Softly, Silently

Summary: The blows they exchange today are softer than yesterday. OneShot.

Warning: Established as Ran/Ken friendship.

Set: Story-unrelated, goes through Weiß Kreuz, Weiß Kreuz Glühen and Weiß Side B.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

The first time they met – really met, in person, face to face as the people they were, not as their dark shadow counterparts – they ended up having a fist fight and knocked each other out cold on the floor of the flower shop that later should become Aya's home, too.

Birman frowned. Omi shouted. Yohji made stupid remarks.

Ken disliked Aya and Aya thought Ken was an utter idiot.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment their relationship started to get better. Maybe because of the fact that it still was getting better, still warming day by day even after years they spent next to each other. They might have learned to work together, to talk to each other without starting a fight; they might have learned to live next to each other without killing each other and even might have started to like each other. But sometimes their relationship still felt like a ceramic vase full of dynamite.

Neither one of them would have wanted it any other way.

Maybe Aya did hate Ken from the moment he first laid his eyes on him. Which was strange, since both had the same… well, job, and it is widely believed that people similar to each other recognize each other instantly. Ken would protest and shout he and the red-headed swordsman weren't similar in any way but in a way, they were. Both were skilled and strong, fast and able. Both were remarkable fighters. Both were good men. And both were assassins. Both were Weiss. Maybe Ken did think Aya was an utterly arrogant prick, not worth the trouble of even trying to integrate him into the team. Which wasn't strange at all, since Aya really was that way. He was cold and arrogant and didn't care much for the members of the new team he was being put into. Aya would smile coldly and exclaim that he didn't care for the people he worked with as long as they did their jobs but even Ken seemed to have realized that at one point it had become a lie. Aya did care. Aya did worry, and did feel responsible, and did integrate. He couldn't help but do so.

So they fought.

They fought with tooth and claws, with fists and words and glares. Even after their first encounter, after their first fight and after Omi's ensuing tirade, they didn't stop. Little things would happen and one of them would explode, pulling the other along and starting the fire anew. A broken vase. A lost book. A missed shift. To Ken, it seemed like Aya was purposefully refusing to integrate into Weiss, like he didn't want to belong. To Aya, it didn't matter. He had a goal and he didn't care how he reached it as long as he did. Omi and Yohji secretly wondered whether they would be able to straighten it out. They had to be a team, after all. They couldn't afford to hinder themselves and each other in their work just because two of them couldn't – wouldn't – get along. They were like fire and ice: whenever they met, a storm ensued. Once, Aya almost broke Ken's nose. Another time, Ken managed to catch Aya in the ribs, cracking one of them in the process. Omi bandaged them up, scolded them and felt very, very old while Yohji made stupid remarks that only rekindled the fire. Their fights mostly seemed one-sided, since Aya would rarely answer Ken's loud challenges. But as soon as fists started flying it quickly became clear that the two men were, despite their difference in age, as strong as the other, and both were to blame for their fights. Once, Yohji was involved accidentally. He had tried to break up a building fight and had received two punches, one from each Ken and Aya. He had some difficulties with his breathing for a short while after but the fight stopped almost instantly. Ken stomped from the room and Aya was silent for the rest of the evening. Omi was the only one who noticed that the two opponents had, for probably the first time ever, been of the same opinion.

Aya hated Ken with a passion that was new to him.

Until the day he met him he had reserved his hate for the Takatori family, the ones responsible for his sister's condition and his parent's death. And it wasn't as if his hate for Ken somehow decreased his hate for the murderers of his family in any way. No. It was a different kind of hate, perhaps as passionate, perhaps less dark. Perhaps simply different. He couldn't really explain the fact that he just had to look at the tall, young man in order to feel anger bubble up inside him. Ken wasn't arrogant, he wasn't a playboy like Yohji or like the agents Aya had known before. Instead he was lively and naïve and determined. He was an utter idiot, always believing there was a way out even if there wasn't. He was too enthusiastic and always tried to help even when nobody wanted it. He cheered up Omi and made sure the kid ate. He was the one who went after Yohji when he called late at night and picked him up, even if that meant he had to wait for the late-night train because he had no car. Ken wasn't like the people Aya had known in a former life – fixated on college and girlfriends and fun – or like the Kritiker agents Aya had worked with before – cool and calm and careful – and he wasn't like Aya at all. If he had been he might have seen Aya didn't want friends, he didn't want a spare family and he didn't want compassion. Ken, despite the terrible grief he had experienced in his past, still seemed to be honest and trusting and innocent and not even the fact that he, next to Aya, had the highest head-count in kills could convince Aya otherwise. That way, every morning when Aya came down to the shop to start with his shift and happened to meet Ken downstairs, the fight was sure to flare up again. Sometimes only in arguments, sometimes for real. They could start with a simple Good Morning or a careless comment on Ken's side and would continue with Aya throwing all his resentment, all his disappointment, at him. Not loudly, the way Ken argued, but cool and collected and perhaps even crueler that way. The louder Ken became, the quieter Aya's voice would be. The more heat streamed into their arguments from the dark-haired man's side, the cooler Aya's retorts would become until Ken would storm from the room in helpless anger and Aya would open the shop, boiling with hate and anger and resentment. Ken was alive. He lived, he breathed and fought even though there was no real reason for him to go on. Because whom had he left? He, Aya, on the other side, still had his precious sister, still had his hate and his will to kill Takatori. To let him suffer. And yet he was unable to go on. Unlike Ken. That was what made him hate his other team member so much.

They fought.

After their first brawl in the flower shop the day Aya arrived they had a long row of arguments, discussions and fights coming around. Both of them were to blame for starting them, Aya with a snide, mostly one-word comment or Ken with a hot, angry accusation. Both of them were to blame for the resulting fist fights as well. Either Ken was fed up with Aya's attitude or Aya couldn't stand Ken's just anger any longer. The first time they devastated the shop. The second time the mission briefing room fell victim, the third time they happened to be in the little courtyard behind the shop. Many, many other times followed, too many to count. The first time Omi and Yohji ignored them and left. The second time Omi tried to interfere and was almost knocked out cold. He continued trying but for his own sake Yohji held him back. Yohji never interfered with Ken and Aya's fights after his first try. He watched, sometimes, smiling aggravatingly, or left the room for a brief cigarette pause. When they fought in the kitchen Yohji continued reading the newspaper or continued to listen to his music as if nothing was happening. It could have been irritating like hell had Ken and Aya paid any attention to anything next to each other.

Ken didn't so much hate Aya as he was irritated by him.

It wasn't that Aya was the new member in Weiss. It wasn't the fact that he had been chosen by Persia to be the de-facto field leader, even if Omi still did the majority of planning and arranging. Ken could pinpoint quite exactly what it was in the red-headed swordsman that made him angry so often: it was Aya's aloofness, his refusal to integrate and his brooding character. His cool behavior when it came to the things which were more important to Ken than his own life. Since he had officially died he had no family, so he had made Weiss his. A younger brother to take care of, an elder brother to be annoyed by. Aya didn't care for Ken's family, for the closeness they shared, the life they lived together. And he said so clearly. Aya didn't care for the flower shop they ran, seeing it as a pain in the ass and as a mere mask they needed to use in order to remain incognito. Ken loved the shop. He liked the flowers, their scents and their colors. The calm aura that seemed to envelop him whenever they had a quiet minute without fan girls or other customers was an important part of his life but Aya acted like the shop was a mere nuisance. Yes, maybe their hands were too stained to work with such beauty. But Ken never had given much for paradoxes and he figured if the flowers accepted him the way he was it was fine. Aya didn't attend their Sunday morning get-togethers over pancakes and hot chocolate, when Omi adjusted their schedules to fit their weekly commitments, Yohji mostly suffered from a hang-over and Ken bragged about his junior soccer team. Aya refused to join them, staying in his room and reading or going out, disappearing for hours and returning only to lock himself in his room again. It was as if he didn't want to become a member of Weiss and though he was good – brilliantly so, Ken had no qualms giving praise to the ones who deserved it – he remained an entity apart of Weiss. He made nasty comments at Ken's love for soccer and Yohji's playboy mannerisms and Omi's enthusiasm and both annoyed Ken, the latter even more than the former. In short, Aya appeared to sneer on everything Ken loved – to even look down on it – and Ken really, really got angry every time he thought about their new team leader.

And, whenever they fought, they never held back.

Maybe it was because both Aya and Ken knew exactly what the other one was able to take. Maybe it was the fact that both refused to consider each other's strengths and weaknesses that made them put every ounce of their own ability and strength into their fights. Though neither Aya used his katana nor Ken his gloves their punches had enough force to hurt. Aya sported a bleeding lip after their first fight and a cut on his chin – the only visible injuries – and some parts of his chest and arms hurt for the better part of the next day. Ken's abdomen, too, was bruised rather un-nicely and though his nose wasn't broken it was swollen and bloody. And many, many of their encounters ended like that – they were brutal and short, unyielding and merciless. When they didn't fight physically they used words and those were equally hurtful. Aya was a master in the discipline of converting spoken language into weapons – sharp and ragged ones, edged, painful and scarring. His short, clipped sentences, his cool attitude and his direct attacks were, in a way, even more hurtful than his punches. Because, differently to his sword, his words opened up hidden wounds and let old injuries open up newly. Idiot. Bastard. Nobody wants you. Nobody needs your precious little family. One day it will collapse and you'll see it was nothing but a lie. Pretend you're the good ones but you're just like every other murderer on Kritiker's pay list. Ken was especially sensitive to Aya's verbal attacks. He countered a touch defensively but, in effect, equally hurtful because everything he said reminded Aya of the fact that he had something Aya had lost. Ken's words called back memories, something that was as painful for Aya as Aya's arrogance was for Ken. You're a cold-hearted ice-block. How your sister was able to stand you I have no idea. You argue because you feel guilty, don't you, and you know you won't ever be able to change anything… Once, Omi listened to one of their fights and almost burst into tears. It was an especially nasty argument, granted, and perhaps Aya was imagining things but Ken made sure to keep his mouth in check from that day on whenever the youngest Weiss member was present. Even Yohji was surprised at Omi's outburst but they had their suspicions as to why he had reacted like that. Aya, in the course of his first weeks, didn't care much for Omi anyway. Instead, he disappeared for hours and took shifts with whoever was available (except for Ken, if he couldn't help it) and argued with Ken and maybe they really, really would have been unable to get along if they hadn't been forced to do missions together.

People are changed by the people they meet.

And by the circumstances they find themselves in. Ken and Aya were forced to work together, forced to rely on each other, and somehow – even Omi and Yohji couldn't tell how it happened – they learned to get along. Maybe it was the Kase mission. When it was finished Ken was down and Omi buried himself in work after he failed to cheer Ken up and Yohji disappeared for a night and Aya was left to do the shift in the shop. It was early and the hordes of fan girls hadn't yet arrived, having school at this time of the day. There weren't many regular customers and Aya found he had time to think. So Ken had been betrayed, too, and had suffered and bled and cried. And the strange thing was that Aya knew all of this. He had known for a long time and yet he had somehow tried to convince himself of the fact that Ken was different than him. Only he wasn't, really, and for the first time Aya actually thought about Ken though it wasn't about him in the first place. It was about Aya and Aya needed to come to realize this, as well. Because Ken already knew. He knew Aya wasn't cold and unfeeling. He knew Aya wasn't as indifferent towards Omi and Yohji as he seemed and he knew Aya had, in the time he had spent with them, somehow gotten used to their strange way of life and their strange thing that was family. Aya had grown on them – or maybe they had grown on Aya? – and had come to be a part of them. And suddenly he found he couldn't rage over the same topics that had made him so angry months before. Weiss was a family and he had become a part of it, somehow – so how could he say having a family was utterly useless? He made sure Omi did his homework and went to bed early enough – how could he say he didn't care for the kid? He went to pick up Yohji and he took shifts in the shop while Ken had training. There was no way Aya could continue pretending that he wasn't a part of them, that he didn't care for them. And really, he couldn't help it. Even Ken grew on him, he realized – his stubborn resolve, the same huge grin, the never-ending enthusiasm. To Ken, Aya had long become a member of Weiss and a member of his family. This time, he couldn't say exactly when it had happened. His resentment for Aya still was there – but as Aya's hate had turned into something softer, warmer, his were mixed with respect, surprise and loyalty. They shared a strange relationship.

Still, their blows carried the same devastating force they had held at the beginning. They only were applied differently now.

Ken, as a soccer player, had the stamina and strength in his legs that came with his job. Aya, on the other hand, was a skilled swordsman, and his advantage in a fight was his swiftness, his incredible reaction speed and his ability to use his katana as a mere extension of his arm. Omi, when using his darts and needles, hardly ever missed a target, and Yohji's wire was scary in itself but the more so in the way the blonde was able to put it into use. Kritiker had chosen them well and had made sure they were the best there was – and that, ultimately, entitled that they spent a lot of time in training and on sparring matches. Those times were squashed into their schedules and mostly lost in face of more pressing matters – soccer training for Ken's kids or projects for Omi's school work, Aya's continuous visits at his sister's hospital bed and Yohji's seemingly senseless rambles through the nightly city. Their covers as florists had to be maintained and during nights they had missions to accomplish. There wasn't much time for other things, really, and yet some things had to be done in order to keep their reflexes and skills honed.

The first time Ken and Aya agreed to face each other in a sparring session was four months into Aya's arrival.

It was Sunday, there was no mission in the evening, and the children's soccer team was taking a holiday. The flower shop was closed and Omi and Yohji were hanging around, Omi trying hard not to look curious, Yohji not caring to hide his curiosity. It had been his idea, right from the beginning, though he cleverly had let it look like a challenge at Ken which the hot-headed man couldn't let slip by. He had practically forced Aya to agree and very quickly they found themselves on their training grounds outside the city: a huge park opened for their personal use only. Whoever Persia was, he had quite some connections. And there, they fought. To Omi and Yohji, trained assassins as they were, the fight looked beautiful. They went all out against each other – slashing and ducking, hitting and cutting while nothing but their breaths could be heard. Had they been anyone else, Omi would have worried about them getting hurt. As it was, Aya was trained to spar without ever hurting his opponent, and Ken hadn't fully expanded the claws of his gloves. But their blows did connect, and they did hurt. And yet they didn't stop until Ken caught Aya's katana with his claws and both stared at each other and then mutually agreed on a draw. From that day, they sparred often and it always was worth watching. They looked beautiful. Aya with his long, red hair flying, his face a mask of concentration, his whole body a painting of light and shadow. And Ken, his bugnuks gleaming when their steel claws caught the sun, his dark hair and tanned skin a perfect contrast to Aya's pale porcelain. They moved so fast it was hard to see where one began and the other ended. Their initial movements blurred together while they weaved and attacked. Theirs was a deathly dance, lethal and yet full of beauty. Omi held his breath whenever he watched. Even Yohji stopped smoking and joking around. In those training fights Aya's hate vanished and Ken's irritation faded. They complemented each other so well they found it hard to cope with it the first time they stood opposite from each other, each one breathing hard, sweaty and exhilarated from adrenaline and the rush of fighting. Omi rushed over, talking rapidly, and Yohji joined them and slapped Aya on the back hard. Ken's face broke into a careful smile and Aya – God, Aya smiled as well. It seemed like the first time since he had joined Weiss. They had confronted each other in what they were best at – fighting – and neither one of them had won. Aya had learned to see Ken and Ken had learned to listen to Aya. Aya had nasty gashes in his face and along his arms and Ken's T-shirt was pretty much cut into stripes and showed a few bloody cuts underneath and surely both must have been in some pain but it didn't really matter at that moment. What mattered was that they were able to give everything. They didn't have to hold back and that was something both of them appreciated a lot. From then, their sparring matches continued. Ken carried away many, many shallow cuts and one or two stab wounds and Aya almost got used to having bruises and claw-like marks all over his chest and arms. Their blows hadn't softened, hadn't changed. But they had. Perhaps a little, at least.

Still, besides their fights, and despite the changes they had made, Aya still had the potential to hurt Ken deeply.

He didn't even need to touch Ken, neither with his fists nor with his katana nor with his words. His actions were enough. The same way, Ken was able to hurt Aya by the mere fact that he did nothing. And by the time they found themselves at the Narita Airport, staring at each other (or at the floor, in Ken's case) everything was falling apart anyway. So why bother? Yohji was gone. Omi had died long ago, the day Mamoru Takatori had been reborn. Sena and Kyo were dead. Weiss was shattered and the last remnants stood in a huge departure hall and had nothing more to say. Aya because he didn't know how to explain, Ken because he didn't know what he wanted. He had told Aya he wanted to come with him if the swordsman left Weiss. Now Weiss didn't exist any longer and Aya was free to leave and Ken could go with him. But he had to take care of Omi; too, Omi needed him as a foundation for a new Weiss generation and as a reminder of whom he was – whom he had been. And until he hadn't realized what it was he was living for he couldn't just follow Aya. And when he looked up Aya was gone, was heading straight for the check-in counters and everything Ken could do was stare after him. It was strange how Ken's silence managed to hurt Aya even more than any of the hits, cuts and bruises the former soccer player had inflicted on him had hurt taken together.

Two months.

It took Ken two months to find his answer, to talk to Omi – Mamoru – and to track down Yohji and then Aya. It took Aya two months to be stabbed, almost bleed to death, fight for the Orphans and meet Mihirogi and Chloé.

Kryptonbrand Side B.

Ken met Sir Richard Krypton before Aya did. It was a strange feeling – they never had met Persia face to face, only via the cassettes Manx brought. This was different. So different than Weiss – and yet… Ken couldn't exactly put a finger on what was different. A tall, blonde playboy. A young, incredibly intelligent child. A good-looking, strong mission planner. On first sight, it looked just like Weiss. Only Aya was missing. Having worked with Kyo or Sena as partners, Ken realized, had been fine. Working with Yohji had been okay, too, because they knew each other and reacted instinctively to the other's signals. Only once Ken had been teamed up with Omi alone and he had found the youth was a good partner, as well, and since his weapons of choice were darts Ken was the one who did the hand-to-hand fighting, covered by Omi. But nothing compared to having a close combat fighter as a partner, and nobody compared to Aya. Aya knew what Ken planned without having been told. Aya could read his movements like Ken could read Aya's. Only Aya equaled him in speed and strength. Together, they were the perfect team. If only Aya would rely on Ken for once! But perhaps his refusal to follow Aya to New York immediately had angered the red-headed man. Perhaps Ken would have to prove to him that he was, and always would be, utterly loyal to him. And then they met and fought Mihirogi, Chloé and Michel, Ken could see it clearly: Aya had changed. He still was calm and cool and seemed remote. But the cruelness was gone, the hate, the absolute withdrawal and refusal to fit in. He was softer, maybe, and easier to get along with. And the thoughts Ken had had months before, the thoughts that had drowned under the onslaught of their fight with Eszett and Group Z, of Omi's last order and Yohji's "death", returned in a flash of memories. Wherever Aya goes, I'll go, too.

Aya, on the other side, was quite surprised to see Ken again. And he, too, noticed the change. Ken seemed calmer, and more relaxed. Peaceful even, as if he had finally found what he had been looking for. And Aya would never have admitted it – at least not to anyone else than himself – but he had missed him. He was used to fighting in a team, or in groups of two, at least. Fighting alone wasn't difficult but utterly different. But then, everything was different here. He had come to America in order to forget and had found it was impossible. He had searched for a reason when he had already left it behind – he hadn't had any other aim than bringing back his sister and now Aya was alive and well and happy and there was no reason for him to remain. Who was he, anyway? He wasn't Aya Fujimiya anymore because the real Aya had claimed back her name from him when waking. He wasn't Abyssinian because he had left Weiss. He wasn't Ran Fujimiya because Ran had been young, naïve and innocent. He had left Weiss and had stumbled across KB Side B and he was back again, back in the world of murdering and killing. It seemed to be his fate. They even wanted to open up a flower shop. Coincident? Was there something like coincidence? No, there wasn't, and it wasn't coincidence that he stopped glaring at a Sir Richard Krypton one afternoon to turn and see Ken walk into the room. Having Ken at his side again – hearing him curse and bicker, seeing him run and jump and fight – soothed his raw heart more than he ever would have imagined. So Ken needed him as his partner? Fine, he could live with that. Maybe for him, too, it was the only way he could really live.

And their game continued.

They still exchanged blows. In sparring sessions, in arguments, words and glares. But it was different now. Their blows were softer than the ones they had exchanged in the past, softened by years of partnership, of living in a family. Of understanding. You're so annoying, Aya. Shut up and get the shop closed. Chloé grinned at them and made idiotic remarks and Michel smiled. Yuki, who joined later, seemed irritated at first and finally got used to it. Free never showed any emotion. But then, he never did. Ken bitched and Aya retorted and they lived side by side, fought side by side, and if they ever wondered how it could have become like this they never said so loud. It felt so damn normal. Somehow, softly and silently, their relationship had changed. Had let them grow and mature, had sent them through hell and back and had granted them some strange sort of absolution when they had thought they would never receive it. KR Side B was different than Weiss and yet the same. Ken and Aya had changed and yet remained the two young men they had been, hot-headed and short-tempered, calm and cold. But maybe Ken's recklessness had lessened and maybe Aya was less remote nowadays, and maybe they did smile more freely.

And, undoubtedly, their words and actions carried something like grudging affection for each other. Acceptance, perhaps, or pride. Maybe friendship.

Maybe.

(Sir Richard once asked Mamoru Takatori why Ken and Aya had been allowed to leave Weiss and Japan.)

They danced.

Fast and lethal. Without holding back, without fear. Ken's bugnuks were only halfway out; Aya used the blunt side of his katana. Michel, Yuki and Free watched while Chloé pretended not to be interested in the training match going on in front of him. When he wondered, annoyingly sarcastic, whether it was a good idea to let the children watch what probably would turn into a bloody spectacle as soon as Aya was fed up with Ken, Michel and Yuki silenced him mutually and painfully. Smirking and holding his ribs, he leaned against the wall and watched the boys whose eyes were glued to the makeshift arena beyond them. Free watched them unblinkingly, intent on broadening his own style. It was a beautiful dance. Ken grinned, a smile that made him look way younger than he seemed on other days. Aya's violet eyes were soft, softer than they had ever been before. Steel clanked against steel as their weapons met, their faces only inches from each other. Ken ducked and rolled backwards and Aya followed but the other man already was on his feet, countering the lightning-fast strike of the blinking sword with one of his own. Michel drew his breath in softly. Ken slashed out and Aya pirouetted away gracefully, maneuvering himself to face his assailant again within seconds. They knew each other well enough to not even touch. Only their weapons met, steel on steel or reinforced leather. Yuki watched, equally amazed, his hand gripping the railing tightly. Circling each other, they stood there, both breathing only diminutively faster. Aya feinted. His partner didn't even move. Then, Ken dove forward, aiming for Aya's throat, but he was prepared and came forwards to counter. Then, in one graceful movement, he flipped his katana over and shoved its hilt right into Ken's solarplexus instead. The dark-haired man was thrown backwards with a noise of protest as the air left his lungs. Panting, he laid on the ground and stared up at his partner.

"Ouch! Damnit, Aya, that hurt!"

A frown. "So?"

Ken coughed and sat up, the grin right back on his face. "This round goes to you. Next time it's my turn again."

Aya offered him his hand, his violet eyes soft. Ken took it.

(It is for their sake.)