I am a robot,

I am a robot,

I am a robot,

Aya swept the katana down and around in the final, killing blow, and bowed, finishing the exercise.

The dojo was quiet. No other person was around, so Aya had come to let off some steam. His breath

came hard as he stood stock-still, the katana dangling from his limp hand, and watched the lights of a car

sweep the far wall as it turned the corner on to this street. Finally, Aya's head dropped, sweat-soaked

eartails falling forward, and the katana wavered in his grip, nearly dropping to the floor. Its tip made a

grating sound on the floor and stopped. After several minutes of standing this way, Aya pulled himself

up from the slumped posture and walked to the changing rooms, steady once more.

Robot, Robot, Robot

Robot, Robot, Robot

On the drive home, Aya absorbed himself in thoughts of the next mission. This time it was only infiltration

and information retrieval, not actually killing any particular person. Unfortunately for both Weiß and their

victims, this sort of retrieval usually ended up with at least one or two security guards dead, guilty by association.

Since Birman was of the opinion that no one else was needed for the mission, Aya and Omi were the ones

actually going into the building. However, Youji and Ken had been rather incensed at the implication that

they weren't as good at what they did as Aya and Omi, and therefore insisted that they be allowed to come

along as "extra help." It was really very unnecessary, mused Aya, since Omi would be hacking and he himself

guarding Omi, but what the hell. They wanted to take part in a mission that they wouldn't be paid for, then

that was their problem.   Then he saw the garage up ahead and spun the Porsche into the green structure.

He noticed that there were still lights on in both Ken's and Omi's rooms, while Youji's was dark.  // Probably out

womanizing again…// the redhead thought to himself, grimacing. The noises Youji made with his guests were

altogether *too* audible for Aya's tastes, especially since their rooms were right next to each other. How he

had ended up in that position was unknown to Aya, but he felt that it had something to do with Ken and Omi

getting first choice of rooms. Frankly, it sucked. Some nights Aya had to sleep downstairs, resulting in a very

grumpy Aya and a satiated, lazy Youji the next morning. // I swear // Aya thought as he unlocked the door

and pushed it open. // Youji must do it on purpose, just trying to annoy me. In that case, I should ignore it

completely, but… I just can't. // Rather hard to sleep very well, much less act normal the next morning to the

teammate in question, if he heard Youji moaning his release several nights a week. And Youji actually thought it was *funny.*

Robot, Robot, Robot,

I am a robot

I am a robot,

Robot, Robot, Robot

end of the English part of this song

By this time, Aya was padding up the stairs in bare feet, slipping into his room, and then out again with a towel

to go take a shower. Once in the bathroom, he left the lights off, the only light now coming from what moonlight

insinuated itself into the room through the window.  Aya put the towel down on the toilet seat and stripped

off his clothing, piling the days' clothes in the corner next to the washbasin. Then he opened the window,

reveling in the dry, cool breeze the touched his skin here and there, and turned on the shower, a very lukewarm

temperature. Where in most Japanese homes there was a bath, not a shower, Weiß used the shower because

it was quicker and cleaned a little more thoroughly. It was strange, but they had all gotten used to the necessity

of it over time, and even grown to enjoy the blast of water that hit the skin as soon as one stepped into the

shower stall. Aya soaped, rinsed, and then washed his hair with Omi's shampoo: he had forgotten to get more

of his own recently, which was a little annoying, since Aya generally didn't much enjoy smelling like a rose, literally.

// Omi's odd tastes are going to get him into trouble someday, when he meets a group of people who can't be as

accepting of his quirks- or perhaps what Weiß really did was ignore them thoroughly… //

Come with me

Into the trees

We lay on the grass

And let hours pass…

Cleansed, Aya turned off the shower and stepped out onto the bathmat and toweled his hair dry. The previously

dry breeze had turned moist and filled with the promise of rain. Its caress on his bare skin brought chills and goosebumps,

and Aya cranked the window open even further and leaned against it, letting the air wash over him in a kind of personal,

ritual cleansing, that left him feeling as clean, inside and out, as he was ever able to, and empty, empty like a glass left

on the table overnight. Aya always tried to leave the lights off when he showered- that way it felt like he was drowning

in rain, like he was outside with the wind and stars and endless rush of water falling.

Take my hand

Come back to the land

Let's get away,

Just for one day…

When his body was dry and cool again, Aya turned and wrapped the towel around his waist. He grimaced at the

damp cloth against his once-dry skin, but it wasn't so bad. He scooped the workout clothes off the floor and

opened the door to the bathroom, stepping out onto the industrial-style grey carpeting in the hall, barefoot.

It was stale-smelling in the hallway, despite the best attempts of his sister to air it out and "make it smell like a

hallway should," according to her. He padded down the corridor, clothes in a neat bundle in one hand, the other

holding his towel around his hips. When Aya reached the door to his room, and realized his hands were full,

he swore softly into the air, at no one in particular. As the redhead thought, the annoying carpeting dug into his

feet, almost distracting him enough to make him shift his weight. But Aya isn't the sort of person to get distracted

so easily, so he didn't shift his weight.  He was wondering if he should put the clothes down- but then they would

spring out of their nice little bundle, and Aya hated a mess. If he used the other hand, though, it would be even worse-

his towel would fall down unless he angled his hips the exact right way against the doorframe, and it was bound to

happen that he didn't quite get it right, and someone would barge out into the hallway or up the stairs, startle him, and

then it would be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him in front of another Weiß member. He couldn't

have that. Aya sighed, caught between a rock and a hard place- // Don't Americans call it a Catch-22? I think I heard

Youji say that once, on a mission… // - And wedged his clothes under one arm, using his elbow the keep them in a bundle,

and used that hand to keep his towel up. // I read a book once where the main character said he most respected the man

who, when presented with two bad choices, could always make a third, more acceptable one. I'd be his poster boy… //

He smiled wryly at that thought. His other hand was used to turn the doorknob. As he entered the room and shut the door,

the urge to sigh from the relief of being back in his sanctuary was almost overwhelming, but Aya didn't let himself sag or

stop moving, let alone sigh. He walked purposefully across the floor (hardwood floors in the bedrooms- he had insisted

on it when he first came to Weiß. Before, the horrible grey carpeting had been in the rooms, too.) and dropped the clothes

in the hamper, a bamboo triple-sorter affair on wheels. Whatever else could be said of Aya, that he didn't have a sense

of feng shui was not one of them. That everything in his room was economical and functional to the point of bareness… that could be said.

Let me see you stripped…

Let me see you stripped…

He took off the towel, letting it fall to the ground, and stretched, reveling in the pull and pop of muscles and joints given

unaccustomed length. Halfway through the stretch, all of the muscles in his body contracted in towards Aya's center of

gravity, leaving him shuddering with that sated feel of someone who's just had a good workout and then a good stretch.

Then he collapsed onto the bed, curling about himself, and pulling the sheet over his body. He sighed in his sleep,

breathing deeply, and the box, resting near his head on the pillow, slid towards the crimson mop.

He never noticed it.

Metro-police

Has nothing on this

You breathing in fumes

I taste when we kiss…

Author's Note! Okie. Here goes. I haven't updated anything in such a loooong while that anyone who ever read my stuff has officially forgotten about it. I know these things! I got an really fucking official-looking notice form FF.net by snail mail that everyone had forgotten that my stories existed. No, not really. I'm being stupid. ^^ Sorry. That seems to be my mode. Anyways…. Suddenly got in a writing mood, and I don't think I'll get out of it anytime soon.  So. Here's my story. Angst, depression, and general Aya-ness prevail, and included in the eclectic mix are Omi being involved in some questionable things and Youji being his normal self… which is to say, an active member of several weekly orgies and also a clubber. No, really. I swear to god. He is. Until he gets worried about Omi, that is.  ^^ Review, and I will love you forever! I will be your devoted slave! So… review? Arigatou?

Also: Here's my AIM: yukarikudou

And my email: rosevickery@msn.com

Feel free to email me! ^_^