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Entry tags:
Fanfic Archive: Betrayal, 4
(Written: 2004)
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: Aya slowly begins to rediscover his humanity, only to face betrayal at the hands of someone he trusted. Decisions he's made with regard to Kritiker come back to haunt him, as the organization decides to retire him, leaving Aya cornered, badly injured, and, along with Yohji, on the run with nowhere to turn for help except the very man who betrayed him. Events start to tumble at breakneck speed toward a conclusion, following the twisted course Fate seems to have decreed. Can Aya stay alive long enough to untangle the sticky web in which he, Yohji, and his friend-turned-betrayer find themselves ensnared?
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #2 in the "Nowhere Man" Trilogy. Story #1: Nowhere Man. Story #3: Redemption
Betrayal
Chapter 4
Yohji squirmed around on the hard, uncomfortable chair as he vainly tried to shift into a position that would allow him to remain seated without actually making his ass go completely numb. He finally realized that his quest was futile, and stood to pace up and down the short hallway leading from the emergency room waiting area to the treatment rooms. He paused at the double doors separating the two spaces and leaned his head against the glass pane inset in one of the doors. He knew Aya was safe, in one of the rooms just beyond, but he would have preferred to stay with his injured teammate. He told himself that he was being overprotective and irrational, but he knew he wouldn't be happy until he had Aya in sight again. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Aya falling through the shop's window amid a shower of glittering glass, Aya sailing into the street directly in front of that car, and the smug, satisfied grin on Schuldich's face as the German pushed Aya into the street. Yohji could feel anger overwhelming him again, and he turned away from the doors to slam his fist into the wall. The noise drew the attention of the nurses working the ER desk, and they glanced at Yohji disapprovingly. The tall blonde tried to give them one of his patented, playboy smiles --- the kind that typically had women fawning and swooning all over him, but he knew he failed miserably. The day's events had shaken him up so much that he couldn't even concentrate on charming women --- just one more reason to hate that German fucker.
"What a shitty, shitty day," Yohji muttered, turning away from the double doors and nurses' desk to resume his pacing. He absently patted at the front of his shirt, looking for his package of cigarettes, and cursed when he realized he didn't have them. He leaned against a wall, rubbing his hands irritably through his hair. He had gone off without a hair tie, and the long, blonde locks fell in an untidy mess about his shoulders and in his face.
"Shit," he muttered, "I could really use a smoke right about now." He glanced up at the huge sign just across from where he was standing, which said "NO SMOKING" in angry, red letters that seemed to point accusing fingers right at him. "Not that they'd let me smoke, anyhow," Yohji sighed under his breath. He looked back down at the floor and stared absently at his bare feet, which, he just realized, were ice cold. He'd been in such a hurry to get Aya to the hospital that he hadn't even bothered to put on his shoes. "If I can't smoke and I don't have a fucking hair tie, then, at least, shoes would be nice," he muttered irritably as he started pacing again.
"You're gonna wear a hole in that damn floor."
Yohji jumped at the sound of his friend's voice. He turned toward the nurses' desk to see Aya leaning against it. The redhead looked pale and tired, and Yohji could see his hands shaking as he tried to fill out the forms the nurses shoved in front of him. Yohji crossed the room in five long strides to stand next to his friend. He leaned against the desk, resting his weight on his elbows, in what he hoped was a fairly nonchalant, unworried pose, and looked up at Aya, giving the swordsman a crooked grin. Aya glared back at him, as best he could, considering that his eyes seemed unwilling to focus, and then turned back toward the forms. He sighed irritably and squinted at the papers in front of him, as if he could will his eyes to work properly and his hands to stop shaking.
"Here," Yohji said, gently bumping Aya companionably with his hip, "let me do it, OK? We'll be here all year if we wait for you."
He grabbed the pen out of Aya's hand and quickly started filling in made up answers to the questions on the form. They hadn't gone to one of Kritiker's "underground" hospitals because he hadn't wanted to involve Manx until they knew exactly what was going on, but they couldn't have any of Aya's actual information in the hospital's files, considering their little "nighttime" occupations.
"Thanks," Aya mumbled, almost under his breath. He leaned slightly against Yohji and rested his crossed arms on the desk, leaning over to pillow his head on them with a barely-audible groan.
"Um, excuse me," a voice broke in, causing Yohji to turn around and look behind them. "Are you … are you the person who brought Mr. Smith in?"
Yohji glared at the man standing there. The stranger, who looked as if he was in his mid-thirties, was short, balding, and a little on the chubby side. He was wearing scrubs, tennis shoes, a long white coat, and glasses, which he pulled off and nervously twirled in his hand as Yohji stared at him. When Yohji didn't reply right away, the little man started to nervously shift his weight from one foot to the other. He either looked like he was performing a nervous little dance, or he had to go to the bathroom. Yohji couldn't quite decide which.
Finally, when he couldn't stand to watch the little man's nervous jig any longer, Yohji cleared his throat, and said, "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong …"
"That's me," Aya said softly. "Stan Smith."
Yohji looked from the little man, who was still jigging back and forth in front of him and blinking at him expectantly, to Aya. The redhead hadn't even bothered to turn around to look at the new arrival. He remained leaning against the desk, his head still pillowed on his crossed arms, as if the man wasn't even worthy of his attention. Yohji directed his attention back to the little man, who was still jigging from one foot to the other, blinking, and twirling his glasses in one hand. He looked like one big, walking nervous tic, and Yohji had to suppress the urge to giggle.
When he had managed to gain control of himself, the blonde said, "Yeah, um, that's me. I'm the one who brought him in." He jerked his thumb to the side to indicate Aya, "Yeah … him …Stan … Stan Smith."
When the man didn't say anything else, Yohji turned away from him and back toward the desk and the stack of forms awaiting his attention. He frowned at the form on top of the pile, crossed out the information he'd written in response to the question asking for "Patient's Name", and replaced it with "Stan Smith". Then, he leaned forward and plucked at the nearest nurse's sleeve to get her attention. "Excuse me, Miss," he asked, "Could I … possibly get back those forms I already turned in to you?"
The nurse frowned at him, but she turned to shuffle through a few stacks of papers in order to retrieve the forms. Yohji leaned over toward Aya and asked, in a soft, teasing voice, "So, you get a lot of stitches … Stan? I mean, I really, really had to wait out here for a long time … Stan. I was pretty worried about you … Stan."
Aya sighed, a small sound of irritation and resignation that brought a slight smile to Yohji's lips. He was worried about his friend, but the fact that he was able to irritate Aya so easily indicated that the redhead was probably going to be all right. Finally, Aya attempted another glare at Yohji and said in a tired, flat voice, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Why, yes. Yes, I am … Stan," Yohji replied, laughing softly. A small sound caused him to once again turn around to look behind him, and he saw that the little man was still there --- jigging, blinking, and twirling. Yohji asked, with no small hint of irritation, "You still there?"
"Um … yes," the man replied. "I'm … um, Dr. Tanaka," he said, bowing slightly. "I … uh … treated Mr. Smith." Dr. Tanaka cleared his throat and glanced at Aya nervously. "I was wondering … um, are you Mr. Smith's relative?"
"Well, uh … no," Yohji stammered, "I'm … uh …"
"He's my brother," Aya broke in, cutting Yohji off in mid-sentence.
"I see," Dr. Tanaka said. He had managed to stop stammering, but he still twirled his glasses in his free hand, and he glanced nervously at Aya every few seconds. "I was wondering if you could, um … maybe talk some sense into your brother. His injuries aren't life-threatening, but they are pretty serious, and he lost a lot of blood. He really should stay, at least overnight so that …"
"I already said no," Aya broke in again. He finally turned around to face the doctor. He leaned back slightly against the counter for support, a casual show of false bravado that cost him, and he grimaced in pain. He glared at Dr. Tanaka, and said, in a hard, cold voice, "That's final. Go away."
"Yes, but," Dr. Tanaka began.
"Go. Away." Aya snapped, his patience finally breaking.
The redhead glared at the doctor until Tanaka finally shrugged and turned to walk away. Just before leaving them, he shoved a piece of paper into Yohji's hand, commenting, "Pain medication. He's going to need it, so be sure to get it filled."
Yohji turned back to the desk and started filling out the last form, unable to suppress his laughter any longer. He shook his head, chuckling softly, as he said, "Geez, Aya. Oh, I mean … Stan … you scared that poor guy half to death." When he felt Aya suddenly lean heavily against him, Yohji glanced quickly toward his friend. "Hey, you OK?" he asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
Aya nodded weakly and replied, in an absent, sleepy tone, "Just fill out the damn forms. I really feel like shit. If I pass out here, they'll never let me leave."
*******************************************************
Aya managed to make it out of the hospital and to the parking lot under his own steam, but his strength abandoned him once they reached Yohji's car. He sagged heavily against the vehicle, swaying from side to side, as he waited for Yohji to unlock it, and the tall blonde had to use one hand to keep Aya from sliding down to the ground. He fumbled clumsily with the lock and glanced worriedly over at his friend. Aya almost seemed unaware of where he was. The confused, vacant look that Yohji had noticed in his eyes earlier seemed to have intensified, and the redhead stared absently at the ground near his feet.
"Hey," Yohji called. When Aya didn't respond, he gently shook the younger man to draw his attention away from the ground, "You OK? You want to go back inside?"
"Nnh," Aya replied. His words were slurred, and Yohji could tell he was having a hard time putting a sentence together. Finally, Aya weakly waved his hand in front of his face, as if that action would clear the cobwebs from his mind, and said, "Painkillers."
"Oh," Yohji replied.
He finally succeeded in opening the passenger side door, and then helped Aya into the seat. When Aya fumbled unsuccessfully with the seatbelt, Yohji sighed and said, in a tone of mock irritation, "Here, let me do it. We don't have all day." He leaned over and buckled the belt with a click. Before going around to his side of the car, Yohji retrieved his extra coat from the back seat and draped it over his friend. On an impulse, he ruffled Aya's hair and laughed softly when the younger man hissed in irritation and swatted at his hand.
They drove in silence for a while, until Yohji couldn't stand it any longer. Aya was almost eerily still and quiet, and the older man didn't like it. He glanced over to the passenger side of the car. Aya was slumped down in the seat, leaning heavily against the door, and he looked small, vulnerable, and fragile. Yohji felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He knew there was no such thing as a superman, but he had always thought of Aya as the closest thing to it. The redhead seemed like an assassin's assassin --- always cold, always in control, always strong, able to cut a wide, bloody swath through anything and everything his enemies might throw at him, and in possession of an uncanny ability to get in and out of the tightest scrapes. He had seen the swordsman overcome so many obstacles, fight and defeat so many unbeatable enemies, recover from so many injuries, and perform the most impossible tasks in a way that made the extraordinary seem mundane so many times that he had, without even realizing it, come to think of Aya as something greater than human. He couldn't stand seeing the redhead like this. Yohji suddenly decided that he needed to hear Aya's voice, just so that he would know the other man was all right.
"Hey," he called, "So, how many stitches you get, anyhow?"
Aya didn't reply for a long time, and Yohji had just started to think that the younger man had drifted off to sleep when he heard the swordsman say, in a soft, weak, slightly slurred voice, "Dunno. A lot, I guess. Stopped counting at, like, ninety."
Yohji whistled softly. He hadn't guessed that Aya's injuries were that bad. "Well," he said, taking his eyes from the rain-slick road long enough to look over at his companion, "Guess you're gonna have a whole lot of new scars, huh?"
Aya opened one eye into a little slit to glance over at Yohji. "You sound jealous," he commented.
Yohji shrugged. "Chicks dig scars," he said, smiling.
Aya laughed and mumbled, "Lucky me. If I live through Weiss, I'll get all the women I want."
After driving in silence for a few more minutes, Yohji took a deep breath as he worked up the courage to ask, "Aya? You told the doctor I was your brother. Why?"
He didn't really expect an answer. Aya never was one to admit to his feelings, let alone discuss them openly with another person. Most of the time, they were lucky if Aya even spoke to them or gave them more than one-word answers to their questions. He could remember lots of times when Aya went for days without speaking to anyone. Consequently, he was surprised to hear his friend reply, "I … don't know. It … it just … sort of … slipped out."
"Do you think of me that way?" Yohji persisted.
Aya paused for a long time before hesitantly saying, "Maybe … well, yeah, I guess … I mean, sort of." He sighed in frustration as he groped through his drug-fuzzed brain to find the words he needed to express himself. Finally, he continued, "I … never had … a brother. It was always just me … and Aya. After she got hurt … well, then, it was just me. But, I guess … if I ever did have … a brother, it'd be good … I mean … it'd be OK … you know, if he was like you. If … if it's not OK … with you, though, I …"
"No," Yohji said, cutting Aya off.
He glanced over at his friend. Aya's eyes were closed, but the blonde could see the blush discoloring the redhead's face. He knew how hard it had been for Aya to say those things. Yohji didn't know why, but it meant a lot to him. During the time he had spent watching over Aya after that last mission, he had realized that, somewhere along the line during their association, he had come to think of the redhead as a little brother, but he hadn't known that Aya felt the same way.
"No," he repeated, "It's OK. I guess you're pretty much like the dysfunctional, homicidal, delinquent little brother that I never had, so it's OK with me."
He glanced over at his friend again, and was glad to see a ghost of a smile playing across Aya's lips. Yohji turned his attention back to the road in front of them, and drove in silence for a while before asking, "Aya, how did Schuldich get in?"
When he didn't receive any response, Yohji looked over toward the passenger side of the car to discover that Aya had fallen asleep. He'd just have to wait until the redhead woke up to get the answers he needed.
*******************************************************
Yohji remained lost in his own thoughts for the rest of the ride home, which made the trip seem a lot longer than it was. The blonde mulled over how Schuldich could have gotten into the shop. No matter how many times he thought it through, he continued to come to the same inescapable, yet unhappy, conclusion. When he had gone downstairs in response to Bubba's barking, the shop had been dark, as if it was closed. If the store had been open and he had walked through the front door like a normal customer, Schuldich would never have been able to get the drop on Aya like he had, even if the redhead wasn't operating up to his normal standards. The only conclusion he could reach about the German's presence was that he had to have either been there waiting when Aya returned from picking Omi up, or he must have come in through the back door leading into the apartment over the store. Yohji had called Omi from the emergency room to ask if it looked like the security system had been tampered with, and the boy had responded that there were no signs Schuldich had broken in. That could only mean that the German had either acquired the security code, which only the four of them and Hank knew, or someone had let him into the shop. Not even Manx, Persia, or anyone else in Kritiker knew the security code to the shop and apartment. Aya had always insisted that the four of them needed to be able to feel safe when they were at home, and, because of that, he had refused to give any of the apartment codes to anyone else in the organization. Yohji knew it had been a sore point with Manx and Persia for quite some time, but Aya had refused to give in to their demands.
Yohji glanced uneasily at his sleeping friend, as he thought, 'Son of a bitch. It has to be Hank. He must have given Schuldich the code, or let him into the shop. But why? Is he Schwartz?'
If Hank was a spy, he had to admit that Schwartz had done a damn good job placing the man with them. It seemed to him that it had taken forever for the rest of the team to get Aya to accept and trust them. It was really only within the last couple of months that the quiet redhead had really started to open up to them, even though they lived together, worked together, and killed together. They all knew that Aya trusted them with his life; otherwise, Weiss wouldn't be the successful team that it was. Despite that, the redhead never seemed to trust them on a personal level - with his friendship or feelings. Aya didn't trust anyone with those things; he held them close and guarded them savagely. From the beginning, though, things had been different with Hank. Aya had seemed to trust the man implicitly, practically from their first meeting. Not only had the redhead openly accepted Hank and invited him into their lives, but he had, almost immediately, formed an easy friendship with the man. Perhaps the most obvious sign of that was that Aya had even allowed Hank to call him by his real name, a privilege that hadn't yet been given to any of his teammates. A privilege, which Yohji would have to admit, if he thought about it, still stung.
Yohji stared at his hands, which were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his fingers were beginning to ache. At the next stop light, he took advantage of the little break to pry his fingers from around the wheel and shake some feeling back into them. The thought that Hank could be Schwartz scared the shit out of the tall blonde. The man had become like a member of their family so quickly and easily. If he was a spy, Schwartz was so far ahead of the game in intelligence gathering that the four of them might as well pack it in now, because it would only be a matter of time before the black assassins were dancing on all their graves. No, no matter how many ways he looked at it, he just couldn't imagine that Hank was Schwartz. They were all better judges of character than that, and they had all followed Aya's lead and openly trusted the man. More importantly, Aya trusted Hank. Even if the rest of the team had been wrong about the man, Aya was the most infallible judge of character that Yohji knew. The redhead was never wrong about people.
By the time he pulled into the parking area in the alley behind the flower shop, Yohji had convinced himself that Hank was definitely not a Schwartz spy. But, the alternative --- that Aya had finally rediscovered his humanity only to be betrayed --- was even worse. As Yohji turned off the car and glanced over at the sleeping redhead, he could barely contain the feeling of protective anger that washed over him.
'I hope I'm wrong,' Yohji thought as he debated over whether or not he should try to wake up Aya.
Even as the thought slid out of his mind, he knew he wasn't wrong about Hank. He knew, with that unerring, fatalistic certainty he'd always had in such situations, that Hank had been the one who had given Schuldich entry into their home. Finally, Yohji decided that it'd be pointless to try to wake Aya, and, as he went around to the passenger side to haul the redhead out of the car, he thought, 'I just hope he has a damn good reason for what he did, so I don't have to kill him for it.'
"Hey!" Omi called. He waited while Yohji carried Aya up the flight of outside stairs that would allow them entry into the kitchen, and held the door open, moving aside slightly so that Yohji could shoulder his way in without bumping Aya's body on the doorjamb. "How is he?" the boy asked, peering around Yohji's shoulder to glance at their unconscious teammate.
"Damn heavy," Yohji answered. "If I have to keep hauling his drugged-out ass around, I'm putting him on a diet!"
He moved past Omi to head toward the stairs leading up to their bedrooms. He had to walk sideways to avoid banging Aya's head and feet on the walls, and, by the time he had reached their rooms at the top of the stairs, he was huffing, out of breath, and actually considering quitting smoking, although he quickly dismissed that thought as nothing more than a foolish notion. Omi, who had trailed behind them, moved around him to open the door to Aya's room, but Yohji shook his head and nodded toward his own room, a little farther down the hall.
"No way. We're putting him in my room. If I have to sit up all night and watch his sorry ass sleep, I should at least have a comfortable chair," Yohji growled as he entered his room and tossed Aya gently onto the bed.
While Yohji busied himself with pulling off Aya's boots and settling the redhead comfortably on the bed, Omi darted out of the room. The boy returned a few moments later with the soft, down comforter from Aya's room. He smiled and stifled a sneeze as he handed it to Yohji, who tucked it around Aya's still form. With that task done, the blonde turned and regarded the youngest Weiss assassin with a coldly appraising eye.
"You look like shit, Omi," Yohji said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Omi started to laugh in response to Yohji's statement, but he ended up doubling over and grabbing his ribs when the laugh dissolved into a choking, hacking cough. The boy sniffled miserably and wiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. Yohji couldn't help noticing, for the second time that day, that the kid looked like something the proverbial cat had dragged in --- or, maybe, like something Bubba had spent an entire afternoon playing with. The younger blonde was shaking, pale, and sweating, and Yohji could tell he was still running a fever. Still, the kid managed to smile at the up-raised eyebrow and skeptical look Yohji gave him.
"Yeah," Omi replied, once again wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He sat down on the floor, leaning back against the bed, and asked, in a serious voice, "Any ideas how Schuldich got in? I don't think the security system was breached. Maybe he walked in off the street --- you know, like a "normal" customer?"
Yohji pulled his overstuffed armchair next to the bed and sank into it. He sighed and rubbed his temples as he replied, "No. I don't think so. He managed to get the jump on Aya. That's not easy to do. Was the store open when you got home?"
Omi thought for a moment, and then slowly shook his head as he said, "No … I'm sure it wasn't. I was pretty out of it, but I'm positive Aya said he'd closed up for the day. He hasn't been feeling all that great … you know, since that last mission. Earlier this morning, he said he was going to work the shop today with Hank, so that you and Ken could sleep in, but I think he'd changed his mind."
Yohji leaned forward, elbows on knees, to rest his chin in the palms of his hands. He never took his eyes off the bed as he spoke, but Omi could hear the cold, hard edge to his voice. "Was … Hank … anyone here when you got back?"
Omi pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, muffling his voice when he replied, "No … I … I don't think so. No, I'm sure … I'm sure there wasn't anyone here. The apartment and shop were both dark. I went upstairs right away. I thought Aya was coming up right behind me, but … he told me … to go upstairs, that he … heard a noise, and …" Omi's voice faltered and fell silent as he realized what had happened. He looked up at Yohji with wide, suddenly serious eyes, "Oh … he was …Schuldich was…"
"Yeah," Yohji said, cutting Omi's statement off before the boy could finish. "I think he was already here, waiting for Aya, and I think Aya knew. But, he didn't want to get you … or any of us … involved."
"But, then … that means … he had to have gotten the security code somehow, or someone let him in, right?"
Yohji nodded. "I think I know what happened, but I don't like it. I don't like what I'm thinking, and I don't want to jump to any conclusions until Aya is awake enough to tell us what happened. My guess is that he has a pretty good idea how Schuldich got inside without getting eaten by that damn dog."
"That's right!" Omi exclaimed. "Bubba … was up here. I found him locked inside Aya's room when I got up here. I heard him growling and scratching at the door, so I let him out, but then I just went right to bed. But, the only way Bubba could have gotten locked in up here, without Aya doing it is if…"
Yohji waved his hand through the air in front of his face, bringing Omi's statement to a stop. "Just leave it, Omi. For now." He stood up and scratched his head. "Look, you already re-set the security code, right? So, you should just go back to bed. You're already sick."
"I'm fine," Omi replied, shaking his head. Yohji might have believed him, if the boy's words hadn't been drowned out by a coughing fit. Once he had managed to regain his breath, he continued, "Someone needs to stay with Aya, and everything downstairs is a mess. I'm going to go down and start cleaning up."
Yohji shook his head. He leaned down and lifted a corner of the down comforter. "At least get in here, then. That way, you'll be in bed, and someone will be with Aya." He glanced down at the unconscious redhead and shook his head, "He's so strung out right now, he'll never know, anyhow. We'll be lucky if he wakes up by this time tomorrow. I'll go down and start cleaning up. Aya'd be furious if I let you clean in your condition."
Omi started to protest, but he suddenly decided that he was just too tired and felt too icky to even argue. Wordlessly, he crawled under the comforter and settled himself gently, back-to-back with redhead. Aya grunted softly, but he scooted over to make more room for the boy.
Yohji smiled and, as he pulled the comforter over his teammates, he asked, "Ken come back yet with that stupid dog?"
Omi shook his head and mumbled, "No. He called earlier and said he was going to get Hank to help him look. He didn't think Bubba would come to him, anyhow."
"All right," Yohji replied. "Get some sleep."
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: Aya slowly begins to rediscover his humanity, only to face betrayal at the hands of someone he trusted. Decisions he's made with regard to Kritiker come back to haunt him, as the organization decides to retire him, leaving Aya cornered, badly injured, and, along with Yohji, on the run with nowhere to turn for help except the very man who betrayed him. Events start to tumble at breakneck speed toward a conclusion, following the twisted course Fate seems to have decreed. Can Aya stay alive long enough to untangle the sticky web in which he, Yohji, and his friend-turned-betrayer find themselves ensnared?
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #2 in the "Nowhere Man" Trilogy. Story #1: Nowhere Man. Story #3: Redemption
Chapter 4
Yohji squirmed around on the hard, uncomfortable chair as he vainly tried to shift into a position that would allow him to remain seated without actually making his ass go completely numb. He finally realized that his quest was futile, and stood to pace up and down the short hallway leading from the emergency room waiting area to the treatment rooms. He paused at the double doors separating the two spaces and leaned his head against the glass pane inset in one of the doors. He knew Aya was safe, in one of the rooms just beyond, but he would have preferred to stay with his injured teammate. He told himself that he was being overprotective and irrational, but he knew he wouldn't be happy until he had Aya in sight again. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Aya falling through the shop's window amid a shower of glittering glass, Aya sailing into the street directly in front of that car, and the smug, satisfied grin on Schuldich's face as the German pushed Aya into the street. Yohji could feel anger overwhelming him again, and he turned away from the doors to slam his fist into the wall. The noise drew the attention of the nurses working the ER desk, and they glanced at Yohji disapprovingly. The tall blonde tried to give them one of his patented, playboy smiles --- the kind that typically had women fawning and swooning all over him, but he knew he failed miserably. The day's events had shaken him up so much that he couldn't even concentrate on charming women --- just one more reason to hate that German fucker.
"What a shitty, shitty day," Yohji muttered, turning away from the double doors and nurses' desk to resume his pacing. He absently patted at the front of his shirt, looking for his package of cigarettes, and cursed when he realized he didn't have them. He leaned against a wall, rubbing his hands irritably through his hair. He had gone off without a hair tie, and the long, blonde locks fell in an untidy mess about his shoulders and in his face.
"Shit," he muttered, "I could really use a smoke right about now." He glanced up at the huge sign just across from where he was standing, which said "NO SMOKING" in angry, red letters that seemed to point accusing fingers right at him. "Not that they'd let me smoke, anyhow," Yohji sighed under his breath. He looked back down at the floor and stared absently at his bare feet, which, he just realized, were ice cold. He'd been in such a hurry to get Aya to the hospital that he hadn't even bothered to put on his shoes. "If I can't smoke and I don't have a fucking hair tie, then, at least, shoes would be nice," he muttered irritably as he started pacing again.
"You're gonna wear a hole in that damn floor."
Yohji jumped at the sound of his friend's voice. He turned toward the nurses' desk to see Aya leaning against it. The redhead looked pale and tired, and Yohji could see his hands shaking as he tried to fill out the forms the nurses shoved in front of him. Yohji crossed the room in five long strides to stand next to his friend. He leaned against the desk, resting his weight on his elbows, in what he hoped was a fairly nonchalant, unworried pose, and looked up at Aya, giving the swordsman a crooked grin. Aya glared back at him, as best he could, considering that his eyes seemed unwilling to focus, and then turned back toward the forms. He sighed irritably and squinted at the papers in front of him, as if he could will his eyes to work properly and his hands to stop shaking.
"Here," Yohji said, gently bumping Aya companionably with his hip, "let me do it, OK? We'll be here all year if we wait for you."
He grabbed the pen out of Aya's hand and quickly started filling in made up answers to the questions on the form. They hadn't gone to one of Kritiker's "underground" hospitals because he hadn't wanted to involve Manx until they knew exactly what was going on, but they couldn't have any of Aya's actual information in the hospital's files, considering their little "nighttime" occupations.
"Thanks," Aya mumbled, almost under his breath. He leaned slightly against Yohji and rested his crossed arms on the desk, leaning over to pillow his head on them with a barely-audible groan.
"Um, excuse me," a voice broke in, causing Yohji to turn around and look behind them. "Are you … are you the person who brought Mr. Smith in?"
Yohji glared at the man standing there. The stranger, who looked as if he was in his mid-thirties, was short, balding, and a little on the chubby side. He was wearing scrubs, tennis shoes, a long white coat, and glasses, which he pulled off and nervously twirled in his hand as Yohji stared at him. When Yohji didn't reply right away, the little man started to nervously shift his weight from one foot to the other. He either looked like he was performing a nervous little dance, or he had to go to the bathroom. Yohji couldn't quite decide which.
Finally, when he couldn't stand to watch the little man's nervous jig any longer, Yohji cleared his throat, and said, "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong …"
"That's me," Aya said softly. "Stan Smith."
Yohji looked from the little man, who was still jigging back and forth in front of him and blinking at him expectantly, to Aya. The redhead hadn't even bothered to turn around to look at the new arrival. He remained leaning against the desk, his head still pillowed on his crossed arms, as if the man wasn't even worthy of his attention. Yohji directed his attention back to the little man, who was still jigging from one foot to the other, blinking, and twirling his glasses in one hand. He looked like one big, walking nervous tic, and Yohji had to suppress the urge to giggle.
When he had managed to gain control of himself, the blonde said, "Yeah, um, that's me. I'm the one who brought him in." He jerked his thumb to the side to indicate Aya, "Yeah … him …Stan … Stan Smith."
When the man didn't say anything else, Yohji turned away from him and back toward the desk and the stack of forms awaiting his attention. He frowned at the form on top of the pile, crossed out the information he'd written in response to the question asking for "Patient's Name", and replaced it with "Stan Smith". Then, he leaned forward and plucked at the nearest nurse's sleeve to get her attention. "Excuse me, Miss," he asked, "Could I … possibly get back those forms I already turned in to you?"
The nurse frowned at him, but she turned to shuffle through a few stacks of papers in order to retrieve the forms. Yohji leaned over toward Aya and asked, in a soft, teasing voice, "So, you get a lot of stitches … Stan? I mean, I really, really had to wait out here for a long time … Stan. I was pretty worried about you … Stan."
Aya sighed, a small sound of irritation and resignation that brought a slight smile to Yohji's lips. He was worried about his friend, but the fact that he was able to irritate Aya so easily indicated that the redhead was probably going to be all right. Finally, Aya attempted another glare at Yohji and said in a tired, flat voice, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Why, yes. Yes, I am … Stan," Yohji replied, laughing softly. A small sound caused him to once again turn around to look behind him, and he saw that the little man was still there --- jigging, blinking, and twirling. Yohji asked, with no small hint of irritation, "You still there?"
"Um … yes," the man replied. "I'm … um, Dr. Tanaka," he said, bowing slightly. "I … uh … treated Mr. Smith." Dr. Tanaka cleared his throat and glanced at Aya nervously. "I was wondering … um, are you Mr. Smith's relative?"
"Well, uh … no," Yohji stammered, "I'm … uh …"
"He's my brother," Aya broke in, cutting Yohji off in mid-sentence.
"I see," Dr. Tanaka said. He had managed to stop stammering, but he still twirled his glasses in his free hand, and he glanced nervously at Aya every few seconds. "I was wondering if you could, um … maybe talk some sense into your brother. His injuries aren't life-threatening, but they are pretty serious, and he lost a lot of blood. He really should stay, at least overnight so that …"
"I already said no," Aya broke in again. He finally turned around to face the doctor. He leaned back slightly against the counter for support, a casual show of false bravado that cost him, and he grimaced in pain. He glared at Dr. Tanaka, and said, in a hard, cold voice, "That's final. Go away."
"Yes, but," Dr. Tanaka began.
"Go. Away." Aya snapped, his patience finally breaking.
The redhead glared at the doctor until Tanaka finally shrugged and turned to walk away. Just before leaving them, he shoved a piece of paper into Yohji's hand, commenting, "Pain medication. He's going to need it, so be sure to get it filled."
Yohji turned back to the desk and started filling out the last form, unable to suppress his laughter any longer. He shook his head, chuckling softly, as he said, "Geez, Aya. Oh, I mean … Stan … you scared that poor guy half to death." When he felt Aya suddenly lean heavily against him, Yohji glanced quickly toward his friend. "Hey, you OK?" he asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
Aya nodded weakly and replied, in an absent, sleepy tone, "Just fill out the damn forms. I really feel like shit. If I pass out here, they'll never let me leave."
*******************************************************
Aya managed to make it out of the hospital and to the parking lot under his own steam, but his strength abandoned him once they reached Yohji's car. He sagged heavily against the vehicle, swaying from side to side, as he waited for Yohji to unlock it, and the tall blonde had to use one hand to keep Aya from sliding down to the ground. He fumbled clumsily with the lock and glanced worriedly over at his friend. Aya almost seemed unaware of where he was. The confused, vacant look that Yohji had noticed in his eyes earlier seemed to have intensified, and the redhead stared absently at the ground near his feet.
"Hey," Yohji called. When Aya didn't respond, he gently shook the younger man to draw his attention away from the ground, "You OK? You want to go back inside?"
"Nnh," Aya replied. His words were slurred, and Yohji could tell he was having a hard time putting a sentence together. Finally, Aya weakly waved his hand in front of his face, as if that action would clear the cobwebs from his mind, and said, "Painkillers."
"Oh," Yohji replied.
He finally succeeded in opening the passenger side door, and then helped Aya into the seat. When Aya fumbled unsuccessfully with the seatbelt, Yohji sighed and said, in a tone of mock irritation, "Here, let me do it. We don't have all day." He leaned over and buckled the belt with a click. Before going around to his side of the car, Yohji retrieved his extra coat from the back seat and draped it over his friend. On an impulse, he ruffled Aya's hair and laughed softly when the younger man hissed in irritation and swatted at his hand.
They drove in silence for a while, until Yohji couldn't stand it any longer. Aya was almost eerily still and quiet, and the older man didn't like it. He glanced over to the passenger side of the car. Aya was slumped down in the seat, leaning heavily against the door, and he looked small, vulnerable, and fragile. Yohji felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He knew there was no such thing as a superman, but he had always thought of Aya as the closest thing to it. The redhead seemed like an assassin's assassin --- always cold, always in control, always strong, able to cut a wide, bloody swath through anything and everything his enemies might throw at him, and in possession of an uncanny ability to get in and out of the tightest scrapes. He had seen the swordsman overcome so many obstacles, fight and defeat so many unbeatable enemies, recover from so many injuries, and perform the most impossible tasks in a way that made the extraordinary seem mundane so many times that he had, without even realizing it, come to think of Aya as something greater than human. He couldn't stand seeing the redhead like this. Yohji suddenly decided that he needed to hear Aya's voice, just so that he would know the other man was all right.
"Hey," he called, "So, how many stitches you get, anyhow?"
Aya didn't reply for a long time, and Yohji had just started to think that the younger man had drifted off to sleep when he heard the swordsman say, in a soft, weak, slightly slurred voice, "Dunno. A lot, I guess. Stopped counting at, like, ninety."
Yohji whistled softly. He hadn't guessed that Aya's injuries were that bad. "Well," he said, taking his eyes from the rain-slick road long enough to look over at his companion, "Guess you're gonna have a whole lot of new scars, huh?"
Aya opened one eye into a little slit to glance over at Yohji. "You sound jealous," he commented.
Yohji shrugged. "Chicks dig scars," he said, smiling.
Aya laughed and mumbled, "Lucky me. If I live through Weiss, I'll get all the women I want."
After driving in silence for a few more minutes, Yohji took a deep breath as he worked up the courage to ask, "Aya? You told the doctor I was your brother. Why?"
He didn't really expect an answer. Aya never was one to admit to his feelings, let alone discuss them openly with another person. Most of the time, they were lucky if Aya even spoke to them or gave them more than one-word answers to their questions. He could remember lots of times when Aya went for days without speaking to anyone. Consequently, he was surprised to hear his friend reply, "I … don't know. It … it just … sort of … slipped out."
"Do you think of me that way?" Yohji persisted.
Aya paused for a long time before hesitantly saying, "Maybe … well, yeah, I guess … I mean, sort of." He sighed in frustration as he groped through his drug-fuzzed brain to find the words he needed to express himself. Finally, he continued, "I … never had … a brother. It was always just me … and Aya. After she got hurt … well, then, it was just me. But, I guess … if I ever did have … a brother, it'd be good … I mean … it'd be OK … you know, if he was like you. If … if it's not OK … with you, though, I …"
"No," Yohji said, cutting Aya off.
He glanced over at his friend. Aya's eyes were closed, but the blonde could see the blush discoloring the redhead's face. He knew how hard it had been for Aya to say those things. Yohji didn't know why, but it meant a lot to him. During the time he had spent watching over Aya after that last mission, he had realized that, somewhere along the line during their association, he had come to think of the redhead as a little brother, but he hadn't known that Aya felt the same way.
"No," he repeated, "It's OK. I guess you're pretty much like the dysfunctional, homicidal, delinquent little brother that I never had, so it's OK with me."
He glanced over at his friend again, and was glad to see a ghost of a smile playing across Aya's lips. Yohji turned his attention back to the road in front of them, and drove in silence for a while before asking, "Aya, how did Schuldich get in?"
When he didn't receive any response, Yohji looked over toward the passenger side of the car to discover that Aya had fallen asleep. He'd just have to wait until the redhead woke up to get the answers he needed.
*******************************************************
Yohji remained lost in his own thoughts for the rest of the ride home, which made the trip seem a lot longer than it was. The blonde mulled over how Schuldich could have gotten into the shop. No matter how many times he thought it through, he continued to come to the same inescapable, yet unhappy, conclusion. When he had gone downstairs in response to Bubba's barking, the shop had been dark, as if it was closed. If the store had been open and he had walked through the front door like a normal customer, Schuldich would never have been able to get the drop on Aya like he had, even if the redhead wasn't operating up to his normal standards. The only conclusion he could reach about the German's presence was that he had to have either been there waiting when Aya returned from picking Omi up, or he must have come in through the back door leading into the apartment over the store. Yohji had called Omi from the emergency room to ask if it looked like the security system had been tampered with, and the boy had responded that there were no signs Schuldich had broken in. That could only mean that the German had either acquired the security code, which only the four of them and Hank knew, or someone had let him into the shop. Not even Manx, Persia, or anyone else in Kritiker knew the security code to the shop and apartment. Aya had always insisted that the four of them needed to be able to feel safe when they were at home, and, because of that, he had refused to give any of the apartment codes to anyone else in the organization. Yohji knew it had been a sore point with Manx and Persia for quite some time, but Aya had refused to give in to their demands.
Yohji glanced uneasily at his sleeping friend, as he thought, 'Son of a bitch. It has to be Hank. He must have given Schuldich the code, or let him into the shop. But why? Is he Schwartz?'
If Hank was a spy, he had to admit that Schwartz had done a damn good job placing the man with them. It seemed to him that it had taken forever for the rest of the team to get Aya to accept and trust them. It was really only within the last couple of months that the quiet redhead had really started to open up to them, even though they lived together, worked together, and killed together. They all knew that Aya trusted them with his life; otherwise, Weiss wouldn't be the successful team that it was. Despite that, the redhead never seemed to trust them on a personal level - with his friendship or feelings. Aya didn't trust anyone with those things; he held them close and guarded them savagely. From the beginning, though, things had been different with Hank. Aya had seemed to trust the man implicitly, practically from their first meeting. Not only had the redhead openly accepted Hank and invited him into their lives, but he had, almost immediately, formed an easy friendship with the man. Perhaps the most obvious sign of that was that Aya had even allowed Hank to call him by his real name, a privilege that hadn't yet been given to any of his teammates. A privilege, which Yohji would have to admit, if he thought about it, still stung.
Yohji stared at his hands, which were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his fingers were beginning to ache. At the next stop light, he took advantage of the little break to pry his fingers from around the wheel and shake some feeling back into them. The thought that Hank could be Schwartz scared the shit out of the tall blonde. The man had become like a member of their family so quickly and easily. If he was a spy, Schwartz was so far ahead of the game in intelligence gathering that the four of them might as well pack it in now, because it would only be a matter of time before the black assassins were dancing on all their graves. No, no matter how many ways he looked at it, he just couldn't imagine that Hank was Schwartz. They were all better judges of character than that, and they had all followed Aya's lead and openly trusted the man. More importantly, Aya trusted Hank. Even if the rest of the team had been wrong about the man, Aya was the most infallible judge of character that Yohji knew. The redhead was never wrong about people.
By the time he pulled into the parking area in the alley behind the flower shop, Yohji had convinced himself that Hank was definitely not a Schwartz spy. But, the alternative --- that Aya had finally rediscovered his humanity only to be betrayed --- was even worse. As Yohji turned off the car and glanced over at the sleeping redhead, he could barely contain the feeling of protective anger that washed over him.
'I hope I'm wrong,' Yohji thought as he debated over whether or not he should try to wake up Aya.
Even as the thought slid out of his mind, he knew he wasn't wrong about Hank. He knew, with that unerring, fatalistic certainty he'd always had in such situations, that Hank had been the one who had given Schuldich entry into their home. Finally, Yohji decided that it'd be pointless to try to wake Aya, and, as he went around to the passenger side to haul the redhead out of the car, he thought, 'I just hope he has a damn good reason for what he did, so I don't have to kill him for it.'
"Hey!" Omi called. He waited while Yohji carried Aya up the flight of outside stairs that would allow them entry into the kitchen, and held the door open, moving aside slightly so that Yohji could shoulder his way in without bumping Aya's body on the doorjamb. "How is he?" the boy asked, peering around Yohji's shoulder to glance at their unconscious teammate.
"Damn heavy," Yohji answered. "If I have to keep hauling his drugged-out ass around, I'm putting him on a diet!"
He moved past Omi to head toward the stairs leading up to their bedrooms. He had to walk sideways to avoid banging Aya's head and feet on the walls, and, by the time he had reached their rooms at the top of the stairs, he was huffing, out of breath, and actually considering quitting smoking, although he quickly dismissed that thought as nothing more than a foolish notion. Omi, who had trailed behind them, moved around him to open the door to Aya's room, but Yohji shook his head and nodded toward his own room, a little farther down the hall.
"No way. We're putting him in my room. If I have to sit up all night and watch his sorry ass sleep, I should at least have a comfortable chair," Yohji growled as he entered his room and tossed Aya gently onto the bed.
While Yohji busied himself with pulling off Aya's boots and settling the redhead comfortably on the bed, Omi darted out of the room. The boy returned a few moments later with the soft, down comforter from Aya's room. He smiled and stifled a sneeze as he handed it to Yohji, who tucked it around Aya's still form. With that task done, the blonde turned and regarded the youngest Weiss assassin with a coldly appraising eye.
"You look like shit, Omi," Yohji said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Omi started to laugh in response to Yohji's statement, but he ended up doubling over and grabbing his ribs when the laugh dissolved into a choking, hacking cough. The boy sniffled miserably and wiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. Yohji couldn't help noticing, for the second time that day, that the kid looked like something the proverbial cat had dragged in --- or, maybe, like something Bubba had spent an entire afternoon playing with. The younger blonde was shaking, pale, and sweating, and Yohji could tell he was still running a fever. Still, the kid managed to smile at the up-raised eyebrow and skeptical look Yohji gave him.
"Yeah," Omi replied, once again wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He sat down on the floor, leaning back against the bed, and asked, in a serious voice, "Any ideas how Schuldich got in? I don't think the security system was breached. Maybe he walked in off the street --- you know, like a "normal" customer?"
Yohji pulled his overstuffed armchair next to the bed and sank into it. He sighed and rubbed his temples as he replied, "No. I don't think so. He managed to get the jump on Aya. That's not easy to do. Was the store open when you got home?"
Omi thought for a moment, and then slowly shook his head as he said, "No … I'm sure it wasn't. I was pretty out of it, but I'm positive Aya said he'd closed up for the day. He hasn't been feeling all that great … you know, since that last mission. Earlier this morning, he said he was going to work the shop today with Hank, so that you and Ken could sleep in, but I think he'd changed his mind."
Yohji leaned forward, elbows on knees, to rest his chin in the palms of his hands. He never took his eyes off the bed as he spoke, but Omi could hear the cold, hard edge to his voice. "Was … Hank … anyone here when you got back?"
Omi pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, muffling his voice when he replied, "No … I … I don't think so. No, I'm sure … I'm sure there wasn't anyone here. The apartment and shop were both dark. I went upstairs right away. I thought Aya was coming up right behind me, but … he told me … to go upstairs, that he … heard a noise, and …" Omi's voice faltered and fell silent as he realized what had happened. He looked up at Yohji with wide, suddenly serious eyes, "Oh … he was …Schuldich was…"
"Yeah," Yohji said, cutting Omi's statement off before the boy could finish. "I think he was already here, waiting for Aya, and I think Aya knew. But, he didn't want to get you … or any of us … involved."
"But, then … that means … he had to have gotten the security code somehow, or someone let him in, right?"
Yohji nodded. "I think I know what happened, but I don't like it. I don't like what I'm thinking, and I don't want to jump to any conclusions until Aya is awake enough to tell us what happened. My guess is that he has a pretty good idea how Schuldich got inside without getting eaten by that damn dog."
"That's right!" Omi exclaimed. "Bubba … was up here. I found him locked inside Aya's room when I got up here. I heard him growling and scratching at the door, so I let him out, but then I just went right to bed. But, the only way Bubba could have gotten locked in up here, without Aya doing it is if…"
Yohji waved his hand through the air in front of his face, bringing Omi's statement to a stop. "Just leave it, Omi. For now." He stood up and scratched his head. "Look, you already re-set the security code, right? So, you should just go back to bed. You're already sick."
"I'm fine," Omi replied, shaking his head. Yohji might have believed him, if the boy's words hadn't been drowned out by a coughing fit. Once he had managed to regain his breath, he continued, "Someone needs to stay with Aya, and everything downstairs is a mess. I'm going to go down and start cleaning up."
Yohji shook his head. He leaned down and lifted a corner of the down comforter. "At least get in here, then. That way, you'll be in bed, and someone will be with Aya." He glanced down at the unconscious redhead and shook his head, "He's so strung out right now, he'll never know, anyhow. We'll be lucky if he wakes up by this time tomorrow. I'll go down and start cleaning up. Aya'd be furious if I let you clean in your condition."
Omi started to protest, but he suddenly decided that he was just too tired and felt too icky to even argue. Wordlessly, he crawled under the comforter and settled himself gently, back-to-back with redhead. Aya grunted softly, but he scooted over to make more room for the boy.
Yohji smiled and, as he pulled the comforter over his teammates, he asked, "Ken come back yet with that stupid dog?"
Omi shook his head and mumbled, "No. He called earlier and said he was going to get Hank to help him look. He didn't think Bubba would come to him, anyhow."
"All right," Yohji replied. "Get some sleep."