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Entry tags:
Fic Archive: Betrayal, 7
(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 7
The sunlight slanting through the window over Yohji's bed finally worked its way into Aya's subconscious and slowly pulled him into the waking world. He groaned and wriggled out from under Bubba's weight enough to roll over onto his back, wincing and hissing sharply in pain as he felt his stitches tug and pull. He threw one arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sun. He left enough space so that he could slightly see around his arm, and, as he stared at the long crack running across the ceiling directly above Yohji's bed, he struggled to gather his muddy thoughts.
The last thing he could remember with any clarity was coming back to the shop after picking Omi up at school, and feeling uneasy when Bubba failed to meet them at the kitchen door. He had been exhausted; all he had wanted to do upon coming home was curl up in bed and sleep. He remembered hearing a noise from somewhere in the shop. He had told Omi to go upstairs; that he would check it out, but, after that, everything was pretty much a blank. Well, not a total blank. He caught flashes of memory here and there --- shattering glass, breaking wood, a feeling of falling, and crazy laughter.
'Crazy laughter?' Aya thought. 'Laughing, as if someone was having the time of their life … laughing … at … me …'
Suddenly, the floodgates of his mind seemed to open, and he remembered everything. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his chest in a panic, and immediately regretted the sudden movement as his tortured body screamed out in protest against this new abuse. He fell back heavily against the soft mattress and struggled to bring his heartbeat and breathing under control.
He could see it all in his mind now. The noise had drawn his attention to the store's back room. Something about it just hadn't seemed right, probably because of the dog's absence. When he didn't take Bubba out with him, the big dog was always waiting at the kitchen door when he returned home. This time, though, the dog was absent, and Aya hadn't heard him moving around in the shop or apartment upstairs. He had felt uneasy and panicked, and he remembered thinking that he couldn't involve Omi, considering how sick the boy was. He had told Omi it was nothing, that the dog had probably knocked over a display, and, after the kid had retreated to what he hoped was the relative safety of the upstairs rooms, he had moved, with all the practiced ease and stealth learned during his years as an assassin, to investigate the suspicious noise.
Aya had known that he wasn't quite up to his usual fighting strength, but, even at half strength or less, he was more than a match for just about anyone. Still, Schuldich had managed to completely get the drop on him. The German had been waiting for him when he entered the shop's darkened back room, and had immediately attacked him. He had let his guard down, started to think of the shop as "home", and, consequently, had slowly allowed himself to relax. He mentally kicked himself for that lapse now. It could have gotten his entire team killed, and it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security by thinking of the shop and their apartment as safe havens.
Shock and surprise at seeing this most despised enemy in his own personal sanctuary had caused Aya to freeze for the smallest fraction of time, which had been all Schuldich had needed to gain an advantage in the ensuing fight. Aya had immediately been forced to go on the defensive. He had had enough experience fighting Schuldich --- all of Schwartz, really --- to know that you only came out on top in that kind of confrontation by quickly taking the offensive. The assassins in Schwartz were particularly brutal, and the only way to fight them and live to tell about it was to attack --- brutally, mercilessly, and frequently. His split-second pause had caused him to lose that slim thread of advantage, which had probably been what the German was banking on when he had set up the ambush in the flower shop.
Aya remembered being terrified that Schuldich had harmed Yohji and Ken, and that, if he was unable to hold the German off, he would go after Omi, too. But, as they fought, Schuldich, ever the mastermind telepath, had broken into his thoughts, whispering soothingly that he didn't have to worry; he was the only worthwhile plaything in Weiss. Aya shivered involuntarily as he remembered how the German's voice had sounded in his head --- sing-song, silky-smooth, and disgustingly sweet. It had been as if Schuldich had expected him to be pleased at all of the attention he was getting from Schwartz, and, in particular, from him. It still gave Aya the creeps, and he shivered again, pulling the comforter tighter around his body and snuggling closer to the warm safety offered by Bubba's big bulk, which was right next to him.
The fight with Schuldich was, mostly, one big blur, but he remembered that it had been long, painful, and very, very destructive. He couldn't ever remember fighting so desperately or so hard. He could remember the end, though. He could still feel the German's fingers clenched around his throat, tightening ever so slowly, choking the life out of him as he dangled a few inches off the floor. He vaguely recalled a huge, blurry, black shape crashing into them. Had that been Bubba? Then, he remembered falling in the midst of what seemed like millions of sparkling, glittering shapes. He wasn't sure right now, but he thought the shapes had been shards of glass, from the front window shattering. He remembered how he had felt so oddly detached, as if this was all happening to someone else and he was standing on the sidelines, just watching. As an observer, he remembered thinking how beautiful the sparkly shapes were; the way they glittered and danced in the rain and half-light of the cloudy day had been fascinating.
But, in the midst of all that deadly beautiful sparkle, there had been something else --- Yohji's face. He could still see the terrified, panicked look in the older man's eyes, and, from what had seemed like far away, someone screaming his name. It occurred to him now that the "someone" was probably Yohji. Good old Yohji. Aya couldn't ever remember seeing that expression --- one of sheer terror --- on the tall blonde's face; Yohji always laughed and joked his way through every dire situation they encountered, and, for some time now, he had thought of the oldest Weiss assassin as some kind of crazy, homicidal, invincible badass who wasn't scared of anything. He remembered how he had taken one look at Yohji's expression and thought, 'Shit. I'm going to die.'
After that, he just remembered little snatches --- landing on the cold, wet concrete under what felt like a ton of weight; struggling to breathe; falling again; someone --- probably Yohji --- yanking him back onto the sidewalk; the hustle and bustle of a busy emergency room; the nervous, twitchy doctor who had treated him; and what had seemed at the time to be about a million stitches. One other memory came floating out of the haze toward him --- Yohji pumping him full of painkillers.
A sound brought his attention toward the side of the bed, and, after a few minutes, he managed to focus his fuzzy vision enough to see Yohji sitting in the large, overstuffed armchair that was pulled up next to the bed. The tall blonde was stretched out, his legs extended in front of him until his feet disappeared under the bed, his arms dangling loosely over the sides of the chair, and his head thrown back over the chair's back. He was snoring softly.
Aya's eyes narrowed in irritation as he continued to fight off the fog that seemed intent on engulfing his entire body. "You asshole," he muttered.
He finally managed to push himself into a sitting position, biting off the groan of pain that threatened to escape his lips. The last thing he wanted to do right now was wake up Yohji. If he did, Aya knew he'd end up flat on his back again before he knew what hit him. He knew that the tall blonde wouldn't hesitate to drug him again if he thought he had to. Still, much as he hated to admit it, Yohji had been right; he had needed the rest.
As he slowly swung his feet over the side of the bed and absently watched them dangle in space, Aya wondered how long he had been asleep. The floating, detached feeling and the fact that he was able to move even though his body hurt like hell told him the painkillers were probably still in there, working their magic. Judging from the way he felt, he might have been out for days. His mouth was fuzzy and dry, as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and his vision alternated between tunneling down to a small pin-point and blurring out completely. His head felt like it wasn't even attached to his body; he was having an extremely hard time focusing his thoughts enough to decide on his next course of action, and he had the distinct feeling that, if he tried to move around, his body would probably float away altogether.
He vaguely recalled coming out of his drug-induced haze enough to notice Omi sleeping next to him. He hadn't minded, really; it had reminded him of times when Aya would climb into bed with him to escape a bad dream or the lightening from a storm, which had always terrified her. Feeling the boy's weight against his back, like a warm, little ball, had been comforting --- a reminder that he wasn't alone. It was the same reason he let Bubba sleep with him. He knew the rest of the team had been shocked at that, but Aya was comforted by the animal's big, furry, body. It made him feel safe; it made him feel like he still mattered, like he wasn't alone in the world.
Aya twisted around to look at the other side of the bed. Bubba was still there, nestled into the comforter and snoring softly, but Omi was gone. The boy's absence could indicate that he had been asleep for some time, but that wasn't necessarily the case. It could also mean nothing more than that Omi had woken up after Yohji came into the room, and had decided to return to his own bed.
Sighing in frustration, Aya finally decided to chance standing up. He did it slowly, closing his eyes, holding his breath, and waving his arms slightly for balance as the room seemed to tilt away from him at a crazy angle. After a couple of minutes, though, everything seemed to straighten out, and he discovered he was only slightly dizzy. He felt encouraged enough to try walking, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was able to control his motor skills enough to make it out of the room without falling flat on his face. He moved slowly and stiffly, struggling to hold his upper body as still as possible. The pain in his back had reached a mind-splitting level, hampering his range of motion, but at least he was mobile.
After reaching the hall and traveling the short distance to the bathroom, Aya found that his aching, cramped muscles were starting to warm up and move more easily. He had to be cautious about jarring the wounds on his back, and it was still incredibly painful, but he found he could move a little faster and without so much conscious effort. Unable to stand the cotton-mouth taste any longer, he stopped off in the bathroom long enough to brush his teeth, and then tottered down the stairs toward the flower shop.
He took the stairs slowly, one at a time, sliding his hand along the wall for support as he descended into the shop's back room. He didn't have any idea what time it was, but he had half-way expected to encounter one of his house mates. When he finally reached his destination, he realized he was alone, and he hadn't heard anyone else moving around in the apartment. He hadn't noticed if Ken's and Omi's doors had been closed, but he stared at the shop clock, which had been half-way pulled out of the wall and was hanging from a gaping hole by only a few wires, until the numbers came into focus. If the clock was still keeping time, it was barely eight in the morning, which would explain his housemates' absence, considering that both Ken and Yohji were worn out, and Omi was sick.
Aya crossed the room to stand in the doorway separating it from the front of the shop. He held onto the side of the door jamb for support, and surveyed the damage around him. The wreckage from his fight with Schuldich was still very evident, both in the front room and in the back, and Aya took that to mean he must not have been asleep for very long. Of course, he could be wrong. It could just mean that Yohji and Ken, the only two who were really capable of cleaning up at the moment, had just decided they didn't want to do it; those two always had been the messiest of the four assassins. Leaving them together to clean up a mess like this was almost like asking a robber to guard your safe; it was a pretty sure bet they wouldn't be able to overcome their inherent natures enough to do the "right" thing.
Aya shook his head, and, muttering under his breath about the mess, crossed back to the stairwell leading from their apartment into the back room. He knew he should work on cleaning up, even if he didn't feel like it. This was his mess, his fault, after all. There really wasn't any reason for Yohji or Ken to get stuck doing it. But, first, he had to call Manx. He knew Yohji well enough to conclude the tall blonde had probably decided against involving Manx, Persia, or Kritiker. For one thing, Yohji wouldn't want to tell them about this until he was certain of what had happened; for another thing, the older man's first instinct would have been to protect their team, and, especially, him, from the prying and questioning that Persia and Manx would do on Kritiker's behalf.
Aya wanted to protect the rest of the team, too, which was why he had to be the one to make the call that would inform their handlers of Schuldich's attack. He knew how the German had gained access to the shop so easily. There wasn't any evidence to support it, but he knew; it had to have been Hank. Hank had either given the security code to Schuldich or let him into the shop, and Hank had locked Bubba in his room to keep the dog from attacking the German. There was no other explanation. Other than the four of them and Hank, no one else knew the security codes that allowed access to the back rooms of the shop and the apartment where Weiss lived. Manx and Persia didn't know them; he had insisted upon that, in order to maintain some semblance of privacy in their home. Aya also knew Omi guarded the security codes with his life; the boy wouldn't have ever told them to anyone without okaying it with him first, so Aya knew no one within Kritiker could have gotten them. But, he had told Omi to give them to Hank, so that, as their employee, he could open up the shop if none of them were available to work the early shift. Besides, he had trusted Hank, and the man had gotten into the habit of coming and going as he pleased, almost as if he also lived there.
As much as he wanted to hate Hank for his betrayal, Aya found he just couldn't do it. He was angry. Hank had endangered the others by allowing Schuldich into the shop. He briefly toyed with the idea that Hank had been a Schwartz spy all along, but he quickly dismissed that notion. He just didn't believe it. He knew he was a very good judge of character, and he really thought he would have smelled it if the other man worked for Schwartz. If he hadn't realized it, the others surely would have. They hadn't managed to survive as assassins for this long without honing their instincts and learning to trust their feelings, no matter what. He also knew Hank didn't have any idea that they, four unassuming florists, were really assassins working for a secret organization. He thought the other man suspected they weren't really florists, but he figured Hank believed they were drug dealers or something mundane, like that. Consequently, he thought Hank didn't have a clue as to Schuldich's identity, and didn't know anything about Schwartz and its relationship with Weiss. His gut instinct told him, if the man had known exactly what they were involved in, what they really did for a living, and who Schuldich was, he wouldn't have helped the German, no matter what.
Despite the betrayal, Aya found he still trusted his own instincts and, deep down, he still trusted Hank. He believed Hank wouldn't have betrayed him unless he had a really good reason, and, although he couldn't prove it, he had a strong suspicion as to what the reason was. He remembered Hank coming to him a few days ago with news that his daughter had disappeared. At the Texan's request, he had searched for the little girl until he had completely exhausted all possible leads. He knew Yohji had looked, too, but without any success. It had been as if Hank's daughter had fallen off the face of the earth. When Aya put that information together with Hank's actions, he concluded Schuldich probably had the man's daughter.
Suddenly, another memory floated to the surface of his mind, confirming his suspicions: the German laughing crazily as he showed Aya a picture of Keiko, and Schuldich's smooth, purring voice in his head, telling him they had the girl.
"It's a good reason," Aya muttered as he stared at the muddy floor near his feet. "I just … I just can't hold it against him." He thought about Aya, and muttered, "If it was for her, I'd probably do the same thing. Still, good reason or not, it really doesn't matter now."
Aya sighed and decided he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. He had to call Manx before something happened to take things out of his control. This way, at least he could try to contain the situation; if he was lucky, he could limit the collateral damage to himself. They hadn't ever told Manx about Hank working with them in the shop, and, if Manx didn't know, then, of course, Persia and Kritiker didn't know. Aya knew Manx, for some reason, had a soft spot for Weiss. She viewed them as "her" team, probably because she was their only real contact for missions and information. Because of that, Manx might show compassion and let him live, but she wasn't the only one he had to deal with. Persia and Kritiker had to be involved, too, and they didn't know the meaning of the words "mercy" and "compassion". True, he had long held standing as Persia's "pet assassin", but even that wouldn't protect him now. Persia wouldn't have any choice in the matter; he wouldn't be able to allow such a big security breach to go unpunished. And, when you were part of Kritiker, punishment was always extreme.
Aya spotted a phone cord buried under some mud near his feet. He leaned forward with a groan and pulled it out of the muck, following it until he located the cordless phone base to which it was attached. The base was hidden under a pile of broken pottery and crushed pot plants. He retrieved it and punched the "page" button, praying that the handset batteries weren't dead. If they were, he'd never find the rest of the phone. Luckily, he was rewarded with a soft ringing sound, and he followed it until he finally found the handset inside a cracked vase in one of the coolers. It was soaking wet, but Aya shook it out and clicked at the "talk" button until he finally heard a staticky dial tone.
'I never thought it would all end like this,' he thought as he slowly punched in the number for Manx's cell phone.
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 7
The sunlight slanting through the window over Yohji's bed finally worked its way into Aya's subconscious and slowly pulled him into the waking world. He groaned and wriggled out from under Bubba's weight enough to roll over onto his back, wincing and hissing sharply in pain as he felt his stitches tug and pull. He threw one arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sun. He left enough space so that he could slightly see around his arm, and, as he stared at the long crack running across the ceiling directly above Yohji's bed, he struggled to gather his muddy thoughts.
The last thing he could remember with any clarity was coming back to the shop after picking Omi up at school, and feeling uneasy when Bubba failed to meet them at the kitchen door. He had been exhausted; all he had wanted to do upon coming home was curl up in bed and sleep. He remembered hearing a noise from somewhere in the shop. He had told Omi to go upstairs; that he would check it out, but, after that, everything was pretty much a blank. Well, not a total blank. He caught flashes of memory here and there --- shattering glass, breaking wood, a feeling of falling, and crazy laughter.
'Crazy laughter?' Aya thought. 'Laughing, as if someone was having the time of their life … laughing … at … me …'
Suddenly, the floodgates of his mind seemed to open, and he remembered everything. He bolted upright, his heart hammering against his chest in a panic, and immediately regretted the sudden movement as his tortured body screamed out in protest against this new abuse. He fell back heavily against the soft mattress and struggled to bring his heartbeat and breathing under control.
He could see it all in his mind now. The noise had drawn his attention to the store's back room. Something about it just hadn't seemed right, probably because of the dog's absence. When he didn't take Bubba out with him, the big dog was always waiting at the kitchen door when he returned home. This time, though, the dog was absent, and Aya hadn't heard him moving around in the shop or apartment upstairs. He had felt uneasy and panicked, and he remembered thinking that he couldn't involve Omi, considering how sick the boy was. He had told Omi it was nothing, that the dog had probably knocked over a display, and, after the kid had retreated to what he hoped was the relative safety of the upstairs rooms, he had moved, with all the practiced ease and stealth learned during his years as an assassin, to investigate the suspicious noise.
Aya had known that he wasn't quite up to his usual fighting strength, but, even at half strength or less, he was more than a match for just about anyone. Still, Schuldich had managed to completely get the drop on him. The German had been waiting for him when he entered the shop's darkened back room, and had immediately attacked him. He had let his guard down, started to think of the shop as "home", and, consequently, had slowly allowed himself to relax. He mentally kicked himself for that lapse now. It could have gotten his entire team killed, and it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security by thinking of the shop and their apartment as safe havens.
Shock and surprise at seeing this most despised enemy in his own personal sanctuary had caused Aya to freeze for the smallest fraction of time, which had been all Schuldich had needed to gain an advantage in the ensuing fight. Aya had immediately been forced to go on the defensive. He had had enough experience fighting Schuldich --- all of Schwartz, really --- to know that you only came out on top in that kind of confrontation by quickly taking the offensive. The assassins in Schwartz were particularly brutal, and the only way to fight them and live to tell about it was to attack --- brutally, mercilessly, and frequently. His split-second pause had caused him to lose that slim thread of advantage, which had probably been what the German was banking on when he had set up the ambush in the flower shop.
Aya remembered being terrified that Schuldich had harmed Yohji and Ken, and that, if he was unable to hold the German off, he would go after Omi, too. But, as they fought, Schuldich, ever the mastermind telepath, had broken into his thoughts, whispering soothingly that he didn't have to worry; he was the only worthwhile plaything in Weiss. Aya shivered involuntarily as he remembered how the German's voice had sounded in his head --- sing-song, silky-smooth, and disgustingly sweet. It had been as if Schuldich had expected him to be pleased at all of the attention he was getting from Schwartz, and, in particular, from him. It still gave Aya the creeps, and he shivered again, pulling the comforter tighter around his body and snuggling closer to the warm safety offered by Bubba's big bulk, which was right next to him.
The fight with Schuldich was, mostly, one big blur, but he remembered that it had been long, painful, and very, very destructive. He couldn't ever remember fighting so desperately or so hard. He could remember the end, though. He could still feel the German's fingers clenched around his throat, tightening ever so slowly, choking the life out of him as he dangled a few inches off the floor. He vaguely recalled a huge, blurry, black shape crashing into them. Had that been Bubba? Then, he remembered falling in the midst of what seemed like millions of sparkling, glittering shapes. He wasn't sure right now, but he thought the shapes had been shards of glass, from the front window shattering. He remembered how he had felt so oddly detached, as if this was all happening to someone else and he was standing on the sidelines, just watching. As an observer, he remembered thinking how beautiful the sparkly shapes were; the way they glittered and danced in the rain and half-light of the cloudy day had been fascinating.
But, in the midst of all that deadly beautiful sparkle, there had been something else --- Yohji's face. He could still see the terrified, panicked look in the older man's eyes, and, from what had seemed like far away, someone screaming his name. It occurred to him now that the "someone" was probably Yohji. Good old Yohji. Aya couldn't ever remember seeing that expression --- one of sheer terror --- on the tall blonde's face; Yohji always laughed and joked his way through every dire situation they encountered, and, for some time now, he had thought of the oldest Weiss assassin as some kind of crazy, homicidal, invincible badass who wasn't scared of anything. He remembered how he had taken one look at Yohji's expression and thought, 'Shit. I'm going to die.'
After that, he just remembered little snatches --- landing on the cold, wet concrete under what felt like a ton of weight; struggling to breathe; falling again; someone --- probably Yohji --- yanking him back onto the sidewalk; the hustle and bustle of a busy emergency room; the nervous, twitchy doctor who had treated him; and what had seemed at the time to be about a million stitches. One other memory came floating out of the haze toward him --- Yohji pumping him full of painkillers.
A sound brought his attention toward the side of the bed, and, after a few minutes, he managed to focus his fuzzy vision enough to see Yohji sitting in the large, overstuffed armchair that was pulled up next to the bed. The tall blonde was stretched out, his legs extended in front of him until his feet disappeared under the bed, his arms dangling loosely over the sides of the chair, and his head thrown back over the chair's back. He was snoring softly.
Aya's eyes narrowed in irritation as he continued to fight off the fog that seemed intent on engulfing his entire body. "You asshole," he muttered.
He finally managed to push himself into a sitting position, biting off the groan of pain that threatened to escape his lips. The last thing he wanted to do right now was wake up Yohji. If he did, Aya knew he'd end up flat on his back again before he knew what hit him. He knew that the tall blonde wouldn't hesitate to drug him again if he thought he had to. Still, much as he hated to admit it, Yohji had been right; he had needed the rest.
As he slowly swung his feet over the side of the bed and absently watched them dangle in space, Aya wondered how long he had been asleep. The floating, detached feeling and the fact that he was able to move even though his body hurt like hell told him the painkillers were probably still in there, working their magic. Judging from the way he felt, he might have been out for days. His mouth was fuzzy and dry, as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and his vision alternated between tunneling down to a small pin-point and blurring out completely. His head felt like it wasn't even attached to his body; he was having an extremely hard time focusing his thoughts enough to decide on his next course of action, and he had the distinct feeling that, if he tried to move around, his body would probably float away altogether.
He vaguely recalled coming out of his drug-induced haze enough to notice Omi sleeping next to him. He hadn't minded, really; it had reminded him of times when Aya would climb into bed with him to escape a bad dream or the lightening from a storm, which had always terrified her. Feeling the boy's weight against his back, like a warm, little ball, had been comforting --- a reminder that he wasn't alone. It was the same reason he let Bubba sleep with him. He knew the rest of the team had been shocked at that, but Aya was comforted by the animal's big, furry, body. It made him feel safe; it made him feel like he still mattered, like he wasn't alone in the world.
Aya twisted around to look at the other side of the bed. Bubba was still there, nestled into the comforter and snoring softly, but Omi was gone. The boy's absence could indicate that he had been asleep for some time, but that wasn't necessarily the case. It could also mean nothing more than that Omi had woken up after Yohji came into the room, and had decided to return to his own bed.
Sighing in frustration, Aya finally decided to chance standing up. He did it slowly, closing his eyes, holding his breath, and waving his arms slightly for balance as the room seemed to tilt away from him at a crazy angle. After a couple of minutes, though, everything seemed to straighten out, and he discovered he was only slightly dizzy. He felt encouraged enough to try walking, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was able to control his motor skills enough to make it out of the room without falling flat on his face. He moved slowly and stiffly, struggling to hold his upper body as still as possible. The pain in his back had reached a mind-splitting level, hampering his range of motion, but at least he was mobile.
After reaching the hall and traveling the short distance to the bathroom, Aya found that his aching, cramped muscles were starting to warm up and move more easily. He had to be cautious about jarring the wounds on his back, and it was still incredibly painful, but he found he could move a little faster and without so much conscious effort. Unable to stand the cotton-mouth taste any longer, he stopped off in the bathroom long enough to brush his teeth, and then tottered down the stairs toward the flower shop.
He took the stairs slowly, one at a time, sliding his hand along the wall for support as he descended into the shop's back room. He didn't have any idea what time it was, but he had half-way expected to encounter one of his house mates. When he finally reached his destination, he realized he was alone, and he hadn't heard anyone else moving around in the apartment. He hadn't noticed if Ken's and Omi's doors had been closed, but he stared at the shop clock, which had been half-way pulled out of the wall and was hanging from a gaping hole by only a few wires, until the numbers came into focus. If the clock was still keeping time, it was barely eight in the morning, which would explain his housemates' absence, considering that both Ken and Yohji were worn out, and Omi was sick.
Aya crossed the room to stand in the doorway separating it from the front of the shop. He held onto the side of the door jamb for support, and surveyed the damage around him. The wreckage from his fight with Schuldich was still very evident, both in the front room and in the back, and Aya took that to mean he must not have been asleep for very long. Of course, he could be wrong. It could just mean that Yohji and Ken, the only two who were really capable of cleaning up at the moment, had just decided they didn't want to do it; those two always had been the messiest of the four assassins. Leaving them together to clean up a mess like this was almost like asking a robber to guard your safe; it was a pretty sure bet they wouldn't be able to overcome their inherent natures enough to do the "right" thing.
Aya shook his head, and, muttering under his breath about the mess, crossed back to the stairwell leading from their apartment into the back room. He knew he should work on cleaning up, even if he didn't feel like it. This was his mess, his fault, after all. There really wasn't any reason for Yohji or Ken to get stuck doing it. But, first, he had to call Manx. He knew Yohji well enough to conclude the tall blonde had probably decided against involving Manx, Persia, or Kritiker. For one thing, Yohji wouldn't want to tell them about this until he was certain of what had happened; for another thing, the older man's first instinct would have been to protect their team, and, especially, him, from the prying and questioning that Persia and Manx would do on Kritiker's behalf.
Aya wanted to protect the rest of the team, too, which was why he had to be the one to make the call that would inform their handlers of Schuldich's attack. He knew how the German had gained access to the shop so easily. There wasn't any evidence to support it, but he knew; it had to have been Hank. Hank had either given the security code to Schuldich or let him into the shop, and Hank had locked Bubba in his room to keep the dog from attacking the German. There was no other explanation. Other than the four of them and Hank, no one else knew the security codes that allowed access to the back rooms of the shop and the apartment where Weiss lived. Manx and Persia didn't know them; he had insisted upon that, in order to maintain some semblance of privacy in their home. Aya also knew Omi guarded the security codes with his life; the boy wouldn't have ever told them to anyone without okaying it with him first, so Aya knew no one within Kritiker could have gotten them. But, he had told Omi to give them to Hank, so that, as their employee, he could open up the shop if none of them were available to work the early shift. Besides, he had trusted Hank, and the man had gotten into the habit of coming and going as he pleased, almost as if he also lived there.
As much as he wanted to hate Hank for his betrayal, Aya found he just couldn't do it. He was angry. Hank had endangered the others by allowing Schuldich into the shop. He briefly toyed with the idea that Hank had been a Schwartz spy all along, but he quickly dismissed that notion. He just didn't believe it. He knew he was a very good judge of character, and he really thought he would have smelled it if the other man worked for Schwartz. If he hadn't realized it, the others surely would have. They hadn't managed to survive as assassins for this long without honing their instincts and learning to trust their feelings, no matter what. He also knew Hank didn't have any idea that they, four unassuming florists, were really assassins working for a secret organization. He thought the other man suspected they weren't really florists, but he figured Hank believed they were drug dealers or something mundane, like that. Consequently, he thought Hank didn't have a clue as to Schuldich's identity, and didn't know anything about Schwartz and its relationship with Weiss. His gut instinct told him, if the man had known exactly what they were involved in, what they really did for a living, and who Schuldich was, he wouldn't have helped the German, no matter what.
Despite the betrayal, Aya found he still trusted his own instincts and, deep down, he still trusted Hank. He believed Hank wouldn't have betrayed him unless he had a really good reason, and, although he couldn't prove it, he had a strong suspicion as to what the reason was. He remembered Hank coming to him a few days ago with news that his daughter had disappeared. At the Texan's request, he had searched for the little girl until he had completely exhausted all possible leads. He knew Yohji had looked, too, but without any success. It had been as if Hank's daughter had fallen off the face of the earth. When Aya put that information together with Hank's actions, he concluded Schuldich probably had the man's daughter.
Suddenly, another memory floated to the surface of his mind, confirming his suspicions: the German laughing crazily as he showed Aya a picture of Keiko, and Schuldich's smooth, purring voice in his head, telling him they had the girl.
"It's a good reason," Aya muttered as he stared at the muddy floor near his feet. "I just … I just can't hold it against him." He thought about Aya, and muttered, "If it was for her, I'd probably do the same thing. Still, good reason or not, it really doesn't matter now."
Aya sighed and decided he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. He had to call Manx before something happened to take things out of his control. This way, at least he could try to contain the situation; if he was lucky, he could limit the collateral damage to himself. They hadn't ever told Manx about Hank working with them in the shop, and, if Manx didn't know, then, of course, Persia and Kritiker didn't know. Aya knew Manx, for some reason, had a soft spot for Weiss. She viewed them as "her" team, probably because she was their only real contact for missions and information. Because of that, Manx might show compassion and let him live, but she wasn't the only one he had to deal with. Persia and Kritiker had to be involved, too, and they didn't know the meaning of the words "mercy" and "compassion". True, he had long held standing as Persia's "pet assassin", but even that wouldn't protect him now. Persia wouldn't have any choice in the matter; he wouldn't be able to allow such a big security breach to go unpunished. And, when you were part of Kritiker, punishment was always extreme.
Aya spotted a phone cord buried under some mud near his feet. He leaned forward with a groan and pulled it out of the muck, following it until he located the cordless phone base to which it was attached. The base was hidden under a pile of broken pottery and crushed pot plants. He retrieved it and punched the "page" button, praying that the handset batteries weren't dead. If they were, he'd never find the rest of the phone. Luckily, he was rewarded with a soft ringing sound, and he followed it until he finally found the handset inside a cracked vase in one of the coolers. It was soaking wet, but Aya shook it out and clicked at the "talk" button until he finally heard a staticky dial tone.
'I never thought it would all end like this,' he thought as he slowly punched in the number for Manx's cell phone.