Part V
"Aya-kun!" Omi rose and walked around his desk to give Aya an exuberant hug. "It's so good to see you!" He took a step back, flustered. "Oh, ah, I mean . . ."
"It's all right, Omi," Aya said. "Call me Aya, please. It's good to see you too." And it was. Omi had changed in the two years Aya had been away. He had grown a few inches, the top of his head now on a level with Aya's eyes. He had filled out some too, and the suit he wore was obviously expensive and tailored. His hair had darkened a little, but was still in the same shaggy style as before.
Youji, stepping out from behind Aya, said, "What, Omittchi, no hug for me?"
"Not if you keep calling me that," Omi said, his blue eyes twinkling. He motioned for them to sit down in the tasteful blue and grey chairs arranged around his desk. "I'm sorry that such depressing circumstances prompted your visit, Aya-kun."
Aya settled himself into the comfortable chair. That was Omi's way of letting him know the younger man was displeased with him for pulling a disappearing act two years ago. He sighed inwardly, knowing, as he had at the time, that his precipitous departure had probably hurt Omi deeply. In Omi's eyes, they weren't just a team. They were family. "Yes," he said simply.
Omi nodded, accepting his tacit apology. He plopped himself down in his chair, pulling a file folder out of a half open drawer and spreading the contents on the polished surface of his desk. Instead of looking at the papers, though, he steepled his fingers and stared off into space, gathering his thoughts. "Ok," he said finally. "A couple days before he died," Omi paused, a spasm of pain crossing his face before he composed himself and went on, "Ken snuck in here and accessed your file, Aya-kun."
So that's how the killer knew where to look in Osaka. Leaning back, Aya glanced at Youji. Youji made a negative gesture with his hand, low enough that it was hidden below the desk from Omi. He had apparently not informed Omi of that little incident. Aya pressed his lips together. "Omi," he started.
"I guess he was just curious. I knew you wanted a clean break," Omi said apologetically, misinterpreting his reaction. "If you hadn't brought Aya-chan to Momoe-san's already, I would have suggested it."
"Aa." Kritiker, of course, had trained them for the eventuality of capture, but it was hard to predict what one would do in a situation like that. Ken . . .
Youji chose that moment to change the subject. "What happened yesterday, Omittchi? You said someone had attacked you."
Omi made a face at the nickname. "Yes." He fiddled with a pen. "I was inspecting a building, a warehouse, actually. The electricity was turned off, so we were using flashlights. Sato-san pulled me out. Hayashi-san didn't make it," he added miserably.
Lighting a cigarette, Youji said, "Their first priority is your safety, Omi."
Aya nodded in agreement. "We need you here."
"I know." Omi sighed. "I think, at this point, it's safe to assume that a person or persons unknown are targeting Weiss."
Youji snorted. "You could say that."
Omi gave him a questioning look, but Youji avoided his gaze. "I've given it some thought," he continued, "and I think instead of waiting here like sitting ducks, we should go out and look for them."
"You mean we need someone to be bait," Youji clarified.
Nodding, Omi explained, "That way we can meet them on our own terms, and we aren't taken by surprise. The other two can be in place as backup"
"Other two?" Youji stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. "Omi, there's no way you can participate."
Aya silently concurred. Omi was far too important to Kritiker as an organization to risk his life, no matter how dire the situation was, or how important the people involved were to him. He knew Youji had a protective streak a mile wide, and he felt an answering tug in himself. "We can do it ourselves," he said.
Seeing the determination written on both of their faces, Omi capitulated. "All right. Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Youji said decisively. "I can do it, and Aya can back me up."
"What?" Aya turned his head to stare incredulously at Youji.
"You shouldn't be involved any more than you have to," Youji pointed out. "You have Aya-chan to go back to in Osaka."
Of all the – "You're injured," he growled.
"You're what?" Omi exclaimed. He pointed an accusing finger at Youji. "What happened in Osaka? I knew there was something you weren't telling me!"
Youji held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Maa maa," he said. "I can explain."
"He was shot," Aya said bluntly. "Someone was following him. Luckily for us, they had bad aim. That's why he didn't check in with you earlier, and that's why we were in Nagoya."
"Hey!" Youji sounded angry. "Can I please explain myself here?"
Omi cut him off. "Youji," he said firmly. "Never do that again." He narrowed his eyes at Youji, pinning him to the chair. "You will run back-up for Aya, got it? And no heroics. That goes for both of you."
With a venomous glare for the two of them, Youji settled into sullen silence. Aya shifted uncomfortably in his seat. No heroics? Omi knew them too well. "Any clues as to who it is?" he asked.
Shaking his head, Omi replied, "Not really. I've already ruled out Schwartz."
"They're dead," Youji said.
"We think," Aya pointed out.
"Exactly." Omi shuffled some papers on his desk. "But it doesn't make sense for them to kill Nakata-san first. They already know who was in Weiss."
"Unless they were trying to confuse us." Aya leaned forward.
Omi tilted his head in thought. "Could be. It doesn't really fit their MO, though, does it?"
"Who cares." Youji lit up another cigarette. "We'll find out soon enough."
"Youji!" Omi exclaimed.
Youji shrugged, about to reply when the phone's shrill ring stopped him. Omi picked it up before it finished the second ring. "Tsukiyono." He paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. ". . . yes . . . absolutely . . ."
Aya and Youji exchanged glances, standing at the same time. Omi looked up and mouthed "See you later," as he jotted down notes on a legal pad. They practically tiptoed out of the office, letting the door close softly behind them.
"Thanks for getting me in trouble back there," Youji said as they climbed into Aya's Porsche.
"You should have told him before," Aya said, turning carefully out of the parking garage into the busy streets of downtown Tokyo.
"I didn't want to make him worry," Youji muttered.
"It's his job to worry," Aya said drily.
"Mmm." Youji stared out the window, frowning.
Aya didn't mind. He preferred to drive in silence, to concentrate on the half-memorized route back to Youji's apartment. The enormous weight of humanity pressed in on them from all sides. It was just after lunch hour, and it seemed every salaryman in Tokyo had gone out to eat.
As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, Youji vanished into his bedroom. Aya sat down on the couch, unsure of what to do. He curled his toes into the thick carpet on Youji's floor. Decadent. Youji appeared a short time later, wearing ratty jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. He had pulled his hair into a high ponytail, subtly enhancing his almond shaped eyes. Tugging on a stocking cap, he effectively disguised the color and length of his hair.
"Where are you going?" Aya asked sharply.
"Out," Youji replied, shoving his feet into a pair of tennis shoes sitting by the door. Slouching, he looked like any other young, dissatisfied twenty-something with nothing better to do than loiter on street corners and harass pedestrians. Aya was shocked at the extent of the transformation, from so few small changes.
"It's too dangerous," he protested. "You shouldn't go out alone."
"No one will recognize me. Why don't you draw up a mission plan or something while I'm gone? We can talk about it later, when I get back."
Aya grunted, irritated with Youji for his irresponsible behavior over the past few days, too stubborn to push and ask exactly where the older man was going. "Go," he said. "I can't stop you."
Youji slammed the door on his way out.
------
Aya woke, opening his eyes slowly. Youji was sitting facing him, a shot glass and a half empty bottle of something beside him on the table. He blinked once when he saw Aya's eyes focus on him, but he didn't say a word, continuing to sit, and stare.
"What?" Aya asked, irritated at the watching.
Youji finished off what was in the shot glass before answering. "Why did you tell me to call you Aya?"
I thought you would know. I thought you would understand. Aya turned over on the couch, dragging the blankets with him, burying his face in the corner between armrest and back. Could he say it out loud? He had never been good with words. They were slippery, sliding out of his tongue's grasp like water. "I," he began hesitantly, his voice muffled by the cushions, "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not anymore. Aya-chan deserves better than that."
"Only Aya-chan?" There was a clink of glass, a small splash of liquid.
I can't . . . He wished suddenly, violently, that he wasn't a coward, that he could turn over, look Youji in the eye, see his face. But he couldn't. "No," he said hoarsely. "You, too."
A clunk – Youji setting the glass down on the thick wood of the table. A rustle – Youji standing up, moving across the room, toward the hallway, toward his bedroom. "Go back to sleep, Aya," he said, his voice gentler than it had been before. "It's late."
Before he could help it, Aya was asleep again, Youji's voice sending him into slumber like some kind of drug. When he awoke for the second time that morning, the sun had beat him by several hours. Judging from the hushed silence of the apartment, Youji had followed his own advice and gone to sleep as well.
Aya lay on the couch for a minute longer, gathering up the motivation to start a new day. He had spent the better part of the day before pacing, worrying about Youji, instead of coming up with some sort of plan to trap their hunters into becoming the hunted. Really, he didn't see what he could do, besides put himself in a prominent place and wait for someone to take a shot at him. That didn't sound so appealing, even with Youji as backup.
It was dangerous. Truthfully, he didn't really have any qualms about placing himself in that kind of danger, but getting Youji involved as well made him pause. No matter what Omi thought, finding whoever was targeting them was just as perilous as sitting around waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it would be easier for just one of them to create the trap, drawing their prey in unawares. That would at least give them an idea as to whether it was an individual or a group. Well, there was no reason he couldn't do that by himself.
Aya stretched, feeling his joints protest. Youji's couch wasn't the most comfortable in the world. It probably hadn't been purchased with sleeping in mind. And anyone who was staying the night inevitably ended up in the bedroom. Youji wasn't one for house guests.
He kept his mind carefully neutral all through a shower, as if Youji would somehow read his intentions in his sleep and wake up to stop him. Resisting the urge to check on the older man, to make sure he was still sleeping, Aya buckled on his holster over the top of a black t-shirt. He checked the clip in his gun before settling it firmly against his ribs. It wouldn't do to go out unprepared, and he could hardly carry his katana around all day. The weather was all wrong for full length leather trench coats. Shoving an extra clip into the pocket of his jacket, he slipped out the door, closing and locking it softly behind him.
Walking to the subway station, Aya took a deep breath. He had left Youji his keys, preferring to avoid the hassle of driving in downtown Tokyo if he could help it. He took the subway to the Kritiker building first, figuring it was as good a place to start as any, maybe better. How else were they going to pick up his trail?
Meandering around the business section of Tokyo, he casually tried to see if someone was following him. There were too many people though, and as before, the crowd pressed in on him, trying to swallow him up, trying to fit him into a mold. Well he didn't fit. He never had.
An idea had been forming in the back of his mind all morning. It was something he needed to do alone, away from the prying eyes of his teammates, and it would be an easier place to spot a tail. He had sorely neglected his duties as the eldest son to look after his family's grave and pay respects to his ancestors in the past two years. His mind made up, Aya headed for the subway again.
He didn't bother keeping a close watch for people tailing him on the train. It was just the beginning of the lunch hour, and the cars were crammed full of people. Nevertheless, he stood with his back to the wall by the door. No sense in taking stupid chances when simple precautions could save his life. The crowd gradually thinned out as they sped away from the heart of the city.
It was a ten minute walk from the station to the cemetery where the ashes of his parents had been buried. As Aya entered the gates, a sense of calm washed over him. It was always this way. He stopped short in surprise at the foot of the shrine.
There were old flowers on his family's grave. Aya stared stupidly at the limp blossoms. They looked to be about a week old, maybe a little more. He bent down, touching the soft petals of the white chrysanthemums gently. Who could have . . .
The plot looked neat and trim, totally unlike the mess he had been expecting. Someone had been taking care of it. No. It couldn't have been. Ken wouldn't have thought of it, though, even if he were still alive, and Omi definitely would have at least told him, if not asked his permission first. Why had Youji done something like this?
Had he cared this whole time? Impossible.
Aya caught a hint of motion off to the side and snapped his head around. He relaxed his hold on the butt of his gun as he saw it was just another mourning couple a little way down the hill. If anyone was following him he had chosen to remain hidden.
Kneeling, Aya clapped his hands three times to garner the attention of his ancestors' spirits. He bent his head, as if in prayer, but his eyes were open, watching. The couple below him walked slowly away, leaving him more or less alone. Still, no one rose to the challenge. No shots broke the stillness of the afternoon air.
He sighed. Wandering aimlessly around Tokyo for the rest of the afternoon wasn't very appealing, but returning to Youji's apartment was even less so. He needed time to think. Aya wanted time to sort through the puzzle pieces of Youji's behavior and see if he could put them together into some sort of coherent whole. And where did he fit in? Where did he want to fit in?
So he walked. He walked, and memories came flooding back. His sister, laughing as she dabbled her fingers in that fountain. Youji sleepily smoking a cigarette at that outside café. His parents, holding hands as they walked ahead of him, heads leaning together as they whispered to each other like teenagers. Aya-chan lagging behind, looking longingly at a dress in that store's front window. The corner where Youji had made him blush for the first time, by slipping a hand into the back pocket of Aya's jeans. Youji, a little drunk, clinging to that tree and laughing like a child. Youji. Youji. Youji.
It was already getting dark when Aya decided to head back to Youji's apartment. He took a shortcut he knew, through a quieter, more residential section of town. There was a subway station just a few blocks from the other side. Aya felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The air hung heavy, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what? The tension abruptly, inexplicably cleared as the lamp above him flickered and went out.
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Aya had. He was reaching for his gun as a hard body barreled into him, pushing him to the ground. He hit hard on his left shoulder, twisting his body so he rolled on his back, the gun pointed straight at his assailant's head. His eyes widened in shock.
It was Ken kneeling above him. Ken with the street lights glinting in his wild eyes. Ken with his fist raised, bugnuks out, waiting to strike. Ken with his mouth twisted into a snarl.
They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, as still as stone. Aya felt his arm start to shake, his muscles straining. "Ken," he whispered finally.
The fire died in Ken's eyes. Abruptly he stood and vanished into the darkening street, his footsteps making no sound.
Aya let his arm fall, his gun clattering on the pavement. He gazed unseeingly straight up at the night sky. The first stars were peeking out, shyly spreading their cool light over the earth. It hadn't been a ghost. Ken was alive, and Ken wanted to kill them.
"Aya-kun!" Omi rose and walked around his desk to give Aya an exuberant hug. "It's so good to see you!" He took a step back, flustered. "Oh, ah, I mean . . ."
"It's all right, Omi," Aya said. "Call me Aya, please. It's good to see you too." And it was. Omi had changed in the two years Aya had been away. He had grown a few inches, the top of his head now on a level with Aya's eyes. He had filled out some too, and the suit he wore was obviously expensive and tailored. His hair had darkened a little, but was still in the same shaggy style as before.
Youji, stepping out from behind Aya, said, "What, Omittchi, no hug for me?"
"Not if you keep calling me that," Omi said, his blue eyes twinkling. He motioned for them to sit down in the tasteful blue and grey chairs arranged around his desk. "I'm sorry that such depressing circumstances prompted your visit, Aya-kun."
Aya settled himself into the comfortable chair. That was Omi's way of letting him know the younger man was displeased with him for pulling a disappearing act two years ago. He sighed inwardly, knowing, as he had at the time, that his precipitous departure had probably hurt Omi deeply. In Omi's eyes, they weren't just a team. They were family. "Yes," he said simply.
Omi nodded, accepting his tacit apology. He plopped himself down in his chair, pulling a file folder out of a half open drawer and spreading the contents on the polished surface of his desk. Instead of looking at the papers, though, he steepled his fingers and stared off into space, gathering his thoughts. "Ok," he said finally. "A couple days before he died," Omi paused, a spasm of pain crossing his face before he composed himself and went on, "Ken snuck in here and accessed your file, Aya-kun."
So that's how the killer knew where to look in Osaka. Leaning back, Aya glanced at Youji. Youji made a negative gesture with his hand, low enough that it was hidden below the desk from Omi. He had apparently not informed Omi of that little incident. Aya pressed his lips together. "Omi," he started.
"I guess he was just curious. I knew you wanted a clean break," Omi said apologetically, misinterpreting his reaction. "If you hadn't brought Aya-chan to Momoe-san's already, I would have suggested it."
"Aa." Kritiker, of course, had trained them for the eventuality of capture, but it was hard to predict what one would do in a situation like that. Ken . . .
Youji chose that moment to change the subject. "What happened yesterday, Omittchi? You said someone had attacked you."
Omi made a face at the nickname. "Yes." He fiddled with a pen. "I was inspecting a building, a warehouse, actually. The electricity was turned off, so we were using flashlights. Sato-san pulled me out. Hayashi-san didn't make it," he added miserably.
Lighting a cigarette, Youji said, "Their first priority is your safety, Omi."
Aya nodded in agreement. "We need you here."
"I know." Omi sighed. "I think, at this point, it's safe to assume that a person or persons unknown are targeting Weiss."
Youji snorted. "You could say that."
Omi gave him a questioning look, but Youji avoided his gaze. "I've given it some thought," he continued, "and I think instead of waiting here like sitting ducks, we should go out and look for them."
"You mean we need someone to be bait," Youji clarified.
Nodding, Omi explained, "That way we can meet them on our own terms, and we aren't taken by surprise. The other two can be in place as backup"
"Other two?" Youji stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. "Omi, there's no way you can participate."
Aya silently concurred. Omi was far too important to Kritiker as an organization to risk his life, no matter how dire the situation was, or how important the people involved were to him. He knew Youji had a protective streak a mile wide, and he felt an answering tug in himself. "We can do it ourselves," he said.
Seeing the determination written on both of their faces, Omi capitulated. "All right. Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Youji said decisively. "I can do it, and Aya can back me up."
"What?" Aya turned his head to stare incredulously at Youji.
"You shouldn't be involved any more than you have to," Youji pointed out. "You have Aya-chan to go back to in Osaka."
Of all the – "You're injured," he growled.
"You're what?" Omi exclaimed. He pointed an accusing finger at Youji. "What happened in Osaka? I knew there was something you weren't telling me!"
Youji held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Maa maa," he said. "I can explain."
"He was shot," Aya said bluntly. "Someone was following him. Luckily for us, they had bad aim. That's why he didn't check in with you earlier, and that's why we were in Nagoya."
"Hey!" Youji sounded angry. "Can I please explain myself here?"
Omi cut him off. "Youji," he said firmly. "Never do that again." He narrowed his eyes at Youji, pinning him to the chair. "You will run back-up for Aya, got it? And no heroics. That goes for both of you."
With a venomous glare for the two of them, Youji settled into sullen silence. Aya shifted uncomfortably in his seat. No heroics? Omi knew them too well. "Any clues as to who it is?" he asked.
Shaking his head, Omi replied, "Not really. I've already ruled out Schwartz."
"They're dead," Youji said.
"We think," Aya pointed out.
"Exactly." Omi shuffled some papers on his desk. "But it doesn't make sense for them to kill Nakata-san first. They already know who was in Weiss."
"Unless they were trying to confuse us." Aya leaned forward.
Omi tilted his head in thought. "Could be. It doesn't really fit their MO, though, does it?"
"Who cares." Youji lit up another cigarette. "We'll find out soon enough."
"Youji!" Omi exclaimed.
Youji shrugged, about to reply when the phone's shrill ring stopped him. Omi picked it up before it finished the second ring. "Tsukiyono." He paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. ". . . yes . . . absolutely . . ."
Aya and Youji exchanged glances, standing at the same time. Omi looked up and mouthed "See you later," as he jotted down notes on a legal pad. They practically tiptoed out of the office, letting the door close softly behind them.
"Thanks for getting me in trouble back there," Youji said as they climbed into Aya's Porsche.
"You should have told him before," Aya said, turning carefully out of the parking garage into the busy streets of downtown Tokyo.
"I didn't want to make him worry," Youji muttered.
"It's his job to worry," Aya said drily.
"Mmm." Youji stared out the window, frowning.
Aya didn't mind. He preferred to drive in silence, to concentrate on the half-memorized route back to Youji's apartment. The enormous weight of humanity pressed in on them from all sides. It was just after lunch hour, and it seemed every salaryman in Tokyo had gone out to eat.
As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, Youji vanished into his bedroom. Aya sat down on the couch, unsure of what to do. He curled his toes into the thick carpet on Youji's floor. Decadent. Youji appeared a short time later, wearing ratty jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. He had pulled his hair into a high ponytail, subtly enhancing his almond shaped eyes. Tugging on a stocking cap, he effectively disguised the color and length of his hair.
"Where are you going?" Aya asked sharply.
"Out," Youji replied, shoving his feet into a pair of tennis shoes sitting by the door. Slouching, he looked like any other young, dissatisfied twenty-something with nothing better to do than loiter on street corners and harass pedestrians. Aya was shocked at the extent of the transformation, from so few small changes.
"It's too dangerous," he protested. "You shouldn't go out alone."
"No one will recognize me. Why don't you draw up a mission plan or something while I'm gone? We can talk about it later, when I get back."
Aya grunted, irritated with Youji for his irresponsible behavior over the past few days, too stubborn to push and ask exactly where the older man was going. "Go," he said. "I can't stop you."
Youji slammed the door on his way out.
------
Aya woke, opening his eyes slowly. Youji was sitting facing him, a shot glass and a half empty bottle of something beside him on the table. He blinked once when he saw Aya's eyes focus on him, but he didn't say a word, continuing to sit, and stare.
"What?" Aya asked, irritated at the watching.
Youji finished off what was in the shot glass before answering. "Why did you tell me to call you Aya?"
I thought you would know. I thought you would understand. Aya turned over on the couch, dragging the blankets with him, burying his face in the corner between armrest and back. Could he say it out loud? He had never been good with words. They were slippery, sliding out of his tongue's grasp like water. "I," he began hesitantly, his voice muffled by the cushions, "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not anymore. Aya-chan deserves better than that."
"Only Aya-chan?" There was a clink of glass, a small splash of liquid.
I can't . . . He wished suddenly, violently, that he wasn't a coward, that he could turn over, look Youji in the eye, see his face. But he couldn't. "No," he said hoarsely. "You, too."
A clunk – Youji setting the glass down on the thick wood of the table. A rustle – Youji standing up, moving across the room, toward the hallway, toward his bedroom. "Go back to sleep, Aya," he said, his voice gentler than it had been before. "It's late."
Before he could help it, Aya was asleep again, Youji's voice sending him into slumber like some kind of drug. When he awoke for the second time that morning, the sun had beat him by several hours. Judging from the hushed silence of the apartment, Youji had followed his own advice and gone to sleep as well.
Aya lay on the couch for a minute longer, gathering up the motivation to start a new day. He had spent the better part of the day before pacing, worrying about Youji, instead of coming up with some sort of plan to trap their hunters into becoming the hunted. Really, he didn't see what he could do, besides put himself in a prominent place and wait for someone to take a shot at him. That didn't sound so appealing, even with Youji as backup.
It was dangerous. Truthfully, he didn't really have any qualms about placing himself in that kind of danger, but getting Youji involved as well made him pause. No matter what Omi thought, finding whoever was targeting them was just as perilous as sitting around waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it would be easier for just one of them to create the trap, drawing their prey in unawares. That would at least give them an idea as to whether it was an individual or a group. Well, there was no reason he couldn't do that by himself.
Aya stretched, feeling his joints protest. Youji's couch wasn't the most comfortable in the world. It probably hadn't been purchased with sleeping in mind. And anyone who was staying the night inevitably ended up in the bedroom. Youji wasn't one for house guests.
He kept his mind carefully neutral all through a shower, as if Youji would somehow read his intentions in his sleep and wake up to stop him. Resisting the urge to check on the older man, to make sure he was still sleeping, Aya buckled on his holster over the top of a black t-shirt. He checked the clip in his gun before settling it firmly against his ribs. It wouldn't do to go out unprepared, and he could hardly carry his katana around all day. The weather was all wrong for full length leather trench coats. Shoving an extra clip into the pocket of his jacket, he slipped out the door, closing and locking it softly behind him.
Walking to the subway station, Aya took a deep breath. He had left Youji his keys, preferring to avoid the hassle of driving in downtown Tokyo if he could help it. He took the subway to the Kritiker building first, figuring it was as good a place to start as any, maybe better. How else were they going to pick up his trail?
Meandering around the business section of Tokyo, he casually tried to see if someone was following him. There were too many people though, and as before, the crowd pressed in on him, trying to swallow him up, trying to fit him into a mold. Well he didn't fit. He never had.
An idea had been forming in the back of his mind all morning. It was something he needed to do alone, away from the prying eyes of his teammates, and it would be an easier place to spot a tail. He had sorely neglected his duties as the eldest son to look after his family's grave and pay respects to his ancestors in the past two years. His mind made up, Aya headed for the subway again.
He didn't bother keeping a close watch for people tailing him on the train. It was just the beginning of the lunch hour, and the cars were crammed full of people. Nevertheless, he stood with his back to the wall by the door. No sense in taking stupid chances when simple precautions could save his life. The crowd gradually thinned out as they sped away from the heart of the city.
It was a ten minute walk from the station to the cemetery where the ashes of his parents had been buried. As Aya entered the gates, a sense of calm washed over him. It was always this way. He stopped short in surprise at the foot of the shrine.
There were old flowers on his family's grave. Aya stared stupidly at the limp blossoms. They looked to be about a week old, maybe a little more. He bent down, touching the soft petals of the white chrysanthemums gently. Who could have . . .
The plot looked neat and trim, totally unlike the mess he had been expecting. Someone had been taking care of it. No. It couldn't have been. Ken wouldn't have thought of it, though, even if he were still alive, and Omi definitely would have at least told him, if not asked his permission first. Why had Youji done something like this?
Had he cared this whole time? Impossible.
Aya caught a hint of motion off to the side and snapped his head around. He relaxed his hold on the butt of his gun as he saw it was just another mourning couple a little way down the hill. If anyone was following him he had chosen to remain hidden.
Kneeling, Aya clapped his hands three times to garner the attention of his ancestors' spirits. He bent his head, as if in prayer, but his eyes were open, watching. The couple below him walked slowly away, leaving him more or less alone. Still, no one rose to the challenge. No shots broke the stillness of the afternoon air.
He sighed. Wandering aimlessly around Tokyo for the rest of the afternoon wasn't very appealing, but returning to Youji's apartment was even less so. He needed time to think. Aya wanted time to sort through the puzzle pieces of Youji's behavior and see if he could put them together into some sort of coherent whole. And where did he fit in? Where did he want to fit in?
So he walked. He walked, and memories came flooding back. His sister, laughing as she dabbled her fingers in that fountain. Youji sleepily smoking a cigarette at that outside café. His parents, holding hands as they walked ahead of him, heads leaning together as they whispered to each other like teenagers. Aya-chan lagging behind, looking longingly at a dress in that store's front window. The corner where Youji had made him blush for the first time, by slipping a hand into the back pocket of Aya's jeans. Youji, a little drunk, clinging to that tree and laughing like a child. Youji. Youji. Youji.
It was already getting dark when Aya decided to head back to Youji's apartment. He took a shortcut he knew, through a quieter, more residential section of town. There was a subway station just a few blocks from the other side. Aya felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The air hung heavy, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what? The tension abruptly, inexplicably cleared as the lamp above him flickered and went out.
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Aya had. He was reaching for his gun as a hard body barreled into him, pushing him to the ground. He hit hard on his left shoulder, twisting his body so he rolled on his back, the gun pointed straight at his assailant's head. His eyes widened in shock.
It was Ken kneeling above him. Ken with the street lights glinting in his wild eyes. Ken with his fist raised, bugnuks out, waiting to strike. Ken with his mouth twisted into a snarl.
They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, as still as stone. Aya felt his arm start to shake, his muscles straining. "Ken," he whispered finally.
The fire died in Ken's eyes. Abruptly he stood and vanished into the darkening street, his footsteps making no sound.
Aya let his arm fall, his gun clattering on the pavement. He gazed unseeingly straight up at the night sky. The first stars were peeking out, shyly spreading their cool light over the earth. It hadn't been a ghost. Ken was alive, and Ken wanted to kill them.
