Disclaimer: Wow, I've never really had to write under a deadline before. I hope it doesn't affect my writing too much. Anyway, none of these characters belong to me. Just thought you'd like to know. I'm sure it makes you feel special to know that.

Silent Storm
by Crystal Dawn Phoenix
Chapter Two

Across town from the Koneko, settled firmly in the Shinjuku district, a rather large RV was bunkered down for the night in a mobile trailer park. In all actuality, it was just a place used by truck drivers to park for the night, or rest until they could complete their run. However, the RV parked there now had no such priority.

The cheery pale pink and beige trailer obviously didn't belong to a camping enthusiast or a trucker. The kitten and flower logo on the front gave away its actual purpose: it was being used as a mobile flower shop. During the day, the four men who lived inside drove the RV around town, setting up displays wherever possible, and selling flowers out of it. During the night, the RV was left in a park like the one it rested in now, while its owners left for their other 'job'.

Next to the RV was parked a simple, silvery-white hatchback. It was obviously used, and more than a few years old, but it appeared to be dependable nonetheless. The other car that was usually parked beside it - a large, white Super Seven - was absent tonight. Two bikes rested behind the trailer as well.

The entire RV was darkened, the inhabitants either gone or sleeping. The only exception to the darkness was one glowing window toward the front of the passenger's side. It shone dimly, signaling that at least one person was still awake inside the trailer.

The light came from a small reading lamp sitting on a table underneath the blind-covered window in the living room of the trailer. Beside the table sat a plush black leather recliner, and in the recliner sat a man reading a book. It wasn't a very large book, by any means. The spine read, in tiny gold kana, "Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Grey"

The man sitting in the recliner flipped a page, his dark violet eyes darting up and down as he read quietly. Aside from still wearing the ribbed orange turtleneck and jeans from that day's work, he looked as though he were nearly ready to go to bed. He had long since taken off his shoes for the evening and replaced them with a pair of brown houseshoes and a pair of reading glasses sat firmly on his face. Two matching sprigs of long, red hair were tucked lazily underneath the glasses, the rest of his hair falling loosely around his face. Behind the strand of hair on the left side of his face, a long, slender, silver earring waved lazily back and forth.

To most people, he was known as Fujimiya Aya. That's what he had told his co-workers, customers, and employers to call him. To a select few, mostly family and those who knew him well, he was Ran. He had been using his sister's name for the past two and a half years, having almost completely buried the person he was before. His original name had gone long unused, gathering dust in the back of his mind.

Quietly, Aya turned another page of his book. At this point, he was pretty engrossed and intent on finishing it before he went to bed for the night. The last time he'd checked his watch, it had been nearing midnight; he was certain that it was long past one by now, at least. He was the only one still awake in the RV at this hour. Ken and Omi had gone to bed hours ago, and there was no telling when Youji would be in for the night. Aya had estimated he'd come dragging in at roughly 2:30 before collapsing onto one of the couches to sleep.

Not that Aya would notice. He would be in his own bed by then; there weren't that many pages left in his book. He had devoured most of it already, partly because the story was captivating and partly because he was simply a fast reader.

The story itself had grabbed him right off the bat. In it, a young, handsome nobleman paid a painter to paint his portrait. As the years went by, the nobleman never aged, but his picture did; the painting reflected all of the callous debauchery that resided within the nobleman's soul, and got more and more decrepit as time passed. Maybe it was a little melodramatic, but something about the story struck a resounding chord within Aya. More than once, he'd been given over to wonder what a portrait that someone had painted of him two and a half years ago would look like now. While he seemed normal on the outside, there were times when he felt as though his soul was rotting away underneath the surface.

Perhaps part of it was because of the situation with his sister. It had been six or seven months since she'd come out of her coma, but he still couldn't bring himself to go meet her face-to-face. He had already seen her hurt too many times just because she had been associated with him. There would always be those who would track her down if they could make the connection between the two, for no other purpose than to exploit her to take a shot at Aya. No, he would rather stay far away from her, where she would be safe. There was no need to cause her any more pain.

To assuage his guilt, though, he continued to send her letters. The letters were, of course, nothing more than a bundle of lies, but it was better than letting her know the truth, and it was better than nothing at all. In any event, he knew the letters at least couldn't be traced back to him, should someone with vengeance on their mind get ahold of them. There would be no way for them to make the connection between brother and sister.

Besides that, he knew Sakura would take care of his sister, at least for awhile. Manx had already informed him that the younger girl had taken to helping her out around the shop. He knew that she was probably waiting there for him, hoping for a visit or a letter or a call. It was cruel, but he had resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't contact her again at all. That way, she could eventually give up on him, find someone who could take care of her, and move on.

Even though he knew that was what was best for her, it still made him feel like a real bastard.
Besides that, Aya rationalized, in his business, one couldn't afford to have emotions like that. They were too easily exploitable, and he had seen that happen to his teammates too many times to let the same thing happen to him. Even though he didn't dare admit it to himself, though, he'd already been used that way quite a few times, too.

The sound of a key in the lock on the front door to the trailer snapped Aya out of his reverie. Looking up from his book, it occurred to him that it probably wasn't anywhere near time for Youji to be back home yet. A glance at his wristwatch confirmed this; it was only 1:25. Aya's eyes narrowed as the door's handle turned, disengaging the doorknob and causing the door to swing forward into the living room. Aya knew now that there was no way the person behind the door was Youji; Youji usually made a lot of noise, particularly if he had been drinking.

Heart racing, Aya sat aside his book and prepared to spring from his seat. The door began to swing slowly back toward its frame, causing his entire body to tense. A moment later, however, he found his apprehension to be largely unfounded. A shapely, red-clad woman stepped out from behind the door, her red curls bobbing around her face as she let the door close behind her. Aya's apprehension was replaced with suspicion.

"Good evening, Aya," Manx said quietly, her voice lowered in respect to the late hour, "I'm glad you're still up."

"A mission?" he asked bluntly. Manx walked over to the couch nearest Aya's chair and sat down. She shook her head slowly from side to side, swinging her curls gently as she did.

"Not tonight," she said, "But I needed to talk to you." Suspicion was replaced with a quiet, seething dread.

"You delivered the letter?" Aya asked, not wanting to inquire directly about his sister.

"Yes," Manx said, glancing off toward a corner of the small room, "Your sister is fine. She got the letter this afternoon." Aya almost visibly relaxed, leaning back into his chair and removing his glasses from his face. He placed them onto the table beside him and let his eyes drift shut. Absentmindedly, he began massaging the bridge of his nose.

"That's not what I want to talk to you about," Manx said, locking her eyes onto him. It was almost as if she could pin him to the spot with her look.

"What is it, then?" he asked, looking away in discomfort. He didn't like being stared at like that.

"It's Tomoe Sakura," Manx said, her intense look failing to waver. Aya glanced back at her briefly before focusing on the far wall. A minute or more passed in silence before he even appeared to have heard Manx.

"What about her?" he finally asked. Manx closed her eyes as though she were concentrating intently on what she was about to say.

"I want you to go see her," she replied.

"That's not possible," Aya said quietly, barely even blinking.

"It's quite possible," Manx corrected, glaring at him, "You simply refuse to do it." Aya gave her an indignant look.

"You can't order me to," he informed her bluntly.

"I'm not ordering you," she said, waving one hand dismissively, "I'm asking you." Aya snorted.

Aya returned his gaze to the far wall. Manx crossed her legs and leaned back into the couch. Another silent minute passed before he turned to look at her again.

"Why did you bring her up?" he asked, his voice holding an accusatory note.

"Mostly because you're making her miserable," Manx replied, her words as sharp as needles. Aya looked away again. He didn't need to be told how to deal with his private life.

"It's none of your business," he said, a bit of defensiveness creeping into his voice. Aya made his statement with such a bitter edge that it was clear what he meant: I don't want to talk about this, drop the subject.

Manx clearly took the message. She rose, smoothing her skirt out as she stood. Even so, she wasn't the kind to leave without a last word.

"Fine," she replied curtly, "You're exactly right. I only thought you might like to say goodbye to her before she died." Manx walked briskly to the front door and took the handle. Aya glared at her.

"I doubt she'll die anytime soon," he replied sharply, "She's only sixteen." Manx didn't look at him; instead, she focused on the door in front of her.

"That's not what the doctors said when they took her to the emergency room this afternoon," she said, the edge in her voice having disappeared, "They don't expect her to make it." Outwardly, Aya showed no response. In all actuality, though, he was shaken. He hadn't thought Manx was serious - he had only thought that she had been trying to emotionally manipulate him. If this were true, though, that might change things.

"What happened?" he finally managed to ask. His mouth was dry and it felt as though his throat had begun to close up.

"They're not sure," Manx replied, "She passed out this afternoon while I was visiting your sister. Her body temperature dropped like a rock afterward. They don't know what's wrong with her, but they don't expect her to last more than a week." Aya continued to stare at the far wall.

He really had no clue what reaction he was supposed to have to this. Inside, Aya felt very calm and detached. Just underneath that, though, there was an underlying current of apprehension. The thoughts that entered his mind did so in an orderly manner, though, marching one after the other, right in step. And in some small place in the back of his consciousness, Aya had the beginning of an inkling that he should have gone to see her before now.

"When they took her, she had been coughing up this black... fluid," Manx continued after a moment of awkward silence, "I've never seen anything like it. After a few hours, the doctors had run all the tests they could and decided to send her home to rest till the end. They couldn't even draw a blood sample from her. All they kept getting was that black bile." Aya blinked slowly, letting it all sink in. He knew that Manx had seen most everything there was to see about the human body from her field work. If something had her stumped, it was definitely not good.

"Is Kritiker going to investigate?" he asked. They would probably be interested in something this strange.

"I don't know yet," Manx confessed, "I've contacted them, but it's an isolated incident. They may just wait to see if any more cases like this pop up. Either way, it's not going to help her any. Personally, though, I think it's probably connected to the time she was kidnapped by the Estet." Aya didn't show any reaction, but he did remember quite vividly the time that Sakura and his sister had been abducted. "We don't know for sure exactly what they did to her while she was there," Manx said quietly, "I don't think she remembers, either."

Aya continued to sit quietly, the only outward sign of his mental activity being the tips of his fingers as they began to dig into the armrests of the recliner. Finally, after several more silent minutes, he spoke again.

"If I go see her," he said quietly, "It will only hurt her worse." Manx sighed a bit, her expression slowly turning to one of disapproval again. She hated that stubborn streak of his.

"And if you don't," Manx reminded softly, "She'll die thinking you don't care about her." Aya showed no signs of response. Instead, he continued to stare blankly at the far wall. Manx seemed to realize that there was nothing more she could say to him, and turned the doorknob.

"Well," she said quietly, "I'll take my leave now. If you need me, you have my number." The door swung open and with a few footsteps, she was gone, the door clicking softly behind her.
Aya sighed to himself and tossed a weary glance at his closed book. It lay on the end table now, lonely and abandoned. He knew he wouldn't finish it anytime tonight.

* ~ * ~ * ~ *

The soft sound of bare feet brushing across a wooden floor complimented the faint rustling of clothing. The room was dark, and had been for hours, the blue-haired girl in the bed having gone to sleep much earlier. The teenaged boy now getting undressed had stayed up late again. As the last of his clothes hit the hamper, he reached over to pick up his night clothes. As soon as he touched the crumpled fabric, though, something in his mind clicked. He wouldn't need those tonight.

Slowly, he could feel his resolve slipping. Maybe it was because he was so exhausted from staying up late. Maybe he was just tired from running from the demon. Maybe it had simply grown to the point that it was stronger than he was. Or maybe - and this was the frightening part - he wanted the same thing it did.

He stopped in mid-step, trying to fight back mentally. Granted, his efforts were weak at best. He tried to think of something else, anything else to take his mind back. He thought briefly of the work he'd been doing earlier. The girl he'd been following up on was close to the end now. If he chose, he could take her tomorrow, and receive the piece of the demon that resided within her. She was so close to being delivered.

Or, he was suddenly aware, he could let that piece die off and finish his work with this girl in the bed tonight. The other girl, the unimportant one, would probably die, taking the other piece out of existence with her. Then, eventually, it would rejoin the main piece on its own. Yes, that way was definitely easier.

He lifted the sheets up slowly, not wanting to wake her or frighten her away. As he slid beneath the covers, he could tell that he hadn't woken her. Good. She wouldn't fuss if she was sleepy enough. Slowly, carefully, his arm slithered over and around her waist, pulling her back against his bare stomach. There was a small, stifled gasp as he planted a kiss on the crook of her neck. He had woken her.

"Nagi-kun," Tot's small, frightened voice floated back to him, "Your hands are cold." He could feel her stomach quiver beneath his thin fingers as he ran his hand underneath her night shirt. She was beginning to shiver all over from the cold, and perhaps, it occurred to him, a bit of fear. Not that it mattered to him much now. The only thing that mattered to Nagi at the moment was the voice speaking to him through his thoughts. Do it, it ordered over and over, Do it and be done with it.

Tot whimpered as he pressed her backside against the cradle of his lap. She was beginning to squirm a bit. In response, he pressed against her stomach harder, trying to still her. His other arm slid down underneath her neck, winding into the collar of her loose night shirt. He began to pull on it, feeling the buttons that held it together resist him. As the lower hand crept further up Tot's chest, the top button on the shirt gave, popping off and hitting the floor with a hollow 'tap, tap, tap' noise.

"Nagi-kun, stop," she grunted, trying to wriggle free of his cold grip, "Nagi-kun!" Her smaller hands wrapped around the larger one on her stomach, trying in vain to pry it loose. "Nagi-kun!" she pleaded again, her voice rising and becoming shrill, "Stop it! Stop!" Nearly frantic, Tot kicked lose, breaking Nagi's grip and nearly flying out of the bed.

He saw her standing in the pale starlight then, staring back at him with those wide, questioning eyes. Tears were beginning to glitter on her cheeks. Clutching her Rabbi-chan, she took an apprehensive step back.

Nagi looked down at himself, startled 'awake' by Tot's outburst. He was tangled in the sheets of his bed, completely naked. He almost had no recollection of what he'd been doing, but he did know. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew what he'd been doing.

Frustrated and angry at himself, Nagi leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He clutched fistfuls of his own hair, pulling them absentmindedly for a moment before releasing them and slamming his hands into the bedding.

"Damn it!" he screamed, not caring if he woke up his teammates.

Tot took an uncertain step forward, still holding onto Rabbi-chan for dear life. Her face was scrunched in worry, small tears streaming down her face.

"Nagi-kun," she said softly, "Are you alright?" Nagi trembled for a moment before looking up at her, the black slivers of his pupils reflecting the room's dim light.

"Don't come near me," he ordered quietly, "Please. Just leave me alone. It'll all be over tomorrow, I promise. Just... go sleep on the couch for tonight, okay?" Tot whimpered a little, but nodded. She took a step back before turning and running for the door. She left the room at a run, leaving Nagi with the echoes of her sobs filling the empty room.

Nagi sighed, looking down at the sheets that lay in wrinkles over his bare thighs. He hated this struggle, day in and day out. And every day, it got harder and harder to tell the Beast 'no'.

Tot ran through the hallway outside their room, heading in the general direction of the living room couch, but not really caring if that was where she wound up or not. Her eyes were filled with tears, making it hard to see and frustrating her even more. She wiped futiley at them with the back of her hand and ran for the stairs.

Instead of reaching the stairs that led down into the living room, however, she collided with something solid, making a very soft 'thud' noise. It wasn't as hard as a wall, by any means, and actually gave a little when she ran into it. Hands gripping her shoulders and steadying her told Tot that she had just run into another person. Sniffling and wiping her vision clear, Tot looked up.

"Well, well, what have we here?" a familiar voice came down to meet Tot's ears. Schuldich looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting mischievously from beneath his shock of stringy red hair. She guessed that he had been on his way to bed when she ran into him; he had on his funny pink bunny slippers and loosely buttoned green shirt again.

Tot didn't know what to do. Schuldich could be fun to make breakfast with sometimes, but she didn't know if she should say anything about Nagi to him. She focused on the floor at her feet. Nagi had told her not to talk to him too much, anyway.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" he finally asked, letting go of her shoulders, "Problems with Nagi?" Tot blinked and looked at his face again.

"Yeah," she said sadly, "I'm going to go sleep on the couch." Schuldich cocked his head to one side and looked at her with a bemused sort of grin.

"Why don't you come and get a cup of hot tea with me before you go to sleep?" he offered, an almost undetectable hint of malicious glee crawling underneath his words.

Tot nodded, shyly wiping her nose with the cuff of her sloppily buttoned night shirt. Schuldich walked down the stairs. Tot followed him as they both walked toward the kitchen.