Like I said in the last chapter, this isn't how the OVA ends, but since I didn't like the real ending, I made my own one up. I mean, there is something so not satisfying about thinking they're all dead and then realizing they were all faking it so they can rescue Kaori and be happy and have Omi or Ken or someone say at the end, "Oh, how ironic it is that this flower means happy ending or whatever and we'll never have our happy ending!" That's not the exact wording, but it's my interpretation, since I don't feel like dragging out my DVD player at 6 A.M. Well, read and enjoy!

I write to please...*snicker* ^_^

And for reviews!

~~~~~

Ken had seen it all. He had watched with breath dragging raggedly from his parched throat in terrified, pained gasps as the razor wire jerked Omi's body sharply from the platform and to the wall of the shack, suspending him there. He had witnessed the boy struggling for his darts and crossbow, only to succumb to death's grip as Aya finished him off.

No, no, no, no, no, no....

Ken's head shook in wild disbelief.

How could Aya, the man who worked beside the seventeen-year-old in the flower shop, who gave him instructions inside missions and every day life, who was supposed to have their backs covered - how could this man be thrusting the katana through the helpless boy currently caught in a web of thin, steel cord?

Omi screamed in horrible agony, his cry almost animalistic. It echoed in Ken's ears over and over until it finally died along with him.

Finished with the disposing of the youngest assassin, Aya and Yohji both turned to face Ken, emotionless. The stoic redhead's face was cold and impassive, pale, creamy skin flecked with bits of blood and a slash of scarlet across his right cheek. His violet eyes were glazed, almost, dead like a doll's. He obviously felt nothing.

Ken took a step back, teeth gritted in anxiety. What now? His only ally in the world was dead, pinned against a battered wall with a gaping sword wound in his torso. Sore, bruised digits, still cramped from gripping Yohji's razor wire in self defense earlier, clenched around his bugnuks, nearly all the claws shattered from a bout with Aya's katana. But one had survived, curved and sharp and jutting out amongst all the stubs of broken steel. The brunette drew himself into a defensive pose, and narrowed his eyes, fists made before him. He would fight to the death.

Aya came at him first, swift and light-footed, mastering that grace that only he could. He gave a fierce war cry, and with a swift spring of one ankle, he was in the air just before Ken, slashing away for all he was worth. But he never had a chance.

Ken had been watching with the crafty eyes of a killer now, no longer bothered with notions of loyalty or past friendship. Those ideas had been conceived by Omi and had died with him too. When he saw that familiar move of Aya's, the one he had seen the other man perform countless time, he was given a burst of strength and hope, ducking beneath the descending blade with such agile skill that for a moment, he was more lithe than even Aya could ever hope to be. Using that one good claw, he punched up into Aya's unguarded stomach, puncturing the skin and ripping through the muscle and flesh. When he withdrew, his leaving was accompanied by a shower of blood, which sprayed upon his face and clothes, splattered heavily across his wide eyes and made him loathe the warm, life-giving fluid.

Aya fell back into the snow, as if in slow motion, making such a graceful descent he seemed to be floating. The snow danced around him, a falling angel against a backdrop of purity. When he landed, lying stretched out on his back, he still clutched his katana, not uttering a noise, only staring, staring up at Ken with a sense of...astonishment.

Yohji was shocked as well. It delayed his reaction as Ken turned to face him, the last thing that stood between him and freedom. The wire lashed out in an angry coil, but Ken was still on his blood-high, dodging it with such expertise he made it seem like child's play. Before his former teammate could even react, he was within range, and, regretfully, almost, he slashed cruelly into the blonde. It only made him stumble back a little, and even as he was preparing to shoot out the wire in defense, Ken made his final move, punching into his stomach with the badly damaged bugnuks.

For a moment, his victim's back arched, and Yohji's head jerked back. His dusky-blonde hair was gently concealing his face in rippling waves, the dark shades perched low on the bridge of his nose to reveal those glittering, emerald orbs women found so enticing. He froze stiffly in that position. "Ah..." he rasped brokenly, smiling in bittersweet resignation. "Doesn't matter... Living like this wouldn't of been worth it anyway..." And then he crumpled into the downy snow, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Ken drew back, huffing and puffing, glaring down at his work. Ever so slowly, his eyes began to soften, to grow moist, and he shifted his gaze to Omi, who, much to his shock, was moving...

"Why...? Friends shouldn't have to fight... Is this...our punishment?" The boy was trembling in his bonds, achingly lifting his arm to point the crossbow into the distance, big, blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. And then, his head dropped again and he fell limp, the life finally leaving his quaking body.

Ken merely stood with mouth gaping. He turned away from the destruction of his young friend, looking at his enemies - no, his teammates - and seeing that just now Aya's clouded eyes were drifting shut. Whatever thoughts were scuttling across that slowly dying mind of his must've been depressing, thought Ken, and the position he was in, clutching at his beloved sword, lying stretched out in the snow and spotted with blood, it was reminding of Akira...

Suddenly, the world was spinning, Ken's feeble grasp on sanity slipping away by the second. He dropped to his knees, memories and images of the dead surrounding him flashing through his mind, and let out a long, ear- shattering scream of despair.

~~~~~

Three years later, Ken was released from his torture. Relief visibly spread across his face as Manx handed him the official papers and told him where to sign and what to expect. Freedom.

He handed her back the folder and looked for perhaps the last time upon the pretty woman, her auburn curls spiraling down onto her slender shoulders and cocky, self-assured smile making her seem no different from any other day. But today was very different. He was no longer an assassin.

Sure, they had tried to give him new teammates, but it just hadn't been the same. A number of them were very dull and most had been too high-strung, panicking under the stress of the mission. Once, there had been a boy around Omi's age, and he had been the heart-wrenching image of the former assassin. Ken had grown to like him very quickly, and although he seemed like he was going to make it, remaining calm and collected after the first two killings, he disappeared shortly one night and was found the next morning by none other than Ken, strangled to death in a nearby alley. The murderer had never been found.

When it boiled down to it, Weiss had been perfect the way it had been, and no one could ever recreate that. No one had Aya's gloomy grace that ensured perfect order, Yohji's flirtatious agility that kept things light and provided distractions, and especially Omi's encouraging cheerfulness, which always kept the team's spirits up.

"So, this is it, huh?" asked Manx as she tucked the papers of release underneath her arm. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Ken made a little 'pshaw' noise and tossed his head mock-rebelliously. "Are you kidding? I've got a job as a gym teacher and soccer coach at an elementary school lined up. This is my chance for a normal life."

She sighed. "We'll miss you, Ken. Siberian."

Ken only smirked as he watched her leave, high heels clicking sharply on the pavement as she disappeared around the corner. It was pretty lonely just standing there, leaning against the trailer that he and Aya and Yohji and Omi had once sold flowers from after leaving the shop. He crossed his arms.

Too many memories.

Any moment now, Yohji should come ambling down the road with a brown paper bag of beer in his arm and a cigarette in hand. Omi should be at his heels, talking excitedly about his day at school, and Aya, of course, should be either counting the money in the register or watering the plants. Ken, himself, would put himself to use warding off rabid fan girls.

Those girls were now wondering where all their favorite bishies had gone. Already, Aya, Yohji, and Omi were beginning to fade from their memories.

It had been so long. Why couldn't he forget them all as well?

Taking off his jacket and tying it around his waist, Ken started off at a brisk jog. He just didn't get the same exhilarating thrill he used to when the wind streamed through his short, shaggy, brown hair.

Past a few stores, a cluster of houses, and towards a small church, there was a graveyard, and as he entered into it, he slowed down, bent over with his hands on his knees, and breathed in deeply, trying to return his rapidly beating heart to its normal rate. After gulping down air a few moments to feed his greedy lungs, he straightened and threaded his way through the headstones.

A girl was the only other person besides him visiting today, and something about her struck him as oddly familiar. She was standing near Aya's grave, head bent in avid thought. Light brown hair was shadowing her closed eyes at the moment, brushing against her shoulder blades, and she hugged her thin arms to her fragile body.

"Kaori?" Ken asked in awe, brown eyes widening in unimaginable shock. He had never even fathomed seeing this girl, Akira's younger sister, Omi's friend, ever again. After he had slain Aya and Yohji, he had carried out Omi's last wish and rescued the girl. Immediately afterwards, she had been returned to the hospital to recover in safety, and Ken had been instructed to never see her again.

"Ken-kun?" Her innocent, hazel eyes blinked in amazement. "Ah! I thought I'd never see you again!"

He reached out his arms to intercept her as she launched herself into a frantic hug, squeezing him tightly to her whilst her body quaked uncontrollably. "Hello, Kaori," he said softly.

Tears were flowing down her pale cheeks now, and she choked back a sob. "Ken-kun..."

For a long time, they stood together like that, until she gently pulled away and turned back to the graves. "I came...to see Akira," she murmured. "And...I found Omi's on accident. You never told me he died back then... I spent so much time looking for him."

Ken rubbed the back of his neck, looking so much older, so much more tired. With a sigh, he murmured, "I wasn't allowed to speak to you about what had happened. I'm still not. Sorry." It was a lame apology, but the way he shrugged his shoulders and frowned explained just how deep the thorn was embedded in his heart. "I really miss him though. Aya and Yohji too."

Kaori smiled reminiscently. "Remember how my friends used to drag me out to the shop just to see Yohji?"

"Mm hmm." Ken grinned at the memory of Kaori's sixteen-year-old friend, another hacker, jumping up and down excitedly, fists pumping in the air as she squealed, 'Only two more years! Only two more years!'. Yohji's face had been equally amusing when he heard this, his casual expression falling into one of grim shock. Yes, only two more years and this girl would've probably dated Yohji. Had they both not died.

Kaori was now staring at the graves again. From left to right, the three simple milky marble headstones simply read, Yohji, Aya, and Omi. "No last names," she observed in a musing tone.

"They didn't think them necessary."

Kaori sensed by the tone of his voice that to ask who 'they' were would not receive an answer. She only turned back to the simple graves. Planted before each was a simple rose, the color differing for each assassin. She could probably guess the reasoning behind all three. Yohji's was full and blood red due to his main fascination in romance and his excessive love interest in life itself. Aya's white flower was simple, blooming delicately so that its soft, velvety petals seemed strong, yet fragile. Last of all, Omi's was brilliant, reaching out to everyone who passed by, it seemed. With outspread, sunshine-yellow foliage, it was friendly and cheerful - just like he had been.

"Roses," she observed with a sigh. "Akira loved roses. They always reminded me of - "

"The color of his eyes," supplied Ken, equally nostalgic by now. "When I first saw him, I thought that. And when he died...it's funny, cuz...the first thought that came to mind was 'trampled rose'. Now I see the roses at these graves and I think that it's really ironic. In death, they bloomed. In life...they were nothing but trampled. Trampled roses..."

Kaori's tongue slid over her dry lips thoughtfully, wetting them.

Ken chuckled at the poetic words leaving his own mouth. He normally wasn't this fluent with his speech. "I still am one of those, I guess. A trampled rose, I mean."

"I feel the same, Ken."

"Do you really?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know what I've learned from working in the flower shop? Being a crushed rose might be unbearable at first, but the more you look at it, the more beautiful it becomes. And it smells better too."

"So...what you're saying is, life will get better once we get used to it? Oh, and we'll smell sweeter than before too."

"Something like that."

"I really don't get it."

"Ah.me neither. But don't worry. We have time, right? Now that I'm all freed up, we can figure it out together. Kaori, you are my first official friend in years." And he stuck his hand out to shake hers, much to her surprise.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she placed her small hand inside his palm, clasping it. "Ken, you're so weird..." But the quirky smile she gave him said that she didn't mind in the least.

They looked upon the graves once more, longingly, and then encouraged one another with forced smiles. Ken jerked his head sharply to his left, and she nodded, signaling she wanted to leave as well. In silence, they traveled from the graveyard, the sun glaring brightly in the eyes, wind toying with their hair, and somehow, things seemed better. Those three roses having bloomed and adapted so well meant something, and as long as they kept up their happy existence, Ken would try to find his.

Yes, things were better.

~~~~~

*Shangri-La is holding a sign that reads 'WILL WRITE FOR REVIEWS'* Hey guys, that's my attempt at being angsty! It's so hard for me to write angst in my fanfics! Some of you probably know the feeling

....

PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW THE FEELING!!!!!

Anywho, I pry should stop ranting now and it's beginning to cross my mind that most of you guys aren't even reading this anymore, so I'll quit wasting my time and yours.

Oh, and this is the end of the story...I think

DUM DUM DUM...