Paranormal Files

Rating: M

Warnings: AU shounen-ai

Pairing: Ran/Ken (implied Kase/Ken)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just play with the toys.

Author's note: Boy, this chapter is long and boring! Why do things always work better in my head than on paper? I hope you don't hate it…

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Chapter 3:

Ran was tired. It had been an emotionally draining month, watching on the sidelines as his sister underwent endless rounds of diagnostic examinations. It was painful: the sight of long thin electrodes penetrating Aya-chan's soft flesh, making the treatment seemed more an exercise in torture than healing. How he wished he could trade places with his sister, that he was the one lying on the cold metal slab, a pincushion for zealous physicians. He was the one who deserved that pain, not sweet innocent Aya-chan.

All through the doctors' prodding, the blue-haired girl remained in serene slumber, heedless of the world around her. More than once, Ran was tempted to cut their stay at the research facility short. He never expected much from these procedures in the first place. But he knew it would not be fair to Aya-chan. His sister deserved this chance; he had no right to take it from her, just because he could no longer believe in hope for a better future.

In the end, when the tests had finally concluded, the doctors were no closer to finding what was wrong with Aya-chan than before. There were no signs of brain damage or nervous system trauma that could account for her comatose state. The doctors suggested psychological issues as a possible cause.

"Speak to her," they had advised him, "Make her feel like she is a part of your life. Guide her back with your voice." But what was Ran supposed to say. He couldn't involve her in his world of murder and darkness. Yet, other than taking care of his sister, his job was his entire life; there was nothing else.

Ran's musing was interrupted when the taxi driver pulled to a stop in front of his apartment. "Sir, we are here."

"Hn," the redhead nodded and gazed at his watch. It was early afternoon, which meant the house he shared with his Weiss teammates should be empty. Omi was still in school; and as lazy as Youji was, the man should be at the office by now. A wry smile flitted across his lips as he grabbed his duffel bag and stepped out of the car. He was glad for the solitude; he was in no mood to deal with people right now.

Ran trudged into the house with his luggage in tow, his usual grace lost in his foul disposition. His senses, however, sparked to full alert when the sound of off-key humming told him he wasn't alone. He couldn't recognize the voice; and judging by the tone, the mystery singer was male. Youji sometimes allowed his "dates" to stay overnight, but the playboy was a 100 a ladies' man. Was the intruder a Witch who had discovered the Weiss' hideout? But what self-respecting servant of evil would sing and announce his presence in such a ridiculous manner?

Though his instincts told him the intruder was harmless, Ran decided it was best to proceed with caution. Quiet as he could, he dropped his bag and slunk deeper into the house. Soundlessly, he reached behind the large potted fern at the end of the hallway to retrievea small gun he'd kept there in case of emergencies.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned out slightly to survey the living room. The area looked like a war zone; but that was hardly unexpected, considering Omi's inability to keep Youji in line. The older blonde's aptitude at making messes was truly phenomenal.

With no intruder in sight, the redheaded assassin stepped out of the corridor and crept slowly towards the source of the voice. He could smell it now, the faint scent of smoke. Maybe their uninvited guest was trying to burn their house down. But why would an enemy do such a thing in broad daylight when no one was in the house? It didn't make any sense.

Silent as a panther stalking its prey, Ran slid into the kitchen and readied his gun. He frowned as he saw the "target", his brain not quite comprehending the scene before him. The intruder was a brunette, slightly shorter than himself, his muscular built showcased in a red and yellow soccer jersey and black shorts. The man's back was to him; but unless his eyes were deceiving him, the "target" was at the stove, cooking as he hummed and swayed to some imaginary beat.

For a moment, Ran wondered if he was still asleep on the plane. Maybe all this was just a weird dream. But why would he dream about a brown-haired man humming, dancing and cooking in his kitchen! As the initial shock wore off, the assassin's temper flared. He was tired, starved and filthy from his journey back from San Francisco. All he wanted was a shower and some food and sleep before he had to rejoin humanity. Was that really too much to ask?

The redhead was tempted to let out a weary sigh, but he didn't want to startle the intruder. With a burst of speed, the redhead closed the distance between himself and his target. With his gun at the back of the stranger's head, the redhead growled, "You have ten seconds to tell me who you are and what you are doing here before I blow your brains out."

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Ken was having a bad day; but then, it's probably impossible for a new recruitat WAS to have a good day. It had started out okay with hand-to-hand combat training. Thanks to his previous career, he was in perfect physical condition. He had the reflexes, strength and stamina necessary to become a great fighter. It was a simple matter of learning the moves before he could redirect his prowess to a deadlier pursuit.

Ken knew he wasn't the fastest learner in the world; but he was rather pleased with his progress in martial arts. Even the trainers from Kritiker said he was doing great for a rookie. Sure, Schuldig was standing in the back, snickering at the comment, drawing Ken's attention to the word "rookie" with a mental nudge; but the ex-soccer player was used to ridicule and scorn. He had survived through a childhood at an orphanage and the media maelstrom after his scandal; the Mastermind's taunts were child's play compared to that.

The Oracle's biting criticism, though, was another story. He swore Crawford knew exactly what to say to make a man feel like a worthless piece of crap. But then, it was his own fault for giving the clairvoyant the opportunity to reprimand him. If only he was better at controlling his Craft…

While Ken excelled at setting things on fire, he had problems directing his powers towards specific objects. After a mishap that nearly destroyed the WAS office, his Craft training was moved to an underground facility. Yet, despite practicing every day for the past month, his control hadn't improved. If anything, it had gotten worse as his powers grew.

Everyone at the office was of the opinion that his Craft training sessions were accidents waiting to happen; and today, much to his chagrin, he had proved them right. He released too much power and created a blast strong enough to damage the underground facility's containment walls. Crawford, of course, was furious. After a very color lecture, the ex-soccer player was sent home to contemplate his inadequacies.

While recent events had brought Ken's self-esteem to a new low, he refused to wallow in misery or self-pity. He had chosen this path; come hell or high water, he would walk it with his head held high. Since good food always brightened his mood, he decided to spoil himself with a home-cooked feast.

Ken's usual good cheer was beginning to return when he felt a gun at the back of his head. He knew he wasn't up to par with the seasoned Hunters at WAS, but he didn't think he was that hopeless. How could he have not sensed the intruder's presence? He quickly considered his options and realized he didn't have any. He could try to disarm the man; but as quick as his reflexes were, he didn't think he'd be fast enough to dodge a bullet from a gun pressed to the back of his head. He couldn't use his powers here; the risk of collateral damage was too great. Besides, the man was behind him. Even if he had better control, he couldn't aim his blasts at someone he couldn't see.

Ken wasn't afraid to die; it was no more than what he deserved for the lives he had taken. But this would be such a stupid way to go, getting shot in his own home while making lunch. Annoyed at the situation, but not the least bit afraid, he replied sarcastically, "Name's Ken Hidaka. And I think it's pretty obvious that I'm making salmon teriyaki."

As if to verify the ex-soccer player's statement, the teriyaki sauce on his pan chose that moment to sizzle loudly. "You can shoot me if you want, but I'm taking my lunch off the stove before it burns."

Aya was shocked when the intruder proceeded to ignore the gun pressed at the back of his head and moved. He watched, frozen, as his target turned off the gas stove and opened one of the overhead cabinets to retrieve a plate. Emptying the contents of his pan onto the plate, the brunette asked nonchalantly, "So, is there a reason for all this drama, or do you just like to break into houses and point guns at people's heads?

When the initial surprise faded, the redhead was tempted to just shoot the man and let his conscience deal with another murder. How dare the intruder mock him!But before the assassin could pull the trigger, he remembered Persia mentioning a prospective Hunter. Could this suicidal brat be his new teammate? Without dropping his guard, he grated out, "I'm Aya. I live here."

Ken almost dropped his plate at the mention of Aya's name. He had heard so much about the Abyssinian in the past month, with descriptions ranging from "an anal human icicle" to "an angel who delivers people from Crawford's wrath". He was truly looking forward to meeting their enigmatic field leader.

But now that he had, he was inclined to agree with Youji's assessment. Abyssinian might be perfect on the field; but he was seriously lacking in the personal skills department. Confidence returned with the knowledge that his life was in no imminent danger. Smirking, he turned, "I guess that makes two of us, well, except for the being Aya part."

Aya growled, wondering if he could get away with murdering his new teammate. Everything about Ken was irritating him, his smug expression, his relaxed posture, his brash attitude. But then, he knew, given his mood today, he would probably find anyone annoying. It wasn't Ken's fault; the man just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lowering his weapon, the redhead sighed, "So you're the new Hunter?"

"Yup," Ken nodded as he searched the drawers for a fork. It would be a waste to let his fresh-off-the-grill salmon get cold.

"Why aren't you at the office?" Aya wasn't sure why he'd bothered to ask; it wasn't as if he really cared to know the answer. But then, getting a feel for Ken's schedule could be useful; it would make it easier to avoid unnecessary encounters in the future.

Ken's bright smile dimmed as the Oracle's words whirled in his mind. Refusing to give into depression, he forced a cheeky smile and replied, "Crawford said I've done enough damage for a day."

"You're a Craft User, huh?" Ran remarked with an educated guess. It would explain why Persia was so adamant on recruiting this new Hunter. A Craft User, if left on their own devices, often chose to forsake their humanity altogether and become Dark Witches. Bringing Ken into their organization would not only secure a powerful ally, but also ensure the brunette's powers would not be used for evil.

"Sort of," grunted Ken, remembering what the Oracle had dubbed him. Seeing Aya's brow knit in puzzlement, he clarified, "According to Crawford, 'Craft Users are people who uses their Craft constructively'. And since I can't, I'm what he calls a 'walking disaster'." He had deliberately lowered his voice and enunciated every word when he quoted Crawford. If he were going to relive his humiliating lecture, he might as well attempt to make it fun.

Aya could not help but let out a small chuckle at Ken's imitation of Crawford. He could picture the Oracle, exasperated, fingers twitching as he contemplated murder and mayhem. He was given to understand that before Schwartz and Weiss merged, such displays often resulted in violence; but Aya had yet to see the American resort to physical measures. Perhaps it had something to do with the Oracle's weirdconcern withstaying on his good side… as if he had a good side. "That sounds like Crawford alright."

Ken knew he hadn't done anything to deserve respect from their field leader; but it still hurt to have Aya laugh at his shortcomings so callously. He should have expected it; but a part of Ken had held out hope that there was a shred of kindness in the redhead despite his ill-tempered façade. He couldn't believe Nagi had him believing that everything would be better once Abyssinian returned. Averting his gaze to hide the hurt welling in the chocolate depths, he muttered, "Yeah."

Aya noticed the brunette's strained smile and realized the man had taken his amusement the wrong way. While he could not care less what Ken thought of him, he was field leader of WAS; and with his position came certain responsibilities. A Hunter who did not believe his own abilities was a liability in the field;and that was something Abyssinian could not allow Ken to become. Though not compassionate by nature, he was duty-bound to undo the damage the Oracle had done to the rookie's confidence.

Taking a deep breath to push the annoyance at the situation from his mind, Aya spoke in a soft authoritative voice, "He is right, you know. A Craft User who cannot control his Craft is a danger to himself and others. But you don't need to be a Craft User to be a Hunter. Youji, Omi and me, we don't have any special abilities; but when we were Weiss, we have always stood head to head to Schwartz and held our own. Sure, you have a gift, and everyone expects you to use it; but in the end, how you fight is entirely up to you. "

Ken couldn't believe his ears. By all accounts, Abyssinian was a man of few words. Why would the taciturn redhead expend his precious breath on consoling a rookie like him? Regardless of the reason, Ken was grateful. For the past month, all he had done was try to live up to everyone's expectations. He never once questioned whether the training regiment Kritiker had designed was right for him.

But thanks to Aya, Ken now realized he had a say the matter too. From now on, he would focus on what he could do, instead of what was expected of him. He would be a Hunter of WAS; but he would do it in his own way. Face split into a wide grin, Ken lifted determined amber eyes to meet the redhead's intense amethyst gaze. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"Hn." Now that he had done his duty, Aya saw no reason to continue being conversational. After all, he was still tired; and he still did not want to deal with people. Ignoring the brunette, he strolled to the refrigerator and stole one of Omi's yogurts. It wasn't much, but it would do for now. He was too tired to have much appetite anyway.

"Is that all you're planning to eat?" Ken frowned as the redhead exited the kitchen. When no answer came, he followed Aya into the living area.

The redheaded assassin returned his gun to its hiding place and picked up his bag. He could feel Ken's concerned gaze on him; but he was determined to ignore it. He didn't want to give the brunette the wrong idea. They were not friends.

Ken glanced at the delicious-looking salmon on his plate and decided he could always make more. Because of Aya, he no longer felt as if he was a useless waste of space. He would make sure the redhead ate properly; it was the least he could do. "You want some fish? It's really good."

Aya was tempted to clarify his position, to let Ken know in unequivocal terms that they were colleagues, and nothing more. But that would require many words; and it was a task beyond his exhausted brain right now. It would be best to be 'diplomatic' and make a polite refusal. "Maybe later. I'm too tired right now."

Ken blushed as he mentally kicked himself for not realizing how tired Aya must have been. The man had just gotten home from a ten-hour flight; all he probably wanted was a shower and some rest. No wonder the redhead was so cranky when he found him in the kitchen. "Right… I'll leave you to your rest then. If you want anything, just yell, okay?"

"Hn," the redhead nodded before turning to head upstairs to his room.

Ken kept his gaze on Aya's retreating form as he began to eat. His food was now cold; but he was in too good of a mood to mind. With the redhead's appearance, WAS no longer seemed like purgatory; instead, it felt like the starting point for a new life.