Fic Archive: Betrayal, 10
May. 28th, 2009 01:56 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 10
Aya squirmed around in an attempt to find a more comfortable position on the cold, hard, metal chair on which he was currently seated. He heard voices outside the room, and he turned toward the door, as if he expected Manx or, even, Persia, to walk in at any moment. His Kritiker "escorts" had brought him directly to Persia's secret base of operations. They had deposited him in this room almost immediately upon arrival, and he had been waiting here ever since --- almost four hours.
When it appeared no one was going to enter, Aya sighed and leaned his head backward, over the back of his chair, to stare at the ceiling. The entire room was white --- walls, floor, and ceiling --- everything, in fact, except for the most uncomfortable, gray, metal chair in the universe. There was only one door, no windows, and a single light fixture directly above him, which beat down on him with a hot, harsh light.
He squirmed around in the chair again, wincing as the cold metal bit into the still-fresh cuts on his back and made his bones ache. The whole damn room was ice cold, and Aya wondered absently why the hell Persia would want to run air conditioning in the middle of winter. He shivered slightly, causing the metal chain on the handcuffs that bound his hands behind his back to clink. The small sound seemed to boom out in the eerily silent room, prompting Aya to stop shifting around and resign himself to the fact that he wouldn't ever find a comfortable position on the chair. Freezing his ass off and bearing the pain his wounds would give him from sitting in one position for too long was preferable to listening to the chains clink, which sounded almost like the gates of doom slamming shut on him.
Aya sighed again and leaned forward to stretch the cramped muscles in his neck. He knew that he would have to offer some sort of explanation for Schuldich's breach of their security at the flower shop. Manx had been icily angry when he had called her to tell her about the German's attack, but, from the surprise in her voice and her demand for an explanation, he had been able to deduce she didn't know about Hank working for them. Aya had been wracking his brain for the last four hours, trying to figure out what he would tell her, when she finally did decide to make an appearance, but, so far, he really hadn't been able to think of anything, which, he had to admit to himself, was pretty damn pathetic for the cold, calculating leader of Kritiker's top assassin group. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't going to tell her about Hank. Aya knew, in his heart, Hank had given Schuldich access to the shop's back door. No matter how many times he had thought it through, he continued to come to that inescapable conclusion, no matter how badly he wanted it not to be true. But, he knew Hank had a very good reason for doing what he had done. At least, that's what he thought. At any rate, he had decided to believe in his friend, and, if he told Kritiker about Hank, they would immediately hunt him down and eliminate him. Aya just wasn't willing to resign Hank to that fate, at least not without knowing for sure why he had supplied Schuldich with information. If, as he suspected and as Schuldich had told him, Hank's betrayal was connected with his daughter's disappearance, he had to protect the man from Kritiker, and he had to stay alive, too, if there was any hope of getting the little girl back in one piece.
Although Manx's attitude had indicated otherwise, Aya had hoped he would be able, somehow, to talk his way out of this mess. He had already been on thin ice with Persia and Kritiker before this latest snafu. Although the other guys hadn't been aware of it, Manx had spoken to him on several occasions since his last mission. At first, she had only wanted to know what had gone wrong --- why he had undertaken the mission alone instead of waiting for his back up, as planned. Aya hadn't ever told her about Yohji's no-show. Instead, he had reported that he had jumped the gun and gone in early, before Yohji could arrive. When he had remained on the inactive list for so long, Manx had called at least once a day to express Persia's displeasure at his slow recovery. In the last couple of weeks, she had finally told him, flat-out, that Kritiker felt he was losing his edge, and that the organization and Persia were thinking about "retiring" him from Weiss. Aya wasn't anybody's fool. He knew that no one ever "retired" from Weiss; the only "retirement" plan Kritiker offered was a bullet in the head and an unmarked grave.
Still, he had been one of Persia's and Manx's favorites for a long time. He had effectively led Weiss and made it one of the most effective, if not the most effective, assassin team Kritiker ran, and he had hoped his past record might have been enough to convince Persia, Manx, and Kritiker to cut him some slack this time. But, his treatment since being picked up at the flower shop this morning plainly told him his luck had finally run out. First of all, Manx sent two of Persia's private guards to pick him up, instead of coming herself, and they had driven him here without even speaking to him once, other than to tell him to get into the car. Then, upon arriving here, he had been escorted to this room, and had waited here ever since without so much as a word from Manx or Persia. Plus, the handcuffs were pretty much a dead giveaway that nothing nice was going to happen to him. At first, he had been glad for the delay, thinking that it would give him time to come up with a plausible story so he could satisfy Manx without having to forfeit his life. But, four hours later and still no good story, he was starting to wish Manx would just come in and get the whole damn thing over with. At least he wouldn't have to sit in this freezing cold room or on this damn uncomfortable chair any more.
Even though he had had hours to prepare for it, Aya still jumped involuntarily when he heard the door open. He continued to stare at the floor as he listened to a woman's high heels click softly across the tile, until, finally, Manx's red shoes came into view. He followed the long curve of her leg upward, over the short, red skirt of her suit, the curve of her hip, and her red jacket, until his gaze landed on her face, which wore a decidedly unhappy expression.
"So?" Manx frowned at him. "You have anything to offer? Any explanation?"
Aya looked briefly into her eyes and then away, down at the floor again, shrugging.
'Nice,' he thought to himself, 'four hours to sit here and think about it, and all I can come up with is a shrug. Way to go, Ran.'
Manx sighed and knelt down in front of Aya. She leaned forward slightly so that she could look into his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Ran," she said, softly, "I can't help you out of this, no matter how much I want to. That unplanned solo mission a few months ago, your being on the injured list all this time, and, now, this attack in Weiss' home base by a member of Schwartz. Persia isn't happy with your performance, and neither is Kritiker. They feel that you've lost your edge and your usefulness. Weiss is an assassin group, Ran … a working assassin group. It can't function properly if it's one member down. You're the leader. They've been killing themselves --- running themselves ragged, all because you don't want to go back on active duty. Don't you think they deserve better than this from you?"
She waited, as if she expected him to answer her, and the air in the room was tense with the heavy feeling of anticipation. Still, Aya said nothing, and he slid his eyes away from hers, avoiding her gaze by staring at the floor directly at his feet. Manx had always been kind to him, and he would have liked to explain everything to her, to tell her that it wasn't his choice to remain on inactive, that he wasn't trying to shirk his duty regarding the team, and that he wasn't at fault for the solo mission or the Schwarz attack. But, in the end, he knew it wouldn't do any good. Persia had already made up his mind about the situation, and nothing he could say or do would change that. Explanations and excuses, as always, would be a waste of breath, which seemed a shame, considering he probably had so few left. Besides, Manx wasn't saying anything he didn't already feel. He had been watching his team run around in circles to the point of exhaustion for two months now, as they tried to keep up with Persia's demands, and he blamed himself for all of it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Manx finally sighed and leaned forward again, taking his chin in her hand to raise his head so that he was forced to look her in the eye. Aya tried to jerk his head away from her touch, but, with his hands cuffed behind the chair, he lacked the leverage needed to free himself. After a short struggle, he gave up and simply sat still, glaring steadily at Manx.
She sighed again. "Ran, please. Your only hope now is to be honest with us. If you give us the information we need, maybe Persia will go easy on you. He wants to retire you. Is that what you want?"
Aya shrugged again and finally succeeded in freeing his chin from Manx's grasp. He stared down at the floor between his feet and remained silent. Manx, nearing the end of her patience, growled in frustration, and grabbed Aya's hair. She roughly jerked his head up and backward, until he was looking at the ceiling. She leaned over him, so that her face was the only thing looming in his vision.
"Look," she snapped. "I'm trying to help you, you little shit, but you're making it damn impossible. We have information indicating you allowed someone into the shop, as an employee, and we think that's how Schwartz gained access to Weiss' base. If you tell us this man's name and where we can find him, Persia will let you off this time. But, that's the only deal he was willing to make. You're a talented assassin, Ran, but Persia can make a hundred more where you came from. All he wants from you now is this information. Otherwise, he has no more use for you."
Aya hissed in pain as she pulled his hair, but, otherwise, he gave no response.
Manx released his hair so that he could go back to staring at the floor. "Fine," she muttered as she crossed the room and pushed an intercom button. "Have it your way." She turned to leave the room just as the two men who had escorted him here from the flower shop entered, but she paused briefly at the doorway and said, her voice barely carrying across the cold, white room, "For what it's worth, Ran, I am sorry."
*****************************************************
Yohji sat in his darkened room, staring at the wall. He was slouched down and leaned back in his chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him, resting on the large, black dog lying at his feet. He almost looked as if he was simply enjoying some solitude; he certainly didn't look like a man who was brooding over dark, homicidal thoughts. He had given up pacing back and forth hours ago, about the time the sun went down. As he had stood in front of his window to watch the huge, red ball fall below the horizon, he had been overwhelmed with the sinking feeling he would never see Aya again, and, now, he found he could only sit and stare at the wall, overwhelmed by the fear and feelings of helplessness and despair he had been fighting against all day long. He glanced over at the clock next to his bed. It indicated that it was almost 11:30 P.M., which meant that Aya had been missing for over twelve hours, and they had yet to hear any word from either Manx or Persia, even though Yohji had placed hundreds of phone calls, and Omi had sent dozens of e-mails. It was clear their handlers were making the conscious decision to ignore them.
He glanced down at the small piece of note paper he still held clutched in his right hand. It was crumpled now, but he didn't really need to see the words written there; he had already read it so many times that he had committed it to memory. He had found it almost an hour ago, while he was still pacing nervously around the room. He had reached for his cigarettes, to calm his nerves, and, when he shook out one of the sticks, the note had fallen out along with it. He smiled slightly, in spite of his fear. How like Aya to put the note somewhere he would be sure to find it, and, as always, he was surprised at how well the younger man knew him. As he continued to stare straight ahead, he could still see the words from the note, as if they were written on the wall in front of him:
"Yohji: I guess, if you've found this, something's happened to me. I know that's a pretty cheesy way to begin a note like this, but it's how they always do it in the movies and in books. At any rate, I suppose it means I might not be there to keep you out of trouble any more. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused all of you guys, but, especially, you. I know you're not going to be happy over what I did, but I had to tell Manx, and I didn't want you all to be involved any more than you already were. It doesn't matter, anyhow. Persia and Kritiker have been after me for a couple of months, now, about my last mission, and about staying off-duty for so long. They've already decided to retire me, and it's just easier this way; if I can put it on myself, Persia will leave the rest of you alone. I know you've figured out Hank's involved in all this somehow, but, please, don't go after him. I know he wouldn't have done what he did, unless he had a good reason, and I think he already has more trouble than he can handle. It's a lot to ask, but, as a last favor to me, please just leave him alone. Try to stay out of trouble, Yohji. Don't take on Kritiker over whatever happens to me. It won't change anything, and it'll just get you killed. The other guys are going to need you around; we all count on you, you know. Could you take care of Bubba for me? You know where I keep the food and everything. Just watch out that he doesn't go after Ken's new soccer shoes or ball again. He's not a bad dog, really … just misunderstood. Maybe that's why I liked him so much. Thanks for everything. Aya."
Yohji sighed as he watched the words pass through his memory. He would never have guessed that Aya, who hardly ever spoke two words to anyone, was, in reality, so eloquent, so easily able to cut right through all the shit to the heart of everything with just a few written words. Yohji clenched his fist tighter around the note, and the paper made a soft, rustling sound as it squished down into an even smaller ball. He didn't like what he had read; he didn't like it at all. Aya's note indicated Kritiker and Persia had been pressuring and threatening him for a while, but the redhead hadn't ever mentioned it. Now, though, Yohji understood why Aya had consistently insisted he needed to return to active duty, even though it was obvious he wasn't well. The tall blonde sighed, and felt guilt sneaking over him as he realized that a large part of the trouble Aya was in now was his fault. He had been the one to blame for that unexpected solo mission that had landed Aya on the injured list; if it hadn't been for his no-show, the mission, a simple in-and-out job, probably would have gone off without even a hitch. Yet, Aya had, as always, taken the blame. It seemed the quiet redhead was always taking the blame for things that happened in the team or during missions, most of which weren't his fault in the least. It looked like Aya had also shouldered the blame for Schuldich's break-in and attack. He might have guessed Aya would, as was his habit, take the blame for recent events, but it wouldn't have ever occurred to him that Persia would even think of retiring him. Aya was Persia's pet assassin, the one man their handler had trusted to lead Weiss, and Aya had been the only person who had been able to turn the group around and make it into a cohesive, highly effective unit.
A soft sound from his doorway caused Yohji to turn around, and Bubba huffed companionably and lurched to his feet to trot to the door. He smiled when he saw Omi standing there, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. The kid was obviously still sick. He was so pale he almost seemed to glow in the dim light from the hallway, and Yohji knew he was still running a fairly high fever. But, despite that, he had stayed on the computer all day, at first sending e-mails requesting a response from Manx, from Persia, or from anyone in Kritiker, and, then, when that failed, attempting to hack into Kritiker's systems to obtain any information about Aya. Yohji knew he'd been unsuccessful, but, still, Omi refused to give up. He had only left his post at the computer about ten minutes ago, and, then, only because Ken had forced him to. Yohji briefly debated over whether he should tell Omi about the note, but quickly decided against it. He could always tell Omi, and Ken, too, about it later, if Aya didn't come back. He knew Omi really looked up to Aya, and, right now, it was more important that the kid have some hope for the redhead's return. If Aya was truly gone, tomorrow would be soon enough for Omi to know about his farewell letter.
"Go to bed, Omi," Yohji called softly, "You're still sick, you know. You've already overdone it today, as it is."
Omi sniffled miserably and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve before he reached down to pet Bubba, who was now leaning against the boy's legs. The gesture seemed almost hesitant, as if Omi expected the big dog would change its mind and try to eat him at any second.
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and hard to understand, because his head was so stuffed up. He sneezed and continued, "I … I just wanted to see if you were OK."
Yohji nodded. "Go to bed," he repeated.
"Ken went out to look … you know … in case he could find anything," Omi said, hesitantly.
Yohji knew Ken had gone out to search several of the places where Kritiker usually dumped the bodies of their targets. The four Weiss assassins had always jokingly referred to the locations as "the dumping grounds", but, now, with the possibility that Aya's body might be lying in one of them, the joke suddenly didn't seem very funny --- not that it had ever been all that funny, to start with. Instead of voicing all of these thoughts, though, Yohji just replied, "I know. Go … to … bed."
"OK," Omi said. "Just … just be sure to let me know if you need anything, or if …"
"Yeah," Yohji said, cutting Omi off in mid-sentence. "I know. If I hear anything, or if anything happens, I'll call you." Bubba whined and followed Omi a short distance out into the hallway. At first, Yohji thought the dog was going to bed down with the boy for the night, but Bubba returned after a few minutes. He whined and pushed his cold, wet nose into Yohji's hand, and the tall blonde couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by the gesture.
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 10
Aya squirmed around in an attempt to find a more comfortable position on the cold, hard, metal chair on which he was currently seated. He heard voices outside the room, and he turned toward the door, as if he expected Manx or, even, Persia, to walk in at any moment. His Kritiker "escorts" had brought him directly to Persia's secret base of operations. They had deposited him in this room almost immediately upon arrival, and he had been waiting here ever since --- almost four hours.
When it appeared no one was going to enter, Aya sighed and leaned his head backward, over the back of his chair, to stare at the ceiling. The entire room was white --- walls, floor, and ceiling --- everything, in fact, except for the most uncomfortable, gray, metal chair in the universe. There was only one door, no windows, and a single light fixture directly above him, which beat down on him with a hot, harsh light.
He squirmed around in the chair again, wincing as the cold metal bit into the still-fresh cuts on his back and made his bones ache. The whole damn room was ice cold, and Aya wondered absently why the hell Persia would want to run air conditioning in the middle of winter. He shivered slightly, causing the metal chain on the handcuffs that bound his hands behind his back to clink. The small sound seemed to boom out in the eerily silent room, prompting Aya to stop shifting around and resign himself to the fact that he wouldn't ever find a comfortable position on the chair. Freezing his ass off and bearing the pain his wounds would give him from sitting in one position for too long was preferable to listening to the chains clink, which sounded almost like the gates of doom slamming shut on him.
Aya sighed again and leaned forward to stretch the cramped muscles in his neck. He knew that he would have to offer some sort of explanation for Schuldich's breach of their security at the flower shop. Manx had been icily angry when he had called her to tell her about the German's attack, but, from the surprise in her voice and her demand for an explanation, he had been able to deduce she didn't know about Hank working for them. Aya had been wracking his brain for the last four hours, trying to figure out what he would tell her, when she finally did decide to make an appearance, but, so far, he really hadn't been able to think of anything, which, he had to admit to himself, was pretty damn pathetic for the cold, calculating leader of Kritiker's top assassin group. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't going to tell her about Hank. Aya knew, in his heart, Hank had given Schuldich access to the shop's back door. No matter how many times he had thought it through, he continued to come to that inescapable conclusion, no matter how badly he wanted it not to be true. But, he knew Hank had a very good reason for doing what he had done. At least, that's what he thought. At any rate, he had decided to believe in his friend, and, if he told Kritiker about Hank, they would immediately hunt him down and eliminate him. Aya just wasn't willing to resign Hank to that fate, at least not without knowing for sure why he had supplied Schuldich with information. If, as he suspected and as Schuldich had told him, Hank's betrayal was connected with his daughter's disappearance, he had to protect the man from Kritiker, and he had to stay alive, too, if there was any hope of getting the little girl back in one piece.
Although Manx's attitude had indicated otherwise, Aya had hoped he would be able, somehow, to talk his way out of this mess. He had already been on thin ice with Persia and Kritiker before this latest snafu. Although the other guys hadn't been aware of it, Manx had spoken to him on several occasions since his last mission. At first, she had only wanted to know what had gone wrong --- why he had undertaken the mission alone instead of waiting for his back up, as planned. Aya hadn't ever told her about Yohji's no-show. Instead, he had reported that he had jumped the gun and gone in early, before Yohji could arrive. When he had remained on the inactive list for so long, Manx had called at least once a day to express Persia's displeasure at his slow recovery. In the last couple of weeks, she had finally told him, flat-out, that Kritiker felt he was losing his edge, and that the organization and Persia were thinking about "retiring" him from Weiss. Aya wasn't anybody's fool. He knew that no one ever "retired" from Weiss; the only "retirement" plan Kritiker offered was a bullet in the head and an unmarked grave.
Still, he had been one of Persia's and Manx's favorites for a long time. He had effectively led Weiss and made it one of the most effective, if not the most effective, assassin team Kritiker ran, and he had hoped his past record might have been enough to convince Persia, Manx, and Kritiker to cut him some slack this time. But, his treatment since being picked up at the flower shop this morning plainly told him his luck had finally run out. First of all, Manx sent two of Persia's private guards to pick him up, instead of coming herself, and they had driven him here without even speaking to him once, other than to tell him to get into the car. Then, upon arriving here, he had been escorted to this room, and had waited here ever since without so much as a word from Manx or Persia. Plus, the handcuffs were pretty much a dead giveaway that nothing nice was going to happen to him. At first, he had been glad for the delay, thinking that it would give him time to come up with a plausible story so he could satisfy Manx without having to forfeit his life. But, four hours later and still no good story, he was starting to wish Manx would just come in and get the whole damn thing over with. At least he wouldn't have to sit in this freezing cold room or on this damn uncomfortable chair any more.
Even though he had had hours to prepare for it, Aya still jumped involuntarily when he heard the door open. He continued to stare at the floor as he listened to a woman's high heels click softly across the tile, until, finally, Manx's red shoes came into view. He followed the long curve of her leg upward, over the short, red skirt of her suit, the curve of her hip, and her red jacket, until his gaze landed on her face, which wore a decidedly unhappy expression.
"So?" Manx frowned at him. "You have anything to offer? Any explanation?"
Aya looked briefly into her eyes and then away, down at the floor again, shrugging.
'Nice,' he thought to himself, 'four hours to sit here and think about it, and all I can come up with is a shrug. Way to go, Ran.'
Manx sighed and knelt down in front of Aya. She leaned forward slightly so that she could look into his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Ran," she said, softly, "I can't help you out of this, no matter how much I want to. That unplanned solo mission a few months ago, your being on the injured list all this time, and, now, this attack in Weiss' home base by a member of Schwartz. Persia isn't happy with your performance, and neither is Kritiker. They feel that you've lost your edge and your usefulness. Weiss is an assassin group, Ran … a working assassin group. It can't function properly if it's one member down. You're the leader. They've been killing themselves --- running themselves ragged, all because you don't want to go back on active duty. Don't you think they deserve better than this from you?"
She waited, as if she expected him to answer her, and the air in the room was tense with the heavy feeling of anticipation. Still, Aya said nothing, and he slid his eyes away from hers, avoiding her gaze by staring at the floor directly at his feet. Manx had always been kind to him, and he would have liked to explain everything to her, to tell her that it wasn't his choice to remain on inactive, that he wasn't trying to shirk his duty regarding the team, and that he wasn't at fault for the solo mission or the Schwarz attack. But, in the end, he knew it wouldn't do any good. Persia had already made up his mind about the situation, and nothing he could say or do would change that. Explanations and excuses, as always, would be a waste of breath, which seemed a shame, considering he probably had so few left. Besides, Manx wasn't saying anything he didn't already feel. He had been watching his team run around in circles to the point of exhaustion for two months now, as they tried to keep up with Persia's demands, and he blamed himself for all of it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Manx finally sighed and leaned forward again, taking his chin in her hand to raise his head so that he was forced to look her in the eye. Aya tried to jerk his head away from her touch, but, with his hands cuffed behind the chair, he lacked the leverage needed to free himself. After a short struggle, he gave up and simply sat still, glaring steadily at Manx.
She sighed again. "Ran, please. Your only hope now is to be honest with us. If you give us the information we need, maybe Persia will go easy on you. He wants to retire you. Is that what you want?"
Aya shrugged again and finally succeeded in freeing his chin from Manx's grasp. He stared down at the floor between his feet and remained silent. Manx, nearing the end of her patience, growled in frustration, and grabbed Aya's hair. She roughly jerked his head up and backward, until he was looking at the ceiling. She leaned over him, so that her face was the only thing looming in his vision.
"Look," she snapped. "I'm trying to help you, you little shit, but you're making it damn impossible. We have information indicating you allowed someone into the shop, as an employee, and we think that's how Schwartz gained access to Weiss' base. If you tell us this man's name and where we can find him, Persia will let you off this time. But, that's the only deal he was willing to make. You're a talented assassin, Ran, but Persia can make a hundred more where you came from. All he wants from you now is this information. Otherwise, he has no more use for you."
Aya hissed in pain as she pulled his hair, but, otherwise, he gave no response.
Manx released his hair so that he could go back to staring at the floor. "Fine," she muttered as she crossed the room and pushed an intercom button. "Have it your way." She turned to leave the room just as the two men who had escorted him here from the flower shop entered, but she paused briefly at the doorway and said, her voice barely carrying across the cold, white room, "For what it's worth, Ran, I am sorry."
*****************************************************
Yohji sat in his darkened room, staring at the wall. He was slouched down and leaned back in his chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him, resting on the large, black dog lying at his feet. He almost looked as if he was simply enjoying some solitude; he certainly didn't look like a man who was brooding over dark, homicidal thoughts. He had given up pacing back and forth hours ago, about the time the sun went down. As he had stood in front of his window to watch the huge, red ball fall below the horizon, he had been overwhelmed with the sinking feeling he would never see Aya again, and, now, he found he could only sit and stare at the wall, overwhelmed by the fear and feelings of helplessness and despair he had been fighting against all day long. He glanced over at the clock next to his bed. It indicated that it was almost 11:30 P.M., which meant that Aya had been missing for over twelve hours, and they had yet to hear any word from either Manx or Persia, even though Yohji had placed hundreds of phone calls, and Omi had sent dozens of e-mails. It was clear their handlers were making the conscious decision to ignore them.
He glanced down at the small piece of note paper he still held clutched in his right hand. It was crumpled now, but he didn't really need to see the words written there; he had already read it so many times that he had committed it to memory. He had found it almost an hour ago, while he was still pacing nervously around the room. He had reached for his cigarettes, to calm his nerves, and, when he shook out one of the sticks, the note had fallen out along with it. He smiled slightly, in spite of his fear. How like Aya to put the note somewhere he would be sure to find it, and, as always, he was surprised at how well the younger man knew him. As he continued to stare straight ahead, he could still see the words from the note, as if they were written on the wall in front of him:
"Yohji: I guess, if you've found this, something's happened to me. I know that's a pretty cheesy way to begin a note like this, but it's how they always do it in the movies and in books. At any rate, I suppose it means I might not be there to keep you out of trouble any more. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused all of you guys, but, especially, you. I know you're not going to be happy over what I did, but I had to tell Manx, and I didn't want you all to be involved any more than you already were. It doesn't matter, anyhow. Persia and Kritiker have been after me for a couple of months, now, about my last mission, and about staying off-duty for so long. They've already decided to retire me, and it's just easier this way; if I can put it on myself, Persia will leave the rest of you alone. I know you've figured out Hank's involved in all this somehow, but, please, don't go after him. I know he wouldn't have done what he did, unless he had a good reason, and I think he already has more trouble than he can handle. It's a lot to ask, but, as a last favor to me, please just leave him alone. Try to stay out of trouble, Yohji. Don't take on Kritiker over whatever happens to me. It won't change anything, and it'll just get you killed. The other guys are going to need you around; we all count on you, you know. Could you take care of Bubba for me? You know where I keep the food and everything. Just watch out that he doesn't go after Ken's new soccer shoes or ball again. He's not a bad dog, really … just misunderstood. Maybe that's why I liked him so much. Thanks for everything. Aya."
Yohji sighed as he watched the words pass through his memory. He would never have guessed that Aya, who hardly ever spoke two words to anyone, was, in reality, so eloquent, so easily able to cut right through all the shit to the heart of everything with just a few written words. Yohji clenched his fist tighter around the note, and the paper made a soft, rustling sound as it squished down into an even smaller ball. He didn't like what he had read; he didn't like it at all. Aya's note indicated Kritiker and Persia had been pressuring and threatening him for a while, but the redhead hadn't ever mentioned it. Now, though, Yohji understood why Aya had consistently insisted he needed to return to active duty, even though it was obvious he wasn't well. The tall blonde sighed, and felt guilt sneaking over him as he realized that a large part of the trouble Aya was in now was his fault. He had been the one to blame for that unexpected solo mission that had landed Aya on the injured list; if it hadn't been for his no-show, the mission, a simple in-and-out job, probably would have gone off without even a hitch. Yet, Aya had, as always, taken the blame. It seemed the quiet redhead was always taking the blame for things that happened in the team or during missions, most of which weren't his fault in the least. It looked like Aya had also shouldered the blame for Schuldich's break-in and attack. He might have guessed Aya would, as was his habit, take the blame for recent events, but it wouldn't have ever occurred to him that Persia would even think of retiring him. Aya was Persia's pet assassin, the one man their handler had trusted to lead Weiss, and Aya had been the only person who had been able to turn the group around and make it into a cohesive, highly effective unit.
A soft sound from his doorway caused Yohji to turn around, and Bubba huffed companionably and lurched to his feet to trot to the door. He smiled when he saw Omi standing there, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. The kid was obviously still sick. He was so pale he almost seemed to glow in the dim light from the hallway, and Yohji knew he was still running a fairly high fever. But, despite that, he had stayed on the computer all day, at first sending e-mails requesting a response from Manx, from Persia, or from anyone in Kritiker, and, then, when that failed, attempting to hack into Kritiker's systems to obtain any information about Aya. Yohji knew he'd been unsuccessful, but, still, Omi refused to give up. He had only left his post at the computer about ten minutes ago, and, then, only because Ken had forced him to. Yohji briefly debated over whether he should tell Omi about the note, but quickly decided against it. He could always tell Omi, and Ken, too, about it later, if Aya didn't come back. He knew Omi really looked up to Aya, and, right now, it was more important that the kid have some hope for the redhead's return. If Aya was truly gone, tomorrow would be soon enough for Omi to know about his farewell letter.
"Go to bed, Omi," Yohji called softly, "You're still sick, you know. You've already overdone it today, as it is."
Omi sniffled miserably and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve before he reached down to pet Bubba, who was now leaning against the boy's legs. The gesture seemed almost hesitant, as if Omi expected the big dog would change its mind and try to eat him at any second.
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and hard to understand, because his head was so stuffed up. He sneezed and continued, "I … I just wanted to see if you were OK."
Yohji nodded. "Go to bed," he repeated.
"Ken went out to look … you know … in case he could find anything," Omi said, hesitantly.
Yohji knew Ken had gone out to search several of the places where Kritiker usually dumped the bodies of their targets. The four Weiss assassins had always jokingly referred to the locations as "the dumping grounds", but, now, with the possibility that Aya's body might be lying in one of them, the joke suddenly didn't seem very funny --- not that it had ever been all that funny, to start with. Instead of voicing all of these thoughts, though, Yohji just replied, "I know. Go … to … bed."
"OK," Omi said. "Just … just be sure to let me know if you need anything, or if …"
"Yeah," Yohji said, cutting Omi off in mid-sentence. "I know. If I hear anything, or if anything happens, I'll call you." Bubba whined and followed Omi a short distance out into the hallway. At first, Yohji thought the dog was going to bed down with the boy for the night, but Bubba returned after a few minutes. He whined and pushed his cold, wet nose into Yohji's hand, and the tall blonde couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by the gesture.