Disclaimer- I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz Characters nor do I own the lyrics to the song Lacrymosa. That's owned by Evanescence whom I bow down to.

:Lacrymosa:

Omi sat, shoulders hunched forward. His blond-brown hair was falling into his face, causing shadows to fall and paint images over the skin. It masked the emotions that were passing freely through his face. His blue eyes were open, but they seemed to be staring at nothing. The computer screen before him was black. Its power source had long ago been cut off.

Omi was alone.

Out on your own

It was cold outside. The chill was starting to become apparent even inside the apartment. The protective walls were losing a battle they could not win without the help of modern technology. Omi's lip curled upwards in distaste, his eyes suddenly focusing on what was before him. His hands curled, his ragged nails catching on the fabric of his pants.

Modern technology was failing.

It had been created by men.

And men… were horribly flawed.

Therefore, it only stood to reason that their creation would be flawed as well.

He took a deep breath in and let the old air leave his petite frame. It left an ephemeral white cloud near his lips that rose above, turning colorless as the warmth was sucked away from it. Years had passed and yet… Omi shifted. He had not grown. He had not changed. At least physically he had not changed. Mentally? Emotionally? Perhaps he had not changed in those respects either. He was still naïve despite his line of work. Naïve was the wrong term to use. His eyes were dark. He still desperately yearned for a family despite knowing that family meant nothing in this depraved world. Despite the fact that he'd long lost the right to a family. He was a Taketori but even more so than that, he was tainted. There was so much blood on his hands now that he couldn't stop seeing it. No matter how many times he washed them, the blood, the smell and its warmth… it remained. In the shadows, the voices of those he murdered called to him. They were intermingled with the cries of the innocents he had failed to save. That he was continuing to fail.

And his comerades? Their voices—he could hear them in the shadows. Ken's voice was bleak and desperate, enraged as he battled with his losing sanity. Yoji's was worse in a way to listen to because it was still so sane. So broken and hurt and lost but still sane. His voice always reasoned, always made sense… and it was his voice that was tearing Omi's sanity to pieces. And Aya's? Ran's… Omi's mind corrected. The young man snorted. His fisted hands loosened their tight grip for an instant as he brought them up and wrapped them around his shoulders. He didn't want to think of the redhead.

He couldn't…

Cold

and

Alone

again

He'd been failing the three of them for years now because of his own weakness and blindness. So lost in his search for a replacement for his family, so focused on saving the innocent… he'd brought the rest of them down to his personal hell. And he couldn't do anything to change reality! He couldn't continue to smile and make them believe that despite all the killings, despite all the blood on his hands, he was still innocent. Because he wasn't. He wasn't. And he couldn't…he couldn't comfort them anymore. He couldn't be their angel. He couldn't save them from the blood that was starting to taint them as well. He didn't have any answers. No one had answers. Persia was dead. The others that had replaced him had been corrupt. Kritiker was corrupt.

Yet the killings continued. They had to continue. Justice still needed them to kill the beasts of the night where law and society could not reach them! Omi closed his eyes. He had to believe that they were doing that… that they were still doing the right thing. But with the corruptions and…and… and… He couldn't think anymore! He couldn't plan anymore! He would freeze at all the wrong times, he would balk at their missions, questioning the data, questioning Persia, questioning his comrades, questioning himself.

Can this be what you really wanted, baby?

And then today of all days, when solutions had been grasped at and refuted and hope had long ago left and crashed its miserable hide in hell, someone had given him an answer. More like dumped the answer onto his shoulders and demand that he take it. For the sake of others, of course. For the sake of the innocents, his comrades and those long ago lost in the fight to defeat darkness.

Omi blinked.

Become Persia. Clean Kritiker. Take charge. Reclaim the name Taketori. Come to the light. Clean your own hands of the blood. Let others do the killing. Return to your family.

Family. The word was bitter and yet it was so yearned after. He still had family. The young assassin's shoulders started to heave. The sounds that were leaving his mouth scarcely resembled laughter, yet it shared no resemblance to crying either. It was primal. Scared. Angry. Hurt. Confused. The hilarity and the irony of the situation were not lost on him. He was trapped.

Taketori's were masters of manipulation. He knew because he was raised and taught to be one as well. One of the greatest because he did it with an air of innocence and with a purpose to make things right again. His grandfather was a great manipulator as well. Hidden in the shadows for years—watching as his sons fought it out, waiting as Omi was sculpted into the leader he needed to become the rightful heir of his own creation—the old man had come when the time had been most ripe. His grandson was desperate enough, needed enough to sell the rest of his soul for the—ah, he recalled the term Ken had shouted at him before slamming the door—"greater good"… If he took the offer, if he became Persia and Taketori, Omi would be in the power of deciding whether Weiss survived or not. He could release his comrades from the prison of darkness. He could…he could put an end to this finally! Ken would get the help he needed. Yoji… oh god Yoji would have to be placed back in society with a job that held no reminders of his other life and most importantly of all no reminders of the women in his past lives. It would be hard but it could be done. And…just think…He would be the one to choose who deserved to be punished. Who deserved to live or…die.

Cold violet eyes had looked at him sharply, probably reading Omi's thoughts before Omi could comprehend them himself. The curt shake of the older man's head had brought him out of his surprised stupor better than Ken's loud cursing and ranting had.

Omi's one hand uncurled from the tight hold that it had on his bicep. Fisted, the hand covered his open mouth, blocking the noises that were coming from him. He still remembered the way Ken's hand had tightened over his upper arm, pulling him out of his chair with such violence.

"Don't you do it Omi! Don't you fucking take this offer! You're not a Taketori. It's not your responsibility! We're not your responsibility! Don't you even FUCKING think about this, k? Cause we need you here with us, ok?" The brunet was shaking.

"Ken. Stop it." Yoji said tiredly, not even surprised by the scene unfolding before his eyes. Perhaps it was more uncaring than unsurprised. He hardly glanced up to see whether Ken was listening to him or not. "Kid." He muttered, exhaling the cigarette smoke. "There is no freedom for us. You should know that. Whether you're top dog or not…there is no life for those who have already died."

"But…but…" His stammerings hadn't gotten very far. Ken had started shaking him and then had released him to go throw the intruders out on their asses no doubt. Ran had stepped in then, calm…cool…collected. He'd stopped everything, assessing correctly that their 'leader' had no control over this situation. He had pronounced, once the people from Kritiker had left, that it was up to Omi to make the final decision. Ken had left after that announcement, making his position on the whole matter quite clear. Yoji had followed at a more sedate pace, calling back only to remind Ran to make sure Ken hadn't broken his uh-hum's arm. The redhead had ignored the advice, like he usually did when it came from Yoji.

"This decision is yours to make. Only know that it is just another cage that we will all be placed in. Yoji is right in saying there is no freedom for us, there is no place for us back in society. And if…"

Blame it on me

Ran and the others spoke of choices to be made.

Omi's teeth bit into the soft flesh of his hand.

There was no choice. It was another delusion, another wonderful manipulation his grandfather had weaved around this 'reality'. If he said no, Weiss would die. He knew it. They would be sent on a bogus mission among all the real missions and one by one they would lose their lives. All except him, because of course his grandfather would want him to be aware that it had been his fault, his choice, his decision…

And no matter the fact that he knew! He knew that this would be the case, there was no way that he would be able to tell which mission would be the one to cost him that final blow. Not taking the missions, ignoring them, would kill them just as well. The added guilt of knowing that innocents were dying because he couldn't let his comrades die…well Ran would kill him just for that.

Either way, he would lose them all. In life or in death. He would lose them.

Checkmate.

His grandfather was a brilliant man.

All the kitties were trapped.

Red, metallic tasting liquid splattered over his teeth as Omi bit down harder.

Set your guilt free.

For a moment, the pain numbed everything else. His heart beat that had been beating irregularly fast, picked up the pace another notch. Its only protest was the slight ache in his chest that it caused. It was his beating heart that caused the numbing relief to break into millions of pieces.

What was he still doing here?

If there was no fucking choice, why was he still here? Waiting like a helpless child for someone else to come and help him take this burden? Damn it! He was their leader. He was the one who was supposed to look out for them, to protect them and make their little pathetic group stick together and deal with whatever was thrown at them. So why was he expecting someone to come and help him with this?

Nothing can hold you back now.

He was pathetic.

Had he grown so used to Ran's love and support that he'd forgotten his place?

He closed his eyes.

Yes. Yes he had.

Ran wasn't here.

It was time to let go.

There was no one here.

Bonds between assassins were created out of necessity to keep their sanity.

There was no one…

They were meant to be brief.

here…

Neither expecting to live to a ripe age.

truly…

They were not together out of love.

alone…

Now that you're gone...

I feel like myself again.

Omi opened his eyes. He forced the tension out of his body. He unlocked his jaw from the position they were in and removed his hand from his mouth. He ignored the pain that danced from nerve to nerve as he flexed it. He ignored the blood that was mixing with saliva and dripping down to the wooden desk. He shook his head, physically mimicking what he was mentally doing—getting rid of everything that was encumbering his mind. His path was clear.

He would miss them. Omi stood up, his hand tracing the wooden surface almost absently. His eyes were calm as they looked over the place that had been his for years now. They had begun living separately when the flower store had been destroyed but that didn't mean that there weren't nights where they'd all be holed up in one of their apartments, needing that human touch. And…and…Omi and Ran shared their apartments with each other more often than not.

The memories of this place…

His eyes focused on a picture frame of the four of them laughing together.

…would be what kept Omi alive when he took on the role of Taketori.

Grieving the things I can't repair and willing…

'Everyone. Forgive me.' Omi thought, taking a step back and away from this room. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see this coming in advance. I'm sorry for failing all of you…' Another step away and another. His movements displaced the cold air, wrapping it around him and taking it with him as he left the room. He hadn't realized how cold it had gotten. Yet he knew the world waiting for him outside would be much colder than this.

He ran the rest of the way out, barely taking the time to lock the door of his apartment as it shut behind him. The click as the lock settled in place seemed final in the dead of the night. He tugged his key loose.

"Your love…your empathy for others… it is your weakness and your strength. It what makes you a great leader. Better than your real father." The words were carelessly spoken. "Don't give me that look boy. Your father was Persia, or didn't you know?" The chuckle hid the bitterness of having lived too long of a life. The older man ignored the younger man's confusion and hurt. He continued speaking with the knowledge that he would not be interrupted. After all, he had won this round. He was to be respected. "Eh. What a fool. Your real father had your qualities but they became twisted. He used Kritiker as a tool for his own personal revenge. See to it that you don't." The old man's eyes held the wide blue ones. He knew that with time, his grandson would beat him in the next game. It was of little consequence in the here and now.

For now all that mattered was that his grandson was here. The deal had been accepted. The critical eyes roamed over the youngster before him. The old man frowned at the long blond hair that framed a face that looked too sweet and too young. His frowned deepened at the slight frame that was hidden in a too large t-shirt. The boy was not imposing the way he was now. That would have to be changed. No one would listen to him…

"Tomorrow—let your team know your decision. Make sure that they accept it." The boy nodded quietly. "You will have time enough with them before taking your proper place while a suitable replacement is chosen."

"Excuse me," The voice was soft yet commanding. The old man arched an eyebrow. "I will pick my replacement." The words that went unspoken but were understood ignited a spark of anger in the older man. 'I will be in charge of Weiss. Back off.' That impudent—fool—you cannot! You cannot remain connected to them. But these words stayed locked behind a stiff and wrinkled grimace. Let the child fool himself as to who was in charge. The old man nodded slightly, indicating his understanding and not his agreement.

"I'm tired. Leave now." The abruptness startled the boy but he stood up without a word. His head bowed in a show of respect and humility before his grandfather. "Come to me later on in the week. You will need to be re-trained." And changed. The boy nodded mutely. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The door slid shut behind the young man and the older man scowled at it. His mind was still thinking of what would come and what would be needed.

The hair would be cut and dyed. The childish clothes would be burned and suits would have to be tailored and hand made for his heir. A tip would have to be sent to the newspapers that the lost Taketori was found. Hmm… how should Mamoru be brought back to the light? It would need drama to capture the entire population's interest. It would need horror to capture their sympathy—not too much…

On the other side of the door, Omi looked up to the night sky and his body started to shake.

To let you blame it on me,

And set your guilt free.

I don't want to hold you back now love.

For the second time that night, Omi found himself staring at a door—afraid of opening it and seeing what was on the other side and yet wanting to open it. Wanting to be on the other side. He shuffled his feet, giving himself a few more seconds of waiting. And then he lifted his hand, curling it and ignoring the slight pain as he reopened the minor cuts. He knocked.

There was movement from the other side and then the door opened to reveal Ran. He didn't look surprised at seeing Omi this late. From the looks of it, it was as if he'd been waiting for the other to come the entire night.

"Didn't you sleep?" Omi whispered, eyes scanning the pale face briefly before stepping inside the warm but dark apartment. The redhead jerked his head towards the couch in silent explanation. It took Omi a couple of minutes for his eyes to adjust. When they did though, they widened at the sight. Ken was there, sleeping. His face was still scowling even in deep sleep and there was a bruise that was forming on his lower jaw. "What…?" Ran grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom. He released the captured hand only once the door had been closed.

"He got into a fight. Yoji was with him and called. He was on a date and didn't want to deal with him." The redhead passed a hand through his hair, the only sign of exasperation.

"A fight about what? And with whom?" Ran shrugged, scowling. Omi sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have been here."

I can't change who I am.

Not this time

I won't lie to keep you near me.

He avoided the unspoken question of where he'd been exactly. Instead his eyes traveled this room like it had back at his own apartment. He found the bare walls comforting, the filled book shelve even more so. There were some framed pictures lying here and there. Mostly of Aya-chan. Ran sighed behind him, sitting on the bed. Omi turned to him, worried for a moment that something else was wrong. The redhead's face looked grim for a second before becoming blank.

"You said yes." The younger of the two nodded slowly.

"I'll be finding a suitable replacement." Omi spoke finally. "I'll be here until then."

"Will you?"

"Yes." An awkward silence stretched between the two of them. Omi shifted his weight so that it rested on his other foot more. "I'm sorry."

"Don't."

"Don't what?" He asked softly.

"Don't apologize." Ran stated bluntly. "You're not sorry." The statement was neither accusatory nor disgusted. It was just a fact, devoid of emotions because the man was like that. He was so good at hiding, at shutting down. Omi took a step forward and then dropped to his knees so that he was face to face with the redhead.

"I'm not sorry I agreed. I am sorry I could do nothing to prevent this." His breath sped up as he tried to remain calm, to sound rational. "I am sorry that I'm leaving Weiss. I am sorry that I'll be leav—" Warm lips brushed over his, cutting him off. The kiss was anything but gentle and Omi couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in this. He let himself be pulled up and embraced into a tight hold. He let himself be for just one more night…Omi.

And in this short life, there's no time to waste on giving up.

My love wasn't enough.

Hours later, Omi's eyes were soft and warm as they took in Ran's sleeping form. He rested more of his weight on his one arm, frowning only a little as the movement caused the cover to reveal his bare skin to the cold air. Almost absently, he let his free hand move the red strands from the man's face. He smoothed the crease of skin that had furrowed between Ran's eyebrows with a gentle finger. This would be the last time for him to be here, curled in the other man's warmth and trust. The last time he'd be here to protect the other from his own nightmares.

And yet…if he was to be honest with himself, it would be he who would miss the other's protection more. Without Ran's gentle but stern sense of right and wrong, Omi would have long ago given up. He would have accepted his fate and his blood at the time he'd reconnected with his brothers.

And you can blame it on me,

Just set your guilt free, honey.

I don't want to hold you back now love.

"I don't want to lose you." Omi whispered, tears prickling at his eyes. "I don't want to lose this." He bit his lip. "Please…please…" Ran slept on, in deep sleep because he knew it was safe to be like that in the other hunter's presence. The only time it was safe. And they would lose that now. "Please forget me. Forget me."

I don't want to hold you back now love.

"…if you do intend to go through with this decision in the hopes to free us or to make this a better world for everyone, know that I will kill you if you lose yourself. Omi, if you truly forget yourself and become a Taketori, I will kill you."

The end.

A/N- My troubled mind wouldn't let me sleep until I had finished writing this down. I do not know where it came from. I only know that the song struck me as being very reflective of what Omi could be feeling at the time. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.