Chapter Text
Max once again found himself in a New York hospital ICU.
Charlie had called him and told him the news. He’d been found unconscious in the public library. He had seemingly fallen asleep at one of the desks but, rather than forcefully wake him, as would be usual in that situation, the staff had recognised him as a regular and left him to sleep as he wasn’t bothering anyone. At closing time, when he still hadn’t awoken by himself, they had finally intervened. Close to death, he’d been rushed to hospital.
That was where he lay now, hooked up to countless machines that beeped and whirred and wheezed, a drip feeding into his arm introducing a much-needed blood transfusion into his veins. The puncture wound in his abdomen wasn’t as severe as the one he had received in his fight with Arthur – it had missed everything vital, barely tickling the interior of his body cavity with its merciless point, but the doctors said if he had been brought in even ten minutes later, he would have bled to death slumped over the library table.
In typical Ash Lynx style, he had proven himself once again to be notoriously sturdy and resistant to murder.
“Shit, kid,” Max muttered to himself, looking down at the worryingly thin, pale teenager laid in the bed before him. It was early days, and there was still a chance he wouldn’t pull through, or else would develop an infection or secondary complications, but he was young and fit and the doctors were pretty positive about his outcome. “You never catch a break, do you?”
A lone cop sat by the doorway, guarding entry to the room. He was to be questioned when he was well enough, and there was a possibility he could be arrested and sent back to jail. Charlie had assured Max he was doing everything he could to prevent this happening, but the fact remained that the body of Lao Len Tai had been found slumped against the wall of the library outside. When autopsied, a single Magnum round was found lodged by his spleen, and said bullet matched the ammo in a pistol found tucked in Ash's belt. Upon further forensic examination of both the ammunition and the pistol, which had been confiscated as evidence, the police had concluded it was 95% likely that the round had been fired from that weapon.
The odds rose higher when it became apparent the cylinder was holding one empty cartridge; Ash was usually meticulous when it came to keeping his weapons in top shape, so it would be unlikely he’d be walking around casually with an empty. The big question was whether he had fired first or not.
Max hoped it had been self-defence. If justifiable homicide could be proven, Ash may get off with a reduced sentence or probation. If he was extremely fortunate, they may even drop the case entirely, but it was unlikely. His previous record had been wiped clean the first time he ‘died’ in the mental hospital, plus Charlie was banking on him being a key victim in the ongoing Golzine case to work in his favour too. Play the victimised minor card hard enough and you can wheedle your way out of several punishments.
The fact he had asked nobody for help with a non-fatal wound, however, suggested he had wanted to die. Was he trying to avoid jail by dying? Or had something else happened? He wasn’t the cowardly type to shirk off responsibility for his actions, but with everything he had been through the last few months, Max wouldn’t be surprised if Ash would welcome the cold embrace of death with open arms just to escape the psychological pain. He sighed sadly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
On the bedside table, the hospital staff had placed Ash’s belongings. His cream woollen coat, while bloodstained inside, had been carefully folded and awaited his wear at a later time, although they had discarded the shirt and trousers he’d been wearing that day – not only were they bloodstained, the shirt sporting a small jagged tear, but they had needed to cut them from his body to gain quick access to his wound.
Max had been to his old apartment and brought him a fresh change of clothes today; a white T-shirt, a pair of slacks, and a couple of pairs of underpants were stuffed into an overnight bag along with a dressing gown and some slippers for him to wear around the hospital when he woke up, a toothbrush, and a few other toiletries.
The shoes he had been wearing had been placed in an alcove in the table to keep them off the floor. He no longer had possession of his gun and, apparently, they’d also confiscated a utility knife he had been carrying. His remaining possessions consisted of a wallet, reading glasses in a very beat-up old case, a set of keys, and a slightly screwed up letter, which had been placed on top of his coat. The letter in particular caught Max’s eye, the envelope creased and smeared with blood. Charlie said he’d been reading it when they found him; paramedics had folded it up and put it back in the envelope without looking at it, and it had remained closed since. He knew he shouldn’t look at it; it wasn’t his to see, but…
He slid the letter out from under the keys and wallet and examined the envelope with a critical eye. Chicken-scratch writing adorned the front, just the name ‘Ash’ in black biro pen. The handwriting looked familiar, the uncomfortable hand of someone more used to writing in logograms than latin. He opened the envelope and, after a quick scan over the bloodied pages, he confirmed his suspicions.
The letter was from Eiji.
He didn’t read it, although he did see snippets of the contents. The sentence ‘my soul is always with you’ leapt out with heartfelt honesty. This was clearly a very private and personal document. Plane tickets to Japan were also included, although the flight had long since left. He carefully returned the letter to the envelope and replaced it under the keys and wallet.
“You wanted to die happy, didn’t you?” Max murmured. “I get it… More than a lot of people, I get it. But for pity’s sake, kid, you have someone out there worth living for! So you can’t die now. After what he did for you, he deserves some form of closure at least.”
Max stayed for a further hour, standing a silent vigil over his tragic charge. He quietly left when a nurse informed him visiting hours were over.
*
Three days later, Ash woke up.
He hadn’t been expecting to see the white tiled ceiling, nor smell the scent of antiseptics, or feel the crisp cotton sheets wrapped around him. He hadn’t been expecting to wake up again at all. Last he remembered was taking a seat at the library, his head spinning, vision dimming as tinnitus drowned out his hearing, the letter from Eiji grasped tight in his hand as a sense of deep peace enfolded him…
He was equal parts relieved and pissed off to have survived.
Pissed off because he had been content to die. He’d tied up all his loose ends and had set contingency plans into motion to keep the peace for a long while in his absence. With him gone, the Chinatowners would finally settle down, and Alex and the others could rekindle the bonds of friendship between them without the tension over Shorter. Golzine was gone, Foxx was gone, Griffin was avenged and no longer needed his care and Banana Fish was over.
The letter had been the icing on the cake. At that point in time, knowing he had been truly loved, knowing that the one person he cared about most in the world was going somewhere safe and would never get entangled in the shit-show of his life again… He’d been so gloriously happy at that thought, happier than he’d ever been, that he would have gladly strolled off the end of a pier without a second thought or regret.
Relieved because it meant he miraculously survived. Just as his life had taken a turn for the better…He couldn’t just roll over and die now! He was finally free of the Union Course, free of his obligations and duties, free to do what he wanted. Not only that, but there were people who would genuinely miss him and mourn for him should he die; Max, Alex, Bones, Kong, Blanca, Sing… Eiji. God, how could he even consider just dying like that and leaving him behind? He would never have forgiven himself if he’d hurt him like that.
Although he’d also have been dead, so…
He took better stock of his surroundings.
He was in a hospital, that much was obvious, in a private room. A mask was over his face, puffing cool oxygen-rich air over his mouth and nose. A machine nearby bleeped in time to his heartbeat. He could feel the sticky pads and wires trailing from various points on his body, electronically reading his status. There was a cannula in his hand, hooked up to an IV drip being fed from a bag of saline and no doubt painkillers hanging from a pole by the bed. Under the covers, he felt the discomfort of a catheter, and the tight squeeze of bandages around his midriff.
He wasn’t in any pain, but being high as a kite on hospital-grade opiates will have that effect. He did, however, feel weak as a kitten. Moving even slightly was exhausting and took a lot of effort. His mind felt strangely foggy too, like someone had replaced his brain with cotton wool, likely a result of the heavy-duty drug cocktail circulating in his system.
A nurse in a pink uniform came in to check on him. She jumped a little when she saw he was awake, and then smiled kindly. Ash eyed her warily, but even with the mask on his face he could smell the reassuring waft of disinfectant soap, a light rose-scented perfume, and laundry starch, allowing Ash to relax knowing she was a genuine nurse and not an assassin. It had happened before; the assassin nurse the last time he was bed-bound combined with his time in the mental hospital, where they had come within mere minutes of destroying his mind, had left him suspicious of everyone in a medical uniform.
“Good morning, sunshine!” she said cheerily, checking on the almost-empty saline bag. She busied herself unhooking it and connecting up a fresh one. “Nice to see you in the land of the living!”
“Where am I?” Ash croaked, his voice husky with disuse.
“Presbyterian,” she replied. “You were stabbed. You were moved out of the ICU yesterday, and are currently on a private ward under police protection.”
“Urgh…” Ash groaned. He wasn’t surprised, but waking up in hospital with more cops than doctors monitoring him was becoming a little too regular an occurrence for him. No doubt Lao Len Tai had something to do with their presence. He remembered he had shot him, and when he left him Lao was slumped against the wall. While he’d uncharacteristically missed his vital points in his distracted and surprised state, it was likely the Chinese boy would have bled out pretty fast afterwards.
He wondered if Sing knew what had happened, and whether he would hold it against him for killing his half-brother, even if it was self-defence. Sing was smart and pragmatic, willing to listen to both sides of a story and make judgements based on facts, plus he was one of the few Chinatowners who had still trusted him, thanks to Eiji and his big mouth spilling the unpleasant beans. However, family loyalty is strong amongst the Chinese.
“You really need to take better care of yourself,” the nurse said sadly. “This is your second major stab wound in less than a year – we found a healing bullet wound too! And you're covered in minor wounds and bruises and stuff! ”
“I am not a lucky person,” he said blandly.
“I dunno about that. You’ve survived several near-death experiences! I’d say you are blessed with an overabundance of luck!” she replied, beaming. Ash said nothing. Looking back over his life, he thought he had a pretty solid case for having no luck at all. “You have a visitor by the way,” she added, satisfied that his stats were fine and his catheter was not in imminent need of changing, and moving towards the door. “He has come by every day – we have to chase him out of the hospital, or else he’d never leave! I’ll let him know you are awake.”
Who…?
He didn’t have to mull over it long after she left. The door practically slammed open and Max Lobo strode into the room with his usual idiotic grin on his face.
“Pops…?” Ash murmured, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. The nurse had said he’d been here daily. Whatever for?
“Hey kid!” Max greeted him jovially. “How are you feeling?”
“How do you think?” Ash snarked.
“Well, judging by the slurred words and wide pupils, I’d wager you’re feeling pretty good on the morphine they’re pumping into you.”
“Ha ha.”
“Seriously though, how are you doing?”
“Surprised I’m alive,” he answered honestly. “How long have I been…?”
“You were admitted 4 days ago,” Max told him. “It was touch and go for a while – we weren’t sure if we could bring you back this time!”
“Is Lao…?”
“Dead.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me honestly, Ash, before the police ask you… It was self-defence, right?” Max had a serious expression, a hint of worry in his kind eyes.
“If you’re asking whether Lao stabbed me before I shot him, then yes, it was self-defence,” Ash said.
“I’m surprised he was even able to get close – you have the predatory senses and will to survive of a tiger!”
“I was distracted,” Ash murmured.
“The letter…?”
Ash didn’t say anything, but he nodded once, glaring at Max with accusatory emerald eyes.
“Before you ask, I didn’t read it. Not in full, anyway. I just know who sent it,” Max explained, raising both hands with palms out in a dismissive gesture. “However, I do think you are one lucky bastard!”
“The nurse said the same thing,” Ash muttered.
“No, I don’t mean because you survived, although that is pretty lucky,” Max explained. “But… I saw how he looked at you. How he acted around you, and the lengths he’d go to for you. Finding yourself a good, honest boy like that? Who’d stay with you even after all that happened? People dream of finding someone like that. I’d say you have the luck of the Irish!”
“My Grandpa was Irish…” Ash murmured, his words slurring heavily as the new morphine drip kicked in.
It was a stupid thing to say, not really relevant to anything. Max had just revealed that he was perfectly cool with the fact that Ash wasn’t entirely straight, and was even supportive of it. While he'd teased Ash before about his feelings, and he knew he and Eiji had been far closer than average friends, he'd never openly stated that he knew both Ash and Eiji were queer. This would normally be a big deal, especially seeing as Ash did everything he could to hide it from the world, but he was barely thinking coherently anymore and the confession passed him by in a drugged haze.
"Some people say I sound kinda Irish too... Think I musta picked it up off my ol' man... I don’ hear it myself…"
“Well, there you go then!” Max smirked.
“He’s too good for me,” Ash slurred drunkenly. “He’s so great, and I’m jus’… Terrible. He’s better off without me… I jus’ cause problems. He should go get himself a nice Japanese girl… Or boy… Whatever… He deserves better than me…”
“Aslan Callenreese, you stop with that bullshit self-deprecating talk right now!” Max used his dad-voice. “He chose you, alright? He chose you because you are a wonderful, smart, brave, amazing young man.”
“Too many adjectives…” Ash muttered. “All of ‘em lies!” He sighed. “I miss him…”
“It’s not like he’s gone forever; he’s just gone home for a while. Shunichi tells me he is recovering from his gunshot wound well – his care was transferred over to a Japanese hospital, and he’s due to start rehab physio soon,” Max told him kindly. “Let’s get you following in his footsteps and then we can think about arranging a reunion.”
“I’m prob’ly goin’ to jail…”
“You will be taken to court, but Charlie is doing everything he can, Ash. Most of the charges against you have been dropped, either through lack of evidence or from the testimony of others. The fact Golzine brought armed militia into youth gang warfare has worked in your favour massively – they have treat the entire event as aggravated assault on their part, so everything you and the other kids did was justified. They questioned myself, Jess, Shunichi and Eiji as outsider witnesses; all our stories matched and were sympathetic to the cause, plus there’s the drugs scandal and Golzine using blackmail to force your hand. Add to that the fact some of us were unlawfully imprisoned with the intent of them experimenting on us and it becomes a war crime. Everything you did against them has been classified as non-prosecution, although it has been put on your record. I’m not entirely sure how they’ve managed to accomplish that, but there’s some right to bear arms clause that’s come into play, plus there are people higher up the chain of command who are keen to keep certain things quiet. With the exception of Lao, the remaining offences against you are relatively minor and will probably just result in you getting a fine, which I’m sure between us we can find the funds to cover. It helps that your record got wiped clean when you were pronounced officially dead before – Jenkins has, ahem, bent the rules a little bit and pulled some strings to keep it that way.”
“Firs’ time a bent copper has worked in my favour…” Ash murmured sleepily, his eyes becoming noticeably heavy.
“Usually, I’d be annoyed too, but I just can’t hate those two for twisting the law to our advantage,” Max said, smiling at the irony. He had been jailed for punching a corrupt officer, after all, although that particular asshole had been accepting large bribes from several drug barons, allowing them to distribute Class-A drugs across Manhattan without challenge. Meanwhile, Charlie and Jenkins were just ‘tweaking’ laws gently to try and keep a decent kid out of jail – a kid he had grown rather attached to, and who hadn’t deserved any of the hand dealt to him.
“Will you stay with me, Pops? Jus’ for a while?” Ash asked him, fighting the urge to drift back off into sleep as the drugs pulled him back into a blanketed peace. “I dun wanna be alone…”
“Sure. I’ll stay with you,” Max said quietly. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.” Ash smiled slightly as he lost his battle with consciousness.