Author's Babblings: ^_^; Thanks for not giving up on me, guys. I did promise I'd write faster, ne? Oh, and I probably should have done this a long time ago, but somehow got too caught up in the chaos of writing to even think of it. 9_9; Pardon me for being such a moron... at any rate, from now on I'm going to start replying to my reviews, because hell, it's really rude not to! You guys take the time not only to read the fic but also to give me your opinions on it, and I've been bitchy enough to not reply. ^^; It ends now.
Review Replies:
-+- Katarzyna K Yue: I'm all for a KenKen with more backbone! He's far too often portrayed as a weepy ultra-uke. The guy's emotional, yeah, but he's not a total sap. Also, seeing as Ran is as repressed and withdrawn as he is, it really –is- up to Ken to take the initiative. ^^
-+- Seph Lorraine: Hai, Ken's isn't really the clubbing type as far as the canon goes... but then again this version of him has spent a bunch of time in and out of Brazil's party centrals with a bunch of rowdy guys, plus he's been in a much more open and relaxed culture. What's to say he couldn't start to get into more extroverted activities? ^_~ Besides, he has an ulterior motive: getting Ran to loosen the hell up!
-+- Lady Dragon: ^^; Nope, I haven't given up, just had a lot of shit tossed at me at once and that caused the creative core of my brain to go into hiding while I battled reality. .;; Ken's got his work cut out for 'im, that's for sure. But has Siberian ever stepped down from a challenge..? ^_~
-+- Carter Tachikawa: n_n I'm gonna try kicking myself back into gear and update sooner. This was way too long a gap. I'm so glad people are still bothering to read it! ^^
-+- fei: o_o; Oi! Thwapping Ran would be about as hazardous to your health as poking a sleeping, rabid grizzly bear in the eye with a sharp stick. Glad the angst is alright with you, and at this point, I have no idea what the ending might have in store for 'em. ^^; This fic is its own entity and I just offer the fingers to type it.
-+- Marty: I'm the god of schoolwork? Will you sacrifice a small goat to me? No? Damn. Vivit lingua latina~! You're doing the Iliad, I did the Aeneid. Isn't the pain of all that obscure language just glorious? If I ever have to read anything about „pius aeneas" ever again, I might stab myself, and yet it's so much better than Catullus. You're prolly reading it in English though, yeah? Now imagine reading the raw Latin. n_n;; As for the rabid monkey love.. *cough* I'll see what I can do.
-+- Corrupt Prodigy: n_n; Maybe if we hand him a flame-thrower...
Disclaimer: All I own is a pencil and a pair of socks. ;_; You no takie my socks, ok.? Weiss belongs to rich people who can afford them. Hoobastank belongs to itself (though I wanna nibble on the vocalist..).
Rating: PG-13 for.. um, you'll see, and no, it's not what you think. ^^;
//...What
is it I've got to say...
So why are you running away?
...To make you admit you're afraid...
Why are you running away?//
~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~
Ran woke up the next morning with the beginnings of what was soon to become the most spectacular headache he'd had in recent history. Unbeknowst to him, it was actually a mild hangover. But Ran didn't get hangovers. Right.
Violet eyes blinked up at the crack in the ceiling and the redhead reminded himself, yet again, to have it patched before it got worse. Number 5,003 on his list of things to get done that he never got around to. The crack seemed to smirk at him.
His alarm clock went off a minute later, blasting harsh rock music into the sun-warmed silence of his bedroom. A pale hand reached out to carefully turn off the tuner and Ran finally sat up, grimacing at a dull ache low in the pit of his stomach. The organ wasn't very pleased with how Ran had been treating it of late, and was responding by trying to digest itself. Ran decided he should eat breakfast and stood up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair and walking to the kitchen naked except for a pair of rather evil-looking grey bunny slippers. After all, the kitchen tiles were prone to being freezing.
The refridgerator was small and unadorned by even a single magnet. Inside was a bottle of soy sauce, a small jar of cherry preserves (half-empty), and a strawberry yogurt. Ran winced. Looked like it was time to go shopping again. He reached for the yogurt and ate it leaning back against the kitchen counter, violet eyes absently looking out the window at the apartment building across the street. New York looked grey yet again. This time it was an irritated, muffled grey warning of more snow at some point later. The sun tried to break through the clouds half-heartedly but only managed to do so enough to give everything a painful, neon glare. A fat pigeon landed on the windowsill, fluffed its feathers, and looked Ran up and down.
*Coo,* said the pigeon.
The phone rang, startling the pigeon into an awkward lift-off. Ran tossed the yogurt container in the trash and the spoon into the sink, and picked up the phone.
"Hey, Ran. It's Charlie. You gonna get here soon? I've never known you to be late."
"I'm not coming today."
Shocked silence vibrated over the line. "...what?"
"I'm not coming in today."
"Look, I don't know what your issue is, but this Mr. Hidaka needs to get to the conference today, and you need to watch his back."
"..'Mr.' Hidaka can take care of himself."
Ran could practically see Charlie rub his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, his brain repeating a silent litany of 'I don't need this.. I don't need this..'
"I'm assuming you have a problem with the client."
"You could say that."
"...alright. Look, I'll double your pay for the day. Just show up."
"This isn't about mon—"
"Just show up, Fujimiya." Click. Charlie had hung up the phone.
Ran glared at the receiver in his hand before hanging up, as well. A tapping sound broke through the dark cloud suddenly hanging over his head, and he turned to the window.
*Coo,* insisted the pigeon once more.
"Fuck you," replied Ran, and went to his room to get dressed.
Ken was waiting for him just outside the hotel lobby. He was dressed in a tidy white button-down shirt (untucked), a team jacket, cargo khakis, and rather scuffed-up sneakers that completely clashed with the rest of what he was wearing. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he looked somewhat more reserved than usual. He also looked like he hadn't slept.
"Hey." The greeting was completely unenthusiastic and bland, just uttered from politeness or habit. Ran didn't reply, just glanced over his shoulder to make sure the brunette was following him. The morning rush was in full, glorious swing. Cars honked and belched dark smoke, bike messengers wove in and out of traffic, pedestrians stampeded across streets regardless of the flashing 'do not walk' lights. The city was in its general morning upheval, except that everything was dramatized by the sparkling Christmas lights, the blaring music, and the heavy shopping bags. The whole season only made Ran feel more like a Scrooge, but what did it matter?
The convention was being held at the Waldorf-Astoria, and therefore the normally stuffy and dignified hotel was in a state of startled upheval. Valets couldn't keep up with the long line of expensive cars and annoyed passengers.
"This is why we walked," Ran said, his voice quiet and barely discernible over the humming din of the city. Ken just grunted, brown eyes brightening a bit as he started looking around at the people who were arriving.
"Hey, that's the captain of Italy's national team!" Admiration was clear in Ken's voice, and Ran rolled his eyes, half-expecting the brunette to go darting across the red carpet to talk to the man. Instead Ken just grinned like a kid on a sugar rush. "I'm gonna make sure my team kicks his ass at the championships."
Ran didn't reply, just ushered the brunette inside. A tall, dark-skinned man yelled Ken's name with a heavy accent and waved, and the brunette called something back in what Ran assumed was Portuguese, jogging through the crowd to approach him. The redhead followed along a few paces behind Ken, violet eyes darting around. He didn't like large crowds, and this one was no exception.
The older man seemed to be the head coach, and he and Ken got instantly lost in conversation. Ran shadowed them as they wandered from the main lobby towards one of the conference rooms. There was a long, glossy black table in the middle of the room, surrounded by plush-looking chairs. There were small glass vases arranged around the table, each one holding a different country's flag. Ken and his boss sat down by the Brazilian one and Ran leaned back against a wall, flicking a piece of imaginary dust off of his black Dolce & Gabanna suit and settling in for a long, boring day.
By the time the various activities were concluded for the day, Ran was not only bored out of his mind but had learned more about soccer politics than he'd ever have cared to know. He'd spent most of the day playing interpreter, except for the events in which little computer screens automatically translated the speakers' words into all the various languages native to the officials gathered inside. Most of the people at the convention spoke English, though, on top of their native languages, but at least enough of them spoke Spanish that Ken was able to talk directly to a few groups, giving Ran a much-needed coffee break.
"That was cool, don't you think?"
Ran looked up from his musings, startled to be looking into a pair of friendly brown eyes.
"Not really."
The brunette's expression fell, then grew sheltered once more.
"Do you always have to be such a dick, Fujimiya?" He picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Ran stood up, but Ken shook his head.
"I can make it back to my hotel alone. I don't need a babysitter."
"I'm paid to make sure you're safe."
Ken shot him a disgusted look and walked out. Ran hesitated, then just sat back down to finish his coffee. Ken had been an assassin; he could take care of himself quite well, and it's not like the walk from the Waldorf to the Hyatt at Grand Central was all that complicated. Ran picked up his cell phone and called his favorite Vietnamese restaurant. He could at least pick up some good take-out on his way home, and he wouldn't have to deal with the brunette until tomorrow morning. Granted, Ken hadn't done too much to deserve the cold treatment... aside from sucking on his neck. Alright, so that was bad enough, but they'd both been drunk and..
The coffee helped distract Ran from his thoughts as he placed his order for dinner.
Ken kicked angrily at a chunk of ice on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets and the collar of his jacket up to keep out the brisk wind. An uncharacteristic frown had settled across his features, though he flashed a half-hearted smile and bowed his apology when he accidentally ran into an elderly lady. She glared at him and muttered something he couldn't understand in English for his efforts, probably something along the lines of, "Watch where you're going, schmuck." Maybe that's what he was. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, it was his fault that Ran had gone from somewhat gruff but silently happy to see him to a frozen, glaring block of animosity.
"I'm such a moron," he muttered to himself, not even noticing that he spoke the Japanese words using the Portuguese word order. Granted, he'd been sort of drunk, but even so, why had he thought it'd be a good idea to flirt with Mr. Frosty? Being around easy-going people for the past while had given him time for safe introspection. He didn't think he was gay, but he distinctly had bi leanings. Being an assassin made you like someone for their personal integrity and personality, not their gender. He'd dated a few times back in Brazil, all girls, though he'd made out with a few guys when he'd been dragged out to parties. Alcohol made him less shy and less reserved, but it didn't make him stupid enough to actually sleep with anyone. Hidaka Ken was definitely a romantic deep down. Well, maybe not a romantic, he mused to himself, circling a bus stop a couple of times before continuing towards the hotel. But he definitely wanted someone that he felt comfortable with, someone that he could trust, and with a past like his it was hard. How the hell was he supposed to find someone in whom he'd be able to confide? There were just some things he couldn't tell a civilian, not if he wanted them to be safe.
Ken huffed slightly, hunching his shoulders as the cold started to creep through. Maybe that was why his drunken subconscious had decided to hit on his old teammate. After all, Weiss were the only people who knew exactly what he'd been through. With an old teammate, he'd know he was safe, and there was no guilt in putting someone else in danger; they were all killers, danger was a part of daily life, even after the team had broken up.
And why Aya? No, wait. It was Ran, now. Was it just because he was.. there? Because he was convenient? Ken certainly hoped he wasn't that much of a shallow prick. No, he couldn't be. Even Ken couldn't convince himself that he was that much of a jerk... So what was it? Maybe it had been the vibes he'd been getting from the redhead: a sort of empty loneliness, one that had been partially filled during Weiss. Now that they were scattered to all the corners of the world, Ken had found himself a new team, new friends, a new way to live. What had Ran found? He couldn't have picked a less personal business if he'd tried, nor one that was closer to what they'd done in the past. Ken had no doubts that Ran made an awesome bodyguard, and that he made a heap of money. The pricey clothes spoke for themselves. Ran had basically just withdrawn farther from the real world than when he'd been in Weiss. No one was around to force him into human interaction, and so he just didn't interact.
Ken walked into the hotel, unzipping his jacket and rubbing his hands together to warm them, still lost in his thoughts. Ok, so his motivation had been the desire to coax Ran into human interaction? Partially selfish, because he wanted to be able to have an open relationship (of sorts) so that he could fill in that part of his life that wasn't getting fulfilled by coaching one of the world's best soccer teams. Now that he thought about it, it was a silly notion. He lived in Brazil now; Ran lived in New York City. It'd never work. Besides, despite what the redhead's body had been telling him last night, maybe Ran really wasn't interested in men, or more specifically, Ken. For all he knew, the redhead could be pissed because he was horrified by the prospect of getting closer to someone whom he had killed beside...
Still lost in his thoughts, Ken opted for the stairs over the elevator, taking them two at a time. He hadn't gotten any physical activity since he'd flown in, and his body was starting to protest. Eleventh floor or not, he pushed himself into jogging all the way up. What was he going to do about the whole situation? It was starting to dawn that he'd probably messed up—No, wait. He hadn't messed up. If he remembered correctly, Ran had been very much enjoying the experience until he started to think about things. Ugh, this was such a mess. What he really needed to do was sit down with Ran and just talk things through, not that it'd be easy to knock any sense into the belligerent swordsman's pretty head. He only had a couple more days to work things out; the last thing he wanted was to go back to Brazil and leave things as uncomfortable as they now were. Ran was his friend, first and foremost.
A stubborn, blind, antisocial friend, but a friend nonetheless, and one that was hurting inside even if he'd never admit it. Yeah, this was definitely a mess.
Ken pulled out his room key and pushed the door open, flipping on the lights as he leaned down to untie his sneakers. Habits like that died hard; he'd never get used to the Western custom of wandering around on nice carpeting with muddy shoes. Maybe he could get Ran's cell phone number through the bodyguard company and call him up? Nah, chances were that the redhead would just hang up on him.
He was lost enough in his thoughts and relaxed enough from not needing to be on guard that his instincts didn't scream at him until it was too late. There was a hard jolt at his lower back and he couldn't help falling forward, only feeling the pain from the blow when his body hit the carpet. Shit. Baseball bat? Lead pipe? Something like that. It didn't feel like anything was broken but he'd been stunned, and his assassin training screamed at him to get the hell up. His body coiled to spring him back to his feet but then there was a knee in his lower back and Jesus Christ the guy was heavy, there was no way Ken could budge him. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head up – almost hard enough to wrench his neck – and he found himself staring into a pair of hard green eyes.
"Diego." He spit the name out, chocolate eyes hardening in response. It would be this asshole, wouldn't it. The Argentinian grinned down at him, an ugly grin despite the other man's much-touted features and brilliantly white teeth.
"Good evening, Hidaka. I hope you didn't forget about me?"
Ken resisted the urge to sigh. The knee jabbing with the full force of some mammoth goon into one of his kidneys helped to quell the urge.
"You're really makin' a big deal of this."
"It deserves to be a big deal. You should have known this wasn't over."
How long had it been, at least three months? Ken's team had been up against Argentina's. It was supposed to be a friendly match, though competition ran deep and both sides were playing less than clean. Ken had happened to see Diego, who was the Argentinian assistant coach, say something to one of his offense players, and within three minutes the same man had purposefully rammed himself as hard as possible into Ken's best defense player.
"Yeah, it's not over. Alessandro's still limping." The player's ankle had snapped under the impact, and Diego had had the gall to clap his offense player on the back and share a laugh with him over the state of the Brazilian...
Ken had seen red and slugged Diego in the jaw, hard enough to almost dislocate it. The ref had pulled them apart but Ken should have known that Diego would try to get back at him. Anger was boiling back in his veins and he struggled, trying hard to budge the man behind him. All he got for his efforts was one arm wrenched back at a painful angle, making his shoulder spasm.
"You fucking coward! What, you don't have the balls to fight me on equal ground?!"
"You've got a lot of fight in you, eh, Hidaka? Too much. See how much you have after we're done with you." Diego motioned to the goon, gesturing for something that Ken couldn't see though a cold chill traced its way down his spine, mixing with the pure boiling rage at being so damned helpless. If he only had his bugnuks...
"Goodnight," Diego hissed with a smirk, and then the goon pulled a length of plastic wrap over Ken's face and the brunette finally started to panic. Was the Argentinian stupid enough to actually kill him? He redoubled his efforts to get free but the man begind him was just too damned big and Ken cursed his Japanese genetics, his tensed body going limp and his thoughts cutting off abruptly as he sank into unconsciousness.
*cough* Uh, don't hate me? o.o; It's my birthday today (let's hear it for groundhogs!) and I just couldn't resist the Ken-abuse. n_n; ::ducks a flying katana::