JE Fic: "Turn My World" (Jin/Kame) Part Two.

[hermiones]

Title: Turn My World Part 02
Pairing: Jin/Kame
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is a remix of an untitled drabble by soucieux which can be found here under "Akame on the run". Thank you so much to peacock for the fabulous beta and, I hope you all enjoy it!
Warnings: AU. Sex, violence, gore and inappropriate language.

Part One.



Roppongi, Jin.




Jin sits and waits in the living room. It's plush, luxurious: the sofa is black leather with a studded back. He remembers fucking Suiko there, half on the shag carpet. It seems a long time ago. The photographs of she and her husband still sit on the mantelpiece. Both of them are smiling, plastic smiles. It says something that they're still there.

“I'm glad that you came to see me,” the man says. “Though I think you came to see her.”

“No,” Jin says. “I came to see you.”

“I was about to pay you a visit, actually,” the man says. “That little slip of the thing – he's who you're with now, isn't he? Didn't take too much digging to work that out.”

“You had no right to touch him,” Jin says. “No fucking right. What are you, some kind of nutcase? You could have killed him.”

“If I'd known that he was your toy, I would have,” the man says. “It would have been poetic, don't you think?”

“Where's Suiko?”

“Not here,” the man says in an ominous tone. “She's lovely, isn't she?”

“Lovely,” Jin says, “isn't the word I'd use. Downright poisonous, maybe. She's a fucking whore. She gave it up to me so fucking easily. Is that what you want to know? What the fuck do you want from me? Don't come near my apartment again. Don't fuck with the people I-- don't. Tell me what you fucking want and I'll give it to you.”

“Oh,” the man says. “Look around you, you cunt. What could I want that isn't here? What could you give me?”

“Listen,” Jin says. “I'll do anything. Just don't touch him again. Leave us alone. I didn't mean to-- I didn't mean to cause this. I didn't mean to ruin your marriage. I just...I just want you to leave us alone.”

“My marriage?” The man laughs. “We have a child, too. A daughter. Didn't you know? Didn't you know what she was throwing away for you?”

Jin shakes his head. She had narrow hips. Or maybe Kame did. One of them did.

“Anyway,” the man says. “Leaving you alone wasn't really my plan. I thought that I could ruin your reputation, first-”

Jin's mouth is agape.

“Oh, yes, I know who you are. Didn't have to dig too hard to find that out, either. I could end both your careers, for starters. There's a lot I could do with your friend. Kame, was it? He's a charming little weed. Struggles so much. There's a lot I could use him for, in my line of work.”

“What the-”

“You never thought to ask Suiko what her husband does? How she can afford to live in a palace like this? My God, you are stupid.”

Jin rises, turns around. He's on the losing side of the battle, and he knows it. He holds both of his hands in the air and takes a step towards the man.

“I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, I'll do a lot of things that I didn't mean to do to your friend, Jin.” the man says. “Just watch me.”

Well. If pleading won't work, Jin thinks, then something else must. Something inside him snaps, something makes his fist fly into the man's face. There's a crack of bone in the nose, the man's head goes back, the hair streaming. It'd be beautiful if it weren't terrifying, if the man hadn't retaliated, if the man hadn't reached behind him and produced a gun.

Jin swallows. He had this all set up, from the beginning. It was all planned. He didn't see it. He didn't see the risk. He never sees the risk.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“Yeah,” the man says, grinning manically. “Fuck would be right.”

Jin does the only thing he can think to do: jumps, and punches, as hard as he can, hoping to knock the gun away. It ends up in a tussle on the carpet, knees and arms over and under, cracking and clicking and the pain of it, the sheer pain of it blinds Jin. There's an arm behind his back, his own, it hurts so much, the strain on his shoulder. He can't think, he can't speak, he wants to be sick with it. The man pulls him up with it, so that they're both sitting upright, on their knees, like samurai. It's sick.

“Oh, you like that,” the man says. “This is what I'll do to your Kame. I'll hold him like this while my men fuck-”

Jin scrabbles on the floor with his free hand, his vision wavering, the blood draining from his face. He can barely think but his fingers close around the gun. It's been kicked away to his side, forgotten, stupid, stupid. It only takes an instant. A second without a single thought. Jin holds the muzzle to the man's chin and briefly absorbs the look of absolute stricken terror. Then, he pulls the trigger.




Tokyo, Kame.




Kame drives.

Kame knows. Kame knows the print of the gun on the man's chin, the way his head rebounded, the explosion. The mushroom cloud. The image is printed on the underside of Kame's eyelids. He'll see it forever.

He realises that he's no longer afraid. But he can feel Jin's fear from miles away.




Roppongi.




“Jin, we have to go,” Kame says, tugs on the other's sleeve. “Jin, I mean it. We have to leave. Right now.”

“Kame,” Jin says. It could be minutes later, or hours, or days. He's not sure what's happening. The last thing he remembers is thinking about Suiko's narrow hips, or Kame's. How did Kame get here? “What did I do?”

“I don't know,” Kame says. “But we have to go.”

It's a lie, but Jin doesn't see it. Realisation hits him and he swallows six times, swallows down the feeling of--

“Kame, I did this.” It's conjecture: there's a gun in his hand and brains plastering the walls.

Kame's face is stricken. “Jin, I--”

“Kame, do you see this?” Jin pulls away. “Why are you here?”

He looks Kame like a child, then, and Kame feels like something is eating away at his heart. “Do you see me? Do you see this? Do you see--”

“Jin, you didn't mean it. Let's go,” Kame grabs Jin's arm and tries to force it. “They're going to come, Jin. And we can't afford--”

“Kame,” Jin says, as if the name is a prayer. “Kame, I just killed a man. He has a family. A child. I just blew his head off. The walls and floor and ceiling are--”

He doesn't need to say it: it's all around them. And Kame knows. He hasn't smelt anything like it in his life and for that he's grateful. He keeps his eyes on Jin, always on Jin.

"Jin--"

“Kame, I don't even remember it,” Jin chokes, his hands over his mouth. He goes towards a trashcan in a corner of the room and the soles of his trainers leave bloody smears. Kame sits beside him as he retches and heaves, kneading a circle in his back as hard as he's swallowing himself. His hair is in Kame's hands.

“Let's go, Jin,” he says, again, when Jin is done. He tugs his hair, firm, it's no longer a request.

“I'm sorry,” Jin says.

Kame clutches him and closes his eyes. Jin bends and rests his head on his shoulder. As the world falls away, there's a moan, an animal sound, of pain and regret.

In a blink, they are gone.




Tokyo.




They regain themselves in a motel. Kame watches the news on the bed, still shaking. Occasionally he watches the steam slip underneath the bathroom door, proving that Jin's still in there, not about to run away again. Kame knows that he should shout at Jin but now is not the moment. His breath feels acrid as he breathes it.

“In Roppongi this morning, Yamamoto Ryuichi was found dead in his apartment,” the television says. “Police are quite sure that it was a homicide...evidence found at the scene...”

Kame silences it and lies down on the bed. The ceiling feels so close, as if the world is closing down in on him. It's terrifying how narrow everything feels now. He doesn't notice that Jin is done showering until Jin's face is there above him. He thinks it's a vision until water drops down from Jin's hair, into his eyes.

“Kame,” Jin breathes, and Kame runs his hands up Jin's sides. Jin is naked, soaking wet, heavy with the weight of realisation.

“Jin,” Kame says.

“I'm so-”

There's a knock on the door. “Police--” It's muffled with the weight of the wood, but louder than anything they've heard before. Jin's hand goes for Kame's and his grip is so strong. Kame does what he has to do. He pushes him away, moves toward the other side of the bed.

“Put on some clothes, first,” he hisses. He throws clothes at Jin and fills his pockets with money, a bottle of water. His hands are still shaking. Jin does whatever he says, his eyes hard and alarmed.

“Police--open up! We know you're in there!”

Kame makes for the bathroom and whips his head back toward Jin, who follows, stumbling over his jeans. “Are you ready?”

Jin nods. “You have everything?”

“Yeah,” Kame says. He's not sure that he can do this, but, well, they have to try. He's in it, now. There's no turning back. He thinks about the young girl at the airport. See you in April.

“We're going to come in--”

Jin reaches over and grabs Kame's hand, pulls him close, so they stand toe to toe in the small space of the shower. It's where it all began, Kame thinks.

“This freaks me out, you know,” Jin whispers, and his hair drips all over his clothes.

“Close your eyes,” Kame commands softly, and Jin does.

Kame thinks about the girl at the airport, and her mother. She had a hat on her head that she was trying to pull down, by its corners. It must have been a windy day. She had a raincoat on, bright green, beautiful. She was older, she had expensive taste. A string of pearls around her neck. See you in April. See you in April.

“Ah,” she'd said, as if to nobody. “Love. Are you letting somebody go?”

“Yeah,” Kame had said, as he'd left. The plane had disappeared.

“Me too,” she says. “Planes-- what do we really need planes for, anyway? I don't think that I can really let him go. Not ever.”

Things slowly slide into place. Kame squeezes Jin's hand and wills the world away, for a moment. Jin thinks about a place called home, a place that doesn't exist. Kame can feel him thinking, the warm rush of impulse. The big, aching heart. And his own-- so stony and unsure. No more.


The door bursts open and the cops come in, gun-ready. All that's left for them is a duffel bag of clothing and a towel on the bed, warm and still wet. Steam comes from the bathroom, underneath the closed door. The boss nods towards it, warning caution. A few of the cops step towards it, nods are shared. They break the door down after a count of three.

What they see stuns them all.

“All clear, boss.”

“What the hell?”




Okinawa.




Two boys watch the sea. (The rain pours and pours and pours.)

“I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry,” one says.

“I said I'd let you go,” the other replies. “But I can't. I never, ever could.”

“Don't.”

“It's alright,” he says. “It's over now.”