Summary: Everyone needs to belong somewhere. Even Aya. On a rainy night, Yohji helps Aya discover what it means to belong, and what it means to come home.

Author's Note: Inspired by a WK fic prompt: Board Games.

Warning: Bad language.

Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.

Through the Looking Glass

The door closed behind him with a slight click and the soft rattle of the glass in its window. Aya stood in the Koneko's kitchen, dripping bloody rainwater from the hem of his coat and the soles of his boots, and shivered as the room's residual warmth washed over him. The room was dim, lit only by the single light over the stove, which threw a soft glow across most of the kitchen, while deepening the shadows at its corners. The light reflected back to him from the smooth surfaces -- the front of the refrigerator, the top of the stove, the countertops. The reflections softened the effect of the deeper shadows at the edges of the room, making them seem more friendly and comforting than they should have. It was quiet around him. Aya could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock on the wall near the door, the way the light bulb buzzed over the stove, and a steady drip-drip-drip from the sink -- a leak none of them could seem to fix, no matter how many times they changed the washer in the faucet. The counters were clutter-free and so clean they practically shone in the dim light. The table, likewise, was clean and clear, except for a plate of food -- covered with aluminum foil -- in its center. The kitchen was still warm, heat radiating from the cooling oven. The smells, too, lingered. Good scents, of fresh food prepared by hand and the friendship and companionship that accompanied it. It hadn't been long since the others had finished their evening meal. An hour … two, at the most. For a moment, Aya wondered if they had waited for him, but he shook his head, dismissing the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him. He couldn't imagine anyone doing that for him; in his heart, he believed he wasn't worthy of the kind of caring and friendship that would cause others to do that. He told himself it didn't matter, but, deep inside his soul -- in a place where even he refused to look -- he knew it did. The painful tug at his heart told him as much, as did the fact that he had to force the meandering thoughts out of his head. It hurt too much to think about things he might want but could never have. Things he could never let himself have.

Aya took a deep breath, savoring the scents and flavors of "home". The description and images came flooding over him before he could stop them. Memories of coming home after school to find his mother waiting for him, a smile on her face and a snack on the table; his sister's smiling face, lit by the glow from the candles on the birthday cake their mother had made; his father in the living room, smoking and reading his newspaper; and a hundred more -- sights, sounds, and smells, all whirling through his mind in a jumbled mess. It made him want to scream. It was all he could do to keep from falling to his knees and sobbing his heart out over what he had lost.

Stupid, Aya told himself. Stupid, to hang on to those memories. Another lifetime. Another person. Those things weren't him any more. Stupid, to want that, even now, even when he knew better. Aya shook his head again, pushing the memories and images away, shutting down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. There wasn't any place in his life for them now. He knew that, and yet, there were times when it was all he could do to keep the past … well, in the past. He was Weiss now. No longer Ran, but Aya. A hard, cold presence in the world. A necessary evil. And, to be those things, he had to continue moving forward. Always forward.

It wasn't hard, usually. Keep the world away. Don't let anyone get too close. Don't show you care. Close your heart. Pretend you're not human. It had become automatic for him, so much so that, most of the time, it took almost no effort.

Tonight was different. Aya shivered again, taking another deep breath of the kitchen's smells. In spite of the rain, it wasn't cold outside, but, all the same, he was chilled. Chilled to the bone, it seemed. Solo missions were always hard, and tonight had been no exception. The target had deserved to die; Kritiker had said so, so it must be true. That's how it worked in Aya's world. The mission hadn't been difficult -- in and out in a matter of minutes. No guards. No struggle. No injuries. And yet, Aya had come away sore, tired, and sick at heart. How many deaths were too many? It was one of those rare times when the question popped into his head, unbidden. Aya shook it off and crossed the few steps from the door to the table. Best not to let his thoughts wander down that particular path. Not tonight, anyhow. Tonight was one of those nights when he might have a hard time finding his way back.

As he reached for the plate of food, Aya laid his sword on the table. The hilt guard clinked as it came to rest against the worn, pitted wood. It looked strange there -- the sheath black and foreboding against the wood's warm glow. Aya ignored it, reserving his attention for the food. It sat in the middle of the table, and there was a note leaning against the plate. Aya picked it up and immediately recognized Yohji's handwriting.

"Hey, Loser -- We waited dinner for you, but I guess you were having too much fun running around in the rain. Anyhow, saved this out for you. Microwave: 2 and a half minutes. Eat it. Don't throw it away. Or I'll kick the shit out of you. Yotan"

So, they had waited for him, after all. Aya was surprised. He smiled -- a ghost of an expression that flitted across his face, there and gone in an instant. Yohji's bossy brand of sarcasm seemed to scream at him out of the note; he could almost hear the older man's voice in his head.

A noise -- a peal of laughter, followed by what seemed like a good-natured protest -- drew Aya's attention. He turned and moved a few steps toward the doorway connecting their living room to the kitchen. The others were in there, gathered around the coffee table, playing some kind of board game -- Monopoly, it looked like. Aya watched, smiling, as Ken swooped over the board, howling with laughter as he snatched Omi's game piece and held it just out of reach. He and Yohji both laughed as Omi jumped up to grab for it, complaining that Ken was cheating. Finally, Omi managed to rescue the piece -- the cowboy hat … Omi was always the cowboy hat. He sat down, pretending to pout, although he couldn't hide the teasing expression in his eyes or the small smile that quirked at the corners of his mouth. Yohji jumped into the fray, piling on top of Ken. He grabbed Ken in a headlock and gave him a noogie, which Ken protested loudly. They were all laughing, and their faces, bathed in the light from the lamps on either side of the sofa, seemed innocent and care-free, somehow. It was almost impossible to believe they were killers. Even Aya shuddered as the thought hit him, and he, of all people, knew better. He had lived and worked and killed with them long enough that he knew they were anything but innocent. Maybe, in another life, or if things had been different. Maybe, if life hadn't dealt them such bad hands. Maybe, then, they could have been that way.

Aya stood there in the dark of the kitchen, dripping rainwater and watered-down blood, and watched his teammates. And, it hit him. He didn't belong here. He couldn't explain it. He didn't even try. The urge to flee was overwhelming, and Aya followed it. He turned on his heel and crossed the kitchen, his feet barely making a sound as the soles of his boots struck the old linoleum. Within moments, he was, once again, outside -- in the dark and the rain. The door closed behind him with a slight click and the soft rattle of the glass in its window.

Yohji leaned back against the sofa, stretching his long legs under the coffee table and lighting a cigarette. He ignored Omi's and Ken's protests, shrugging them off with a sarcastic-looking smirk as he tilted his head back to blow a steady stream of smoke toward the ceiling and watched Omi crow over winning the last round of Monopoly. Ken made fun of him, pulling faces behind Omi's back as he scooped the play money and game pieces into the box. Omi turned around just in time to see one of Ken's expressions and pretended to take offense. He gave a playful snarl and jumped across the table, scattering the game board and remaining pieces onto the carpet and pinning Ken to the sofa. They wrestled, jostling against Yohji. Their antics knocked his cigarette out of his mouth, and he cursed under his breath as he juggled the smoking stick, doing his best to keep the red-hot embers from burning his hands. Finally, he managed to grab the filter end of the cigarette and stuff it back in his mouth.

He didn't bother to complain out loud, though. He knew better. If he said anything, it would only encourage Omi and Ken to drag him into the mock battle. Instead, he shifted away, putting a few precious inches between himself and his struggling teammates. It wasn't much, but it was enough to assure he stayed out of the fray. Once he thought Omi and Ken were too occupied to notice him, he looked at his watch and, then, glanced toward the darkened kitchen.

Yohji frowned. It was late, and Aya should have been home already. Not that he cared one way or the other, Yohji reminded himself. Even so, he glanced at his watch again, pulling his sunglasses down and squinting over the tops of the dark lenses to make sure he had read the time correctly. His frown deepened when he realized he had.

"I'm sure he's fine," Omi said.

He was careful to keep his tone of voice flat and matter-of-fact. Yohji turned in response to the statement, watching as Omi, finished with his impromptu tussle with Ken, straightened his clothes and hair. Out of the corner of his eye, Yohji saw Ken picking up the last of the monopoly pieces from the carpet, but he paused long enough to give Yohji a brisk, supportive nod, agreeing with what Omi had said.

"Like I care," Yohji said, shrugging. He tried to seem nonchalant, but his voice choked off a bit, spoiling the effect.

"Yeah, right," Ken snorted, laughing under his breath. "That's why you've been sitting here like a little mother hen, staring at your watch and, then, the kitchen door. Like you expect Aya to come waltzing through there at any moment. I think it's cute, really."

Omi snickered in response to Ken's joke, prompting Yohji to roll his eyes toward the ceiling and blow another stream of smoke in their general direction. Yohji decided he had had enough. If he had to wait, he would do it in private, preferably in the kitchen, where he could read Aya the riot act the moment he decided to grace them with his presence.

"Jackasses," he snarled.

Yohji put a playful growl around the words to make sure Omi and Ken knew he wasn't serious. They saw him shift around, preparing to leave, and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omi open his mouth to protest. But, Yohji didn't stop. He turned aside Omi's concern with a wink and a teasing grin as he pulled his legs from beneath the coffee table, pushing off of the sofa with both hands and shoving the table out of the way so that he could walk around it. He paused long enough to stub his spent cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray before crossing the living room into the kitchen. He felt bad for spoiling their fun evening, but he couldn't get that nagging voice in the back of his head to shut up. It didn't matter if he stayed in the living room with Omi and Ken; Yohji knew his mind would be someplace else -- at least, until he knew Aya was home safely.

Yohji frowned as he paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and stared at the table. The plate of food had been moved, and his note had fallen down to rest on the seat of one of the chairs. And, next to the food, Aya's sword -- a dark slash of shadow against the table's wood.

"Idiot," Yohji muttered, under his breath.

He didn't bother turning on the light. He had seen all he needed to see. Yohji crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, lighting another cigarette and slipping into his favorite pair of boots before he reached for the door to let himself out into the dark and the rain.

The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle. It hung in the air like fog, making everything in the night look that much more surreal and bizarre. Aya had little attention to spare for his surroundings. He had already been soaked through from his mission, so the rain didn't bother him now. He walked with his head down, watching the slick gray sidewalk slide away from him with every step he took. It was late, and the streets were quiet and deserted. Every so often, a car would drive by, its engine growling out into the night and its tires making a squelching noise against the wet asphalt. Most of the bars were still open; Aya could hear music, muted by their closed doors, as he passed, and the neon colors of their signs reflected off of the wet sidewalk and streets. It looked as if someone had thrown a can of brightly colored paint onto the pavement, only to have it wash away and the colors run together because of the rain. The rest of the businesses lining the sidewalk were closed, heavy metal grates or coverings pulled down over their doors and front windows. During the day, this street would be crowded and full of life, but, once the sun set, all of that changed. At night, it was a lonely place. Perfect for the way Aya felt at the moment.

He had been walking aimlessly, paying no attention to where he was or where he was going. He didn't have a destination in mind. All that mattered was where he had been. That's always the way it is, Aya thought, when a person needs to run away. He knew better than to believe that, though. Getting out of the Koneko and away from the painful memories tonight had been a small thing, but, in his heart, Aya knew he really wanted to run away from himself. From what he had become and who he was. And that wasn't possible -- no matter how much he might wish otherwise. Which was why he was here, wandering around in the dark in bloody clothes. He wondered whether or not the rain could wash away the blood, but, just as quickly, dismissed the errant thought, laughing to himself over how maudlin and absurd he was being. In the end, what did it matter? It washed off on the outside, but, inside, it never would. It wasn't worth moping over. After all, this was the path he had chosen. Maybe, there were times like tonight, when he wished he hadn't. But, what was done was done. Aya was enough of a realist to understand that.

He paused at a corner, looking up to get his bearings. He recognized the area -- a small business and entertainment district that was only ten blocks or so from the Koneko. He couldn't help feeling a little surprised; he thought he had walked much farther than that.

There was a restaurant across the street. It was dimly lit, but, even so, a soft, inviting yellow light seemed to spill out from its windows and onto the sidewalk. There was a couple sitting at the table near the front window. They leaned toward each other, their faces bathed in the glow from the candle that sat between them. As Aya watched, the man reached across to take the woman's hand. She blushed and looked away, as if embarrassed, but she laughed, too, twisting her fingers through her long, dark hair. The man smiled and slipped a ring onto the woman's finger. The gemstone in its setting twinkled as it caught the light, and the woman stared at it for a few seconds, astonished. She started to cry, jumping across the table to grab the man in a tight, tearful hug. The man hugged her back, standing up to sweep her off her feet and in a slow, tight circle as he buried his face in her hair and she clung to him as if she would never, ever let go.

Aya wondered what that felt like. What would it feel like to belong somewhere, to belong to someone? He thought, maybe, he had had those feelings at one time. A long, long time ago. Another lifetime. Another person. He stood there, watching the couple in their happiness, and he was surprised to realize he hated them. He hated them for what they had. Because it would never be his. Maybe he had chosen his path willingly. And, he could live with that on most days. But there were times -- like tonight -- when the realization of what he had lost hit home, leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

"Hey."

Aya jumped at the sound of Yohji's voice. He hadn't expected to see anyone tonight, and, in particular, he hadn't expected to see Yohji. At the same time, Aya was surprised to realize he had expected Yohji to show up here, all along. It made no sense, and he didn't try to quantify it. Instead, he nodded a greeting -- the slightest inclination of his head -- as Yohji came to a stop next to him.

"Hey," Aya replied.

They stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder in the drizzling rain, both watching the scene in the restaurant. After a few moments, Yohji shifted his weight, tossing his spent cigarette to the ground and grinding it out beneath the sole of his boot. The hot embers sizzled when they hit the wet concrete. Almost immediately, Yohji had his pack in his hand, shaking out a new cigarette to replace the one he had just discarded. He held the pack out to Aya -- a silent invitation. Aya shrugged in response and accepted Yohji's generosity. He watched as Yohji stowed the pack and, then, lit up, shielding the lighter's flame from the rain by cupping his hand over it. Once his cigarette was smoldering away, he leaned over, touching it briefly to the end of Aya's cig until it, too, began to burn. Aya felt Yohji's breath, warm and moist against his skin, but only for a moment before he pulled away.

It was quiet. The silence around them was broken only by the sounds of an occasional passing car, the sighing of Yohji's breath as he blew a stream of smoke out into the night, and the crackle of their burning cigarettes. It stretched between them -- companionable and safe -- but, even so, Aya became uncomfortable with it. It wasn't like him, but he fidgeted and broke the quiet before Yohji had a chance to say anything else.

"How did you find me?" Aya asked, the words riding out of his mouth on a puff of smoke.

Yohji shrugged. "It wasn't hard," he said, laughing at the surprised expression on Aya's face. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You thought you were out here, wandering aimlessly around the city, right? But, you and "aimless" … those words don't exactly go together, you know?" He waved his hand through the air, as if to indicate the buildings around them by way of explanation, as he continued, "And, where do I find you? Ten blocks from the shop. Very sad, really. I thought, for sure, someone as good as you would have been a bit harder to track."

"Jackass," Aya replied. "What're you doing out here, anyhow? I thought you guys were having a nice family night back at the shop."

The words were almost lost beneath the sigh of his breath as he blew out another stream of smoke. His tone was harsh and sarcastic, but, out of the corner of his eye, Yohji saw Aya smile.

Yohji laughed in return. "I decided to call it quits on Family Fun Night. They wanted to play Twister. And you know how grabby Omi gets," he said, giving Aya a teasing grin.

Aya laughed at Yohji's joke. He didn't want to. Laughing was the last thing he felt like doing right now, but he couldn't help it. The mental picture he got of Yohji, Ken, and Omi -- all tangled together on the Twister board -- was too absurdly funny to resist.

They smoked in silence for a few moments before Yohji asked, "So? What're you doing out here? Pouting in the rain? Or, have you decided to become a Peeping Tom? As if you don't get enough nighttime action, as it is. I mean, if you're bored, I could figure out things for you to do. You know … for entertainment." Yohji's voice was soft and teasing, and he draped his arm across Aya's shoulders, leaning in to lick at Aya's earring as he gave the younger man a lecherous grin and a wink.

Aya chuckled under his breath. "As if you could handle it," he said.

He shrugged out from under Yohji's restraining arm and shoved the older man away from him. Yohji straightened up, flicking ashes from the end of his cigarette as he laughed at Aya's reaction. Aya shook his head at Yohji's antics and followed suit, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette, too, before replacing it in his mouth and taking a deep drag.

"Sweet scene," Yohji commented, nodding toward the couple, who were still framed in the restaurant's window.

"Yeah," Aya said.

He started to say something, but stopped, as if he couldn't find the words. Yohji didn't push. He figured Aya had something on his mind. It didn't take much of a leap to come to that conclusion; Aya almost always had something on his mind. He also knew Aya would get around to telling him about it, if he waited long enough and gave the younger man enough room. Yohji had discovered it was one of the secrets to dealing with Aya -- one of the little tricks that made living with his temperamental teammate bearable. But, it had taken him a few painful years to figure it out.

"What's it like?" Aya asked.

Yohji frowned down at him. "What's what like?" he asked.

Aya nodded toward the couple in the restaurant. "Love," he said. "What's that like?"

Yohji sighed, flicking ashes from the end of his cigarette, and shrugged. "It's … good, I guess. It's like the best thing you could ever hope for and your worst damn fear, all rolled into one. Like being drunk every day, and wanting to be drunk every day, and being scared shitless that, one day, you'll wake up sober. And, then, you do wake up sober one day. You realize what you've lost, and that things will never be the same again."

His voice sounded wistful and sad. Aya knew Yohji was thinking about Asuka, and he regretted having asked. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Yohji pain.

"I'm … sorry," Aya said, his voice so low that Yohji almost couldn't hear the words. "I didn't mean to bring back bad memories. I just wondered, you know … what it feels like to belong."

"Yeah, well, shit happens in life," Yohji said with a sigh, tossing his latest spent cigarette to the ground. "Sometimes, you don't get to pick where you end up. And everyone belongs somewhere. Even you."

"You think so?" Aya asked.

He cringed at how whiny and hopeful his voice sounded. It shouldn't matter to him. It didn't matter to him. He told himself that, and yet, he knew it did. It mattered a lot; otherwise, he wouldn't have ended up out here, wandering dark deserted streets in the rain. And he wouldn't have been so relieved to see Yohji.

"Good fucking grief," Yohji said, rolling his eyes toward the heavens and giving Aya a friendly punch in the arm. "Don't be a moron. Did I not come out in the rain to look for you? And, let me tell you, I do not look good with wet hair."

Aya laughed, prompting a smile from Yohji when he realized his comment had had its intended effect. He could almost feel the tension dissolve from Aya's body, and he knew he had given the answers Aya needed. He didn't know how he had managed it, but he hoped he would always have the right answers when Aya needed them. It was a small thing, and Yohji figured he shouldn't care. Aya was too high maintenance for his own good, but, all the same, Yohji couldn't help it. It was almost as if he felt compelled to protect Aya, to keep the younger man safe -- no matter how much Aya seemed not to want those things. Yohji figured he must have a masochistic streak, or something. But, all the same, he knew he would always do his best to be there for Aya, even if it was painful as hell most of the time.

"So?" Yohji asked, bumping Aya with his shoulder. "You gonna stand out here and spy on those people all night? Let's go home already."

Aya nodded. Home. That sounded pretty good to him.

end