Part IV

The brilliance of the late morning sun piercing through the curtains woke Aya. He rolled over, flinging an arm across his eyes in an effort to block out the light. Briefly, he considered going back to sleep. Between his own thoughts and waiting for Youji to appear last night, he hadn't slept more than a few hours. His stomach, however, brusquely informed him that it wanted food, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting with his head in his hands, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his mind.

Scrubbing at his eyes, he finally stood and pulled on a clean t-shirt. He could hear Aya-chan's bright voice in the back of the house, presumably talking to Momoe. Aya smiled a little at that. He knew they would get along like a house on fire. Both seemed innocent on the outside, but had hidden depths. He had no illusions about Momoe's past. She was all Kritiker underneath that oblivious old woman facade.

His hand hesitated over Youji's lighter, laying on top of the otherwise empty dresser. On a whim, he picked it up and slipped it into the pocket of his sweat pants. The inexplicable craving he had felt last night hadn't abated. Maybe he could sneak out and have a smoke without Aya-chan noticing.

Aya paused outside the room where Youji was sleeping, indecisive as to whether he wanted to check on the older man or not. Shrugging, he carefully opened the door and peeked in. Youji lay sprawled on his stomach, a sheet loosely tangled around his waist. He was all smooth, golden skin, broken only by the white line of bandages wrapped around his ribs. His head was half buried under the pillow, blocking out the morning sun coming in through the open shades. Knowing what light sleepers they all had become, Aya made no move to close the blinds. He stood looking for a long moment, before a brief burst of laughter from the kitchen jerked him out of his trance.

Softly closing the door again, Aya made his way to the kitchen, running a hand through sleep-tousled hair. Aya-chan sat with Momoe-san at the table, drinking tea. They were both smiling over something. When she saw him, Aya-chan jumped up.

"Nii-chan! You slept in!"

He ruffled her hair, which he knew she hated. "Aa. I stayed up late."

She ducked out from underneath his hand, moving toward the counter to serve him some miso soup and rice. Aya sat down at the table, facing Momoe-san. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, crinkling her eyes in amusement. "And the other lost kitten found his way home safely?"

Aya snorted. "You could say that. He's sleeping."

"Good."

Aya-chan set down a steaming bowl in front of him, and he gave her a grateful look. For a few minutes he concentrated solely on appeasing his stomach. Aya-chan and Momoe-san continued their interupted conversation, and he tuned them out, preferring to let his mind wander. As much as he didn't want to, he knew he was going to have to leave Aya-chan for a while. Until this new danger was exposed and faced down, he couldn't stay here to endanger her. Besides, he couldn't just sit by and let the rest of his team die.

Although, truthfully, he supposed they weren't exactly his team anymore. Omi ran Kritiker now, so Aya had no real authority over him. Actually, he sincerely doubted he ever had . Omi was a sly one. He would have let Aya lead, having read, and most likely memorized, the psychological profile Kritiker had done. Still, Aya felt a genuine brotherly affection for Omi, and for Ken. To him, they had both seemed so young and innocent in comparison to their two older teammates. Of course, he had never felt the slightest bit of responsibility toward Youji. Youji knew exactly what he was doing, and if wasn't prepared to face the consequences, well, that wasn't Aya's problem, was it?

No, it wasn't.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting his mind float. He hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, he knew, but now that he was awake, there was no way to convince his body to fall asleep again before nightfall. He half listened to his sister talk to Momoe-san about college, almost dozing.

Youji's voice in the hallway brought Aya back to instant awareness. He wandered in few seconds later, listening intently to the person on the other end of his cell phone. Aya's fingers gripped his knees as his eyes were drawn against his will down Youji's wiry frame. He was wearing nothing but low slung jeans, his muscled torso wrapped in the bandages Aya had put on. He licked his lips, remembering how that skin had tasted, how the muscles of Youji's stomach would bunch under his tongue.

He flinched when Youji slammed the phone down on the table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh. "That was Omi," he said, rubbing his temples.

Raising his eyebrows, Aya asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." In an achingly familiar gesture, Youji ran his hands over his hair, as if to pull it back into a non-existent ponytail. "He just wanted to chew me out for not checking in. I swear, that kid is just like –" he stopped abruptly.

My mother, Aya finished that sentence mentally. He pressed his lips together and stared down at the smooth wooden surface of the table. He thought of his mother every day, every time he looked at Aya-chan. A melancholy sadness filled him. He didn't know anything about Youji's past. He had never asked, and Youji had never offered.

"Aya-chan," Momoe said brightly, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "would you like to see my garden?"

Glancing uncertainly at the two men studiously avoiding each other's eyes, Aya-chan said, "Yes, I think I would."

Aya almost opened his mouth and asked if he could come too. He knew, in no uncertain terms, that he did not want to be alone with Youji. His mind kept betraying him, remembering intimacies better left forgotten. Things that he had no place wanting back. He scowled. He didn't want them back. He didn't need anything more than Aya-chan.

At the crinkle of cellophane he brought his gaze reluctantly back to Youji again.

"Mind if I smoke?" Youji asked casually, opening up a small packet of matches.

Aya took Youji's lighter out of his pocket and slid it across the table. "Give me one," he said.

Youji raised an eyebrow at him, for the appearance of his missing lighter, or the resurgence of Aya's smoking habit, Aya wasn't sure. He didn't say anything though, just lit up and handed the pack to Aya.

Studiously avoiding thinking about anything, Aya concentrated on how it felt to breathe, how the smoke tasted on his tongue. Apparently Youji didn't feel the need to fill the silence for once, and the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional mutterings and sighs of any house. Aya stubbed out the butt of his cigarette in the dregs of his soup. He frowned as Youji winced, leaning forward carefully. "Let me look at that again."

Lighting another cigarette from the end of his first, Youji said, "What? Oh, sure." He stood briefly, flipping his chair around and straddling it. Propping himself up on his elbows on the table, he said, "Have at it."

------

Aya sat on the front steps of Momoe-san's house and smoked his fourth cigarette in three days. He and Youji had assiduously avoided being in the same room together alone for more than five minutes the previous day. Aya wondered how Youji felt about seeing him again. He wondered if the older man was as confused as he felt. Probably not, he thought wryly. Youji had always known exactly what he wanted. It was Aya who, for once in his life, hadn't been sure.

The door creaked slightly as it opened behind him. "Hey, Ran?" Youji slipped out the door and stood behind him.

Aya didn't turn. "What do you want?" He crushed the butt out on the steps, already shaking another cigarette out of the pack held loosely in his hand.

"Omi called. He wants us to come to Tokyo right away."

Youji knelt and reached around him, lighting the cigarette Aya had just placed between his lips. His chest, pressed against Aya's back, was warm. He was acutely aware of Youji's breath as it whispered past his ear, his scent. Youji stood slowly, fingers brushing across Aya's neck in a light caress.

Aya shivered in tactile response. "Why?" he asked roughly.

"Our mysterious killer attacked again." Youji sighed. "This is getting really serious, Ran. We need to decide what to do before our luck runs out . . . again."

Wincing at the oblique reference to Ken, Aya took one last deep drag of his cigarette before standing. He dropped the still smoldering butt on the ground and ground it out with his boot heel. "Let's go then."

A half an hour later, he was ready to finish the job their unseen adversary had started. "Youji, we are not going to Kyoto just to get your gods be damned car."

"Why the hell not, Ran? I can't just leave it there forever!"

Aya growled wordlessly and slammed his long duffel bag into the back of his Porsche. "You can get it later," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine. If you don't want to go, just drop me off at the train station, and I'll get it myself."

"No!" Aya surprised even himself with the vehemence of the word. "Stop thinking about your car for a minute, and think about your life, Youji. You're coming to Tokyo with me." Couldn't he see that it was too dangerous?

Youji threw up his hands in defeat and slumped into the passenger seat. "Well, you're taking me to Kyoto after this is all over, then," he said, and slammed the door.

Pushing down a snarl of frustration, Aya turned to Momoe and Aya-chan standing in the driveway. He touched Aya-chan's cheek gently. "Don't worry, imouto," he said softly. "I'll see you later."

She nodded, pressing her lips together, fighting back tears. Her eyes plead with him to come home safely. He knew. He was the only family she had left.

Turning to Momoe-san, he bowed. "Please take care of my sister."

"It will be my pleasure, young man." Momoe-san smiled, resting her hand on the top of his head for a moment. "Keep them safe."

Aya met her eyes briefly. "Hai." He walked to the car, not trusting himself to look back at his sister. They hadn't been apart since she had woken up two years ago. He forced himself to believe she was safe here. It was more difficult than he expected, this leave taking. The open-endedness of their separation was strangely wrenching. If there was one thing he was sure of, however, it was that he did not want her to come to Tokyo with him, and witness his descent into Kritiker.

He slid into the low seat, bucking the seatbelt and starting the engine in one smooth movement. As he pulled out into the street, Youji dug out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jacket pocket.

"Don't smoke in my car," Aya ordered him.

Youji gave him a murderous look. "Prick," he spat, throwing the pack on the dashboard and slouching down in his seat.

By the time he had passed the city limits, Youji was asleep. Glancing over, Aya frowned at the dark circles evident under the other man's eyes. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. This had to be a new development. Except for the nightmares, which they all had, he didn't remember Youji having any difficulties with insomnia. Aya was the one who had kept the silent nightly vigils.

Youji in the moonlight . . .

Quite possibly, Aya knew, he was one of the reasons Youji wasn't sleeping well. The gunshot wound and grief for Ken could technically explain most of it away, but he was sure there was something else. He sighed, shifting in his seat.

Spending time with Youji again was dangerous. It reminded Aya of his bloody past, true, but it also recalled a time when he was precariously close to happiness. This had always been his dilemma regarding Youji. When Aya-chan had been in her coma, he had felt guilty for enjoying life. What right did he have to be happy while his sister's life was on hold? His relationship with Youji had been difficult for him to accept because of this. It was obvious to him even then – Youji was offering him happiness without his sister. That couldn't be right.

But now, with this strange emptiness invading his life and his thoughts, even with Aya-chan close by his side, Youji was tempting him again. Aya knew the older man still cared. It was undeniably there in his actions and his words. Could he be with Youji and still retain a semblance of Ran for Aya-chan?

No, he couldn't.

Part of Youji's allure was that Aya could be his true self, which he felt uncomfortable doing around his sister, even now that he realized she knew about his past. He could be Aya instead of Ran. He needed to be Aya. He wasn't sure if he could do that without pushing Aya-chan away. The thought of Aya-chan leaving him still made his heart beat faster, his breath come short, a terrifying darkness impinge on his vision.

Could he explain to Aya-chan who he was, who Aya was? He saw now, that if he really wanted to heal himself, to sew the edges of his torn world back together, he had to stop living in the past, hoping and wishing he was still Ran. He could never be Ran again. He could not change the fundamental premise of who he was, or the irrefutable forces that had shaped him.

If Aya-chan didn't want him, would Youji be enough? Would he seep through the cracks and gaps in Aya's heart and fill the hollow chamber below?

Perhaps he had been building up to this struggle with his identity for a while now. Perhaps his growing unease at the charade he and his sister had played only had needed a catalyst to explode into his awareness. Was it symbolic, he wondered, that the person who had shed this light was the only other person who occupied that small, shriveled organ that had become his heart? Yes, Youji was there. He couldn't lie anymore.

He was ready. He was ready for change. And this time he would reach out and change life himself, instead of life reaching out and changing him.

It was almost dusk when they hit the outer limits of Tokyo. Aya shoved Youji lightly to wake him up. Youji grunted and blinked sleepily out the window. "Where am I going?" Aya demanded.

Glancing at his watch, Youji indulged in a jaw cracking yawn. "I'm hungry," he said. "I told Omi we'd see him in the morning. Let's go out to eat; there's nothing at my place."

"All right," Aya agreed easily. He glanced over at his passenger, marveling that even injured, even exhausted, Youji still held his attention, his mind's eye lingering on the way the setting sun touched Youji's face.

He drove automatically, down half remembered streets. As he parked along the sidewalk in front of a certain building, Youji looked at him questioningly.

"Ran?"

It had been their restaurant, his and Youji's, where they went when the Koneko became too small and cluttered with the detritus of four human lives. "Call me Aya," he said.