Twelfth Night

It's been a while; things have changed. I'd apologize for the delay, except, well, let's just say there were good reasons. But since I get upset with writers that leave unfinished wips, and since much of this is half-written anyway, I'm doing my best to plug along and complete it, for whatever its worth.

Anyway, a new year is beginning, so let's try this again.

Standard disclaimers/warnings apply, as in previous notes. Please refer back to Chapter 1 for the extended version.

Hmm, this is a sucky author's note, and I wrote this chapter in a rush; please forgive me and leave comments/send feedback/assist me by pointing out errors anyway?

Another few minutes, and then Aya and Ken were alone, in the small white room, with the separation curtains drawn closed and the drip of the IV and the thin early morning sunlight drifting in through an open window. The sounds of other patients groaning and hospital staff moving about could be heard in the background. Ken, on the other hand, was extremely quiet, still as water. Very unlike the Ken he knew. Aya was the agitated one, now, barely able to control a desperate need to fidget.

The view of the concrete parking lot outside was drab and gray. It looked deceptively normal. They were lucky they had the window, Aya thought absently.

Aya had remained crouched by Ken's side, not really sure what came next, but not daring to move, and not able to bring himself to break contact. Ken remained quiet, face turned towards Aya. Ken was pale and too thin, and he looked dazed. But his eyes were open, and he wasn't dead. Still as he was, he wasn't dead. Aya reminded himself that it was important to remember that Ken was with him, was here, was alive; that he'd survived and it was over.

Against all odds, against all hope, Ken had survived, and come back to him. It was over.

Suddenly, Aya leaned forward, and buried his head against Ken's side. He stayed there a moment, body shaking minutely, one hand still gripping one of Ken's hard. Then he spoke, voice muffled but not enough to disguise a shake in that normally smooth, controlled baritone. "Ken, you complete idiot. Don't do that again, ever. You hear me? Not ever again. What were you thinking? God, Ken." Aya kept his face hidden for another moment, before he rocked back and looked up. Aya's pale features were grim with anger and his violet gaze burned into Ken's. And then in a moment it was gone and his expression was again controlled blank; forbidding and composed.

Ken didn't answer. But he moved his free hand, shaking with the effort, towards Aya's head. Aya stayed still as marble, not daring to blink, not daring to breathe. He felt unsteady fingers thread through his hair, saw the brunet head turn slightly, and he heard Ken sigh softly, before opening his mouth ... And then Ken's eyes closed, and his hand went limp, falling lightly through Aya's hair.

Watching Ken's tight features soften into sleep, hearing his breathing even out despite a mild hitch, Aya sat still for a moment longer on the floor with Ken's slack hand sliding softly through his hair before catching up the hand and kissing it softly, setting it gently back on the bed, and then doing the same to the other he still held. The sunlight had settled on Ken's limp, dingy hair, and the sounds of Ken's rasping breath were a little too shallow, a little too quick, but steady. In the sharp-smelling, sunlit room with the white noise of the hospital all around them, and despite everything, Aya watched his sleeping Ken, and smiled.

Omi had arrived at the Koneko in a fluster, dreading the worst, and only marginally relieved when there appeared to be no trace of Manx or anyone else. Yet. The e-mail he'd received from Manx while they'd been at the hospital had been the one he hadn't wanted to receive, and it was why he'd made sure he and Yohji had arrived back from the hospital well before dawn. He hadn't wanted to be caught unawares, even if he was sure that he would be.

He hadn't wanted to play into Persia's hands.

The encrypted e-mail, directly from Persia, had been brief and to the point. "Siberian's replacement has been chosen. A vetted dossier will follow in due course."

Omi had no doubt that this "replacement" would be arriving immediately, and there would be little time to prepare. Kritiker didn't want to allow them time to prepare; liked its teams to be off balance and in their control. He also, despite his best efforts, had no idea who Persia had chosen. Given recent events, he assumed it would be some guy who thought he owed more than just his life to Kritiker.

Omi had once been that guy.

In the meantime, Omi knew he needed to exercise some damage control. Already, he'd had to fight with Aya to keep Ken out of the way at the hospital. Apparently, Aya had promised Ken, and Ken really, really wanted to come home. But despite Ken's wishes and Aya's promises, Ken couldn't yet come home. For two very important reasons: Ken seemed way too fragile to be moved at the moment, from what little he gleaned from the hospital records he'd hacked into and then carefully altered; and for now, until Omi had the situation with Kritiker and the replacement sorted out, the hospital was also safer than being at the Koneko. Omi had neither the means nor the ability to provide the level of professional, high-level care Ken required, and given the new Kritiker-imposed complication …

Because what his teammates didn't understand, and what he hadn't had time to properly explain to Aya was that … well, Kritiker didn't exactly know Ken was with them, or even alive.

And if Omi had his way—and he would—Kritiker would remain in the dark about that for some time yet. Omi hadn't been able to protect his teammate properly in the past, but he'd be damned if he was going to repeat his mistakes.

He'd given the barest outline to Yohji on the way home, focusing more on what was happening and what he needed Yohji to do than why he needed it done--with an assurance of more detail later. He hadn't been completely forthcoming, but for now, all he needed to do was explain that there would be a new addition, Kritiker didn't know they'd found Ken and convince Yohji—and it hadn't been all that hard, bit of a batting of the eyes and a plea to trust him--to pretend to the new guy that Ken was still dead. He hadn't explained anything at all to Aya, who was usually more amenable to following straight orders, and just told Aya to say nothing to anyone, with the exception only of himself and Yohji (Ken was too out of it and too delirious to be trusted), and stay put—rationalizing to Yohji that everything had been too chaotic and he couldn't be sure who was listening. Aya, not entirely sure of what Omi was up to and, as usual, too emotional about those he loved to be reasonable, had remained unwilling to renege on his promise to Ken and had conceded only when Omi had reluctantly pulled rank.

"Abyssinian, you will keep Siberian here until I say so. Understand?"

"Yes, Bombay. I understand." The voice was coldly professional and pure Abyssinian. But Aya's eyes had burned hotly into Omi's own, with a rage and desire for vengeance that was pure Aya, with maybe only the barest remaining trace of the loving, mild-mannered boy once called Ran.

Omi blinked the image away, shaken. Aya didn't use that particular look on a friend. But it had been an emotional time, and Omi was more than willing to chalk it up to that. Omi hated pulling rank at the best of times, and with Ken lying there looking destroyed, and the frantic, lost look in Aya's eyes … well, it hadn't been the best of times, even if it had been necessary.

So many distasteful things he'd done, all justified as being necessary.

He'd deceived his teammates. He had sent his team on an unauthorized mission. At the end of it, he hadn't explained himself to either Aya or Yohji because he wasn't quite sure how. He wasn't sure how much they should yet know, or how they'd react to the deception, and he wasn't prepared to take any unnecessary risks, not just now, not with Weiss so vulnerable.

And neither Yohji nor Aya were stupid—they'd start asking questions soon enough.

And now this summons directly from Persia, which Omi--sleep-deprived, exhausted and worried--most definitely wasn't prepared for. Persia probably knew that. Omi wasn't sure just how much Persia knew.

In any event, Aya's absence from the Koneko at any hour was not unusual, and would raise no suspicion in Manx's mind. Even if, since Aya had gotten together with Ken, he did hang around a bit more, Manx wouldn't know that. Aya still tended to slink in and out at the oddest of hours, and even Ken had never seemed to know where Aya was half the time—which may have been a problem in some other relationship, but Ken being Ken didn't really worry about it as long as Aya turned up safe whenever he was supposed to. Which he did.

Aya was, for all his faults, reliable that way.

"Aya?"

"Right here, Ken."

"Where are the kids?" Ken's voice was weak and grating, sounding terribly painful to Aya's ears.

"They're fine, Ken. Their families have taken them home." Aya hated lying to Ken, but there wasn't much choice he could see. It quieted Ken anyway, for a moment.

"Aya, I'm cold."

"You're running a fever, Ken."

"Please, it's really cold. I ... there's a quilt on my bed, please could you get it?"

"Not right now, Ken. We have to wait, just a little while. You should … use this time to get some rest."

"Too ... cold. Please Aya. I've always gotten you whatever you wanted when you've been sick! Why can't I just have my quilt? It's just in my room, just next door ... isn't it?" Ken blinked, looking around. "Aya? This isn't your room. Where am I?"

"Hospital, Ken. You're still at Kimura Hospital."

"I don't ... why … I thought you were going to take me home. You promised to take me home. I don't want to be here!"

"I know, I know, I'll take you home soon. Calm down. Soon, I promise. There are reasons. And you are not yet well enough."

"I ... I don't want to stay here, Aya. Please? Could you please take me home? I'll be fine, really. I promise I'll be quiet if you just take me home. Please. It's not cold at home."

Aya sighed, reaching out to once again restrain Ken's wrist as he saw Ken's hand inch towards the detested IV needle. He'd even tried to bargain with Ken about the needle, but all he had was his meaningless promise to take Ken home. When Omi had barked out his ridiculous order, he clearly had no idea how difficult this was. Ken had dozed, some—it seemed he couldn't much help it--but he did so unwillingly, and woke at the slightest noise. He woke at the sound of the door. He woke when Aya so much as twitched. Aya had lost count of how many times Ken had woken up in these few long hours, confused and frightened and begging Aya to just take him home. And those were the better times, when Aya was right beside him, awake and waiting to reassure. When Aya had gone to the bathroom one time and flushed the toilet, he returned to a Ken who'd managed to drag himself halfway across the room, blood on the sheets, and panic in his eyes. Reaching out to touch him caused Ken to lurch even further back and away, his uncertain balance causing him to collapse in a heap. Aya had kept hoping the nurses would decide, soon, that Ken could have some drugs to make him sleep, because he sure wasn't doing it on his own, no matter that he appeared entirely exhausted. Or at least that they would allow Ken something warmer than the thin sheet that was Ken's only covering. But when they had finally offered him a sopoforic, Ken refused. At one point, sleep-deprived and frustrated, Aya had lost patience and had turned to Ken, snapping that Ken had better damn well take the drugs or he was leaving.

The reaction from Ken had been immediate and bewildering to Aya. "No! I'm sorry. I'll sleep … I promise. I'll be good. I'll be quiet. I'm sorry. Please, Aya. Please, don't leave, and don't make me take them. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Ken had looked frightened and upset, clutching one of Aya's shirtsleeves in a death-grip, and withdrawing in on himself. His eyes had begged for a mercy he didn't expect to receive. Aya was instantly contrite, silently cursing himself for an insensitive idiot. "Ken … it's ok, I'm sorry." He tried to make his voice gentle, as gently as if he were speaking to his imouto. "I didn't mean it. You know I wouldn't force you, and of course I'm not going anywhere. I just think it would be better if you got some sleep."

"Ok." But the look in Ken's eyes had been haunted and wary until he'd closed them, and although he'd stayed silent a long while after, Aya knew he didn't sleep, and the grip on Aya's sleeve didn't slacken. It had been a long time until Aya managed to reassure Ken that the threat had been completely meaningless, and although even now the wariness lurked, Aya infinitely preferred the currently demanding, petulant Ken to the glimpse of that defeated, terrified shell.

Funny, that he could have such a preference. There was nothing he actually preferred about any of this. Ken was alive and whole, he reminded himself. That was already more than he'd thought possible. He needed to remember how grateful he was that Ken was alive. "You need to concentrate on recovery. Do not concern yourself with anything else. Sleep, Ken."

"But you promised. You promised!"

"I know, Ken. I will. Soon." He made his voice stern and final, letting it sink in. "For now, is there anything I can get you? Are you comfortable?" Damn stupid questions, thought Aya, and ones he wouldn't have normally asked an ill or injured Ken—but these weren't normal circumstances.

"I'm fine." Ken's eyes blinked up at Aya, exhausted but wide with pain and fear.

No, you're not, thought Aya, but the stupidity of his questions deserved an idiotic answer. What Ken wanted was just to go home, and even that small thing was something that Aya couldn't do for him. But at least Ken remained quiet, although he didn't sleep. And even though Aya could barely stand that terrible look, so out of place in those familiar brown eyes, he couldn't help but be grateful for the quiet, for the peace of not having to answer all those questions that he couldn't answer, questions that just made his heart ache. And after a time, Ken drifted helplessly off into another restless doze; leaving Aya.

Still sitting by a hospital bed; still waiting.

Ken had once half-joked, back in the early days shortly after Aya had joined Weiss, and having just been badly rejected by some girl he'd asked out, that Persia had messed up when they'd hired him for Weiss, because he just wasn't good looking enough. Aya hadn't said anything, letting his silence speak for him; but Omi had immediately countered to bolster his friend's ego, while Yohji had simply assured Ken that not everyone could be as good-looking as he himself was.

But Ken hadn't been altogether wrong, because aside from the beauty that came with youth and fitness, the guys of Weiss were all … extremely attractive. While everyone couldn't have his arresting good looks, if he did say so himself--Aya was terribly exotic, Omi damned cute, while Ken … Ken was admittedly a little insecure about his appearance, but he definitely had that athletic grace and build, and he cleaned up very well, especially when Yohji deigned to assist him. Which Yohji had, graciously, whenever necessary. He could be benevolent and generous too, unlike what that prick Aya seemed to think.

Aya. He'd better be damned good to Ken. The way he'd found him … the small room, the stench, the look in Ken's eyes … well, apparently Yohji had a shiny fresh new nightmare to add to his repertoire. Joy.

And now that Ken was back, Yohji swore he'd take Ken shopping. For his birthday, maybe—his birthday was coming up, wasn't it? And that boy definitely needed something to wear other than those t-shirts and soccer jerseys he seemed to live in half the time. Honestly, you'd think he'd take some heed of the good example Yohji took such effort to set for him every day …

And then he remembered Ken's state, and sobered, and tried to remember his point. He looked up. Right. The point was that Ken's theory seemed to actually have some merit. Because the replacement that Manx had brought them, standing right there in their shop, in the pale winter morning sunlight at a little past eight in the morning, was … was beauty and physical perfection and all his dreams come true, all tied up in one gorgeous package.

One gorgeous definitely female package.

Kritiker had to be kidding.

"Good morning, boys," said Manx, her cat that ate the canary smile firmly in place. "This is Tiffany, your newest addition. Tiffany, Balinese, Bombay. Boys, where ever is your Abysininan?"

"Out," muttered Yohji absently. There was no way in hell Manx or Persia or all of the rest of Kritiker could actually think, for one fraction of one second, that Weiss could function as well with a woman on their team. That Weiss would even allow a woman on their team—that this chick could be a suitable replacement for Siberian. For their strong berserker Ken. Sure, Yohji had every respect for women—and then some. Asuka had been smart and capable and the best goddamned P.I. he'd ever known. But replacing the powerful fighting muscle of Siberian with this pretty, delicate girl … the very idea was entirely, completely, preposterous.

Yohji slanted a glance at Omi. Omi looked cute and interested and welcoming, as if he'd like to bake the new girl some "Welcome Assassin!" cookies, offer her tea, direct her to the best shops for nearby shopping and could he take her bags up to her room?

Dear God, her room. Where on earth would she even sleep?

But man, she was beautiful. Hair a fall of ebony silk, eyes so deep and dark a man could drown in them. She was tall—not, certainly, as tall as either he or Aya—but still tall for a woman, slender and curvy and with the kind of grace he'd only ever seen in … well, Aya, actually, who had that contained strength that came with swordsmanship. He'd bet dollars to donuts that this chick also used a blade of some kind.

And she was dead tired, he now saw, looking closer—barely able to hold herself upright, doing so only through an effort of sheer will. Despite the regal bearing, and the hint of a sneer on her lips, she looked like she'd been dragged through three different hells and hadn't quite yet realized she'd escaped. Even though she was trying to hide it.

Well, whatever. They all knew about hell. If that was the only qualification, she'd be into Weiss like … well, whatever. The point was, she couldn't be Weiss. End of discussion. He bet Omi would be saying something, in that polite way of his, any moment now …

Omi was smiling and actually was offering to take the girl's bag. Manx was turning to leave. Yohji gaped.

Omi narrowed his eyes at him, and kicked him in the shin sharply as he passed by for good measure.

Right. A tour. He was supposed to take the new guy for a tour. Distract him.

Well, at least this wouldn't be as unpleasant as he'd thought after all.

Yohji turned to the still silent girl and smiled: his most charming, unthreatening smile. Her eyes narrowed slightly. He respectfully inclined his head.

"Welcome to our home, and to Weiss. My name is Kudoh Yohji. Will you allow me the liberty of showing you around?"

She snarled at him.

He gave up and leered shamelessly at her.

It wasn't as good as Ken knocking Aya out, but as a welcome, it was certainly something.

"Omi. Dear boy, to what do I owe this visit?"

"Tiffany has arrived. You summoned me to obtain her dossier. I'm very busy with school, you know. You could have e-mailed it."

"Ah. Of course, and here it is. I wanted to congratulate you. You discovered the link, didn't you?" That courteous, affable tone never wavered in the least.

Omi froze; forced himself to relax. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"When you arranged that mission—and that was very cleverly done of you, I might add, even though I will need to discipline you for it, one of these days--I had thought you might. I wondered what you'd hoped to accomplish, but you've always been thorough. So you arranged proof that Kobayashi and Kritiker were in alliance. Confirmation with low risk is always wise, although I'm still not entirely certain what you'd hoped to gain. You might be so kind as to save me the trouble and just tell me. You have good instincts, and never cease to fulfill my every expectation. I am very proud of you, you know."

"You bastard! You …"

"Ah, tsk tsk, my young friend. Language. If the others could only hear you ..."

"You knew. You …

"I didn't want to stop you. You needed to see for yourself that your Siberian was dead. You were too late, sadly."

"You set us up. Kobayashi was your own man—the ring was one of Kritiker's holdings. I found the records. You may as well have killed Ken-kun yourself. How could you do that?"

"Ah, my dear Omi, you are so young. The mission was legitimate—at the time, Kobayashi had betrayed Kritiker, and knowing what it did about him, Kritiker could scarcely let him out loose, now could it? He soon changed his tune and returned to our jurisdiction, but by then it was too late and some damage had been done. It is a pity about Siberian. He was a good operative. And no, I didn't know, certainly not what would happen. Of course I knew that Kobayashi's security was top notch—it was Kritiker technology, after all—but it is not my fault that neither you nor the former Siberian were not more careful, certainly not. And of course after you failed, Kritiker could scarcely interefere."

"I'll ..."

"Sweet, sweet Omi-kun, what will you do? You can't tell them, now, can you? How would it help them? And you ... you are a Takatori. You found the link. You are my heir apparent. They'll think you set them up."

"I didn't! I ..."

"Ah, but how will they know that? You really think they trust you? Do you? With your smiling face and hugs and tears? All a mask, darling boy. All a mask, just as the face of Persia they see for their mission reports is all a mask. They'll wonder if you knew. They'll wonder if you set them up. I won't deny it. And knowing your blood, they ... they won't know whether or not to believe you."

"I hate you."

"Ah, but you will one day become me, don't you see? All this emotion, it really is pointless, my boy."

"You're no better than Esset."

"Oh, Esset are bumbling idiots. It is how we have defeated them for so long, and how we will continue to do so. But I am curious, though … the other lads, the rest of your Weiss, they won't always thank you. They won't even remain loyal to you—maybe for now, but they are certainly not as loyal to you as you are to them, or even as loyal as they might be to each other. You know this, so, I wonder: why do you bother?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"My dear lad, I wonder sometimes, if you do."

The reality was, Omi wasn't sure he did either. This interview was draining, like walking in quicksand and playing a part with lines he'd never been given. And Persia knew his weaknesses, knew how much the trust and friendship of the other members of Weiss meant to Omi. He didn't know the extent, maybe--how Omi considered Weiss the family he'd never had, and how frightened he was of losing that. Persia didn't know how close to home his words struck, or how much of Omi's display of anger was not just grief about Ken but fear that Persia was right, fear of losing the only brothers, the only family he had left. And Omi knew he was close to exactly that. Omi knew that perhaps, no matter what he did at this point, there might be no way he could prevent that now.

But Persia didn't know Ken was alive. Kritiker didn't know. It was something to cling to. Omi clenched his fist, and his next words were ground out.

"I'll get them out. I promise you, whatever it takes. One day, I'll get them out."

"Perhaps. Perhaps you will, one way or another. But I promise you this, and you know it to be true: You are Kritiker's. You are Kritiker's, my heir apparent, and you will never leave."

I told you I could out-Sue you, too …

End of Chapter 14. Thanks, as always, for reading …