Fic Archive: Betrayal, 5
May. 28th, 2009 01:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchan(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 5
On his way downstairs, Yohji ducked into the bathroom long enough to grab an elastic tie for his hair. When he clicked on the overhead light, he caught a brief glimpse of his own image in the mirror above the sink, and he couldn't help but stop and stare. Yohji had always prided himself on his appearance, and, now, he didn't recognize the man staring back at him. Uncombed, slightly greasy hair, pale, ashy-looking skin, gaunt, sunken-in cheeks, and hollow, exhausted eyes almost made him think that there was a stranger living in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't realized it, but he had pretty much run himself ragged in the past few weeks, keeping Aya under wraps and making sure that Weiss ran on its normal schedule without getting the redhead involved. He hadn't minded; he still didn't mind. All he wanted was to make sure that Aya made a full recovery, but, now that he really stopped to think about it, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this exhausted. He knew that Omi and Ken were both just as tired. Weiss was definitely a four-man team. It wasn't possible to carry out their missions one man short, not considering the kind of assignments Kritiker normally dished out. It was probably why Omi had gotten sick, and it was likely only a matter of time before the same thing happened to Ken, too. Yohji wasn't worried about getting sick himself. As he had told Omi earlier that day, he never caught anything. He liked to attribute it to his superior genetic makeup, but, if the truth was known, it probably really was because of all the cigarettes he smoked and the alcohol he drank on an almost daily basis, just like Omi had said. Yohji ran his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the tiredness and scrunched his mouth up into a frown. He hated it when the kid was right, and Omi was right almost all the time, damn him.
Yohji ran cold water into his hands and splashed it onto his face, almost as if he could wash away the worried, haunted look and dark circles that seemed to have taken up perpetual residence in and around his eyes. He dug through the medicine cabinet until he found a comb, which he held under the running tap for a few seconds before pulling it hurriedly through his hair. With that done, he grabbed the elastic tie that had drawn him into the bathroom in the first place and closed the medicine cabinet with a decisive click. He glanced at his reflection once again, and frowned.
'I still look like walking shit, but I guess it'll have to do,' he thought, as he pulled the hair tie over his wrist and headed downstairs to tackle the cleanup job waiting for him.
Yohji groaned as he descended the last stair to stand in the shop's back room. He had vaguely noticed that the place was a mess when he had dashed through earlier, but, in his haste to reach Aya, he hadn't paid attention to the disarray. Now, he stood in the midst of a room that looked like it had just been through World War III, and he could see that the front room was just as bad. Broken pottery, trampled cut flowers, shredded pot plants, and potting soil virtually covered the floor, spilling into every corner of the room. Plastic pots, vases, bolts of ribbon, florists' picks, wire, and foam, which had, previously, been neatly stacked along the counters lining two walls of the room were scattered across the work surfaces and tumbled onto the floor. One of the counters was completely smashed, and Yohji could see wood splinters and shards on the floor and even embedded in the wall across from it. The tall glass coolers, which stood against the room's other two walls, were broken. Their doors were shattered, and the shelves inside fell out onto the floor. It looked like someone had been thrown into them with violent force. There were even sharp pottery shards, dirt, and other debris stuck into or on the room's walls. Water almost covered the floor, and, in spots, it had mixed with the spilled soil to create mud.
Yohji moved forward to survey the front room, wincing as he stepped into the water and felt the cold liquid seep into his shoe. As he moved across the back room, he could hear and feel glass cracking and shattering under his feet, and, by the time he finally reached the front of the shop, both shoes were waterlogged and making squelchy noises as he walked. Yohji frowned as he thought about how, upon initially descending the stairs, he had congratulated himself on maintaining the presence of mind to pull on shoes, but, now, he thought that he shouldn't have even bothered. At least they protected his feet from the glass. He considered it a minor miracle that he hadn't sliced the bottoms of his feet to ribbons earlier in his mad dash across the debris-littered space.
He stood in the doorway separating the shop's two rooms, and found more of the same in the front of the store. The large window to the right of the front door was shattered. He could see the bit of weak sunlight that managed to penetrate through the rain glinting off of the few shards that remained in the window frame, even though Omi had pulled down the store's metal doors to cover the damage and prevent passers by from looting the already-damaged goods in the shop. There was more water here, more dirt, more mud, more broken pottery and vases --- both covering the floor and even reaching up the walls toward the ceiling. Part of the front counter was smashed, both at the base and at the top, as if a body or some other heavy object had been propelled into it with great force. The cash register was tossed to one side; its drawer was open, and cash spilled out into the water covering the floor. The coolers that lined two walls of this room were also broken. Their doors, which were shattered, hung loosely off broken hinges, and the shelves tumbled out onto the floor, along with their contents.
Yohji whistled softly as he surveyed the damage. He gathered his hair into a loose ponytail and held it in place with one hand, pulling the elastic tie off his wrist and into place on his hair with the other. "Looks like Aya put up one hell of a fight," he muttered softly as he finished tightening the elastic band.
He ducked behind the counter to look for a mop and paused as something caught his eye. He hadn't yet clicked on the lights, and the room was only dimly illuminated by the fading, rainy-gray daylight that seeped in around the metal shutters over the windows and the incandescent light coming from the back room. Even so, he could see something glimmering faintly under the counter. Yohji squatted onto his heels and pulled out a small box, wrapped in plain white paper and topped with a glittery ribbon, which was what had drawn his attention, in the first place. He stood and placed the box onto the counter, where the cash register had once stood, and stared at it. With slightly shaking fingers, he pulled the card out from under the ribbon to see the word "Ken" printed on the envelope in Aya's precise handwriting. Yohji stared at the neatly wrapped package for a few moments. He could tell that the redhead had wrapped it himself. The work was too precise, too neat --- in short, it had "Aya" written all over it. He knew what he would find if he looked in the box. He remembered Aya, several days ago, collecting money from him for the season soccer tickets they had purchased for the ex-goalie's birthday. The redhead had seemed almost excited about the gift. Yohji knew that Aya had really been making an effort, in the past few weeks, to open up to the rest of them. Slowly, he had started to reveal more of his emotions and feelings, making an effort to join in their conversations, to laugh with them, just to be with them, instead of hiding away, alone, in his room. Yohji sighed and leaned forward, resting his head on his crossed arms. The thought that Aya could be betrayed by someone he trusted, just as he was starting to regain some of the humanity he had lost, filled him with frustration and anger.
Yohji jumped as a cold, wet nose bumped his leg. Without raising his head, he peered over the edge of the counter and saw Bubba. The big dog whined and leaned companionably against Yohji, wagging his stubby little tail. The tall blonde reached down and absently scratched behind the dog's ears. He couldn't help but feel a little shocked and surprised when Bubba leaned into his touch and whined, as opposed to the normally snarly, surly treatment he was used to receiving from the dog.
"Wow! Looks like you two finally managed to become friends, huh? So, you been sweet-talking the beast with extra treats when no one's looking, or what?" Ken's voice called as the ex-goalie emerged from the back room.
Yohji knew that the brunette was making an effort to keep his voice and expression cheerful, but that pretense disappeared completely when the ex-goalie got a good look at the worried, haunted expression on the older man's face. Yohji tried to smile when he saw Ken's crestfallen look, but he failed, miserably, and ended up simply shrugging, instead.
"Naw, we're not friends," he replied, still scratching Bubba's ears, "He probably just smells Aya on me, that's all."
Ken chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be like that stupid dog. He has a one track mind, especially when it comes to Aya."
"Hnh," Yohji snorted. "True. But, I think I'm starting to like this damn dog more and more. His one track mind probably saved Aya's life today."
Ken nodded. "Yeah. I think I could appreciate him a lot more if I hadn't just spent almost an entire day chasing him across the whole damn city … in the rain." He looked up to see the question in Yohji's eyes, and said, "We didn't find Schuldich. We finally found Bubba at a playground on the other side of town. From the way he was acting, I guess he lost that fucking German's scent somewhere near there. From the amount of blood I found on his muzzle, though, I think our little Schu-Schu is going to be nursing one hell of an injury for quite some time." Ken paused for a moment, and then asked, in a quiet voice, "Is he all right?"
Yohji leaned back against the counter, resting his weight on his elbows, and watched as Bubba chased a few shards of pottery and floating cut flowers through the water in the back room. Huffing in satisfaction as he finally managed to catch one of the stems in his mouth, Bubba shook his head, sending water droplets flying through the air, and trotted up the stairs toward the guys' living quarters, the flower bobbing up and down with his movements, as he clutched it triumphantly in his mouth, like a trophy. The tall blonde chuckled softly and shook his head. The snarling, enraged beast he'd seen earlier today, bent on nothing more than ruthlessly killing his prey, was nothing like the happy-go-lucky, playful puppy he saw now. He didn't understand how the dog could be one thing at one moment and another, completely opposite thing, just hours later.
Ken gently nudged Yohji with his shoulder, bringing the older man back from his thoughts. Yohji looked at the ex-goalie absently for a moment, and then said, "Uh … yeah. More or less."
"More or less?" Ken asked in a wary tone.
Yohji shrugged. "Ninety stitches … or more … in his back. A concussion, according to the ER chart I glimpsed. And, a lovely set of fingerprint-shaped bruises on his throat," he finally said, clenching his fist tightly and slamming it into the countertop as he pictured his bruised and battered friend.
"Shit," Ken breathed softly. "They keep him at the hospital?"
Yohji laughed at that thought. "They tried. You know Aya and hospitals. He's upstairs, sleeping off the painkillers. I expect, when we look later, we'll find one very wet dog in bed with him … along with Omi." He snickered at the shocked look Ken gave him and shook his head as he said, "Get your mind out of the gutter, you idiot. Geez, when did you turn into such a perv, anyhow? The kid was worried about leaving Aya alone. But, have you seen Omi lately? He looks like walking crap. I think he's got the flu or something. So, I put him to bed, too."
"Just one big happy family, right?" Ken asked, grinning.
"You know it, little brother," Yohji said, laughing. He grabbed Ken in a headlock and rubbed the ex-goalie's hair roughly with his knuckles as Ken struggled to get free. "By the way," Yohji said, finally releasing his prisoner. He pushed the little box toward Ken as he said, "Sorry, but looks like we're going to have to cancel your birthday bash, all things considered. But, here. Happy Birthday."
Ken looked at Yohji for several moments. He thought he had heard something, some hint of emotion --- sadness, maybe, or regret --- in Yohji's voice, but he couldn't read the older man's expression in the quickly darkening room. Shrugging, Ken reached over and flipped on the overhead lights, bathing the room in a sudden flash of illumination, and looked over at the older man. Yohji blinked as his eyes adjusted to the increased light level. Without his almost omnipresent sunglasses, the tall blonde looked tired, haggard, worried, and, suddenly, very old --- much older than his twenty-two years. Ken found himself wondering when Yohji had started to look so worn out, but he knew that they had all been running on the thin side of things for the past few weeks --- ever since Aya had been sick. He had to admit, that, if he looked into a mirror, he'd probably see a similar reflection staring back at him.
"Well?" Yohji asked, jarring Ken back to reality. "You gonna open it or what?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ken grinned, ducking his head to try and hide his embarrassment. "Sorry. I'm just surprised you guys even remembered to get a gift or anything … you know, with how busy we've been lately."
Yohji shrugged. "You can thank Aya," he said. "There are two more under the counter for you. That one's the real gift, from all of us. The others are from him, something he said he owed you." He shrugged again in response to the unasked question in Ken's eyes. "I'm guessing you'll understand when you see them."
Yohji moved away from the counter and started mopping the floor. He pulled a large trashcan into the middle of the room and occasionally knelt down to retrieve broken pottery shards and toss them into it as he mopped. He paused and smiled, laughing softly and shaking his head, as he listened to Ken's shouts and whoops of joy at discovering the soccer tickets.
"OH, MAN! THIS IS … THIS IS SO GREAT!" Ken yelled. The ex-goalie leaped around the counter and ran to the middle of the room, splashing through the water covering the floor and holding out the tickets as if they were a trophy. He jumped up and down, hugging the taller blonde, who had stood as he approached. "NO, REALLY!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA! THESE SEATS … I MEAN, THEY ARE FREAKIN' BAD ASS!" he screamed.
Yohji laughed and, gently but firmly, extricated himself from Ken's grasp. "Great," he said, shoving the ex-goalie's arms away from his neck. "Not that I'm not happy for you or anything, but getting hugged by another man isn't my idea of fun, you know? And, stop jumping around. You're splashing water all over me!"
"Sorry," Ken said. He chuckled in embarrassment and moved over to the counter, carefully placing the tickets on top of it, out of harm's way. Then, he moved over to the doorway separating the two rooms and pulled on his apron, which was still hanging on a nail embedded in the door frame, an odd bit of order in a world lately thrown into complete and utter chaos. Still smiling over the good fortune of his gift, he moved to the middle of the room. He knelt next to Yohji, picking up pieces of broken pottery and depositing them in the trash can as the older man mopped.
They worked in silence until a noise drew Yohji's attention to the back room. He looked up and frowned when he saw Hank cross the threshold separating the two spaces. The new arrival smiled at his friends as he entered the room, seemingly oblivious to the hostile glare he received from the tall blonde.
"Sheeit!" Hank exclaimed, drawling out the short word and whistling softly as he looked at the wrecked room. "What the hell happened in here, anyhow?"
"Uh," Ken replied, groping for words.
"Someone broke in," Yohji cut in.
His voice was hard, drawing Ken's attention toward him, and the ex-goalie was shocked to see Yohji's eyes glittering with rage. He had been watching the tall blonde kill for some time now, but he hadn't ever seen Yohji this angry. He didn't understand why, but he sensed that the blonde's anger was directed toward Hank. He could feel the tension between his older teammate and the dark-haired man who had become their employee and friend. It was almost as if it was a tangible thing that he could reach for and grab out of the air. Ken stood slowly, mentally preparing to either assist Yohji or break up the impending confrontation between the two men, depending on which way things developed in the next few minutes.
"Anything stolen?" Hank asked. He glanced from Yohji's angry glare to Ken's confused stare, unable to quite make the connection between the mess around him and his friends' reactions.
Yohji decided that Hank was playing dumb on purpose. The tall blonde was suddenly unable to contain the fury and rage that had been building in him ever since he had seen Schuldich standing in the shop's front room earlier that day. He had resolved that he wouldn't jump to any snap judgments until Aya was awake enough to tell them what had happened, but, now, looking at this man who had professed to be Aya's friend, Yohji could feel that resolve quickly melting away. When he looked at Hank, all he could see was the panicked, pained look on Aya's face as he fell through the front window, and Schuldich's smug, self-satisfied grin as he threw Aya into the street. With cat-like reflexes honed through years of work as an assassin, Yohji crossed the space separating him from Hank, and, before Ken even had time to react, he had fisted his hands in the dark-haired man's jacket and jerked Hank angrily upward, holding him a few inches off the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" he hissed through clenched teeth. His voice was low and angry, barely audible in the room, and his eyes glittered with a dangerous hatred as he pulled Hank toward him, until the man's face was just inches from his own. He felt a little surge of satisfaction when he saw how the color drained from the dark-haired man's face and how Hank's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed uneasily. "Someone broke in here and attacked Aya," he hissed.
"Yohji! Yohji, stop it!" Ken snapped. He shoved his shoulder between the two men and tried to pry Yohji away from Hank. The ex-goalie looked nervously from the tall blonde to the smaller, dark-haired man who dangled from Yohji's grip. Hank was shaking, the color had completely drained from his face, and he seemed genuinely shocked at what Yohji was saying. "Yohji!" he snapped again, grabbing his teammate's wrist, "Stop it! Let him go! He doesn't know anything." Ken squeezed Yohji's wrist hard enough to make him loosen his grip, and he used his shoulder to shove the tall blonde back a few steps, effectively freeing Hank, who stumbled backward and fell to a sitting position on the wet floor.
Hank stared up at Yohji with wide, scared eyes. Ken was busy shoving the enraged blonde, who was struggling against him, backward, but, when he glanced down to reassure himself that Hank was all right, he thought he saw something else in the Texan's eyes --- maybe sadness, maybe regret. He wasn't sure. He had to quickly turn his attention back to Yohji as the tall blonde almost managed to struggle away from him. Yohji was furious, and he clearly wasn't thinking straight. He jumped against Ken and tried to shove the younger man out of the way as he fought to get free from the ex-goalie's restraining arms. The tall blonde growled in frustration as he reached around Ken in an attempt to once again grab Hank.
"Yohji!" Ken snapped. He finally shoved the taller man roughly backward, causing Yohji to also fall to the floor with a loud splash. "Enough! Settle the fuck down!"
Yohji didn't try to get up. He glared past Ken at Hank, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor. "Get him out of here," he snarled. "Get him the fuck outta my sight before I kill him. I mean it."
"Y … Yohji," Ken stammered. He kept himself carefully positioned between Yohji and Hank, but he looked from one man to the other. "I … I don't understand. He's … he's Aya's friend. I … I wouldn't have been able to find that stupid dog without his help. What … what the hell is going on with you?"
"GET … HIM … OUT … OF … HERE!" Yohji screamed his face now red with unreleased rage.
"You … I think … you'd better leave," Ken stammered. He followed Hank into the back room, to let the dark-haired man out, but he kept his eyes locked on Yohji, as if that alone would keep his older teammate from lunging after Hank.
As they reached the back door, Hank looked up at Ken. "Is … is he … Ran … all right?" he asked.
The ex-goalie turned his attention away from Yohji, and was surprised to see unshed tears brimming in Hank's eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. He's … he's OK. I'm not sure what happened, exactly, but I think he fell through the window. I just can't figure out how it happened, though. It's not easy to get the drop on Aya. I mean, he … looks skinny and wimpy, but he's really not."
"But … but, he's OK?" Hank asked again. He couldn't stop his voice from shaking.
Ken nodded. "A lot of stitches … like ninety or more, a concussion, some bruises. He's upstairs sleeping. He'll be fine, really." He placed a friendly hand on Hank's shoulder. "Hey, there's no need to look so upset. It's not like it's your fault, or anything."
"Where Aya is and how Aya is isn't any of his concern," Yohji's cold, hard voice made Ken jump.
The ex-goalie turned toward the doorway separating the shop's front and back rooms. The tall blonde was standing there, leaning against one side of the doorjamb. His clothing was soaked from his spill in the water, and his hair had come loose during his struggle with Ken. It looked as if he had managed to regain control of his emotions, but Ken could see that Yohji's hands were shaking, and his eyes still glittered with furious, unspent anger.
As he spoke, Yohji removed the elastic tie holding the remaining hair back, and shook out the long, wet strands. "Out of respect … for Aya, I'm letting you leave. Don't come near him again. If you do, I swear, I'll make you beg to die, and I'll enjoy doing it, too." He pulled his hair back into a ponytail, once again securing it with the elastic tie, and turned back to the front room, after giving Hank one last, hateful glare.
Ken watched Yohji retreat and shook his head slowly. "Look," he told Hank, "I … I don't know what his problem is, but I'll straighten it out. I'll … I'll get to the bottom of it. We won't be open for a while, anyhow, with all this damage, so just lay low, OK? Don't worry. I'll fix everything."
As he ducked out of the shop, Hank whispered, "You can't fix this. I'm … I'm sorry, Ken. Will you tell Ran for me? Will you tell him that I'm sorry?"
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 5
On his way downstairs, Yohji ducked into the bathroom long enough to grab an elastic tie for his hair. When he clicked on the overhead light, he caught a brief glimpse of his own image in the mirror above the sink, and he couldn't help but stop and stare. Yohji had always prided himself on his appearance, and, now, he didn't recognize the man staring back at him. Uncombed, slightly greasy hair, pale, ashy-looking skin, gaunt, sunken-in cheeks, and hollow, exhausted eyes almost made him think that there was a stranger living in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't realized it, but he had pretty much run himself ragged in the past few weeks, keeping Aya under wraps and making sure that Weiss ran on its normal schedule without getting the redhead involved. He hadn't minded; he still didn't mind. All he wanted was to make sure that Aya made a full recovery, but, now that he really stopped to think about it, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this exhausted. He knew that Omi and Ken were both just as tired. Weiss was definitely a four-man team. It wasn't possible to carry out their missions one man short, not considering the kind of assignments Kritiker normally dished out. It was probably why Omi had gotten sick, and it was likely only a matter of time before the same thing happened to Ken, too. Yohji wasn't worried about getting sick himself. As he had told Omi earlier that day, he never caught anything. He liked to attribute it to his superior genetic makeup, but, if the truth was known, it probably really was because of all the cigarettes he smoked and the alcohol he drank on an almost daily basis, just like Omi had said. Yohji ran his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the tiredness and scrunched his mouth up into a frown. He hated it when the kid was right, and Omi was right almost all the time, damn him.
Yohji ran cold water into his hands and splashed it onto his face, almost as if he could wash away the worried, haunted look and dark circles that seemed to have taken up perpetual residence in and around his eyes. He dug through the medicine cabinet until he found a comb, which he held under the running tap for a few seconds before pulling it hurriedly through his hair. With that done, he grabbed the elastic tie that had drawn him into the bathroom in the first place and closed the medicine cabinet with a decisive click. He glanced at his reflection once again, and frowned.
'I still look like walking shit, but I guess it'll have to do,' he thought, as he pulled the hair tie over his wrist and headed downstairs to tackle the cleanup job waiting for him.
Yohji groaned as he descended the last stair to stand in the shop's back room. He had vaguely noticed that the place was a mess when he had dashed through earlier, but, in his haste to reach Aya, he hadn't paid attention to the disarray. Now, he stood in the midst of a room that looked like it had just been through World War III, and he could see that the front room was just as bad. Broken pottery, trampled cut flowers, shredded pot plants, and potting soil virtually covered the floor, spilling into every corner of the room. Plastic pots, vases, bolts of ribbon, florists' picks, wire, and foam, which had, previously, been neatly stacked along the counters lining two walls of the room were scattered across the work surfaces and tumbled onto the floor. One of the counters was completely smashed, and Yohji could see wood splinters and shards on the floor and even embedded in the wall across from it. The tall glass coolers, which stood against the room's other two walls, were broken. Their doors were shattered, and the shelves inside fell out onto the floor. It looked like someone had been thrown into them with violent force. There were even sharp pottery shards, dirt, and other debris stuck into or on the room's walls. Water almost covered the floor, and, in spots, it had mixed with the spilled soil to create mud.
Yohji moved forward to survey the front room, wincing as he stepped into the water and felt the cold liquid seep into his shoe. As he moved across the back room, he could hear and feel glass cracking and shattering under his feet, and, by the time he finally reached the front of the shop, both shoes were waterlogged and making squelchy noises as he walked. Yohji frowned as he thought about how, upon initially descending the stairs, he had congratulated himself on maintaining the presence of mind to pull on shoes, but, now, he thought that he shouldn't have even bothered. At least they protected his feet from the glass. He considered it a minor miracle that he hadn't sliced the bottoms of his feet to ribbons earlier in his mad dash across the debris-littered space.
He stood in the doorway separating the shop's two rooms, and found more of the same in the front of the store. The large window to the right of the front door was shattered. He could see the bit of weak sunlight that managed to penetrate through the rain glinting off of the few shards that remained in the window frame, even though Omi had pulled down the store's metal doors to cover the damage and prevent passers by from looting the already-damaged goods in the shop. There was more water here, more dirt, more mud, more broken pottery and vases --- both covering the floor and even reaching up the walls toward the ceiling. Part of the front counter was smashed, both at the base and at the top, as if a body or some other heavy object had been propelled into it with great force. The cash register was tossed to one side; its drawer was open, and cash spilled out into the water covering the floor. The coolers that lined two walls of this room were also broken. Their doors, which were shattered, hung loosely off broken hinges, and the shelves tumbled out onto the floor, along with their contents.
Yohji whistled softly as he surveyed the damage. He gathered his hair into a loose ponytail and held it in place with one hand, pulling the elastic tie off his wrist and into place on his hair with the other. "Looks like Aya put up one hell of a fight," he muttered softly as he finished tightening the elastic band.
He ducked behind the counter to look for a mop and paused as something caught his eye. He hadn't yet clicked on the lights, and the room was only dimly illuminated by the fading, rainy-gray daylight that seeped in around the metal shutters over the windows and the incandescent light coming from the back room. Even so, he could see something glimmering faintly under the counter. Yohji squatted onto his heels and pulled out a small box, wrapped in plain white paper and topped with a glittery ribbon, which was what had drawn his attention, in the first place. He stood and placed the box onto the counter, where the cash register had once stood, and stared at it. With slightly shaking fingers, he pulled the card out from under the ribbon to see the word "Ken" printed on the envelope in Aya's precise handwriting. Yohji stared at the neatly wrapped package for a few moments. He could tell that the redhead had wrapped it himself. The work was too precise, too neat --- in short, it had "Aya" written all over it. He knew what he would find if he looked in the box. He remembered Aya, several days ago, collecting money from him for the season soccer tickets they had purchased for the ex-goalie's birthday. The redhead had seemed almost excited about the gift. Yohji knew that Aya had really been making an effort, in the past few weeks, to open up to the rest of them. Slowly, he had started to reveal more of his emotions and feelings, making an effort to join in their conversations, to laugh with them, just to be with them, instead of hiding away, alone, in his room. Yohji sighed and leaned forward, resting his head on his crossed arms. The thought that Aya could be betrayed by someone he trusted, just as he was starting to regain some of the humanity he had lost, filled him with frustration and anger.
Yohji jumped as a cold, wet nose bumped his leg. Without raising his head, he peered over the edge of the counter and saw Bubba. The big dog whined and leaned companionably against Yohji, wagging his stubby little tail. The tall blonde reached down and absently scratched behind the dog's ears. He couldn't help but feel a little shocked and surprised when Bubba leaned into his touch and whined, as opposed to the normally snarly, surly treatment he was used to receiving from the dog.
"Wow! Looks like you two finally managed to become friends, huh? So, you been sweet-talking the beast with extra treats when no one's looking, or what?" Ken's voice called as the ex-goalie emerged from the back room.
Yohji knew that the brunette was making an effort to keep his voice and expression cheerful, but that pretense disappeared completely when the ex-goalie got a good look at the worried, haunted expression on the older man's face. Yohji tried to smile when he saw Ken's crestfallen look, but he failed, miserably, and ended up simply shrugging, instead.
"Naw, we're not friends," he replied, still scratching Bubba's ears, "He probably just smells Aya on me, that's all."
Ken chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be like that stupid dog. He has a one track mind, especially when it comes to Aya."
"Hnh," Yohji snorted. "True. But, I think I'm starting to like this damn dog more and more. His one track mind probably saved Aya's life today."
Ken nodded. "Yeah. I think I could appreciate him a lot more if I hadn't just spent almost an entire day chasing him across the whole damn city … in the rain." He looked up to see the question in Yohji's eyes, and said, "We didn't find Schuldich. We finally found Bubba at a playground on the other side of town. From the way he was acting, I guess he lost that fucking German's scent somewhere near there. From the amount of blood I found on his muzzle, though, I think our little Schu-Schu is going to be nursing one hell of an injury for quite some time." Ken paused for a moment, and then asked, in a quiet voice, "Is he all right?"
Yohji leaned back against the counter, resting his weight on his elbows, and watched as Bubba chased a few shards of pottery and floating cut flowers through the water in the back room. Huffing in satisfaction as he finally managed to catch one of the stems in his mouth, Bubba shook his head, sending water droplets flying through the air, and trotted up the stairs toward the guys' living quarters, the flower bobbing up and down with his movements, as he clutched it triumphantly in his mouth, like a trophy. The tall blonde chuckled softly and shook his head. The snarling, enraged beast he'd seen earlier today, bent on nothing more than ruthlessly killing his prey, was nothing like the happy-go-lucky, playful puppy he saw now. He didn't understand how the dog could be one thing at one moment and another, completely opposite thing, just hours later.
Ken gently nudged Yohji with his shoulder, bringing the older man back from his thoughts. Yohji looked at the ex-goalie absently for a moment, and then said, "Uh … yeah. More or less."
"More or less?" Ken asked in a wary tone.
Yohji shrugged. "Ninety stitches … or more … in his back. A concussion, according to the ER chart I glimpsed. And, a lovely set of fingerprint-shaped bruises on his throat," he finally said, clenching his fist tightly and slamming it into the countertop as he pictured his bruised and battered friend.
"Shit," Ken breathed softly. "They keep him at the hospital?"
Yohji laughed at that thought. "They tried. You know Aya and hospitals. He's upstairs, sleeping off the painkillers. I expect, when we look later, we'll find one very wet dog in bed with him … along with Omi." He snickered at the shocked look Ken gave him and shook his head as he said, "Get your mind out of the gutter, you idiot. Geez, when did you turn into such a perv, anyhow? The kid was worried about leaving Aya alone. But, have you seen Omi lately? He looks like walking crap. I think he's got the flu or something. So, I put him to bed, too."
"Just one big happy family, right?" Ken asked, grinning.
"You know it, little brother," Yohji said, laughing. He grabbed Ken in a headlock and rubbed the ex-goalie's hair roughly with his knuckles as Ken struggled to get free. "By the way," Yohji said, finally releasing his prisoner. He pushed the little box toward Ken as he said, "Sorry, but looks like we're going to have to cancel your birthday bash, all things considered. But, here. Happy Birthday."
Ken looked at Yohji for several moments. He thought he had heard something, some hint of emotion --- sadness, maybe, or regret --- in Yohji's voice, but he couldn't read the older man's expression in the quickly darkening room. Shrugging, Ken reached over and flipped on the overhead lights, bathing the room in a sudden flash of illumination, and looked over at the older man. Yohji blinked as his eyes adjusted to the increased light level. Without his almost omnipresent sunglasses, the tall blonde looked tired, haggard, worried, and, suddenly, very old --- much older than his twenty-two years. Ken found himself wondering when Yohji had started to look so worn out, but he knew that they had all been running on the thin side of things for the past few weeks --- ever since Aya had been sick. He had to admit, that, if he looked into a mirror, he'd probably see a similar reflection staring back at him.
"Well?" Yohji asked, jarring Ken back to reality. "You gonna open it or what?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ken grinned, ducking his head to try and hide his embarrassment. "Sorry. I'm just surprised you guys even remembered to get a gift or anything … you know, with how busy we've been lately."
Yohji shrugged. "You can thank Aya," he said. "There are two more under the counter for you. That one's the real gift, from all of us. The others are from him, something he said he owed you." He shrugged again in response to the unasked question in Ken's eyes. "I'm guessing you'll understand when you see them."
Yohji moved away from the counter and started mopping the floor. He pulled a large trashcan into the middle of the room and occasionally knelt down to retrieve broken pottery shards and toss them into it as he mopped. He paused and smiled, laughing softly and shaking his head, as he listened to Ken's shouts and whoops of joy at discovering the soccer tickets.
"OH, MAN! THIS IS … THIS IS SO GREAT!" Ken yelled. The ex-goalie leaped around the counter and ran to the middle of the room, splashing through the water covering the floor and holding out the tickets as if they were a trophy. He jumped up and down, hugging the taller blonde, who had stood as he approached. "NO, REALLY!! YOU HAVE NO IDEA! THESE SEATS … I MEAN, THEY ARE FREAKIN' BAD ASS!" he screamed.
Yohji laughed and, gently but firmly, extricated himself from Ken's grasp. "Great," he said, shoving the ex-goalie's arms away from his neck. "Not that I'm not happy for you or anything, but getting hugged by another man isn't my idea of fun, you know? And, stop jumping around. You're splashing water all over me!"
"Sorry," Ken said. He chuckled in embarrassment and moved over to the counter, carefully placing the tickets on top of it, out of harm's way. Then, he moved over to the doorway separating the two rooms and pulled on his apron, which was still hanging on a nail embedded in the door frame, an odd bit of order in a world lately thrown into complete and utter chaos. Still smiling over the good fortune of his gift, he moved to the middle of the room. He knelt next to Yohji, picking up pieces of broken pottery and depositing them in the trash can as the older man mopped.
They worked in silence until a noise drew Yohji's attention to the back room. He looked up and frowned when he saw Hank cross the threshold separating the two spaces. The new arrival smiled at his friends as he entered the room, seemingly oblivious to the hostile glare he received from the tall blonde.
"Sheeit!" Hank exclaimed, drawling out the short word and whistling softly as he looked at the wrecked room. "What the hell happened in here, anyhow?"
"Uh," Ken replied, groping for words.
"Someone broke in," Yohji cut in.
His voice was hard, drawing Ken's attention toward him, and the ex-goalie was shocked to see Yohji's eyes glittering with rage. He had been watching the tall blonde kill for some time now, but he hadn't ever seen Yohji this angry. He didn't understand why, but he sensed that the blonde's anger was directed toward Hank. He could feel the tension between his older teammate and the dark-haired man who had become their employee and friend. It was almost as if it was a tangible thing that he could reach for and grab out of the air. Ken stood slowly, mentally preparing to either assist Yohji or break up the impending confrontation between the two men, depending on which way things developed in the next few minutes.
"Anything stolen?" Hank asked. He glanced from Yohji's angry glare to Ken's confused stare, unable to quite make the connection between the mess around him and his friends' reactions.
Yohji decided that Hank was playing dumb on purpose. The tall blonde was suddenly unable to contain the fury and rage that had been building in him ever since he had seen Schuldich standing in the shop's front room earlier that day. He had resolved that he wouldn't jump to any snap judgments until Aya was awake enough to tell them what had happened, but, now, looking at this man who had professed to be Aya's friend, Yohji could feel that resolve quickly melting away. When he looked at Hank, all he could see was the panicked, pained look on Aya's face as he fell through the front window, and Schuldich's smug, self-satisfied grin as he threw Aya into the street. With cat-like reflexes honed through years of work as an assassin, Yohji crossed the space separating him from Hank, and, before Ken even had time to react, he had fisted his hands in the dark-haired man's jacket and jerked Hank angrily upward, holding him a few inches off the floor.
"You son of a bitch!" he hissed through clenched teeth. His voice was low and angry, barely audible in the room, and his eyes glittered with a dangerous hatred as he pulled Hank toward him, until the man's face was just inches from his own. He felt a little surge of satisfaction when he saw how the color drained from the dark-haired man's face and how Hank's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed uneasily. "Someone broke in here and attacked Aya," he hissed.
"Yohji! Yohji, stop it!" Ken snapped. He shoved his shoulder between the two men and tried to pry Yohji away from Hank. The ex-goalie looked nervously from the tall blonde to the smaller, dark-haired man who dangled from Yohji's grip. Hank was shaking, the color had completely drained from his face, and he seemed genuinely shocked at what Yohji was saying. "Yohji!" he snapped again, grabbing his teammate's wrist, "Stop it! Let him go! He doesn't know anything." Ken squeezed Yohji's wrist hard enough to make him loosen his grip, and he used his shoulder to shove the tall blonde back a few steps, effectively freeing Hank, who stumbled backward and fell to a sitting position on the wet floor.
Hank stared up at Yohji with wide, scared eyes. Ken was busy shoving the enraged blonde, who was struggling against him, backward, but, when he glanced down to reassure himself that Hank was all right, he thought he saw something else in the Texan's eyes --- maybe sadness, maybe regret. He wasn't sure. He had to quickly turn his attention back to Yohji as the tall blonde almost managed to struggle away from him. Yohji was furious, and he clearly wasn't thinking straight. He jumped against Ken and tried to shove the younger man out of the way as he fought to get free from the ex-goalie's restraining arms. The tall blonde growled in frustration as he reached around Ken in an attempt to once again grab Hank.
"Yohji!" Ken snapped. He finally shoved the taller man roughly backward, causing Yohji to also fall to the floor with a loud splash. "Enough! Settle the fuck down!"
Yohji didn't try to get up. He glared past Ken at Hank, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor. "Get him out of here," he snarled. "Get him the fuck outta my sight before I kill him. I mean it."
"Y … Yohji," Ken stammered. He kept himself carefully positioned between Yohji and Hank, but he looked from one man to the other. "I … I don't understand. He's … he's Aya's friend. I … I wouldn't have been able to find that stupid dog without his help. What … what the hell is going on with you?"
"GET … HIM … OUT … OF … HERE!" Yohji screamed his face now red with unreleased rage.
"You … I think … you'd better leave," Ken stammered. He followed Hank into the back room, to let the dark-haired man out, but he kept his eyes locked on Yohji, as if that alone would keep his older teammate from lunging after Hank.
As they reached the back door, Hank looked up at Ken. "Is … is he … Ran … all right?" he asked.
The ex-goalie turned his attention away from Yohji, and was surprised to see unshed tears brimming in Hank's eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. He's … he's OK. I'm not sure what happened, exactly, but I think he fell through the window. I just can't figure out how it happened, though. It's not easy to get the drop on Aya. I mean, he … looks skinny and wimpy, but he's really not."
"But … but, he's OK?" Hank asked again. He couldn't stop his voice from shaking.
Ken nodded. "A lot of stitches … like ninety or more, a concussion, some bruises. He's upstairs sleeping. He'll be fine, really." He placed a friendly hand on Hank's shoulder. "Hey, there's no need to look so upset. It's not like it's your fault, or anything."
"Where Aya is and how Aya is isn't any of his concern," Yohji's cold, hard voice made Ken jump.
The ex-goalie turned toward the doorway separating the shop's front and back rooms. The tall blonde was standing there, leaning against one side of the doorjamb. His clothing was soaked from his spill in the water, and his hair had come loose during his struggle with Ken. It looked as if he had managed to regain control of his emotions, but Ken could see that Yohji's hands were shaking, and his eyes still glittered with furious, unspent anger.
As he spoke, Yohji removed the elastic tie holding the remaining hair back, and shook out the long, wet strands. "Out of respect … for Aya, I'm letting you leave. Don't come near him again. If you do, I swear, I'll make you beg to die, and I'll enjoy doing it, too." He pulled his hair back into a ponytail, once again securing it with the elastic tie, and turned back to the front room, after giving Hank one last, hateful glare.
Ken watched Yohji retreat and shook his head slowly. "Look," he told Hank, "I … I don't know what his problem is, but I'll straighten it out. I'll … I'll get to the bottom of it. We won't be open for a while, anyhow, with all this damage, so just lay low, OK? Don't worry. I'll fix everything."
As he ducked out of the shop, Hank whispered, "You can't fix this. I'm … I'm sorry, Ken. Will you tell Ran for me? Will you tell him that I'm sorry?"