Title: steel runs in the blood [4/??]
Author: dragonflyred7
Pairings: Slight YoujixAya(kun)-ness (Any objections? *glares at the rankens*) Don't worry. Its not scary. Its barely even there. I promise to try harder to bring the boys together.
Teaser:Mou! Time to change the teaser, since its not the same story anymore. Aya falls apart, and Aya-chan has to find out why, and maybe put him back together. If she can. Expect this to change as the story evolves (Or: randomly mutates). The damned thing has its own mind, and the weiss boys are being equally stubborn.
Rating and warnings: PG-13(?) For violence, angst, shounen ai (kind of), and language.
Spoilers: Many, from all over the place (anime series, assassin and white shaman, etc), and not necessarily overly correct. List goes on indefinitely, but I improvise/change anything I don't know or doesn't fit the plot. (Just pretend I have one ^^;)
Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a really bad track record for finishing things I start.
Archive: Why would you ever want it? But if you do, e-mail me first and tell me where it is so I can go ooh and aah at it.
Thanks to: Yen, who wrote the fic, 'Aya's Scheme'. Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there. And a HUGE thanks to Amari, who beta-ed this section and put up with my ellipses. *winces* I was in an ellipse mood, I think, when I wrote this. I can't see why people take the time out from their busy lives to beta for fic writers, but I'm glad they do. *hugs*
Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me.
Okay, chibis:
*this* is emphasis, and this is thoughts and memories, anything going on in someone's head. (was / /this/ /) Got it?
Additional Author's notes, or, Last time, on SRITB:
It's been a while, so I thought I'd better do a quick recap, for those of you who don't want to read everything over again or just need a quick reminder. In part one, Aya went crazy on a mission, messed the whole thing up for everyone and nearly got Omi and himself killed when their bombs went off. In part two, Youji phoned Aya-chan to tell her Aya and Omi are in hospital. In part four, Youji worries and Omi tells how they escaped. Aya has nasty dreams.
A quick note on names, or what this idiot should have explained ages ago:
This is confusing. I confused myself. It's about the Aya, Aya-chan, Ran thing and who calls who what. And, since it's been a while, I thought I'd go over this, too. What's explained in part two: Aya-chan calls Aya 'Ran' in her thoughts and 'Aya-niichan' out loud. What's not explained but just is: Youji, Ken, and Omi call Aya-chan 'Aya-chan' and Aya-Ran 'Aya'. There's a little more on the name thing in this chapter, but if anyone is still confused at the end of it, feel free to mail me and bawl me out. Oh yeah, this means you have to look out for POVs, but you knew that, right?
One last thing, or begging shamelessly:
C&C, onegaaaiiiii? *sniff* Chapters come out quicker when I get feedback. Really. *tries to look convincing*
########
steel runs in the blood
by dragonflyred7
scene 3: white walls
Late evening. The brilliant hues painting the sky already fading away into soft indigo. Soon, the color would deepen to purple, then deep velvet blue, and then there would be only dark blackness. Imperfect, broken all over by the bright points of city lights and by the roar of passing vehicles.
Up here though, that sound was muffled, and the curtains were pulled close to filter out the prying lights and the soft whir and chirp of summer insects, which had come out now that the day was cooler. The only whir here was that of the air conditioner, almost uncomfortably chilly though he had blankets piled over him and pulled close.
At home the sounds of the city and of the night would have been close by, just outside the window of his room, or maybe *in* the room if he'd left the glass open during the day, admitting some small creature. Sometimes, when Ken forgot to close the door after himself, the whole building would be filled with them and Youji's cursing. At home, the darkness would have been deeper. Still diluted and fractioned by the illumination of billboards, and passing cars, but unpunctured by the small bright lights of machinery. Undisturbed by the constant beeping that seemed to come from somewhere nearby. Unbroken by soft snoring and by the sound of someone shifting in their sleep.
At home, the ceiling wasn't this white. It was a little yellowed with age and the plaster a little cracked from someone having banged nails into it sometime before it had become his room. He had wondered about that, many times, as he lay awake over many, many nights. What would have been hung from those nails? Lamps, perhaps? Maybe a mobile like the one Aya-chan used to have in her room, long ago. An elegant, costly thing of crystal and cut glass that had refracted and reflected the light in little rainbows. Much like the ones that were even now dancing in the corners of his vision.
Even blinking, he couldn't seem to clear his eyes, couldn't make the objects around him stop blurring in and out of focus, stop dancing and wavering. He sighed, surrounded by uncertain shadows whose shapes he couldn't interpret, despite the light filtering in from outside. Well, no. He could put a name to some of them.
The bulky huddled shape to his left could only be Ken, sleeping with his chin on folded arms and Youji's jacket over his head and shoulders, changing his outline so that he looked larger than he really was, and shapeless. It had to be Ken, the way he was snoring and muttering. The way he shifted and sighed and cursed in his sleep before going peacefully still again. It was his voice Aya recognized first, the first thing that had hinted at where he was. And working from that, he could guess that the *other* shadow--a much smaller shape curled on the other bed and breathing deeply and steadily, completely dead to the world--was almost definitely Omi. So exhausted that he wasn't even dreaming like Ken was.
And that was two. He had been unable for a long time to find the third. Had cast about the room with imperfect vision and heightening panic, willing the veiled objects to coalesce into something he could recognize. Something familiar. Maybe into Youji, though it was just as likely that Youji was dead through his--Aya's--folly. Through his damned weakness and idiocy. Maybe that was what Ken was muttering and whimpering about. Maybe he had gotten Youji killed, just as he'd gotten Omi hurt. He wished they'd wake up. He could determine just *how* badly he'd wronged them if they woke up. He could ask where the hell Youji was.
Maybe. If his voice cooperated. He'd tried to wake Ken already, but his voice come out in a dry croak, and then in a feeble whisper. Not enough to disturb Ken's slumber when he was flat out tired like Aya was sure they all were. And definitely not enough to wake Omi if Ken's muffled grumbling wasn't bothering him.
But then, if either of them did wake, if he did have the strength to speak . . .. Would he *want* to ask? Would he really want to *know* if Youji were dead and his body abandoned somewhere? It would be his fault, after all, and he didn't know if he could carry that burden along with all the others. Not when it seemed that all the demons of his past and all his fears for and of the future were conspiring to drag him down, to submerge and drown him. To know Youji was dead, and to *know*, beyond a doubt, that he was the cause of it. So, would he want to ask? He probably wouldn't have the courage. Not that it mattered. He didn't want to hear the words anyway.
Aya . . . Youji's dead . . . I'm sorry Aya.
Just the thought of the words hurt. A familiar stab of agony that gathered into a hard ball in his chest, tightening like a fist until he reminded himself to breathe, he didn't know anything yet. Youji could be fine, laughing and smoking or flirting somewhere, just as well as he could be cold and hard and dead. Besides, why did he expect Youji to be here, anyway? Youji wasn't the sort of person who would willingly sit still in a quiet, bland hospital room with nothing to do but watch over some idiot who'd nearly gotten Omi killed.
And he knew how fond Youji was of Omi. Knew because Youji went out of his way to make Omi's life as difficult as humanly possible. 'Helping' him with his school work, 'helping' him to get dates, 'helping' him to be adult and mature and all of the things Youji couldn't seem to manage for himself, but felt perfectly capable of tutoring others in. And Ken was looking after Omi, so why would Youji want to be in here with *him*?
A soft sigh. Strange how much even that shallow breath hurt. It shouldn't be enough to hurt like that. He closed his eyes against the pain and thought again, curiously, of Youji. Looking for comfort? Comfort which somehow came with Youji's company when he wasn't smoking like a whole damned industry district and making every effort to be a general and all- around pain in the butt. It had been Youji who had talked him into finally going to see his sister. Youji who had gone with him on that first, terrifying meeting as moral support, 'cause you can't run forever, Aya, and because she needs to know you're okay.
'Sides. I want my room back. I'm sick of bunking with you guys.
And somehow, Youji always managed to be *there* when Aya--when any of them--needed him. Not necessarily *doing* anything--helpful or otherwise-- because activity was just too much to ask, especially of Youji. But not necessarily *saying* anything either. Just *there*.
And what if he's not anymore? What if he *is* dead?
Aya contemplated that for a while, turning it over in his mind as he gazed at the immaculate ceiling. White. A hateful color. The red and orange that had been playing across it, staining it, gone now. There was hardly any light filtering in from outside now, and Aya wasn't sure if he was thankful for the coming dark or not. So what if Youji was dead? He had promised himself he wouldn't care. About any of them. He could survive well enough on his own, without whatever it was that Youji carried with him. Comfort, friendship. Whatever it was, he didn't need it. He could survive well enough on his own.
What he needed was something to distract his thoughts. Needed something else to think on, something to listen to other than the silence and the sounds of Ken and Omi deep in slumber. He needed something to take his mind off the flowershop and what it would be like without Youji. What it would be like not to have to open all the shop windows to get rid off all the smoke before any customers showed up. What it would be like to have to make his *own* coffee, because Ken, with his sweet tooth, didn't touch the stuff and Omi only drank it if someone else would make it *for* him. Youji practically lived off the stuff. Youji somehow had a pot of it on before he was even out of bed.
It would be *his* fault that Youji was gone. Dead. He would be dead because of Aya and because Aya was weak. Because *Aya* didn't have it in him to *not* fuck up and turn a simple in and out mission into an absolute disaster.
But then, the people around him *always* died. And the best he could do for himself and for them was to push them away. He had been--How could he . . .? How could he have been so foolish and so *stupid* as to let them all slide through his armor? *Especially* Youji? Youji, who'd tied so hard to get through it, at first. He couldn't keep them safe. That was all Omi. Omi, who, with his amazing, light-speed hard-drive of a brain, had them all stunned. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to strike him to get his mind back on the job. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to prop him up and practically carry him towards the door.
God. And he was supposed to be watching *Omi's* back? *He* was supposed to be keeping *Omi* safe? He hadn't even been able to keep *himself* safe. In the end, Omi'd have been better off without him. In the end, *he* was the one who'd needed help. So how was he supposed to take care of *them*? He'd been pushed to his limits just trying to keep *Aya- chan* safe. Beyond his limits. He'd needed *help* to do it. Needed help to get her back. He hadn't even been able to do that much on his own.
Aya-chan.
Strange how well and how easily that name flowed off his tongue and through his mind, when always before she'd simply been 'Aya'. It had been easy in his thoughts to call her that. Easy for her to remain 'Aya' when he had never had to speak the name to anyone but her.
Aya. Sorry I'm late today. I had to work late last night.
I'm so sorry this happened to you, Aya. I should never have let go of your hand.
Aya, I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday. But look! I brought you flowers.
Aya . . .. I'm sorry.
He'd had to school himself to call her Aya-chan. To use that name *every* time he referred to her, whether it was out loud or not. Because if *she* was Aya-chan, then he could remain Aya. And if he could be Aya, he wouldn't have to be Ran, even in his own thoughts. So she was Aya-chan, and he was whoever he had been all these years, lost somewhere within himself.
He couldn't protect her. He couldn't protect *anyone*. Not his family. Not his parents. Not Aya-chan. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see them dying. A shadow of thought almost as painful as the still replaying nightmare of watching Aya-chan being hit by that car. Over and over and over. But he'd had his revenge, and he had *her*, so why didn't it stop?
But he didn't want to think about that. Or about how fearing for Omi had felt so similar to fearing for her. It lacked the bitter panic, true, but the *grief* the sense of *failure* he'd felt was almost identical.
He could hardly even remember what had happened that night, other than a few scattered, oddly clear images. Fogged recollections that made so little sense that they must have been the remnants of a dream. Mostly, he recalled only the darkness. Comforting, soothing, terrifying. Possessive. That darkness had a claim on him that *nothing* could shake loose. And if that darkness wanted him to fail, he would fail. He had never *been* strong enough to deny anything to those seductive shadows, never been able to lie to the voice that echoed from them. In the hall of that office building, he'd discovered again that there was no defense against its simple truths.
I wonder if you even care anymore how many you kill? Or maybe you've killed so many that it doesn't matter anymore.
He hadn't known, when it had come for the first time, reasoning in its quiet, mocking tones. When it had first come, whispering in the dead of night, he had been tempted to blame it all on an old adversary and to fall back on the safety of its being someone else's doing, someone else in his mind. And he didn't *know* whose voice it had been that pulled him from that hall and into whatever dark place he had been, but in spite of his denial and his internal arguments and fears, and in spite of the lingering haze still in his mind, he knew it must have been himself. He knew the German's voice too well by now, and knew too intimately the brush of another mind against his own consciousness. And while he'd have liked to blame such lack of control on Shuldich, he was honest enough to admit that his touch had been notably absent.
So it must be coming from somewhere within himself. From some dark corner of his mind, where, maybe, his conscience was coming back to life. He thought he'd killed it years ago when he'd taken his first life for Kritiker and told himself there was *nothing* to be sorry for. *Every* time he took a life for Kritiker and told himself there was nothing to be sorry for. How could someone living for revenge *have* a conscience?
He was a murderer. No. A killer. That was all. Aya-chan was awake now and that dark voice had been right. He had no excuses now. He had no reason to think himself clean enough to be with her. She would have been better off without him. What good had his longed-for revenge done her, anyway? They had still lost everything. She had lost more. She had lost her parents *and* her brother. The Ran she'd known was long dead and long buried within the creature that had stolen her name and worn it like a shield to keep all the darkness and all the death away from himself. Coward.
He stared up at the ceiling and at the faint play of shadows there, at the patches of pitch-black darkness shifting across the uniform gray of shaded white and for a brief moment, he hated Youji. If it hadn't been for Youji, Aya-chan would still be safe, far away from him--from them--and the darkness that hunted them, that had followed them like a bloodhound hot on a trail. If it weren't for Youji, he would still be watching her in secret, silently thankful that she was awake, and unharmed, and as safe as one could hope to be in a city like Tokyo. He should *never* have let Youji talk him into seeing Aya-chan. Nevermind how happy she'd been to see him, to meet them.
~#~
He'd stood on the other side of the street for a long, long time. Just watching. Watching and fearing and trying to formulate something to say. Wondering if he should do this. If he *could* do this.
His mind, however, refused to settle on the matter. His mind seemed more interested in noting the way the wind was blowing down the street and how it was chillier now than it had been when they'd left the trailer. In noting the way an empty can had blown down the sidewalk, clattering until it caught on a display stand. In the silence that followed it, was the soft sound of birdsong, and his eyes went to the phone line strung across the street and the small creature perched there, one of the few not yet gone for the winter. Maybe it had been left by its flock and was even now trying to find them, singing and expecting something other than silence in return. The bird was watching him and he looked away, feeling a sudden nervous cramping of his stomach.
The shop, he'd noticed, hadn't changed much since the day they'd loaded a few of their belongings into the trailer and left for Kyoto. It had been, actually, in better shape. The glass hadn't been smudged as it had always been back when they'd worked here--the result of having many school children around and of Youji neglecting his duties. There was a new sign hung where Ken's old one used to--this one decorated with love-hearts and butterflies instead of flowers and sunshines and clouds--announcing a new shipment of summer-flowers. Greenhouse grown and ridiculously popular in the winter despite their also ridiculous price. People found warmth wherever they, could, he supposed, when they were surrounded by cold.
He remembered those small details better than whatever he'd finally said, what she'd said. He remembered them better than he did the expression of shock and surprise in eyes he could barely bring himself to meet.
From across the street Aya had looked . . . like Aya. Bright and young as he remembered her. Through the glass, he'd been able to see her mouth moving, and realized she was chattering to someone. It made him smile. He'd missed the sound of her voice. He'd remembered how she'd used to chatter at him, how she used to spin around in the middle of their house to show off the way her skirts swirled around her.
Don't I look like a princess, Ran-nii?
You're not dignified enough to be a princess.
RAN. NII. CHAN!!!
She'd moved about the flower shop as they had, tending the blooms and maybe singing under her breath like Ken, maybe talking to the flowers like Omi, insisting it helped them grow when Youji teased him.
It seemed too long ago now. Watching her was like watching a past life, like seeing a ghost. He could almost see their own specters lingering about her, Ken talking away soundlessly, Omi's eyes bright as he laughed silently, Youji striking poses in the doorway and peering over the top of his dark glasses at them, wordlessly asking what they thought and was he sexy as all hell or *what*? Himself, blinking at him and wondering what he should say or if he should say anything.
They'd been lost then. Maybe more even than they were now. But he'd had a strange longing for those days back in the shop and it pulled at him in a way that was not altogether painful, yet not all together pleasant.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against cold, chilled brick and watching her and the phantoms of the past. Wasn't sure how long he stood huddled deep in his coat and in his thoughts, face hidden by the raised collar and bright hair concealed beneath a hat. Just to keep out the cold. He wasn't here to watch in anonymous silence this time. He was here to say hello to his family and his blood for the first time in a long, long while. And for the first time in an even longer while, he had a hope of getting a reply. The thought was intoxicating. He was almost giddy with it. So no, the clothes--the thick coat and dark cap--weren't for concealment's sake this time. They were there because despite the mildness of the autumn day he couldn't stop shivering.
Youji had finally nudged him, a gentle elbow to the ribs that wasn't meant to hurt, but had anyway. His entire chest had ached. He'd felt short of breath. He'd felt like he was being choked and maybe crushed. Like something hard and heavy and painful had lodged itself in his throat. The sound he'd tried to make in protest to Youji's gesture never made it past that obstruction. It just died there and added to the pain. He swallowed against it. Hard. Had felt it shift a little, but not dissolve.
I can't do this.
Sure you can. You said you would. You *promised*. Besides. I want my room back.
He had no memory of actually pushing off the brick wall. No memory of stepping off the curb and into the street, of walking across it. Oddly, his mind had been instead chosen to record the warmth of Youji's hand on his shoulder and the hard thump of his heart in his chest.
The little silver bells on the door had chimed, announcing their entry. A familiar sound that rang distantly in his ears like a childhood memory. Like the echo of Aya's laughter and for a moment his mind had focused on that. On small flashes of memory as he tried to find some of his customary composure as the bell sounded again, jarred by the impact of the door closing behind Youji.
The sound of that metallic chiming brought the specters back, taking him away from this moment he had wanted and dreaded for so long. In his memory, the bell jangled as Ken rushed in and shook the rain off his clothes and out of his hair, sending droplets flying across the shop. The same bell, the same chiming tones as a past shadow of Omi bounced in, shoving a sheaf of papers under Youji's nose.
Ha! A-plus! Pay up, Youji-kun!!
The same bell, tinkling softly as Youji slid out into the night as adorned as a peacock but smooth as a cat on the prowl. That same bell, stirred by the wind when the door was propped open on particularly hot days.
And then Youji's voice, drawing him back to where he'd longed to be all this time and from which he now wished he could flee.
Aya?
Yes?
She hadn't recognized him. She had blinked at Youji for knowing her name, obviously trying to place him. She had asked if they had met before and would he like some flowers?
And then silence. A long, uncomfortable silence that dragged on and begged to be broken. He could clearly remember the words wanting to be said, waiting to be voiced. They'd burned in his throat and died there, just as the tears had died before they'd ever found freedom. And he'd swallowed hard again--as he had countless times this day and the one before, tense with apprehension, feeling stupid and helpless. Feeling that this was perhaps, the greatest mistake he'd ever made, but he *had* promised that he would talk to her today.
He'd tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn't sound ludicrous and out of place, very aware the entire time of Youji, standing close, silently urging him on, silently lending support. Adding to the tumult in his mind. He hadn't needed Youji there to see this, hadn't need him to witness this if he made some stupid mistake. If she pushed him out the door and slammed it in his face. But he would never be able to do this without him, either. Without his help.
In the end, he hadn't needed to say anything. Aya's eyes were locked on him. Had been ever since he'd stepped from the shelter of Youji's shadow, where he had been effectively obscured by Youji's taller frame. She looked scared and doubtful and hopeful and nervous, and then her eyes widened in disbelief and she'd darted forward--far quicker than he'd ever thought she could be--and snatched the hat off his head, freeing bright, distinctive locks.
They'd' all three frozen. Aya in delighted, disbelieving surprise, and Youji in pure startlement, maybe, or maybe because his instincts were screaming at the sudden movement and his brain busy shouting them down. And him? He'd stood there too petrified to move, because Aya's impulsive action had ripped all control of the situation out of his hands.
She'd stared at him, and he'd stared back for a long, long time. And then he'd mustered what had left of his failing nerves and courage and said it, and even when he had, no sudden warmth had come flooding back to chase away the chill and the lingering shivers. So he'd waited, half-afraid she wouldn't answer. But she had, and she'd sounded breathless and happy like she'd just had a miracle bestowed upon her. And she'd laughed and it was an exact copy of the way she sounded in his memories. It sounded like the echo that had haunted him for so long, out of reach. She was alive as he remembered her being *before* all this. She was everything he'd hoped and fought and bled for and as she rushed forward to hug him, as her arms locked around him and she buried her face against his coat, he felt...nothing.
Hello . . . Aya.
Ran-nii!! I've missed you so much!
~#~
Lying awake in the darkened hospital room, staring at shadow-draped white walls and thinking of that day, he was pretty sure he had died long, long ago. And maybe last night had just been his body trying to catch up with his soul.
~#~
Youji was waiting for her. He was standing in the lobby, leaning against a wall by the administration desk and chatting up the nurses when she finally stepped through the glass sliding doors, still shoving her cartoon- character wallet into her dark leather purse. A contradiction there. A child's wallet, a grown woman's purse. Somehow she felt it suited her, a young girl inside an increasingly adult body.
She'd had the wallet awhile now, a gift from Ran, while the purse was newer, purchased herself from the window of a clothing store she'd visited with Youji in tow. He hadn't said anything about her purchasing it, either, the way Ran might have, save to tell her that she didn't need to anything but who she felt she was, no matter what she might be on the outside. If you feel sixteen, hell, act sixteen.
Youji. She smiled at the thought and at the memory and at him, as he glanced up and caught her eye. He smiled back. That now familiar Youji smirk that usually sparkled, sultry and flirty and surprisingly boyish. She glared at it, silently telling him she knew him, and she could see through that act, so knock it off. He did, straightening, taking his weight off the wall and saying something to the nurses who nodded and smiled at him and then at her.
She smiled politely back and bowed slightly to them before turning to Youji and narrowing her eyes at him in silent disapproval. He actually had the grace to look embarrassed. To look guilty.
"You hung up on me, Youji-niichan. You hung up without even telling me where you were." She told him, deadly quiet, and he blinked, scrutinizing her over the top of his shades, then grinned.
"Sorry. I had a lot on my mind. I was gonna call back."
"Oh?"
"Look, Aya-chan, I--"
"Are they okay?" God, how she'd been wanting to ask that. That question had repeated itself in her mind throughout the day. Over and over until her stomach churned and she felt torn between breaking down in tears and vomiting.
"Well, " She could hear the hesitation in it as Youji raked his long fingers through his hair, wincing when they caught. He looked like he'd slept badly, if at all, and like he needed a shower and maybe some hot soup. "I don't know. Omi's fine, or will be. He woke up already, but was asleep when I left the room and Aya..."
"And Aya?" She prompted, impatient. Put on edge by the way Youji was drawing this out. By the way he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"Well, he was in pretty bad shape and still out of it when I came down here. I think he'll be okay, though, Aya-chan, really. He's not weak, your brother. Okay?"
It wasn't okay. It was far, far form 'okay'. It was a catastrophe. A disaster. It meant Ran had been unconscious for over twelve hours now, if she counted from the time Youji had called her, and something inside her said that whatever had happened to them had happened long before. "Sure, Youji-niichan." She said, as one hand tightened on her bag.
"God, Aya-chan. I'm sorry. If I could have done anything to stop this, anything at all, I would have. You don't deserve to lose him again. Sorry."
"It's okay." She muttered, as she followed him to the elevator, but all she could think was that people seemed to be apologizing a lot to her these days.
Quietly, she followed Youji to the elevators, then blinked when he took the stairs instead, and trailed after him. She was tired. Tired from crying and worrying and not knowing. Something evil and menacing in the back of her mind kept telling her that Ran would die and leave her alone. She had to remind it that she had Omi and Ken and Youji, and Momoe-san and even Sakura. She would never be alone unless it was by her own choice.
Youji must have noticed her preoccupation, because he stopped on the landing, just above her and leaned over on folded arms, green eyes dark and serious. "Aya-chan. He'll be okay. I promise." And she looked up, wondering how in the world he could promise such a thing, when it was certainly not in his power to do anything about it. She was going to tell him what her father had told her, that a promise was a promise and not to be made lightly. That you shouldn't make them if you couldn't keep them. But then she thought that maybe Youji knew that already.
"He'd better be." She said instead, climbing the last few steps that separated them and taking his hand the way she'd taken Ran's as he led her up to the grave where their parent were buried. She remembered Ran looking away over the sea as she read the inscription on the stone and dissolved into tears, only now really believing what he had told her. Only now realizing that they were really dead and gone.
Only Ran wasn't dead. Youji had promised her. Youji had promised he would be okay. She tightened her grip on his hand and stepped past him, anxiously pulling him up the stairs. "Come *on*, Youji-niichan!"
"Slow down. I'm tired."
"*You* took the stairs." She reminded him, not slowing her pace in the slightest. "What floor?"
"Jeez, Aya-chan. You're almost as bad as Ken." Youji's complaint was meant in jest, though, and he grinned as he stepped past her and into a hallway. It was long and straight as hospital hallways tended to be, with doors opening onto it and signs suspended from the ceiling and tacked to the walls, warning off smokers and young children.
She followed Youji down it, never letting go of his hand, feeling suddenly younger than even her time asleep could account for, and scared. "You promised." She reminded him, trying to sound like Ran, strong and firm. It came out a soft whisper instead. Youji nodded anyway.
"I know." He replied as he opened a door for her and stood to one side to let her pass. She looked at him and at the names on the wall beside him and slipped in, taking a deep breath as she did.
Inside it was dark. Not pitch dark, but just gloomy. Comfortable and cozy or creepy and lonely, depending on one's mood. Omi was asleep, curled like a cat among sheets and magazines, nearly hidden beneath white blankets. Ken's head rested on the edge of the mattress, pillowed on tanned, folded arms and rumpled, glossy pages.
Omi was okay. Youji *hadn't* lied. And Ken was okay, too. She'd heard him on the phone, yelling and arguing with Youji, but to see him actually unharmed was reassuring. It gave her the courage to step forward and go to her tiptoes to peer at Ran's bed, over by the windows. She couldn't see anything but a few locks of his red hair. He, like Omi, was covered in blankets, and obscured by them. A deep breath to gather her nerves, and another to gather her courage, and then she walked up to the side of the bed. "Aya-niichan?"
He blinked. Opened his eyes and blinked. And she stumbled backwards and nearly knocked Ken out of his seat. As it was he grumbled a groggy, "Wassat?" And went back to sleep, not at all disturbed by the pounding of her heart. It sounded deafeningly loud in her ears.
He was okay. Oh God. The relief made her knees wobbly and she grasped the railing of the bed so she could take a deep breath and steady herself. Paused to calm herself. To make sure she wouldn't look so pale and worried when she stepped closer to Ran's side.
"Aya-niichan?" He blinked at her again, violet eyes huge and dilated, red bangs flopping back as if they had been brushed out of his face. She took the seat Ken had vacated--under duress from Youji--and scooted it nearer his bed. He looked worse than she had thought he would. She couldn't really have imagined this. Couldn't have imagined him looking so much paler that he usually did. So white she almost expected him to be translucent. Expected him to fade into mist as soon as she touched him. Just to be safe, she kept her hands folded in her lap.
"Aya?" Youji. Hanging over her shoulder and peering down at him, grinning like a loon. "Are you okay?"
"A-Aya?" Ran echoed, blinking owlishly at her, looking so much like the Ran she used to know that the tears almost started again. She sniffled them back and smiled. She didn't want to worry him. Didn't want to upset him. She had to be sunshine and cheer like Omi was, because that was what Ran was looking for when he looked at her.
"Aya-niichan." She said again, just to see the recognition come into clouded eyes.
"Youji?" He asked, and his voice was soft, and hoarse and weak. She wondered what could have happened to him and to Omi. What sort of 'business' could leave them both looking like something left over from a funeral. What could put that dark look into Ken's eyes as he stood, slouching against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd been propped there. Like he would collapse without the support. Or like he was going to slide down it and to the floor at any moment. And she wondered what could put that grim look on Youji's face as he leaned over to let Ran see him.
"I'm right here."
"Hn." Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe not. It was hard to tell with Ran these days. His eyes closed again and didn't open for a long time. When they did, they were darker than before, but bright, locked disconcertingly to her face as a gamut of emotions flashed through them. She wondered if Ran knew how much his eyes betrayed him. What she didn't see on his face anymore was often reflected there. Fear, sometimes. Most often sadness and despair, and an unfamiliar dark look she had no tag for. And at this moment all of those were present, most especially that dark look. And the fear. And she wondered what he had to be afraid of, because right now it looked for all the world like he was afraid of *her.*
"Aya-chan!" Ken's voice came blurrily from the darkness. A belated greeting, as if he had just now woken enough to notice her. He sounded tired, and when she looked over she saw that he had indeed crumpled to the floor, resting against the wall with his head on his knees. "When'd you get here?"
Yes, he *had* just noticed her. She smiled, and it was genuine this time, not just politeness. Ran was okay and, acting strange or not, that was a heavy burden lifted from her heart. "Just a few minutes ago, Ken- nii." She told him, not really wanting to look back at Ran's pale, bruised face, even if his oddly terrified eyes had slid shut again in exhausted slumber.
"She called the hospital and left a message." Youji said, also glancing over at Ken. He'd seated himself on the edge of Omi's bed, and was absently patting his ruffled blonde hair. Pushing it down just to watch it spring up again when he removed the weight of his hand. He looked hypnotized, and with his shades pushed up on top of his head, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. "Told me to meet her downstairs. I figured you could handle things here."
"Would have been nice for you to say something." Ken gamely tried to argue.
"Apparently you fell asleep on the job."
"I was *already* asleep when you left, wiseass."
Youji yawned, looked up, then back down at Omi and sighed, and gave up. " I guess." And that made Aya blink, because she had never seen either of the two give in on an argument no matter how pointless. Ken blinked at it too, then shrugged, not looking the slightest bit pleased with his victory, maybe even looking unhappy with it, and asked, "*You* called *him*? How'd you know where we were anyway, Aya-chan?"
How'd she know where they were, anyway? So. They hadn't told her on purpose? Well, well, well. She casually flicked a dark braid over one shoulder. "Manx-san." She said. And smirked.
Ken's eyes got big. Like large brown saucers. And Youji jumped away from her as if he'd been stung, then narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, as if to ascertain it was really her and not yet another doppelganger.
"Is that a problem?" She asked, large eyed, innocent. Smug as anything now that she knew she'd been intentionally kept in the dark.
Ken muttered, "God, weaseling information our of *Manx*, of all people." And Youji sighed heavily and said, "Aya. You *promised*."
"And I didn't break them. *She* talked to me first. *And* I didn't ask her *a thing*." It was an effort of will not to stick her tongue out at him. Not to gloat when he blinked in consternation and gave her that look her father used to just before he gave in to her demands and told her she should become a lawyer.
Instead she just glared back at him and then, despite everything, she grinned, flashing a wink at Youji's troubled, thoughtful gaze, before she swung her own eyes back to Ran's still, sleeping form.
What little information she had managed to wring out of the red- haired woman Youji had warned her away from was scant--nothing more than the name of this hospital. And even now Aya couldn't tell if she had been told or if the words had accidentally slipped out. Wasn't really sure if her own leading remarks and conversation had had any thing to do with it. What she was sure of was that somehow these things hung together. The two mysterious women, the promise Youji had extracted from her, the nights when all four of them--Youji, Ran, Omi, and Ken--came home late at night, without a word of explanation. And now this.
She could almost see the thread that tied this all together. Almost, but not quite. And somehow, she thought, she would figure out what it was. She would just have to work *around* that promise she'd made Youji.
A promise was, after all, a promise, and not to be made lightly.
~TBC, if anyone still wants more.
Author: dragonflyred7
Pairings: Slight YoujixAya(kun)-ness (Any objections? *glares at the rankens*) Don't worry. Its not scary. Its barely even there. I promise to try harder to bring the boys together.
Teaser:Mou! Time to change the teaser, since its not the same story anymore. Aya falls apart, and Aya-chan has to find out why, and maybe put him back together. If she can. Expect this to change as the story evolves (Or: randomly mutates). The damned thing has its own mind, and the weiss boys are being equally stubborn.
Rating and warnings: PG-13(?) For violence, angst, shounen ai (kind of), and language.
Spoilers: Many, from all over the place (anime series, assassin and white shaman, etc), and not necessarily overly correct. List goes on indefinitely, but I improvise/change anything I don't know or doesn't fit the plot. (Just pretend I have one ^^;)
Status: In progress. But if you all hate it, I can drag it out back and shoot it in the head for you. It's a first fic. Be gentle. Also, I have a really bad track record for finishing things I start.
Archive: Why would you ever want it? But if you do, e-mail me first and tell me where it is so I can go ooh and aah at it.
Thanks to: Yen, who wrote the fic, 'Aya's Scheme'. Something Youji says in that inspired the title of this one. It all grew from there. And a HUGE thanks to Amari, who beta-ed this section and put up with my ellipses. *winces* I was in an ellipse mood, I think, when I wrote this. I can't see why people take the time out from their busy lives to beta for fic writers, but I'm glad they do. *hugs*
Disclaimer: I'm using Weiss and it's characters without permission. This story is written for fun only and I'm not making any money off of it. All characters and most of everything else belong to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, and not, unfortunately, to me.
Okay, chibis:
*this* is emphasis, and this is thoughts and memories, anything going on in someone's head. (was / /this/ /) Got it?
Additional Author's notes, or, Last time, on SRITB:
It's been a while, so I thought I'd better do a quick recap, for those of you who don't want to read everything over again or just need a quick reminder. In part one, Aya went crazy on a mission, messed the whole thing up for everyone and nearly got Omi and himself killed when their bombs went off. In part two, Youji phoned Aya-chan to tell her Aya and Omi are in hospital. In part four, Youji worries and Omi tells how they escaped. Aya has nasty dreams.
A quick note on names, or what this idiot should have explained ages ago:
This is confusing. I confused myself. It's about the Aya, Aya-chan, Ran thing and who calls who what. And, since it's been a while, I thought I'd go over this, too. What's explained in part two: Aya-chan calls Aya 'Ran' in her thoughts and 'Aya-niichan' out loud. What's not explained but just is: Youji, Ken, and Omi call Aya-chan 'Aya-chan' and Aya-Ran 'Aya'. There's a little more on the name thing in this chapter, but if anyone is still confused at the end of it, feel free to mail me and bawl me out. Oh yeah, this means you have to look out for POVs, but you knew that, right?
One last thing, or begging shamelessly:
C&C, onegaaaiiiii? *sniff* Chapters come out quicker when I get feedback. Really. *tries to look convincing*
########
steel runs in the blood
by dragonflyred7
scene 3: white walls
Late evening. The brilliant hues painting the sky already fading away into soft indigo. Soon, the color would deepen to purple, then deep velvet blue, and then there would be only dark blackness. Imperfect, broken all over by the bright points of city lights and by the roar of passing vehicles.
Up here though, that sound was muffled, and the curtains were pulled close to filter out the prying lights and the soft whir and chirp of summer insects, which had come out now that the day was cooler. The only whir here was that of the air conditioner, almost uncomfortably chilly though he had blankets piled over him and pulled close.
At home the sounds of the city and of the night would have been close by, just outside the window of his room, or maybe *in* the room if he'd left the glass open during the day, admitting some small creature. Sometimes, when Ken forgot to close the door after himself, the whole building would be filled with them and Youji's cursing. At home, the darkness would have been deeper. Still diluted and fractioned by the illumination of billboards, and passing cars, but unpunctured by the small bright lights of machinery. Undisturbed by the constant beeping that seemed to come from somewhere nearby. Unbroken by soft snoring and by the sound of someone shifting in their sleep.
At home, the ceiling wasn't this white. It was a little yellowed with age and the plaster a little cracked from someone having banged nails into it sometime before it had become his room. He had wondered about that, many times, as he lay awake over many, many nights. What would have been hung from those nails? Lamps, perhaps? Maybe a mobile like the one Aya-chan used to have in her room, long ago. An elegant, costly thing of crystal and cut glass that had refracted and reflected the light in little rainbows. Much like the ones that were even now dancing in the corners of his vision.
Even blinking, he couldn't seem to clear his eyes, couldn't make the objects around him stop blurring in and out of focus, stop dancing and wavering. He sighed, surrounded by uncertain shadows whose shapes he couldn't interpret, despite the light filtering in from outside. Well, no. He could put a name to some of them.
The bulky huddled shape to his left could only be Ken, sleeping with his chin on folded arms and Youji's jacket over his head and shoulders, changing his outline so that he looked larger than he really was, and shapeless. It had to be Ken, the way he was snoring and muttering. The way he shifted and sighed and cursed in his sleep before going peacefully still again. It was his voice Aya recognized first, the first thing that had hinted at where he was. And working from that, he could guess that the *other* shadow--a much smaller shape curled on the other bed and breathing deeply and steadily, completely dead to the world--was almost definitely Omi. So exhausted that he wasn't even dreaming like Ken was.
And that was two. He had been unable for a long time to find the third. Had cast about the room with imperfect vision and heightening panic, willing the veiled objects to coalesce into something he could recognize. Something familiar. Maybe into Youji, though it was just as likely that Youji was dead through his--Aya's--folly. Through his damned weakness and idiocy. Maybe that was what Ken was muttering and whimpering about. Maybe he had gotten Youji killed, just as he'd gotten Omi hurt. He wished they'd wake up. He could determine just *how* badly he'd wronged them if they woke up. He could ask where the hell Youji was.
Maybe. If his voice cooperated. He'd tried to wake Ken already, but his voice come out in a dry croak, and then in a feeble whisper. Not enough to disturb Ken's slumber when he was flat out tired like Aya was sure they all were. And definitely not enough to wake Omi if Ken's muffled grumbling wasn't bothering him.
But then, if either of them did wake, if he did have the strength to speak . . .. Would he *want* to ask? Would he really want to *know* if Youji were dead and his body abandoned somewhere? It would be his fault, after all, and he didn't know if he could carry that burden along with all the others. Not when it seemed that all the demons of his past and all his fears for and of the future were conspiring to drag him down, to submerge and drown him. To know Youji was dead, and to *know*, beyond a doubt, that he was the cause of it. So, would he want to ask? He probably wouldn't have the courage. Not that it mattered. He didn't want to hear the words anyway.
Aya . . . Youji's dead . . . I'm sorry Aya.
Just the thought of the words hurt. A familiar stab of agony that gathered into a hard ball in his chest, tightening like a fist until he reminded himself to breathe, he didn't know anything yet. Youji could be fine, laughing and smoking or flirting somewhere, just as well as he could be cold and hard and dead. Besides, why did he expect Youji to be here, anyway? Youji wasn't the sort of person who would willingly sit still in a quiet, bland hospital room with nothing to do but watch over some idiot who'd nearly gotten Omi killed.
And he knew how fond Youji was of Omi. Knew because Youji went out of his way to make Omi's life as difficult as humanly possible. 'Helping' him with his school work, 'helping' him to get dates, 'helping' him to be adult and mature and all of the things Youji couldn't seem to manage for himself, but felt perfectly capable of tutoring others in. And Ken was looking after Omi, so why would Youji want to be in here with *him*?
A soft sigh. Strange how much even that shallow breath hurt. It shouldn't be enough to hurt like that. He closed his eyes against the pain and thought again, curiously, of Youji. Looking for comfort? Comfort which somehow came with Youji's company when he wasn't smoking like a whole damned industry district and making every effort to be a general and all- around pain in the butt. It had been Youji who had talked him into finally going to see his sister. Youji who had gone with him on that first, terrifying meeting as moral support, 'cause you can't run forever, Aya, and because she needs to know you're okay.
'Sides. I want my room back. I'm sick of bunking with you guys.
And somehow, Youji always managed to be *there* when Aya--when any of them--needed him. Not necessarily *doing* anything--helpful or otherwise-- because activity was just too much to ask, especially of Youji. But not necessarily *saying* anything either. Just *there*.
And what if he's not anymore? What if he *is* dead?
Aya contemplated that for a while, turning it over in his mind as he gazed at the immaculate ceiling. White. A hateful color. The red and orange that had been playing across it, staining it, gone now. There was hardly any light filtering in from outside now, and Aya wasn't sure if he was thankful for the coming dark or not. So what if Youji was dead? He had promised himself he wouldn't care. About any of them. He could survive well enough on his own, without whatever it was that Youji carried with him. Comfort, friendship. Whatever it was, he didn't need it. He could survive well enough on his own.
What he needed was something to distract his thoughts. Needed something else to think on, something to listen to other than the silence and the sounds of Ken and Omi deep in slumber. He needed something to take his mind off the flowershop and what it would be like without Youji. What it would be like not to have to open all the shop windows to get rid off all the smoke before any customers showed up. What it would be like to have to make his *own* coffee, because Ken, with his sweet tooth, didn't touch the stuff and Omi only drank it if someone else would make it *for* him. Youji practically lived off the stuff. Youji somehow had a pot of it on before he was even out of bed.
It would be *his* fault that Youji was gone. Dead. He would be dead because of Aya and because Aya was weak. Because *Aya* didn't have it in him to *not* fuck up and turn a simple in and out mission into an absolute disaster.
But then, the people around him *always* died. And the best he could do for himself and for them was to push them away. He had been--How could he . . .? How could he have been so foolish and so *stupid* as to let them all slide through his armor? *Especially* Youji? Youji, who'd tied so hard to get through it, at first. He couldn't keep them safe. That was all Omi. Omi, who, with his amazing, light-speed hard-drive of a brain, had them all stunned. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to strike him to get his mind back on the job. He couldn't forget that Omi'd had to prop him up and practically carry him towards the door.
God. And he was supposed to be watching *Omi's* back? *He* was supposed to be keeping *Omi* safe? He hadn't even been able to keep *himself* safe. In the end, Omi'd have been better off without him. In the end, *he* was the one who'd needed help. So how was he supposed to take care of *them*? He'd been pushed to his limits just trying to keep *Aya- chan* safe. Beyond his limits. He'd needed *help* to do it. Needed help to get her back. He hadn't even been able to do that much on his own.
Aya-chan.
Strange how well and how easily that name flowed off his tongue and through his mind, when always before she'd simply been 'Aya'. It had been easy in his thoughts to call her that. Easy for her to remain 'Aya' when he had never had to speak the name to anyone but her.
Aya. Sorry I'm late today. I had to work late last night.
I'm so sorry this happened to you, Aya. I should never have let go of your hand.
Aya, I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday. But look! I brought you flowers.
Aya . . .. I'm sorry.
He'd had to school himself to call her Aya-chan. To use that name *every* time he referred to her, whether it was out loud or not. Because if *she* was Aya-chan, then he could remain Aya. And if he could be Aya, he wouldn't have to be Ran, even in his own thoughts. So she was Aya-chan, and he was whoever he had been all these years, lost somewhere within himself.
He couldn't protect her. He couldn't protect *anyone*. Not his family. Not his parents. Not Aya-chan. Whenever he closed his eyes he could still see them dying. A shadow of thought almost as painful as the still replaying nightmare of watching Aya-chan being hit by that car. Over and over and over. But he'd had his revenge, and he had *her*, so why didn't it stop?
But he didn't want to think about that. Or about how fearing for Omi had felt so similar to fearing for her. It lacked the bitter panic, true, but the *grief* the sense of *failure* he'd felt was almost identical.
He could hardly even remember what had happened that night, other than a few scattered, oddly clear images. Fogged recollections that made so little sense that they must have been the remnants of a dream. Mostly, he recalled only the darkness. Comforting, soothing, terrifying. Possessive. That darkness had a claim on him that *nothing* could shake loose. And if that darkness wanted him to fail, he would fail. He had never *been* strong enough to deny anything to those seductive shadows, never been able to lie to the voice that echoed from them. In the hall of that office building, he'd discovered again that there was no defense against its simple truths.
I wonder if you even care anymore how many you kill? Or maybe you've killed so many that it doesn't matter anymore.
He hadn't known, when it had come for the first time, reasoning in its quiet, mocking tones. When it had first come, whispering in the dead of night, he had been tempted to blame it all on an old adversary and to fall back on the safety of its being someone else's doing, someone else in his mind. And he didn't *know* whose voice it had been that pulled him from that hall and into whatever dark place he had been, but in spite of his denial and his internal arguments and fears, and in spite of the lingering haze still in his mind, he knew it must have been himself. He knew the German's voice too well by now, and knew too intimately the brush of another mind against his own consciousness. And while he'd have liked to blame such lack of control on Shuldich, he was honest enough to admit that his touch had been notably absent.
So it must be coming from somewhere within himself. From some dark corner of his mind, where, maybe, his conscience was coming back to life. He thought he'd killed it years ago when he'd taken his first life for Kritiker and told himself there was *nothing* to be sorry for. *Every* time he took a life for Kritiker and told himself there was nothing to be sorry for. How could someone living for revenge *have* a conscience?
He was a murderer. No. A killer. That was all. Aya-chan was awake now and that dark voice had been right. He had no excuses now. He had no reason to think himself clean enough to be with her. She would have been better off without him. What good had his longed-for revenge done her, anyway? They had still lost everything. She had lost more. She had lost her parents *and* her brother. The Ran she'd known was long dead and long buried within the creature that had stolen her name and worn it like a shield to keep all the darkness and all the death away from himself. Coward.
He stared up at the ceiling and at the faint play of shadows there, at the patches of pitch-black darkness shifting across the uniform gray of shaded white and for a brief moment, he hated Youji. If it hadn't been for Youji, Aya-chan would still be safe, far away from him--from them--and the darkness that hunted them, that had followed them like a bloodhound hot on a trail. If it weren't for Youji, he would still be watching her in secret, silently thankful that she was awake, and unharmed, and as safe as one could hope to be in a city like Tokyo. He should *never* have let Youji talk him into seeing Aya-chan. Nevermind how happy she'd been to see him, to meet them.
~#~
He'd stood on the other side of the street for a long, long time. Just watching. Watching and fearing and trying to formulate something to say. Wondering if he should do this. If he *could* do this.
His mind, however, refused to settle on the matter. His mind seemed more interested in noting the way the wind was blowing down the street and how it was chillier now than it had been when they'd left the trailer. In noting the way an empty can had blown down the sidewalk, clattering until it caught on a display stand. In the silence that followed it, was the soft sound of birdsong, and his eyes went to the phone line strung across the street and the small creature perched there, one of the few not yet gone for the winter. Maybe it had been left by its flock and was even now trying to find them, singing and expecting something other than silence in return. The bird was watching him and he looked away, feeling a sudden nervous cramping of his stomach.
The shop, he'd noticed, hadn't changed much since the day they'd loaded a few of their belongings into the trailer and left for Kyoto. It had been, actually, in better shape. The glass hadn't been smudged as it had always been back when they'd worked here--the result of having many school children around and of Youji neglecting his duties. There was a new sign hung where Ken's old one used to--this one decorated with love-hearts and butterflies instead of flowers and sunshines and clouds--announcing a new shipment of summer-flowers. Greenhouse grown and ridiculously popular in the winter despite their also ridiculous price. People found warmth wherever they, could, he supposed, when they were surrounded by cold.
He remembered those small details better than whatever he'd finally said, what she'd said. He remembered them better than he did the expression of shock and surprise in eyes he could barely bring himself to meet.
From across the street Aya had looked . . . like Aya. Bright and young as he remembered her. Through the glass, he'd been able to see her mouth moving, and realized she was chattering to someone. It made him smile. He'd missed the sound of her voice. He'd remembered how she'd used to chatter at him, how she used to spin around in the middle of their house to show off the way her skirts swirled around her.
Don't I look like a princess, Ran-nii?
You're not dignified enough to be a princess.
RAN. NII. CHAN!!!
She'd moved about the flower shop as they had, tending the blooms and maybe singing under her breath like Ken, maybe talking to the flowers like Omi, insisting it helped them grow when Youji teased him.
It seemed too long ago now. Watching her was like watching a past life, like seeing a ghost. He could almost see their own specters lingering about her, Ken talking away soundlessly, Omi's eyes bright as he laughed silently, Youji striking poses in the doorway and peering over the top of his dark glasses at them, wordlessly asking what they thought and was he sexy as all hell or *what*? Himself, blinking at him and wondering what he should say or if he should say anything.
They'd been lost then. Maybe more even than they were now. But he'd had a strange longing for those days back in the shop and it pulled at him in a way that was not altogether painful, yet not all together pleasant.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against cold, chilled brick and watching her and the phantoms of the past. Wasn't sure how long he stood huddled deep in his coat and in his thoughts, face hidden by the raised collar and bright hair concealed beneath a hat. Just to keep out the cold. He wasn't here to watch in anonymous silence this time. He was here to say hello to his family and his blood for the first time in a long, long while. And for the first time in an even longer while, he had a hope of getting a reply. The thought was intoxicating. He was almost giddy with it. So no, the clothes--the thick coat and dark cap--weren't for concealment's sake this time. They were there because despite the mildness of the autumn day he couldn't stop shivering.
Youji had finally nudged him, a gentle elbow to the ribs that wasn't meant to hurt, but had anyway. His entire chest had ached. He'd felt short of breath. He'd felt like he was being choked and maybe crushed. Like something hard and heavy and painful had lodged itself in his throat. The sound he'd tried to make in protest to Youji's gesture never made it past that obstruction. It just died there and added to the pain. He swallowed against it. Hard. Had felt it shift a little, but not dissolve.
I can't do this.
Sure you can. You said you would. You *promised*. Besides. I want my room back.
He had no memory of actually pushing off the brick wall. No memory of stepping off the curb and into the street, of walking across it. Oddly, his mind had been instead chosen to record the warmth of Youji's hand on his shoulder and the hard thump of his heart in his chest.
The little silver bells on the door had chimed, announcing their entry. A familiar sound that rang distantly in his ears like a childhood memory. Like the echo of Aya's laughter and for a moment his mind had focused on that. On small flashes of memory as he tried to find some of his customary composure as the bell sounded again, jarred by the impact of the door closing behind Youji.
The sound of that metallic chiming brought the specters back, taking him away from this moment he had wanted and dreaded for so long. In his memory, the bell jangled as Ken rushed in and shook the rain off his clothes and out of his hair, sending droplets flying across the shop. The same bell, the same chiming tones as a past shadow of Omi bounced in, shoving a sheaf of papers under Youji's nose.
Ha! A-plus! Pay up, Youji-kun!!
The same bell, tinkling softly as Youji slid out into the night as adorned as a peacock but smooth as a cat on the prowl. That same bell, stirred by the wind when the door was propped open on particularly hot days.
And then Youji's voice, drawing him back to where he'd longed to be all this time and from which he now wished he could flee.
Aya?
Yes?
She hadn't recognized him. She had blinked at Youji for knowing her name, obviously trying to place him. She had asked if they had met before and would he like some flowers?
And then silence. A long, uncomfortable silence that dragged on and begged to be broken. He could clearly remember the words wanting to be said, waiting to be voiced. They'd burned in his throat and died there, just as the tears had died before they'd ever found freedom. And he'd swallowed hard again--as he had countless times this day and the one before, tense with apprehension, feeling stupid and helpless. Feeling that this was perhaps, the greatest mistake he'd ever made, but he *had* promised that he would talk to her today.
He'd tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn't sound ludicrous and out of place, very aware the entire time of Youji, standing close, silently urging him on, silently lending support. Adding to the tumult in his mind. He hadn't needed Youji there to see this, hadn't need him to witness this if he made some stupid mistake. If she pushed him out the door and slammed it in his face. But he would never be able to do this without him, either. Without his help.
In the end, he hadn't needed to say anything. Aya's eyes were locked on him. Had been ever since he'd stepped from the shelter of Youji's shadow, where he had been effectively obscured by Youji's taller frame. She looked scared and doubtful and hopeful and nervous, and then her eyes widened in disbelief and she'd darted forward--far quicker than he'd ever thought she could be--and snatched the hat off his head, freeing bright, distinctive locks.
They'd' all three frozen. Aya in delighted, disbelieving surprise, and Youji in pure startlement, maybe, or maybe because his instincts were screaming at the sudden movement and his brain busy shouting them down. And him? He'd stood there too petrified to move, because Aya's impulsive action had ripped all control of the situation out of his hands.
She'd stared at him, and he'd stared back for a long, long time. And then he'd mustered what had left of his failing nerves and courage and said it, and even when he had, no sudden warmth had come flooding back to chase away the chill and the lingering shivers. So he'd waited, half-afraid she wouldn't answer. But she had, and she'd sounded breathless and happy like she'd just had a miracle bestowed upon her. And she'd laughed and it was an exact copy of the way she sounded in his memories. It sounded like the echo that had haunted him for so long, out of reach. She was alive as he remembered her being *before* all this. She was everything he'd hoped and fought and bled for and as she rushed forward to hug him, as her arms locked around him and she buried her face against his coat, he felt...nothing.
Hello . . . Aya.
Ran-nii!! I've missed you so much!
~#~
Lying awake in the darkened hospital room, staring at shadow-draped white walls and thinking of that day, he was pretty sure he had died long, long ago. And maybe last night had just been his body trying to catch up with his soul.
~#~
Youji was waiting for her. He was standing in the lobby, leaning against a wall by the administration desk and chatting up the nurses when she finally stepped through the glass sliding doors, still shoving her cartoon- character wallet into her dark leather purse. A contradiction there. A child's wallet, a grown woman's purse. Somehow she felt it suited her, a young girl inside an increasingly adult body.
She'd had the wallet awhile now, a gift from Ran, while the purse was newer, purchased herself from the window of a clothing store she'd visited with Youji in tow. He hadn't said anything about her purchasing it, either, the way Ran might have, save to tell her that she didn't need to anything but who she felt she was, no matter what she might be on the outside. If you feel sixteen, hell, act sixteen.
Youji. She smiled at the thought and at the memory and at him, as he glanced up and caught her eye. He smiled back. That now familiar Youji smirk that usually sparkled, sultry and flirty and surprisingly boyish. She glared at it, silently telling him she knew him, and she could see through that act, so knock it off. He did, straightening, taking his weight off the wall and saying something to the nurses who nodded and smiled at him and then at her.
She smiled politely back and bowed slightly to them before turning to Youji and narrowing her eyes at him in silent disapproval. He actually had the grace to look embarrassed. To look guilty.
"You hung up on me, Youji-niichan. You hung up without even telling me where you were." She told him, deadly quiet, and he blinked, scrutinizing her over the top of his shades, then grinned.
"Sorry. I had a lot on my mind. I was gonna call back."
"Oh?"
"Look, Aya-chan, I--"
"Are they okay?" God, how she'd been wanting to ask that. That question had repeated itself in her mind throughout the day. Over and over until her stomach churned and she felt torn between breaking down in tears and vomiting.
"Well, " She could hear the hesitation in it as Youji raked his long fingers through his hair, wincing when they caught. He looked like he'd slept badly, if at all, and like he needed a shower and maybe some hot soup. "I don't know. Omi's fine, or will be. He woke up already, but was asleep when I left the room and Aya..."
"And Aya?" She prompted, impatient. Put on edge by the way Youji was drawing this out. By the way he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"Well, he was in pretty bad shape and still out of it when I came down here. I think he'll be okay, though, Aya-chan, really. He's not weak, your brother. Okay?"
It wasn't okay. It was far, far form 'okay'. It was a catastrophe. A disaster. It meant Ran had been unconscious for over twelve hours now, if she counted from the time Youji had called her, and something inside her said that whatever had happened to them had happened long before. "Sure, Youji-niichan." She said, as one hand tightened on her bag.
"God, Aya-chan. I'm sorry. If I could have done anything to stop this, anything at all, I would have. You don't deserve to lose him again. Sorry."
"It's okay." She muttered, as she followed him to the elevator, but all she could think was that people seemed to be apologizing a lot to her these days.
Quietly, she followed Youji to the elevators, then blinked when he took the stairs instead, and trailed after him. She was tired. Tired from crying and worrying and not knowing. Something evil and menacing in the back of her mind kept telling her that Ran would die and leave her alone. She had to remind it that she had Omi and Ken and Youji, and Momoe-san and even Sakura. She would never be alone unless it was by her own choice.
Youji must have noticed her preoccupation, because he stopped on the landing, just above her and leaned over on folded arms, green eyes dark and serious. "Aya-chan. He'll be okay. I promise." And she looked up, wondering how in the world he could promise such a thing, when it was certainly not in his power to do anything about it. She was going to tell him what her father had told her, that a promise was a promise and not to be made lightly. That you shouldn't make them if you couldn't keep them. But then she thought that maybe Youji knew that already.
"He'd better be." She said instead, climbing the last few steps that separated them and taking his hand the way she'd taken Ran's as he led her up to the grave where their parent were buried. She remembered Ran looking away over the sea as she read the inscription on the stone and dissolved into tears, only now really believing what he had told her. Only now realizing that they were really dead and gone.
Only Ran wasn't dead. Youji had promised her. Youji had promised he would be okay. She tightened her grip on his hand and stepped past him, anxiously pulling him up the stairs. "Come *on*, Youji-niichan!"
"Slow down. I'm tired."
"*You* took the stairs." She reminded him, not slowing her pace in the slightest. "What floor?"
"Jeez, Aya-chan. You're almost as bad as Ken." Youji's complaint was meant in jest, though, and he grinned as he stepped past her and into a hallway. It was long and straight as hospital hallways tended to be, with doors opening onto it and signs suspended from the ceiling and tacked to the walls, warning off smokers and young children.
She followed Youji down it, never letting go of his hand, feeling suddenly younger than even her time asleep could account for, and scared. "You promised." She reminded him, trying to sound like Ran, strong and firm. It came out a soft whisper instead. Youji nodded anyway.
"I know." He replied as he opened a door for her and stood to one side to let her pass. She looked at him and at the names on the wall beside him and slipped in, taking a deep breath as she did.
Inside it was dark. Not pitch dark, but just gloomy. Comfortable and cozy or creepy and lonely, depending on one's mood. Omi was asleep, curled like a cat among sheets and magazines, nearly hidden beneath white blankets. Ken's head rested on the edge of the mattress, pillowed on tanned, folded arms and rumpled, glossy pages.
Omi was okay. Youji *hadn't* lied. And Ken was okay, too. She'd heard him on the phone, yelling and arguing with Youji, but to see him actually unharmed was reassuring. It gave her the courage to step forward and go to her tiptoes to peer at Ran's bed, over by the windows. She couldn't see anything but a few locks of his red hair. He, like Omi, was covered in blankets, and obscured by them. A deep breath to gather her nerves, and another to gather her courage, and then she walked up to the side of the bed. "Aya-niichan?"
He blinked. Opened his eyes and blinked. And she stumbled backwards and nearly knocked Ken out of his seat. As it was he grumbled a groggy, "Wassat?" And went back to sleep, not at all disturbed by the pounding of her heart. It sounded deafeningly loud in her ears.
He was okay. Oh God. The relief made her knees wobbly and she grasped the railing of the bed so she could take a deep breath and steady herself. Paused to calm herself. To make sure she wouldn't look so pale and worried when she stepped closer to Ran's side.
"Aya-niichan?" He blinked at her again, violet eyes huge and dilated, red bangs flopping back as if they had been brushed out of his face. She took the seat Ken had vacated--under duress from Youji--and scooted it nearer his bed. He looked worse than she had thought he would. She couldn't really have imagined this. Couldn't have imagined him looking so much paler that he usually did. So white she almost expected him to be translucent. Expected him to fade into mist as soon as she touched him. Just to be safe, she kept her hands folded in her lap.
"Aya?" Youji. Hanging over her shoulder and peering down at him, grinning like a loon. "Are you okay?"
"A-Aya?" Ran echoed, blinking owlishly at her, looking so much like the Ran she used to know that the tears almost started again. She sniffled them back and smiled. She didn't want to worry him. Didn't want to upset him. She had to be sunshine and cheer like Omi was, because that was what Ran was looking for when he looked at her.
"Aya-niichan." She said again, just to see the recognition come into clouded eyes.
"Youji?" He asked, and his voice was soft, and hoarse and weak. She wondered what could have happened to him and to Omi. What sort of 'business' could leave them both looking like something left over from a funeral. What could put that dark look into Ken's eyes as he stood, slouching against the wall, looking for all the world like he'd been propped there. Like he would collapse without the support. Or like he was going to slide down it and to the floor at any moment. And she wondered what could put that grim look on Youji's face as he leaned over to let Ran see him.
"I'm right here."
"Hn." Maybe he wanted to say more. Maybe not. It was hard to tell with Ran these days. His eyes closed again and didn't open for a long time. When they did, they were darker than before, but bright, locked disconcertingly to her face as a gamut of emotions flashed through them. She wondered if Ran knew how much his eyes betrayed him. What she didn't see on his face anymore was often reflected there. Fear, sometimes. Most often sadness and despair, and an unfamiliar dark look she had no tag for. And at this moment all of those were present, most especially that dark look. And the fear. And she wondered what he had to be afraid of, because right now it looked for all the world like he was afraid of *her.*
"Aya-chan!" Ken's voice came blurrily from the darkness. A belated greeting, as if he had just now woken enough to notice her. He sounded tired, and when she looked over she saw that he had indeed crumpled to the floor, resting against the wall with his head on his knees. "When'd you get here?"
Yes, he *had* just noticed her. She smiled, and it was genuine this time, not just politeness. Ran was okay and, acting strange or not, that was a heavy burden lifted from her heart. "Just a few minutes ago, Ken- nii." She told him, not really wanting to look back at Ran's pale, bruised face, even if his oddly terrified eyes had slid shut again in exhausted slumber.
"She called the hospital and left a message." Youji said, also glancing over at Ken. He'd seated himself on the edge of Omi's bed, and was absently patting his ruffled blonde hair. Pushing it down just to watch it spring up again when he removed the weight of his hand. He looked hypnotized, and with his shades pushed up on top of his head, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. "Told me to meet her downstairs. I figured you could handle things here."
"Would have been nice for you to say something." Ken gamely tried to argue.
"Apparently you fell asleep on the job."
"I was *already* asleep when you left, wiseass."
Youji yawned, looked up, then back down at Omi and sighed, and gave up. " I guess." And that made Aya blink, because she had never seen either of the two give in on an argument no matter how pointless. Ken blinked at it too, then shrugged, not looking the slightest bit pleased with his victory, maybe even looking unhappy with it, and asked, "*You* called *him*? How'd you know where we were anyway, Aya-chan?"
How'd she know where they were, anyway? So. They hadn't told her on purpose? Well, well, well. She casually flicked a dark braid over one shoulder. "Manx-san." She said. And smirked.
Ken's eyes got big. Like large brown saucers. And Youji jumped away from her as if he'd been stung, then narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, as if to ascertain it was really her and not yet another doppelganger.
"Is that a problem?" She asked, large eyed, innocent. Smug as anything now that she knew she'd been intentionally kept in the dark.
Ken muttered, "God, weaseling information our of *Manx*, of all people." And Youji sighed heavily and said, "Aya. You *promised*."
"And I didn't break them. *She* talked to me first. *And* I didn't ask her *a thing*." It was an effort of will not to stick her tongue out at him. Not to gloat when he blinked in consternation and gave her that look her father used to just before he gave in to her demands and told her she should become a lawyer.
Instead she just glared back at him and then, despite everything, she grinned, flashing a wink at Youji's troubled, thoughtful gaze, before she swung her own eyes back to Ran's still, sleeping form.
What little information she had managed to wring out of the red- haired woman Youji had warned her away from was scant--nothing more than the name of this hospital. And even now Aya couldn't tell if she had been told or if the words had accidentally slipped out. Wasn't really sure if her own leading remarks and conversation had had any thing to do with it. What she was sure of was that somehow these things hung together. The two mysterious women, the promise Youji had extracted from her, the nights when all four of them--Youji, Ran, Omi, and Ken--came home late at night, without a word of explanation. And now this.
She could almost see the thread that tied this all together. Almost, but not quite. And somehow, she thought, she would figure out what it was. She would just have to work *around* that promise she'd made Youji.
A promise was, after all, a promise, and not to be made lightly.
~TBC, if anyone still wants more.