He disgusted himself.
He was just going to follow him once he said. Just make sure he wasn't doing anything to endanger the mission. Well, at least, he'd said that to himself. He couldn't say that to Omi and Yohji because they would have tried to stop him. Told him he was being overly suspicious, told him Ken was trustworthy and leave him alone. Yohji might have said that anyway. Such concepts as suspicion were probably beyond the capacity of Omi's naive little head.
Regardless, the point was that he had told himself that he was just going to follow Ken once. Just surreptitiously pursue him to determine exactly where he was going and what he was planning on discussing with this Kase. And, he had said, it was entirely Ken's fault that he was doing it. It wasn't that he didn't trust the younger assassin himself per se, he just was dubious of his judgment. But if he followed him just once, saw him with Kase, heard him talk to the guy, he would certainly be able to determine exactly what and how much he was planning to divulge. Five minutes, then he'd leave.
Five minutes turned to ten minutes to fifteen to following Ken and Kase to a bar, then inside the bar, staying and listening to them talk about an unfortunate past, then pursuing them to the parking garage where Ken had left his motorcycle and listening some more. He was well on his way to becoming a genuine stalker.
Yet that wasn't the worst part of it. It would be one thing if he had secretly stalked Ken, learning all sorts of things about the boy's past he was still convinced he didn't care about in the slightest, and then kept it a secret, but no. He hadn't exactly said outright that he had followed him around all day, hidden behind walls and in the shadows and listened to every word exchanged between he and Kase. He just said, to Ken, that because of what he said to Kase, Kase had become scared and told Genji Koga to disappear. But that was enough to set off that temper of his. Ken had gone straight to Manx, and afterwards, clearly unsatisfied with that conversation, had taken off on his motorcycle. At midnight, nonetheless.
Now Weiss's stable and fearless leader sat with elbows leaning on the kitchen table, and eyes fixed on the window above the sink. That way when Ken came back, he'd be certain to see the headlight of his motorcycle and know. He wasn't worried about him. He was concerned. 'Concerned' and 'worried' were very different adjectives. 'Worried' suggested restlessness, nervousness, genuine fear that you may never see some one again. It meant a racing heart, staying up all night, longing desperately to see that face so that you knew it was safe and then wanting to take the body that owned it into your arms and protect it, never let it leave you. 'Concerned', which is what he was, simply suggested a general interest in another person's welfare. It was all about connotation.
He shifted irritably and glanced briefly at the clock on the stove, immediately returning his gaze to the window. He didn't want to miss Ken's return while his head was turned. It was 2:30, and he still wasn't back.
Where the hell is he? Did he go off looking for Kase? Does he even know where Kase is? What could he possibly have to say to Kase now that couldn't wait until at least tomorrow morning?
Aya did not like Kase. He had decided that several hours ago. There was something wrong about him. His whole story about accidentally giving Ken the drugged water-bottle then hunting down and being dragged off by the guilty party just didn't quite line up. If he didn't drug the water-bottle himself, how would he have found out that the water in that particular bottle was drugged after Ken had already finished it?
Okay, so the answer to that question was relatively obvious. Clearly traces of drug content had been found in the empty bottle and it was not totally unlikely that Kase would remember what the water bottle he had given to Ken at half-time looked like.
But there was more. Kase's whole attitude just seemed, well, fake. He was too loud, too jovial at Ken's appearance, too physical with the boy, always wrapping an arm about as his shoulder as if Ken couldn't walk on his own, too ostensibly tortured by his supposed past mistakes. Everything about him was extreme and forced. Ken definitely trusted him too much.
The idiot. He's so hung up over his past he can't see the present. Doesn't he suspect Kase at all? He does work for the Creeper Gang, Persia's never wrong. And the Creepers do engage in illegal activity. So why doesn't he even consider the fact that Kase may have changed in the two years he hasn't seen him?
Aya certainly hoped he'd changed, otherwise his opinion of Ken's choice in friends had just plummeted to unfathomable depths. Why the hell did Ken like and trust somebody who was so annoying? He talked nonstop, his coordination seemed as though it were possibly worse than Ken's, he was boisterous, clingy, and needed verbal acknowledgment for every ridiculously righteous statement he made. Aya couldn't understand how Ken could possibly tolerate being within earshot of that garish Neanderthal, let alone enjoy spending an entire day in his presence.
Something deep within him told Aya that he was being overly critical of Kase, that he was perhaps searching for flaws and creating ones which didn't actually exist.
Maybe I am being a bit of a hypocrite. I'm attached to my past. If my little sister suddenly turned up awake and lively at the flower shop door some day, I suppose I'd want to spend every waking second with her. Even if she would chew my ear off with two years worth of unstated ramblings.
But his connection to the past was different. His sister was an innocent girl lying in a coma in a hospital, depending on the money he made in Weiss for treatment. Not like Kase, a suspected criminal. Not even suspected. Proven, definitely proven, or else why would Persia have designated him a target? What Kase was doing to Ken was unforgivable, bombarding his fragile mind with painful memories, drawing him away from Weiss, though Kase didn't know anything about Weiss, using his past as bait.
And Ken had spent the entire fucking day with him, greedily devouring every ounce of memory served to him, eagerly putting his own two cents in, delighting in the shared experience. Why the hell Ken seemed to enjoy remembering that he faced public humiliation and had a promising career ruined was beyond Aya. But he did and just adored Kase telling him that he'd make up for everything that was wrong, that he'd get whoever had drugged Ken, that he'd be his goddamn hero.
It was infuriating and that was what disgusted him. Aya was seething with anger and all of the anger was directed at Kase. He was not simply concerned for Ken's welfare, but irritated by the thought that he may have gone to spend more time with Kase. It was not Ken's fault that he was sitting up at the table at 2:36 a.m. waiting for the boy's return. Rather he was not compelled by a natural adult instinct to remain and ensure the well-being of one he viewed as a child. He wouldn't have sat up waiting for Omi. He stayed because he could not stand the thought of Ken spending the entire night out with Kase. He couldn't stand the thought of Ken spending the entire night out anywhere, since he could easily get himself in trouble and wind up getting hurt, but right now the thought of he and Kase was the most aggravating.
Careful footsteps and a softly creaking door drew Aya suddenly from his thoughts and he fixed an icy stare on the doorway. He was fully prepared to give Ken the lecture of his life.
Honestly, trying to sneak in at this hour, as if we didn't notice he'd run off at midnight and not come back!
But it was not Ken's athletic frame that appeared in the shadows but the tall and lanky form of Yohji.
"A-Aya," the blonde half-stammered, peering incredulously over the rims of his dark glasses. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Aya retorted. He was well aware it was not the answer Yohji was looking for, but Yohji was looking for an answer that was none of his damn business.
"Right," Yohji said slowly, nodding once then beginning to make his way across the kitchen toward the hallway.
"What were you doing out at this hour?" Aya demanded, though he immediately regretted it. He knew about Yohji's nightly antics and feared he may momentarily become better informed of the details than he ever wanted to be. Rashly he followed with, "You weren't out looking for Ken were you?"
"Ken?" Yohji asked stopping to look back at Aya with a raised eyebrow. "Well no, I can't say I was. He's not exactly what I had on my mind. Is he still gone?"
Why did I say that? Aya wondered not quite desperately. He quickly turned his head away from Yohji to stare intently out the window again. Why did I have to say anything to him at all?
"Aya I asked you a question."
Maybe if I just ignore him he'll go away. The red head stood and headed to the cabinet where the glasses were kept.
Yohji laughed. An irritating amused snicker heralding the concocting of some ludicrous notion which he, no doubt, thought was ingenious. "Wait a second," he began, chortling again, "are you sitting down here waiting for him to come back? Are you really worried about him?"
"I am not worried, I'm just a little concerned," Aya stated flatly, opening the freezer and grabbing ice cubes to drop in his glass.
"Ah, and why is that may I ask?" Yohji asked, emerald eyes narrowing with mischief.
"You may not ask," Aya said. He turned on the kitchen sink and thrust his glass under the faucet.
"Is it because of that guy? Kaze or something?"
Aya turned sharply, glaring maliciously at Yohji, feeling quite certain that presently he was fully capable of wringing the man's neck. "Kase is a confirmed criminal! Ken has got to make up his mind. Either accept his duty as Weiss and eliminate the target or ally himself with the target and become one himself! There's no telling what Kase may suspect, what information he may be trying to lure out of Ken's mouth!"
"Woah, hold on here." Yohji paused, his wan lips curling into a devious smirk. "You're not jealous of Kase are you?"
Screw throttling. A quick decapitation and have done with it.
Yohji laughed again, this time a huge, uncontrollable guffaw which threw him off balance and sent him stumbling back a few steps. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he struggled to compose himself and speak. "Oh this is too much! You're sitting up here at quarter to three in the morning waiting for Ken to come home to make sure he hasn't gone and spent the night with Kase! And to think I thought you didn't give a damn about anything! And here you are, our stoic leader, enamored of our former athlete and victim to the green-eyed monster!"
Aya lunged forward and caught Yohji by the collar of his black tee-shirt. And no past glares of fury could compare to the sheer wrath which flashed presently in those violet eyes. A clenched white hand pulled the collar taut about Yohji's neck. "I . . . am . . . not . . . jealous . . . of . . . Kase," he declared, pausing between each super-articulated word.
"Your water's over flowing," Yohji said, glancing, still amusedly, in the direction of the kitchen faucet, under which Aya still held his glass.
The red haired assassin released his captive, roughly shoving him away as he did so. Calmly he reached over the sink with his now free hand and turned the water off.
"Well, uh, happy night-watching!" Yohji exclaimed, a twinge of apprehension in his tone. "I've had a wild couple of hours and I need my beauty sleep. See ya in the morning!" He disappeared down the hall.
He's just ignorant. Just ignorant and obnoxious and obsessed with sex. Not a criminal, not really a bad guy, certainly not evil. There's absolutely no reason to kill him. Though God knew about two minutes ago he had wanted to.
But how dare he make such ridiculous suggestions. I am not jealous of Kase. Why would I ever be jealous of a criminal low life who deceives people to make them keep loving him?
And there was that key word. Love. The verb that he had tried to avoid using as a link between two proper nouns. The word he had left out of all his questions. The question he had not yet addressed. Did Ken love Kase?
The clamor of heavy footsteps and clatter of the kitchen door crashing open against the wall sounded the return of the former. He looked a mess, like a child after too vigorous play, with grass stained knees, dirt-smudged face, and awkwardly slumping shoulders. Doubtless there were bruises on the arms attached to those shoulders. Here stood a boy who had played too hard too long and was now numb with languor.
A boy in all aspects from his untied boot-laces to his disheveled hair. All aspects except for the weary eyes. Weary, too weary, and glazed with sadness. A pair of glossy, grown-up eyes on a boy in every other way; a mosaic of child-adult forlornness.
Ken trudged sluggishly across the kitchen tiles, traces of caked mud dislodging from his boot soles. He seemed to be be completely unconscious of his surroundings, narrowly avoiding collision with the table, a phenomena of familiarity not observation. Still, Aya couldn't quite decide if Ken actually hadn't seen him or chose not to see him. Either would be disturbing, the former erring on frightening, the latter irritating. Yet eager as he was to determine which of these possibilities was fact, Aya couldn't bring himself to verbally attack the boy as he had planned.
"Ken," Aya began, his voice low and firm, though not cold. There was no malice in his tone, no anger, no impatience. In fact there was no sort of intonation whatsoever. Just a total conviction to the word spoken, a testimony to its deliberateness.
Ken stopped suddenly, a small gasp escaping his throat as he whirled to face Aya, sincerely shocked. He said nothing, his tired brown eyes widening but not wakening.
"Where were you?" Aya asked, truly asked, not demanded.
"I was," Ken began to answer. His eyes narrowed again and Aya wondered if he would collapse asleep before finishing. "I was out. These guys chased after me. I was on my motorcycle and these men in a van chased me and they tried to kill me. I drove off the road. I fell of my bike. I hid in the grass."
Does he even know he's talking?
"I got up when they were gone and I came back here. I'm fine, I just-"
"Ken," Aya interjected, concern creeping into his voice. "Go upstairs and go to bed."
And he did. And that was it. No yelling. No demanding to know exactly where he had gone and why he had been so reckless and taken off alone in the middle of the night. No lecture about the possible negative consequences of aforementioned action. No fisticuffs. Just a simple command willingly obeyed. Not even a stern command, not an ascertation of authority, which would have at least been characteristic of Aya. A gentle command, an act of compassion.
Aya hastily gulped down the water in his glass then slammed it down on the kitchen counter. He had just sat up for near three hours waiting to tell Ken to go to bed.
I could go up there right now. I could turn the lights on, corner him, make him tell me exactly where he went and what he really did.
But the truth was he didn't want to go wake him. Didn't want to force anything out of him. He knew Ken had been far too tired to lie, and though the boy hadn't told the whole truth, anything he said had certainly been fact. Besides, it was only his exhaustion that prevented him from recounting everything.
Aya pacified. His grip on the glass relaxed. He knew enough. Ken had not been with Kase.
Anger resurfaced. The reckless idiot! Why doesn't he ever think before he charges into things? He said he was chased, said people tried to kill him, that he fell off his bike. He could have been hurt and then lay injured without anyone knowing where he was! He could have snapped his neck and died instantly! I could have waited days on end not knowing whether he was alive or dead!
His internal ranting ceased. Abruptly, uncomfortably, realization set in. He had been worried about Ken. Genuinely. Not just concerned. He was angry at himself, not Ken. Angry because he cared.