Chapter Twenty-Nine: From the Lost Days

Author's Note: Our heroes are finally back in Teufort, yay! But the story's far from over. We've still got those pesky red strings dangling, not to mention the numerous plot threads that seem to only multiply over time. This chapter... doesn't really answer to many of those, but it's important for characterization reasons, so I implore you to


Monday morning, Hartmann—under Dante's orders—heads over to the train station to wait for Valdo and Luca. While watching the passengers exit the train, he spots Mortimer, with Vincent, Alan, and the new Medic, Ooshiro, on his tail. The four of them spot the large man and run over to embrace him (all except Ooshiro, who gets dragged into the group hug). Mort and Alan clamor all at once, overpowering the others until Hartmann tells them to stop. “Bitte, mein Freunde. One at a time, please. How vas your trip?”

Vincent is the first one to speak. “We did really well, Doc. The mission was a success!” Realizing what he's just said, his tone softens and trails off. “Erm, for us at BLU. I, uh, sorry.”

Dispelling the awkwardness, Ooshiro says, “The representative for the Badlands BLU team was very polite, and clever, too.”

“Ellen's zhe best,” Alan exclaims. “She's been especially sweet to us.”

“I got to be a Scout,” Mort butts in. “Al, too.”

“Both of you...?” He chuckles. “I'm sure you must have had fun, Morty.”

Mort's about to agree when Alan interjects. “Wait, how do you and Vinci know about Ellen, anyway?” His lips curl up into a catlike smile. “Are you her boyfriend?”

“Was? Of course not! Ellen has been Vincent's therapist since he vas a vee boy. Ve hardly talk much outside of his appointments. Ve're busy vith our own businesses, ja?” Alan pouts in disappointment. “Speaking of vhich, how have you been, Vince?”

Vincent perks up in surprise, then offers a shaky smile. “Oh? Y-yes. I'm doing well.” Turning to the others, he says, “Head back to the base. I'll catch up to you guys later.” They look dismayed at not being able to spend more time with Hartmann, but comply anyway.

From the first second, the Medic-slash-Heavy can tell something is off. Though he's always been a shifty, anxious, and overall unhappy sort, the Scout appears even more so, with his crossed arms and hunched shoulders. Looking closely, Hart instantly recognizes his notorious scratching habit. He places one hand on his shoulder and speaks softly in German. “You don't look so well, Kaninchen. What's going on?”

Vince lets down his guard and answers in tongue, “You wouldn't believe me if I say it.”

“You know I'm always there to support you, no matter what. If you're having problems, you can always come to me. What is it you want to say?”

With a sigh, he continues. “Well, there's this girl, and for a while, we were just friends. But recently, she's become... well, I think I'm in love.”

Hartmann's eyes grow wide in shock, then settle into a wistful look as he pulls Vince closer. “Kaninchen, falling in love is not something you should be afraid of. It's a sign you're becoming a man. Embrace those feelings, tell 'er how you feel! If she turns you down, well, it's better to have love and lost, and however that old cliché goes.”

“That's the thing, Doc, I can't! She's already in love with someone else. And he obviously feels the same way. I can't get between them.”

“Why not? If you like her so much, go get her! Even if your feelings aren't returned, at least you can live, knowing that you told 'er how you feel. Unless there's something deeper going on between you three.”

Vince swallows, apprehensive. “I'm afraid I cannot say much. All I know is she's in danger, and only I can stop it.” He looks up at the good doctor. “Can you do me a favor? Watch over Dante closely. And Luca, too. I need to know what they're up to—for our sake.”

Hartmann's expression grows cold. “I see. I'll keep a close eye on them. But not just for you; I can't trust those lousy bastards even if my life depended on it.” Warming up again, he hugs the Scout and ruffles his hair. “Run along now, little rabbit. Surely, that monkey of a Spy is up to some mischief as we speak.”

After their return, Alan and Mort sneak into the kitchen and raid the cabinets and fridge for ingredients. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar, baking chocolate, and all the other essentials are set up. Because he came up with the idea, Alan assigns himself as head chef. “Mort, do you know anything about baking,” the Spy inquires as he watches his sous chef fumble with the eggs. “If you're having trouble, take a spoon and crack it slightly, like so.” He takes one of the few unbroken eggs and whacks it with the rim of a metal spoon, then pours the yolk into the mixing bowl. “Now you try it.”

Mort takes the spoon and attempts to mimic the Spy's actions. But he underestimates his strength, resulting in an egg that is not so much cracked as shattered, with yolk bleeding all over his hands. “On second thought, I'll handle the eggs. You can mix the batter.”

Once the mixing has finished, Alan pours the batter into each nook of the cupcake tins and slides them into the oven. As the cupcakes are baking, they chat and share funny stories about the other mercs at Teufort and Badlands. The conversation quickly shifts to the morning of Mort's kidnapping, the suddenness of which makes him uneasy. He whispers his thanks when he hears the timer dings, signaling him to rush over and take out the cupcakes. With Alan's instruction, he tests the condition of the cupcakes; they baked to the core, much to their relief. Together, the duo decorates the pastries with the frosting, with varying results, and eats them with huge grins on their faces.

The fun is interrupted, as Ooshiro walks in on them. “Oh, am I interrupting something? Sumimasen. I'll just take what I need and leave—”

All of a sudden, he feels a tug at his sleeve. Latching onto him is Mortimer. “No need for that, mate. There's plenty for all of us. Here, have one!” He lets go and hands Ooshiro one of his own cupcakes.

Noting the pity behind his smile, the Medic accepts. “It's embarrassing for me to admit, but I might need a fork for this. I-I tend to be a bit of a messy eater.”

“Gotcha covered!” Mort runs over to the kitchen and back with a handful of silverware, mainly forks. He gives one to Ooshiro, then takes another and proceeds to break apart his cupcake with it. Intrigued by the idea, Sammy joins in. Alan is the only one who has not picked up on the act.

“Who eats cupcakes with a fork? I think it kind of ruins the fun.” He picks up a cupcake and takes a bite out of it. He glances at Ooshiro, noticing the slow and careful manner in which he eats. Most suspiciously is how he tries his hardest to keep his mouth shut while eating, keeping his teeth from ever revealing themselves. Alan has learned from Luca about various customs in Japan, one of which involves Japanese ladies covering their mouths while laughing or dying their teeth black, so as their teeth do not show. But does it apply to men, as well, or is this guy just a weirdo? “Ooshiro, I bet you have a beautiful smile. Why do you cover yourself up so much?”

The question is an innocent one, but it tempts the Asian doctor into having another mental fit. Resisting his most primal urges, he slips his mask back on and stands up. “I-I'm sorry, but I must go. I just remembered there was something I had to do.” Swiftly, he leaves them behind and heads straight for the locker room.

Removing his work garments and setting the spare clothes stored in his locker aside, he steps into the shower stall. He turns on the water, letting the cool droplets run down his back, its pale skin decorated with an elaborate shark tattoo. With a sigh, he combs his wet hair with his fingers, washing the gel off of it. His body is laced with scars from years of abuse, from friend, foe, and family alike. Staring down at the scars on his arm, he wonders why he even allowed himself to put his trust in anybody. Hell, he doesn't even remember where half of these even came from. Most likely from that dreadful alter ego of his. No, not an alter ego. His other half. The yang to his yin, or something like that. He recalls those days when he discovered his existence.

At the suggestion of his sister, Nasu, Ooshiro started keeping a journal. At first, it acted like a regular journal would be, starting with “Dear diary” and the like. But every once in a while, he would come across a new entry, one written in a rugged scrawl and wretched tone unlike the neat, polite writing he normally used. Over time, he began communicating with this stranger, writing direct messages to him in the journal. Most of the time, he would reply, recording his horrible acts of violence and thoughts of bloodlust. But nothing could compare to that day. That day, when he found his mother and father, along with his younger siblings, lying dead on the floor, and the horrid, familiar scrawl spread throughout two pages of the book, written in blood...

YOU ASKED FOR THIS, SAME OOSHIRO. THIS WAS WHAT YOU WANTED ALL ALONG.

He almost chokes on his own vomit. He tries to convince himself that what he saw that day was entirely someone else's doing, that he could never do that to his family, regardless of what they've done to him. His becoming a doctor was a decision of his own making, totally not influenced by his desire to atone for his sins. But he cannot deny it any longer: through Hohojirozame's existence, he murdered his own family, and he enjoyed it. And all his life choices were not for charity, but for thrills. Try as he might to be an upstanding citizen, deep inside, he is a dirty, rotten sadist.

“Sammy, are you there?” A familiar voice beckons from the other side of the curtain. “Sorry 'bout Al's behavior. He really didn't know any better. But I told him about your, erm, problem, and he understands now.”

Furious, Ooshiro flings open the curtain. “You told him WHAT?!” An awkward pause ensues, as Mort—almost dropping the basket in his hands—stares up and down at the taller man's stocky torso and sizable assets. Ooshiro, flustered, hides behind the curtain. “D-d-don't look! Just give me a moment.” He turns off the faucet, then grabs the tower from the rack beside the stall and wraps it around his waist. “Mort, you should not be telling other people their secrets. You know I'm really sensitive about that. And to Astor-chan, of all people—”

“I know you are. But the sooner Al knows about it, the better. I haven't told him 'bout Mr. Hoho, though, that's up to you.” Having just remembered the item in his possession, he holds it out towards Ooshiro. “By the way, I brought cupcakes! If you want some, that is.”

“Th-thank you. Where's Astor-chan?”

“Oh, he's in my room right now. Said he's not feelin' too well. You think you can take a look at 'im when you can?” He gives a not-so-subtle wink and scoots closer. “Unless you'd rather examine me, hmm?”

“Uh, I should check up on Astor-chan. But you need first aid.” He brushes a finger against Mort's face, which has several cuts running along his jawline. “Did you try to shave?”

The Sniper's cheeks flare up, as his voice turns into a whimper. “Y... Yeah. Thought I'd try a new look. You like it?”

Observing the Australian's countenance, Ooshiro notes the slim, brown hairs lined along his cheekbones, in contrast to his hairless jaw, bushy brows, and feminine lashes. His soft lips so kissable, his eyes like circles of swirling chocolate... He detaches his hand from Mort and averts from him. “It's very, um, you. I should tend to Astor-chan. But I'll get first aid for you, too. Thank you.” He graciously accepts the basket and walks away, abandoning his friend.

His head is spinning fast like a whirlwind. His stomach aches, stinging and bloated. A lump in his throat threatens him to lose what little he had just eaten. Worst of all is the tightness in his chest, as if his ribs have shrunken to the point of crushing his lungs and heart, leaving him short of breath. This is a feeling not unfamiliar to Alan; he had suffered from similar pangs in short intervals throughout his known lifetime. Normally, when this sensation starts to arise, he would run over to obtain some aspirin, then rest until the pain lessens. But he had forgotten all about it, and now it's too late to get treatment. All he can do is wait for help. Closing his eyes, he imagines himself—no, Anonyme—and Mort, sharing intimate gestures while flowery, sensual imagery decorates his dreamscape.

A cold feeling touches the center of his breasts. He can almost hear his heart beating, louder and louder. At the same time, his head is burning up like a furnace about to explode. Something familiar lays itself upon his forehead, then his shoulder, and shakes him roughly, jostling him awake. His dreamscape gone, he has returned to the confines of the barracks. Though initially disappointed, he is relieved to see the face of his lover and friend, staring back at him. “Mortimer...”

“Had a good dream?” The Aussie brushes Alan's hair strands away from his face. “We thought we'd lost you for a second there.”

Sitting behind Mort is Ooshiro, with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. “I sensed an irregular heartbeat, which could be a problem if not treated properly. Then again, perhaps I just caught you at the wrong time.” He stifles a chuckle. “But in all seriousness, you seem to have caught a fever. You'll have to rest up for the day. I can take today off.”

“So will I,” Mortimer adds. “We need each other more than ever. Vince an' the others can handle themselves.”

“Thank you.” Glancing at the Band-aids on Mort's face, Alan mutters, “You shave?”

“Y-yeah. Wanted to try out a new look. How's it look?”

A gentle smile forms from the crack between his lips. “You look younger. It's cute.” Mort mouths his thanks, his eyes wet with tears. Alan cringes in pain, breaking him out of his trance. “Sorry. Can you bring some aspirin?”

“All here,” Ooshiro says as he removes a bottle of painkiller from the first aid kit, then sets both on top of the dresser. “You stay and watch Alan while I get some water.” He leaves without waiting for a reply.

The two of them stay silent, as Mortimer opens the first aid kit to examine its contents. Then, out of nowhere, Alan says, “What happened, Mort? Back at the Badlands base.”

“None of yer business.” He slams the case shut.

“Please. I'm your friend. I live to protect you from harm. That... is my mission.” He gulps and continues. “That test I told you about... the reason why I snuck into your van... It's because of you. I was assigned to watch over you, to observe. But after that first meeting, my feelings changed. Now I want to help you. I want nothing more than to make you happy.”

After a long delay, he sits down next to Alan and finally gives his answer. “The one who kidnapped me turned out to be Valdo. He knocked me out, then dragged me over to... somewhere... and he an' the others tortured me. Knives, fags, whatever they had on hand. Then Dante came. He spoke to me, told me all kinds of crazy stuff. And then he... he...” His heartbeat quickening, he wraps his arms around himself and curls up into a fetal position. “I can't do this anymore. Not with him around. Not like this.” Raising his head, he brushes his fingertips along the sides of his face. “I've lost my last remaining shred of dignity. I broke my promise to Joey. I can't...” Unable to choke back his tears, he lets them flow, trembling as he weeps.

Alan is too weak and tired to get out of bed, but Mortimer's pain is too much to bear. With some effort, he drags himself out to comfort the Sniper. “Don't say another word. Let it all out. I'm here for you. If you broke one promise, then just make another. Make all the promises you can, until your dreams come true. Even though I made a promise to Luca not to get too close to you, I'm making a new promise for myself. Let's make a promise right now. Stay here... for both of us.” Mort's crying slows down, and replies with a nod.

Neither of them speak further, for there is nothing else to be said.