Fic: "Honey Flower" (Part one)
Fandom: Weiß Side B.
Rating: Currently PG.
Pairing: FreexMichel. RanKen. Others
Warnings: Shounen ai, het, implied incest.
Disclaimer: WSB belongs to Project Weiß, Koyasu Takehito and Oomine Shouko. I'm not making any money from this.
Special thanks to Kwobtchan, Murasaki Suishou, as well as Hopeofdawn and Scribblemoose from the Anime Writers list for beta work.
***
Honey Flower, Part One.
The snow was still falling, and a lilac glow filtered through the curtains as it had the thick clouds. In the dim light, Michel could see a grey body coccooned in blankets as a defence against the cold.
He landed on the mattress with a soft thump and grinned as Aya shifted awkwardly beneath him, asleep and not aware of his presence yet. Ken had told him he'd never get this close to him before he was forcibly ejected from the room. He must've known that Michel would take that as a challenge.
"Aya!" he cajoled, slapping his face lightly.
Aya jerked a little, causing Michel to jump. Curly blond hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back behind his ears with a sigh. Now he was closer, Aya didn't look any healthier. His skin was tight against his cheekbones and his hair fell limply against his face.
"Aya~!" he said, poking at him a little more. "The post arrived! You got a letter from Japan!"
Aya's blank eyes looked through Michel, towards the window. He mumbled something incoherent and tried to roll over onto his side. Michel knelt beside him and lightly stroked his hair. It always seemed to him that the best way to fight lethargy was with smiling denial.
"Stop that!" snapped Aya, his eyes still closed. "Didn't Ken tell you not to bother me?"
Despite himself, Michel managed to look somewhat contrite. "He told me to, actually."
"I should've kn--"
"Because it's almost two in the afternoon!" Michel burst out. "All of us have been up hours ago! And Kurumi had to cover your shift!"
Aya shifted underneath Michel, sending him sprawling. As he moved off in the direction of the washroom, he muttered; "about time that girl made herself useful."
Michel made a strange sound: part gasp, part squeak. "You can't say that! That's horrible!"
Aya shot him a glare and left the room, leaving Michel to wonder what he could've said to help better.
He debated staying there until Aya came back, but the others could be having difficulty in the shop on their own. Yuki was working with Ken on a data-gathering mission, and so they would be in the basement; Chloe, Free and Kurumi were in the shop. Michel was the only one out of all of them whose native language was English, and who'd fully grasped the concept of flower words; Ken had finally explained them to him, but with blushing pride added that Aya was really the expert on those matters. Free was also adept at remembering correlations between flowers and meaning, as he deduced such messages within his tarot deck, but often he struggled to remember the vocabulary with customers.
Michel wandered down the stairs to the main area of the shop where Chloe sat reading a newspaper. He pulled a stool out from under the table, and sat across from him. As he tried to figure out why only today had Aya had said anything about their new member, he tapped a rhythm on the formica surface. It drew a few irritated glances from the other man, but otherwise he remained silent, reading.
He wished Chloe would ask what bothered him. He'd taken an instant liking to Kurumi, loving her innocence and confusion at her predicament that mirrored his own. Far away from home and thrust into a world with only a smile and a whip to protect himself against what lurked outside, he felt he could identify with her.
Wouldn't Aya, as team leader, have had to agree with Mihirogi's decision to give Kurumi the choice between life or death? Why had he never said anything before? It didn't make any sense!
"It's taken me this long to realise Aya didn't like Kurumi! I'm so clueless!" Michel wasn't sure if he'd really meant to say it aloud.
Chloe looked over top of his newspaper, eyebrow quirked at this sudden outburst. "Aya's a veteran. He's probably not used to dealing with someone who's so still naive about the world."
"But he didn't have that problem with Yuki!"
A small cough behind them; Chloe had the good sense to quickly hide his smirk behind the newspaper. Yuki stood there, his mouth curled into a small pout.
"Actually, he's been ignoring me lately." The boy shrugged and turned to leave.
Michel sighed. "Where's Ken, then? He'll know whether this is usual for Aya or not."
"Still in the basement. We were trying to track some missing people via internet records." Yuki tapped his glasses. "But my eyes started going funny after a couple of hours, so I handed it over to Ken."
"Thanks!" Michel threw the letter on the table and rushed off, clattering noisily down the metal steps. Below, his eyes slowly adapted to the change from natural light to the twilight of the basement. Ken sat hunched over the keyboard, harsh electric light reflected against his face. His eyebrows met in a knot.
"You should've asked me," Michel chided gently.
Ken looked up briefly, then back to the screen. "There were other things to deal with today. Like Aya."
Michel smiled and moved closer to Ken, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders and rubbing gently.
"I just figured I'd be no good at talking to him. We'd always leave that to O--" he broke off, and rested his head in his hands. "We'd always leave that to someone else."
Michel pressed tightly at the muscles in his shoulder to sooth him. "I still think it would've better if you'd gone. I mean, you... Did something happen between you two?"
"You could say that. He got a girlfriend," he muttered.
Michel whistled. "Wow, always the last to know." He bit his lips as he realised that was entirely the wrong thing to say. He searched through the phrases in his head, trying to decide which one was the best expression of tact and sympathy. Yet most of all he wanted such an expression that would answer all the questions he had. What had caused their break-up? What was said? How had Ken found out? What was she like?
And hey, a... girl? Since when?
"You and me both," said Ken bitterly. He smashed his fist into the keyboard, and the computer's cursor left an ascii trail in its wake.
"Why don't I take over here?" Michel asked. It wasn't much of a question as he'd already begun to wheel Ken's chair away from the screen.
"Sure..." muttered Ken. "How did Aya seem to you?"
Michel crouched in front of the screen and flicked through the booklet. Each page had a mugshot and a short criminal history. Michel couldn't help but notice that even though all subjects had been photographed from the most unflattering of angles, they were extremely beautiful young people. He picked a profile at random; a pink-haired teenager named Layla, but was saddened to realise he felt nothing to see that her file, like about half of the other profiles, had 'confirmed dead' written on it in Ken's handwriting. He flicked through until he got to a section with no further notes on them.
"Hey, how did Aya seem?" Ken repeated.
Michel snapped out of his appreciation of a particularly fine redhead with hair flowing down to his shoulders. "Ah, no, he didn't seem very well at all."
"He was acting kinda strange, yeah? I thought it was just m--"
"Oh! He phoned the other day!" Michel exclaimed, pointing at the name in the next profile.
"This name?" asked Ken, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice as he wheeled the chair back over to the computer. "This name right here?"
Michel nodded. "For sure. Said his name was Mister Crawford. Loud and clear."
"And I'm supposed to believe that the leader of an international band of terrorists just phoned this shop and announced himself to us?"
Michel shrugged defensively. "He seemed nice. He had a lovely deep voice too."
Ken spun around; the chair crashed loudly against the table leg. The next thing Michel knew, he was pinned against the staircase's metal pillar.
"And. You. Didn't. Think. To. Mention. It?" growled Ken with gritted teeth.
Michel squirmed, but refused to stop smiling. To do otherwise would suggest he'd done something wrong. "Aya told me it was a wrong number," he explained.
"Wrong number!?"
Michael tried not to laugh at the way Ken's voice could slide from a gruff baritone to a stunned squeak. "Yeah! He said he had something important to tell us, but because Aya disconnected the phoneline--"
"Aya did what?" Ken pushed himself away, and clattered up the staircase two steps at a time.
"I'll try to find out some more about that guy, right?" Michel yelled after him, but he'd already left.
***
Two figures stood in a featureless hall. Behind them, tall glass panels gave them a view overlooking the aeroplanes and the runways. The floor was a soft grey vinyl, the walls were flint-coloured, the chairs bolted to to the floor were pale black.
At least one of the figures wasn't quite so colourless. His red hair spilled out of his military cap and contrasted sharply with his purple shirt. It took a little attention away from the pistol nestled in the holster in full view of any airport staff who cared to give the pair more than a cursory glance. Not that it mattered to the telepath; he'd been mentally waving the inspectors along since he'd arrived. It gave him something with which to occupy his mind while they waited. Why were check-in times so long?
"Not long now," replied his companion, before Schuldig had even voiced his complaint. Crawford stared up at the information board, without really taking in the information as each letter spun and changed to reflect new destinations. In any case his abilities would let him know the correct departure lounge before he saw it with his own eyes. His head jerked slightly, and behind his glasses, his eyes clouded over. "London Heathrow. Gate twenty-three," he murmured.
They began to gather up their luggage, each slinging a rucksack onto their back. It was a quick walk to their gate as they were already close by, and there weren't many people around. Airports always seemed to have vast amounts of space.
Already a line had formed at the desk. People surged forward and shoved their bags through the x-ray machine. Others stripped their belts off and took the spare change out of their wallets to walk through the metal-detecting arch. Crawford and Schuldig took their places at the back of the line.
"I got them a present before we left." Schuldig said, giving the hand luggage at his feet an indicative kick. The gun bounced against his thigh. "Perhaps they won't try to kill us on sight, hmm?"
"Who knows?" asked Crawford with a slight smile.
"You do," Schuldig shot back, resting his hand on the other man's shoulder.
"The one I would've expected to leap at our collective throats is dangerously unwell." Crawford laughed slightly, and planted a quick kiss on Schuldig's cheek. He moved closer to his ear to whisper, "Perhaps he'll even die..."
Schuldig let out a sigh of contentment as they reached the front of the queue. Together, he and Crawford walked through the electronic doorframe, setting off the alarms and causing the amber lights to blink like crazy.
Not one official moved.
"I have a gun and a German sausage," remarked Schuldig to the nearest inspector, as his eyes became as pale as Crawford's were earlier. This even drew a smirk of appreciation from Crawford.
"Move along," said another baggage inspector blandly.
***
Michel heard something smash, followed by a rapid string of insults from Ken. At least, he assumed they were insults; they were in Japanese, but they didn't sound very friendly. He struggled to speak louder over the noise to complete a sale with his current customer. The shop's unique selling point was that it specialised in the Victorian "tussie mussie", and with that came inflated prices and, in turn, increased customer expectations.
"Just what is going on up there?" inquired the elderly gentleman, tapping his gold-topped cane loudly on the floor.
Michel smiled as sweetly as he could, and continued to bind the flowers and leaves together. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chloe, Free and Yuki quietly leave the room and head upstairs. "What colour wrapping and ribbon would you like with this?" he asked, unable to think of any good reason to give.
The man swung his cane around and jabbed in the direction of the stairs. "Young lady, perhaps you'd better check that everyone's safe."
Michel didn't correct him and tried not to grimace. "The other clerks are dealing with it, sir. We have silver, gold, white, black, pink, and blue to choose from."
"Hm?" He continued to stare in the direction of the stairs.
"To wrap the flowers, sir. You can choose the colours."
"Well, what colours have you got then?"
There was an enormous crash from above, followed by a series of stamps that were getting closer to them. Aya strode out, but his palid expression showed neither anger nor pain, just a complete lack of emotion.
It was decided in a split-second: there was no way Aya was leaving. Not when he'd disturbed the customers and threatened their identities. Not when it sounded like he'd hurt Michel's team-mates.
Michel side-stepped straight into Aya's path. He braced himself, as he watched Aya come at him as if in slow-motion. He had time to think, time to ground himself and lower his centre of gravity to better stop the considerably taller and heavier man.
Aya ploughed through him and Michel felt his legs crumple underneath him. He tried twisting round to see where Aya was going, but the ground smacked him on his side. His jaw clenched as the rest of his body went limp on the ground, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
The pain started pounding in his head and spread to the rest of body. He heard himself mumbling that he was okay and he didn't think anything was broken. Warm arms encompassed him and pressed something wet and cold against his aching ribs. He had the vague sensation that he was being moved.
He opened his eyes, only hazily aware of having shut them. He was pretty sure he was in his bedroom, although the curtains were drawn and the main lights were off. His bedside lamp, however, was being used as a reading light at the end of his bed. He squinted to see who it was.
"Ken...?"
"No," the voice sounded apologetic.
"Free, then!" Michel tried to inject some enthusiasm into it, but he felt dizzy again.
Free turned off the lamp, and Michel was left with blue splotches of colour swimming in front of his eyes. His friend crept closer until he was right beside the bed.
"How do you feel?" Free asked.
Michel snuggled down into the covers. "I'm fine. Just need some sleep."
"I'll be quick then. But I got something for you," Free said, keeping his voice hushed. He pointed to a bouquet of flowers already lying at Michel's bedside.
"Ah, that's nice. I'll get some water for them later." Michel tried to smile at the present, but he wrapped the things all day long; picked out the colours for indecisive customers and told them what they really wanted each flower to represent. He supposed it was a thoughtful last minute idea, but the concept of flowers for a florist was laughable.
He turned his head, and his eyes were drawn to the bright yellow acacia florets. Friendship? A genuine smile crept across his face on the realisation that Free had made deliberate choices in his selection. Of course, he wasn't to know that the acacia also referred to secret love too, as Michel did. The yellow thread-like petals of the Chinese chrysanthemum matched perfectly: cheerfulness under adversity. And finally, the pale honey flower set the display off perfectly.
Love, sweet and secret.
Warmth spread across Michel's face. Perhaps he'd chosen two or three different types with a matching colour? The red that was almost certainly colouring his cheeks was more on Free's behalf than anything else.
"I had better go," Free said, getting up. "But... my deck selected a card for you and I want you have it." He reached into his pocket and produced a single tarot card.
Michel took it gingerly, taking care not to touch the edges as all of Free's cards held a hidden blade. He looked at the image of a juggler concentrating intently on keeping two golden circles in the air while chaos reigned in the background. The writing underneath told him it was the two of pentacles. "What does it mean?"
"Lots of things. It's a search for balance. A sign that things will get more complicated. Or a challenge to rise to the occasion." Free was almost out of the room now, as if he wanted to escape. In the half-light from the open door, Michel could see he was biting his lip.
"I see." Michel looked back at the card with this in mind. He could see the symbolism now. "And the flowers? What do they mean?"
"They matched your hair colour." Free took a deep breath, and slipped into the corridor.
***
Aya's chin pressed into his own chest, his body slumped uneasily in the swivel chair. He sat across from a large oakwood desk. Certificates and trophies were positioned or hung randomly around the office. A shadow stood over a shivering bundle propped against a filing cabinet.
Sitting in the over-stuffed leather chair was a girl in her early teens, and it was almost comical how the enormous chair dwarfed her. She wore an uncomfortable-looking blazer and her tie was striped in the unusual colour scheme of black, white and burgundy, which matched the crest on her ironed-on school badge. Ribbons in the same three colours were woven into her twin braids. She spun herself round in the chair several times before letting out an uncontrolled giggle.
At this, Aya snapped to attention.
The shadow took a step backwards into the light, revealing himself to be a Japanese boy in his mid-teens. He moved gracefully over to where Aya stared blankly at the girl. His lips twitched into a open expression of sheer happiness. "Just a few more days of programming, and you're ours."
The bundle in the corner jerked backwards, then thrust her shoulders fowards to strain against the rope. He tutted. "It's hardly my fault if you refused your meds today, mother."
He took a few steps towards her, then watched with amusement as she struggled to kick her herself away from him with bound legs.
"Ah, but you're not her, despite appearences, are you?" He bent down to kiss her gag, leaving the material glistening. "Silly!" he chided, wagging his finger. "That's what makes this okay!"
"Maria." He turned towards the girl. "Return him to his team-mates. Ensure you present yourself well."
"Yes, sir!" She jumped down off the chair. Aya's gaze followed her around the desk and accross the room until she stood in front of him. "Let's go!"
***
Chapter One End.
Fandom: Weiß Side B.
Rating: Currently PG.
Pairing: FreexMichel. RanKen. Others
Warnings: Shounen ai, het, implied incest.
Disclaimer: WSB belongs to Project Weiß, Koyasu Takehito and Oomine Shouko. I'm not making any money from this.
Special thanks to Kwobtchan, Murasaki Suishou, as well as Hopeofdawn and Scribblemoose from the Anime Writers list for beta work.
***
Honey Flower, Part One.
The snow was still falling, and a lilac glow filtered through the curtains as it had the thick clouds. In the dim light, Michel could see a grey body coccooned in blankets as a defence against the cold.
He landed on the mattress with a soft thump and grinned as Aya shifted awkwardly beneath him, asleep and not aware of his presence yet. Ken had told him he'd never get this close to him before he was forcibly ejected from the room. He must've known that Michel would take that as a challenge.
"Aya!" he cajoled, slapping his face lightly.
Aya jerked a little, causing Michel to jump. Curly blond hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back behind his ears with a sigh. Now he was closer, Aya didn't look any healthier. His skin was tight against his cheekbones and his hair fell limply against his face.
"Aya~!" he said, poking at him a little more. "The post arrived! You got a letter from Japan!"
Aya's blank eyes looked through Michel, towards the window. He mumbled something incoherent and tried to roll over onto his side. Michel knelt beside him and lightly stroked his hair. It always seemed to him that the best way to fight lethargy was with smiling denial.
"Stop that!" snapped Aya, his eyes still closed. "Didn't Ken tell you not to bother me?"
Despite himself, Michel managed to look somewhat contrite. "He told me to, actually."
"I should've kn--"
"Because it's almost two in the afternoon!" Michel burst out. "All of us have been up hours ago! And Kurumi had to cover your shift!"
Aya shifted underneath Michel, sending him sprawling. As he moved off in the direction of the washroom, he muttered; "about time that girl made herself useful."
Michel made a strange sound: part gasp, part squeak. "You can't say that! That's horrible!"
Aya shot him a glare and left the room, leaving Michel to wonder what he could've said to help better.
He debated staying there until Aya came back, but the others could be having difficulty in the shop on their own. Yuki was working with Ken on a data-gathering mission, and so they would be in the basement; Chloe, Free and Kurumi were in the shop. Michel was the only one out of all of them whose native language was English, and who'd fully grasped the concept of flower words; Ken had finally explained them to him, but with blushing pride added that Aya was really the expert on those matters. Free was also adept at remembering correlations between flowers and meaning, as he deduced such messages within his tarot deck, but often he struggled to remember the vocabulary with customers.
Michel wandered down the stairs to the main area of the shop where Chloe sat reading a newspaper. He pulled a stool out from under the table, and sat across from him. As he tried to figure out why only today had Aya had said anything about their new member, he tapped a rhythm on the formica surface. It drew a few irritated glances from the other man, but otherwise he remained silent, reading.
He wished Chloe would ask what bothered him. He'd taken an instant liking to Kurumi, loving her innocence and confusion at her predicament that mirrored his own. Far away from home and thrust into a world with only a smile and a whip to protect himself against what lurked outside, he felt he could identify with her.
Wouldn't Aya, as team leader, have had to agree with Mihirogi's decision to give Kurumi the choice between life or death? Why had he never said anything before? It didn't make any sense!
"It's taken me this long to realise Aya didn't like Kurumi! I'm so clueless!" Michel wasn't sure if he'd really meant to say it aloud.
Chloe looked over top of his newspaper, eyebrow quirked at this sudden outburst. "Aya's a veteran. He's probably not used to dealing with someone who's so still naive about the world."
"But he didn't have that problem with Yuki!"
A small cough behind them; Chloe had the good sense to quickly hide his smirk behind the newspaper. Yuki stood there, his mouth curled into a small pout.
"Actually, he's been ignoring me lately." The boy shrugged and turned to leave.
Michel sighed. "Where's Ken, then? He'll know whether this is usual for Aya or not."
"Still in the basement. We were trying to track some missing people via internet records." Yuki tapped his glasses. "But my eyes started going funny after a couple of hours, so I handed it over to Ken."
"Thanks!" Michel threw the letter on the table and rushed off, clattering noisily down the metal steps. Below, his eyes slowly adapted to the change from natural light to the twilight of the basement. Ken sat hunched over the keyboard, harsh electric light reflected against his face. His eyebrows met in a knot.
"You should've asked me," Michel chided gently.
Ken looked up briefly, then back to the screen. "There were other things to deal with today. Like Aya."
Michel smiled and moved closer to Ken, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders and rubbing gently.
"I just figured I'd be no good at talking to him. We'd always leave that to O--" he broke off, and rested his head in his hands. "We'd always leave that to someone else."
Michel pressed tightly at the muscles in his shoulder to sooth him. "I still think it would've better if you'd gone. I mean, you... Did something happen between you two?"
"You could say that. He got a girlfriend," he muttered.
Michel whistled. "Wow, always the last to know." He bit his lips as he realised that was entirely the wrong thing to say. He searched through the phrases in his head, trying to decide which one was the best expression of tact and sympathy. Yet most of all he wanted such an expression that would answer all the questions he had. What had caused their break-up? What was said? How had Ken found out? What was she like?
And hey, a... girl? Since when?
"You and me both," said Ken bitterly. He smashed his fist into the keyboard, and the computer's cursor left an ascii trail in its wake.
"Why don't I take over here?" Michel asked. It wasn't much of a question as he'd already begun to wheel Ken's chair away from the screen.
"Sure..." muttered Ken. "How did Aya seem to you?"
Michel crouched in front of the screen and flicked through the booklet. Each page had a mugshot and a short criminal history. Michel couldn't help but notice that even though all subjects had been photographed from the most unflattering of angles, they were extremely beautiful young people. He picked a profile at random; a pink-haired teenager named Layla, but was saddened to realise he felt nothing to see that her file, like about half of the other profiles, had 'confirmed dead' written on it in Ken's handwriting. He flicked through until he got to a section with no further notes on them.
"Hey, how did Aya seem?" Ken repeated.
Michel snapped out of his appreciation of a particularly fine redhead with hair flowing down to his shoulders. "Ah, no, he didn't seem very well at all."
"He was acting kinda strange, yeah? I thought it was just m--"
"Oh! He phoned the other day!" Michel exclaimed, pointing at the name in the next profile.
"This name?" asked Ken, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice as he wheeled the chair back over to the computer. "This name right here?"
Michel nodded. "For sure. Said his name was Mister Crawford. Loud and clear."
"And I'm supposed to believe that the leader of an international band of terrorists just phoned this shop and announced himself to us?"
Michel shrugged defensively. "He seemed nice. He had a lovely deep voice too."
Ken spun around; the chair crashed loudly against the table leg. The next thing Michel knew, he was pinned against the staircase's metal pillar.
"And. You. Didn't. Think. To. Mention. It?" growled Ken with gritted teeth.
Michel squirmed, but refused to stop smiling. To do otherwise would suggest he'd done something wrong. "Aya told me it was a wrong number," he explained.
"Wrong number!?"
Michael tried not to laugh at the way Ken's voice could slide from a gruff baritone to a stunned squeak. "Yeah! He said he had something important to tell us, but because Aya disconnected the phoneline--"
"Aya did what?" Ken pushed himself away, and clattered up the staircase two steps at a time.
"I'll try to find out some more about that guy, right?" Michel yelled after him, but he'd already left.
***
Two figures stood in a featureless hall. Behind them, tall glass panels gave them a view overlooking the aeroplanes and the runways. The floor was a soft grey vinyl, the walls were flint-coloured, the chairs bolted to to the floor were pale black.
At least one of the figures wasn't quite so colourless. His red hair spilled out of his military cap and contrasted sharply with his purple shirt. It took a little attention away from the pistol nestled in the holster in full view of any airport staff who cared to give the pair more than a cursory glance. Not that it mattered to the telepath; he'd been mentally waving the inspectors along since he'd arrived. It gave him something with which to occupy his mind while they waited. Why were check-in times so long?
"Not long now," replied his companion, before Schuldig had even voiced his complaint. Crawford stared up at the information board, without really taking in the information as each letter spun and changed to reflect new destinations. In any case his abilities would let him know the correct departure lounge before he saw it with his own eyes. His head jerked slightly, and behind his glasses, his eyes clouded over. "London Heathrow. Gate twenty-three," he murmured.
They began to gather up their luggage, each slinging a rucksack onto their back. It was a quick walk to their gate as they were already close by, and there weren't many people around. Airports always seemed to have vast amounts of space.
Already a line had formed at the desk. People surged forward and shoved their bags through the x-ray machine. Others stripped their belts off and took the spare change out of their wallets to walk through the metal-detecting arch. Crawford and Schuldig took their places at the back of the line.
"I got them a present before we left." Schuldig said, giving the hand luggage at his feet an indicative kick. The gun bounced against his thigh. "Perhaps they won't try to kill us on sight, hmm?"
"Who knows?" asked Crawford with a slight smile.
"You do," Schuldig shot back, resting his hand on the other man's shoulder.
"The one I would've expected to leap at our collective throats is dangerously unwell." Crawford laughed slightly, and planted a quick kiss on Schuldig's cheek. He moved closer to his ear to whisper, "Perhaps he'll even die..."
Schuldig let out a sigh of contentment as they reached the front of the queue. Together, he and Crawford walked through the electronic doorframe, setting off the alarms and causing the amber lights to blink like crazy.
Not one official moved.
"I have a gun and a German sausage," remarked Schuldig to the nearest inspector, as his eyes became as pale as Crawford's were earlier. This even drew a smirk of appreciation from Crawford.
"Move along," said another baggage inspector blandly.
***
Michel heard something smash, followed by a rapid string of insults from Ken. At least, he assumed they were insults; they were in Japanese, but they didn't sound very friendly. He struggled to speak louder over the noise to complete a sale with his current customer. The shop's unique selling point was that it specialised in the Victorian "tussie mussie", and with that came inflated prices and, in turn, increased customer expectations.
"Just what is going on up there?" inquired the elderly gentleman, tapping his gold-topped cane loudly on the floor.
Michel smiled as sweetly as he could, and continued to bind the flowers and leaves together. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chloe, Free and Yuki quietly leave the room and head upstairs. "What colour wrapping and ribbon would you like with this?" he asked, unable to think of any good reason to give.
The man swung his cane around and jabbed in the direction of the stairs. "Young lady, perhaps you'd better check that everyone's safe."
Michel didn't correct him and tried not to grimace. "The other clerks are dealing with it, sir. We have silver, gold, white, black, pink, and blue to choose from."
"Hm?" He continued to stare in the direction of the stairs.
"To wrap the flowers, sir. You can choose the colours."
"Well, what colours have you got then?"
There was an enormous crash from above, followed by a series of stamps that were getting closer to them. Aya strode out, but his palid expression showed neither anger nor pain, just a complete lack of emotion.
It was decided in a split-second: there was no way Aya was leaving. Not when he'd disturbed the customers and threatened their identities. Not when it sounded like he'd hurt Michel's team-mates.
Michel side-stepped straight into Aya's path. He braced himself, as he watched Aya come at him as if in slow-motion. He had time to think, time to ground himself and lower his centre of gravity to better stop the considerably taller and heavier man.
Aya ploughed through him and Michel felt his legs crumple underneath him. He tried twisting round to see where Aya was going, but the ground smacked him on his side. His jaw clenched as the rest of his body went limp on the ground, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
The pain started pounding in his head and spread to the rest of body. He heard himself mumbling that he was okay and he didn't think anything was broken. Warm arms encompassed him and pressed something wet and cold against his aching ribs. He had the vague sensation that he was being moved.
He opened his eyes, only hazily aware of having shut them. He was pretty sure he was in his bedroom, although the curtains were drawn and the main lights were off. His bedside lamp, however, was being used as a reading light at the end of his bed. He squinted to see who it was.
"Ken...?"
"No," the voice sounded apologetic.
"Free, then!" Michel tried to inject some enthusiasm into it, but he felt dizzy again.
Free turned off the lamp, and Michel was left with blue splotches of colour swimming in front of his eyes. His friend crept closer until he was right beside the bed.
"How do you feel?" Free asked.
Michel snuggled down into the covers. "I'm fine. Just need some sleep."
"I'll be quick then. But I got something for you," Free said, keeping his voice hushed. He pointed to a bouquet of flowers already lying at Michel's bedside.
"Ah, that's nice. I'll get some water for them later." Michel tried to smile at the present, but he wrapped the things all day long; picked out the colours for indecisive customers and told them what they really wanted each flower to represent. He supposed it was a thoughtful last minute idea, but the concept of flowers for a florist was laughable.
He turned his head, and his eyes were drawn to the bright yellow acacia florets. Friendship? A genuine smile crept across his face on the realisation that Free had made deliberate choices in his selection. Of course, he wasn't to know that the acacia also referred to secret love too, as Michel did. The yellow thread-like petals of the Chinese chrysanthemum matched perfectly: cheerfulness under adversity. And finally, the pale honey flower set the display off perfectly.
Love, sweet and secret.
Warmth spread across Michel's face. Perhaps he'd chosen two or three different types with a matching colour? The red that was almost certainly colouring his cheeks was more on Free's behalf than anything else.
"I had better go," Free said, getting up. "But... my deck selected a card for you and I want you have it." He reached into his pocket and produced a single tarot card.
Michel took it gingerly, taking care not to touch the edges as all of Free's cards held a hidden blade. He looked at the image of a juggler concentrating intently on keeping two golden circles in the air while chaos reigned in the background. The writing underneath told him it was the two of pentacles. "What does it mean?"
"Lots of things. It's a search for balance. A sign that things will get more complicated. Or a challenge to rise to the occasion." Free was almost out of the room now, as if he wanted to escape. In the half-light from the open door, Michel could see he was biting his lip.
"I see." Michel looked back at the card with this in mind. He could see the symbolism now. "And the flowers? What do they mean?"
"They matched your hair colour." Free took a deep breath, and slipped into the corridor.
***
Aya's chin pressed into his own chest, his body slumped uneasily in the swivel chair. He sat across from a large oakwood desk. Certificates and trophies were positioned or hung randomly around the office. A shadow stood over a shivering bundle propped against a filing cabinet.
Sitting in the over-stuffed leather chair was a girl in her early teens, and it was almost comical how the enormous chair dwarfed her. She wore an uncomfortable-looking blazer and her tie was striped in the unusual colour scheme of black, white and burgundy, which matched the crest on her ironed-on school badge. Ribbons in the same three colours were woven into her twin braids. She spun herself round in the chair several times before letting out an uncontrolled giggle.
At this, Aya snapped to attention.
The shadow took a step backwards into the light, revealing himself to be a Japanese boy in his mid-teens. He moved gracefully over to where Aya stared blankly at the girl. His lips twitched into a open expression of sheer happiness. "Just a few more days of programming, and you're ours."
The bundle in the corner jerked backwards, then thrust her shoulders fowards to strain against the rope. He tutted. "It's hardly my fault if you refused your meds today, mother."
He took a few steps towards her, then watched with amusement as she struggled to kick her herself away from him with bound legs.
"Ah, but you're not her, despite appearences, are you?" He bent down to kiss her gag, leaving the material glistening. "Silly!" he chided, wagging his finger. "That's what makes this okay!"
"Maria." He turned towards the girl. "Return him to his team-mates. Ensure you present yourself well."
"Yes, sir!" She jumped down off the chair. Aya's gaze followed her around the desk and accross the room until she stood in front of him. "Let's go!"
***
Chapter One End.