Track Record

By: akikos-wok

DISCLAIMER:

Weiss and all of its delicious characters are more or less copyright of Takehito Koyasu. They certainly do not belong to me.

DEDICATION:

This story is dedicated to G-girl Venus who let me borrow all of her Weiss DVDs which is really what made me write this story. Oooo, just watching that show makes me NEED to elaborate on the characters' inner angst! (oh and of course their obvious romtantic relationships with one another) So arigato Minako, even if I STILL didn't get to see the last episode. (note: I have since finally seen it, though it took a WHILE)

NOTE:

Some chapters are REALLY short. It was just easiest to break up past and present by putting them in separate chapters.

No one saw him falling. In the morning's maiden hours, long before the thought of sunrise even crossed her mind, he slipped, staggered and skidded down the stairs, thanks to a combined effort of stocking feet, insufficient lighting, and exhaustion. He was more shocked by the sensation than physically harmed by tumbling against hard wood steps. A little bruise or two was hardly worth noticing, especially since he was already in pain. When he recovered from the shock he rose, with not a little difficulty, to his feet and bracing himself against the wall continued on his way to the kitchen.

He could've done it in the bathroom, but the bathrooms were upstairs where all the bedrooms were and he didn't want to wake anyone. No one needed to know and he didn't want anyone to know. If they knew they'd all get in a panic and try to send him off to a hospital, or at least try to take care of it, when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. After all, it was just a little cut. Okay, maybe it was a big, rather big, gash that angled from his right shoulder to his left hip. And then there were his knuckles . . .

Regardless, he could take care of all his injuries himself. He didn't need any help, so he didn't ask for any. If he asked, people would know. And if people knew then they would have wondered how he managed to get the wounds, wondered when he let his guard down. Wondered how he screwed up this time.

He had tried to tell himself that this time it was okay, this time his mistakes were forgivable, because he had been back with Weiss for only a few days after nearly two months hiatus. This time the others could forgive him his faults, but he knew this was not true. None of them had killed one target and then sat brooding over the corpse just long enough for another to sneak up on him, from the front nonetheless, and slice open his chest with a bowie knife.

Well, not exactly slice his chest open, as that would imply uncontrollable torrents of gushing blood and a fatal wound, but the malefactor did manage to cleave a hefty cut. It could have been worse, but the young assassin did have the sense to fight back and not just lie there and let his attacker dissect him. So he struggled, twisted and turned until he was almost standing when the knife connected, making short work of his tee shirt, but just breaking the surface of his skin. He stumbled back, upper body crumpling around the wound, but managed to stay on his feet. Then he lunged forward, driving his armed fist into his attacker's stomach, but the blow was too forceful, too wild and uncalculated, and his right knuckle hammered against the hard-leather bracer of his bugnucks. He then promptly swung his free hand and slit the man's throat.

He'd closed his jacket up to hide his wound from the others. No one had completed the mission unscathed, so the smell of blood didn't tip them off. When they got back to the flower shop he'd immediately run up to his bedroom. There he'd laid down and waited several hours, letting the fabric lining of his leather jacket absorb the steadily seeping blood, until he was quite certain that his companions were asleep.

So now he stood in the kitchen, relying heavily upon the counter, staring at the stainless steal sink, barely a yard away. He knew he needed to turn on the water, needed to wash the gash in his chest. He also knew he needed to bandage it and stop the bleeding. He didn't have any bandages with him, but he figured he could just rip up his tee-shirt, since it was already destroyed, and use that. Even though there were plenty of bandages in the house. But they were all up in the bathroom, and he was not risking another fall on the stairs. He'd been lucky no one woke up before.

The trouble was that despite knowing what he needed to do, he just couldn't quite bring himself to do it. His senses felt numb, his thoughts delayed, and it seemed to him that despite being in excellent form, he has no control over the muscles in his body.

Damn. I guess maybe I'm a little worse off than I thought.

But he wasn't about to give up. Oh no, not when he'd come this far. He'd make that tumble down the stairs worth it. He was going to prove himself right. He'd told himself he could take care of himself, and dammit he was going to. And he was going to do a damn good job of it too. No one was ever going to know that anything happened.

He gripped tightly to the edge of the counter, dragged his feet along the kitchen tiles, and turned on the sink.