Fanfic Archive: Sacrifice, 12
May. 28th, 2009 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchan(Written: June, 2004)
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: When a mission goes bad, Aya may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect Omi, and the rest of Weiss learn you don't truly miss something until it's gone.
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.
Sacrifice
Chapter 12
Ken jumped when he heard someone fumbling with the lock on the kitchen's back door. He paused in the middle of rinsing a plate, and stared in the direction of the sound. The water dripped off the sudsy dish and landed in the sink with soft, little plips as he wondered who it was. They were the only ones who used the back door, except for a few deliveries, or, maybe, his soccer kids or one of Yohji's "dates". He wasn't expecting anyone. Yohji and Omi had left an hour ago, intending to stop off at Magic Bus Hospital with flowers for Aya's sister, run a couple of errands, and then get to the hospital in time for visiting hours, so they could check up on Aya. Neither of them had said so, but Ken suspected they didn't like leaving the redhead alone. He hadn't been to see Aya, but his teammates had told him the swordsman was pretty messed up, physically and emotionally. Ken figured it stood to reason, considering everything the guy had been through. Yohji and Omi both thought Aya might do something stupid, if left too much to his own devices, and they had been spending most of their time at the hospital, keeping an eye on the quiet man. The ex-goalie had to admit he had mixed feelings about it. He hadn't seen very much of Omi. He missed his friend and resented the hell out of Aya for diverting the young blonde's attention so completely. But, on the other hand, they had kept the shop closed a lot, which meant less fan-girl face time … and that was always a good thing, in Ken's mind.
The rattling at the door stopped, and Ken shrugged. Must have just been the wind. He turned back to the task at hand and grimaced when he realized he'd barely made a dent in the pile in front of him. It looked like every damn dish they owned was stacked up here, and more. Ken grumbled under his breath as he put the plate he'd been holding into the drainer to dry. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought Yohji or Omi had decided to supplement their income by taking in dishes to wash. He hated doing any kind of housework, but dishes had to be the worst. From the looks of it, he was going to be standing here for the rest of the century.
As he grabbed a glass from the counter and dunked it beneath the soapy water, Ken wondered if dish pan hands would hamper his effectiveness with the bugnuks. It might be worth a try, just to see if it would get him out of dish duty. Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he shrugged it off. Yohji and Omi would never believe it, although he thought Yohji would probably give him some credit for originality. He rinsed the glass, dumped it onto the drainer, where it clinked loudly against the plate, and automatically reached for another dish --- a coffee mug. He scowled as he thrust it beneath the water's soapy surface, and, as he remembered Yohji's parting words, he scrubbed savagely at the traitorous ceramic item, his fingers making squeaking noises when they slid over the smooth surface.
"Look, if you're not going to help keep Aya company, then you can at least do some work around here. Do the dishes or something," Yohji had said as he had exited the kitchen an hour ago with a jaunty hand wave that still pissed Ken off, smoke trailing behind him like a jet stream.
"Do the dishes or something," Ken grumbled under his breath in a whining, sarcastic, mocking tone as he rinsed the mug and tossed it toward the dish drainer, scattering soapy water droplets across the counter in the process. "Asshole," he muttered, reaching for another glass, which he dumped into the sink. It made a "plunk" as it sank beneath the water.
Much as he hated doing the dishes, and as much as he hated admitting Yohji was right --- ever --- the tall blonde did have a point. The place had become a pit since Aya's disappearance and extended absence. They had never been what you would call strictly neat, at least, not until Aya had joined the team. He and Yohji were died-in-the-wool slobs. Omi had tried, but the kid wasn't as aggressive about it as Aya. Omi had been content with keeping his own, personal, space neat and tidy, and had let Ken and Yohji, pretty much, have the run of the apartment's common living areas. But, after Aya had joined their team, that had changed.
The redhead was a neat freak. Ken figured it was just one more reason to hate the icy bastard. If he had been fair about it, he probably would have had to admit it was some kind of coping mechanism or something. Which was all the more reason to avoid being fair.
At any rate, Aya managed to ride herd over everyone enough to bully the common areas into a sort of ordered chaos approaching actual neatness. During the past few months, they had managed to backslide into their old, slobbish ways. Ken hated to admit it, but even he preferred Aya's ordered chaos, although not enough to clean up the place.
Over the past couple of days, though, Yohji had insisted everyone start putting the apartment back into some kind of order. The tall blonde was the last person he'd have expected to want things cleaned up and returned to an "Aya-like" state, but they had spent the last two days cleaning and reordering their little part of the universe, under Yohji's supervision --- as strange as that seemed. Ken was certain the older man's unusual actions must have caused some kind of time rip or something out in the universe. It was just too weird. He remembered an American sci-fi flick he had seen once --- one where these aliens took people and replaced them with duplicates they had grown in pods, and, now, he wondered if, maybe, he should start looking around for Yohji's pod.
There it was again. Ken stopped in mid-rinse and glared at the door. He was sure he had heard it this time. It couldn't have been the wind. He frowned and crossed the space from the sink to the door in three long strides, carrying the dripping glass with him. Holding it in his right hand, he, very slowly, very quietly, undid the lock. Then, with his left hand, he twisted the knob and yanked the door open.
Aya stumbled and half-fell into the kitchen. The redhead had been leaning against the door, trying to fumble his key into the lock with his left hand, and the sudden loss of support had taken him by surprise. Ken managed to catch him before he fell to the floor, but he dropped the glass in the process. The ex-goalie shoved Aya into a standing position and frowned in irritation at the tinkling sound of breaking glass. Now, he was going to have to get a broom to sweep this mess up. His first instinct was to leave it, and take it as a sign he wasn't supposed to be doing the dishes. But, he figured Yohji wouldn't buy it. He gave Aya a narrow-eyed glare of irritation as he leaned around the redhead to push the door closed. It swung shut with a loud bang, rattling the doorknob under the force of his shove.
"Um … sorry … about the glass," Aya muttered. He managed to regain his balance and shouldered past Ken to enter the kitchen, where he dropped in an exhausted heap into the nearest chair.
Ken's angry, smart-assed retort died on his lips as he turned and took his first good, long look at Aya. The redhead was more deathly pale than usual, and he was shaking and sweating. Ken knew Aya would never admit it, but he had a feeling the other man had taken up such a nonchalant position in the chair because he didn't have the strength to remain standing. No matter how much he happened to dislike Aya, Ken wasn't a cruel person at heart. He couldn't find it in himself to taunt or belittle someone who was in such bad shape.
Instead, he settled for visiting a withering, narrow-eyed, paint-peeling glare on the redhead as he opened the pantry and dug around for a broom and dustpan. Aya didn't seem to notice. The redhead remained slumped in his chair, staring at the table top in front of him, never bothering to look up or acknowledge his companion's actions.
How could he not know Ken was glaring at him? That could only mean he chose to ignore it, a fact that wasn't lost on the ex-goalie. Ken just knew Aya was doing it on purpose, and, as he swept the glass into the dustpan with jerky, angry motions, he found his irritation growing by the second. Hurt or not, he was going to have to put this asshole in his place. With that decided, he crossed two steps to the trash can, flipped open the lid and dropped the glass in with a decisive shake of the dustpan. It hit the bottom of the can with a slight tinkling sound, and he set the broom aside, leaning it against the counter, before whirling to face Aya, fully intending to give the redhead a piece of his mind.
"Thanks … for … for what you did," Aya muttered, before Ken managed to say anything. The redhead continued to stare at his left hand, which rested, palm-down, on the table in front of him. His voice was so quiet that, at first, Ken wasn't sure he'd even heard Aya say anything.
Ken was so surprised by Aya's statement the angry words died in his throat. He stared, openmouthed, at the older man for several seconds. The redhead sounded small and out of place, although it took the ex-goalie a little while to figure out why. Aya sounded embarrassed. That shocked the hell out of Ken. He couldn't ever remember Aya sounding like that. What the hell had gotten into the guy?
"Huh?" Ken finally managed to respond. He mentally rolled his eyes in disgust even as he said it. It had to be the snappiest comeback of all time --- not.
"For … her. For Aya … what you did for Aya. The flowers," Aya muttered. When he looked up from the table, Ken was surprised to see a slight blush discoloring his ashy complexion.
"Oh … um … well, I … I did it for Omi, really," Ken replied, almost automatically.
The ex-goalie regretted his choice of words almost immediately. Aya didn't give any overt signs, but Ken had been around the redhead long enough to recognize his words had stung. Aya flinched --- a small, almost imperceptible shrug of his left shoulder --- and returned his gaze to the table top in front of him. Ken hated himself for it, but he felt guilty at hurting Aya's feelings. He was surprised at that, too. Considering how he despised the redhead, he would have thought he'd count getting some kind of emotional reaction out of him as at least a minor victory. Instead, he just felt petty and stupid, having realized, too late, what it had cost Aya to say what he had said.
'You're welcome … would that have been so damn hard to say, Hidaka?' Ken thought as he turned back toward the sink of dirty dishes.
"You … don't like me very much, do you?"
Ken had just reached for a plate, and the sound of Aya's voice made him jump. The dish fell from his hand and sank beneath the water with a loud plunk, scattering soapy droplets across the counter and splashing the front of the ex-goalie's shirt. Ken's mouth twisted in a slight grimace as he grabbed a dish towel and wiped at his clothes, hoping the gesture would give him some time to come up with a suitable response to Aya's question.
After a couple of seconds, he realized the only thing he could do in this situation was tell the truth. Well, he could run away. He guessed he could probably make it to the door before Aya. After all, the guy looked like he was still in pretty bad shape. Ken shook his head slightly, forcing that idea from his mind. No, that was stupid. It was stupid to be afraid of telling the truth, especially when Aya had asked. He didn't know the redhead very well, but Aya gave him the distinct impression of someone who didn't ask a question unless he already knew the answer.
Ken sighed and turned around, leaning back against the sink, to face Aya. He still had the damn dish towel in his hands, and he tossed it aside irritably. "Um … uh, no. I guess … I guess you could say I don't."
He paused, watching Aya intently. A small, uncomfortable silence, heavy with the tension between the two men, hung in the air. Aya gazed steadily at Ken, unashamed, and, apparently, unmoved by the ex-goalie's candid admission. At any rate, Ken couldn't read any emotion in the redhead's face or eyes, which was nothing unusual. Still, he would have thought it would get some kind of reaction; any other person would have shown some emotion. Ken didn't know why, but Aya's steady gaze unnerved him, and, suddenly, he felt embarrassed about his uncharitable feelings toward the redhead and ashamed of the admission he had just made so easily. He looked away, breaking the staring stalemate between them, and glanced down at his foot. His face felt warm, and he was certain he was blushing. He hated himself for that.
"Um … sorry," Ken added, in an embarrassed, almost inaudible voice.
He looked up in time to see Aya give a clumsy, one-shouldered shrug. The redhead shook his head and looked back down at his hand, which still rested against the table top.
"It's all right," Aya said, his voice soft and, yet, steady. "You shouldn't be sorry or ashamed of how you feel."
Somehow, the redhead's words, instead of reassuring Ken, made the ex-goalie feel worse. Ken shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "I … I want to thank you, though … you know … for what you did. For what you did for Omi."
He cursed silently even as he heard the words tumble out of his mouth. He had wanted to make a generous gesture, to give the redhead something to lessen the blow his previous words must have had, but it came out sounding so lame. And, when Ken thought about it, he figured it was pointless, anyhow. He doubted Aya even cared whether or not anyone liked him, and he was sure the redhead hadn't been surprised by his little revelation.
Ken jumped, startled, when he heard Aya reply, "I would do it for any of you." Aya, once again, speared him with an unblinking, steady gaze. But, this time, a hint of emotion --- sincerity, maybe --- seemed to flicker through the blue-violet orbs. "Whatever else we are … however else we feel about each other … we are Weiss."
Ken was shocked. Something like that … well, it was the last thing he would have expected Aya to say. Maybe Yohji and Omi were right. Maybe he hadn't given the redhead enough of a chance. Maybe, given time, he could learn to respect Aya … maybe even accept him as part of Weiss … maybe even like him.
The silence seemed to grow and expand to fill the room. Ken felt like some sort of response was called for, but he couldn't think of anything to say. The ex-goalie was relieved almost beyond belief when the telephone jangled to life, splitting the heavy, tense quiet and rescuing him from the uncomfortable conversation. He gave Aya, who had returned to scrutinizing the table top, a final glance, and then crossed the kitchen to pick up the phone, which hung just behind the redhead's chair.
Ken listened for several seconds before replying, "Yeah, he's here." He hung up the phone and turned around. Aya had fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, his head resting on his left arm, which was draped across the table. Ken shook his head.
'Guess he was more worn out than I thought,' he mused, as he turned back toward the sink and his barely-diminishing stack of dirty dishes.
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About twenty minutes later, the kitchen door slammed against the wall as Yohji banged through it, Omi right on his heels. The tall blonde burst through the door in an angry, half-panicked frenzy, shoulder-length hair escaping his low ponytail to flap about his face, ever-present dark glasses askew, unlit cigarette clenched between grimacing teeth. He paid no notice to the loud banging noise the door made, although it caused Ken to jump and come close to dropping the last dish. The ex-goalie finished rinsing the plate and carefully put it in the drying rack before turning to spear Yohji with a dirty look that came close to imitating one of Aya's death glares. He had just been congratulating himself on finishing all those damn dishes, and he would have been heartily pissed at Yohji if the older man's ruckus had caused him to break one. It was bad enough he had broken the glass earlier, when Aya had come home.
Omi followed at a more sedate pace. Ken could tell the younger blonde was upset, too. Omi's coloring was pale, his eyes held a frightened expression, and he was breathing heavily. It was obvious he had run up the stairs to the kitchen, just as Yohji had. Thankfully, Omi had the presence of mind to catch the door before the knob dented the wall. He pushed it closed behind him with a small click.
"Where the hell is he?" Yohji yelled, so frazzled and panicked he failed to notice the object of his search sitting at the table, less than a foot in front of him. "When I catch up to him, I swear I'm gonna …"
The tall blonde's voice trailed off when Ken nodded toward the table. Aya was still there and still asleep, despite the noisy commotion that had heralded Yohji's entrance. Omi leaned around the tall blonde, who had stopped only a short distance into the kitchen, more or less in the doorway, and was blocking his view of the rest of the room, to take a look. He sighed and seemed relieved to see Aya there.
"Oh," Yohji said, his voice resuming a more normal tone. He straightened his sunglasses and gave Ken a sheepish smile as he chuckled and refastened his ponytail, all his anger and bluster gone, now that he saw Aya sitting there, safe and sound, in their kitchen. The tall blonde cleared his throat, trying to recover from the embarrassment of looking so frazzled, and said, turning his head to give Omi a reassuring smile, "It's all right. He's here. Right here. Safe and sound. No worries."
Omi hissed in irritation and muttered "Why are you such a fucking idiot?" as he shoved past Yohji to pull out the chair nearest Aya. It slid across the floor with the screech of old wood against older linoleum, and that sound, cousin to the earsplitting scream of fingernails against a blackboard, succeeded where all Yohji's banging and shouting had failed. Aya awoke with a start, terror plainly written across his face and in his eyes. He sat up so quickly he hissed and grimaced in pain at the sudden, jerky movement, which tugged at stitches and forced aching, broken bones and sore muscles into immediate action. Omi dropped into the chair he'd claimed and laid a hand against Aya's arm, in an effort to reassure and comfort the startled man.
Ken was surprised. He couldn't remember Aya ever looking so terrified, and the ex-goalie couldn't help but wonder what had gone through the swordsman's mind to scare him like that. Considering what Aya had been through, it shouldn't have been such a surprise, and Ken couldn't help but feel a little ashamed at never considering the impact the past few months' events might have had on the redhead. Part of the reason was because Aya always seemed so in control --- a tightly-wound badass who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. But, Ken had to admit, much as it shamed him, it was mostly because he hadn't ever thought of Aya as being human. He realized now, for the first time, that he really hadn't been fair to the redhead. He'd never given Aya a fair shake or much of a chance to prove he was other than what Ken believed him to be.
"It's all right, Aya," Omi said, leaning forward to give the redhead a reassuring smile, "It's just me … And Yohji."
The kid's low, reassuring voice brought Ken's attention back from his thoughts, and he glanced toward the table to watch Omi give Aya's arm a gentle squeeze, a comforting gesture the ex-goalie was certain Aya would shrug off. But, the redhead made no move to escape the reassuring human contact, and Ken found himself surprised into shame for about the hundredth time that morning. The ex-goalie frowned in irritation. This was turning out to be a very crappy day. Ken hated having to rethink things he'd thought settled, and he especially hated it when his view of the world was challenged and proven false. So far, both those things were happening in spades today, and it made the ex-goalie want to retreat to his room and hide in bed with the covers pulled up over his head. Not for forever or anything … that would just be silly and childish … but, maybe just for a few days, until Aya was more healed up or stronger, and the world was back to what passed for normal in Weiss's house.
Yohji had held his peace for as long as he could. Having lost all patience with this whole mess, he hissed in irritation and stepped forward to grab Omi's collar. He tugged, none too gently, and, ignoring the kid's squeaked protests of "Yohji!!", lifted Omi out of the chair. He scooched the boy around its back, using his hold on Omi's collar to steer. Once the younger blonde was out of the way, Yohji turned the chair around, so its back was facing Aya, and draped his long, lanky frame onto the seat, resting his arms along the top rung of the back. He removed his sunglasses and leaned forward, until he was almost nose-to-nose with the startled redhead. Aya stared at him, unblinking, yet unable to hide the expression of surprise in his wide, blue-violet eyes. Yohji glared at the younger man for a long few moments, a half-smirk, half-frown on his face.
Finally, he tapped Aya lightly on the forehead with his index finger, and snarled, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ken and Omi both started forward, ready to separate the two men if this argument, like so many of their others, became physical. But, Aya was either too surprised or too exhausted to argue with Yohji.
After a tense couple of seconds, he swatted clumsily at the older man's finger with his left hand, and muttered, "I … took a cab."
Yohji leaned back and stared at Aya, but with a confused expression this time. "You took a …" he muttered, shaking his head. "What the hell are you …"
"From the hospital," Aya replied, cutting Yohji off in mid-question. "I took a cab from the hospital."
Yohji sighed and gave the ceiling a "why me?" look as he silently counted to ten and prayed for patience. "Did it not occur to you that, maybe, people were out looking for you? Running around like maniacs, not knowing where you wandered off to, all beat up to hell … that someone might be worrying sick over you?"
Aya's only response was a halfhearted left shoulder shrug.
Yohji sighed again, but, before he could say anything, Omi stepped forward and laid a hand on Aya's shoulder, drawing the redhead's attention toward him. "Your doctor told us you left against his advice. Aya, you're really not ready to be back home yet. I mean … look at you … you're a mess. We were worried sick. We've been all over the city looking for you."
"I'm not going back," Aya said, his tone soft, yet, resolute. He had made up his mind, and no one was going to sway him.
Omi sighed. He knew better than to argue.
Yohji, however, always the careless, carefree one of their little troupe, jumped in with both feet where even angels would fear to tread. "Aya …" he started, his tone similar to the gently scolding voice one would use for an extremely stubborn child.
Aya shook his head. "No. I'm not going back."
Yohji rubbed his hand over his face and sighed heavily. He knew that tone of voice. Aya had made up his mind, and there would be no changing it. Arguing would be a pointless waste of time.
He sighed again before saying, "All right, but you can't stay here in this kitchen. You're done in." When Aya started to protest, Yohji cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Don't bother arguing with me." He shoved his sunglasses back onto his face and stood, grabbing Aya's left arm and tugging the redhead to his feet. Aya swayed a bit, but Yohji steadied him, pointed him toward the living room and gave him a gentle shove. "Go on," he growled, trying to sound angry and gruff, but failing miserably, due to the goofy grin plastered on his face, "You can sleep on the sofa. I'll stay and watch a movie. I'll even leave the light on … I promise." Yohji chuckled when Aya hissed in irritation and told him to fuck off.
Omi laughed at his teammates' antics. Aya tried hard to act pissed off, but he knew enough about the redhead to know he would be happy to have Yohji's company --- at least for now. Omi had to admit he was relieved to have Aya back home. The younger blonde suspected Yohji had guessed Aya might do this, despite the older man's freak out over the swordsman's disappearance and Yohji's obvious, unfeigned mixture of relief and anger at finally finding him.
After all, Yohji had told them, a few days ago, to start cleaning up around the place. The chain-smoking ladies' man was not a person who cared about things being in their places. He wouldn't have done that unless he suspected Aya would mutiny and break out of the hospital to return home. Omi was also relieved to have Yohji take charge of the stubborn swordsman. He still felt guilty over what had happened to Aya. No matter how much the redhead denied it, Omi guessed he would always feel it was his fault. He couldn't help it; that was just the way he was made. But, he was enough of a realist to admit when he was licked. And, all guilt aside, the young blonde had had just about all he could take of Aya's stubborn, grouchy neediness while the redhead was in the hospital.
'Besides,' Omi thought, staring at Ken's back, 'Aya's not the only stubborn asshole around here. He's Yohji's responsibility … Ken's mine. That's the way it works best, and that's the way it should be.'
Ken had returned to the sink and, with a disgusted sigh and irritated shake of his head, started in on drying the heap of just-washed dishes. Every so often, the brunette would slap a dish down onto the counter with a loud clunk and mutter something under his breath with an angry shake of his head. Omi couldn't help smiling. The ex-goalie was pretty transparent. He knew Ken wouldn't admit it, but the brunette had been jealous of all the attention Aya had been getting from the rest of the team, and, in particular, from him.
Omi approached from behind, and, when he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the ex-goalie, reached around in front of Ken to snag one of the dish towels lying on the counter. Ken jumped, startled at his friend's sudden, silent appearance. He gave the boy a sheepish grin, embarrassed at having been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the young blonde's approach. Omi smiled back, and, without another word, reached for the top plate on the nearest stack. Even with both of them working at it, it would take some time before everything was dry and put away.
They dried in silence for several minutes. Finally, Ken asked, half under his breath and in a sullen tone, "Don't you wanna go help out with Aya?"
Omi didn't meet the brunette's eyes. If he looked at Ken, he knew he would laugh, and that would just make the older man angrier. He couldn't help it. The ex-goalie was sulking like a three-year-old, and, for some reason, it struck Omi as funny.
Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the dish he was polishing to a dull sheen, Omi replied, just as quietly, but without any hint of emotion or recrimination, "Nah. Thought I'd best stay here and help you. You know … make sure you get the job done right."
He glanced sideways at Ken and smiled when he saw the faintest ghost of a grin cross the brunette's face. "Besides," he continued, "Yohji can more than handle things on that end. Thank goodness. I think Aya had just about jumped on my last nerve."
Ken glanced over at Omi, to find the boy gazing calmly at him, kindness and friendship radiating from his almost-innocent blue eyes. Suddenly, the ex-goalie felt very small and very stupid, indeed, for having been so jealous of Aya, and for having been so angry with the injured man. But, he knew Omi would never mention his shortcoming in this matter. He could trust the younger blonde to allow him to back away from those feelings gracefully and with some measure of self-respect, and never to bring it up again; Omi was good about stuff like that.
Ken shrugged and said nothing. The occasional clink of ceramic against ceramic, as they removed a dish from the drainer or added one to the dry stack, was the only thing that broke the peaceful, companionable silence. They worked like that for several minutes, each man happy to be in the other's company and content to let the peaceful quiet, something all too rare in their lives, fold around them like a mother's arms.
After a little while, Omi sighed, and commented, in an almost absent tone, "It's nice, don't you think?" He glanced up to find Ken giving him a questioning look, and he replied, "You know … to have everyone home, to have everything back to normal."
Ken thought about this for a few moments, mulling it over as he dried, first, a coffee mug and, then, a small plate. He was surprised to find Omi was right. With Aya's disappearance, a tense, ugly, pallor had fallen over the Koneko --- the kind of atmosphere he'd felt at funerals or in the houses of people who had lost a family member. But now, the air felt … well, more "normal", easier to breathe, or something. Ken didn't understand it, but there was a definite feeling of relief in the air now that Aya was back. He hated to admit it, but even he was relieved --- not so much for the redhead's safe return, but for getting his best friend and his surrogate big brother back the way he liked them.
Ken shook his head, remembering Aya's earlier words, 'Whatever else we are … however else we feel about each other … we are Weiss. Guess that asshole was right about that, after all, damn him,' Ken thought.
But, he smiled, and out loud, said, "Yeah … it is nice."
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Yohi watched, a slight frown twisting his handsome face, as Aya picked his way across the items still scattered on the living room floor. The redhead was off-balance, and came close to falling twice before he managed to reach the sofa. Yohji had to force himself to stay put, just in the doorway, and watch as Aya struggled to negotiate the cluttered room and reach his destination. He wanted to stick to the younger man like glue, wanted to be there to catch him at each stumble, but he didn't think Aya would accept his assistance. No, he knew Aya wouldn't want that. Aya was stubborn and independent to a fault, even if he did look like he could barely stay on his feet. So, Yohji sucked down his mother-bear, overprotective streak, and slouched against one side of the doorjamb, managing to look casual and nonchalant, even though he held his breath and winced each time Aya stumbled. When the younger man finally reached the sofa and dropped onto it, Yohji couldn't help but breathe a soft sigh of relief. It had to have been the longest minute or two in his whole, damn life.
Yohji watched as Aya settled on the sofa, squirming and shoving pillows aside until he had managed to make a comfortable nest. Aya moved like an old man, like his body was made of brittle, old glass and would break at the slightest misstep. Considering what the redhead had been through, Yohji figured that wasn't too far from the truth. He couldn't believe Aya had lived through it all. Still, this wasn't the Aya he knew, and Yohji hated seeing his friend this way. It brought back thoughts of finding the redhead's bloody, mangled body in that damn coffin --- painful flashes of memory that still, even after the passage of four months, brought tears to his eyes. The tall blonde knew he'd be more than happy once Aya had healed up enough to be his surly, irritating self, and things were back to normal.
As he waited, giving Aya time to get comfortable without the added burden of another warm body jostling against him, Yohji fumbled in his back pocket for his cigarettes. He had shaken one of the sticks from the pack and was already holding the lighter up to it, when he thought better of his actions. He really needed a cigarette, needed the surge of nicotine through his body so he'd have the strength to deal with all those nightmares of memory --- his and Aya's. The redhead hadn't said anything, and, knowing him, Yohji wondered if he ever would, but the tall blonde knew Aya was suffering, emotionally, as well as physically, from what had happened to him. A guy didn't get tortured to within an inch of his life and then buried alive without some kind of residual effects, and Yohji knew Aya needed him right now --- even if the younger man would never admit it. The redhead needed the comfort and security that came from feeling someone he trusted was near, and Yohji knew it was his responsibility to steer Aya through this latest nightmare in their lives.
The tall blonde shrugged as he turned these thoughts over in his mind. He didn't mind being there for Aya --- was glad to be able to give his friend even the smallest measure of comfort, especially after they had come so close to losing the quiet swordsman. If push came to shove, Aya would do the same for him; Aya had done the same for him, even though he knew the redhead didn't realize it. No, it wasn't his role as Aya's self-appointed tour guide back to the realm of what passed for sanity in Weiss's twisted world that kept Yohji lingering in the doorway, jonesing for a cigarette so badly his fingers twitched with the desire to light up. It was his own memories --- the fear and panic at finding Aya had disappeared, a feeling he had relived all-too-vividly just this morning upon finding the redhead gone from the hospital; the despair at recovering Omi, only to find Aya was still missing; the haunting vision of the redhead's battered body in that coffin. No … a guy didn't live through all of that without needing a cigarette. Still, considering everything Aya had been through, Yohji figured the redhead was due a bit of deference. So, he shoved the cigarette into its box and slid the pack and his lighter back into his pocket with a soft sigh of regret before making his way across the living room to the sofa.
The tall blonde paused as he approached the farthest end of the sofa from where Aya sat. He watched his friend for a few silent moments. The redhead didn't seem to realize Yohji was there. He stared ahead, into nothing, with a vacant, almost lost expression that was so uncharacteristic it twisted the tall blonde's stomach into knots and wrenched at his heart. Yohji couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever get the "real" Aya, the Aya they were used to, back. The tall blonde wasn't sure, after all that had happened to him, if the younger man could make a comeback, and Yohji was afraid this lost-looking, silently needy, emotionally traumatized stranger had come home to stay. This person was a hollow shell of the stubborn, quiet man the oldest Weiss had come to recognize as his closest friend. But, if it came down to it, Yohji figured a shell of Aya was better than no Aya at all. If this was the way things were going to be, he would learn to live with it and like it.
Suddenly, Aya's mouth twisted into a half-frown and his eyes narrowed in an irritated expression that was so, well, "Aya-like" that Yohji felt his heart leap with hope. For a fraction of a second, a heartbeat, maybe two, it was as if he had been looking at the "old" Aya, the Aya he had known before all this crap had happened. Then, the expression was gone, replaced by the lost, abandoned, haunted look that tore at Yohji's heart. But, it had been enough to give the tall blonde hope. Aya wasn't lost … just hibernating for a while.
Yohji followed the younger man's gaze in response to the fleeting expression of irritation, and realized the redhead wasn't staring into nothing. Aya was looking at the new television, which hung on the wall across from him --- forty-two inches of flat-screen, plasma goodness that had, apparently, been enough of a surprise to shock the "old" Aya into making a fleeting appearance.
Yohji couldn't help but grin as he dropped onto the sofa next to his friend, lanky legs coming to rest on the coffee table, long arms draped over the couch's back.
"New?" Aya asked, still staring at the television.
Yohji shrugged. "Yeah," he replied, as he turned aside with a grunt to dig through the cushions in search of the remote. "It was kind of a present, courtesy of Roland Harrister's overstuffed bank account and pristine credit report."
Yohji glanced sideways as he clicked the television on and surfed through one channel after another. He hadn't been sure how Aya would take to having a reminder of his tormentor staring at him, day after day. The redhead tensed slightly at the mention of Harrister's name, but, other than that, he gave no indication he'd even heard what Yohji had said.
"I'll get rid of it, if you want," Yohji said.
Aya snorted, a sound caught between laughter and derision, and shook his head. "Don't," he said, reaching across Yohji's stomach to take the remote from the tall blonde's hand. He flipped through several channels before finding a movie to his liking --- some American flick suitably packed with enough car chases and exploding buildings to make it entertaining. "It's nice … good picture," he continued, tossing the remote into Yohji's lap.
The tall blonde smiled.
They sat like that for several minutes, each man enjoying the other's company and the comfortable, easy silence that had fallen between them. Yohji glanced over at his friend, taking in Aya's ashy-white complexion, the rigid posture, the exhausted, haunted look in his eyes. It was too soon for the redhead to be out of the hospital, and, if he had had any sense, he would have grabbed Aya by the collar and forcibly dragged the younger man's ass right back there. Still, the tall blonde couldn't help but feel relieved and happy that Aya was home. It didn't show a lot of good sense, but it was the way things were. He didn't want Aya in that hospital any more than the redhead wanted to be there, so Yohji was content to let things ride, just as they were. It was enough to be able to sit here and enjoy the company of this quiet friend he had come so close to losing, and, the tall blonde figured, it was more than time for things to get back to normal around here.
"You know," Yohji finally said, his overprotective streak winning out over his selfish desire to enjoy Aya's company, "You really shouldn't be down here like this. If you're not going back to the hospital, you should at least be upstairs, in bed."
"I'm fine," Aya replied, never taking his eyes from the movie.
Yohji sighed. "You're not fine, Aya. You look like shit. It's bad enough you left the hospital like you did … but, you're overdoing it. You're no superman, you know."
Aya snorted again, that same half-derisive, half-laughing, humorless sound. "Believe me, I'm well aware of my status as a mere mortal," he replied. He turned to look at Yohji, and said, his expression coming so close to pleading that it wrenched the older man's heart, "I … I don't want to be alone … in the quiet and the dark. I'll just wake up and think …" His voice trailed off, and he turned back toward the movie with a soft sigh of frustration.
Yohji frowned. He knew what Aya was going to say, but, more than anything, he knew the redhead needed to say it. He didn't know how, but, instinctively, he realized the younger man had to voice his fears out loud, if they were to have any hope of getting the "old" Aya back. The redhead had to face the nightmares this mission had generated, and saying them out loud was the first step toward conquering them.
"Think what?" Yohji prodded, his tone gentle.
Aya sighed again. "I'm back in that … coffin," he answered, his voice so soft Yohji had to strain to hear it.
If the older man was surprised at the confession, he didn't show it, and, for that, Aya was grateful. It had been hard for him to admit his weakness, not only to confront his fear, but admit it out loud. Instinctively, Yohji seemed to know that, just as he automatically understood so many other things where Aya was concerned.
Yohji shrugged in response. "Then we'll just stay here, if that's OK," he said, keeping his attention riveted on the movie. He could hear the embarrassment in the younger man's voice, and he didn't want to compound Aya's discomfort by staring at him. The tall blonde knew he had chosen correctly when he heard a soft sigh from his quiet companion. He could feel the relief practically radiating from the younger man, as if all the tension had melted away.
After another few silent minutes, Yohji squirmed around, careful not to jostle Aya, and fumbled in his front pocket. He pulled out a small, gold object and handed it to the younger man, who had turned to watch him with a questioning, albeit slightly irritated, look.
"Here," Yohji said. "Got something of yours."
Aya looked down at the tiny object Yohji had shoved into his hand. It was his earring. He had awakened in the hospital and immediately known it was gone, although he hadn't been able to remember losing it. He hadn't expected ever to see it again, and, as his thumb caressed the dangling bar's soft, worn metal, he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He fought them back. He had already shown so much weakness in front of Yohji; he couldn't bear for the older man to see him cry, too.
But, he wasn't able to hide the slight hitch to his voice as he said, "Thanks. I thought … it was gone. But, how?"
"Harrister," Yohji said, cutting Aya's question off. He spat the name out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Asshole took it. I took it back."
Yohji kept his attention glued to the television. He didn't care about the damn movie, and, in fact, had to fight the urge to look over at his friend. Yohji didn't know the whole significance behind the earring. He knew it was important to Aya, and that was all that mattered to him. He figured the redhead would tell him what the piece of jewelry meant, in his own time, when he was ready, but, for now, the tall blonde knew Aya needed a small bit of privacy to bring his emotions under control. So, instead of giving in to the urge to comfort his friend, he kept his attention carefully riveted on the television in front of him.
"Th … thanks, Yohji," Aya said.
His voice was soft, the words almost inaudible, but Yohji heard a tremble of emotion in there, slight, but enough to bring his attention from the TV toward his friend. He twisted slightly to the side to see Aya caressing the worn metal with his thumb as he turned the earring over on his palm. The tall blonde wasn't surprised to see hints of moisture glittering in the redhead's eyes. He knew Aya was fighting for all he was worth, struggling to hold back those tears.
"If … if something ever happens to me," Aya said, his voice hesitant, as if he was searching for just the right wording to express something they both knew should remain unspoken. "If … one time … I don't come back … you … you'd take care of her, right?"
Yohji struggled to choke back the lump that leapt up in his throat. He fought to ignore the painful wrench of his heart and to keep the tears from springing into his eyes. Fought --- and lost. It was all too new, too painful. Aya had almost died. By all rights, the redhead should be dead, and Yohji couldn't escape that fact. He had thought he had it under control, but Aya's soft words, the earnest tone in the redhead's voice, the burning need he heard behind the question brought it all hammering back home.
The tall blonde shoved his sunglasses up a bit to swipe at the tears gathered in his eyes as he replied, his tone gruff in an effort to hide the telltale tremble in his voice, "Shit, Aya. Don't … don't say that. I … I don't want to talk about that. Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let it."
Aya shook his head and replied, "You can't know what'll happen, Yohji. You might not be there, and, even if you are, you can't always protect me."
Yohji had been torturing himself over what had happened to Aya, had been beating himself up over not being there to protect the swordsman ever since that first night, when Manx's phone call had alerted him to Aya and Omi's disappearance. Aya's words weren't an accusation. There wasn't even the slightest hint of recrimination in the redhead's tone, but, even so, that was what Yohji's mind, guilty all these months over the thought he had let this happen to his friend, heard.
"I'm … sorry, Aya," the tall blonde managed to choke out, struggling to keep his voice even, but, even so, unable to hide the hitch at the end of his words. He paused, and, after gaining some control over his emotions, continued, "I'm so fucking sorry I wasn't there. I … I let this happen to you. You almost died … that fucking asshole almost killed you, and it was my fault. All my fault. If … if I had been there…"
"Then three of us would have been taken," Aya replied, his voice flat and expressionless. But, his eyes held forgiveness, fear, and sorrow --- fear for Yohji's sanity and sorrow for the way the tall blonde had suffered. "It wasn't your fault, Yohji. No one was to blame … except Roland Harrister. I didn't … mean to make you think I blamed you for what happened. I don't … but, I just … I need to know. I need to know, if something happens to me, that she'll be safe … that someone will look after her … that someone will love her."
Yohji stared at Aya for a few moments. He couldn't trust his voice to speak, so he just stared, jade green meeting blue-violet for the briefest span of time, until, impulsively, the tall blonde reached for his friend and pulled Aya to him, enfolding the redhead in a protective embrace. The remote clattered to the ground with a plastic rattle that made Aya jump a bit, but, to Yohji's surprise, the swordsman didn't struggle against the intimate contact. Instead, Aya let the older man pull him close, and settled his body comfortably against the tall blonde's.
Yohji released the redhead, the gesture of companionable friendship over almost before it had begun. But, Aya didn't move away. He remained, sitting close to Yohji, his side pressed against the older man's, feeling safe and secure in the feel of the tall blonde's warmth against him and the odor of stale cigarettes, stale booze, and hints of perfume --- Yohji's unique smell --- that folded around him like a protective shield. Yohji smiled and ruffled Aya's hair, chuckling when the gesture earned him an irritated hiss from the younger man.
"Yeah, junior," the tall blonde finally said, once he could trust himself to speak, once he was sure his voice wouldn't shake with emotion, "Of course I will. You know I will. I'd never let her be alone."
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: When a mission goes bad, Aya may have to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect Omi, and the rest of Weiss learn you don't truly miss something until it's gone.
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.
Chapter 12
Ken jumped when he heard someone fumbling with the lock on the kitchen's back door. He paused in the middle of rinsing a plate, and stared in the direction of the sound. The water dripped off the sudsy dish and landed in the sink with soft, little plips as he wondered who it was. They were the only ones who used the back door, except for a few deliveries, or, maybe, his soccer kids or one of Yohji's "dates". He wasn't expecting anyone. Yohji and Omi had left an hour ago, intending to stop off at Magic Bus Hospital with flowers for Aya's sister, run a couple of errands, and then get to the hospital in time for visiting hours, so they could check up on Aya. Neither of them had said so, but Ken suspected they didn't like leaving the redhead alone. He hadn't been to see Aya, but his teammates had told him the swordsman was pretty messed up, physically and emotionally. Ken figured it stood to reason, considering everything the guy had been through. Yohji and Omi both thought Aya might do something stupid, if left too much to his own devices, and they had been spending most of their time at the hospital, keeping an eye on the quiet man. The ex-goalie had to admit he had mixed feelings about it. He hadn't seen very much of Omi. He missed his friend and resented the hell out of Aya for diverting the young blonde's attention so completely. But, on the other hand, they had kept the shop closed a lot, which meant less fan-girl face time … and that was always a good thing, in Ken's mind.
The rattling at the door stopped, and Ken shrugged. Must have just been the wind. He turned back to the task at hand and grimaced when he realized he'd barely made a dent in the pile in front of him. It looked like every damn dish they owned was stacked up here, and more. Ken grumbled under his breath as he put the plate he'd been holding into the drainer to dry. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought Yohji or Omi had decided to supplement their income by taking in dishes to wash. He hated doing any kind of housework, but dishes had to be the worst. From the looks of it, he was going to be standing here for the rest of the century.
As he grabbed a glass from the counter and dunked it beneath the soapy water, Ken wondered if dish pan hands would hamper his effectiveness with the bugnuks. It might be worth a try, just to see if it would get him out of dish duty. Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he shrugged it off. Yohji and Omi would never believe it, although he thought Yohji would probably give him some credit for originality. He rinsed the glass, dumped it onto the drainer, where it clinked loudly against the plate, and automatically reached for another dish --- a coffee mug. He scowled as he thrust it beneath the water's soapy surface, and, as he remembered Yohji's parting words, he scrubbed savagely at the traitorous ceramic item, his fingers making squeaking noises when they slid over the smooth surface.
"Look, if you're not going to help keep Aya company, then you can at least do some work around here. Do the dishes or something," Yohji had said as he had exited the kitchen an hour ago with a jaunty hand wave that still pissed Ken off, smoke trailing behind him like a jet stream.
"Do the dishes or something," Ken grumbled under his breath in a whining, sarcastic, mocking tone as he rinsed the mug and tossed it toward the dish drainer, scattering soapy water droplets across the counter in the process. "Asshole," he muttered, reaching for another glass, which he dumped into the sink. It made a "plunk" as it sank beneath the water.
Much as he hated doing the dishes, and as much as he hated admitting Yohji was right --- ever --- the tall blonde did have a point. The place had become a pit since Aya's disappearance and extended absence. They had never been what you would call strictly neat, at least, not until Aya had joined the team. He and Yohji were died-in-the-wool slobs. Omi had tried, but the kid wasn't as aggressive about it as Aya. Omi had been content with keeping his own, personal, space neat and tidy, and had let Ken and Yohji, pretty much, have the run of the apartment's common living areas. But, after Aya had joined their team, that had changed.
The redhead was a neat freak. Ken figured it was just one more reason to hate the icy bastard. If he had been fair about it, he probably would have had to admit it was some kind of coping mechanism or something. Which was all the more reason to avoid being fair.
At any rate, Aya managed to ride herd over everyone enough to bully the common areas into a sort of ordered chaos approaching actual neatness. During the past few months, they had managed to backslide into their old, slobbish ways. Ken hated to admit it, but even he preferred Aya's ordered chaos, although not enough to clean up the place.
Over the past couple of days, though, Yohji had insisted everyone start putting the apartment back into some kind of order. The tall blonde was the last person he'd have expected to want things cleaned up and returned to an "Aya-like" state, but they had spent the last two days cleaning and reordering their little part of the universe, under Yohji's supervision --- as strange as that seemed. Ken was certain the older man's unusual actions must have caused some kind of time rip or something out in the universe. It was just too weird. He remembered an American sci-fi flick he had seen once --- one where these aliens took people and replaced them with duplicates they had grown in pods, and, now, he wondered if, maybe, he should start looking around for Yohji's pod.
There it was again. Ken stopped in mid-rinse and glared at the door. He was sure he had heard it this time. It couldn't have been the wind. He frowned and crossed the space from the sink to the door in three long strides, carrying the dripping glass with him. Holding it in his right hand, he, very slowly, very quietly, undid the lock. Then, with his left hand, he twisted the knob and yanked the door open.
Aya stumbled and half-fell into the kitchen. The redhead had been leaning against the door, trying to fumble his key into the lock with his left hand, and the sudden loss of support had taken him by surprise. Ken managed to catch him before he fell to the floor, but he dropped the glass in the process. The ex-goalie shoved Aya into a standing position and frowned in irritation at the tinkling sound of breaking glass. Now, he was going to have to get a broom to sweep this mess up. His first instinct was to leave it, and take it as a sign he wasn't supposed to be doing the dishes. But, he figured Yohji wouldn't buy it. He gave Aya a narrow-eyed glare of irritation as he leaned around the redhead to push the door closed. It swung shut with a loud bang, rattling the doorknob under the force of his shove.
"Um … sorry … about the glass," Aya muttered. He managed to regain his balance and shouldered past Ken to enter the kitchen, where he dropped in an exhausted heap into the nearest chair.
Ken's angry, smart-assed retort died on his lips as he turned and took his first good, long look at Aya. The redhead was more deathly pale than usual, and he was shaking and sweating. Ken knew Aya would never admit it, but he had a feeling the other man had taken up such a nonchalant position in the chair because he didn't have the strength to remain standing. No matter how much he happened to dislike Aya, Ken wasn't a cruel person at heart. He couldn't find it in himself to taunt or belittle someone who was in such bad shape.
Instead, he settled for visiting a withering, narrow-eyed, paint-peeling glare on the redhead as he opened the pantry and dug around for a broom and dustpan. Aya didn't seem to notice. The redhead remained slumped in his chair, staring at the table top in front of him, never bothering to look up or acknowledge his companion's actions.
How could he not know Ken was glaring at him? That could only mean he chose to ignore it, a fact that wasn't lost on the ex-goalie. Ken just knew Aya was doing it on purpose, and, as he swept the glass into the dustpan with jerky, angry motions, he found his irritation growing by the second. Hurt or not, he was going to have to put this asshole in his place. With that decided, he crossed two steps to the trash can, flipped open the lid and dropped the glass in with a decisive shake of the dustpan. It hit the bottom of the can with a slight tinkling sound, and he set the broom aside, leaning it against the counter, before whirling to face Aya, fully intending to give the redhead a piece of his mind.
"Thanks … for … for what you did," Aya muttered, before Ken managed to say anything. The redhead continued to stare at his left hand, which rested, palm-down, on the table in front of him. His voice was so quiet that, at first, Ken wasn't sure he'd even heard Aya say anything.
Ken was so surprised by Aya's statement the angry words died in his throat. He stared, openmouthed, at the older man for several seconds. The redhead sounded small and out of place, although it took the ex-goalie a little while to figure out why. Aya sounded embarrassed. That shocked the hell out of Ken. He couldn't ever remember Aya sounding like that. What the hell had gotten into the guy?
"Huh?" Ken finally managed to respond. He mentally rolled his eyes in disgust even as he said it. It had to be the snappiest comeback of all time --- not.
"For … her. For Aya … what you did for Aya. The flowers," Aya muttered. When he looked up from the table, Ken was surprised to see a slight blush discoloring his ashy complexion.
"Oh … um … well, I … I did it for Omi, really," Ken replied, almost automatically.
The ex-goalie regretted his choice of words almost immediately. Aya didn't give any overt signs, but Ken had been around the redhead long enough to recognize his words had stung. Aya flinched --- a small, almost imperceptible shrug of his left shoulder --- and returned his gaze to the table top in front of him. Ken hated himself for it, but he felt guilty at hurting Aya's feelings. He was surprised at that, too. Considering how he despised the redhead, he would have thought he'd count getting some kind of emotional reaction out of him as at least a minor victory. Instead, he just felt petty and stupid, having realized, too late, what it had cost Aya to say what he had said.
'You're welcome … would that have been so damn hard to say, Hidaka?' Ken thought as he turned back toward the sink of dirty dishes.
"You … don't like me very much, do you?"
Ken had just reached for a plate, and the sound of Aya's voice made him jump. The dish fell from his hand and sank beneath the water with a loud plunk, scattering soapy droplets across the counter and splashing the front of the ex-goalie's shirt. Ken's mouth twisted in a slight grimace as he grabbed a dish towel and wiped at his clothes, hoping the gesture would give him some time to come up with a suitable response to Aya's question.
After a couple of seconds, he realized the only thing he could do in this situation was tell the truth. Well, he could run away. He guessed he could probably make it to the door before Aya. After all, the guy looked like he was still in pretty bad shape. Ken shook his head slightly, forcing that idea from his mind. No, that was stupid. It was stupid to be afraid of telling the truth, especially when Aya had asked. He didn't know the redhead very well, but Aya gave him the distinct impression of someone who didn't ask a question unless he already knew the answer.
Ken sighed and turned around, leaning back against the sink, to face Aya. He still had the damn dish towel in his hands, and he tossed it aside irritably. "Um … uh, no. I guess … I guess you could say I don't."
He paused, watching Aya intently. A small, uncomfortable silence, heavy with the tension between the two men, hung in the air. Aya gazed steadily at Ken, unashamed, and, apparently, unmoved by the ex-goalie's candid admission. At any rate, Ken couldn't read any emotion in the redhead's face or eyes, which was nothing unusual. Still, he would have thought it would get some kind of reaction; any other person would have shown some emotion. Ken didn't know why, but Aya's steady gaze unnerved him, and, suddenly, he felt embarrassed about his uncharitable feelings toward the redhead and ashamed of the admission he had just made so easily. He looked away, breaking the staring stalemate between them, and glanced down at his foot. His face felt warm, and he was certain he was blushing. He hated himself for that.
"Um … sorry," Ken added, in an embarrassed, almost inaudible voice.
He looked up in time to see Aya give a clumsy, one-shouldered shrug. The redhead shook his head and looked back down at his hand, which still rested against the table top.
"It's all right," Aya said, his voice soft and, yet, steady. "You shouldn't be sorry or ashamed of how you feel."
Somehow, the redhead's words, instead of reassuring Ken, made the ex-goalie feel worse. Ken shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "I … I want to thank you, though … you know … for what you did. For what you did for Omi."
He cursed silently even as he heard the words tumble out of his mouth. He had wanted to make a generous gesture, to give the redhead something to lessen the blow his previous words must have had, but it came out sounding so lame. And, when Ken thought about it, he figured it was pointless, anyhow. He doubted Aya even cared whether or not anyone liked him, and he was sure the redhead hadn't been surprised by his little revelation.
Ken jumped, startled, when he heard Aya reply, "I would do it for any of you." Aya, once again, speared him with an unblinking, steady gaze. But, this time, a hint of emotion --- sincerity, maybe --- seemed to flicker through the blue-violet orbs. "Whatever else we are … however else we feel about each other … we are Weiss."
Ken was shocked. Something like that … well, it was the last thing he would have expected Aya to say. Maybe Yohji and Omi were right. Maybe he hadn't given the redhead enough of a chance. Maybe, given time, he could learn to respect Aya … maybe even accept him as part of Weiss … maybe even like him.
The silence seemed to grow and expand to fill the room. Ken felt like some sort of response was called for, but he couldn't think of anything to say. The ex-goalie was relieved almost beyond belief when the telephone jangled to life, splitting the heavy, tense quiet and rescuing him from the uncomfortable conversation. He gave Aya, who had returned to scrutinizing the table top, a final glance, and then crossed the kitchen to pick up the phone, which hung just behind the redhead's chair.
Ken listened for several seconds before replying, "Yeah, he's here." He hung up the phone and turned around. Aya had fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, his head resting on his left arm, which was draped across the table. Ken shook his head.
'Guess he was more worn out than I thought,' he mused, as he turned back toward the sink and his barely-diminishing stack of dirty dishes.
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About twenty minutes later, the kitchen door slammed against the wall as Yohji banged through it, Omi right on his heels. The tall blonde burst through the door in an angry, half-panicked frenzy, shoulder-length hair escaping his low ponytail to flap about his face, ever-present dark glasses askew, unlit cigarette clenched between grimacing teeth. He paid no notice to the loud banging noise the door made, although it caused Ken to jump and come close to dropping the last dish. The ex-goalie finished rinsing the plate and carefully put it in the drying rack before turning to spear Yohji with a dirty look that came close to imitating one of Aya's death glares. He had just been congratulating himself on finishing all those damn dishes, and he would have been heartily pissed at Yohji if the older man's ruckus had caused him to break one. It was bad enough he had broken the glass earlier, when Aya had come home.
Omi followed at a more sedate pace. Ken could tell the younger blonde was upset, too. Omi's coloring was pale, his eyes held a frightened expression, and he was breathing heavily. It was obvious he had run up the stairs to the kitchen, just as Yohji had. Thankfully, Omi had the presence of mind to catch the door before the knob dented the wall. He pushed it closed behind him with a small click.
"Where the hell is he?" Yohji yelled, so frazzled and panicked he failed to notice the object of his search sitting at the table, less than a foot in front of him. "When I catch up to him, I swear I'm gonna …"
The tall blonde's voice trailed off when Ken nodded toward the table. Aya was still there and still asleep, despite the noisy commotion that had heralded Yohji's entrance. Omi leaned around the tall blonde, who had stopped only a short distance into the kitchen, more or less in the doorway, and was blocking his view of the rest of the room, to take a look. He sighed and seemed relieved to see Aya there.
"Oh," Yohji said, his voice resuming a more normal tone. He straightened his sunglasses and gave Ken a sheepish smile as he chuckled and refastened his ponytail, all his anger and bluster gone, now that he saw Aya sitting there, safe and sound, in their kitchen. The tall blonde cleared his throat, trying to recover from the embarrassment of looking so frazzled, and said, turning his head to give Omi a reassuring smile, "It's all right. He's here. Right here. Safe and sound. No worries."
Omi hissed in irritation and muttered "Why are you such a fucking idiot?" as he shoved past Yohji to pull out the chair nearest Aya. It slid across the floor with the screech of old wood against older linoleum, and that sound, cousin to the earsplitting scream of fingernails against a blackboard, succeeded where all Yohji's banging and shouting had failed. Aya awoke with a start, terror plainly written across his face and in his eyes. He sat up so quickly he hissed and grimaced in pain at the sudden, jerky movement, which tugged at stitches and forced aching, broken bones and sore muscles into immediate action. Omi dropped into the chair he'd claimed and laid a hand against Aya's arm, in an effort to reassure and comfort the startled man.
Ken was surprised. He couldn't remember Aya ever looking so terrified, and the ex-goalie couldn't help but wonder what had gone through the swordsman's mind to scare him like that. Considering what Aya had been through, it shouldn't have been such a surprise, and Ken couldn't help but feel a little ashamed at never considering the impact the past few months' events might have had on the redhead. Part of the reason was because Aya always seemed so in control --- a tightly-wound badass who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. But, Ken had to admit, much as it shamed him, it was mostly because he hadn't ever thought of Aya as being human. He realized now, for the first time, that he really hadn't been fair to the redhead. He'd never given Aya a fair shake or much of a chance to prove he was other than what Ken believed him to be.
"It's all right, Aya," Omi said, leaning forward to give the redhead a reassuring smile, "It's just me … And Yohji."
The kid's low, reassuring voice brought Ken's attention back from his thoughts, and he glanced toward the table to watch Omi give Aya's arm a gentle squeeze, a comforting gesture the ex-goalie was certain Aya would shrug off. But, the redhead made no move to escape the reassuring human contact, and Ken found himself surprised into shame for about the hundredth time that morning. The ex-goalie frowned in irritation. This was turning out to be a very crappy day. Ken hated having to rethink things he'd thought settled, and he especially hated it when his view of the world was challenged and proven false. So far, both those things were happening in spades today, and it made the ex-goalie want to retreat to his room and hide in bed with the covers pulled up over his head. Not for forever or anything … that would just be silly and childish … but, maybe just for a few days, until Aya was more healed up or stronger, and the world was back to what passed for normal in Weiss's house.
Yohji had held his peace for as long as he could. Having lost all patience with this whole mess, he hissed in irritation and stepped forward to grab Omi's collar. He tugged, none too gently, and, ignoring the kid's squeaked protests of "Yohji!!", lifted Omi out of the chair. He scooched the boy around its back, using his hold on Omi's collar to steer. Once the younger blonde was out of the way, Yohji turned the chair around, so its back was facing Aya, and draped his long, lanky frame onto the seat, resting his arms along the top rung of the back. He removed his sunglasses and leaned forward, until he was almost nose-to-nose with the startled redhead. Aya stared at him, unblinking, yet unable to hide the expression of surprise in his wide, blue-violet eyes. Yohji glared at the younger man for a long few moments, a half-smirk, half-frown on his face.
Finally, he tapped Aya lightly on the forehead with his index finger, and snarled, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ken and Omi both started forward, ready to separate the two men if this argument, like so many of their others, became physical. But, Aya was either too surprised or too exhausted to argue with Yohji.
After a tense couple of seconds, he swatted clumsily at the older man's finger with his left hand, and muttered, "I … took a cab."
Yohji leaned back and stared at Aya, but with a confused expression this time. "You took a …" he muttered, shaking his head. "What the hell are you …"
"From the hospital," Aya replied, cutting Yohji off in mid-question. "I took a cab from the hospital."
Yohji sighed and gave the ceiling a "why me?" look as he silently counted to ten and prayed for patience. "Did it not occur to you that, maybe, people were out looking for you? Running around like maniacs, not knowing where you wandered off to, all beat up to hell … that someone might be worrying sick over you?"
Aya's only response was a halfhearted left shoulder shrug.
Yohji sighed again, but, before he could say anything, Omi stepped forward and laid a hand on Aya's shoulder, drawing the redhead's attention toward him. "Your doctor told us you left against his advice. Aya, you're really not ready to be back home yet. I mean … look at you … you're a mess. We were worried sick. We've been all over the city looking for you."
"I'm not going back," Aya said, his tone soft, yet, resolute. He had made up his mind, and no one was going to sway him.
Omi sighed. He knew better than to argue.
Yohji, however, always the careless, carefree one of their little troupe, jumped in with both feet where even angels would fear to tread. "Aya …" he started, his tone similar to the gently scolding voice one would use for an extremely stubborn child.
Aya shook his head. "No. I'm not going back."
Yohji rubbed his hand over his face and sighed heavily. He knew that tone of voice. Aya had made up his mind, and there would be no changing it. Arguing would be a pointless waste of time.
He sighed again before saying, "All right, but you can't stay here in this kitchen. You're done in." When Aya started to protest, Yohji cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Don't bother arguing with me." He shoved his sunglasses back onto his face and stood, grabbing Aya's left arm and tugging the redhead to his feet. Aya swayed a bit, but Yohji steadied him, pointed him toward the living room and gave him a gentle shove. "Go on," he growled, trying to sound angry and gruff, but failing miserably, due to the goofy grin plastered on his face, "You can sleep on the sofa. I'll stay and watch a movie. I'll even leave the light on … I promise." Yohji chuckled when Aya hissed in irritation and told him to fuck off.
Omi laughed at his teammates' antics. Aya tried hard to act pissed off, but he knew enough about the redhead to know he would be happy to have Yohji's company --- at least for now. Omi had to admit he was relieved to have Aya back home. The younger blonde suspected Yohji had guessed Aya might do this, despite the older man's freak out over the swordsman's disappearance and Yohji's obvious, unfeigned mixture of relief and anger at finally finding him.
After all, Yohji had told them, a few days ago, to start cleaning up around the place. The chain-smoking ladies' man was not a person who cared about things being in their places. He wouldn't have done that unless he suspected Aya would mutiny and break out of the hospital to return home. Omi was also relieved to have Yohji take charge of the stubborn swordsman. He still felt guilty over what had happened to Aya. No matter how much the redhead denied it, Omi guessed he would always feel it was his fault. He couldn't help it; that was just the way he was made. But, he was enough of a realist to admit when he was licked. And, all guilt aside, the young blonde had had just about all he could take of Aya's stubborn, grouchy neediness while the redhead was in the hospital.
'Besides,' Omi thought, staring at Ken's back, 'Aya's not the only stubborn asshole around here. He's Yohji's responsibility … Ken's mine. That's the way it works best, and that's the way it should be.'
Ken had returned to the sink and, with a disgusted sigh and irritated shake of his head, started in on drying the heap of just-washed dishes. Every so often, the brunette would slap a dish down onto the counter with a loud clunk and mutter something under his breath with an angry shake of his head. Omi couldn't help smiling. The ex-goalie was pretty transparent. He knew Ken wouldn't admit it, but the brunette had been jealous of all the attention Aya had been getting from the rest of the team, and, in particular, from him.
Omi approached from behind, and, when he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the ex-goalie, reached around in front of Ken to snag one of the dish towels lying on the counter. Ken jumped, startled at his friend's sudden, silent appearance. He gave the boy a sheepish grin, embarrassed at having been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the young blonde's approach. Omi smiled back, and, without another word, reached for the top plate on the nearest stack. Even with both of them working at it, it would take some time before everything was dry and put away.
They dried in silence for several minutes. Finally, Ken asked, half under his breath and in a sullen tone, "Don't you wanna go help out with Aya?"
Omi didn't meet the brunette's eyes. If he looked at Ken, he knew he would laugh, and that would just make the older man angrier. He couldn't help it. The ex-goalie was sulking like a three-year-old, and, for some reason, it struck Omi as funny.
Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the dish he was polishing to a dull sheen, Omi replied, just as quietly, but without any hint of emotion or recrimination, "Nah. Thought I'd best stay here and help you. You know … make sure you get the job done right."
He glanced sideways at Ken and smiled when he saw the faintest ghost of a grin cross the brunette's face. "Besides," he continued, "Yohji can more than handle things on that end. Thank goodness. I think Aya had just about jumped on my last nerve."
Ken glanced over at Omi, to find the boy gazing calmly at him, kindness and friendship radiating from his almost-innocent blue eyes. Suddenly, the ex-goalie felt very small and very stupid, indeed, for having been so jealous of Aya, and for having been so angry with the injured man. But, he knew Omi would never mention his shortcoming in this matter. He could trust the younger blonde to allow him to back away from those feelings gracefully and with some measure of self-respect, and never to bring it up again; Omi was good about stuff like that.
Ken shrugged and said nothing. The occasional clink of ceramic against ceramic, as they removed a dish from the drainer or added one to the dry stack, was the only thing that broke the peaceful, companionable silence. They worked like that for several minutes, each man happy to be in the other's company and content to let the peaceful quiet, something all too rare in their lives, fold around them like a mother's arms.
After a little while, Omi sighed, and commented, in an almost absent tone, "It's nice, don't you think?" He glanced up to find Ken giving him a questioning look, and he replied, "You know … to have everyone home, to have everything back to normal."
Ken thought about this for a few moments, mulling it over as he dried, first, a coffee mug and, then, a small plate. He was surprised to find Omi was right. With Aya's disappearance, a tense, ugly, pallor had fallen over the Koneko --- the kind of atmosphere he'd felt at funerals or in the houses of people who had lost a family member. But now, the air felt … well, more "normal", easier to breathe, or something. Ken didn't understand it, but there was a definite feeling of relief in the air now that Aya was back. He hated to admit it, but even he was relieved --- not so much for the redhead's safe return, but for getting his best friend and his surrogate big brother back the way he liked them.
Ken shook his head, remembering Aya's earlier words, 'Whatever else we are … however else we feel about each other … we are Weiss. Guess that asshole was right about that, after all, damn him,' Ken thought.
But, he smiled, and out loud, said, "Yeah … it is nice."
*********************************************************************************
Yohi watched, a slight frown twisting his handsome face, as Aya picked his way across the items still scattered on the living room floor. The redhead was off-balance, and came close to falling twice before he managed to reach the sofa. Yohji had to force himself to stay put, just in the doorway, and watch as Aya struggled to negotiate the cluttered room and reach his destination. He wanted to stick to the younger man like glue, wanted to be there to catch him at each stumble, but he didn't think Aya would accept his assistance. No, he knew Aya wouldn't want that. Aya was stubborn and independent to a fault, even if he did look like he could barely stay on his feet. So, Yohji sucked down his mother-bear, overprotective streak, and slouched against one side of the doorjamb, managing to look casual and nonchalant, even though he held his breath and winced each time Aya stumbled. When the younger man finally reached the sofa and dropped onto it, Yohji couldn't help but breathe a soft sigh of relief. It had to have been the longest minute or two in his whole, damn life.
Yohji watched as Aya settled on the sofa, squirming and shoving pillows aside until he had managed to make a comfortable nest. Aya moved like an old man, like his body was made of brittle, old glass and would break at the slightest misstep. Considering what the redhead had been through, Yohji figured that wasn't too far from the truth. He couldn't believe Aya had lived through it all. Still, this wasn't the Aya he knew, and Yohji hated seeing his friend this way. It brought back thoughts of finding the redhead's bloody, mangled body in that damn coffin --- painful flashes of memory that still, even after the passage of four months, brought tears to his eyes. The tall blonde knew he'd be more than happy once Aya had healed up enough to be his surly, irritating self, and things were back to normal.
As he waited, giving Aya time to get comfortable without the added burden of another warm body jostling against him, Yohji fumbled in his back pocket for his cigarettes. He had shaken one of the sticks from the pack and was already holding the lighter up to it, when he thought better of his actions. He really needed a cigarette, needed the surge of nicotine through his body so he'd have the strength to deal with all those nightmares of memory --- his and Aya's. The redhead hadn't said anything, and, knowing him, Yohji wondered if he ever would, but the tall blonde knew Aya was suffering, emotionally, as well as physically, from what had happened to him. A guy didn't get tortured to within an inch of his life and then buried alive without some kind of residual effects, and Yohji knew Aya needed him right now --- even if the younger man would never admit it. The redhead needed the comfort and security that came from feeling someone he trusted was near, and Yohji knew it was his responsibility to steer Aya through this latest nightmare in their lives.
The tall blonde shrugged as he turned these thoughts over in his mind. He didn't mind being there for Aya --- was glad to be able to give his friend even the smallest measure of comfort, especially after they had come so close to losing the quiet swordsman. If push came to shove, Aya would do the same for him; Aya had done the same for him, even though he knew the redhead didn't realize it. No, it wasn't his role as Aya's self-appointed tour guide back to the realm of what passed for sanity in Weiss's twisted world that kept Yohji lingering in the doorway, jonesing for a cigarette so badly his fingers twitched with the desire to light up. It was his own memories --- the fear and panic at finding Aya had disappeared, a feeling he had relived all-too-vividly just this morning upon finding the redhead gone from the hospital; the despair at recovering Omi, only to find Aya was still missing; the haunting vision of the redhead's battered body in that coffin. No … a guy didn't live through all of that without needing a cigarette. Still, considering everything Aya had been through, Yohji figured the redhead was due a bit of deference. So, he shoved the cigarette into its box and slid the pack and his lighter back into his pocket with a soft sigh of regret before making his way across the living room to the sofa.
The tall blonde paused as he approached the farthest end of the sofa from where Aya sat. He watched his friend for a few silent moments. The redhead didn't seem to realize Yohji was there. He stared ahead, into nothing, with a vacant, almost lost expression that was so uncharacteristic it twisted the tall blonde's stomach into knots and wrenched at his heart. Yohji couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever get the "real" Aya, the Aya they were used to, back. The tall blonde wasn't sure, after all that had happened to him, if the younger man could make a comeback, and Yohji was afraid this lost-looking, silently needy, emotionally traumatized stranger had come home to stay. This person was a hollow shell of the stubborn, quiet man the oldest Weiss had come to recognize as his closest friend. But, if it came down to it, Yohji figured a shell of Aya was better than no Aya at all. If this was the way things were going to be, he would learn to live with it and like it.
Suddenly, Aya's mouth twisted into a half-frown and his eyes narrowed in an irritated expression that was so, well, "Aya-like" that Yohji felt his heart leap with hope. For a fraction of a second, a heartbeat, maybe two, it was as if he had been looking at the "old" Aya, the Aya he had known before all this crap had happened. Then, the expression was gone, replaced by the lost, abandoned, haunted look that tore at Yohji's heart. But, it had been enough to give the tall blonde hope. Aya wasn't lost … just hibernating for a while.
Yohji followed the younger man's gaze in response to the fleeting expression of irritation, and realized the redhead wasn't staring into nothing. Aya was looking at the new television, which hung on the wall across from him --- forty-two inches of flat-screen, plasma goodness that had, apparently, been enough of a surprise to shock the "old" Aya into making a fleeting appearance.
Yohji couldn't help but grin as he dropped onto the sofa next to his friend, lanky legs coming to rest on the coffee table, long arms draped over the couch's back.
"New?" Aya asked, still staring at the television.
Yohji shrugged. "Yeah," he replied, as he turned aside with a grunt to dig through the cushions in search of the remote. "It was kind of a present, courtesy of Roland Harrister's overstuffed bank account and pristine credit report."
Yohji glanced sideways as he clicked the television on and surfed through one channel after another. He hadn't been sure how Aya would take to having a reminder of his tormentor staring at him, day after day. The redhead tensed slightly at the mention of Harrister's name, but, other than that, he gave no indication he'd even heard what Yohji had said.
"I'll get rid of it, if you want," Yohji said.
Aya snorted, a sound caught between laughter and derision, and shook his head. "Don't," he said, reaching across Yohji's stomach to take the remote from the tall blonde's hand. He flipped through several channels before finding a movie to his liking --- some American flick suitably packed with enough car chases and exploding buildings to make it entertaining. "It's nice … good picture," he continued, tossing the remote into Yohji's lap.
The tall blonde smiled.
They sat like that for several minutes, each man enjoying the other's company and the comfortable, easy silence that had fallen between them. Yohji glanced over at his friend, taking in Aya's ashy-white complexion, the rigid posture, the exhausted, haunted look in his eyes. It was too soon for the redhead to be out of the hospital, and, if he had had any sense, he would have grabbed Aya by the collar and forcibly dragged the younger man's ass right back there. Still, the tall blonde couldn't help but feel relieved and happy that Aya was home. It didn't show a lot of good sense, but it was the way things were. He didn't want Aya in that hospital any more than the redhead wanted to be there, so Yohji was content to let things ride, just as they were. It was enough to be able to sit here and enjoy the company of this quiet friend he had come so close to losing, and, the tall blonde figured, it was more than time for things to get back to normal around here.
"You know," Yohji finally said, his overprotective streak winning out over his selfish desire to enjoy Aya's company, "You really shouldn't be down here like this. If you're not going back to the hospital, you should at least be upstairs, in bed."
"I'm fine," Aya replied, never taking his eyes from the movie.
Yohji sighed. "You're not fine, Aya. You look like shit. It's bad enough you left the hospital like you did … but, you're overdoing it. You're no superman, you know."
Aya snorted again, that same half-derisive, half-laughing, humorless sound. "Believe me, I'm well aware of my status as a mere mortal," he replied. He turned to look at Yohji, and said, his expression coming so close to pleading that it wrenched the older man's heart, "I … I don't want to be alone … in the quiet and the dark. I'll just wake up and think …" His voice trailed off, and he turned back toward the movie with a soft sigh of frustration.
Yohji frowned. He knew what Aya was going to say, but, more than anything, he knew the redhead needed to say it. He didn't know how, but, instinctively, he realized the younger man had to voice his fears out loud, if they were to have any hope of getting the "old" Aya back. The redhead had to face the nightmares this mission had generated, and saying them out loud was the first step toward conquering them.
"Think what?" Yohji prodded, his tone gentle.
Aya sighed again. "I'm back in that … coffin," he answered, his voice so soft Yohji had to strain to hear it.
If the older man was surprised at the confession, he didn't show it, and, for that, Aya was grateful. It had been hard for him to admit his weakness, not only to confront his fear, but admit it out loud. Instinctively, Yohji seemed to know that, just as he automatically understood so many other things where Aya was concerned.
Yohji shrugged in response. "Then we'll just stay here, if that's OK," he said, keeping his attention riveted on the movie. He could hear the embarrassment in the younger man's voice, and he didn't want to compound Aya's discomfort by staring at him. The tall blonde knew he had chosen correctly when he heard a soft sigh from his quiet companion. He could feel the relief practically radiating from the younger man, as if all the tension had melted away.
After another few silent minutes, Yohji squirmed around, careful not to jostle Aya, and fumbled in his front pocket. He pulled out a small, gold object and handed it to the younger man, who had turned to watch him with a questioning, albeit slightly irritated, look.
"Here," Yohji said. "Got something of yours."
Aya looked down at the tiny object Yohji had shoved into his hand. It was his earring. He had awakened in the hospital and immediately known it was gone, although he hadn't been able to remember losing it. He hadn't expected ever to see it again, and, as his thumb caressed the dangling bar's soft, worn metal, he felt tears gathering in his eyes. He fought them back. He had already shown so much weakness in front of Yohji; he couldn't bear for the older man to see him cry, too.
But, he wasn't able to hide the slight hitch to his voice as he said, "Thanks. I thought … it was gone. But, how?"
"Harrister," Yohji said, cutting Aya's question off. He spat the name out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Asshole took it. I took it back."
Yohji kept his attention glued to the television. He didn't care about the damn movie, and, in fact, had to fight the urge to look over at his friend. Yohji didn't know the whole significance behind the earring. He knew it was important to Aya, and that was all that mattered to him. He figured the redhead would tell him what the piece of jewelry meant, in his own time, when he was ready, but, for now, the tall blonde knew Aya needed a small bit of privacy to bring his emotions under control. So, instead of giving in to the urge to comfort his friend, he kept his attention carefully riveted on the television in front of him.
"Th … thanks, Yohji," Aya said.
His voice was soft, the words almost inaudible, but Yohji heard a tremble of emotion in there, slight, but enough to bring his attention from the TV toward his friend. He twisted slightly to the side to see Aya caressing the worn metal with his thumb as he turned the earring over on his palm. The tall blonde wasn't surprised to see hints of moisture glittering in the redhead's eyes. He knew Aya was fighting for all he was worth, struggling to hold back those tears.
"If … if something ever happens to me," Aya said, his voice hesitant, as if he was searching for just the right wording to express something they both knew should remain unspoken. "If … one time … I don't come back … you … you'd take care of her, right?"
Yohji struggled to choke back the lump that leapt up in his throat. He fought to ignore the painful wrench of his heart and to keep the tears from springing into his eyes. Fought --- and lost. It was all too new, too painful. Aya had almost died. By all rights, the redhead should be dead, and Yohji couldn't escape that fact. He had thought he had it under control, but Aya's soft words, the earnest tone in the redhead's voice, the burning need he heard behind the question brought it all hammering back home.
The tall blonde shoved his sunglasses up a bit to swipe at the tears gathered in his eyes as he replied, his tone gruff in an effort to hide the telltale tremble in his voice, "Shit, Aya. Don't … don't say that. I … I don't want to talk about that. Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let it."
Aya shook his head and replied, "You can't know what'll happen, Yohji. You might not be there, and, even if you are, you can't always protect me."
Yohji had been torturing himself over what had happened to Aya, had been beating himself up over not being there to protect the swordsman ever since that first night, when Manx's phone call had alerted him to Aya and Omi's disappearance. Aya's words weren't an accusation. There wasn't even the slightest hint of recrimination in the redhead's tone, but, even so, that was what Yohji's mind, guilty all these months over the thought he had let this happen to his friend, heard.
"I'm … sorry, Aya," the tall blonde managed to choke out, struggling to keep his voice even, but, even so, unable to hide the hitch at the end of his words. He paused, and, after gaining some control over his emotions, continued, "I'm so fucking sorry I wasn't there. I … I let this happen to you. You almost died … that fucking asshole almost killed you, and it was my fault. All my fault. If … if I had been there…"
"Then three of us would have been taken," Aya replied, his voice flat and expressionless. But, his eyes held forgiveness, fear, and sorrow --- fear for Yohji's sanity and sorrow for the way the tall blonde had suffered. "It wasn't your fault, Yohji. No one was to blame … except Roland Harrister. I didn't … mean to make you think I blamed you for what happened. I don't … but, I just … I need to know. I need to know, if something happens to me, that she'll be safe … that someone will look after her … that someone will love her."
Yohji stared at Aya for a few moments. He couldn't trust his voice to speak, so he just stared, jade green meeting blue-violet for the briefest span of time, until, impulsively, the tall blonde reached for his friend and pulled Aya to him, enfolding the redhead in a protective embrace. The remote clattered to the ground with a plastic rattle that made Aya jump a bit, but, to Yohji's surprise, the swordsman didn't struggle against the intimate contact. Instead, Aya let the older man pull him close, and settled his body comfortably against the tall blonde's.
Yohji released the redhead, the gesture of companionable friendship over almost before it had begun. But, Aya didn't move away. He remained, sitting close to Yohji, his side pressed against the older man's, feeling safe and secure in the feel of the tall blonde's warmth against him and the odor of stale cigarettes, stale booze, and hints of perfume --- Yohji's unique smell --- that folded around him like a protective shield. Yohji smiled and ruffled Aya's hair, chuckling when the gesture earned him an irritated hiss from the younger man.
"Yeah, junior," the tall blonde finally said, once he could trust himself to speak, once he was sure his voice wouldn't shake with emotion, "Of course I will. You know I will. I'd never let her be alone."