Note1: Yay! Chapter Eight. Oi, it looks so long in word . . . and not so long here. Oh well.
Chapter Eight: Killing Dreams
He can't see. He is deaf. His body is numb with pain and cold. He wipes ineffectively at the blood trickling from the cut on his cheek. It has been bleeding steadily since he set foot on this forsaken mountain. To save her - it has all been to save her, and in so doing, save himself. Yes, she is his salvation.
He can smell the metallic tang of his own blood, and he can smell his enemy. He senses more than sees the man. This is his last . . .
He charges, giving his all for the woman who saved him. All of this killing, on the cold remote mountain, was for her. Because he would give up everything for her.
As his sword meets flesh and he hears the dying gasps of the man, a different smell mixes with the blood. White plums. No.
He drops his katana in the red snow and takes her into his arms. Her eyes turn toward his face as they glaze over. She almost looks happy? His mind is reeling with what he has done.
"No, Aya, no. Don't leave me now."
She just smiles her quiet smile and suddenly there is a knife in her hand and she is cutting his cheek. He is long past feeling the pain. His blood drips down onto her face as her eyes close and she sags in his arms.
"Aya, Aya, AYA!"
~*~*~*~
Youji stumbled and leaned against the wall next to Aya's door for a minute. His own door looked very far away across a hallway that swayed and rolled like a ship on rough seas. He was tempted to sleep right there on the floor, but he didn't think his teammates would appreciate stepping over his hungover body in the morning.
"One too many, Kudou," he gently admonished himself. Gritting his teeth, he managed to stand without one hand on the wall. He tentatively put one foot out and took a step. The hallway lurched and he hit the wall hard. Giving up, at least for the moment, he slid down the wall and put his head in his hands. He would just sit here for a while until the hallway started behaving like a normal one should.
"TOMOE!"
Youji jerked awake. "What the hell?" He scrambled to his feet as Ken stuck his head out of his bedroom.
"Did you hear that?"
Youji rubbed his gritty eyes. "I think so." He shook his head, but he couldn't seem to make his brain function properly.
"It sounded like Aya. Maybe-"
Ken was interrupted as Aya flung his door open, looking wild-eyed. He gave them both a deliberate stare, challenging them. Blood oozed from between his fingers, and he pressed his cheek harder as he stalked toward the bathroom.
An unspoken agreement flashed between Ken and Youji. Ken closed his door softly as Youji slipped into Aya's bedroom to wait.
~*~*~*~
Aya leaned against the cool mirror in the bathroom and fought down the urge to vomit. His blood steadily dripped onto the white countertop, making soft plopping noises. He inspected the fresh cut on his cheek. It intersected the other one, making a large X on the left side of his face. The bleeding had slowed a little, so he stuck a band-aid on it.
When he had asked them at the hospital to take his sister off the respirator, he felt as he were the one suffocating. They assured him that she felt no pain. He couldn't even stay and watch. He felt like a murderer, watching his sister die.
No feeling about it, his inner voice said. You are a murderer. You're a cold-hearted killer. You just killed the only person that meant anything to you, the only thing that kept you going.
Aya squashed an impulse to punch the mirror. She was dead anyway, he comforted himself. But it didn't work for long. He remembered his dream, and how she had died by his own hands, in his arms, her blood leaking over the snow. How she had smiled up at him . . .
A choked sob escaped him and he crumpled to the cold tile, beating his fists weakly on the floor. How could I? A fresh sob racked his body, and tears pooled on the ground. How could I just let her go? How could I let him convince me to give up hope so easily? Why did she have to die? Aya, oh Aya . . . His mind disintegrated into sorrow.
After those brief moments of indulgence, he sat up and brushed the wetness from his cheeks. Now he truly was only waiting to die. His face took on its usual closed expression and he tightened his lips against the pain.
Someday, Aya, I'll pay for my sins.
Youji was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette by the open window, when he got back to his room. Aya didn't even acknowledge his presence. They both knew why he was here.
Taking a last drag, Youji flicked his cigarette out the window. He lit another, then glanced over to where Aya sat on the bed. "Who's Tomoe?" he asked finally.
Confusion swept over Aya's face for a few seconds before his usual wall slammed down. "Tomoe?"
"You screamed out her name." Smoke curled lazily above Youji's head. "Before you came out of your room."
Aya stared at his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Both Ken and I heard it."
Aya said nothing, merely laying down and studying the ceiling.
"Aya, what's happening to you?" Youji asked softly.
He clenched the bedspread with both fists, fighting down his rage. Rage that he was still living when he so obviously deserved to die. "I had a dream about my sister."
Youji moved to stand above him. "Her name is Aya."
"I know that!"
"So why Tomoe? And why that?" Youji pointed to the bandage on Aya's cheek.
"Look, I don't know what the hell is going on. Just get out." Aya turned his back toward Youji and faced the wall. His eyes burned.
"I'm only trying to figure out whether you're going to slip up and get one of us killed."
Aya was at his throat in an instant. He twisted Youji's shirt painfully and grit out, "All the people I care about are already dead." He propelled him toward the door. "Now. Get. Out."
Youji knew he was walking a fine line between Aya being royally pissed off and Aya killing him. He put his hands up submissively and let out the breath he was holding as Aya loosened his hold on his shirt. "Fine, fine." He stepped into the hallway. "We're your friends Aya, just remember that."
Aya slammed the door.
Chapter Eight: Killing Dreams
He can't see. He is deaf. His body is numb with pain and cold. He wipes ineffectively at the blood trickling from the cut on his cheek. It has been bleeding steadily since he set foot on this forsaken mountain. To save her - it has all been to save her, and in so doing, save himself. Yes, she is his salvation.
He can smell the metallic tang of his own blood, and he can smell his enemy. He senses more than sees the man. This is his last . . .
He charges, giving his all for the woman who saved him. All of this killing, on the cold remote mountain, was for her. Because he would give up everything for her.
As his sword meets flesh and he hears the dying gasps of the man, a different smell mixes with the blood. White plums. No.
He drops his katana in the red snow and takes her into his arms. Her eyes turn toward his face as they glaze over. She almost looks happy? His mind is reeling with what he has done.
"No, Aya, no. Don't leave me now."
She just smiles her quiet smile and suddenly there is a knife in her hand and she is cutting his cheek. He is long past feeling the pain. His blood drips down onto her face as her eyes close and she sags in his arms.
"Aya, Aya, AYA!"
Youji stumbled and leaned against the wall next to Aya's door for a minute. His own door looked very far away across a hallway that swayed and rolled like a ship on rough seas. He was tempted to sleep right there on the floor, but he didn't think his teammates would appreciate stepping over his hungover body in the morning.
"One too many, Kudou," he gently admonished himself. Gritting his teeth, he managed to stand without one hand on the wall. He tentatively put one foot out and took a step. The hallway lurched and he hit the wall hard. Giving up, at least for the moment, he slid down the wall and put his head in his hands. He would just sit here for a while until the hallway started behaving like a normal one should.
"TOMOE!"
Youji jerked awake. "What the hell?" He scrambled to his feet as Ken stuck his head out of his bedroom.
"Did you hear that?"
Youji rubbed his gritty eyes. "I think so." He shook his head, but he couldn't seem to make his brain function properly.
"It sounded like Aya. Maybe-"
Ken was interrupted as Aya flung his door open, looking wild-eyed. He gave them both a deliberate stare, challenging them. Blood oozed from between his fingers, and he pressed his cheek harder as he stalked toward the bathroom.
An unspoken agreement flashed between Ken and Youji. Ken closed his door softly as Youji slipped into Aya's bedroom to wait.
Aya leaned against the cool mirror in the bathroom and fought down the urge to vomit. His blood steadily dripped onto the white countertop, making soft plopping noises. He inspected the fresh cut on his cheek. It intersected the other one, making a large X on the left side of his face. The bleeding had slowed a little, so he stuck a band-aid on it.
When he had asked them at the hospital to take his sister off the respirator, he felt as he were the one suffocating. They assured him that she felt no pain. He couldn't even stay and watch. He felt like a murderer, watching his sister die.
No feeling about it, his inner voice said. You are a murderer. You're a cold-hearted killer. You just killed the only person that meant anything to you, the only thing that kept you going.
Aya squashed an impulse to punch the mirror. She was dead anyway, he comforted himself. But it didn't work for long. He remembered his dream, and how she had died by his own hands, in his arms, her blood leaking over the snow. How she had smiled up at him . . .
A choked sob escaped him and he crumpled to the cold tile, beating his fists weakly on the floor. How could I? A fresh sob racked his body, and tears pooled on the ground. How could I just let her go? How could I let him convince me to give up hope so easily? Why did she have to die? Aya, oh Aya . . . His mind disintegrated into sorrow.
After those brief moments of indulgence, he sat up and brushed the wetness from his cheeks. Now he truly was only waiting to die. His face took on its usual closed expression and he tightened his lips against the pain.
Someday, Aya, I'll pay for my sins.
Youji was waiting for him, smoking a cigarette by the open window, when he got back to his room. Aya didn't even acknowledge his presence. They both knew why he was here.
Taking a last drag, Youji flicked his cigarette out the window. He lit another, then glanced over to where Aya sat on the bed. "Who's Tomoe?" he asked finally.
Confusion swept over Aya's face for a few seconds before his usual wall slammed down. "Tomoe?"
"You screamed out her name." Smoke curled lazily above Youji's head. "Before you came out of your room."
Aya stared at his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Both Ken and I heard it."
Aya said nothing, merely laying down and studying the ceiling.
"Aya, what's happening to you?" Youji asked softly.
He clenched the bedspread with both fists, fighting down his rage. Rage that he was still living when he so obviously deserved to die. "I had a dream about my sister."
Youji moved to stand above him. "Her name is Aya."
"I know that!"
"So why Tomoe? And why that?" Youji pointed to the bandage on Aya's cheek.
"Look, I don't know what the hell is going on. Just get out." Aya turned his back toward Youji and faced the wall. His eyes burned.
"I'm only trying to figure out whether you're going to slip up and get one of us killed."
Aya was at his throat in an instant. He twisted Youji's shirt painfully and grit out, "All the people I care about are already dead." He propelled him toward the door. "Now. Get. Out."
Youji knew he was walking a fine line between Aya being royally pissed off and Aya killing him. He put his hands up submissively and let out the breath he was holding as Aya loosened his hold on his shirt. "Fine, fine." He stepped into the hallway. "We're your friends Aya, just remember that."
Aya slammed the door.