. For as long as he and Asami Ryuichi lived, Fei Long would never stop punishing himself.
"And you honestly think I would listen to you, knowing you're here on somebody's errand?"
"I'm here because my new boss lets me do as I please, so long as I protect you from harm," Yoh replied readily. For once he was on a job where he didn't have to lie, and he was beginning to like it more and more, especially for the position it puts him in front of Fei Long. "For your own good, you would find it profitable to listen to me."
"And who might my mysterious guardian angel be?" Fei Long asked in a mocking tone, when in truth his patience was nowhere near the point that allowed him to take a joke.
"I think you already know," Yoh replied, his eyes glanced down at the pendant in the other man's palm and lingered there long enough for the truth to be realized. He'd never stopped caring for you, he wanted to say, but that would be beyond his job description. That fact, once told, would profit his new boss too much than he'd been paid for.
A part of Fei Long seemed to understand, and for a short moment its implication made his expression soften. Still, there had been too much doubt left in him, and the betrayal and deception in the past had left scars too deep for him to trust someone so easily.
The truth was that Yoh found it a predicament that Fei Long still wanted to trust people at all, even after everything he’d been through. As bitter as he was, there was still a child within the Baishe leader that had never given up on love or trust, no matter how many times they had hurt him in the past, and no matter how difficult it was for him to do either. It was the strength unique to the man- one that gave Yoh no choice but to surrender his heart, among other things.
"How long will you continue to lie to my face?” Fei Long asked. He’d had enough of lies and deception to last him a lifetime. The man must have thought him a fool to show up and expect him to believe in such a story - a fairytale infact. “You and I both know he'd rather have me die in his brother's place," Fei Long said with a painful smile. You were there, you saw it. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"If that's all you saw, then you are a fool," Yoh replied more sharply than his tone had ever been. "A selfish, self-centered fool at that!"
The answer had caught Fei Long off balance, and he could only part his lips to defend himself before Yoh cut in abruptly.
"You think you're in pain, but the truth is, it's not always about you. Have you ever considered how this is affecting Tao? Have you spared a thought for your subordinates? Do you have the slightest idea what that man is going through?" Yoh continued without giving the other man a chance to speak. Despite the meaning of his words he was calm and controlled, as always, and that made it sink deeper than coming from any other person. "You're sitting here, drowning in your own sufferings and mistakes when you should have gone out there to fix it."
"I am trying to fix it," Fei Long countered irritatingly. In truth, he wasn’t sure if it was Yoh he needed to convince or himself.
"Then fix it," Yoh replied without a moment of pause, pushing the tiny microphone forward with his right hand. "Fix it, Fei Long. Or you will lose everything."
The Baishe leader stared at the small device, his words stuck in the back of his throat. For the first time in his life he felt completely defenseless and at a total loss for words. Whether or not Yoh had been sent there by Mikhail, what he said had held some truth.
"You can stay here and lock yourself up in your own prison, or you can move on and be the man I know is in there somewhere," Yoh continued. It was time someone told Fei Long what his problem was. He figured it had to be him- someone who had nothing more to lose. It didn’t matter if Fei Long would end up hating him for this, or if he would be killed this time for saying these things out loud. He owed it to himself just as much as he owed this man to say the truth. "Tao needs you, your men need you, and he needs you, now, more than ever. It's your turn to save them. The question is, will you?"
For a long time the room fell completely silent. Yoh knew it would take some time for those words to sink in and take effect. Fei Long looked at him for what seemed to be an eternity, then the revelation came gradually as his eyes became more focused and intense. Rolling the pendent between his fingers, Fei Long smiled.
Yoh found himself holding his breath at the sight before him. There was a certain sense of tranquility about Fei Long that day, one Yoh had never seen in the head of Baishe. Ever since the day they’d met, it had never been his looks that captured Yoh's heart, and until then he had been rather immune to it. In that moment, for the first time, Fei Long’s beauty took his breath away.
"I should have just pulled the trigger when I had the chance," Fei Long said with a sneer, one that Yoh knew better than to take too seriously.
"You may still get another chance yet," he said, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette as he headed for the door. The butterflies in his stomach were beginning to bother him more than he could stand, and for once, he was maddeningly jealous of Mikhail Arbatov. Lucky bastard, he wanted to say, only he knew it was far from luck that had gotten the man this far. There wasn't a single person Yoh knew who would have tried harder and suffered more for Fei Long. Even he could not abandon his pride and beliefs to stand by the man he’d served and come to love for seven years. Yoh had often asked himself what would happen if he’d chosen to betray Asami Ryuichi and turned himself to Fei Long. The answer was always the same, that he would never be able to live with himself, much less be the man who deserved to stand by Fei Long’s side. While he would willingly die to protect this man and was certain no one understood the Baishe leader more than he did, it simply wasn’t what Fei Long needed. What Fei Long needed was someone who can give him the affection he’d never had, someone with the will and stamina to pull him out of whatever hell he believed he was in. He could only point Fei Long the way, but the man who can give Fei Long the will necessary for him to move on was Mikhail Arbatov.
"Yoh," Fei Long called, and then he remembered. "Is that even your real name?"
Yoh turned around and shrugged. "I have many names, most of them mean nothing to me," he replied with indifference. "But I like the one you call me with well enough." It wasn’t a lie. The name he’d taken for the past seven years held more meaning to him than others, just as those years were the most important ones in his life. He would not have Fei Long call him any other way.
The answer forced Fei Long to hide a smile. Perhaps the man had learned a thing or two from his new boss about flattery, or maybe it had been there after all this time and he just never had a chance to see it. "If I can make it so, will you come back to Baishe?" This time for real.
"And put up with your tantrums again?" Yoh asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, lifting his chin slightly. "Not a chance in hell." He’d had enough being Fei Long’s subordinate. From now things were going to change, he’d promised himself that when he resigned from his old boss’ employment.
The Baishe leader chuckled softly at the unexpected response. He'd decided that he liked this new Yoh much better anyway. "What is he paying you?"
"A job I would have done without getting paid," Yoh replied with a nod. He was growing more and more fond of this job after all, the way it puts him near Fei Long without having to obey his commands, the way he could call Fei Long just Fei Long.
Once more, the Baishe leader found himself smiling. He still couldn't trust this man completely, but it was a good start- a fresh one.
"And you were wrong about one thing," Yoh said before he disappeared through the door. "The only reason he's still standing is because you survived."
***
P.S. This time it's me you need to flood with comments (rotten tomatoes welcome, and I may deserve it for what I've written here), because I'm half way through chapter six, ... and I can still take a 6-month break XD *is evil* To the Yoh x Fei writers, you now owe me a Mik x Fei fic in exchange for giving Yoh such a big role!