Chilly hands are pressed up against the foggy glass of a bus, clearing away some of the condensation to see the outside world a little bit better. Some of the scenery began to look familiar; road signs he recognized passed by in blurred streaks and the outline of Toshi City's greenhouse could be spotted on the horizon. Memories flood his brain as he retracts his hands and stuffs them into his coat pocket and thumbs a piece of paper in his left pocket. He really hadn't been gone very long, but it seemed as if it was ages since he really last experienced the place.
What's this nutty town up to this time? is what he ends up thinking. He ponders whether or not his old friends were still here; he knew Kazuya was and C-ta was, but he didn't get the chance to tell them of his arrival. What about festivals? Were those still happening? The winter festival around this time was quite the hit, wasn't it--
His train of thought is interrupted as the bus lurches to a halt with a less-than-elegant squuueeehhhhkkah! The young man jerks forward from the force, and his left just about drops the letter he had received upon getting a place to live in Toshi City again. He gets a better grip on the neatly folded piece of paper, glancing over the words Atsuro Kihara, Daisy Apartment Room #2 written in fancy penmanship, and stands up to exit the mostly-empty bus.
Atsuro gives a nod to the bus driver in thanks before taking his leave, luggage clacking behind him obnoxiously as he dragged the suitcase down the steps. He stands still at the bus stop, glances at his paper again, and soon realizes that he actually has no idea where the Daisy apartments were.
He turns to the nearest person, someone he assumed to be from Toshi City, and laughs nervously. "Hey," he starts, "could you tell me where the Daisy apartments are? I'm a new resident. Um, kinda. Haha--"
First Chizuru and now Azusa had stopped coming in. Sitting on a single stool, picking through the fully grown herbs flourishing at the windowsills of the nursery, Jude couldn't help but feel a little disconsolate. Especially over the loss of one of his best and first nurses. She had taught him so much and yet, there hadn't been the opportunity to return the favor at all.
"Hm..."
But so was life and people came and gone just like the days passing them by; it would have done his conscious some good, however, if they had at least given their proper farewells. In this sort of light, Jude just didn't have the heart to cross off their names from the registry, idly poking at a basil sapling sullenly.
I at least hope they're well..
Before his brain could process the situation, his finger moved to the record button. Two things were clear even without thinking. Yamato was the last person to let a stranger answer his phone. And this was not how you answered someone's phone for then.
Before he could demand that man's identity, a familiar scream filled him to the core. No. Familiar wasn't accurate for he had never heard the owner of that voice make such a sound so far.
"What did you do to Yamato!"
The recipient merely hung the phone on Art's face. Of course, Art frantically redialed but the number was shortly declared out of range.
"Dammit!" He wouldn't be getting anything else from here. Instead, he called JPs Computer Department to track Yamato down. They were always on standby to pinpoint the higher ups' locations in case of emergencies. Now if only Yamato's phone was still intact enough.
Surely enough. They sent the results by the time Art rushed down the stairs into his car.
Cemetery. What kind of sick joke was that supposed to be?
All previous thoughts were long lost to him. Just the need to get to Yamato as fast as possible. He forwarded the address to the hospital just in case and sped forward. Along with Yamato's pained voice, ever ringing stronger in his brain.
_______________________________________
Upon arrival, he didn't even bother shutting down the car lights or police siren before shooting out of the car. Urgency to find Yamato at once took priority over manners and protocols. Since whoever did this was good enough to pull a fast one on the Chief there probably wasn't much point in subtlety. He'd just shoot anything that moved unless it was Yamato.
Searching with the flashlight of his phone was turning futile. Nor did anyone answer his calls. But then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
The smell of blood.
The sight that greeted him upon following it would haunt his nightmares for months to come.
A familiar phone broken in the dirt. Cracks travelling all over the screen like a spider web, pieces of outer casing flaked off. From that, light followed to a familiar glove, dark red and misshapen and connected to a familiar male. Face down in a pool of his own blood.
And above him, a gravestone stood imposingly. As if calling the chief down to the underworld. A verdict.
"Yamato!" Was all Art could choke out. He rushed to the fallen male's side and turned him over after making sure the source of the blood wasn't on his back. "...how could this.."
On Yamato's chest, a gaping wound stared back at him.
No. No time to break down. He was still breathing, however faintly. He still had a pulse and the barest sliver of warm. Yamato was still fighting. Still alive.
"Don't you dare!" He removed his jacket in one move and pressed the clean side over the wound. So many wounds all over his body. But if he couldn't stop the blood loss, it was all over. "You are not allowed to die right before my eyes! Do you hear me, Yamato!"
Yet, he could feel the blood soaking through the fabric. A weak cough that called panic. If his airways got blocked by blood, Art wouldn't be able to tend to the wound and do CPR at the same time.
So much damage all over his body and yet slowing down the bleeding alone was all he could do. Art rarely ever felt this helpless.
"Please, Yamato! Hang in there just a bit longer. Ambulance will be here any minute." His shaky calls turned into desperate pleading. Tears were blocking his vision by now. "Please don't do this! I...I can't lose you too...Yamato!"
_______________________________________
Ten minutes at most.
The time between his arrival and that of the ambulance was ten minutes at most. Even though every second of it felt like years. In ten minutes, his throat went sore from begging Yamato to live.
And the time Yamato had been in surgery for was nearing three hours. That also equaled to the time Art had been slumped on a hospital chair, waiting before the double doors. Only time he left was when a nurse shooed him to wash off the blood and change into a clean shirt so he wouldn't be scaring other patients.
He should probably go back to cemetery.
And he really didn't care.
He already handed the recording in for voice analysis. Besides that, there should be an extra set of finger prints on Yamato's phone. While the medics were swarming Yamato, a keen eyed JPs employees also discovered a fresh trail of blood moving away from them. About two hours ago, they reported about how the footprints indicated there had to be at least two people involved in the assault.
People combing through the crime scene were obviously competent enough to manage on their own. Besides, Art would only get in the way considering his exhausted state.
That and...the feeling he had to stay here. He had to wait for Yamato. Stay as close as hospital rules allowed him and keep his promise. Certainly foolish of him. Yes. Even a child could see there was nothing he could do to help Yamato out of this. But he felt like if he left his seat, if he turned his back to this door, then Yamato would truly leave them forever.
Exactly what Art had been trying to do. Yet, completely different. The realization made him disgusted with himself. If this was supposed to be his punishment, Art wished he had been the one to pay the price instead of Yamato.
I won't try to leave anymore. I won't run away. I won't go anywhere. I'll stay by your side until you're sick of me. So, please.
Please.
Don't go.
...
The light above the operation room finally turned off.
_______________________________________
He looked like he was just sleeping. Though this assessment wasn't all that inaccurate considering Yamato had been out of coma for a while now. They were simply waiting for him to wake up on his own.
However, 'they' didn't mean all that many people. Especially since Art, with the help of his ever so faithful nurses, went out of his way to make sure rumors of Yamato's death on operation table spread. Rather than an official announcement to doubt, give them a speculation to cling to. Almost as if JPs was trying but failing to cover his demise up.
For that matter, rumor's of Art's departure from city also spread. Easy peasy since he was all done with his preparation before that fateful call. Just send someone to pick up his luggage and things moved on their own.
Of course, in truth he'd been right here like a guard dog at Yamato's bedside the whole time. (Or the couch of his private hospital room, working from his laptop the whole time.) Can't be too careful. That was also why he choose to stay here despite having heard only good things about the doctor in Toshi Clinic.
Connections and trust. Beautiful things.
While they could get overbearing at times, the staff here was scarily competent and loyal on top of it. Better than some of his subordinates if he had to say. Their unity was definitely stronger and they kept bringing Art sweets.
In the end, he only decided to keep a handful of JPs employees involved. While Art liked it in TCDF, there was too much of a mix-match for him to trust every single member equally. He'd probably update Fushimi and Chie on things later. Unfortunately, Tasuku had been missing for a while now.
Vacation or not, he also sent Shinichi and Naoto encoded mails explaining the situation. It'd be far more troublesome if they rushed back to investigate and turned things upside down. Art really didn't have the confidence to fool those two.
For now he just wanted Yamato to get better. Then, they could decide where to go from here.
Looking at the chief sleeping without a care in the world, Art found himself yawning. He was going to get scolded by the passing nurses (again) if he stayed up any longer.
With some dissatisfaction, he closed his laptop and placed it on the counter besides the cookie box. After a short trip to the bathroom, he retrieved a pillow and blanket from the closet and made himself at home on the couch.
Before turning off the lamp, he stole one last glance to the sleeping beauty.
♔ Hm. He wondered if anyone around was up for a cardfight. Or, for that matter, if any of them played. Admittedly, he said he'd step away from Vanguard during college, but one fight couldn't hurt, right?
Absentmindedly, he shuffled the cards in his hands, careful not to drop them. Maybe. There had to be some players around here.
» Breaking headline; loser plays soccer all by himself.
Okay, maybe that's not news - he's been doing that since he came here. Using trees like goals and winding between them as if they're opposing defenders; he'd have to say, it's getting tiresome.
A kick, and his beloved ball is lodged in the high branches of a tree. Just great. He's not even close to tall, either.
Might as well try to climb up and get it, right?
He hopes his cape doesn't get caught on any branches.
