Dyed Crimson

The Weaver Atropos

Dyed Crimson, Ruby V

The next day found Ken, seated before his redheaded leader, brown eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of what was to come. The brunette had decided that—if this was the fate to befall him—he would antagonize until he could no longer do so.

He hadn't accounted for the fact that the situation would mean he'd have the redhead leaning close to him, mere millimeters between them. He would have hailed the scene, were it not for the fact that Youji was laughing somewhere in the background—along with Omi, no less—at his state. "Ken –kun!" the young blonde's voice sounded amused even then, "it really doesn't hurt—"

He would have growled if Aya hadn't already told him to keep still. He was shaking as it was, his palms unbelievably sweaty and his skin clammy. He had avoided looking at the needle the redhead would be using, choosing to focus on the inside membranes of his eyes instead, and was slowly discovering that…eyes closed as they were, the fact that Aya was sitting before him—and the fact that he had no idea when he would attack—was arousing despite the situation.

An unwarranted shiver ran through him.

Risking a peek with his right eye, he found Aya turned a little on his side, looking through their first aid kit, pale fingertips running over the various compartments of the box. He was wearing his sleeveless black shirt—it being only something he wore when he was planning on working with his katana—and the creamy expanse of skin that was left naked to the eye was certainly a pleasing surprise. He was almost disappointed he hadn't opened his eyes earlier.

"Ne, Aya-kun…what earring are you using?"

"Mine."

Ken look upwards curiously, wanting to meet the redhead's eyes, but found that his leader wasn't looking at him. Aya dug his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small beige box. He handed it to Ken, fingertips brushing against his the slightest bit, and went back to finding an adequately sized needle. He didn't have any of the piercing type, but he certainly had more than enough medical ones to choose from.

The chocolate eyed youth slowly drew open the small case he'd been given and pulled out an earring that was the mirror of the one Aya wore. He held it in his hand experimentally, biting his lip a little at the knowledge of what he'd been given, and closed his palm around the hanging earring. It was the one that would've belonged to Aya-chan.

The one she had held in her hand for the past two years.

And the one that—for one reason or another—Aya had seen fit to give to Ken.

He looked up once more, and found those amethyst eyes gazing steadily at him. "Ready?"

He nodded, feeling somewhat indebted, and curled his fingertips around the edge of the stool he sat on, bracing himself for the pain to come. He debated closing his eyes, but decided against it. He wanted to see Aya…he wanted him to know he could handle it. He watched as the young man loaded the injection with what he presumed was anesthesia and watched him flick the loading tube experimentally.

Aya gave a terse nod then, and leaned forwards towards him. He was sitting on a wheeled stool, and his legs were spread wide enough that he could lean into Ken without brushing against him. With his left hand, he gently held on to the boy's chin, and turned it sideways. He let that hand settle down on the brunette's cheek. He maneuvered the needle dexterously, realizing momentarily that Omi should have done the piercing, as he was so adept with darts, before sliding the needle deftly through the brunette's lobe.

Ken hadn't felt a thing. What he did hear, however, was a loud 'pop.' Aya nodded at him. "Cartilage breaking."

Ken was about to finger his ear when the redhead swatted at his hand, creamy fingertips holding his captive. "Don't. It's an open wound."

He picked up the earring he'd given Ken, and dipped it in a pot of boiling water Youji had brought over. It would disinfect there. He certainly didn't want the youth's ear falling off three days later, all for the sake of a mission. He looked back towards him in the meantime, his gloved hands holding his ear captive, the needle still in its prior place—waiting to be replaced by the gold earring.

"How are you fairing, Ken-kun?"

Ken studied his reflection absently, the dangling earring catching the light from the early morning sun and glinting furtively. "It doesn't hurt."

"I told you it wouldn't."

The brunette continued staring into the mirror, hand mussing at his hair. "Didn't think we were similar at all, but…"

"Yeah. With the hair and the earring, you and Aya-kun look a lot more alike," the young blonde paused, "…but you're so much more tan, Ken-kun." The boy's rich chuckle filled the room, "Aya-kun reminds me of a porcelain doll, sometimes, he's so pale."

Pale. Pale all over. Like a vampire. Ken closed his eyes as he remembered exactly how pale the redhead had been the other day—on the rooftop—when he'd shed his shirt beneath the steely light of the moon. He'd seemed like an angel then—ethereal, insubstantial…near translucent. "Yeah."

"It's a little scary."

Youji spooned off some fried omelet from the frying pan and relocated it into a small bowl. He eyed both Ken and Aya as he spoke, gaze lingering on the brunette-gone-redhead, and frowned. "I didn't think it was possible, actually."

Omi accepted the bowl Youji handed to him with a smile, "At least it lends for a more successful mission," he paused, and then, raising his voice, "Ne, Ken-kun—give us a demonstration with Aya's katana later!"

Soulful brown eyes rose at the suggestion, their color the only palpable difference from that of the redhead, and he gave a nod. "Sure." He looked toward his right then, where Aya was sitting cozily with a book, frameless glasses perched low on his nose. As if aware someone was watching him, Aya drew his gaze slowly from whatever piece of literature he'd been focused on and looked around. Brown met up with lavender in a matter of seconds.

"Remember what I told you, Ken."

Ken nodded, wisps of bright red hair obscuring his vision momentarily, and resisted the urge to push his eartails behind his ear. "No heroics, yeah, I remember, Aya. I won't pull one of your typical stunts, I promise."

The redhead frowned. "I'm serious, Ken. This is the first decoy mission, and if you make a false move it throws everything else out of perspective."

A soft, but sincere smile spread over his lips, "You worry too much, Aya. Trust me a little."

A hesitant nod was all the answer he received. "Ne…what are you going to be doing, anyway?"

"Monitoring."

"That's no fun. Go watch a soccer game."

It wasn't hard. It wasn't hard at all. Once he was dressed—head to toe—in Aya's gear, black trench buttoned, straps tightened—it wasn't hard to delve into his role. To walk with that slightly arrogant bearing—to scan the area habitually…grasp and release at his katana. His katana.

He liked it actually. This person who was he for the time being. He caught a glimpse of crimson as he leaned forward, grinned at is likeness to the growing pool of red by his feet, and continued toward the target. No heroics tonight, Aya. None. It would be straight for the target. A clean cut. No noise. No gurgling sounds as bugnuks tore through delicate flesh; just a simple, silent slash. And perhaps a rolling sound later.

Nothing other than that.

"Target confirmed."

Omi jolted as his communicator cackled to life, static nearly rendering the message incomprehensible, "Siberian?"

"Abyssinian." The voice that corrected him was near deadly—whispered, but cold.

"Abyssinian, is the target in sight?" Omi cast Youji a strange look as the latter positioned himself atop the skylight, ready to drop in should Ken encounter any troubles.

"Target confirmed."

"Roger that. Eliminate."

And the communicator fell silent.

"Ken…you're a mess."

The brunette frowned a little at the comment, staring down to find Aya's usually immaculate trench covered in splatters of blood—some dark, some vibrant—and found his stomach gave an uncharacteristic lurch. "Seems you can't even be careful when you have a dignified weapon."

"Shh, Youji-kun…Are you all right, Ken-kun?"

"I'm fine."

The words were deep, mellow, and quiet. "It's not my blood."

Youji chuckled at the reply, "Glad to hear it. Can't wait to see what Aya's reaction is gonna be."

Aya pulled off his headset with a heavy sigh. All right. Target confirmed and eliminated. Ken had done a surprisingly clean job. And, should Kritiker intelligence prove correct, Yamoi's men should have been there to get a good look at Ken—posing as Aya.

All that was done for now.

He stood and made his way toward the door, holding it open for his team with surprising accuracy. "Aya-kun! How'd you know we were back already?"

"A guess." He peered over the youth's head, searching for a familiar head of messy chocolate and frowning when he didn't find it. A smooth, tan limb—raised in the air—finally caught his eye. Ken was smiling absently, "Present."

He scanned the other habitually, taking in any possible injuries, stopping short when he realized the other was sopping wet with blood. He turned quizzically toward Omi and Youji—both of which shrugged simultaneously—and pulled Ken into the light of the Koneko. "Did you plow through a herd of buffalo?"

"What? No…" Ken didn't quite seem to catch the meaning of Aya's inquiry, glancing up at the taller man as though expecting an accolade of some sort. "No heroics." He tried a smile.

"Ken…you're…a mess."

He fingered the edges of his lapel and frowned at the caked quality of the cloth. He looked upwards, amethyst locking on amethyst, and gave a weak shrug, "People sure bleed a lot, ne, Aya?"

Aya inspected the sleeping man with a frown. He'd tended to their laundry earlier—feeling it was the least he could do after having been utterly useless for a mission—and had been surprised at the sheer amount of blood the soccer player had had on him. Even now, dozed off as he was, he could see the tell-tale matte finish of dried blood evident on the youth's dyed hair.

He put his fingers to his forehead and shuddered. It had been a mess. An utter mess.

"You heard through the communicator, Omi. How many times?"

"Just…once…I'm pretty sure—"

The redhead shook his head no, "You can't…there's no physical way—a person doesn't shed that much blood with one clean cut. Not even bugnuks do that much damage."

Youji stepped in from where he'd been smoking on the porch and offered his input, "Maybe he's used to it? The blood, I mean."

"That makes no sense."

But even then, he'd known that it did. It damn well made perfect sense.

"Ken?" Pale fingertips disappeared into an uncontrollable mess of red, "Ken…wake up."

A pair of dark brown eyes blinked upwards at him, "Aya…?"

He gave a sharp nod, "We need to talk. Rooftop."

Ken didn't bother waiting for the redhead to help him up, using his newfound arm-strength as leverage, he pulled himself through the roof's opening, glancing curiously at his comrade. "It's three o'clock in the damn morning, Aya."

"How many slashes, Ken?"

It wasn't a question as much as it was an accusation.

"No heroics, Aya."

"That doesn't answer the question."

The shorter man looked away, eyes scanning the sleepy opaqueness of the town below, "Did you want me to die?"

"No heroics and suicide are a long ways apart, Ken."

"He was going to kill me."

Nevermind to say that he had dropped his katana on the better part of instinct—balling up his fists, squeezing inwards, to find that all the target had suffered had been a rough hit to the gut. Aside from the groan that had followed, there had been no guttural moan—no splattering sound. And he'd realized that he'd had no bugnuks. And that he'd tossed away his weapon to the side. "Adrenaline does funny things to you."

"You massacred him."

"Did I?" there was on odd sort of smile on his face now, "I couldn't see. There were no lights. Instinct is another funny thing."

"There was nothing left of him, Ken. They aren't releasing footage of the crime scene because it was so ghastly."

"No heroics, Aya." The repetition of his mantra was growing near psychotic in its persistence and anxious in its tone.

"That's not how I told you to do it."

"One slash. One hit. One wound."

"That's not how you did it."

Losing control was one of the many effects of fear and survival upon the human person. He'd never faced anyone after his life with a katana. The bugnuks had been his original weapon of choice—they had molded to his psyche…he understood how they worked—they were a mere extension of his body. For all the training Aya might have given him, the katana was but a weapon to him…not another limb—not another junctured advantaged…but a foreign element that could prove helpful. Nothing more and nothing less. And then, quite softly, "I didn't want to die."

"I thought you did. Yesterday. Right here. You said you did."

The pseudo-redhead looked towards the indicated area, closing his eyes as the scene replayed itself in his mind, "I said I wasn't afraid to…and that maybe…maybe it'd be for the best. Fear makes you reckless, you know."

"Not anymore than a lack of fear does."

"Hello? No…no Ms. Kimiko…there won't be soccer practice…for a while—I've got…umm…" he paused as he looked around, willing any one of his teammates to appear, "I've got…well—meningitis. What? No…of course it's not lethal…no…not at all."

"Meningitis?" Youji chuckled as he pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of milk, "You do know that that's nearly ninety-nine percent fatal?"

The question was rhetorical, and Ken glared. "What else am I supposed to do? Tell everyone that I'm a decoy on a mission and can't see the light of day because….gasp…I'm a living replica of that ice-block we keep upstairs."

Youji raised both brows curiously, "Ice-block? That's certainly a new one. You didn't seem to mind much as of late."

"Yeah well, maybe I'm just tired," he sat near the blonde, pulling the glass of milk toward him and taking a swig, "and I don't feel like being locked up in here anymore."

Youji made to snatch his glass back, but the brunette held on. "And you know the worst part? Everyone keeps giving me these weird looks. Telling me I'm acting all weird."

"That's because you are, Kenken."

The glass broke in his grip, sending chards of glass flying in every which way—a couple imbedding themselves in his palm. He showed no signs of caring—or of having noticed. "Fuck."

"Sword hand? Not a smart move."

Throwing out another glare towards the blonde, he rose, using his left hand to squeeze slightly at his right, and thundered up the stairs toward his apartment. By the time he was at his door he was having a hard time figuring out exactly how he was supposed to open it, given the fact that both his hands were bloodsoaked. Irony was a bitch.

He winced a little, using his injured hand to turn the handle, and walked straight into a white-clad Aya.

Fucking hell.

"Sorry."

He made to turn, quite awares that Aya's near immaculate white turtleneck now had a gracious blood smear across its front, and was startled when the latter's hands tightened about his wrist. "What now?"

"Cut it. On a glass."

"Come on, then."

He followed the redhead toward the bathroom, initial rush of adrenalin fading so that he was now aware of the dull pounding and strident ache in his palm. "You've got bits imbedded," Aya kneeled as he spoke, fishing the first aid kit from under the sink, and pushed him toward the toilet.

He opened the case on the floor, searching about it—fingertips skimming the surface of utensils here and there—until he came away with tweezers of sorts. He ripped open the sterilized pack it came in and, having washed both their hands, set about his task. Ken knew—even before the man's announcement, that he was going to have a hell of a time trying to keep still. "Six. Six big pieces and two little ones. Keep still."

Ken closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths—trying to detach himself from all sensation, well aware that Aya had a rather steady hand and that if the tweezers caught on his skin—it would have partially been his own fault for moving around so much. "All right."

The redhead pulled away and regarded him absently, "How'd the glass break?"

"I squeezed it."

Aya nodded, not bothering with lectures, and seized his hand, walking him over towards the sink. He used his teeth to pull open the peroxide, pouring ample amounts of it on the boy's hand. Next came the iodine, and finally, the bandages. "Thanks."

There was no reply.

"Aya?"

It was the middle of the night.

"Aya?"

Another furtive knock at his door.

"Aya?"

Finally, the door eased open of its own accord, and Ken found himself in the middle of a relatively unfamiliar room, door closed behind him and the soft breathing of the redhead before him. He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing exactly where to go, and padded hesitantly toward the redhead. "Ne…Aya…"

He reached out tentatively, finally letting his fingertips alight on the other's naked shoulder, and gave him a slight shake. "Aya…"

Violet eyes blearily fluttered, finally blinking open to reveal a not-quite-lucid Aya Fujimiya. "Ken?" the man sat up slightly, supported by his elbows, and rubbed at his eyes as he took in the sight of him—red hair rumpled, earring dangling from his right ear, tan skin seemingly darker under the light of the moon. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep." The voice was impassive.

The older man said nothing, continuing to look at him as though he'd disappear, "All right then."

"All right then?"

The covers that were lifted were enough of an explanation for him.

"Where were you last night, Kenken? The chibi needed your help on something or other…"

"Hmm?" Ken frowned a little as he tried to coax open a bottle of juice without jostling his injuries, "I was with Aya."

"The whole night?"

He paused, apparently sensing the implications in Youji's tone before glaring, "Yeah, the whole night."

Jade eyes flickered absently toward his bandaged hand, "How's that going, by the way?"

"It's all right. It'll be healed by the time we have to hit Yamoi's."

"You sure?"

Crimson locks fell forward at his nod, "Yeah. It's just a bit annoying."

"Hey, Ken, I meant to ask you—" Youji paused as he gave him a hesitant look, "…about how you're feeling."

"I'm all right, Youji. There's no need to worry. It only hurts when I bang it against something or other. Is that all?"

"I meant…about how you're feeling about this whole thing. The chibi and I were talking—"

"You and Omi?" purple eyes flashed with a peculiar sort of emotion, "What about?"

"Well…about the validity of this mission…we were thinking…"

"No."

"No?"

"No…we've gotten this far. It's ridiculous to try and back out now."

Ken gave a bit of a sigh, standing and making his way toward the window, "Besides…it's something I have to do."

"You don't have—"

"Have you talked to Aya about this?"

Youji shook his head slightly, "No. I haven't mentioned it, why?"

"He seems to think the same way."

It should have been awkward. Nature told him that after spending a night in Aya's bedroom—in his bed, nonetheless—there should have been some sort of discomfort floating between them, but there was none. No nervous glances, no hesitant discussions…no flustering flushes.

Ken looked curiously toward his teammate, absorbing his poised pose and finding himself imitating it almost by second nature. Aya read an awful lot. And that part of his interest seemed to exude itself in every other aspect of his bearing.

He'd always thought Aya resembled an aristocrat a bit too much for his own good, what with that pale skin of his. "Aya?"

A brief nod signaled that the redhead was listening. Ken shifted a little lower on the couch, so that his head thunked briefly on the seating pad and his feet dangled from the edge of the opposite armrest. "Are you really that worried about me?"

Ken supposed his question startled the other enough that he looked up from his reading, violet eyes puzzled. "Ken?"

"No," Ken sat up suddenly, bare feet nestling themselves on the gray carpeting, torso tilted towards the redhead, hands clasped before him, "Youji told me…that you were concerned about me."

"We all are."

"No…no….I meant you…."

He paused as if in thought, eyes gleaming in that chocolate hue that Aya seldom had a chance to take in anymore, "I'm okay, Aya. Really." And he was smiling that smile of his that seemed to light up the world, and even though long tapers of red were clouding his vision, Aya knew that he wasn't all right—that he was far from safe, and even farther from okay.

"I really am, Aya."

"Yeah. I know, Ken. I know."

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