But it's done now. Finally done. Thank you, everyone, for all the encouraging reviews I've received on this story, and for sticking with it even in moments of ... really delayed updates. I hope this makes up for it and you enjoy!
Part Five
If You Fall
Guilt was no friend of his. Still, it clung to him like it belonged.
Aya could barely remember what happened. Everything had moved in such a quick, rabid blur of colors and sounds. He remembered yelling out to Ken, but there was no response, not even the sound of his ragged breathing. He remembered the sudden fear that gripped him, and that was when everything faded away. Maybe he lost consciousness, he had no idea -- all he knew was that someone had taken him by the shoulders and dragged him free of the wreckage of the warehouse. And now he sat, alone in the basement of the flower shop, while Birman and Kritiker's doctor saw to Ken.
It was an unspoken rule that they never go to the hospital. Even the most life threatening of injuries were brought back here, and Birman would come to take care of things. Kritiker had on staff a fully equipped, well-trained doctor, but the greatest of his assets was no doubt his ability to keep his mouth shut. Aya was not sure if the man even knew what it was they did to get themselves torn up as much as they did, but he must have suspected. Even so, he never asked. He came, he took care of them, and he left, never once questioning. They came to depend on that silence.
He sat, elbows on his knees, hands clasped and leaning forward, eyes boring into the floor. It was stupid, the feeling of guilt that hung over him. There was nothing he could have done. It was not his responsibility to do something to protect Ken, to save him from what happened. Even if it was, even if he had been given such a ridiculous duty, he would not have been able to do anything. Everything had happened too quickly.
But still he felt guilty, as though it was all his fault.
And maybe it was. He could have told Ken to go with Omi and Youji. He had not needed his help to kill the target. Ken would have been angry with him, probably argued with him as much as he had when Aya had told him to not come with him to kill the man, but in the end, he would have had his way. Ken would have been with Omi and Youji when all hell had broken loose, and he would have been the only one to suffer because of it. Or maybe he could have escaped just as easily on his own, without Ken to slow him.
Who knew? There were too many what if's and could-have-been's, and Aya was not the type of person to sit and harp on the things that he could not change. What had happened, it happened. That was all. Nothing would change that. Not a thousand regrets, not a million apologies. It was done.
The stairs creaked in protest of the sudden weight assaulted upon them. Aya lifted his head slightly to see first a pair of legs, slowly meandering down the stairs, followed by the bare torso unmistakably belonging to Youji. Omi had enough modesty to not walk around naked. Youji had never had that much concern for his roommates.
He paused at the base of the stairs, appearing to survey his dark surroundings. Then he seemed to shrug, a silent dismissal in his own mind, and he passed the light switch, fingers lifting just briefly as though to flip it before deciding not to bother. Aya watched him through heavily lidded eyes; he was exhausted. Sitting up was an effort all its own.
The room was lit up for just a moment as Youji flipped open his lighter to light the cigarette that had suddenly materialized in his mouth. He took one long drag from it, breathing in deep, and then slowly let the smoke sift from his partially opened lips. He ambled over to the couch where Aya sat, flopped beside him, and held out the cigarette to him.
"You need this more than me," he said.
Aya glanced at him, but Youji did not look back. He simply held out the cigarette, waiting for Aya to take it from him.
After a long moment, he did. Almost hesitantly he put it to his lips. Like any other teenager, he had once experimented with the cancer sticks, but that was all. He had not had a taste for them then, nor did he have a taste for them now. But Youji was convinced there was nothing more relaxing than a cigarette.
And sometimes, Youji could be right.
He took a quick, deep drag from the cigarette, and proceeded to nearly hack up his lungs coughing. Beside him, Youji smirked.
"You and poor little Kenken," he said. "Can't stomach it, can you?"
"No," Aya answered dryly, holding it out to Youji. His eyes were watering.
"S'all right," Youji said. He accepted the cigarette and continued puffing on it, perfectly content. "Asuka'd always get on my case about smoking. Said I was going to die before I was thirty."
Aya glanced at him. It was rare that Youji spoke openly about Asuka. They all knew the story, how painful it had been for him, and how it still haunted him. But they all let it be. It was the same as how they all knew of Omi and his relation to the Takatori family, and Ken and his damaged career in the soccer league, and of Aya and his comatose sister. They knew, but they never spoke.
"But you know," Youji continued, "I don't think it's going to be cancer that's going to do me in."
"Isn't that morbid?" Aya murmured, voice soft and inflection bland. Morbid maybe, he thought, but true. It was not going to be cancer or heart disease or old age that would kill them. It would be this life they lived day to day. Someday, it would kill them. That, Aya had never doubted.
"Probably," Youji agreed.
"Ken," Aya said, abruptly. "How is he?"
Youji stretched his arms across the back of the couch, tilting his head back and allowing his eyes to drift closed. The cigarette hung limply from one side of his mouth. Aya suddenly wanted to punch him. He was too casual. He was acting as though it were nothing, as though it did not affect him at all, and Aya hated him for it; hated how he could do that with such ease.
But at the same time, he almost envied him for that simple ease he possessed. Maybe it was easier to take life and all it threw if you were able to exist the way Youji did.
Sometimes, Youji seemed more detached and void of life than even he was.
"Well, I'm not going to say he's fine and dandy," Youji replied.
"Then what are you going to say?" Aya demanded. His patience was wearing thin. Youji was unmoved by his irritation.
"They patched him up. He lost a lot of blood from that head wound, so that doctor had to go off and get blood for a transfusion, but they've got all that hooked up now. I'm guessing he'll be okay once that's all done. But he woke up on his own, so that's a good sign. Birman wants us to keep waking him up just in case he has a concussion. Omi's with him now."
He wasn't going to die, Aya thought, but it was only a small relief. He was still hurting. That they could do nothing about.
But he was alive. For that, he should have been grateful.
"He was asking about you," Youji interjected. "Kept asking if you were all right."
"He should be thinking about himself," Aya muttered.
Youji snorted. "You don't know Ken at all if you think he's going to be worried about himself right now instead of the rest of us," he said. "Ken's selfless like that. Don't you remember, that one time, when he got himself shot through the shoulder? He wouldn't let us do a damn thing about it until Omi was taken care of, and all Omitchi had were some bruises and cuts."
Aya remembered, and he remembered a thousand and more incidents like it. Ken was always quick to shove away their care. He would say it was nothing, that he could take care of it well enough on his own, and that they should just take care of themselves before him. Aya remembered several times he had passed out from the pain he overlooked in favor of their own, as well.
That idiot.
"You going to go see him or what?"
Aya stood. "I guess."
"Well, don't go leaping for joy or anything."
Aya favored him a single bland glance. Youji just grinned happily back at him. With a roll of his eyes, Aya turned and started up the stairs.
What was he supposed to say to him? 'Sorry you nearly died.' Yeah, right. That was comforting. But knowing Ken, he would just look up at him with wide, almost startled brown eyes, and then he would break into a smile and laugh at him. Ken was always laughing at him. It annoyed him, once upon a time, but he had grown accustomed to that quiet, amused laughter, whether it was Ken grinning while Aya perplexed over a flower arrangement, or smirked as Aya complained about him leaving his dirty shoes in the basement. It was when the laughter stopped he knew something was wrong.
He doubted Ken was laughing now.
Omi was coming out of his room. Aya glanced up at him, finding the younger man's face tight with concern, eyes soft. Seeing him so worried did not set Aya at ease.
"Aya-kun," Omi began, and he tried to smile reassuringly, "I think--"
"He'll be all right," Aya interrupted, knowing already it was the words Omi wanted to say but did not yet have the strength to. He could see doubt in those eyes, and maybe that was what bothered him more than the worry.
Omi nodded quickly. "Yeah. It's Ken-kun. He'll be okay."
"What did Birman say?" The woman was gone now, driving the doctor back to his residence, and probably slipping him a substantial amount of money to insure his continued silence.
"We have to keep checking on him throughout the night," Omi answered, "because of the concussion. He just needs to rest up, mostly."
Which was like telling the sun to not rise and Youji not to crack bad pick-up lines, Aya thought dryly.
"He's awake?" Aya asked.
"For now," Omi answered. "I tried to get him to sleep, but he said you were probably off guilt-tripping yourself, so he wanted to see you..."
Natch. Aya couldn't help but smile slightly.
"I'll try to get him to sleep."
He moved past Omi, toward Ken's room. His dirty shoes and clothes were lying in the hallway, as usual, as well as the duffel bag he stuffed full of soccer equipment and an old, deflated ball. Ken had never really been one for cleaning up, Aya thought, resting his hand on the door knob and turning slowly. Never been one for anything having to do with responsibility, really, not unless it was Weiss...
Ken lay in his bed when Aya entered. Around him was an assortment of machines, heart rate monitors, and the drip of the blood transfusion, needles and tubes sticking out of his arms, and his body bandaged heavily. His eyes turned slowly to the door, dull and not quite focusing. It took him a moment to realize it was Aya, and then he smiled.
"Yo."
"Hey," Aya answered.
"Looks worse than it is," Ken said, and his voice was a low croak. Aya frowned.
"Sure."
"Sit down, geez."
He obliged him, sitting down in the chair pulled close to the bed, no doubt previously occupied by Youji or Omi. Aya almost hoped he was right, and it did look worse than it was, because he looked like absolute hell.
"You okay?" Ken asked.
"Why are you being so concerned for me? You were hurt."
"I told you, I'm okay."
Why the hell did he always have to be such a hero? Maybe for those kids he played soccer with, but not for them. For him, and Youji and Omi, he was no greater than they were. They all bled, they all made mistakes. But Ken shrugged it all away, tried to smile, and pretended like everything was okay.
"Youji said you asked for me."
"Ah, right..." Aya watched him, his hand twitching to rise and run through his hair in that sheepish way of his, but the needles kept him restrained. He gave a useless shrug. "I was wondering if you were okay."
"I'm fine."
"Yep, grumpy as usual. You're fine." Ken grinned. Sometimes, Aya thought Ken was the only person who could stare death in the eyes and smile.
But that wasn't true. He knew Ken was afraid. He had heard fear in his voice as they lay there together, fear that he might die, and regret that he wasn't able to live his life the way he wanted. But he had also heard cold, hard resolve, when he uttered the words, 'Sometimes I think I'd rather die than live like this.'
And those words frightened Aya.
He didn't ask him about it. Couldn't bring himself to. Maybe he was afraid of what the answer would be.
"Hey, Aya."
"What?"
"I guess..." Ken paused, uncomfortable. "I mean... well, thanks, you know?"
Aya glanced up at him. "What?"
"You helped me back there. If you hadn't been there, I'd probably..." He trailed off, not needing to say the words. They both knew.
Aya shook his head. "I didn't do anything."
"Yeah, you did."
Aya didn't answer him.
"I heard you calling me," Ken said softly. "When I fell unconscious, I could hear you, and... shit, I'm not going to get mushy on you. Just thanks, okay?" There was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks. Aya felt his lips tugging up into an amused smile.
"You're welcome."
"Damn straight."
Maybe he had helped, in some small way. Talking to him at all, keeping him conscious for as long as he could. But more than that, too, and Aya thought maybe that was what Ken was thanking him for. He listened. He listened to him talk about his fears, his regrets, and he heard the soft sorrow in his voice. No one else had ever heard those words from him. Maybe to say them at all helped.
Ken helped him, too. Dragging him to that soccer practice, laughing at him, forcing him to share that blanket. It was sad to realize he didn't know that he had smiled so much since his sister's accident.
"... thank you, too."
There was no response.
"Ken?"
The same fear he felt when Ken did not answer him then came over him again, and he reached out a hand, touching his shoulder. Ken murmured softly, something inaudible, letting out a slow, steady breath. He was asleep.
Aya sighed. "I'm pathetic."
He watched Ken for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and listened to his soft breathing. He would be all right. It would be a few days, maybe a few weeks before he could play soccer with the kids again, but he would be the same Ken again.
It was the two of them he doubted would be the same.
He stood, pushing back his chair, and leaned over the bed. "You're an idiot, you know?" he asked quietly.
And he bowed his head, brushing his lips softly over Ken's.