Author: Mirrordance
E-mail: mirror_dance2@hotmail.com
Title: Bed of Roses
Type: part 2/6
Spoilers: generally, with references to entire series
Warnings: drama, angst, language, violence, yaoi
Teaser: After two years of semi-retirement from Kritiker, Ran and Yoji return to action when they discover the new target is a murderous, out-of-control Siberian
"Bed of Roses"
a WKff by Mirrordance
don't own anybody…
CHAPTER TWO: Goodnight
Ran had to admit that it was a work of genius on Kudou's part.
There had been a story there, he knew. One night it was one way, come the morning it was another. No one was telling him what had happened. But it was fine. He himself had his own secrets, it wasn't at all in his place to insist.
He wasn't a fool, even if he did have some kind of tendency to turn a blind eye. Ken was goddamn troubled, but, as he thought… one night it was one way, come the morning it was another. Kudou must have said something. Ken seemed stronger now, stiller, like he had found his rock. Kudou, of all people, who was a goddamn piece of work himself…
Yoji hadn't said it expressly, but he had adroitly maneuvered Ken into patching up the injured Weiß after every mission. Ken didn't have Omi's gentle little hands, but he was getting better. It took Ran a few nights to realize what Kudou was trying to do. He was trying to re-condition Ken to a more constructive reality, after the destruction wrought by his claws, his job, that cursed other life. Fixing people instead of killing them.
Some nights though, his heavy needlework hurt so much it felt like the same goddamn thing.
Ran was on his back half-lying in bed, his booted feet still on the floor. Ken was looming over him, the first aid kit on one hand, chewing on the inside of his mouth, thinking.
"Want me to try saving your shirt?" he asked.
Ran lifted his head up enough to look at his chest area. There was a long, ragged gash there, which had broken his shirt diagonally across the middle, as surely as it had broken his skin underneath it. He shook his head, then let it fall back on the mattress.
"I didn't think so," said Ken, grabbing the scissors and cutting Ran's shirt open. He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant, dabbed it on some cotton. He was about to put it against Ran's broken skin, when he paused and looked at the redhead. "Tell me if it hurts and I should stop, ok?"
Ran just grunted an acknowledgement.
Ken shrugged, as he brought the cotton down on the skin.
Ran sucked in a breath. It fucking stung. His eyes glazed, his jaw set, his body stiffened.
"As if you really would," Ken spoke as he worked through the long gash, trying to distract Ran from the pain, and trying to distract himself from Ran, "Tell me if it hurts, I mean. I don't know why I bother asking. I should know you by now…"
He put down the infernal cotton and took out the hellish needle, threaded it almost-expertly.
"When I work on Yoji's wounds," said Ken, "he keeps a bottle of liquor around. It's what I put on his skin, to avoid infection," he chuckles, "Incidentally, it's also what he puts in his mouth, to avoid the sting. You wouldn't happen to want any?"
Ran shook his head, grit his teeth, wishing him to just get it all over with.
Ken shook his head in amusement, smiled and put the needle through Ran's skin, piercing, binding one broken end to another. It was a neat stitch.
"I can see all my other works mapping your skin," said Ken, pausing from his sewing to glance at Ran's other chest scars, "I'm not bad at it at all, don't you think? Most of them are fading nicely."
Ken continued to work, quiet for a moment, but only for a little while. Ran's silence was so (ironically), potently blank it begged to be filled.
"You don't pay much attention to it," said Ken, "but really, when I stop doing this for you, you'll miss it."
He had a funny tone. Ran picked this up because he was an astute man. But he kept his mouth shut. Not because he didn't care, but he didn't know precisely how to show it. And Ran Fujimiya didn't go into things blindly, after all. Didn't act until he knew for sure. It was a good thing to have in missions, but not for the rest of his life. And he did have a life outside of the job. He was just (mostly) unfortunately that way.
Ken finished up the rest of the stitches. He neatly cut the thread, then started to put the first aid kit in order. It was at this time that Ran grabbed his elbow, stopping him from his quick, graceful movements.
Ken looked at him, met his eyes. They were a disconcertingly beautiful amethyst. They shone like jewels, burnt like lasers.
"Wait," Ran said.
And Ken did. Because Ran said so. Because he seldom said anything, you might as well follow.
Ran pushed himself up to his elbows, making Ken roll his eyes back in profound irritation.
"You'll tear my stitches, damn you," Ken muttered, helping him to a sitting position anyway.
"Your hand," said Ran, nodding to Ken's hastily bandaged right hand, blood already starting to stain its ragged gauze.
"I can handle that," Ken assured him.
"Don't be stubborn," Ran said, motioning for the first aid kit. Ken sat beside him hesitantly. Ran caught his eye, looked at him with suspicion, an artfully slight arc of the brow.
"Of course I'm squeamish," Ken said sheepishly, "this is the first time you'd stitch me up. It was usually Omi. Sometimes Yoji. Never you."
"They must be asleep by now," said Ran, hardly offended, taking Ken's injured hand and unwrapping it.
Ken let him work in silence. He wanted to see if Ran would feel the need to say anything, if he didn't. If Ran would fill the void, if Ken just let it stay hanging in the air. Ran didn't. And Ken couldn't keep himself from filling that yawning space.
He usually didn't mind. There was no point in minding Ran's nasty non-habit of speaking because… well Ran was Ran. Ken had grown used to it. But tonight was different. Tonight was special. Tonight couldn't end as Ran was ending it. Tonight couldn't be like the other nights…
Ran paused from almost touching the cotton with the antiseptic to Ken's skin. His eyes almost teased. He had thought of a kind-of joke. Ken would find it funny.
"Tell me if it hurts and I should stop," he said, mimicking the brunette's exact words from earlier, except his face was carefully bland. Only his eyes danced.
It made Ken smile a bit. He was obviously pleasantly surprised. It was so easy to make him smile, he had always been generous with his joy. It was all the grief he kept within that worried Ran, however. All that pent-up rage. He had to spread some of that animosity around, before it makes him spontaneously combust.
Ken bit his lip as Ran disinfected the wound, then stitched at it. Ken watched Ran's face. His brows creased just-so, in a look of concentration that Ken didn't even see in missions. He wanted to chuckle because it was funny, Ran was more careful with his injured hand than he was juggling lives. But he bit his lip instead. If he opened his mouth he could have yelped at the pain, and that would be profoundly embarrassing.
"You're not half-bad," Ken said when Ran had finished and he could finally exhale. It hurt like blazes but Ran had been very gentle. "I'm better though."
Ken had seen a corner of Ran's lip turn up in a smile. It was enough, to keep him lingering, to keep him from leaving the room.
"You never have to say much," said Ken, "to get the things you want."
Ran's brows rose. Challenging him to say precisely what Ken thought he wanted.
Ken laughed, shook his head. "You would rather waste time than words, wouldn't you?"
Ran's jaw set. That hadn't been a very nice thing to say. Then again, it hadn't been a very untrue thing to say either.
Ran started to put the first aid kit back in order. Ken knew the welcome mat had been pulled from under him.
He got to his feet, turned his head toward Ran's, inviting the other man to look at him and meet his eyes.
"Good night, you," said Ken, flashing him a smile, then turning away to leave, and he really, truly did.
* * *
Ran stood by the door and stared at the empty room. The furniture was still there, yes, but it remained profoundly empty. Because his dirty laundry wasn't scattered on the floor, because there was none of his clothes around, none of the things that really mattered to him. It was never this clean. It was never this hollow. All traces of Ken ever having been here was gone. It wasn't his room anymore. It wasn't anyone's. It was just a room, now.
Ran tore himself away from the horrid sight. Across the way was Omi's room. It was just as empty. Well… not really. Devoid of Omi and anything that was distinctly his, but Yoji was there, standing in the middle of the room, smoking a cigarette the scent of which Omi would have hated to have in his private space.
Yoji said nothing, though Ran knew he knew he was there, watching. He was taking his time smoking the entire cigarette. He also took the liberty of scattering the ash on the floor.
"Where's Ken and Omi?" asked Ran.
Yoji turned to face him, blinked in confusion. "Who's that?"
--
Yoji gave him a sour grin. "Not funny, I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. I wanted to see your face if you thought Omi and Ken never existed and were all a dream and…" he sighed, "you know what? Never mind."
"Where are they?" Ran asked again.
"I obviously don't know," snapped Yoji, "This is a fucking nightmare. It's like sleeping with two gorgeous women. You wake up, they're gone. And you have to wonder if it was just a kind of masturbatory fantasy…"
--
"Except they're not women," Yoji said quickly, "It's a bad analogy… but you get the frustration, eh?"
--
"Or maybe not," Yoji conceded, sighing heavily, "I can't believe they left me with you."
"Manx would know," said Ran.
"She would, wouldn't she?" Yoji chuckled bitterly, "Would it surprise you if I said I reached her and she said Ken and Omi have been reassigned? God knows why…"
Ran stared at Yoji, said nothing. He inhaled deeply, then turned away from Yoji, who watched his back in wonder. Ran headed straight for his room, carefully locking the door behind him.
This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be true.
He grabbed his cell phone. Stared at it. Would he call them…? No. They left. That's their decision. No one ever said anything about this goddamn group staying together forever. No one ever said anything about anyone giving a damn. Especially not him. Not then. And no, not even now.
Hopelessly and angrily, he ran his hands through his hair.
Goddamn.
* * *
