*...* is normal thought,

//...// is Schuldig 'speaking' to Ken...this way you can tell the difference, ne? ^_^

~silvershadeus~

feedback, onegai! ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Weiß Kreuz related that would result in my being sued...I'm just borrowing the characters and such for a little while.

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SNAFU* - Part 1

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It had been a highly unusual mission from the very beginning. And now two of their numbers were missing, possibly dead.

Running a hand through his hair to hide his uneasiness, Kudou Yohji took a deep drag off the cigarette clenched between his teeth, eyes darting to the slim redhead in front of him.

They stood in the front of the locked and shuttered flower shop, bathed in shadows…and guilt. Aya, most of all, his shoulders slumped, slender figure radiating a crushing sense of defeat.

Yohji's green eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took another drag off the cigarette, the end flaring brightly for an instant. Neither of them could quite pinpoint the moment the mission had gone to hell, but one thing was for damned sure – they were going to find out.

Or die trying. Yohji thought wryly, a hint of bitterness tingeing the thought.

One elegantly sculpted hand rose to remove the burning cigarette butt before dropping it to the floor, booted heel crushing it. Yohji shifted so that he stood sideways to the redhead, watching him from the corner of his eyes.

For his part, Aya appeared oblivious to the older assassin.

And then Yohji heard it, a low angry hiss. No more than an exhalation, but the sound filled him with apprehension. Lifting his head, he turned to look at his leader, eyes widening as the younger man's arm flashed out, fist slamming into the wall. Once, twice, three times…

Yohji was moving, fear and worry making him clumsy, but somehow he managed to catch the cut and bleeding hand before Aya could land a fourth blow. Interposing his body between the wall and the redhead, Yohji smirked to himself as he caught the abortive move the smaller man made with his other arm.

No matter his anger, his rage, Yohji knew that deep down Fujimiya Aya would never hurt someone he trusted. Someone he called friend, even if it was only to himself.

Realizing that he still gripped Aya's injured fist in his own hand, Yohji loosened his hold, his hand sliding down to give Aya's wrist a reassuring squeeze before letting go completely. If Aya was surprised by the gesture, he didn't show it.

Meeting the other's cold eyes, Yohji felt a sharp pang in his chest. He knew the guilt the other was feeling – he'd felt it himself all too many times. But now…now was not the time for guilt. That could come later, if there was a later.

"Aya, we need to go over what happened tonight. We need to figure out what went wrong."

Something flickered in the depths of that icy violet gaze, and then just like that – the spark that was Fujimiya Aya winked out, to be replaced by the merciless killer.

"I fucked up, Yohji. I fucked up and they died because of it. I killed them."

Yohji was so startled by the self-hatred and disgust he heard in Aya's voice that the other was able to walk past the shop counter before the movement even registered in his mind.

When it did, Yohji knew with certainty that the moment the redhead walked out of the door to the flower shop that none of them would ever see him again. Whether he simply disappeared or managed to get himself killed in some desperate bid for revenge, Aya would remove himself from their lives forever. It was this knowledge, more than anything, that spurred Yohji into taking a reckless action he would never have even considered under normal circumstances.

"K'so. Aya you bastard." He muttered under his breath, but he was already moving, running the few steps between him and the counter before vaulting up and over the obstacle, one hand touching down briefly on the smooth surface for balance.

Yohji felt mightily impressed with himself as he landed with effortless grace directly in Aya's path. Straightening to his full height, Yohji spread his arms out to either side of himself, effectively barring the smaller man's way, his body forming the shape of a perfect cross.

Violet eyes narrowed to slits, and Aya growled low in his throat, his hand dropping to the hilt of his katana. The soft whisper of steel on leather filled the shop as Aya drew the blade, but did not fully unsheathe it.

"Get out of my way, Kudou."

Yohji winced inwardly. It had been a long time since Aya had called him by his last name, and it was almost like a physical blow.

"Like hell I will." He replied, not even batting an eye as Aya drew his weapon fully and placed the point of the blade at the hollow of his throat, the cold metal chilling his skin.

"Move."

Green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Had there been the slightest of tremors in the other's voice just now, or was it merely wishful thinking on his part?

Knowing he had no other choice, Yohji took a step forward, forcing Aya to either impale him with his katana, or step back.

He did neither, his wrist twisting, the blade flashing sliver in the space between them before he brought the blade to rest along the side of Yohji's neck, the tip of the katana angled so that it touched the older man's ear.

"I don't want to play one of your games, Kudou. Move." Emphasizing his command with a tiny flick of his wrist, Aya's lips tightened as he nicked Yohji's ear, blood flowing to soak into the honey and chestnut of the other's hair.

Yohji's eyes flew wide in surprise before narrowing to slits, unconsciously mirroring the slender redhead's glare.

"This. Isn't. A. Game." He gritted between clenched teeth, still not backing down.

Aya snorted in derision, and it looked for a moment as though he was going to say something, when Yohji's fist crashed into his face. The impact of the blow snapped the smaller man's head back violently, and he was sent stumbling backwards. The katana clattered to the floor.

Shaking his head, Aya wiped at the line of blood on his chin, death in his violet eyes. Massaging his aching knuckles, Yohji returned his glare with equal force.

"Goddammit, Aya! That fucking hurt!"

Aya blinked at Yohji in surprise.

Wasn't that supposed to be his line?

Before he could say anything, Yohji had taken an angry step forward, one hand tangling in the front of his shirt. Pulling the smaller man towards him until their faces were inches apart, Yohji's eyes narrowed.

"Listen to me Fujimiya, and listen good. We are not going to give up on Ken and Omi, and we are not going to let Schwarz rip us apart. Do you understand me?"

A scornful look crossed Aya's face, causing Yohji to give him a violent shake.

"We are not giving up on them!"

Startled by the ferocity in the older man's voice, Aya did something unforgivable. He let his mask slip, and Yohji saw the fear and uncertainty behind it.

Giving Aya another shake – this one gentler than the first – Yohji repeated his words with fierce determination.

"We are not giving upon them, Aya. I promise you."

"They're probably already dead."

Green eyes widened imperceptibly at the underlying pain in Aya's voice. And Yohji suddenly understood. He was learning how Aya worked, little by little each day, and he understood this.

"So that's it, then? You're just going to count them off as casualties? Just like that, without even bothering to try looking for them? You said it yourself, Aya - 'probably.' Hell, you know those two are harder to kill off than a fucking cockroach. Are you going to give up on them so easily?"

There must have been something in Yohji's voice that reached past the icy walls of Aya's heart, because when he looked up to meet Yohji's eyes, the other saw a spark of determination in them.

"No."

Yohji jerked Aya closer, green eyes staring hard into violet for a long moment, searching for something.

"Are you going to hit me or kiss me, Yohji?"

Startled green met amused violet, and Yohji found he was unable to hide his smile.

"Maybe another time, Aya. We've got business to take care of."

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The first coherent though that surfaced in his mind was that he was wet. Soaking wet, and freezing, in fact. The second coherent thought was that his entire body felt like one huge bruise.

So then, he was one huge, soaking wet bruise that was freezing cold.

Filing away that helpful tidbit of information for future use, he forced one eye open, grimacing as he was met with nothing but darkness. Darkness and the god-awful stench of rot and decay.

Sighing to himself, he rolled onto his side, hoping to gain the rest of his senses soon. His ears felt stuffed with something infinitely more soundproof than cotton, and the lack of noise was unnerving.

Realizing that since he'd made it this far he might as well sit up, he levered himself up on one arm, his head hanging on his chest. The aching throb in his skull was still too strong for him to be able to move his head about freely. Slowly, he raised his head, opening his second eye to squint into the blackness.

He sat that way, weight braced on one trembling arm, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the acute lack of light. His breathing was labored and shallow, and something rattled in his chest with each breath he took.

Gradually he was able to make out a crumpled form barely two feet from him, arms outstretched towards him. In the darkness he couldn't tell if the figure's chest rose and fell with in the familiar rhythm of breath or not. Fear flared through him, almost painful in its intensity.

No.

The word repeated itself in his mind until it ran together, a desperate mantra for an exercise in futility as he struggled to drag his wounded body the few feet separating them, and failed. His own body was far too battered and weak to support him even that small distance.

Cursing his body's weakness, he collapsed, his chin striking the hard stone floor with a jarring impact. Lances of bright white pain speared through his head, and he cried out softly. Tears leaked from eyes that were tightly shut, wetting the fine lashes, and trailing down one smooth cheek.

//Don't weep for him, Weiß, he'll live.//

He jerked backwards, seeking to avoid the invasive thoughts that were not his own. Cold laughter filled his mind, and it was all he could do to keep from uttering a cry of dismay.

//Che, keep on like that and you'll wind up killing yourself, Weiß.//

He froze, startled at the disgust, heavy in the voice that pervaded his mind.

Why do you care? He thought back, unsure if his words would be heard, and not quite certain he wanted them to be.

He winced as the laughter sounded once again in his head, a small frown creasing his forehead. The voice seemed to be taking root in a back corner of his mind.

//Ahhh, but there's so much unused space in here, why not? And why shouldn't I care? We're roomies, after all…or did you forget?//

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Bwhahahahahahahahahaha! Erm, I mean TBC...

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*SNAFU is a term used by the military to mean: Situation Normal All Fouled Up

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