Tokio huddled behind the broad shouldered police officer, certain that he would keep her safe. At this point she didn’t know why she had these thoughts about him. She didn’t really care why she did, either. She just knew he would keep her safe; just as she knew that the sun would rise each morning. Being a good attorney, she was normally not a person who believed anything without sufficient, credible evidence. To put her trust in this man, a complete stranger, was a real stretch for her, and a moronic one at that.
Crouched down behind him she couldn’t see what was going on. Just as well, as she really didn’t want to see it. But she heard it…all of it…every sickening sound of it. Still, she kept a light contact on his back with one of her hands, as if he were her life line and to lose that contact would mean a certain death. Another idiotic notion, she told herself as she waited, trying to keep her breathing calm and steady, listening intently to the activity she couldn’t see.
A breath, a sigh, an acknowledgement passed between them. Had he felt something, too?
”Saitoh?”
Was Ken now calling the man who was shielding her, Saitoh? On one hand it made sense, but on the other it caused Tokio to feel even more confusion, and her actions…toward Cop-san… were causing her confusion enough. Since when had she been so familiar with a strange man? Since never, and she didn’t need anything else to muddy her mind, like the red-headed Saitoh, who now wasn’t Saitoh, calling this man in front of her by that name.
Cop-san pivoted and before she knew it, her body was protectively covered with his. A glowing force ripped overhead, inches above the officer’s back. An explosion rocked the diner, the lights dimming before they snapped out.
Why did being in *this position* with him feel so familiar? It was the same sure familiarity that had overwhelmed her the first time he had touched her to yank her from beneath the rubble to safety. Tokio was sure that the heart hammering in her chest would surely burst, and not only because of the danger of dying in this fire fight. Most of it had to do with the man, himself, his proximity to her. Closing her eyes briefly she took in a slow, steady breath. A flicker of memory, only an instant long, being embraced by strong arms, imposed itself in her mind before fading away as quickly as it had come.
He pushed her under a counter, still shielding her. Her mind was on overload. This gun battle was bad enough, but the internal turmoil welling up inside her, caused by this man, was almost worse.
The sound of laugher and cheering reached her ears. With disgust she knew that, most likely, only someone on AMP would have that reaction to what was going on in here. Their brutality now made more sense to her. They were high on designer drugs made to give an individual super human strength, a strength that no one should ever possess.
“Takagi, give me your hand,” he said quietly.
Astounded that he knew her name, she glanced at him, right into his amber eyes. Again, she obeyed automatically. Not questioning his intention, not asking him what he was doing. She trusted him, and had no clue why. Placing the small firearm in her palm, he covered her hand with his own, while the gun silently registered her genetic signature in place of his. Now she knew what he expected from her. His hands were warm, strong, and comforting. His touch was again strangely familiar. So she hadn’t imagined this feeling, when he yanked her from under the table.
“There will be police backup here soon…I expect you to stay alive to assist them.”
Tokio felt an instant pang of loss. Maybe it was because he removed his hand from hers. Maybe it was because of what he said. Either way, it was still crazy for her to have these thoughts of familiarity about a complete stranger. ‘But *you* will be here to assist, won’t you?’ she almost let out before realizing in horror what could happen to a flak jacket turned to full power. She wanted to tell him to stop. That he didn’t have to do this, that he shouldn’t do this. But she kept silent; she had no right to make demands of him, especially knowing –somehow- that he would fulfill his duty regardless of the cost. . She had never made demands of him before, so she had no reason to do so now. ‘Before when?’ her confused mind asked itself. Shaking off the insane thought, she tightened her grip on the gun in her hand.
In a flash he was gone, firing into the chaos as he went. Peaking around from where she was hiding, she hoped to get some sense of where the targets were located. More blood and body parts…everywhere. She knew she only had the rounds in his weapon. She would make them count, all of them.
Things were happening so fast she could barely keep focused on the action. She saw the blade plunge into the officer’s thigh. His overheating body armor glowed brightly. Tokio gasped as he staggered and fell to his knees, bleeding heavily. Not good. He wouldn’t last long without help.
Then she noticed one of the obviously wounded thugs –one that HE had kempo kicked across the room a only few moments before- heft up a military rifle with one hand. Tokio raised the officer’s gun, held it out from her body, steadying it with both her hands, aiming right for the man’s head. Slowly, deliberately she squeezed the trigger. The round left the chamber with a sharp report, reaching its destination in the middle of the man’s forehead, throwing him backwards, but not before he had fired a round at Cop-san’s glowing chest, sending the officer flying across the room, his uniform on fire.
Tokio jumped to her feet, racing to the downed officer, knowing she had to respond –now. Something in her gut wrenched at that very moment, it was like the monthly cramp from hell. Then she screamed a name, “Hajime,” not knowing where the word came from.
She was by his side. Seeing blood flowing freely from his thigh, she acted immediately, tearing off her blouse so she could use it as a tourniquet . She was wearing a sports bra underneath, and it revealed far less than what most women wore to the beach. She really didn’t care if she were naked underneath. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was taking care of HIM. Once the cloth of her blouse was firmly wrapped around his bloody thigh, and she was satisfied that it would stem the flow of red liquid, she turned her attention to his torso, and his hot, smoldering body armor.
There was almost nothing left of his outer shirt. She tenderly began to remove his steaming flak jacket, ignoring what the heat was doing to her own hands. To get it off completely she needed to roll him on his side. It wasn’t an easy task but somehow she managed. She startled when she encountered bare skin under his burnt body armor, resisting the impulse to skim her finger tips across his back. Fortunately, none of his damaged skin had stuck to his flak jacket, but it was red and close to blistering. Thankfully, none of it was charred. Since she had no clean towels or cold water, there was nothing more she could do now, except pray that police back-up would bring a medic unit along with them.
His face was a mess, too, covered with small lacerations, wet with hot coffee, shards from a broken coffee pot scattered on the floor beside him. Reaching into the front pocket of her slacks, she removed a clean handkerchief and began to gently clean his face, being careful to watch for shards of glass that might be imbedded in his skin.
Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of him, his back, his face. Unspoken words, ‘Oh, Hajime don’t leave me, now that I’ve found you again.’ raced through her mind. It was surreal. She had NO connection to him. She did NOT KNOW HIM. Was she going mad? That was the only answer.
no subject
Crouched down behind him she couldn’t see what was going on. Just as well, as she really didn’t want to see it. But she heard it…all of it…every sickening sound of it. Still, she kept a light contact on his back with one of her hands, as if he were her life line and to lose that contact would mean a certain death. Another idiotic notion, she told herself as she waited, trying to keep her breathing calm and steady, listening intently to the activity she couldn’t see.
A breath, a sigh, an acknowledgement passed between them. Had he felt something, too?
”Saitoh?”
Was Ken now calling the man who was shielding her, Saitoh? On one hand it made sense, but on the other it caused Tokio to feel even more confusion, and her actions…toward Cop-san… were causing her confusion enough. Since when had she been so familiar with a strange man? Since never, and she didn’t need anything else to muddy her mind, like the red-headed Saitoh, who now wasn’t Saitoh, calling this man in front of her by that name.
Cop-san pivoted and before she knew it, her body was protectively covered with his. A glowing force ripped overhead, inches above the officer’s back. An explosion rocked the diner, the lights dimming before they snapped out.
Why did being in *this position* with him feel so familiar? It was the same sure familiarity that had overwhelmed her the first time he had touched her to yank her from beneath the rubble to safety. Tokio was sure that the heart hammering in her chest would surely burst, and not only because of the danger of dying in this fire fight. Most of it had to do with the man, himself, his proximity to her. Closing her eyes briefly she took in a slow, steady breath. A flicker of memory, only an instant long, being embraced by strong arms, imposed itself in her mind before fading away as quickly as it had come.
He pushed her under a counter, still shielding her. Her mind was on overload. This gun battle was bad enough, but the internal turmoil welling up inside her, caused by this man, was almost worse.
The sound of laugher and cheering reached her ears. With disgust she knew that, most likely, only someone on AMP would have that reaction to what was going on in here. Their brutality now made more sense to her. They were high on designer drugs made to give an individual super human strength, a strength that no one should ever possess.
“Takagi, give me your hand,” he said quietly.
Astounded that he knew her name, she glanced at him, right into his amber eyes. Again, she obeyed automatically. Not questioning his intention, not asking him what he was doing. She trusted him, and had no clue why. Placing the small firearm in her palm, he covered her hand with his own, while the gun silently registered her genetic signature in place of his. Now she knew what he expected from her. His hands were warm, strong, and comforting. His touch was again strangely familiar. So she hadn’t imagined this feeling, when he yanked her from under the table.
“There will be police backup here soon…I expect you to stay alive to assist them.”
Tokio felt an instant pang of loss. Maybe it was because he removed his hand from hers. Maybe it was because of what he said. Either way, it was still crazy for her to have these thoughts of familiarity about a complete stranger. ‘But *you* will be here to assist, won’t you?’ she almost let out before realizing in horror what could happen to a flak jacket turned to full power. She wanted to tell him to stop. That he didn’t have to do this, that he shouldn’t do this. But she kept silent; she had no right to make demands of him, especially knowing –somehow- that he would fulfill his duty regardless of the cost.
.
She had never made demands of him before, so she had no reason to do so now. ‘Before when?’ her confused mind asked itself. Shaking off the insane thought, she tightened her grip on the gun in her hand.
In a flash he was gone, firing into the chaos as he went. Peaking around from where she was hiding, she hoped to get some sense of where the targets were located. More blood and body parts…everywhere. She knew she only had the rounds in his weapon. She would make them count, all of them.
Things were happening so fast she could barely keep focused on the action. She saw the blade plunge into the officer’s thigh. His overheating body armor glowed brightly. Tokio gasped as he staggered and fell to his knees, bleeding heavily. Not good. He wouldn’t last long without help.
Then she noticed one of the obviously wounded thugs –one that HE had kempo kicked across the room a only few moments before- heft up a military rifle with one hand. Tokio raised the officer’s gun, held it out from her body, steadying it with both her hands, aiming right for the man’s head. Slowly, deliberately she squeezed the trigger. The round left the chamber with a sharp report, reaching its destination in the middle of the man’s forehead, throwing him backwards, but not before he had fired a round at Cop-san’s glowing chest, sending the officer flying across the room, his uniform on fire.
Tokio jumped to her feet, racing to the downed officer, knowing she had to respond –now. Something in her gut wrenched at that very moment, it was like the monthly cramp from hell. Then she screamed a name, “Hajime,” not knowing where the word came from.
She was by his side. Seeing blood flowing freely from his thigh, she acted immediately, tearing off her blouse so she could use it as a tourniquet . She was wearing a sports bra underneath, and it revealed far less than what most women wore to the beach. She really didn’t care if she were naked underneath. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was taking care of HIM. Once the cloth of her blouse was firmly wrapped around his bloody thigh, and she was satisfied that it would stem the flow of red liquid, she turned her attention to his torso, and his hot, smoldering body armor.
There was almost nothing left of his outer shirt. She tenderly began to remove his steaming flak jacket, ignoring what the heat was doing to her own hands. To get it off completely she needed to roll him on his side. It wasn’t an easy task but somehow she managed. She startled when she encountered bare skin under his burnt body armor, resisting the impulse to skim her finger tips across his back. Fortunately, none of his damaged skin had stuck to his flak jacket, but it was red and close to blistering. Thankfully, none of it was charred. Since she had no clean towels or cold water, there was nothing more she could do now, except pray that police back-up would bring a medic unit along with them.
His face was a mess, too, covered with small lacerations, wet with hot coffee, shards from a broken coffee pot scattered on the floor beside him. Reaching into the front pocket of her slacks, she removed a clean handkerchief and began to gently clean his face, being careful to watch for shards of glass that might be imbedded in his skin.
Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of him, his back, his face. Unspoken words, ‘Oh, Hajime don’t leave me, now that I’ve found you again.’ raced through her mind. It was surreal. She had NO connection to him. She did NOT KNOW HIM. Was she going mad? That was the only answer.