Wait (Possession V) by paxnirvana
Rating: NC-17 Fandom: Weiß Kreuz Characters: Yohji x Aya, Ken, Omi Date Completed: 9/9/02 Archive: Please ask first.
Author's Note: Pretty boys. Pretty boy florists. Pretty boy florist assassins. Pretty boy florist assassins with lots of angst… Me bad. All these boys are lacking a little in the 'firm grasp of sanity' department. Yes ma'am, they are. And it's best you remember that…
Blood. Wounds. Aftermath of battle. Just in case that's a real squick…
Quite a bit less PWP here. Sorry. I don't normally warn for spoilers, but I pretty much blow out a lot of info from the last six episodes of season one here [thru Mission 16 - Schatten] in one huge angst-fest… If you ain't watched it yet and don't want spoilers then what the hell are you doin' reading fanfic anyway, ne? Baka!
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to the incredibly sexy Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiß. I just plug-n-play.
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You know if I leave you now it doesn't mean I love you any less It's just the state I'm in I can't be good to anyone else like this When all we wanted was the dream To have and to hold that precious little thing Like every generation yields the newborn hope unjaded by their years... Wait - Sarah McLachlan
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The house was old and hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in a while, but it was relatively secluded out here in the suburbs, isolated from its nearest neighbors by a thick belt of pine trees on one side and a small ravine on the other.
That was the way they'd entered the property, stumbling wearily up the ravine from the road that passed near the far end. They'd stolen another jeep from the Special Forces. Did the reeling government of Japan a few favors all unknowing by taking out a few more members of Takatori's private army. Then they'd fled to lick their wounds in private. There was no way they could return to the Koneko. They had been forced to trust to some long-memorized route buried in Omi's head to find this safe house. A final plan for escaping ultimate disaster concocted for him by Persia.
The kid was nearly a zombie by now; Ken had to practically carry him the last few yards to the back porch.
Dazed and confused and grief-stricken, they had almost had to drag him away from Persia's body the second time. After witnessing Reiji Takatori's end at Aya's hand, they'd made their way down from the flame-engulfed roof of the building back to the ornate office where Persia had met his own end. There Yohji had searched the man's body for anything vital, finding only a computer disk, a tiny tape recorder and a wallet. He'd taken all three, feeling vaguely ghoulish, but he knew the nearly overwhelming odds they all faced now. Hunted and outlawed until the situation in the country stabilized; and maybe even after. He had to make certain there were no clues left behind about their identities. No links to Persia.
Weiß was finished.
They were all exhausted. Battered. Numb. He knew Aya was injured, but the man had refused any treatment. Refused, after one sharply snapped out "Leave me alone" to speak to any of them. There was a fiercely savage light in his violet eyes, brittle confusion as well as an alarming emptiness. It was as if Aya had truly never considered what would happen after his long-held goal of revenge was achieved. And that made Yohji coldly, bitterly furious.
Because he realized now that Aya had never truly intended to survive the final confrontation.
And if Aya had never intended to survive… then where did that leave them?
Yet the swordsman wouldn't have lived even this long if Yohji hadn't risked his own death on the red-washed blade by grabbing his arm, yanking him off the roof and back down the fire stairs into the building. Following the frantic Omi and an anxiously pursuing Ken back to Persia's body. Once in motion again, Aya had followed them all without further prompting. Silent and ominous, his sword still bared in his hand, he'd detoured to help Ken take out the few remaining soldiers with grim precision.
Their ultimate escape from the burning office tower had turned into a nightmare of heat and smoke and foul water from the sprinkler system cascading slippery-cold down the stairs with them. Fire crews and emergency services, still disrupted by the aftermath of Takatori's takeover and the scattering of his illegal Special Forces by the hastily called up Japanese Self-Defense Force, hadn't been able to respond to the fire. The four assassins had managed to slip away from the building into the streets of Tokyo undetected.
And now here they were. Safe. For a little while.
"I've got Omi - you get Aya," Ken said to him, his voice hoarse from smoke as he led the stumbling boy down the deeply shadowed porch toward the door, too weary to stop and take any shoes off. "Hey, you got us here, Omi," the dark haired man muttered, jostling the boy who practically hung from his side. "Where's the key?"
Omi raised his head blearily. He'd stopped talking once he got them to the far end of the ravine and told them it was the house at the other end. His face was wet with silent tears, his eyes huge and glassy in his pale, soot-smeared face.
"Under the cover of the first lamp on the right in the garden." The boy's voice was little more than a pained whisper, filled with weary grief.
Yohji exchanged glances with Ken and went to retrieve the key. Aya stood in the center of the garden where he'd stopped. His head was bowed and he held the sheathed katana at his side. Yohji ignored him for now. Ken needed to get Omi inside. The boy had taken two hits at the trap earlier and the local anesthetic and rude bandages they'd slapped on his wounds had most likely worn off long ago. Of course, Ken was wounded too, but he hadn't just lost mentor and uncle like Omi had. Or the girl he'd loved only a few days before… Omi was suffering from far more than just physical wounds.
Yohji himself was the only one to escape major injury. Well, not counting crashing a jeep. Twice. He'd been rattled and bruised and stunned, but not seriously injured either time. And once they were in Takatori's building, he hadn't been touched. None of them had. They'd fought with a deadly focus and lethal skill that was daunting to witness. They'd all seemed to enter a kind of fugue state after Persia's death; dealing out devastating damage to the dozen or so Special Forces troops that Takatori had held around himself, slowly, inexorably peeling the living shield away from the rotten man until Aya finally cornered him on the roof, dueling him with savage intensity until he delivered the deathblow…
The house key was right where the boy had said, under the little wooden shield over the low path light. He fumbled it into his hand, replacing the shield over the light carelessly. Aya still stood like a statue beyond, but with his eyes closed and his face tipped up toward the half-moon high above. Yohji walked back to the house, unlocked the sliding door and pushed it wide, letting Ken drag Omi inside first before following him in.
It was a surprisingly big old house. Yohji checked it over carefully, wary of traps or surprises. Schwartz was still out there somewhere, but not here, thankfully. Extreme paranoia, maybe, but things had gone so bad so fast he couldn't help himself. The house sported five bedrooms. A lavish old-style bathing room with two deep tubs as well as a more modern tiled shower stall. He started filling one tub even as he called out its location to Ken. There was an American style washing machine hidden in a closet and - wonder of wonders - an electric clothes dryer. Costly and wasteful, but it would keep them from having to go anywhere at all. There were plenty of boxed, dried and canned goods stocked in the pantry. There was even a deep freezer loaded with more perishable foodstuffs, none dated more than a month old. Non-descript changes of clothes waited in the dressers. A safe house indeed. Someone maintained it in readiness, but there was no one there. They were alone.
Yohji claimed a bedroom by the simple expedient of walking inside, stripping off his long cross-sleeved coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. The coat reeked of smoke and blood. There was a low bench in the room he'd chosen. He dropped onto it wearily, leaning his aching head back against the wall. For the first time in his recent memory he had no urge at all for a cigarette. Ken had taken Omi straight to the bathroom for treatment. Through open doors, he could hear him talking gently to the boy in there but he could hear only sobs from Omi in response.
Poor chibi. They'd been running on the dregs of adrenaline and instinct for hours now. Now it was done.
Or almost.
Aya.
Yohji dragged himself back to his feet. Putting off the inevitable, he checked on Ken and Omi. He wasn't surprised to find them both in the shower as the tub was only about half full. Hot water didn't seem to be a problem. Omi could barely stand on his own now, trembling and shaking with exhaustion and reaction. Steam billowed everywhere and the water on the floor was running dark with soot and blood. Omi leaned against the far wall, hands over his face, sobbing quietly. Ken was examining the boy's shoulder wound, a pained look on his face. To Yohji's experienced eye it didn't look too bad, more of a graze really, but it should probably have a few stitches. If they had the right stuff somewhere around he could even take care of it…
A thin trail of fresh blood ran down the boy's wiry arm, pooling on Ken's supporting fingers before welling over and disappearing into the water falling around them. Life's blood, leaking away. Vanishing into water. Gone forever. So much of it had been spent today. So many dead for greed and ambition. But Reiji Takatori had been eliminated, his empire of terror and abuse broken. Asuka was finally avenged - even if his own guilt over her death remained.
Ken hastily dropped his hand away from Omi, the motion breaking the strange spell that had come over Yohji.
"Need any help?" Yohji asked, yanking his eyes away from the sight. Why was he staring at Omi's blood? Ken hesitantly met his gaze, a self-conscious flush on his cheeks despite the fact that the jock had kept both of their shorts on. Must have thought Yohji was staring at him touching Omi and thought him a pervert taking advantage or something. Idiot. Figured. There was no shame in helping a friend in need… but ever since Ken had walked in on him and Aya, the soccer player had been hyperconscious of every little touch exchanged between any of them. He had neither the will nor the energy to worry about Ken's confusion. Yohji kept his own expression neutrally concerned and Ken finally just shook his head, relaxing with a sigh. They were all strung out and on edge, it was no time to be needlessly sensitive.
"I've got him. Where's Aya?"
Yohji shrugged. "Still outside, I guess."
Ken raised an accusing brow at him, frowned. "I saw fresh blood on him. Shouldn't you be checking him over?"
"C'h. He almost took my arm off before. It's probably safer to wait for him to pass out from loss of blood…"
"Yohji." His name was said with weary dismay, making him fight a flinch in reaction. This was Ken. Scolding him. Not yelling at him but scolding. Imagine that. He forced a lopsided smile and turned away, stomach churning. The bitter emotions he'd been trying to ignore were starting to bubble free.
"I'll see to him."
Yohji walked out of the steamy bathroom into the relative coolness of the house. Paced across the old bare wooden floors in his boots, feeling faintly sacrilegious for doing it. Then he was out in the night air again, on the gravel garden path. There was no way to keep silent on the crushed rock. A good defensive early warning system. The entire house was encircled in a broad ring of it. Someone had picked well.
Aya still stood in the garden. Staring up at the moon. Expression blank. Empty. Not cool or composed or even annoyed - just blank.
Yohji watched him for a moment in silence. Daunted. Aya had always had a buried tension about him. A hidden intensity. A faintly dangerous air that one couldn't really pin down - until now, when it was gone. He looked curiously vulnerable standing there illuminated in stark black and white in the moonlight.
It was shock, most likely. And what would emerge on the other side of it… Yohji had no clue.
Just as he'd had no clue about the sister Aya protected. Until, cornered by the Special Forces, despairing and trying to explain to the two of them why Aya wasn't there to die with them like rats in a trap, Omi had told him and Ken about following Aya to a hospital and finding the sleeping girl who bore his name. Poking around at the hospital he'd discovered that 'Aya' was really 'Ran' and that his younger sister had been in a coma for nearly two years. And that the silent and grim Ran paid every one of her substantial hospital bills himself…
Yohji had been stunned into speechlessness, letting Ken rave for the both of them.
Aya had said nothing to him. Not once. Despite surrendering to Yohji in bed so many times and in so many ways that it made him dizzy… Despite the intimacy, the hours of lying sated in each other's arms… He had never once spoken of his sister or the reason for his vendetta against all things Takatori… despite the trust… despite the surrender…
…just as Yohji hadn't asked. Because to ask was to invite questions in return. Questions he'd rather not have answered. Self-disgust surged with the simmering anger, a dangerous combination.
Since he'd taken off his coat, he had just the usual tight half-shirt over clinging pants that he wore underneath it. Working clothes. His watch was on his wrist. He spun out a length of wire in one hand, held it looped on gloved fingers as he warily watched the other man.
He was not taking any chances. The lean, leather-clad figure was still frozen in the garden, marble-pale face illuminated by the moonlight. Stunningly beautiful in this light, but cold. So very cold… and dangerous.
"Aya? You okay?"
No reaction. The sheathed katana was gripped in only one hand. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Yohji sent shimmering silver wire through the air, wrapped it skillfully around the sword sheath and gave a quick tug. It came out of Aya's hand with shocking ease, flying back toward Yohji too fast. Despite it, he caught it in one hand, staring at Aya through narrowed eyes.
Still no reaction other than a reflexive clutching of the hand after the fact. And he started to be truly concerned.
"Aya." He took a step forward, paused and snapped off the wire, dropping it and the katana on the path behind him, irritation and even a little fear rising. "Aya? Are you okay or not? I saw blood…"
"No…" The voice was hoarse, raw as if he had been screaming. But he hadn't been. Probably just from smoke inhalation. Yohji was relieved to be acknowledged at last, but surprise made him harsh.
"About fuckin' time…" He moved closer, freezing on the gravel when Aya spoke again.
"Not Aya."
"What?"
"Ran."
The pale face turned down to him, washed by moonlight, the eyes dark under ragged bangs but revealed by reflections. Focusing on him suddenly with an intensity that shocked him. Yohji gasped as if punched in the stomach.
"Are you hurt, Yohji?"
"No," he said, recovering quickly and walking toward Aya. "But you are."
Ran. He'd told him his real name - finally - but he couldn't think of him that way. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Aya blinked at him slowly, frowned.
"Yes," he said simply, then staggered forward. Yohji caught him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him up. Tight. Hard. His breath hitching suspiciously in his chest. Aya moaned softly at the pressure on his back and he eased up, shifting his grip to support the other man around the ribs instead, lifting his arm around his shoulders to haul him along the gravel path toward the house.
"Stubborn," he said, dragging him to the porch. He made to haul him up the stairs onto the wooden porch, but Aya balked.
"Shoes," he murmured. Yohji scowled fiercely at him.
"For Chrissake, Aya, you're bleeding…"
"Shoes," the other man insisted, pulling away from him. Then he sat down hard on the edge of the porch, slipping out of Yohji's grasp. There he blinked down at his tall boots, momentarily nonplussed at how to proceed. There was no bootjack handy.
With a sigh of disgust, Yohji straddled his legs, grabbed his boots one after the other and stripped them off. Then, at Aya's pointed stare, kicked off his own low boots.
"There, happy?" Yohji snorted before reaching down and hauling him up again. Aya came with a grunt.
He half carried Aya toward the bathroom. Pushed open the door to find Ken kneeling on the floor outside the shower, a still-sobbing but mostly dry and bandaged Omi crumpled in his arms.
Ken looked up, helpless anguish clear on his face. Out of his depth and embarrassed by the boy's seemingly endless storm of emotion. Yohji frowned.
"He'll be fine tomorrow. Take him to bed with you. Let him cry it out."
Ken gaped at him. "Take him t-to bed with me?"
"Shit, Ken! Don't be an idiot!" Yohji fumed, maneuvering Aya against the counter where a rather complete looking medical kit was now spread open. He stripped off his gloves impatiently. "Just to sleep. Give him some human contact. He needs it."
Aya stirred at his side, blinked owlishly at Ken and Omi.
"Don't leave him alone," Aya confirmed, meeting Ken's startled gaze.
"God… Aya…" Ken said, eyes wide as he stared at the red-head. "Yohji, he looks nearly bled out…!"
"No," Yohji said with a quick glance at Aya under the stark lights to confirm it. He was pale, but not jaundiced - besides there wasn't nearly enough blood on the dark coat for that. "Mr. Stubborn here's okay. Just in shock. He took the time to make us both take our boots off on the porch." He gave a snort of disgust.
Ken goggled at him. Yohji left a faintly shivering Aya leaning precariously against the counter as he went to gather up towels, dropping one over Ken's dripping head even as he more carefully wrapped one around Omi's shaking shoulders. He rubbed the boy's back in small circles for a long moment as he crouched beside them, Ken's brown eyes wide on him.
"Easy, Omi-chan," he said, voice low and soothing. "Kenken's gonna take you to bed now. You stay with him. Get some sleep."
"Hai, Yohji-kun." Omi surprised him with a soft but almost steady reply, his face still buried in Ken's arms. "Is everyone else okay? Is Aya-kun okay?"
"I'm taking care of him next. You go with Ken."
"I-I should try to contact someone… Manx…"
Yohji snorted. "No, tomorrow will be soon enough to plan things. Sleep first, chibi."
With that, he and Ken rose up, steadying the boy between them. Omi raised his tear-ravaged face, deep blue eyes reddened and puffy, filled with sorrow and guilt and pain. The tears were for Ouka as much as anyone or anything else, Yohji knew. The girl he loved had been shot to death in his arms. It was a crushing grief he'd been holding back in order to see this through. Things had happened too fast, too quick. For them all.
"I'm sorry, Yohji-kun, Ken-kun… I'll try harder…"
Yohji scowled at him. Trying so hard to do what he thought was expected, Omi. But if he could let it go now, he might heal less twisted than the rest of them were and end up almost normal. Strange thought to have about a boy who'd been an assassin since the age of twelve, but that was Omi. Breaking many of the rules and making up the rest. Assassins weren't supposed to care like this…
Yohji cupped that puffy face in his hands, leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Omi's for a moment. "'Let mourning stop when one's grief is fully expressed.' Don't be ashamed, Omi."
Omi tried a weak smile, failed, then nodded. Ken nodded too, and led the boy slowly out of the bathroom. Yohji watched them go, sighing deeply and running a hand through his hair - or he tried to. It was tangled, filthy and even singed. Ugh.
"Confucius?" Aya said quietly. Yohji just shot him a narrow stare.
"What of it? You, strip. I want to see that wound. Then we're washing too."
Aya gave him a flat stare, and, to his intense surprise, began to struggle with the buckles on the front of his coat without further comment. Yohji stepped close, batted his hands aside and undid them himself. Aya watched his hands for a moment, weariness plain on his face, then transferred that faintly unnerving regard to Yohji's face.
"You're so beautiful," Aya said, his voice low and still rough. Yohji shot him a startled look and a frown as he tugged the coat open. Aya wore his habitual dark gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off beneath. It was soaked on one side with drying blood. Not a lot of fresh, which was both a good and bad sign.
"Beautiful, eh?" Yohji said as he eased the coat off Aya's shoulders as gently as he could. The other man gritted his teeth but made no other sound as the leather and caked blood peeled slowly away from his back. Dark bruises and scrapes were already rising on the pale flesh all over his body, yet the main wound had come when Takatori had tagged Aya once in their duel on a particularly reckless pass by Aya. "I thought that was my line…"
"Calling you handsome makes me sound like a woman in a romance novel."
"You are a woman in a romance novel, Aya."
Aya surprised him by actually giving a snort that might be a laugh at that weak little jab before his violet eyes glittered up at Yohji, a light sweat starting on his skin.
"How much blood?"
"Not bad. But it's dried."
"Hn."
"Soak it?"
Aya shifted his shoulders carefully. "Doesn't feel too deep. Might be okay."
"What do you know? You're in shock. Let Kudoh-sensei look at it first." As he spoke he was turning Aya against the counter so he could see his back. Aya leaned forward slightly, bracing himself. Yohji looked at the bloodied shirt and hissed in annoyance.
The slice had started down below Aya's shoulder. He'd obviously been moving away from the blow as it was deeper lower down and trailed up to little more than a scratch. But it was about a foot long and still oozing blood. He could see most of it through the severed shirt, but the lower part was stuck to the wound with caked blood. He felt a deep sense of outrage that the perfect ivory skin had been so marred, coupled with a sharp regret that the one who had done this had died so easily. Blade through the chest. Too merciful a death by far for one such as Takatori. The bloodthirsty impulse startled him a bit. It wasn't like him to linger on the manner of death, only that it was done.
"Long. Deep. Needs stitches," he informed Aya gruffly. Aya just let his head droop forward, nodding once in understanding. Yohji looked in the kit Ken had tumbled open across the counter. Found alcohol and sterile pads. There was even a good topical anesthetic and sealed pre-threaded sutures as well as some of that ultramodern fake skin. He could use that later to cover the wound and prevent tearing.
With scissors from the kit, Yohji cut the shirt the rest of the way off, holding the lower part in place. Pale, strong shoulders were revealed, marked with bruises, the lean, graceful back striped with red lines, the subtle hollow of his spine above the dark line of his pants streaked with blood. He was a battered, bloody mess, but he'd encountered two of Schwartz on his own and somehow survived to come to their rescue at the landfill. Aya flinched a bit as the dried blood pulled away from the upper part of the wound, but stayed silent. The routine was familiar. They'd all treated each other's wounds before.
Yohji completed cutting the shirt away around his hand, leaving a small stuck portion clinging to Aya's back, holding it in place so it wouldn't pull the wound more. He raised his head then, meeting Aya's gaze in the steam-smeared mirror beyond.
"Want me to try and soak it first or just pull?"
"Just pull it." It was the answer he expected.
He still did it as carefully as he could, keeping pressure on the lips of the wound to prevent more bleeding, but some was inevitable. Aya bit his lip to keep sounds of pain back, his eyes squeezing closed in his pale face. He looked almost the same as he did when Yohji was pushing into him during sex. The inadvertent comparison made him cringe inside. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Soon enough, the ruins of the shirt were gone and he could see the full damage.
It wasn't quite as bad as he had feared. The heavy leather coat and his own speed had obviously saved him from a debilitating blow. Taking a moment to thoroughly wash his hands, Yohji watched Aya just lean against the counter, drawing slow, deep breaths in preparation for what he knew was coming. Cleaning and sewing.
It was bitterly ironic that receiving wounds was far easier than fixing them later. When the shock faded was when the true pain began as the body reacted to the damage.
Yohji let his hands continue their mechanical motion as he just stared at the other man. Red hair darkened by sweat and soot and lying in spikes against his skin, face pale but marked with bruises, glittering golden earring lying against his graceful neck; Aya was beautiful, so beautiful that he felt his heart swell strangely. No. Not Aya. Ran. He stopped himself before the thought went any further.
Yohji dried his hands, then took alcohol and gauze and started to wipe down the skin around the wound so that he could better see it. Aya stayed silent, mostly, breathing heavily through his mouth in an effort to control the pain. He was as careful as he could be, and as soon as most of the dried blood was washed away Yohji found the anesthetic and applied it liberally. He hated to see the lines of pain around those eyes.
"It'll be a few minutes before that takes full effect," he said, leaving Aya's side to check the tub. It had almost finished filling. He shut off the water and tested the temperature. Not as hot as he would have preferred, but hot enough. They could get clean and that was the important part. Aya was still shivering occasionally, though most of his tremors seemed to have eased in the steamy warmth of the bathroom.
"Once you sew it I can't use that…" Aya said, a vaguely wistful note in his voice. He turned to find the other man watching him, a curious light in his eyes. Yohji snorted as he straightened slowly up from the cedar tub. His body was starting to realize they weren't on the run anymore. His own aches and bruises and scrapes were making themselves known and he felt anything but lighthearted.
He gave him a smirk anyway. "Got some of that fake skin stuff. It seals water out. You're bathing if I have to hold your head under. We both reek."
"Hn." Aya let his head sag back toward the countertop, his arms trembling faintly as they held him up. Yohji came back to his side. Looked down at the bent head, the shoulders rounded in pain. And the odd surges of emotion that raced through him almost left him gasping again, like in the garden when Aya had told him his real name. He still didn't try to identify them - didn't want to. Too much, too fast…
"You numb yet?"
"Been numb for hours. Get to it."
With a snort of disbelief, Yohji washed his hands again. Dried them carefully then prepared his tools. There were plenty of pre-threaded, pre-knotted sutures in sealed packages. Someone had known how to pack a real medical kit. He ripped some open and turned to Aya. After tapping on the man's back near the wound and getting no blatant flinches, he pressed the skin carefully together again with one hand while he neatly set stitches in the worst part of the wound. They looked like even more of a violation than the wound itself, dusky thread piercing ivory-pale skin. He wiped away the resultant blood, then checked to see if more would be necessary. Figuring the ones he had done to be enough, he cleaned the skin thoroughly again, applied antibiotic salve and then the fake skin over the entire length, sealing the stitches and the shallower portion of the wound away protectively.
"Uh… feels strange," Aya said as he applied the semi-gelatinous strips. Yohji stayed silent, concentrating carefully on his work, determined that the smooth ivory skin would not be marred by gaps or pulls or bulges in the scar - he wanted it as clean as possible. The strips would set soon, protecting the wound while still allowing it to breathe.
"Yeah, well, in fifteen minutes you can be soaking in the tub. Won't feel so strange then," he said when he was done. Aya looked at him over his good shoulder, eyes gleaming, bangs falling across them. His arms trembled harder now from holding himself propped on the counter for so long.
Yohji found himself wiping the hair back from Aya's eyes gently, gazing into the violet depths and feeling his emotions grind again. Something was rising in him. Something he didn't dare acknowledge yet. He turned way from Aya, moving to the tub. He found a small bamboo stool in the cabinet nearby. A bucket for water. Soap, washcloth and a soft-bristled brush. Then he went back to the waiting man and knelt behind him.
Reaching around Aya's lean hips, he undid his belt and his pants. Slid them down his legs, lifting them one after the other to free him from the filthy confines. He stripped socks away just as efficiently. Then he reached back up and skimmed his underwear away too, pausing only briefly at his thighs to admire the sleek curve of Aya's bare buttocks, marred only by faint smears of blood. So very beautiful.
Aya was watching him from under his arm, eyes half-lidded. Yohji looked up and met his gaze, frozen with his hands resting gently on Aya's narrow hips.
"Can you make it over to the stool?" he asked, his voice husky. Aya didn't answer, simply turned away and took the few staggering steps necessary before he sank down on the stool beside the tub with a soft grunt of effort. Feeling the aftermath of battle in aching muscles now too, apparently.
Yohji quickly stripped himself, aware of his semi-hard erection. Only natural when he was around Aya in any state of undress, but it made him feel strangely self-conscious. He covered it by moving back to the tub and dipping out a bucket of hot water. Then he crouched beside Aya, soaped up the soft brush and began to wash the other man.
Violet eyes just slid closed and the chin tipped back, the normally brutally proud man not even protesting the indignity of being washed like a child. Yohji started with his hands, worked his way carefully up Aya's arms, avoiding his shoulder area, then across his chest. The brush quickly turned dark with old blood and other grime and he rinsed it over and over with water tipped out of the bucket to get it clean, letting the filth swirl away down the drain in the center of the floor. After soaping up most of Aya's front, he set down the brush, lifted the bucket and rinsed him clean.
Rising to dip out another bucket of water from the tub, he felt Aya's hand on his hip. Looked down at him. Aya's head was still tipped back, his eyes closed, and his hand simply lay pale against Yohji's darker skin. Contact. His heart lurched in his chest, pounding slow and hard.
Yohji turned back, crouched, picked up the brush and soap and continued washing Aya. Steadily. Thoroughly. Carefully.
It went on like that until Aya was clean. Small touches to confirm presence. A head leaned against a shoulder. A face turned to follow his movements. All in silence. Even when he urged him to lean forward, bending him low to carefully wash his hair, Aya's hands rested on his thighs, bracing himself against Yohji rather than the tub.
When he raised Aya back up after rinsing his hair, it was to find violet eyes blinking at him through scattered, dripping bangs. One of the pale hands on his thigh drifted inward, brushing against his now fully hard cock. He shook his head gently as he removed the wandering hand.
"My turn to wash," he said quietly. "Tub for you." Aya leaned into him, eyes closed, resting his head against Yohji's shoulder before Yohji pulled them both up and helped the other man into the tub where he settled with a deep sigh.
Yohji stepped into the shower. Turned it on and gave himself a quick, thorough wash, lingering most on his hair. Scrapes and small wounds burned faintly - he scrubbed them ruthlessly clean. There was no proper shampoo, just some generic stuff, and definitely no conditioner, but it was better than nothing. Once rinsed, he shut off the rapidly cooling shower and walked right over to the tub, sinking into it beside an Aya who lay draped carefully over the side, keeping his wounded shoulder out of the water as much as possible despite the fake skin.
"Better?" he said to the back of the red head.
"Hn. Could be hotter."
"Ken used a bunch of water on Omi."
"Hn."
Yohji lay back against the side of the tub, sinking down until his head was the only part of him out of the water. Trying to enjoy the warmth of the water and the relaxation it should bring. Trying not to think. Trying to keep the numb, mechanical feeling going but without any activity to occupy him, his mind immediately fastened on things he'd been trying to avoid.
Aya was Ran.
Ran had a sister he loved enough to kill for. He spent almost all his money on her care. He had kept her existence secret from them all for all this time.
Ran had not meant to survive Takatori's end. Suddenly the visit to Sakura-chan made so much more sense…
He raised hands that trembled faintly and pressed them over his face, digging fingers into eyes that ached suspiciously. He surged out of the tub, unable to stay there a moment longer.
"Yohji…"
"Leave me alone, Aya… Ran… whoever the fuck you are…" He snatched towels, wrapping one around his hips as he slammed out of the bathroom.
The bedroom he'd chosen was dark and the air cool on his damp skin. He shivered as he unrolled the mattress and threw himself down on the dense cotton padding, reminded almost painfully of Aya's bed at the Koneko. The second towel he scrubbed over his head, haphazardly drying his hair as he lay there. There was bedding in a neat stack nearby but he ignored it for now. Welcoming the chill. Drying himself gave him something to focus on.
Something other than Aya and a silence that shouldn't feel like a betrayal, yet did.
Cursing, he pressed the towel tightly to his face. Those were tears of reaction. From the battle. From escaping what should have been certain death. Not tears for all they had done to each other… all they hadn't dared say… were afraid to say…
After an unmeasured while he heard soft footsteps approach and tensed. Felt Aya kneel next to him on the mattress.
"Go away. You don't want to be near me right now." His voice hitched despite his best effort to control it, but the warning had to be said.
"Takatori ran her over like a dog in the street." Aya's voice was low, shockingly steady. "After he had our parents killed and arranged it to look like a murder-suicide. We walked in on their bodies. The house had been rigged to blow. I pushed her outside… but the blast caught us, threw us into the street. I was stunned. She got up first… he was watching. She flew so far, like a rag-doll in the wind…"
Yohji lowered the towel from his face. Stared blankly up at the ceiling, shrouded in shadow. Aya was a pale blur in the dimness beside him, head bowed as he spoke.
"I saw him. In the car. He smiled."
Yohji let his eyes close. Lay still. Trying to slow the pounding of his heart, the sharpness of his breathing.
"She never woke up. She may never wake up…"
Fury raced through him. Raw and savage. He snaked out a hand, fastened it around Aya's arm and yanked the other man down on top of him, ignoring the grunt of pain. His free hand reached up and locked around Aya's throat. He glared into eyes almost hidden in shadow beneath damp bangs.
"Selfish bastard! You never intended to live, did you?"
Aya's throat worked under his grasp, but he didn't speak. Couldn't maybe. Rage unappeased, Yohji released his throat and spun him under him, rolling on top of Aya and pinning him to the hard mattress. Aya fell back, coughing slightly but not struggling.
"Do you still want to die? Bastard!"
Then he bent down and sealed his mouth over Aya's. Prying his lips open brutally, Yohji forced his tongue into his mouth, reaching deep even as his hand slid up and gripped his jaw, pinching it hard and forcing it wider. He savaged Aya's mouth. Tasted the copper-bright tang of blood from a split in a lip – whose, he couldn't tell. Aya groaned, moving under him. He could feel the both of them hardening, heated flesh pressed tightly together. Hunger spiraled. Need fed by the hot, angry demand of mouth on mouth, body on body.
Aya moaned, hands rising to clutch at Yohji's shoulders. Not pushing him away, but gripping him close. And that simple motion fanned his fury. Surrender? Now? It was hollow. A mockery. He reared back, capturing Aya's wrists in his hands and slamming them down hard on the mattress to either side of his head. His eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and he could see Aya's eyes widen, his mouth fall open as he panted for breath, lips gleaming with wetness.
"You said 'mine', Aya… liar… you liar…"
He bent down and fastened his mouth on the tender skin under Aya's ear. Sucked hard. Felt the answering arch in Aya's body. He reached between them, found Aya's ready cock and stroked it. Ruthlessly, steadily. Wanting one thing only.
Aya writhed under him, moaning and grunting. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. He came with a deep shudder and a sound almost like pain.
Yohji gathered up his hot come, smeared it over his own weeping cock. Then he caught one of Aya's legs under his arm, pressing it up as he leaned back. He found the small hole with his finger, wiping semen on it just before pressing his slick cock inside in one hard push. Aya cried out under him, arching up, hands grabbing wildly at Yohji's head and shoulders as he took him with no gentleness and scant preparation. Hard and fast and brutal.
"Yohji!"
He bent low, hips moving in short surges. He pressed his open mouth over Aya's, nipping at his lips, his tongue. Relished his panting breaths, his desperate groans, the fingers clawing at his shoulders as he took him. Aya' s eyes were closed, his face slack with abandon. "Yes. I'm fucking you, Aya. And you're mine… mine…"
He drove into the lean, pale body over and over again. Gloried in the hot clench of it around him, the slick heat, the tangle of Aya's hands in his hair pressing his mouth close. They drank each other's breath, gasping together as Yohji pounded into him. Aya rising to meet him with each thrust, his half-hard cock bouncing between their bellies, face twisted with something that could be seen as either agony or ecstasy.
"Yohji… fuck me… deeper… yes… ah, ah… yes, mine…" Aya saying more against his lips than he ever had before. Aya's hands clutched at him as Yohji rose up, bracing himself over the other man the better to drive deep into him in answer to his plea. To pierce that sleek body. Claim it. One of Aya's lean legs bent around his plunging hips, pressing him further in with each thrust as if trying to negate the limitations of flesh. Holding him. Taking him too.
"Uhn… God! Aya!" He came suddenly, gasping, growling, shuddering. Mind exploding in an endless white-hot blaze. Body bowed over the pale one below him, sweat sealing them together, his arm sliding under Aya's arched back to press him even closer. He held the other man in a nearly crushing embrace for a frozen moment of time, feeling frantic heartbeats racing almost as one until a semblance of sanity returned in a rush.
He collapsed to the side, careful to roll Aya over his unwounded shoulder. Concern flaring now, too late, for his recently sewn wound.
"Did it tear?" he asked anxiously, running his hand up Aya's back to check for fresh blood. Aya shook his head once even as Yohji's fingers brushed the faintly sticky fake skin and found it intact. He didn't find anything more substantial than sweat around it. Relief flooded him. "No. Good."
Aya had his arms around his neck, his face tucked under his ear. His breath was like puffs from a hot bellows against him, slowing gradually. Yohji cradled him close, still buried inside him. They were both hot and sticky and sweaty now.
"Well, so much for all that work in the bath…"
"Shut up, Kudoh." The words were a breathy whisper tickling his skin, lacking all venom.
He smiled, the ache in him subdued for the moment but not defeated. It lurked, waiting for him. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Aya's hair wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever, immobile with this man wrapped tightly in his arms. But he was already cooling, a shiver racing over his skin in warning.
"Hey. We need blankets."
"Hn." Aya was limp in his arms, his breathing already slowed almost to the level of slumber. Drained beyond exhaustion from the day of battles, from his wounds, from Yohji's demands.
With a sigh, Yohji slid out of his body, earning a little pout of sleepy dismay from Aya. A look that had him staring down into the other man's face for a long moment, fighting a tightness in his throat. He laid him carefully down on the mattress, arranging his limbs so that he wouldn't strain his shoulder any further. Aya sighed in his sleep, hand sliding across the mattress until his fingers brushed Yohji's arm before falling still again.
Chest aching, Yohji moved reluctantly to the side and caught up a thick comforter from the pile of bedding provided. He spread it over Aya gently, pausing to stroke damp bangs back from the pale, shadowed face. Staring down at an Aya he'd never fully seen before – relaxed, peaceful. That perpetual tension was still missing and for the first time he could see how young Aya was.
Young and hurt and so incredibly exquisitely lovely… all while remaining sharp, masculine and incalculably dangerous.
He caught up another blanket, wrapped it around his body like a shield before retreating to the bench by the wall, slumping there gracelessly.
Where he watched Aya sleep, completely unaware of the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks.
* * * * *
Aya woke at first morning light to find himself sprawled across Yohji's chest, his good arm looped around the man's neck in a decidedly possessive fashion. Yohji was deeply asleep, faint snores issuing from his opened mouth. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was paler than normal under his golden skin tone.
Exhausted.
Aya flushed when he remembered last night. Yohji had tended his wounds, then washed him like a child. He remembered following Yohji here after the other man fled the tub, remembered telling him about his sister… and Yohji's angry reaction.
Yohji had all but choked him. Then he'd fucked him. Hard. And he'd wanted it. Exulted in it. Had savored every hard stroke, every burning strike on his core. He'd fallen asleep beside Yohji last night, secure in the other man's arms, content and satisfied to be possessed.
But that had been last night.
Today everything was different. Today was the dawn of a world without Reiji Takatori.
Today was the first day after Weiß.
He pulled away from Yohji's chest, moving with slow caution, not wanting to wake the other man. Yohji didn't stir.
He was stiff and sore, his shoulder aching with a line of fire, but usable. He slid out from under the blankets and found a pile of more nearby. He grabbed one and wrapped it around his naked body as a makeshift robe. Padding silently out of the room, he slid the door panel all the way closed behind him. They hadn't bothered last night.
Aya explored the house curiously, silently. He had only the vaguest impressions of it from last night. He avoided the one other bedroom with a closed door. He remembered seeing Omi sobbing in Ken's arms last night and presumed the other two were sleeping there. He discovered clothing stored in one of the unoccupied rooms. Dressed himself in loose sweatpants and a vastly oversized sweatshirt, grateful to find something he could pull on despite the fact that he couldn't raise his sword arm above shoulder height right now.
He brewed tea in the kitchen. Sipped it on the porch while he watched the rising sun set the morning mist that clung to the concealing pine tree belt aglow with a faint peach glow. Birds chirped in the trees. The sounds of human activity came only dimly through the encircling trees as the neighborhood beyond slowly awakened.
He found his sheathed katana lying on the gravel path outside, tangled in wire. He brought it to the porch and meticulously cleaned it. Hands moving with automatic competence at the task, mind curiously blank as he polished away every last trace of Takatori's blood.
He laid the sheathed sword on the porch when he was done. Reluctant to bring it indoors.
It was growing late, but not so late that his exhausted companions needed to be awakened. Yesterday had been brutal. Rather than think on it more, he busied himself by gathering up all the bloody, filthy clothing and dumping it into the needlessly complex washing machine. Showered again, avoided looking in the mirror at the tell-tale mark under his ear as he shaved. Cleaned up and organized the bathroom and the medical kit. Took shoes outside. Ran the clothes dryer.
After several hours, he heard the crunch of feet approaching the house across the gravel path.
Alerted and wary, he palmed one of the kitchen knives in his good hand and circled to the far side of the encircling porch, pacing silently around to the side where the noise had been.
He stopped at the corner. Stared.
Aya had never seen Manx dressed in anything save her signature red suit and dangerous heels before, but it was clearly Manx. Her mass of flaming red hair was drawn back into a tight knot on her neck. She wore a slim black dress, a matching short jacket over it and ankle boots with a far more practical heel. Her face was paler than normal, her eyes rimmed in red.
"Manx," he said softly from the shadows. She whirled, the gun she held becoming visible behind the sleek purse she carried. He frowned at her. Yesterday he'd felt that gun press against his own temple. Of course he'd also felt those long-nailed fingers gently stroke his hair as he lay in her lap after Persia rescued him from a brutal trap set by Schwartz.
"Abyssinian," she said, lowering the gun slightly. "Bombay and the others… are they here?"
"Bombay led us all here," he confirmed, gaze narrowing at the obvious relief that crossed her face. "My sister?"
"Tomoe-san is with her at the hospital. No one had disturbed them," she said, her eyes gleaming in the morning light. "Weiß's security hasn't been compromised any further. They entered the flower shop, questioned Momoe-san and pasted up fliers of you four, but no formal charges were filed. With the lack of procedure Special Forces practiced, there is no evidence of any kind that you four were other than the subject of harassment by Takatori's men – along with hundreds of other innocent people."
"Hn. Weiß," he snorted, flipping the knife out in his hand so that she could see it. Letting her know that he hadn't been lax on her approach. He folded his arms over his chest, careful not to strain his wounded arm. She watched him warily, a frown on her face. She knew she had nothing left to hold him with. He had no further need for Weiß. She could take that information back to Kritiker, but he was certain they already knew their pawn had found his escape route.
"Where is Omi?" she finally asked.
"Sleeping."
"Not any more." They both turned at the soft words to see a blurry-eyed Omi standing wrapped in a blanket in the doorway, a dart clutched in his hand. "Manx, you should know better than to try to sneak up on us."
With a decidedly watery smile, Manx moved over to the boy and wrapped him in a tight hug. Aya lowered his gaze politely as Omi wrapped his arms around her in return.
"Uncle…?" he asked hesitantly. Manx just held him tighter, her slender shoulders tensing.
"The building was gutted."
Aya felt a surge of dark satisfaction at the news. Nothing left. Of any Takatori. The entire clan, wiped out. Omi, as he'd already told the boy, wasn't a Takatori. He was Omi Tsukiyono. It was his own name. He had his own destiny now, regardless of his origin.
Just as Aya Fujimiya did.
* * * * *
Yohji woke to the sound of voices. Two of them he expected, and while the third wasn't unknown, it was definitely unwelcome. Aya and Omi and Manx. If she was here, then reality was about to return with a vengeance. He sat up with a groan, cradling his aching head in his hands.
It was late morning outside, by the slant of the sun. Far later than he'd expected to sleep. But then, he hadn't really expected to sleep at all. After covering Aya with a blanket, he'd sat on the bench watching him sleep for what felt like hours. It was only when Aya grew restless, frowning in his sleep, muttering and reaching out, that Yohji had returned to the bed. Sliding in beside the other man, he had been strangely dismayed to have him settle immediately back into easy slumber upon his return. Aya had curled up against him like a cat, head pillowed on his chest.
He had no idea how long he'd lain awake after that. All he had been aware of was the feel of Aya against him, his hair the texture of thick silk under his gently stroking hand.
Fighting back the memories, he threw off the blankets. Scratched at his belly as he gave a stretch, grimacing as white stuff flaked off his skin. He was dying for a cigarette. Rising to his feet, he padded over to his coat. Grimaced again as he pawed through the smelly, filthy thing until he found his pack of cigarettes. Crushed but still usable. Looking around, he stuck a decidedly bent cigarette between his lips then froze at the sight of his clothes lying clean and neatly folded on the bench beyond.
Someone had done the wash already. He hated it when someone did his wash for him. He'd meant to start that last night. Cursing under his breath, he snatched his underwear off the pile. Stepped into them and then his pants. Deciding that was enough modesty for Manx, he slid the door open and wandered out into the main room as he lit his first cigarette of the day.
"Good morning, Yohji-kun," Omi said from within a cocoon of blankets in his position on the floor at the breakfast table. He looked much better today, but also like he hadn't been up very long. Not Omi then. That left the mysterious launderer as Aya, who was fully dressed. He met the cool violet gaze on the far side of the table carefully. Manx was standing by the outside door, a cup of steaming tea held between both hands. Her amused gaze raked over him, lingering on his bare chest before flicking back to his eyes. He just sucked on his cigarette and narrowed his gaze back in return. Not in the mood for any kind of flirtatious games this morning.
"Mornin', chibi. Better today?"
Omi flushed brightly and ducked his head. "Hai, Yohji-kun. Thank you for understanding last night."
Yohji let a smile touch his eyes at last. "It's not me you should be thanking, Omichitti. Thank Kenken."
"I will. I have. I just wanted to thank you too." His flush was even brighter now, and Yohji frowned slightly. He hoped that flush just meant Omi was feeling self-conscious about his breakdown last night and not that anything… untoward had happened. But with Ken? He frowned more, remembering Ken's strange reaction to finding him and Aya together. No. A confused Ken was just a gauche and awkward Ken. Hopefully he hadn't said anything too wounding to the kid last night… He'd have to find out later.
"Where is Ken?" Manx asked, a frown on her face now too. She was sensitive to any nuances about Omi.
"I'll get him," Aya said quietly, rising gracefully to his feet. Yohji moved further into the room, giving him plenty of room to pass him. He tried not to let his gaze linger on the distinctive purplish bruise under Aya's ear. Or the finger-marks on his pale throat. Manx took a sip of her tea, watching them carefully over the rim.
"Yohji-kun, do you want some tea?" Yohji moved over to the table and deliberately settled on the cushion Aya had vacated. It was still warm.
"Yeah, better get started right…" With a small smile, Omi poured tea into a fresh cup and handed it to him.
There was a heavy thump from the back of the house, then a pounding of feet on the wooden floor. A rather harried-looking, frantic Ken barged into the room, eyes wild until they settled on Omi. He was dressed in his own pants, the bandage on his leg visible through the cut they'd made in it yesterday, and one of the sweatshirts from the stock in the house. Navy blue and far too large, just like the one Aya was wearing.
"There you are… shit, scared the hell out of me, Omi," he said before walking over to ruffle the kid's hair. "How you doin' today?"
"I'm fine, Ken-kun," Omi smiled up at the soccer player sunnily, the faintest flush on his cheeks and Yohji almost swallowed his cigarette. "I just didn't want to wake you." Oh. Shit. Ken was a dead man if that look meant what he thought it meant… that would be taking advantage pure and simple… But Ken wasn't acting guilty so… Yohji swallowed his questions instead of his cigarette and drank his tea. Aya came silently into the room and frowned at Yohji for taking his place. He settled across the table without argument instead and Yohji passed his cup across to him without having to be asked. Ken took a fresh cup from Omi, sucking down half of it in his usual noisy way.
"Well, ahem, now that you are all here…" Manx drew their attention, then she walked over and sat down gracefully beside Omi, drawing a goggle-eyed stare from both Ken and Yohji. Manx had never been so casual around them before.
"There are things we need to do to protect you four. Weiß's security wasn't fully compromised, but undue attention was drawn to the four of you by Takatori's actions. You will all need to lie low for a while. Kritiker has prepared cover identities and jobs for all of you. As the political situation stabilizes, we will be back in contact with all of you to let you know the future of Weiß." She reached into her purse and drew out four fat, sealed envelopes.
"No." The voice was cold as ice. Hard and determined. Aya.
They all looked at him; Omi with eyes wide in alarm, Ken with brows lowered in confusion, Yohji impassively but with a clawing dread in his gut. Aya was ignoring them all, glaring at Manx, his hands fisted on the table in front of him.
"I have no more need for Weiß."
She met his glare steadily, her eyes narrowing faintly. "You are certain?" she asked.
Aya nodded once, sharply, without breaking eye contact with her. "As certain as I am that you understand the full parameters of the deal I made with Kritiker. Conditions have been met. I expect Kritiker to live up to their end of the bargain."
Aya's eyes were like frozen ice, matching his voice, glittering and hard. Manx let her lip curl up slightly. Not a smile, really, more of a show of respect to a wily player. Yohji sucked deeply on his cigarette, hoping it would calm his jittering nerves. He understood. Oh, yes, he did.
It explained the peace he'd seen on Aya's face last night. He'd known he had a way out. That the unexpected had happened and he'd survived revenge to collect the true prize. Freedom.
"Then in light of your decision to separate from Weiß, I'll wait to speak to the others until you leave." She lifted one of the envelopes in front of her seemingly at random, slit it open with her fingernail and rifled through the contents. She took out several sheets of paper, scanned them quickly before dropping them back into her purse, then tossed the opened envelope and the rest of its contents across the table. It skidded to a halt beside one of Aya's clenched fists, but he made no move to pick it up. He still had not looked away from her.
"Manx! Wait… you don't mean… Aya-kun!" Omi glanced between the two of them frantically, eyes wide in panic now. Ken was just gaping, too surprised to comment. Yohji swore viciously under his breath and crushed out the butt of his cigarette in his empty teacup. Shook a new one out of the pack with hands that he fought hard to keep from trembling and lit it.
"Got you a special deal, did you, Ran?" he heard himself say mockingly as he blew out a fresh stream of smoke. Aya's gaze flicked to him at that, but shifted back to Manx. "Guess you best pack, then, and be on your way."
That drew Aya's frigid glare over to him for good. It bit into him like a knife; indifference, cool control, determination. Striking deep. And he wanted to scream and rage and throw the other man over his shoulder and haul him off to the bedroom and fuck him until he understood what he was giving up but… he couldn't. Not if Aya had found a way to escape this life that would destroy them all sooner or later. Even Omi, despite Manx's best efforts.
"Yohji-kun!" Omi said, shocked. Ken frowned at him, glancing between the two of them in puzzled confusion. Yohji almost laughed just for that. Poor Kenken. He just didn't get it, did he?
"It's been fun, Aya-Ran," he said, sticking his cigarette between the frozen curve of his lips and giving a short little salute with his free hand. "Have a nice life." He hated this… he hated pretending… and he hated Aya. God… why had he… how had he let himself… When would he learn? Tattooing it on his fucking skin hadn't done him any good. He needed it branded into his brain.
Aya moved then, lids flickering down to cover that icy gaze at last. Then he reached out and picked up the envelope. Omi hissed in a surprised breath, but bit it off. He was a bright boy. He'd figured it out too. Sorrow and regret darkened the wide navy-blue eyes. Ken frowned a moment at the table before raising his head and glaring narrowly at Aya, angry and confused and maybe a little envious. Looking almost as if he wanted to launch himself at the other man, but he managed to contain himself, which was a good sign given Ken's recent tendency to berserk rages...
"Good luck," Ken just ground out instead, surprising him. It was about the only thing any of them could say without sounding like a fool.
Aya rose silently to his feet, the envelope clutched in his hand, eyes downcast. Then he turned and disappeared into the inner part of the house again.
When he was gone, Omi turned to Yohji, his eyes wide with pained disbelief.
"Yohji-kun, you can't just let him go like that…"
"Watch me." The words came out with a stream of smoke, sounding cool and composed. Inside he was fighting the guilt and resentment and self-hatred that had surged high once more. Aya clearly didn't give a shit, so why the hell did he think he rated, anyway? Sins like theirs earned no reprieve…
Omi flinched and huddled deeper into his blankets, looking pinched and miserable again. It was too bad it happened this way, but the boy did need to be reminded that they weren't just a slightly odd little family here. They were an assassin team. They killed together. And that was all. Yohji let out a soft sound of annoyance with his next breath of smoke, wondering just who in the room had really needed to be reminded of that fact.
Certainly not Aya.
"It's for the best, Omi," Manx said quietly, her expression somber. "His focus is gone. He would only be a detriment to the team."
Omi just shook his head in dismay, huddling deeper into his blankets. Ken was staring out the open panels into the garden, a hard look on his face. Manx looked at the three of them, frowning in concern, her gaze lingering longest on Yohji.
"Got one of those envelopes for me?" Yohji asked her, smoothly distracting her from whatever speculation she was working on. Hopefully not the truth. He didn't need Manx wondering if Yohji Kudoh was going to be a security risk in the future because he'd been stupid enough to fall… to have had a fling with their soon-to-be-ex leader.
"Yes. But I prefer to wait until Fujimiya-san has left the premises before I begin."
The lack of a code name was not lost on him. Yohji climbed to his feet with a snort, running a hand back through his tumbled, tangled hair with deliberate ease.
"Then I'd best hurry him along. I'm anxious to get settled in my own place. Can't be without a date too long, you know, or skills atrophy." He strolled away, avoiding Omi's curiously betrayed looking eyes and Ken's blank anger.
The panel at the far end of the central hall was open. Aya stood on the porch outside, framed in the doorway. He'd pulled his tall boots back on. He held his sheathed katana in one hand, and his head was bowed as it had been in the garden last night. The only real difference was that the long leather coat was probably taking up most of the bag that lay at his feet.
Yohji came to a stop in the doorway, leaned as casually as he could manage against the jamb, then folded one arm across his chest as he raised his cigarette to take another deep drag. He was quaking inside, but, by whatever was left in this world that was holy, he wasn't going to show it to this man.
The air between them fairly snapped with tension, electric and sharp. His pulse was throbbing hard in his throat, making his breath hitch slightly. And it annoyed him because he'd known all night that this moment was coming. No matter what words had fallen from those perfect lips.
Aya raised his head slightly, eyes hidden by the fall of bangs. Yohji just lifted his chin, a determinedly wry smile tugging at his lips, even as a brooding darkness gathered around his heart.
"At least say goodbye to the chibi."
Aya's chin lifted further. Red bangs slowly fell away to reveal violet eyes like pools of water, shimmering and bright. But only for an instant. Then it was as if a switch had been thrown and the ice returned. Aya gazed at him, calm and controlled, all frailty hidden.
After a moment, Aya gathered up the bag in his free hand and strode purposefully across the porch, stopping in front of him. Cool violet eyes stared into emerald green again. Lips parted.
Then Aya turned and walked away.
And Yohji just watched him go, staring through the rising veil of smoke from the cigarette that burned unheeded between his fingers until long after the slender figure had vanished into the glare of the midday sun.
- - fin - -