1 Standard disclaimers apply. I have not suddenly acquired Weiss since
posting the first part of this. Chance would be a fine thing. Warnings for
bad language and future violence, shounen ai yada yada yada.
2
3 Part Two: Enter the kittens
"Fucking bastards! Those utter arseholes!" Despite the severity of his hangover, Yohji Kudou was still more than capable of being incandescent with rage as he howled at the walls of the living room. "How dare they just kill the man like that!"
A half-asleep and equally hung over Omi made his way into the living room, rubbing at his head as he squinted at the fuming green-eyed blond. "Whose death are you so upset about?" The younger man enquired on his way to the kitchen.
"Johannes Fischer," Yohji managed to get out in his fury.
Omi's head appeared around the door, a vague frown in place. "Oh." Then the name sunk in and his flatmate's blue eyes widened in sympathy. "Oh. Yohji, I'm so sorry. It's such a shame."
"An awful waste," Yohji agreed nodding in agreement. He accepted the cup of tea Omi pressed comfortingly into his hand and shook his head in frustration, honey coloured strands swinging across his face. "I mean there's so many people out there waiting to get back at that slimy little Scheißdreck and now those inconsiderate arseholes have ruined it for everybody."
Omi considered this as he sipped his own mug of tea. "You shouldn't be so hard on them, maybe they didn't know who he was." The look on Yohji's face informed Omi this was the wrong thing to say.
"That would make it even worse, for those bastards to murder the guy and not even realise who they had the pleasure of killing. In any case, if they'd actually known who it was they were topping, they would no doubt have decided death was too good for that low-life, scheming son of a bitch."
"That's a relief to hear," Ken commented as the other occupant of the flat made his way into the living room. "For a moment it sounded like you wanted to come out retirement and kill the guy yourself."
Yohji grinned with just a disturbing touch of malice that made both his flatmates roll their eyes. Ken shook his head and winced slightly as his own hangover reminded him why sudden movements were not a good idea. The brunette rubbed his head as he stumbled over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards looking for aspirin. "So when did all this happen?" he called out.
Yohji stretched and reached for the remote control. "Last night, apparently. It's amazing what you miss when you're drunk."
Omi paused in his trek over to the shower. "Drunk is an understatement for you and Ken last night," he informed him. "Out of your skull, might be more accurate."
"Hey, it's not every day one of my friends gets a coaching job for a national team!" Yohji called out after him. "You can't not celebrate things like that!"
Ken collapsed on the sofa next to his blond flatmate. "Next time, it might be an idea to stop when the pubs close, instead of just continuing at home." He ran a hand over his eyes. "At this rate I won't even make it to the first training session before my liver quits on me."
Yohji shrugged as he flipped through the morning news reports. "Fine, I'll just drink for both of us."
"I feel I should remind you that I'm not the only one of us with a proper job these days, Mr Investigative Journalist."
"That's not a proper job, it's my excuse of why I still break into buildings at my age," Yohji countered with the practised ease of someone who repeated this conversation every morning.
Ken snorted. "I thought it was your excuse of why people still want to kill you."
"That is caused by jealously of my stunning good looks and superior intelligence, not my profession," Yohji informed him with a toss of his hair.
Omi re-emerged in the living room, pulling on his uniform and brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm going to have to head in to work now, they're probably going to be swamped if the suspects are being held there. Do you know anything about them yet?"
Ken shook his head. "Just that there were four of them, one was Irish and they suspect terrorist links. If names were given, we missed them."
Omi grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. "Okay, well I'll see you two later. Clean up the flat while I'm gone and Yohji, don't even think of calling me at work. I will not be giving you any information over the phone."
"Damn," Yohji muttered with mock annoyance. "Seriously though, the only thing that bothers me is the inconsistency in the method of killings. It doesn't really fit with a terrorist act, why execute the guards when you're already planning on butchering Fischer and his wife?"
"Great going Omi, you've set him off on another conspiracy theory," Ken muttered.
Yohji grinned. "So I find that a bit weird, so what? Not everything has to have a sinister plot behind it; people do just get killed. It's just …"
"What?" Omi asked.
"I'd hate for whoever did kill Fischer not to know what a privilege it was."
Ken groaned. "You are one sick bastard, Yohji." He stood and stretched. "I'm heading down to the pitch, try not to get too caught up in conspiracy theories while I'm gone, ok?"
Yohji nodded and waved the brunette away as he turned his attention back to the television. He listened to a few soundbites from various ministers and rich arseholes before switching off the set and lying back on the sofa.
It had all started that morning seven years ago when he'd sauntered into the kitchen to find an unusually silent Ken and Omi seated at the table. His cheerful banter had failed in getting anything more than a cursory response form the pair, but the reason behind it only became apparent when he casually asked where Aya was. That was when he had been presented with Aya's letter. 'Note' might have been a better way to describe the few curt- sounding sentences that stated in no uncertain terms that Aya had left Wei( and had no desire to speak to or see any of them in the future.
That had hurt. Okay, so the guy was cold, hard-hearted bastard but Yohji had actually thought all those years working and living together might have caused them to be classed as friends. Surely saving each other's lives on a regular basis had formed some sort of bond between them? Ken and Omi weren't pleased with the note either, but their anger was nothing compared to Yohji's. According to Omi, he'd managed to swear without pause for fifteen whole minutes in at least seven languages before he'd calmed down. But he'd been entitled, damn it. He was supposed to be the irresponsible one, the guy who shared his bed with many and his heart with none. Then that red-headed, katana wielding ice-block came along and showed him with a single gesture of contempt that however much Yohji might like to pass himself off as the playboy, when it came to messing around with people, no one did it better than Aya Fujimiya.
The others hadn't felt much like continuing with assassination, so it was mutually decided to call it a day. Ken wanted to try his luck playing football in Europe and Omi was determined to see the world a little before deciding on what he wanted. Yohji had found himself in Dortmund, accompanying Ken to matches, even though he refused to wear the strip – looked too much like a bumble bee. He'd also found himself picking up his old habits of digging for information and ended up working for a local paper as an occasional features writer. In fact, he only realised his obvious talent in the field when someone tried to have him killed. A hasty jump across the Channel and into the big bad world of Westminster reportage had followed, working for a major right wing paper owned by none other than Johannes Fischer. All had gone well until Yohji, with true journalistic instincts had uncovered a bribe scam involving major development contractors who were paying certain newspapers to run stories that would discredit protests to a new housing estate due to be built on a nature reserve. Yohji had been even less impressed to discover that one of said papers was none other than his very own and who had been the unsuspecting pawn? Yup, himself. But what really set his nose out of joint was Fischer's response to Yohji's discovery. Being sacked he could handle. Having his house broken into and over a grand's worth of cocaine hidden in his desk was taking things a little too far. It was purely his depraved past that had allowed him to find the drugs before the police and safely relocate the powder up his chimney. But the look on the cop's face as he headed directly to the now empty desk had been enough to persuade Kudou that now was a good time to take in the charms of America.
Finally reunited with his two ex-team mates, in Edinburgh of all places, Yohji was still nurturing a couple of really good grudges. And if Fischer was now out of the picture, well he'd just have to focus all his bile onto the MIA Fujimiya.
Yohji shifted and felt his hand drifting over to phone. A brief battle with his conscience ensued and he dialled the number for the police headquarters of Lothian and Borders, specifically the desk phone of one of their officers. The weary sounding voice that answered caused a nasty grin to work it's way across the playboy's face. "Hey Omi, guess who?"
A groan answered him. "Look, I told you not to phone, didn't I? I'm in the middle of complete bedlam here and can't really talk right now. The guys in custody aren't talking, no one knows what's going on, or why and in addition the place has been invaded by suited jerks from London. The last thing I need is to be caught talking to a guy who's known for going up against Fischer in the past."
The grin widened. "It's that bad down there?"
"Fischer was a major meal ticket for the government and now he's gone we've got a lot of high ranking guys with no name badges wandering around, if you get the drift. I …"
Yohji frowned and adjusted the receiver. "Omi? Hey chibi? What's up?"
" … I don't believe this. It's Schwartz. The guys they've got."
Yohji felt his stomach lurch. "No way, I thought they quit?"
"Obviously they couldn't kick the habit. And that's not all. A lawyer's just shown up and is raising hell … I've got to go. Turn on your television. You have to see this to believe it."
Yohji stared at the phone in his hand for a few moments before switching over to catch the lunchtime news on BBC1. The news reporter was discussing the suspects Brad Crawford, Schuldig, Jei Farfarello and Nagi Naoe and possible motives for the killings. "In addition to this already baffling case is the appearance of a lawyer from the Glasgow firm of Boyd and Mason claiming to represent one of the suspects, Mr Brad Crawford and apparently also suggesting that inside information played a major part in this crime."
And there he was. Aya Fujimiya. Standing by Princes Street Gardens in order to get a nice shot of the castle in the background and glaring at the camera with a death stare that had lost none of its intensity.
Yohji dropped the remote control in shock, causing it to bounce against the coffee table and switch the TV off. He swore and scrambled for it, hurriedly switching it back on only to find the picture had shifted to some high-ranking police officer. Yohji swore. Conspiracy glands, which until now had been fairly inactive sprang into full life. Something suspicious was going on, and he was going to find out what.
2
3 Part Two: Enter the kittens
"Fucking bastards! Those utter arseholes!" Despite the severity of his hangover, Yohji Kudou was still more than capable of being incandescent with rage as he howled at the walls of the living room. "How dare they just kill the man like that!"
A half-asleep and equally hung over Omi made his way into the living room, rubbing at his head as he squinted at the fuming green-eyed blond. "Whose death are you so upset about?" The younger man enquired on his way to the kitchen.
"Johannes Fischer," Yohji managed to get out in his fury.
Omi's head appeared around the door, a vague frown in place. "Oh." Then the name sunk in and his flatmate's blue eyes widened in sympathy. "Oh. Yohji, I'm so sorry. It's such a shame."
"An awful waste," Yohji agreed nodding in agreement. He accepted the cup of tea Omi pressed comfortingly into his hand and shook his head in frustration, honey coloured strands swinging across his face. "I mean there's so many people out there waiting to get back at that slimy little Scheißdreck and now those inconsiderate arseholes have ruined it for everybody."
Omi considered this as he sipped his own mug of tea. "You shouldn't be so hard on them, maybe they didn't know who he was." The look on Yohji's face informed Omi this was the wrong thing to say.
"That would make it even worse, for those bastards to murder the guy and not even realise who they had the pleasure of killing. In any case, if they'd actually known who it was they were topping, they would no doubt have decided death was too good for that low-life, scheming son of a bitch."
"That's a relief to hear," Ken commented as the other occupant of the flat made his way into the living room. "For a moment it sounded like you wanted to come out retirement and kill the guy yourself."
Yohji grinned with just a disturbing touch of malice that made both his flatmates roll their eyes. Ken shook his head and winced slightly as his own hangover reminded him why sudden movements were not a good idea. The brunette rubbed his head as he stumbled over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards looking for aspirin. "So when did all this happen?" he called out.
Yohji stretched and reached for the remote control. "Last night, apparently. It's amazing what you miss when you're drunk."
Omi paused in his trek over to the shower. "Drunk is an understatement for you and Ken last night," he informed him. "Out of your skull, might be more accurate."
"Hey, it's not every day one of my friends gets a coaching job for a national team!" Yohji called out after him. "You can't not celebrate things like that!"
Ken collapsed on the sofa next to his blond flatmate. "Next time, it might be an idea to stop when the pubs close, instead of just continuing at home." He ran a hand over his eyes. "At this rate I won't even make it to the first training session before my liver quits on me."
Yohji shrugged as he flipped through the morning news reports. "Fine, I'll just drink for both of us."
"I feel I should remind you that I'm not the only one of us with a proper job these days, Mr Investigative Journalist."
"That's not a proper job, it's my excuse of why I still break into buildings at my age," Yohji countered with the practised ease of someone who repeated this conversation every morning.
Ken snorted. "I thought it was your excuse of why people still want to kill you."
"That is caused by jealously of my stunning good looks and superior intelligence, not my profession," Yohji informed him with a toss of his hair.
Omi re-emerged in the living room, pulling on his uniform and brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm going to have to head in to work now, they're probably going to be swamped if the suspects are being held there. Do you know anything about them yet?"
Ken shook his head. "Just that there were four of them, one was Irish and they suspect terrorist links. If names were given, we missed them."
Omi grabbed his coat off the hook by the door. "Okay, well I'll see you two later. Clean up the flat while I'm gone and Yohji, don't even think of calling me at work. I will not be giving you any information over the phone."
"Damn," Yohji muttered with mock annoyance. "Seriously though, the only thing that bothers me is the inconsistency in the method of killings. It doesn't really fit with a terrorist act, why execute the guards when you're already planning on butchering Fischer and his wife?"
"Great going Omi, you've set him off on another conspiracy theory," Ken muttered.
Yohji grinned. "So I find that a bit weird, so what? Not everything has to have a sinister plot behind it; people do just get killed. It's just …"
"What?" Omi asked.
"I'd hate for whoever did kill Fischer not to know what a privilege it was."
Ken groaned. "You are one sick bastard, Yohji." He stood and stretched. "I'm heading down to the pitch, try not to get too caught up in conspiracy theories while I'm gone, ok?"
Yohji nodded and waved the brunette away as he turned his attention back to the television. He listened to a few soundbites from various ministers and rich arseholes before switching off the set and lying back on the sofa.
It had all started that morning seven years ago when he'd sauntered into the kitchen to find an unusually silent Ken and Omi seated at the table. His cheerful banter had failed in getting anything more than a cursory response form the pair, but the reason behind it only became apparent when he casually asked where Aya was. That was when he had been presented with Aya's letter. 'Note' might have been a better way to describe the few curt- sounding sentences that stated in no uncertain terms that Aya had left Wei( and had no desire to speak to or see any of them in the future.
That had hurt. Okay, so the guy was cold, hard-hearted bastard but Yohji had actually thought all those years working and living together might have caused them to be classed as friends. Surely saving each other's lives on a regular basis had formed some sort of bond between them? Ken and Omi weren't pleased with the note either, but their anger was nothing compared to Yohji's. According to Omi, he'd managed to swear without pause for fifteen whole minutes in at least seven languages before he'd calmed down. But he'd been entitled, damn it. He was supposed to be the irresponsible one, the guy who shared his bed with many and his heart with none. Then that red-headed, katana wielding ice-block came along and showed him with a single gesture of contempt that however much Yohji might like to pass himself off as the playboy, when it came to messing around with people, no one did it better than Aya Fujimiya.
The others hadn't felt much like continuing with assassination, so it was mutually decided to call it a day. Ken wanted to try his luck playing football in Europe and Omi was determined to see the world a little before deciding on what he wanted. Yohji had found himself in Dortmund, accompanying Ken to matches, even though he refused to wear the strip – looked too much like a bumble bee. He'd also found himself picking up his old habits of digging for information and ended up working for a local paper as an occasional features writer. In fact, he only realised his obvious talent in the field when someone tried to have him killed. A hasty jump across the Channel and into the big bad world of Westminster reportage had followed, working for a major right wing paper owned by none other than Johannes Fischer. All had gone well until Yohji, with true journalistic instincts had uncovered a bribe scam involving major development contractors who were paying certain newspapers to run stories that would discredit protests to a new housing estate due to be built on a nature reserve. Yohji had been even less impressed to discover that one of said papers was none other than his very own and who had been the unsuspecting pawn? Yup, himself. But what really set his nose out of joint was Fischer's response to Yohji's discovery. Being sacked he could handle. Having his house broken into and over a grand's worth of cocaine hidden in his desk was taking things a little too far. It was purely his depraved past that had allowed him to find the drugs before the police and safely relocate the powder up his chimney. But the look on the cop's face as he headed directly to the now empty desk had been enough to persuade Kudou that now was a good time to take in the charms of America.
Finally reunited with his two ex-team mates, in Edinburgh of all places, Yohji was still nurturing a couple of really good grudges. And if Fischer was now out of the picture, well he'd just have to focus all his bile onto the MIA Fujimiya.
Yohji shifted and felt his hand drifting over to phone. A brief battle with his conscience ensued and he dialled the number for the police headquarters of Lothian and Borders, specifically the desk phone of one of their officers. The weary sounding voice that answered caused a nasty grin to work it's way across the playboy's face. "Hey Omi, guess who?"
A groan answered him. "Look, I told you not to phone, didn't I? I'm in the middle of complete bedlam here and can't really talk right now. The guys in custody aren't talking, no one knows what's going on, or why and in addition the place has been invaded by suited jerks from London. The last thing I need is to be caught talking to a guy who's known for going up against Fischer in the past."
The grin widened. "It's that bad down there?"
"Fischer was a major meal ticket for the government and now he's gone we've got a lot of high ranking guys with no name badges wandering around, if you get the drift. I …"
Yohji frowned and adjusted the receiver. "Omi? Hey chibi? What's up?"
" … I don't believe this. It's Schwartz. The guys they've got."
Yohji felt his stomach lurch. "No way, I thought they quit?"
"Obviously they couldn't kick the habit. And that's not all. A lawyer's just shown up and is raising hell … I've got to go. Turn on your television. You have to see this to believe it."
Yohji stared at the phone in his hand for a few moments before switching over to catch the lunchtime news on BBC1. The news reporter was discussing the suspects Brad Crawford, Schuldig, Jei Farfarello and Nagi Naoe and possible motives for the killings. "In addition to this already baffling case is the appearance of a lawyer from the Glasgow firm of Boyd and Mason claiming to represent one of the suspects, Mr Brad Crawford and apparently also suggesting that inside information played a major part in this crime."
And there he was. Aya Fujimiya. Standing by Princes Street Gardens in order to get a nice shot of the castle in the background and glaring at the camera with a death stare that had lost none of its intensity.
Yohji dropped the remote control in shock, causing it to bounce against the coffee table and switch the TV off. He swore and scrambled for it, hurriedly switching it back on only to find the picture had shifted to some high-ranking police officer. Yohji swore. Conspiracy glands, which until now had been fairly inactive sprang into full life. Something suspicious was going on, and he was going to find out what.