NOTE: Hi! Wow --- I just want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far. I am totally floored by the supportive reviews ... and, really, quite, quite speechless. I never dreamed anyone might read this monstrosity of a story ... and actually like it, too. I'm grateful beyond words. I hope the wheels won't come off our "fun wagon" here in chapter 3, though ... because Ken makes his first "real" appearance. I'll just tell everyone up front I'm not comfortable writing him at all ... so, hope I don't get too many spamming hate-mails. Anyhow, I hope you can still enjoy the story ... Ken aside. Oh ... and to "A Reader" ... in answer to your question about timeline ... no, the WK stories don't follow any particular timeline other than the twisted one inside my head. They occur at all different times, and I tend to pick and choose, mixing things I like from the anime, the manga, and even Gluhen. Anyhow ... on with the story ...
tex-chan
Yohji rolled over in bed, stretched, and smiled in his sleep. He was in the middle of the best dream. He and Asuka were in his car, with the top down, driving through the most beautiful forest he had ever seen. It was a gorgeous, early spring morning, and the sky was the kind of pure, crystal blue that makes you squint and brings tears to your eyes when you look at it. The trees towered above, interlocking branches closing in over the road, and the air in the shady spots felt cool and fresh on his skin --- a journey from the gentle warmth of spring to the first chill of autumn within the span of seconds, only to emerge in spring again at the next break in the forest canopy, the next sunny spot on the road. Asuka was so much more beautiful than he remembered. Memories, colored by the pain of loss, made her perfect, her flaws forgotten in the haze of bliss over having her near him once more. Her arm rested against the headrest of his seat, and she ran her fingers through his hair, tugging playfully at the shoulder-length ends. He had missed her so much, but, now, Yohji knew he had been foolish to feel that way. She hadn't left him. She was still alive. All that other stuff --- the bad memories … watching her die, screaming her name as he saw her fall, sobbing out his pain night after night, the never-ending, hollow ache she had left --- was the dream. This … this was real. She was alive, and she was here, with him, just like always.
Yohji felt happy and free. He hadn't felt that way in a long, long time --- couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like that, actually, which, considering Asuka was here, with him … that she'd never left … was just foolish. He could feel his heart soaring, and his soul sang out in joy. He had the dim feeling, in the back of his mind, that he hadn't felt joy in a long time, that he had forgotten he even had a soul, but he glanced over at Asuka's smiling face and shook his head, dismissing that idea as ludicrous. What did he have to despair over, when she was here like this? His traitorous mind brought up memories of endless nights spent in dark, dirty, smoke-filled bars, of couplings with one faceless, nameless woman after another, all in a desperate attempt to find Asuka, a pathetic bid to regain everything he had lost. This --- this moment with Asuka, a world where the sun always shone --- was all he had ever wanted. From their first meeting, he had fallen in love with her immediately. She was every woman to him, and his mind paraded a string of willing bedmates before him, each and every one nothing more than a faded replacement for the love he had lost. Yohji shook his head, refusing to believe it. No. That wasn't real. None of that was real. This was his reality now. She was here with him, and he finally had forever with her. He could die a happy man now. It was all he wanted.
He turned to her and smiled, leaning his head into her touch, relishing the feel of her fingers against his skin, the tug of them running through his hair. This was his world, and he was grateful. He had all he could hope for, all his wishes and dreams answered in her playful expression, her laughing, dark eyes. Asuka turned to him, her eyes dancing with some secret joke, and smiled that mysterious smile of hers --- playful, teasing, yet, yearning and full of promise … a little girl and seductress in one perfect, package --- and Yohji felt his blood quicken, his insides tingle with pleasure and anticipation. She started to say something, perhaps share her private joke with him. Just as she opened her mouth, the angry jangling of a telephone cut off her words.
'Wait a minute,' Yohji thought as he stared at Asuka, 'That's not right. My cell phone's broken. Aya broke it last week.'
The phone rang again, screaming for attention. By the fifth ring, Asuka started to disappear, melting away before his eyes. Yohji reached out toward her, begging her not to go, not to leave him alone again. He felt the familiar lump rising in his throat, the well-known shock of fear at realizing that maybe, just maybe, this was the dream, and all that other stuff --- the horrible nightmares and bad memories --- was his reality. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to stay asleep forever, just so he wouldn't have to be alone any more, just so he wouldn't have to face one more day knowing she was gone forever. The phone rang once more, and Asuka smiled at him as she faded away.
'No,' Yohji thought, 'Please, please don't let this be a dream. Please let it be real.'
By the seventh ring his dream world was gone, and Yohji was back in his dark bedroom, alone and broken-hearted, no warm, sunny day, no cool breeze on his skin, no Asuka. He stared down at his hands, wondering why they were wet, and only then realized he was crying. He cursed himself for being such a stupid idiot as he swiped at a tear that had escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. What kind of weakling let a dream get to him like that? What kind of idiot wanted it to be so real that he cried when it was gone? Sighing, Yohji stared at the phone as he thought he was just that kind of weak idiot, and he didn't care. He had wanted it to be real. He still did.
As the phone hollered for a tenth, and then, an eleventh time, Yohji glared at it and thought about just how much he hated Ken right now. That stupid jock could sleep through anything. He wouldn't hear the phone if it rang inside his head, and, now, just because some idiot ex-soccer star had the nerve to sleep like a log instead of doing the decent thing and staying up waiting for the phone to ring, Yohji's perfect world had been ruined. He'd never be able to get that dream back, and it had been so real, too. He thought about leaving the phone, just letting it continue to scream into the night, while he went down the hall and pounded Ken for being such a stupid shit. But, then, he dismissed that idea. Ken wouldn't know why Yohji was beating him up, and that would take all the fun out of it. Besides, the damn phone wasn't going to stop any time soon, and someone had to answer it.
Still cursing the ex-goalie for being such a stupid, heavy-sleeping fucker, the tall blonde reached across the bed and fumbled for the telephone. After two tries, he managed to knock the handset off its base. It fell to the floor, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud, and rolled under the bed. Yohji leaned out over the side of his bed, hanging halfway off, and peered into the murky, dust-bunny-littered darkness underneath. He could hear a woman's voice calling "Hello? Hello?" from the handset, and he frowned in confusion. It sounded like Manx.
He twisted around to look at the digital clock on his bedside table, but the numbers seemed to shift and move in front of his bleary eyes, making it impossible to tell the time. Yohji sighed and pushed off from the floor, back into a sitting position on the bed as he reached over to, once again, fumble on his nightstand. After another few seconds, he managed to locate his sunglasses, and he pulled them onto his face, almost immediately feeling better and more awake for having their familiar weight resting there. Then, he turned his attention to the clock again, squinting and staring from behind his dark lenses until the shifting, red blobs flowed together into something resembling numbers. It looked like four A.M. Four A.M.? Why would Manx be calling at this time of the morning?
The voice from the phone continued to call out, rising exponentially with each successively ignored attempt at communication. The caller was becoming more irritated by the second, and the small, staticky sound of impotent anger spewing from the hidden handset jerked Yohji out of his train of thought. He leaned over again, palms flat on the floor, and, resting his weight on one arm, reached under the bed with his free hand. He grunted as his fingers brushed against the elusive telephone, pushing it just out of reach. He leaned over just a little further, stretching his arm out as far as he could, and, finally, managed to reach the receiver. Just as he grabbed the phone, Yohji lost his balance and fell in a heap on the floor, banging his head and letting out a startled yelp of surprise in the process. By now, the caller was screaming, and the blonde assassin winced as he put the phone up to his ear and the harsh sound of an angry woman jarred him awake.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "'M here. I'm here."
"Balinese. Manx." the woman snapped, clipping her words off, as if she was in a hurry or upset. But, then, that wouldn't be any different than her normal tone of communication with Weiss. She always seemed hurried, upset, or both. Yohji had decided, long ago, that Manx's problem was that she was just a bitch, plain and simple.
"It's four A.M.," Yohji whined.
"Bombay and Abyssinian haven't checked in," Manx snapped. "Are they there?"
Yohji wasn't surprised to hear tension in the woman's voice. Manx was always tense about one thing or another. But, he was shocked to realize he also heard fear and worry in there, and that was unlike her. He knew better than to think their employers and their red-haired handler thought of them as anything more than temporarily useful, albeit completely expendable, pawns in their sick game of cat and mouse. So, if Manx was worried and afraid, it had to mean she was concerned over protecting her own hide. That was the way it worked. And, if she was concerned enough to call here at four in the morning, it couldn't be good.
Yohji knew Manx was the one who had insisted Weiss move ahead with their latest mission, despite the lack of background information. He wasn't supposed to know. When Aya had told them about the plan to move forward, he had made it sound like it was his idea, but Yohji had overheard him arguing about it with Manx several days before they had started staking out the club. The swordsman had insisted they didn't have enough information to identify and eliminate the target without putting the team at risk, but Manx had refused to take his concerns to Persia. Instead, she had threatened to retire him and disband Weiss if he refused to move forward. Yohji didn't have any idea why Manx was so hot for them to complete this particular mission; perhaps it was some kind of career-maker for her with Kritiker. Truthfully, he really didn't care. He knew Manx's actions had forced Aya's hand, pushing him into taking the team into the field before he felt they were ready. That fact alone meant Manx, as well as Aya and Omi, would reap the consequences of a mission failure. If, heaven forbid, something happened to Aya and Omi, then Manx's head would be the only one left on the chopping block.
As Yohji's sleep-muddled brain ticked down the list of possible reasons for the unaccustomed note of fear and worry in Manx's voice and came to the inevitable conclusion that she must think something had happened to Aya and Omi, he felt her emotions take hold of him. It was as if they had crawled through the telephone to lodge in his brain and, then, skitter down to squeeze his heart and tie his stomach into knots. He could feel his heart thudding against his rib cage, and the sound of it beating in his ears was almost deafening. For a moment, he couldn't even hear the irate woman who had been shouting at him all this time.
"Balinese," she snapped, "Are you even listening to me? Balinese!"
"Uh, uh, yeah," Yohji finally replied when the roaring in his ears subsided enough so he could hear his own voice.
"Yeah, they're there?" Manx hissed.
She was getting angrier by the second. The tall blonde assassin seemed to have that effect on her for some reason. Normally, Yohji would have derived a perverse pleasure from irritating the shit out of Manx, but, right now, he didn't even care. That was how scared he had suddenly become.
"Um, no," Yohji mumbled. "I mean," he corrected, "I don't know."
"Check. And call me back," Manx snapped, hanging up with a sharp, decisive click.
Yohji lay on the floor for a few seconds, staring at the receiver in his hand. It beeped angrily at him, having been left off the base for too long after the call had disconnected. He felt the knot in his stomach growing, and his heart had, once again, started to hammer against his ribcage. Still, he struggled to choke back his panic so that he could think rationally.
'It's okay. Everything's just fine.' he thought, trying to slow down his racing heart and control the fear that threatened to take control of his mind and body.
"It's OK," he repeated in a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it true. "I mean, it's not like that's me and Ken out there. It's Aya, for crying out loud. Nothing could happen to Aya. And Omi. Nothing could happen to Omi if he's with Aya. Aya wouldn't let it. He's a total asshole, and a control freak. He'd never let anything happen to any of us, unless it was his idea." He felt the panic and fear begin to subside, and he chuckled. "Right. So, why are we panicking? There's no reason to worry. This is Aya we're talking about. He probably just forgot to call, that's all."
Yohji felt a chill run down his spine, and his stomach lurched, as he thought, 'That's not right. Aya's such a fucker. He'd never forget to call in. Not that guy.'
He could feel the cold creeping over him, as if all the blood was running from his body, and he felt the alcohol he had so recently drunk surge into his throat, forcing him to swallow before he spilled the contents of his stomach onto the floor. The panic and fear slammed back into him, sending him scrambling to his feet and running for the door to his bedroom. He tripped over the sheets, which were still tangled around his torso and legs. He kicked free of them, cursing, and stumbled out the door and into the hallway. As he tripped and stumbled down the corridor, struggling to regain his balance, Yohji prayed he was wrong --- that he would crash through the door to Aya's room, only to have the redhead curse angrily and throw a pillow at him for disturbing his sleep. But, in his heart, he knew the room would be empty.
Yohji skidded to a stop in front of Aya's room. He was wearing socks, and he slid on the slick, wooden floor so that he overshot the doorway and had to grab the knob to keep from falling. Once he regained his balance, he paused for a moment and took a deep breath. If Aya was inside, asleep, he knew he'd pay later for waking the surly redhead so abruptly. The swordsman could have a pretty bad temper and a very short fuse. Yohji had been on the receiving end of that anger enough times to know, better than anyone, how frightening Aya could be when he was pissed. He leaned forward and pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear if there was any sound from within, but he couldn't hear anything. Yohji sighed and pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges squeaked. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the still, silent hallway, and the tall blonde peered around the half-open door to survey Aya's room.
In contrast to his own personal space, where there were always clothes and shoes on the floor, a bottle of booze on the nightstand, at least two ashtrays full of smoldering cigarette butts, and a perpetually unmade bed, Aya's room looked as if no one even lived there. Nothing was on the floor. Nothing was out of place. There were no pictures or personal items. As he looked around, Yohji suddenly thought that, if he looked into Aya's closet, he would find the red-head's clothing neatly arranged by color and type --- shirts all together, pants all hung in the same part of the closet, shoes all placed in pairs on shoe racks. The bed was perfectly made, and it was obvious no one had slept in it that night. It looked as if no one had ever slept there. The blonde assassin fought against the sudden, irresistible impulse to run into the room and rumple the sheets on the bed, throw clothes and shoes on the floor, and, maybe, even knock over the lamp.
"That's not right," Yohji muttered as he backed out of the room and clicked the door closed behind him. "No one should have to live in a place that's that neat. He's just not human."
He was still grumbling under his breath about Aya's horrible, inhuman housekeeping habits as he headed down the stairs and into the kitchen to call Manx. He didn't bother checking Omi's room. No matter how badly he wanted to peek into the younger blonde's room and find him curled up in bed, buried under his covers like a small child, Yohji knew it would be a waste of time and energy. The boy wouldn't be there. Yohji's mind whirled with the meaning behind Aya's absence. He wanted to believe Aya had just forgotten to call in, that, maybe, he and Omi had stopped off somewhere after staking out the club that night, that they were just delayed. But, in his heart, he knew it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Aya was reliable and dependable to a fault. He would never forget to call in. He would never get sidetracked on the way home. Those were the kinds of things Yohji did, not Aya. No, if Aya wasn't home, it could only mean the worst. Something had happened to them.
Ken tripped and stumbled over the last two steps as he descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. He yawned and rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, attempting to dispel the sleepy, muzzy feeling that had taken up residence in his brain overnight. Although he felt guilty over it, he had been relieved at not having to stake out the club last night. Almost a week's worth of nights stuck in a car with Yohji, suffering through the tall blonde's chain smoking and stories of conquest, hadn't been to his liking. Both those activities were, in Ken's opinion, things you should only do in large, open spaces, and the car's cramped confines had set his nerves on edge until his teeth itched and he was more than ready to kill anything and anyone that crossed his path --- just so long as it got him out of one more night in the car with Yohji. He liked the guy and everything. In fact, he was fond of Yohji, and considered the man a good and close friend. He just didn't like him enough to spend one more second trapped in a car with him. He didn't like anyone that much. Except, for, maybe, Omi. The young blonde was his best friend, and Ken tended to spend most of his free time with him. But, he was sure even Omi would wear on his nerves after the first couple of nights. Still, it would have been better than Yohji. About two hours into their first night of stake-out duty, he was already heartily sick of the chain-smoking ladies' man.
Still, as much as being confined with Yohji had set his nerves on edge, Ken figured it had to be better than working the club with Aya. The red-haired swordsman was such a cold-fish prick, always acting like he knew it all, always looking at everyone with that angry, sullen, disapproving glare, never taking the time to try and get to know the rest of them, never trying to fit in. That guy didn't have to do anything except breathe to piss Ken off, and he had been more than feeling sorry for Omi because the kid had, in his opinion, drawn the short stick on this one. Oddly enough, though, on the occasions when he'd said as much to Omi, the young blonde had gotten angry and defensive of Aya. He had even told Ken he just didn't know what he was talking about. Ken had been shocked as hell at the reaction, and he just hoped it didn't mean Omi, like Yohji, had joined the Aya Fujimiya fan club. That would mean he was the only Aya-hater left in the group, and, if there was anything Ken hated more than Aya, it was being the odd man out in any situation. He was a joiner, a player always in search of a team. It was what had made him a good athlete. At any rate, all thoughts of Aya and Yohji aside, being relieved of surveillance duty last night had given him the chance to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
During the past week, he and Omi had both been exhausted, and he hadn't seen very much of the kid. He found that he missed Omi's cheerful presence and willing conversation, and he had arisen early in the hopes of catching up to the younger blonde, who was normally the first one up, before Omi headed off to school.
As he neared his destination, he thought he could hear Yohji's voice coming from the kitchen, and he checked his watch, frowning in confusion. He knew the older man had gone out last night, but he'd heard Yohji come back home a few hours ago. Yohji was always the last one up. Even when he worked a morning shift in the shop, which wasn't often, he didn't get up before ten --- and Ken should know, having been stuck working the store alone for two hours every morning for the past week.
"It's only five," Ken muttered. "The sun isn't even out yet. What's he doing up already?"
"Yeah. OK," Yohji said, ending his conversation with Manx just as Ken entered the room.
The tall blonde stared at the handset for a moment and then replaced it on its cradle, turning to face the confused ex-goalie, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him. Ken was still in the clothes he slept in --- a faded, torn t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, which had a rip on one knee. He was barefoot, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he lifted first his right foot and then his left, in order to avoid the cold linoleum floor. His hair was tangled and mussed, sticking out at odd angles all over his head, and he rubbed at his eyes.
"What the hell are you staring at?" Yohji snapped.
Ken shrugged and moved toward the refrigerator, ignoring Yohji's comment and the angry, threatening tone behind it. The older man was always in a bad mood when he had to get up early --- even when "early" was ten A.M. At five, he was downright unbearable, and Ken refused to rise to the bait. He'd had a good night's sleep and was in a good mood because he hadn't had to sit in the car with Yohji all night long. He refused to let the older man ruin that.
"You," he said, as he opened the fridge, shuffled the contents around a bit, and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, popping off the top as he slid it from its shelf.
He took a huge swig before turning away from the fridge to, once again, look at Yohji. The blonde assassin looked irritable and frazzled. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, but strands were sticking out all around his face. He looked pale and tired, which, in Ken's opinion, made sense, considering the blonde had only come home, maybe, three hours earlier. He was dressed only in his boxers and socks, as if he'd made a hasty dash from his room to the kitchen. Despite his general state of undress, the tall assassin had managed to grab his sunglasses and place them on his face, although they were slightly askew, and Ken noticed the older man's ever-present pack of smokes and lighter clenched in one fist.
"So?" Yohji asked, in that same, irritable, snippy tone. "What's so damn strange about a man using the telephone in his own house?"
Ken took another drink of Gatorade and replied, emphasizing his words with another shoulder shrug, "Nothing, except when it's you … at five in the morning … when the sun isn't even up yet … and in your underwear … and sunglasses. You going to open the shop dressed like that? It might actually bring in more girls than usual."
Yohji shook his head and straightened his sunglasses as he brushed past Ken to retreat up the stairs to his room. Ken was always cheerful and talkative in the mornings --- in short, a dyed-in-the-wool morning person. If there was one thing a guy like Yohji hated more than being awakened by a phone call at four A.M., it was dealing with a stupidly cheerful morning person. The tall blonde fought off the almost irresistible urge to punch Ken in the face as he started up the stairs.
"You're a fine one to talk about appearances," he said, pointing at Ken's torn t-shirt and sweats. He reached toward the ceiling, stretching the aching muscles in his back, before continuing, "Look. It's too damn early, and I'm not in any mood to put up with your cheerful, happy, morning person shit. Shop's closed today. Finish your breakfast and get dressed." He paused and looked at Ken, who had stopped drinking the Gatorade and was staring at him, and sighed. "Forget that. Just get dressed. You can drink your breakfast in the car." He continued up the stairs, lighting a cigarette as he went, and muttering, "Who the hell drinks Gatorade for breakfast, anyhow? No wonder you're such a fucking moron. It's gotta be all that damn sugar. Why can't you just smoke in the morning, like normal people?"
"Hey!" Ken called out after Yohji's retreating form. "What the hell's going on? Where are we going? Why aren't we open today?"
Yohji paused on the top step when he heard the ex-goalie's voice ring out after him. "Aya and Omi didn't come home last night," he replied before turning the corner and disappearing into the darkness of the upstairs hallway.
They drove through the city's dark, deserted streets in stony silence, neither of them in any mood for conversation. They were too caught up in their own thoughts, held prisoner by the streams and torrents of "what ifs?" whirling around their brains. What if Aya and Omi are hurt? What if they're dead? What if we never find them? What if Kritiker refuses to look for them? And, the worst one yet: What if we could have prevented this?
They had both learned, long ago, that it didn't do any good to torture yourself with "maybe" and "might-have-been". When you lived as they did --- hunters of dark beasts constantly on the prowl for more prey --- life was too short and too uncertain to get bogged down in the quagmire of could-have, should-have, or would-have. They knew better than to look back and rehash things that were already done. You couldn't change the past. Who could know that better than the members of Weiss? But, you could live in the moment and do your damn best to change the future, to shape it into what you wanted, no matter how hard Fate seemed to work against you.
Still, when the shit hit the fan, when it was one of yours that was missing --- someone you lived and worked with, someone you cared about, someone who had become your brother without you even realizing it --- it was impossible to keep your mind from chasing down the never-ending rabbit holes of "what if". They might be Weiss, but they were still mostly human. And, in the end, human nature tends to win out, every time.
Ken couldn't take it any more. The tense, worried silence; the way Yohji's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to make his knuckles gleam white in the murky, early morning half light; the way the normally gregarious, jovial blonde had withdrawn and remained grimly, silently fixated on the road in front of them; the way his own heart had been pounding and hammering away in his chest since learning of Omi's disappearance; even the accusations and recriminations banging away at his sanity, asking "why didn't I stop this?" … "why did I let Omi go?" … "why wasn't I there?" … "why couldn't I protect him?" suddenly became too much to bear. The weight of it all came crashing in on him, a huge, oppressive, beastly-predatory thing that he had to shake off if he wanted to stay alive. He had to break the silence. He knew doing so would lead to an altercation --- perhaps physical, perhaps verbal, perhaps both --- with Yohji, but he didn't care. He more than didn't care. He was pissed --- pissed at Aya, for letting Omi get taken, pissed at the sick bastard who had grabbed his friend, pissed at Yohji, for being the one to tell him Omi was gone, but, mostly, pissed at himself for not being there when his friend had needed him --- and he wanted to fight with someone. He needed to fight with someone, and Yohji was the only one here.
Ken gave Yohji a sideways, slanted-eye glare as he drained the last ounce of Gatorade from the bottle he'd removed from the refrigerator that morning. Had it really only been that morning? Just an hour or so ago? Somehow, it seemed as if a whole lifetime had passed. Still glaring surreptitiously at the tall blonde in the driver's seat, Ken belched. He struggled to hide the ghost of a smile that played across his lips when Yohji turned slightly and gave him an angry, piercing glare. Good old Yohji. He could always count on him to take the bait and rise to the occasion.
"What?!" Ken snapped as he placed the cap back on the bottle.
Yohji didn't reply at first. He just shook his head, a distracted, lost gesture, and turned his attention back toward the road. Ken frowned. Obviously, he was going to have to push a few more buttons.
"That's … disgusting," Yohji muttered, half under his breath, eyes still glued to the dark stretch of street unfolding in the car's headlights. "Just … disgusting."
Ken turned to stare at his blonde companion. The sun hadn't come up yet, and, in the car's dark interior, he could see the red-orange glow of Yohji's cigarette bouncing up and down in the air as he spoke, reflecting off the older man's sunglasses. That idiot. The tall blonde did almost everything in those damn sunglasses. He probably even showered and slept in them, not that Ken particularly wanted or needed confirmation of that. Ken shook his head. He and Yohji had been together for a long time now --- at least a year, maybe two. He had become so accustomed to seeing the older man in the dark glasses that a Yohji without sunglasses perched somewhere on his face seemed almost naked, somehow. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how the chain smoking idiot could see well enough to drive through the murky gray of early morning.
Suddenly, Ken noticed --- really noticed, for the first time that night --- the way Yohji's mouth was set in a tense, grim line, the way his hands clutched the steering wheel, holding on for dear life, the man's distracted silence. And, he realized Yohji was just as worried as he was. Maybe even more --- who was he to judge? All the fight went out of him. He was still pissed. He just couldn't take it out on Yohji.
Ken frowned, irritated at no longer being able to vent his anger and frustration in clear conscience. After a few silent moments, he decided he'd take it out on Aya, once they managed to recover their two missing teammates. Yohji was his friend, almost like a brother to him. He had come to need Yohji in his life, and he decided he didn't want to isolate the older man by throwing a temper tantrum right now. Besides, he loved Yohji --- loved him like the family and life he'd lost so long ago when he'd joined Weiss. Yohji and Omi, they were his family. They had become that important to him, somehow. No. He couldn't torture Yohji --- not when the other man was in the exact same boat as he was. That would just be cruel, and Ken Hidaka was not cruel. Stubborn, hard-headed, quick-tempered --- maybe --- but not cruel.
But, Aya was different. Aya hadn't been with them very long, and he went out of his way to make sure no one liked him. Ken was more than happy to oblige the redhead in that respect. He didn't like the man, had hated him from the first moment he'd laid eyes on him --- wrapped in Yohji's wire, with Birman's gun at his temple, and, yet, still refusing to give in, still refusing to admit defeat. Like he had any choice in the matter. Like he was any better than any of the rest of them. Like he was doing them some kind of fucking favor by joining Weiss. Well, this time, Aya had fucked up. Ken was sure of it. Aya had fucked the mission, and Omi had paid for it. And, when they got the two of them back, Ken was going to make sure Aya regretted whatever it was he had done.
The thought that Aya might have had nothing to do with the situation never entered his mind. Neither did the thought that he and Yohji were just as much to blame for this mess as anyone else. Perhaps, at one time since hearing the news of Omi's disappearance, those ideas had chased their way through Ken's brain, but, once he fixated his anger on Aya, they fled, completely and utterly forgotten. To think those thoughts would be rational, and, right now, Ken was not about being rational. He was all about being pissed and seeking a likely and, in his mind, worthy target for his anger. Maybe it didn't make any sense, but it was the way things worked. Ken belched again, satisfied in finally finding someone worthy of the ass kicking he was itching to ditch out. He couldn't help but smile when Yohji groaned in response to the squelchy, gastro-intestinal sound, and he tossed the empty Gatorade bottle into the back seat.
"You get that shit on my seats, I swear I'll beat the ever-loving crap outta you when we got home," Yohji snapped.
Ken stared at the tall blonde. Ten seconds earlier, he would have been relieved, maybe even grateful, at Yohji's statement, which indicated the older man had taken the bait he had so generously laid. Ten seconds earlier, Ken had wanted a fight, with anyone --- and had wanted it badly. But, not now. Now, the ex-goalie couldn't see his way clear to fighting with Yohji, not when he had realized how worried the tall playboy was, not when he had reminded himself of how much Yohji meant to him, not when he had remembered Yohji and Omi were the only family he had … and, if Omi really was gone, he only had Yohji.
Ken sighed. "Look," he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral and non-threatening. He didn't want to do or say anything that might egg Yohji on. "Enough, already. I'm worried, too, so don't take your frustration out on me. I don't want to fight with you."
Yohji pulled his eyes from the road to give Ken a good, long, searching look. The jock could read the surprise, shock, and confusion in the older man's green eyes, even concealed, as they were, behind the dark lenses. He knew he was to blame. He'd certainly sent a mixed message, and he didn't blame Yohji for thinking he was almost expected to rise to the occasion and, at the very least, engage in a verbal battle. It was their routine, to a certain extent --- sort of a way he and the tall blonde had developed to let off steam. But, this time, Ken wanted to reserve all his anger for when the found Omi. He wanted to hold it inside so that he could pour it out and heap it up on the head of the one person he felt was most deserving of it --- even if he didn't exactly know why he felt that way.
After a few moments, Yohji looked back to the road and mumbled, his tone contrite and almost embarrassed, "So … Sorry."
Ken shrugged and laid his hand against the other man's arm. "It's okay, Yohji. I … I kind of started it." He turned away to look out the passenger-side window. "How much longer till we get there? Sun's starting to come up."
"Just in time," Yohji nodded. "We're almost there."
Ken rolled the window down and took a deep breath of fresh morning air, his irrational need to blame someone still boiling in his mind, combining with the hatred for the quiet, red-haired swordsman that had become so ingrained it almost felt like second nature now. "That stupid shit, Aya," he hissed, jumping at the sound of his own voice. He hadn't expected to say it out loud, but, now that he had started, he found he couldn't stop. He leaned forward, just enough to put one elbow outside the window and feel the morning air slap his face and tug chilly fingers through his tangled hair. "He probably just ditched Omi or something. If he lets anything happen to Omi, I swear I'll kill him with my bare hands. When we find them, I'm gonna beat the shit outta him for this."
Yohji spared a glance from the road to look over at Ken. He knew Ken was angry. He knew the ex-goalie felt impotent, bound by the situation that had been dealt them. He could understand those feelings, since they mirrored his own. He knew the brunette was spoiling for a fight, for a way to release those pent-up emotions and feel, once again, like he was in control of the situation, in control of his life. He could understand that, too. He knew Ken and Aya didn't get along, but he was surprised at the anger and hatred he heard in the younger man's voice. That was something he didn't understand. Aya and Omi were both gone. That Ken would choose to lay everything --- all his anger, all his fear, all his frustration, all the recrimination and blame that had to be running through that thick head --- at the feet of someone who wasn't even here to defend himself … who might not even be alive, Yohji couldn't understand. He'd never realized Ken's feelings about Aya ran this deeply, and he couldn't help but wonder if they truly did. True, Ken disliked Aya, but active hatred --- maybe that was just the pain and frustration of their situation talking.
Yohji stared, open-mouthed and shocked, at Ken for the span of, maybe, three heartbeats, before looking away, back to the road, and asking, "What … the hell … are you talking about?"
Ken shook his head, and shrugged, giving no other indication he'd even heard Yohji's question. He never turned his attention from the passing scenery, but he muttered, just loudly enough for Yohji to hear, "That fucking bastard. This had to be his fault. I just know it. You don't see it … don't see the way he is, but I do. He's a fucking prima dona … always doing everything on his own, taking everything on by himself … just so he can show off or something, just so he can show he's better than the rest of us. But, he fucked up this time. He fucked up, got caught, and dragged Omi in with him. I really don't give a shit what happens to him … I don't care if we never find that cold fucking bastard, but if he gets Omi killed … if he lets anything happen to Omi … I swear, I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my bare hands, and I'll enjoy doing it, too."
Yohji was vaguely aware he'd stopped looking at the road sometime around the middle of Ken's tirade. He couldn't tear his eyes off the man sitting next to him, couldn't pull his attention away from the venom and hatred he heard in the ex-goalie's words. Screw the road. If anyone got in their path this morning, they were damn well just going to have to get themselves out before Yohji ran them down. He didn't have time or attention to spare for safe driving. He was too busy staring in shock at his teammate, a man he had called friend and brother, but whom, now, thanks to Ken's hateful, vicious, words and the venom he heard in the brunette's voice, he barely even recognized.
Yohji tried to remain calm. He tried to let Ken's words slide off his back, telling himself the ex-goalie didn't mean it; they were something said in the heat of the moment, in the midst of whirling, out of control fear and emotions; they didn't mean anything. He didn't want to fight with Ken. He, most emphatically, did not want to fight with Ken. Fighting with Ken wouldn't help anyone. It wouldn't get them any closer to finding Aya and Omi. He felt the anger rising within him, and he tried to choke it down by reminding himself that Omi was Ken's best friend. The ex-goalie and their youngest blonde teammate did almost everything together. Establishing ties to other people --- deep, lasting, emotional ties --- wasn't something people like them took for granted. It was hard enough to find people you cared so much about when you lived a "normal" life. When you were Weiss … well, if you managed to form those kinds of ties, you hung on for dear life. So, Yohji gripped the wheel a bit tighter, bit the inside of his jaw, and reminded himself it was only natural for Ken to go a little over the edge, considering Omi was missing, and considering they knew nothing at this point --- less than nothing, really.
"You … you can't mean that," Yohji managed to choke out, once he got his anger somewhat under control. Even so, his voice shook with the emotion. "Don't forget, there are two people missing here. We're all Weiss. We look after our own."
Ken was either too stupid to notice Yohji's shaking voice and tight-lipped expression, or, more likely, he was just too damn mad to care. He shrugged again in response, a gesture that was beginning to grate on Yohji's nerves, and said, in a sullen, barely audible voice, "You … Me … Omi. We're Weiss. But, not Aya. Aya is nothing … not one of us."
Yohji couldn't hold it back any longer. The screeching throb of the vein in his forehead and the angry hammering of his heart told him he and Ken were going to have things out … and right now. He could understand Ken being upset, considering the jock's feelings toward Omi. They were friends. Brothers. More than brothers, since their bonds were forged in blood. But, what Omi was to Ken, Aya was to Yohji. He didn't know how it had happened, hadn't even been aware it had happened until Manx's call this morning had told him about Aya's disappearance and started slowly fraying his nerves. But, somehow, during the past month or so, Aya had opened up to him, let the cold, emotionless mask slip just a fraction, and Yohji had been shocked to find a kindred spirit in the redhead. They were both searching for something they had lost, something precious, and they both were learning to live with the cruel realization they would never find it. Yohji couldn't stand to hear Ken say such cruel things, couldn't stand to hear the venom and hatred in the ex-goalie's voice --- not when Aya was missing, and, probably, dead.
Luckily, they had reached their destination by the time Yohji blew. He turned the car into the Crazy Geisha's parking lot with a savage twist of the steering wheel, at the same time slamming on the brakes. The car careened crazily, coming close to tilting on two wheels, before it swerved around in a complete circle and came to rest, in a fog of smoke, an angry screech of tires, and the smell of burning rubber. At almost the same instant he stopped the car, he whirled on Ken with blinding speed and catlike grace fueled by the anger he'd failed to hold in check. Ken was too startled to do more than stare, open-mouthed, at Yohji as the tall blonde grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting his hands in it and jerking Ken forward, out of his seat, until their faces were only inches apart and only the gear shift separated them.
"You're a fucking idiot," he snarled, emphasizing his words by shaking the ex-goalie. "I don't get it. I don't fucking get it with you. You open your mouth, and I expect to hear words … actual words that make sense, and all that comes out is some fucking, idiotic, dribble. I can understand you're scared and upset. I can understand it, because I feel the same way. It's the only damn thing keeping me from kicking your ass right here, right now. But, you don't know what the fuck you're saying. You don't know him."
"Yeah, right," Ken responded in a sarcastic voice. He wasn't intimidated by Yohji's threatening manner, and he refused to let go of the anger and resentment he harbored against Aya. "Like you do."
Yohji's anger melted. Suddenly, he was drained, used up, the events of the morning, the shock of Manx's phone call, and the weight of Ken's hatred all tumbling down on him at once. He shook his head and released the brunette's shirt, mumbling, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
Yohji sighed and turned to look across the parking lot, which was empty, except for two cars. Aya's Porsche was parked at the opposite end, in the farthest spot from the club's entrance. The other car, a small, blue, four-door sedan, was, likewise, parked in what would have been a deserted spot, even if the lot had been full, just a short distance away from Aya's car. Still shaking his head, Yohji managed to calm his trembling hands long enough to re-start Seven and drive from the entrance to a spot near the Porsche, where he stopped.
As he reached for the door handle, he turned back toward Ken. The ex-goalie was still staring at him, a mixture of shock and wary anger written across his handsome features. "Maybe," Yohji said, his voice softer now that the heat of his anger had passed, "Maybe … you … hate Aya. I don't know. I hope that's not true, but, if it is … that's your issue to work out. But, now's not the time to decide. Right now, you're worried, scared, and pissed. You think you're pissed at Aya, but, really, you're not. You're really pissed at yourself, because you weren't there. I know … because … because I feel the same way. We … you and me … we only have ourselves to blame for whatever happened … for anything that happens to them. We were the ones whining and bitching about having to sit in the fucking car all week, watching their backs. Aya only told us they didn't need back up because he was sick and tired of hearing it. If … if we'd been there … maybe … they'd be at home now, instead of missing."
He paused, leaning back in his seat and staring up at the sky, which was still slightly pink with the sunrise, before pulling his sunglasses off and rubbing his hands over his face with a loud, heavy sigh. He replaced them on his face as he straightened in his seat and, again, reached for the door handle, pausing long enough to spear Ken with one last, baleful glare as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Aya's abandoned car, and said, his voice barely a whisper, "You and me … we're the only fuck-ups in this outfit. Aya … that guy never fucked up in his whole life. I don't think he'd even know how. He certainly never fucked up a mission like this. If anything happens to Omi … if Omi gets hurt …or worse … it won't be because he let it happen. It'll be because Aya's already dead. No matter what you think of him personally, you know that's true." For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something more, but, instead, Yohji shook his head and exited the car without another word.
Ken slumped in his seat, staring at the dashboard. Yohji was right. No matter how he felt about Aya, he blamed himself more than anyone else. He didn't want to admit that. It was easier to stay mad at Aya, easier to hate the quiet man, than to face his own culpability in this mess. After a few moments, he followed Yohji out into the early morning chill, feeling foolish and ashamed.
They inspected Aya's car first. It didn't take long. Yohji half-heartedly hoped they would find one or both of their friends slumped against the car, or asleep inside it. But, there was nothing in or near the Porsche. Yohji had had the presence of mind to bring Aya's extra set of keys, and he and Ken scoured the car's interior, checking under the seats, in the glove compartment, and, even, in the trunk. Then, they did a detailed examination of the vehicle's exterior, running their hands over the Porsche's sleek body and spotlessly clean paint job, searching, hoping, praying for some mark, some nick, some little clue regarding their teammates' disappearance. They didn't find anything, which left the only other car in the lot.
"Well," Yohji said, sighing and straightening up to run a hand through his hair, shaking a few strands out of his low, loose ponytail, "There's nothing here." He shrugged and continued, "I guess we should go ahead and look at the other car before we break into the club."
Ken nodded in response.
As soon as they approached the other car, Yohji's stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot, his heart thudded brutally against his ribs, and he could hear the blood roaring through his ears. For a moment or two, he felt dizzy, and he couldn't hear anything other than the dull, throbbing roar. He hadn't eaten anything that morning, but, all the same, his stomach lurched, threatening to disgorge nonexistent contents.
There was blood everywhere --- splattered along the car's passenger side and rear fender, a fairly sizeable pool next to and under the vehicle, and a smaller puddle beside the rear tire, near where he stood. He forced his mind to let go of the fear long enough to think rationally about what he saw. The splatter pattern was familiar. He'd seen it enough times during the past eight or nine months to know Aya had managed to get the kill before he and Omi were grabbed. After assuring himself of their target's demise, Yohji ignored the splatters and larger pool of blood and turned his attention to the smaller puddle. He guessed that it, unlike the bulk of red goo, probably hadn't come from their target. He squatted on his heels and frowned as he retrieved a large object from the car's shadow. He hadn't noticed it until he got closer, and he held it up so that the early morning light glinted off of it.
"Aya's sword," he said, his voice somber.
He looked up at Ken, who was avoiding the larger spatters of red and reaching under the car for something. The ex-goalie twisted around at Yohji's statement, looking over his shoulder. He was unable to hide the shock that raced across his face and settled in his eyes at the sight of their quiet teammate's weapon, covered in blood and glinting dully in the weak morning light.
The tall blonde nodded in agreement at the shock on Ken's face and the unspoken question in his eyes. "Yeah," he said, his voice soft, "Now we know for sure they're in trouble. Blood all over the damn place. And this." He held up the sword to emphasize his words. "Aya wouldn't leave this behind … not ever … not if … not if he could help it." He paused, his attention riveted on a small object, which lay just in the bumper's shadow. It was right next to his foot, and he'd almost stepped on it. "Shit. Communicator," he said, bending down to retrieve the item. He held it up and squinted as he inspected it in the poor light, "Busted all to hell, too."
Ken nodded. He grunted as he stretched his arm as far as possible, still balancing on his toes to avoid soiling his clothes by falling in the blood, and finally managed to retrieve the object of his attention from underneath the car. He sat down on the ground and held the tiny item up to the light, squinting against the sun's rays as he examined it. "Another communicator. Probably Omi's."
"Well," Yohji said. He leaned Aya's sword against the rear fender before he stood and dropped the redhead's comm., grinding it under his boot as he sighed and ran shaking fingers through his tangled hair. He managed to pull it loose from its elastic tie and let it hang free, shoving the tie in his back pocket as he looked around, gathering his thoughts. "From this," he finally said, gesturing at the mess surrounding them, "Definitely looks like it went down out here. Don't see much point in risking being discovered by breaking into the club to look around. We wouldn't find anything."
Ken's only response was a grunt of assent as the ex-goalie, likewise, rose to his feet and ground Omi's comm. to dust under his shoe.
Yohji stared at Ken for a few long minutes. The ex-goalie was pale and shaken by what they had found, his earlier hatred and anger toward Aya apparently forgotten. Yohji wondered. He had known Ken and Aya didn't get along. Neither of them had made that a secret, but he hadn't realized the jock's feelings ran so deeply. Yohji was pretty sure the blood around the sword was Aya's, and he couldn't help but feel a new surge of anger toward Ken as he stared at the ex-goalie and wondered if Ken's pale face, trembling hands, and over-all shaken demeanor took into account there were two teammates missing under less than ideal circumstances. Or, was his worry, as always, for Omi alone. Yohji shook his head irritably as he drew his mind from that train of thought. Now wasn't the time. Ken had some issues; that much was certain. He was going to have to come to terms with them, was going to have to come to terms with Aya, if Weiss was to survive. But, for now, Yohji couldn't spare the time to work through that problem. For now, they had to focus all their attention on getting Aya and Omi back, or, heaven forbid, on finding their bodies and laying them to rest.
When Ken turned his attention toward Yohji, finally aware the tall blonde was staring at him, Yohji glanced away, unwilling to start another conflict with the ex-goalie right now. To cover his actions, the tall blonde pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, pushing the button that would flick the blade out and into place. Grunting, he ignored Ken and knelt down to scrape some of the blood near his feet onto the blade. With that task accomplished, he retrieved Aya's sword and made his way back to the Porsche. Ken followed him. Yohji was almost stupidly grateful for the ex-goalie's silence. As mad as he still was at Ken, it wouldn't have taken much to push him over the edge and set him at the brunette's throat. At the moment, even the sound of the younger man's voice would have been enough. Probably, Ken felt the same way, hence his decision to avoid talking. A physical altercation right now wouldn't do anyone any good, and would only take the chance of drawing unneeded, unwanted attention toward them.
As he slid into the driver's seat, Yohji released a panel in the Porsche's dashboard. It opened, and a small, compact computer slid out, the screen popping up as soon as it had cleared the dashboard's confines. Yohji couldn't help but smile as he remembered how Kritiker had wanted to install a computer in his car, too. He had, of course, refused. Kritiker already had too much of a hold on their lives. It wasn't like he could refuse missions, but Yohji made it his mission to refuse any request he possibly could, just to be a pain in the ass. It was the least he could do. Besides, he loved his car. He couldn't stand the thought of it in some bungling Kritiker mechanic's hands. Aya hadn't been sold on the idea, either. He loved his car just as much as Yohji loved Seven. Still, he had been pushed into agreeing because of Yohji's refusal, and because Manx had his sister's care to hold over his head. Kritiker used the cards it had, and played them, ruthlessly, whenever they needed an advantage. Yohji had felt guilty about the whole thing, but it hadn't kept him from teasing Aya mercilessly about his car being a "techno-mobile". Aya might have been against the idea, but, true to his obstinate nature, he had defended the computer and his "decision" to allow its installation against Yohji's teasing by shrugging and saying, in that soft, calm voice so few others ever heard, that it wasn't a bad idea, and the computer would probably come in quite handy out in the field.
'Come in handy, indeed,' Yohji thought as he punched in the password that would activate the system.
He called up the necessary program and deposited the blood sample on a little plate that slid out of the computer's side. After a few seconds, the machine beeped, and analysis results blinked onto the screen.
"The blood around the sword is Aya's," Yohji said, his voice barely a whisper. Ken had been leaning over his shoulder, also staring at the monitor, but Yohji wasn't even sure his words had been loud enough to carry the short distance to the younger man's ear. The tall blonde sat silently for a moment, staring into nothing, and then, in a sudden fit of rage, began to beat the steering wheel, screaming, "SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" Once his anger was somewhat spent, he leaned forward and rested his head against the wheel. "Too much blood," he muttered, "There's just too much blood. He's dead. Aya's fucking dead. He has to be. No one could survive that. This … it's all my fault. Shit!"
He jumped when he felt Ken's hand squeeze his shoulder. The ex-goalie leaned forward and said, "Stop, Yohji. Stop it. There's no time for this. Besides, you don't know that's true. Aya's one tough son-of-a-bitch. He can survive anything. What's important now is finding them."
Yohji nodded. He was numbed by what they had found, but the irony of hearing Ken, of all people, defend Aya and speak so confidently of the redhead's survival wasn't lost on him. He thought he probably shouldn't believe Ken. The jock couldn't mean it --- not after what he'd said and the way he'd acted this morning, not after finally revealing his true feelings, which he'd kept hidden until today. Still, much as he hated it, Yohji felt comforted by Ken's words and confident tone of voice. He felt like he was betraying Aya by accepting comfort and assurance from someone who, not even an hour before, had professed such a deep, vehement, and undying hatred for the quiet man.
Yohji took a couple of deep breaths to regain control of his emotions. Still cursing himself for being a traitor to his quiet friend, he handed his car keys to Ken and said, "You drive my car, and I'll take Aya's. He'll kill me if I let you drive his Porsche."