This one shot was inspired by the song "Lullaby for a stormy night" by Vienna Teng. I really love that song.

Let me warn you of two things: First - this story contains character death, although it's just mentioned, not center of the story. Second - English is not my native language, that would be German. I don't have any beta readers at the moment, so please bear with my many mistakes in grammar, spelling and most likely use of vocabulary... If you detect any grave mistakes - or smaller ones - please let me know and I'll correct them. Also if anybody out there wants to voluntere for beta reading, feel free to send me a message.

That's that. Now for the inevitable: I. Don't. Own. Anything. Neither Beyblade itself nor anything to do with it. Thank you very much. Now on with the story.

Memories Of A Stormy Night

I've always hated thunderstorms. I mean, honestly, there's no way one could love thunderstorms, is there? Well yeah, I've heard of people who with fervently conviction tell you they'd love them. My conviction always was that those people were lying. Rain, wind with the force of a hurricane, bright lightnings when you least expect them and roaring thunder that makes the windows clank. Horrible.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not afraid of thunderstorms. No way. I can sleep through them without any problems – okay, sometimes I wake up when the thunders roars too loud, but generally I can sleep, thunderstorm or not. Neither am I afraid of getting hit by lightning, nor do I align myself with the believe that thunder is the wrath of god himself. No, I'm definitely not afraid of thunderstorms. I just don't like them. Or rather I didn't like them. Until that night…

It was in October, eleven years ago. Eleven years… hard to believe it was that long ago… But back to the story!

As I said, it happened eleven years ago, in October. That is to say in the night of the 21st to the 22nd of October. It was the year after our third world championships and this whole BEGA-affair and we were on a promotion tour through Europe – promote the upcoming world championships, such things. Rather cool – I thought. Rather waste of time – thought Kai.

Kai. He had been more than grumpy throughout the whole trip. More grumpy than usual, and that means something. He had come back all the way from Russia just for this tour where he was currently – after having graduated from some elite school – occupied with… 'restructuring' the company of his grandfather. Yes, I think that's what he had called it. Restructuring. He was practically permanently only with one ear present – the other one all businesslike pressed against his mobile phone 24/7. Sometimes he was talking with his matter-of-fact-voice in English into the receiver, other times slightly disgruntled in Japanese and occasionally – if only rarely – he shouted incomprehensible Russian words in overt fury into the pure thing that I had to ask myself what he needed it for. As loud as he was, one could surely hear him all the way to Moscow even without radio contact.

Anyway, he wasn't really with us. At least not mentally. But he was here and that was more than I had dared to hope for as Mr. Dickenson had told us that we would go on this tour as a team. I had even asked him three times if Kai would really meet us in Paris before we had gone on the plain at Tokyo airport. I wanted to be sure that I wouldn't get my hopes up only to be letdown at the airport in Paris. After all I hadn't heard anything from Kai for almost a year, never mind seen him. It was only normal that I couldn't wait to see him again, wasn't it?

Okay, okay, maybe the extent of my anticipation wasn't exactly what you'd call normal. Yeah, I admit it, I was practically euphoric at the thought of meeting him. Three nights before we left I couldn't sleep anymore, and in my attempt to pack up my things I ran through the house like a scared up chicken. I couldn't wait. I was excited, nervous – and happier than I had been for a long time. I would see Kai again! I would be able to gaze into those fascinating red eyes again that always made me wonder if that guy was even human. I would see those never to be tamed two toned bangs swaying in the wind again and would be able to secretly admire that oh-so-perfect body out of the corner of my eyes…

Okay, I admit it, I had a serious crush on that guy! Happy now? More than that even. I loved him. At first I had thought of it as a schoolgirls crush, but by now I knew better – I loved him. Like nobody else. And the last year without him had been pure hell. So who could be surprised if I was now practically bursting with anticipation? Right. No one.

As soon as we arrived in Paris my eyes practically shot through the crowd. Where was he? His flight should have arrived before ours, he had to be here already. Where the hell was he? And then I saw him. He was standing in the middle of the arrival hall, an attaché case under his arm, a black trolley beside him on top of which lay a tattered newspaper – Financial Times judging by its colour – and his mobile phone at his ear which he talked into excitedly. As he saw my exuberant waving he gave a short nod before concentrating again on the person at the other end of the line – Tala, as I found out later.

We clove our way over to him and listened to him calling all kinds of people during the entire way from the airport to the cabstand, then to the hotel and up to our shared suite. He hung up, dialled a new number, hung up again, answered an incoming call, hung up again, dialled again, and so on. And that's what I had looked forward to. Great.

Only in the evening did he switch off the damned thing and for the first time took real notice of us since we had arrived in Paris. And even then the conversation was confined to "We have to get up early tomorrow so go to sleep." Great. Frustrating.

On the other hand – what had I expected? "Hi Tyson, I missed you and by the way, I love you, too." Yeah, right.

Had I at first held the hope that Kai's behaviour would change, that he would let business be business and explore the town with us instead, that he had forgotten his charging device or that his mobile would get stolen, after two weeks I knew better. After staying in Paris for two days we had visited Madrid, Rome, Berlin and London and I had to accept that for Kai there where more important things now than promoting a new beyblading world championship. Understandable on one hand, after all he was head of one of the biggest and most influential companies in the world. Beyblading had become secondary for him. The more so as he hadn't set foot into a bey arena since his match against Brooklyn and the loss of Dranzer. And so he kept attached to his cell phone. And if he didn't for a change, he was in extremely bad mood. If you ask me, this whole business-thingy didn't do him any good. It worsened his temper, made him more grumpy than usual – if possible – and frustrated me therefore to no end! I had expected so much from this tour with Kai…

But then there was this night in October. We were staying at a hotel in Glasgow, Scotland. The weather was bad, it hadn't stopped raining since we arrived and the wind made the windows rattle dauntingly. The weather forecast had released a gale warning and advised everyone to stay at home and make themselves comfortable in front of a warming fire. And that's exactly what we had done. We had settled in the sitting room of our suite and played cards – even Kai had graced us with his presence, though with a fair load of paperwork in his lap instead of joining in for a game, but still it was better than nothing. His mobile lay in his room on the nightstand – there was no connection due to the storm outside. Did I already mention how much I love storms?

Well, anyway, it got later and later and at some point one after the other dozed off on the sofa. Even Kai's files fell to the floor as he drifted off on the chair beside the fireplace.

I don't know what time it was exactly as I suddenly woke up, but I'm sure it was long after midnight. The storm was raging worse than ever, lightning struck and thunder roared as if the world were to end this night. However that wasn't what had woken me. It had been something else, but what? I had heard something, something that had sounded like a scream. Suddenly worried I looked around. Everything was still as it had been as I had fallen asleep: Max and Kenny were sleeping peacefully, shoulders touching on the sofa across from me and Ray had made himself comfortable on the soft carpet. And Kai – Kai! He was gone! Were had he gone? What was going on? Had he gone outside in this storm? Impossible! Not even Kai was that crazy!

Even so I had to make sure. One glance to the door made me calm down somewhat. His coat was still hanging on the hook beside the entrance, without it Kai wouldn't have gone outside. But his shoes were gone! So he had at least left the suite. But where… The hotel bar! I suddenly realized. It was open 24/7. Surely he had gone there.

I slipped on my shoes, snatched a key from the board beside the door and left the suite. In my hurry I took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. I rushed to the bar, all the way repeating my inner mantra: let him be there, please, let him be there.

I don't know whom I prayed to, but whoever it was, he heard me. As I glanced through the glass doors I recognized Kai's unmistakable form sitting at the bar. He was the only guest who had come down here that late at night but the bartender didn't even bother. He kept rinsing glasses while Kai sat there staring into a half empty glass of bourbon as if it held all the answers to the mysteries of this world.

For a long time I debated whether I should go to him or not. He didn't look as if he would fancy company at the moment. But what else was new? Honestly, this was Kai! When did he ever want company? In the end I decided to give it a try. After all what could happen except that he could send me away?

He didn't look at me as I sat down beside me. For a while I silently watched him. His glass was almost empty and his eyes were kind of glazed over. His hair was ruffled from sleeping on the armchair and the upper buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. His forehead slightly glistened with sweat and his hand around the glass was shaking faintly. I was shocked. This guy was completely buggered! But… how much…

"How much of that have you drunk already?"

He jumped as if he had only just now noticed I was there – what was probably the truth judging by the surprised expression his eyes held. Now I was really worried. Normally Kai could hear even the most experienced stalker over a distance of three miles. This guy was a walking sonar! He had to be more than rattled if he didn't even notice me taking a seat directly beside him.

He looked at me as if I was sprouting violet antennas out of my ears. It took a while until his eyes slipped into focus and really saw me. Then his gaze returned to the almost empty glass. He brought it up to his lips, drowned the last mouthful and signalled the bartender to bring him another drink.

"Four," I finally got my answer, amazingly enough without even the trace of a slur. "Why? You got a problem with that?"

No slur, no, but all the more rage. Because of me? No, I knew Kai long enough to know that he was probably mad at himself. That was one of the many things about Kai which you learn only after you know him for a long time. He was rarely mad at someone else. Failures of others usually didn't bother him. If something was important enough to deserve his rage than it was usually a mistake he himself had made. He only got mad at his one weaknesses, never those of others. A trait that was as admirable as it was nerve-racking.

I decided to ignore his question and ask another instead.

"Did the storm wake you?"

He thoughtfully turned the new glass in his hands. "Depends."

"Huh?"

"Depends," he repeated a tad louder.

"Yeah, understood that. But what do you mean by that?"

"Not this storm."

Huh? Okay, now I was officially lost. I swear this guy was harder to see through than the theory of relativity. To complicate things Kai only ever answered the questions you really asked. Not those you didn't ask. Not those you only implied. If you couldn't formulate your question right, you'd never get the answer you searched for. On the other hand he never lied. That was the positive side. So I decided to ask a different question.

"Why are you down here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

See? A clear, honest answer. Unfortunately the wrong question. Again.

"And why is it that you couldn't sleep?"

A long gaze. Silence. Ha! Gotcha! Right question. Only the answer was missing. Again one of those things about Kai. If he didn't want to tell you the truth, then he'd just say nothing at all. Frustrating.

"Memories."

Could have known that much. In 99 of 100 cases when Kai acted strange it had to do with his past.

"Of the abbey?"

He shook his head no. Great. Wrong question. What now? If this guy only wasn't so damn complicated!

"Of the night my parents died."

Outch. That story was new. I had always wondered what had happened at that time. Mr. Dickenson once told us that his parents had died when Kai had still been very young and that he had then been given into Voltaires care. Who hadn't had anything better to do than abuse him as his personal guinea pig. But how his parents had died – the old man hadn't told us that. 'Maybe one day he will tell you himself,' he had said. Maybe that day was now… I decided to step into the lion's den. He had answered a question I hadn't even asked. Maybe he even wanted me to ask…

"What happened?"

If I hadn't been sure about the shaking of his hands before, now I was. The glass in his hand was rocking so hard that the golden liquid inside threatened to spill. He took a long gulp and drew in his breath. Then he began to tell a story too gruesome for a four-year-old to live through it and not be traumatized afterwards.

His parents had been murdered. Cruel, brutal and merciless. They had been literally slaughtered. Just listening made me want to vomit. And Kai had been forced to watch all this. At the age of four. And their murderer had been no other than Boris Balkov – while Voltaire had been standing beside him laughing. How sick was that?

"It was a night like this one", he finished, his voice nothing more than a whisper, his eyes glazed over from the alcohol and the tears he couldn't spill. "One of the worst thunderstorms Russia had ever seen." He drowned the rest of his meanwhile seventh glass. "I can't sleep through thunderstorms…"

Those simple words held so much more meaning it hurt. Of course he couldn't sleep. With the storm came the memories. With all their horrible images which were unbearable even for me who had never experienced it in reality. I couldn't even imagine how it had to feel for Kai…

This night none of the two of us slept any. We sat in that bar all night and talked. First about Kai's parents, then about Voltaire and the abbey and in the end about almost everything. Important or unimportant. As the bartenders finally changed shift the sun was rising already. The storm of last night had subsided and one could see a trace of blue at the horizon. We took the elevator upstairs and went to bed. Kai to his, I to mine. Interesting enough as I woke up around midday I found him sleeping in my bed. I let him sleep and didn't ask any questions when he opened his eyes drowsily half an hour later. It was much later that we talked again about this one night – the night we later declared the official beginning of our relationship.

After that promotion tour I followed Kai to Russia. I moved into his house in Moscow and played the role of the worried housewife whenever he came home in the evening, stressed out and completely exhausted. We enjoyed seven wonderful years together. Seven years in which we sat through many stormy nights, drinking tea and talking for hours until the sun rose. He never slept when it was storming outside, never. I didn't complain. Those were the most wonderful nights of my life.

Four years ago I lost him because of a plane crash. The days and weeks after that are only a blur. For a long time I locked myself in grieve and misery until I realized that Kai would kick my ass if he was still here. Life went on. Today I live in Tokyo again working as a beyblade trainer with a man I love by my side. I don't love him like I loved Kai, but nonetheless I love him. Not less, just different.

Even so, when there's a storm outside, with lightning flashing and thunder rolling, I still stay awake throughout the night, drinking tea and remembering all the wonderful moments I was lucky enough to share with Kai, and I tell him just how much I still love him and always will. Hoping that it will help him endure those nights – wherever he may be now…

END

Hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think about it. Thx a lot.