Note: Please read disclaimers and warnings prior to Chapter 1, as they continue to apply.

Chapter 2: Inertia
For a long time, almost as long as he could remember, Aya had wanted Ken.

It was what, Aya had supposed, once, had precipitated their fight, when he had first joined Weiss, until he realized that their fight had had nothing to do with desire, and everything to do with, just, well, the situation.

He hadn't wanted Ken then, and he knew Ken hadn't wanted him. But after those first few days, Ken had been kind to him. Ken had been kind to him in that careless way that Ken had with everyone he had more or less accepted into his life, which wasn't really kindness at all, and was just, well, Ken. A careless arm thrown over Aya's shoulders after a successful mission, a warm grin after a long shift, an inviting laugh when he described how his kids had just won a game.

Simple. Honest. Open. True. These things were Ken, and they drew Aya, despite himself, even as he held himself apart.

But his desire made him uncomfortable, his discomfort made him awkward, and his awkwardness made him fearful, and so he avoided Ken, and resented Ken, and was harsher than usual in Ken's presence, calling him idiot and clumsy and glaring at him scornfully, refusing to allow himself to admit his attraction, refusing to allow others to notice it, refusing to allow himself to become a ridiculous pining mockery.

Nevertheless, he had taken to watching Ken, when he thought Ken didn't notice, when he thought no one would. Noticed how he moved—graceful and sure when he was fine, and clumsy and awkward when he was not. Noticed how he laughed when upset, noticed the the light in his eyes that brightened and faded and every so often, dimmed almost completely; noticed the sadness that cloaked him on darker days.

Aya watched. Quietly, and carefully, and nothing might have come of it, until ...

Until that mission that had ended with the charred bodies and burnt flesh, and Ken who didn't sleep for weeks afterwards, despite Omi's cajoling, until Omi's threats to tell Kritiker if Ken didn't fix the problem, and then ... and then, who knew what happened. Some nights after their screaming match, Yohji playing peacemaker and Aya acting as much like wallpaper as he could, Aya had come down, early in the morning, to find a lump of blankets on the mission room couch, soccer games playing on satellite, and Ken apparently fast asleep in front of it. Ken's breathing pattern was just slightly too quick and too shallow for actual sleep, but it was none of Aya's business. Yet Aya sat beside him anyway, and the shift roused Ken, confused and defenceless and in that undisguised moment, visibly hurting, and Aya couldn't, couldn't not draw Ken into a strong, careful embrace; just for a moment, just for once.

Until the practice session a few weeks later, where he'd tackled Ken, and fell on Ken, and was flush against Ken, and in that moment, that moment before he had been able to find the biting, angry words he knew he had to say, that moment when he felt his desire flare and was powerless to stop it--in that moment he glimpsed a dawning, unexpected realization in Ken's eyes, saw a rising blush on Ken's face, and felt an answering flash of desire along Ken's body. But then the insulting, accusing words were already out of Aya's unthinking mouth and hanging between them in the air, and Ken's blush changed to chagrin and embarrassment and answering fury, and the moment was lost.

Until that mission, and after, when Ken had come to him. Come to him, and Aya was never quite sure why, was never quite sure what had made Ken seek out his room in lieu of his own couch, in lieu of the downstairs couch, in lieu of Omi's or Yohji's room. In the morning, Ken had been gone, and they hadn't spoken of it again.

And despite these things, still, nothing might have come of it.

Except.

Except for Yohji.

"Aya," said Yohji, one dark and miserable evening about three days later, smirking like crazy, "our Kenken has a crush on you!"

"Yes," said Aya, in that curt, implacable way he had cultured. It would be undignified to argue. It would not help his purposes to be defensive. But ... damn Yohji. Damn.

"You know?" Yohji, wind taken out of his sails, deflated. He'd been working up to this for months, had been sure that Aya was completely oblivious, had been sure Aya had long harboured his own little crush.

Besides, teasing was no fun when the object of your teasing failed to respond.

"Yes."

"So ... " Yohji said, not yet completely daunted, and not entirely sure if Aya was just feigning knowledge. A hint of sly innuendo slipped back into his voice. "Whatever are you going to do about it?"

Aya looked up at Yohji then, his gaze intent and lacking all humour. "I'm not sure."

"Aya," said Yohji hesitantly, after a moment of startled silence, his voice trailing off, before he repeated the name, voice more sure, all trace of mockery gone. "Aya. Don't hurt him." It was both plea and warning.

Aya merely nodded in acknowledgement, and Yohji's eyes narrowed. Yohji's voice, when he spoke next, was low, dead serious, and pure threat "I mean it, Aya. Don't. Hurt. Ken."

And Aya was again sharply reminded that he was the newest member of the team. That before he'd arrived, Yohji and Ken and Omi had been a team, and—despite how absolutely self-destructive Aya logically thought it was to allow any personal feelings towards men who played with death--men who were already dead and were living on borrowed time—that they'd been friends, and close. That even after his arrival, they'd still looked out for each other, and without him. That sometimes, they still did.

But Aya merely grunted in response, the small sound dismissing both the conversation and Yohji together. But Yohji's words had already done their damage. Yohji's words had made him think—and worse, his acknowledgement of Yohji's words had made it necessary for him to act.

He just wasn't sure how.

"Idiot".

Ken smiled ruefully at Aya's retreating back, before looking down at the broken pieces of pottery lying on the floor. The noise had caused Aya to come at a run from the shop—and then leave once he'd established the lack of blood and danger. Just Ken, being Ken.

Ken, who had been injured in the mission last night—a nasty slash across his bicep that would heal, but twinged at the most inopportune times—and who hadn't said anything, because there had been no point. It didn't quite need stitches, and he wasn't so stupid that he wouldn't mention it if it wasn't healed enough by the next mission. It did, however, make him drop that stupid cheap-ass bowl that Yohji had got at the market on sale last week. Now he knew why it had been so cheap. Aya had said as much, he recalled, but Yohji had liked the colour.

And the appearance of Aya, even glaring at him—the appearance of Aya, with concern deep in his eyes if you knew to look—the appearance of Aya brightened his day, just enough.

Ken knew he wanted Aya in part because he was attractive. If truth be told, so were a lot of people, including his other teammates. But now Aya was more than just attractive, and Ken was more than not indifferent—although Ken had never been, from the moment Aya had walked in the door with his beauty and arrogance and aloof, superior attitude, indifferent. But in all honesty, in wasn't just that Aya was – well, actually, absolutely gorgeous -- that made the difference.

There had been a time when he hadn't been sure Aya was capable of caring--not as a teammate and de facto field leader, but as a friend, a brother-by-circumstance, one of Weiss. There had been a time when Ken had been convinced that Aya purposely held himself apart, that he thought he was better than the rest of them—an attitude that irked Ken, particularly, of all the rest, because Ken had worked so hard and for so long to make something of himself, before it had been taken away. And because neither Omi nor Yohji had ever, ever made him feel ... less, not good enough. Unworthy, as he'd often felt as a kid, as Aya seemed to. There had been a time that Ken had been convinced that while Ken might want Aya, he could never like Aya—and Ken worked hard to maintain that illusion to himself.

Sure, there had been the time that Aya ha'd yelled unrestrainedly at Yohji (who at the time had been, unfortunately, drugged and only semi-conscious and unable to appreciate the full beauty of Aya in a rage) when a moment of distraction had gotten the blonde playboy shot and nearly killed. And when Yohji had been healed, he'd insisted that Yohji run drills with him, over and over and over, until he'd been assured—and more importantly, once Yohji had been assured—that the slip, a weakness in Yohji's near-perfect technique would not occur again. The time he'd yelled at Ken, for being foolish enough to get sick as a dog after playing an impromptu game of soccer in the rain, but had then bought all of Ken's favorite foods for the next few days in an attempt to tempt an uncertain appetite. The time he'd volunteered, after an exhausting mission, to sit up through the night with a concussed Omi, and had not complained when this had also involved cleaning up both kid and bedsheets when Omi had been sick, twice in the same night.

But all this could be—and Aya certainly encouraged this interpretation—chalked up to good leadership—ensuring your teammates were well and able to function adequately for the next mission. As a field leader, Aya was very, very good.

It didn't, in Ken's mind, explain everything else. Why he'd always be the one to pick up a drunk Yohji on particularly bad nights, why he always remembered to tape Ken's soccer games when Ken was injured or ill, why he'd always make sure to call the school and pick up Omi's homework when Omi had been busy with a mission, why he'd ...

Why he'd held Ken safe, that night, and hadn't mocked him, even once, after.

It wasn't until Ken started noticing those little things, that he'd really noticed Aya. And while good leadership maybe didn't quite explain all those other actions, it did explain, quite nicely, why it was that Ken was falling in love with him.

But it didn't matter. There wasn't anything Ken ever planned on doing about it.

End Chapter 2: Thanks for reading.