Chapter Four: The Rush of Guilt
[RAN]
"Abysinnian? Abysinnian? NOW!"
"Nani?" My mouth is dry, my thoughts colliding in confusion.
"Aya, MOVE!" Omi's hig-pitched voice cracks though the earpiece, insistent and forceful. Insisting what? I try to find my way through the fog which has descended around me, my eyes shut tight, my hands shaking slightly. My grip on the katana wavers as I struggle to pull myself out of the dingy room, away from the smell of blood and vomit and sex and the sharp memory or a soaring bird...
...my thoughts are mercifully interrupted by the sound of gunfire and the shouts of Omi coming not through the earpiece but approaching rapidly on foot. Wait a minute--gunfire?
The mission!
"Kuso..." I position myself with my sword, waiting to take down the target before Ken sets off the charges which Omi has placed inside. Omi runs past me, a flash of black heading for Yohji's position.
My heart is pounding, my head reeling as I feel the approach of the target, flanked by a security guard. Closer...closer...from the shadows I leap with my sword, cutting through the guard, blood spraying on my coat. All the rage I feel inside, all the shame at my weakness seems to find and outlet as my second victim hits the ground...
Shion's sword falls from my hand with a clatter as I am overcome with nausea. Vomiting on the pavement, I am revolted at the thought: I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed killing those men! Not because I was helping society, not because I was earning money to keep Aya-chan in school, but because it made me feel strong. I had betrayed everything that I had been taught before that sword was placed in my hands. I had betrayed not only my old master, but myself, and the person I tried to be for Ken and Aya.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I glance upward and meet a sea of aqua surrounded by chocolate locks. Ken. His hesitant eyes are full of concern, love, and...fear? Yes, fear. It's an expression I have rarely seen in his eyes. Is he afraid of me? Does he know how much I enjoyed breaking that flesh with my sword, the rush I gleaned from the power I held in my hands?
His hand is resting on my back making smooth, cyclical motions. He leans over and breaths gently in my ear, whispering, "It's okay, Ran. I understand." No, he doesn't! How can he?
Shaking, I realize that he is afraid for me, not of me.
[KEN]
When Aya leapt from the shadows and brought down the guard, my breath had caught in my throat. Aya - it's not really possible for me to think of him as "Ran" when he is killing - was laughing. I don't even think he realized that the crazed sound was coming from his body, but as he slashed his way through the two men his entire body shook with it, his eyes flashing with hot emotions. Pleasure? Pain? Or some perverse mixture of both?
From my position I saw him drop his sword and lean over, supporting himself against the brick wall, vomiting on the sidewalk. I lost no time joining him at his side, trying to calm him, to steady his shaking body. I blamed myself for this, of course -- it was too soon for him to be on a mission, but I let it happen.
Admittedly, at the time it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Ran had been back at work in the shop for a couple of weeks, and his body had healed. When Manx brought us the tape she didn't bat an eyelash at asking Ran if he was in, and there had been a sort of desperation to the way he had readily responded. It was as if he was letting us all know that he needed the chance to take his life back. I couldn't really try to stop him.
As his breathing slowed, he stood and picked up his sword, looking down at the target and the guard. Again, that strange glint was back, mingled with something else, as unmistakable as it was present.
It's strange. If I didn't know Ran, really know him, I would swear that he had enjoyed killing those people.
But that wouldn't make any sense, would it?
***
He was silent on the way back to the flat, sitting as far away from me as possible in the backseat of Yohji's car. He gazed out the window, his face blank, unresponsive.
Not that this is very unusual, even under "normal" circumstances. Ran, like all of us, always has had problems with taking life. It's one of the first things I noticed, really noticed, about him when he first joined us - the way he would firmly grasp his sword after each mission, the vacant look in his eyes, the internal struggle that I'm not sure he even knew he was waging following each kill.
He intrigued me from the start. I mean, what kind of guy wields a sword with such deadly precision as he casts merciless thrusts into people night after night, and then sits cradling his weapon as though he was apologizing to it? Or is he apologizing to himself? To the person he once was, or perhaps to the person he can never be again?
He was, and still is, a mystery. Only tonight, as he sits holding the sword, I know there is something else. Not the usual guilt for the taking of life that we all feel for doing what we must, but the air of true guilt, and shame for his weakness which allowed him to act tonight with such abandon.
I sigh before I can stop myself. If only he'd talk to me.
***
After we return to the flat, Ran looking more rattled than I have seen him in a long time, I leave my bedroom door open a crack, a silent invitation. I would never hurt his pride by telling him that I know he is afraid spending the nights alone, that I hear him pacing through the flat when he thinks we are all asleep.
Every night through the thin walls I can hear his soft footsteps, the creaking of his bed as he tosses on the mattress. And later, always the same soft cries as he wars with the invisible demons that haunt his dreams.
I want to hold him, to cradle his head on my shoulder and whisper in his ear. To hold him and his raw emotions close. To let him know that it's not a mark of shame to be scared, to be confused, to need someone. Especially not with our job; especially not with what he's been through. To let him know that he can stop being a damn statue and just be a human being like the rest of us.
Maybe if he sees my door open he will know that he's not alone, that there is some place to go when the nightmares catch him. He hasn't come to me yet, and I can't go to him. So I lie here, waiting to hear his cries, hoping I don't drift to sleep before he does. And then it hits me.
Perhaps it's time I stopped waiting.
[RAN]
The humid air coats my skin, only the gentle breeze making the night bearable. I'm unable to sleep after what happened on the mission, so I'm trying to pass the time until daybreak, trying to push off the last of the confusion which I feel after the twisted rush I had tonight. The alley behind the flat where I've sought some silence is dark and comforting, the shadows on the brick walls mirroring the darkness I feel inside.
Try as I might, I cannot think of a deep philosophical analogy for the rats which scurry about in the corners.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the cigarette feeling strange and foreign between my lips. Filthy habit, but I figure there has got to be something to it if Yohji is never seen without one stuck between his lips. The smoke fills my lungs and I cough in shock, flinging the cigarette to the ground. Bad idea.
I am, however, even more shocked to hear a sudden laugh inside my head.
*Those things'll kill you. If I don't, that is*
I whirl around, the nasal voice in my head catching me off guard. "What the hell?"
*Aww...I'm offended! You don't remember me?*
Shit. "Schwartz."
*Bingo. Although perhaps not quite the same Schwartz you remember. You could say that we're under new management.*
I looked around, expecting to see the redhead leaning against a building watching me from the shadows, that psycho with the knife fetish at his side. I see nothing but darkness. Dammit. The telepath could be anywhere from here to Tokyo.
"What the hell do you want?"
*To have some fun. I'm bored. *
Great. I'm generally irritated at the sudden intrusion by this cocky bastard who believes that he can just play with me whenever he wants to. I am, however, also keenly aware that I don't have my sword. Fuck. That means that I've got to get out of this without getting killed.
"It's too bad you don't know how to stay dead. I'd have thought you'd have been food for the fished by now. What am I, your entertainment?"
*Pretty much. Besides, I figure after your little "falling out" with your cute lover you could use a bit of distraction, too...*
I am suddenly overcome with the urge to punch his lights out. How dare he talk to me about Ken! And what did he mean, "falling out?" So we're not really talking, but...it's for the best, and he'd do well to keep his damn nose out of it!
"Where are you?"
*Find me. Then the fun will start...unless you'd rather I go find Kenken instead. *
Bastard. I could practically hear the smirk that was plastered on the redhead's face.
His voice led me through the shadows to a familiar oak tree next to the game field where Ken practices soccer. Leaning casually against the tree as I once had is Schuldig, blunt and intrusive as ever.
*You've had an interesting time since our last meeting, haven't you?*
The expression on his face lets me know he knows everything. I feel rage boiling in me at the thought of this guy poking around in my head and viewing my memories. I also find it very difficult to feel strong under his emerald gaze.
*Yes, kitty. I know all your secrets. And I must say that you've got one of the most fucked up heads I've had the pleasure of invading...Take tonight, for instance. I mean, is that the true meaning of Weiss? To gain a power rush from taking down people? Tsk, tsk...there's other ways of feeling strong, you know.
/"Tsk, tsk...you ought to show a bit more respect to the one pulling your strings, hmm, boy?" /
I swallow hard, unnerved by the silent voice, and afraid of where he is going with his mind; he's dragging up echos from the past, things I don't want him to see...
*I also find it interesting that you and Siberian seem to be on the outs. Of course, it's for the best, you know.*
"What the hell are you getting at?" I force the words out from between clenched teeth.
He shifts his posture and makes his way slowly and confidently toward me, his body leaning closely to mine. For some reason my feet feel rooted to the ground, my body not wanting to leave his side. His voice, his real voice, comes in a low whisper.
"I can see how much you want him...but do you think that he'll want to be with you after what they did to you? And even if he does, can you do that to him? Taint his purity with your filth?" His voice changes, taking on a richer tone, losing some of its nasality. "I, on the other hand, cannot be stained. I'm ruined already..."
His breath is hot on my ear, his hand pressed against my back, pulling me closer to him.
I roughly shove him backward, only one thought running through my mind, a thought I cannot voice. *I won't be used again.* He catches it anyway, as I knew he would.
"Ah, but what if I'm the one who wants to be used?" *I know you want someone and that you are afraid of being with Ken now; I know that when you can't hurt your precious love anymore you'll call for me.*
The thought is as sickening as it is alluring. "Never."
"We'll see, kitten. Just remember - I expect nothing from you. You can't break my heart. I wouldn't be so quick to say the same about little Siberian."
He turns, disappearing into the humid night, leaving my thoughts in chaos.
~~~`~,~@
Fujimiya Ran is a complete nutcase.
I know, I know. This coming from a guy who hangs out with a psychotic knife-happy Irishman, a seriously unbalanced telekenetic teenager, and the biggest anal-retentive bastard this side of...well, anywhere. My world is a virtual cornucopia of insanity. But Ran? This guy is fucked, in more ways than one.
He kills for a sister he's too afraid to see, cradles a sword he regrets wielding, hides from a deliciously fuckable boyfriend, and generally shuts himself off from every source of light and life within his reach.
He mopes for the lifestyle he's chosen, weeps inside for getting fucked over by people on whom he can't exact revenge, and mourns those fuckwits of a family that Taketori took the liberty of disposing from this world. Oh yes, the Fujimiyas are best left in the ground, along with whatever sainted delusions one might hold about them. Pity Ran doesn't know that.
I stop on a park bench and peek into his thoughts one last time before leaving the park and heading back out into the blade-runner like landscape of the urban Japanese night.
"Watch him" you said.
Crawford, thank-you. This is going to be quite a ride.
~~~`~,~@