Fic Archive: Nowhere Man, 5
May. 28th, 2009 01:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchan(Written: 2004)
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: A simple, in-and-out mission goes bad for Aya when Yohji fails to back him up. Now our favorite playboy is forced to go hunting for a missing teammate, and, in the process, help Aya find something he had thought lost forever -- friendship and a place to belong.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #1 in a trilogy. Story #2: Betrayal. Story #3: Redemption
Nowhere Man
Chapter 5
Yohji paused in the doorway to the kitchen and quietly watched Aya. The swordsman was still sitting on the floor where the blonde had left him, slumped bonelessly against the wall near the door leading to the alley. Aya was so still; if it hadn't been for the sound of his rattling, wheezing breathing, Yohji would have thought he was dead. The tall blonde took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, as if to prepare himself for what he was going to find when he finally took a close look at his teammate's injuries. After a few moments, he crossed the kitchen, stopping momentarily to wet a few of the tablecloths and retrieve some soap at the sink, and knelt next to the redhead. Aya's eyes were closed, his head slumped forward, and, although it sounded as if he was having some difficulty breathing, his breaths were at least coming at a steady pace. He was trembling, and he didn't look up or move when Yohji approached and knelt next to him.
"Hey," he called softly, gently shaking the sleeping redhead. He frowned when he didn't get any response, and shook Aya harder, calling again, "Hey, Aya! Aya! Wake up!" He could hear the note of panic creeping into his voice, and he struggled to remain calm. The last thing Aya needed right now was for his rescuer to freak out.
Aya seemed to respond to the urgency and fear that was in Yohji's voice. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. When he finally managed to look toward Yohji, the tall blonde could see the complete confusion in the swordsman's dazed eyes. Aya blinked and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on Yohji's face.
"Yo … Yohji?" he asked. His voice was weak, barely a whisper, and he sounded confused and lost. "What … what are you … doing here?" He slowly looked around at his surroundings, and it was obvious that he couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Finally, he looked back to the older man and asked, "Where …?"
"It's OK," Yohji replied softly, cutting Aya off in mid-question.
He struggled to keep his voice calm, quiet, and gentle. He could tell that Aya was having trouble just remaining conscious, and he could see fear starting to creep into the redhead's eyes. He had to do whatever was necessary to keep the swordsman calm.
"It's OK," he repeated. He laid his hand against Aya's face, frowning at the heat he felt there. He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile in response to the confusion and fear he saw in the blue-violet eyes, and said, in a soft voice, "I'm here, so it's all going to be OK now, all right?" He watched Aya closely for some response, and, after a moment, he repeated, "All right?"
Aya nodded.
"OK," Yohji said. He saw the fear dissipate slightly from Aya's eyes, and felt a little relieved. Without moving to touch Aya again, he spoke in the kind of soft, slow voice he would use to calm a frightened animal or small child. "Look, I know you don't like for anyone to touch you. But, you're hurt and sick. I have to look at those wounds, and get you dry and warm. OK?"
It was only a few moments, but it seemed to take an eternity for Aya to slowly, almost imperceptibly, nod his head.
Yohji took the motion as a sign of permission. He inched closer to Aya, moving very slowly to avoid frightening the redhead. The younger man was trembling uncontrollably. Yohji didn't have any idea how badly his companion was hurt, and he was afraid of making the wounds any worse than they already were. He grabbed the lapels of the dirty, canvas jacket and gently pulled the coat off of Aya's shoulders. He had to pull the swordsman forward slightly to remove the jacket, and Aya winced, earning a mumbled "Sorry" from Yohji, as the wound on his shoulder reopened. Finally, the jacket slid freely to the floor, affording the blonde a closer view of his companion's shoulder injury.
He prodded gently at the raw flesh, which caused Aya to involuntarily jump backward in an attempt to escape. As he scooted away, he hit his head on the door frame, making a hollow thumping sound. Yohji winced and jumped forward to stop Aya's retreat. He grabbed the front of the younger man's shirt and placed his hand behind the swordsman's neck.
"Stop!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He gripped Aya's neck roughly as he spoke, which caused the younger man to yelp in pain. "Sorry," he said softly, releasing his death grip. "I … I didn't mean to hurt you. You have to try to stay still, OK? If you move around, it's just going to make things worse."
"S … sorry," Aya mumbled. His voice was shaking, and Yohji had to lean forward to hear him.
The blonde smiled. "It's OK." He leaned forward, to look into the younger man's eyes, and continued, "This is gonna hurt. I can't help it, but I need to see how bad these gun shot wounds are, OK?"
Aya nodded and looked away. He strained to focus his glazed eyes on the floor to his side.
Yohji slowly and carefully slid his hands under Aya's torn shirt. He placed one of them against the front of the wound and one of them against Aya's back, as he searched for the bullet's entry and exit points. He never took his eyes off of the injured swordsman. Aya sucked his breath in sharply at the painful contact. Yohji frowned as he saw the remaining color drain from the redhead's face, and the pain lines around his mouth deepen.
"I'm … I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice cracking.
"It's … OK," Aya wheezed. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"This isn't so bad," Yohji said gently. "There's an entry and an exit, so no bullet inside. You've lost a lot of blood, though." He reached into his boot and removed his knife. He flicked the blade out with one smooth, practiced movement of his wrist. It made a clicking noise that seemed deafeningly loud in the silent room.
He thought Aya was past the point where he was aware of what was happening, but the redhead must have seen the knife out of the corner of his eye. He stared down at the jagged blade with fear-filled eyes, and, instinctively, almost involuntarily, started to struggle weakly against Yohji's grip, as if he didn't remember who was holding him. He pushed at the blonde's hands and tried to scoot away from the knife, holding his shaking hands out in front of him in a defensive gesture, but he only succeeded in repeatedly ramming his body roughly against the wall behind him.
Yohji was shocked and scared by Aya's reaction. This was Aya, for crying out loud. Aya never got scared; Aya laughed at death. He couldn't remember ever seeing the swordsman show actual fear. But, now, he could see terror shining out from the wide, violet-blue eyes, and the way Aya kept trying to back away told Yohji that the younger man was frightened out of his wits. The older assassin immediately released his grip on the swordsman and dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor as the blonde leaned back slightly and watched Aya. He had to fight the urge to grab the redhead to stop his violent, painful struggling.
After a few minutes, the swordsman stopped fighting. He curled up into a little ball, shaking uncontrollably and mumbling, "No, please. Please … don't … don't hurt me."
Yohji frowned and, after it seemed that his companion had calmed down, he gently pulled Aya toward him. Aya didn't try to struggle away this time. He allowed the blonde to pull him forward until he was leaning against Yohji's chest. The older man stroked his hair, and muttered soft, meaningless words that seemed to calm the swordsman down.
Without releasing his hold on Aya, Yohji leaned down and retrieved the knife. When Aya stiffened again at the sight of it, the blonde said, softly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Aya. It's OK. I have to cut your shirt off so that I can clean and bandage your shoulder and look at the wound in your side. You have to trust me, OK?"
When Aya didn't relax, Yohji tightened his grip on the redhead, and mumbled, "Do you understand? Trust me?"
He felt Aya nod against his chest, and slowly ran the knife under the redhead's already-ripped shirt. He was careful to keep the cold metal from touching the swordsman's skin. The material parted like butter under the razor-sharp blade, and Yohji gently peeled the wet material away from Aya's body. The redhead shivered violently as the cool air hit his wet skin, and Yohji pulled him a little closer. He was wet, too, but he hoped that he could at least share a little body heat with his injured companion.
Once the shirt was gone, it was easy for Yohji to see the injury on Aya's side. He sighed in relief when he saw that it was really just a flesh wound --- a long, shallow gash along the younger man's rib cage.
"That's not too bad, either," he muttered soothingly as he prodded at the wound. Aya continued to tremble, but he didn't try to move away from the pain caused by Yohji's examination. "It's not very deep, and it's not bleeding very much, either," he said, after poking at the injury for a moment. "You might need stitches, eventually, but, you should be OK for tonight, at least."
Yohji carefully shifted Aya around so that the swordsman's back was to his chest. With his hands now freed of the necessity of supporting Aya's body, the blonde assassin reached around to find the soap and wet tablecloths he had laid beside him upon initially sitting down. Aya's attempt to escape from his knife had forced both of them to move away from the spot where Yohji had left his supplies, and he grunted as he willed his arm to stretch to its greatest length so that he could grab the things he needed without having to get up and disturb Aya, who had just calmed down. He grunted again, this time in satisfaction, when his fingers finally brushed against and then clamped onto the soap. Another brief struggle yielded one of the wet tablecloths. Yohji ripped the wet cloth in half and liberally doused one of the pieces with soap.
"I wish I had something better to clean this with, but I guess soap will have to do. This is going to hurt a little," he said as he began to gently clean the dirt and dried blood off of the shoulder wound.
Aya hadn't said anything or made any sort of noise in such a long time that Yohji thought he had fallen asleep or fainted. But, when the older man started to rub at the wound, Aya stiffened and involuntarily tried to pull away from Yohji's ministrations. The blonde assassin held him firmly in place and resolutely continued to clean the wound.
"That … hurts … a lot," Aya muttered weakly. Although his voice still sounded exhausted, his tone clearly implied that Yohji's white lie regarding the soap was tantamount to a treasonous offense.
"Sorry," Yohji replied.
He couldn't help but smile at the tone of voice, which, although weak, was so cold and disapproving that it left no room for doubt that the Aya he knew was still there with him. He finished cleaning the shoulder wound and quickly turned his attention to the shallow gash in Aya's side. The swordsman flinched as Yohji poked and prodded at the wound, trying to remove all of the dirt and dried blood around it, but he didn't try to move away. Once Aya stopped trying to escape, it only took a few minutes for Yohji to finish cleaning the second wound. He ripped a few of the dry tablecloths into strips and began bandaging the injuries. He had had a lot of experience cleaning and bandaging various wounds over the years; they all had. And, his hands almost seemed to move of their own accord, without need of any commands from his brain, in expert motions perfected through years of hard-earned practice. Before long, he leaned back and surveyed his work in satisfaction.
"There," he said, smoothing out the last cloth strip. "Bleeding's stopped, and, hopefully, they won't get infected."
He paused, waiting for Aya to respond. When the redhead said nothing, Yohji leaned around to see if he was still awake. Aya's eyes were still open, but he appeared to be zoning out, staring at the floor some distance in front of him. Yohji tried to shrug off the uncomfortable feeling of worry that came over him when he saw the glazed-over, unfocused stare.
"Well," the blonde continued, reaching again for the soap and another piece of wet cloth, "Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."
He gently soaped down Aya's hands, arms, and face, and then used another piece of wet cloth to wipe away the soap. He had to admit that he was relieved when the dirt and muck easily came off of to allow Aya's light, porcelain-like skin to show through.
Aya was almost obsessive about cleanliness; he hated being dirty, and he was always cleaning and straightening up the common areas they all shared in the apartment above the flower shop. Yohji always needled him about being such a neat freak, mainly because he gained a perverse pleasure from seeing their normally calm and in-control leader become flustered and embarrassed. Yohji had never styled himself as a psychiatrist or anything like that, but, inside, the blonde believed that being overly clean was one of the ways in which Aya sought to assert control over a life that, too often, seemed to spin completely out of control. The same was true of Aya's attempts to distance himself, emotionally, from everyone around him. Yohji had long ago decided that Aya's anti-social behavior was a protection mechanism, and this realization had allowed the blonde assassin to become well-equipped in dealing with the Weiss leader's mercurial moods and temper tantrums.
"All right," he said softly as he finished drying Aya off, "All clean now. Better?" He felt Aya nod against his chest and then continued, "How'd you get so damn dirty, anyhow? I never thought I'd see a neat freak like you looking so filthy and wearing dirty clothes stolen from a bum, to boot."
Aya let out a short laugh in response to Yohji's teasing, which caused the blonde to smile, in spite of the fact that the laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit that traveled in rough shudders through his body.
"Alarm … our intel. … didn't pick it up, and I … tripped it. I couldn't … make the car," Aya said in a whisper, once he regained his breath after the coughing fit. "Cops were everywhere, and I had to … hide." He shrugged slightly, "Seemed like a good idea … even with all the dirt … and wearing someone else's clothes."
"Guess it was," Yohji assured him. "They didn't find you." He paused for a moment, thinking, and finally asked, "Did you really steal that guy's coat?"
Aya didn't respond. He was struggling to remember exactly what had happened in the alley earlier that night. His mind told him it hadn't been very long ago, but all of his memories of that evening seemed to jumble together in a foggy, hazy mess. He struggled to make sense of them, and finally, answered, "I … I don't … remember everything. But, yeah … I think I did."
He stiffened slightly as a thought occurred to him. Yohji had said "that guy", as if he knew the homeless man who had previously owned the now-ruined, olive-colored canvas jacket he had been wearing when the older man found him. "You … talked to him?"
Yohji laughed shortly and replied, "Well, "talked" isn't really the word for it. I got there in time to see him trying to brain you with a liquor bottle. I threatened to cut his throat for it. There wasn't too much actual "talking" involved, really. Just a lot of yammering on his part, which is how I found out about the coat."
It seemed to Yohji that Aya started shaking even more, if that was possible, as he asked, "You … you didn't … hurt him, did you?"
Yohji pushed Aya away slightly, so that there was a small space between them, which gave him enough room to struggle out of his coat and t-shirt. He allowed the coat to remain crumpled on the floor behind him, and he pulled the t-shirt, which was now dry and warm, thanks to the combination of their stay in the building and his own body heat, over Aya's torso. He helped the redhead pull his arms through the shirt's sleeves to make sure that the younger man's wounds didn't start bleeding. With that accomplished, he pulled the two blankets around his shivering friend. Then, he pulled Aya back toward him, resting the swordsman's back against his own chest.
"I didn't hurt him," Yohji finally replied. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at Aya's almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "To kill someone like that --- a little man who has nothing to do with any mission… You really think I'm that bad?" he asked, his voice involuntarily taking on a hurt tone.
Aya pulled uncomfortably at the hem of Yohji's t-shirt, which only reached halfway down his torso, and frowned slightly. "Don't you own any normal shirts?" he asked. When Yohji didn't respond, Aya shook his head and continued, "No." He leaned his head back against Yohji's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I don't think that. But, sometimes, you … get a little … crazy," he said slowly, hesitantly, as if he was searching for just the right words.
Yohji shrugged. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. He considered his teammates to be family. They were his, and it was true that he became blinded by rage whenever someone tried to damage anything that was his. It was especially true when Aya was at stake, thanks to Yohji's over-protective, big-brotherly tendencies toward the younger man. Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, "I didn't hurt him. I gave him some money so he could get a hotel room and get out of the rain."
Aya sighed again and replied, "Thanks, Yohji."
"What do you care, anyhow?" Yohji asked. "I mean, that guy … you don't know him. He's nothing to you … nothing to anyone. So, what does it matter?"
Aya shrugged and paused for a long few moments before softly responding, "He's … like me. Nothing to anyone … with no place to go … no place to belong … no place to hide. A "Nowhere Man" … you know … like in that song."
Yohji was shocked at Aya's revelation. He felt like the swordsman had suddenly and unexpectedly bared his soul, and he didn't know how to respond. Could it be true that, even after all this time, Aya really believed he didn't matter to any of them, that his life meant nothing to them or to anyone else? After a few moments, he leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Aya … that's … that's not true. You belong … with us."
The redhead didn't respond, and Yohji leaned around to look into his face, only to discover that Aya had fallen asleep. His arms tightened protectively around his sleeping friend, and he repeated, "You belong with us."
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence
Summary: A simple, in-and-out mission goes bad for Aya when Yohji fails to back him up. Now our favorite playboy is forced to go hunting for a missing teammate, and, in the process, help Aya find something he had thought lost forever -- friendship and a place to belong.
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #1 in a trilogy. Story #2: Betrayal. Story #3: Redemption
Chapter 5
Yohji paused in the doorway to the kitchen and quietly watched Aya. The swordsman was still sitting on the floor where the blonde had left him, slumped bonelessly against the wall near the door leading to the alley. Aya was so still; if it hadn't been for the sound of his rattling, wheezing breathing, Yohji would have thought he was dead. The tall blonde took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, as if to prepare himself for what he was going to find when he finally took a close look at his teammate's injuries. After a few moments, he crossed the kitchen, stopping momentarily to wet a few of the tablecloths and retrieve some soap at the sink, and knelt next to the redhead. Aya's eyes were closed, his head slumped forward, and, although it sounded as if he was having some difficulty breathing, his breaths were at least coming at a steady pace. He was trembling, and he didn't look up or move when Yohji approached and knelt next to him.
"Hey," he called softly, gently shaking the sleeping redhead. He frowned when he didn't get any response, and shook Aya harder, calling again, "Hey, Aya! Aya! Wake up!" He could hear the note of panic creeping into his voice, and he struggled to remain calm. The last thing Aya needed right now was for his rescuer to freak out.
Aya seemed to respond to the urgency and fear that was in Yohji's voice. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes. When he finally managed to look toward Yohji, the tall blonde could see the complete confusion in the swordsman's dazed eyes. Aya blinked and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on Yohji's face.
"Yo … Yohji?" he asked. His voice was weak, barely a whisper, and he sounded confused and lost. "What … what are you … doing here?" He slowly looked around at his surroundings, and it was obvious that he couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there. Finally, he looked back to the older man and asked, "Where …?"
"It's OK," Yohji replied softly, cutting Aya off in mid-question.
He struggled to keep his voice calm, quiet, and gentle. He could tell that Aya was having trouble just remaining conscious, and he could see fear starting to creep into the redhead's eyes. He had to do whatever was necessary to keep the swordsman calm.
"It's OK," he repeated. He laid his hand against Aya's face, frowning at the heat he felt there. He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile in response to the confusion and fear he saw in the blue-violet eyes, and said, in a soft voice, "I'm here, so it's all going to be OK now, all right?" He watched Aya closely for some response, and, after a moment, he repeated, "All right?"
Aya nodded.
"OK," Yohji said. He saw the fear dissipate slightly from Aya's eyes, and felt a little relieved. Without moving to touch Aya again, he spoke in the kind of soft, slow voice he would use to calm a frightened animal or small child. "Look, I know you don't like for anyone to touch you. But, you're hurt and sick. I have to look at those wounds, and get you dry and warm. OK?"
It was only a few moments, but it seemed to take an eternity for Aya to slowly, almost imperceptibly, nod his head.
Yohji took the motion as a sign of permission. He inched closer to Aya, moving very slowly to avoid frightening the redhead. The younger man was trembling uncontrollably. Yohji didn't have any idea how badly his companion was hurt, and he was afraid of making the wounds any worse than they already were. He grabbed the lapels of the dirty, canvas jacket and gently pulled the coat off of Aya's shoulders. He had to pull the swordsman forward slightly to remove the jacket, and Aya winced, earning a mumbled "Sorry" from Yohji, as the wound on his shoulder reopened. Finally, the jacket slid freely to the floor, affording the blonde a closer view of his companion's shoulder injury.
He prodded gently at the raw flesh, which caused Aya to involuntarily jump backward in an attempt to escape. As he scooted away, he hit his head on the door frame, making a hollow thumping sound. Yohji winced and jumped forward to stop Aya's retreat. He grabbed the front of the younger man's shirt and placed his hand behind the swordsman's neck.
"Stop!" he hissed through clenched teeth. He gripped Aya's neck roughly as he spoke, which caused the younger man to yelp in pain. "Sorry," he said softly, releasing his death grip. "I … I didn't mean to hurt you. You have to try to stay still, OK? If you move around, it's just going to make things worse."
"S … sorry," Aya mumbled. His voice was shaking, and Yohji had to lean forward to hear him.
The blonde smiled. "It's OK." He leaned forward, to look into the younger man's eyes, and continued, "This is gonna hurt. I can't help it, but I need to see how bad these gun shot wounds are, OK?"
Aya nodded and looked away. He strained to focus his glazed eyes on the floor to his side.
Yohji slowly and carefully slid his hands under Aya's torn shirt. He placed one of them against the front of the wound and one of them against Aya's back, as he searched for the bullet's entry and exit points. He never took his eyes off of the injured swordsman. Aya sucked his breath in sharply at the painful contact. Yohji frowned as he saw the remaining color drain from the redhead's face, and the pain lines around his mouth deepen.
"I'm … I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice cracking.
"It's … OK," Aya wheezed. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"This isn't so bad," Yohji said gently. "There's an entry and an exit, so no bullet inside. You've lost a lot of blood, though." He reached into his boot and removed his knife. He flicked the blade out with one smooth, practiced movement of his wrist. It made a clicking noise that seemed deafeningly loud in the silent room.
He thought Aya was past the point where he was aware of what was happening, but the redhead must have seen the knife out of the corner of his eye. He stared down at the jagged blade with fear-filled eyes, and, instinctively, almost involuntarily, started to struggle weakly against Yohji's grip, as if he didn't remember who was holding him. He pushed at the blonde's hands and tried to scoot away from the knife, holding his shaking hands out in front of him in a defensive gesture, but he only succeeded in repeatedly ramming his body roughly against the wall behind him.
Yohji was shocked and scared by Aya's reaction. This was Aya, for crying out loud. Aya never got scared; Aya laughed at death. He couldn't remember ever seeing the swordsman show actual fear. But, now, he could see terror shining out from the wide, violet-blue eyes, and the way Aya kept trying to back away told Yohji that the younger man was frightened out of his wits. The older assassin immediately released his grip on the swordsman and dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor as the blonde leaned back slightly and watched Aya. He had to fight the urge to grab the redhead to stop his violent, painful struggling.
After a few minutes, the swordsman stopped fighting. He curled up into a little ball, shaking uncontrollably and mumbling, "No, please. Please … don't … don't hurt me."
Yohji frowned and, after it seemed that his companion had calmed down, he gently pulled Aya toward him. Aya didn't try to struggle away this time. He allowed the blonde to pull him forward until he was leaning against Yohji's chest. The older man stroked his hair, and muttered soft, meaningless words that seemed to calm the swordsman down.
Without releasing his hold on Aya, Yohji leaned down and retrieved the knife. When Aya stiffened again at the sight of it, the blonde said, softly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Aya. It's OK. I have to cut your shirt off so that I can clean and bandage your shoulder and look at the wound in your side. You have to trust me, OK?"
When Aya didn't relax, Yohji tightened his grip on the redhead, and mumbled, "Do you understand? Trust me?"
He felt Aya nod against his chest, and slowly ran the knife under the redhead's already-ripped shirt. He was careful to keep the cold metal from touching the swordsman's skin. The material parted like butter under the razor-sharp blade, and Yohji gently peeled the wet material away from Aya's body. The redhead shivered violently as the cool air hit his wet skin, and Yohji pulled him a little closer. He was wet, too, but he hoped that he could at least share a little body heat with his injured companion.
Once the shirt was gone, it was easy for Yohji to see the injury on Aya's side. He sighed in relief when he saw that it was really just a flesh wound --- a long, shallow gash along the younger man's rib cage.
"That's not too bad, either," he muttered soothingly as he prodded at the wound. Aya continued to tremble, but he didn't try to move away from the pain caused by Yohji's examination. "It's not very deep, and it's not bleeding very much, either," he said, after poking at the injury for a moment. "You might need stitches, eventually, but, you should be OK for tonight, at least."
Yohji carefully shifted Aya around so that the swordsman's back was to his chest. With his hands now freed of the necessity of supporting Aya's body, the blonde assassin reached around to find the soap and wet tablecloths he had laid beside him upon initially sitting down. Aya's attempt to escape from his knife had forced both of them to move away from the spot where Yohji had left his supplies, and he grunted as he willed his arm to stretch to its greatest length so that he could grab the things he needed without having to get up and disturb Aya, who had just calmed down. He grunted again, this time in satisfaction, when his fingers finally brushed against and then clamped onto the soap. Another brief struggle yielded one of the wet tablecloths. Yohji ripped the wet cloth in half and liberally doused one of the pieces with soap.
"I wish I had something better to clean this with, but I guess soap will have to do. This is going to hurt a little," he said as he began to gently clean the dirt and dried blood off of the shoulder wound.
Aya hadn't said anything or made any sort of noise in such a long time that Yohji thought he had fallen asleep or fainted. But, when the older man started to rub at the wound, Aya stiffened and involuntarily tried to pull away from Yohji's ministrations. The blonde assassin held him firmly in place and resolutely continued to clean the wound.
"That … hurts … a lot," Aya muttered weakly. Although his voice still sounded exhausted, his tone clearly implied that Yohji's white lie regarding the soap was tantamount to a treasonous offense.
"Sorry," Yohji replied.
He couldn't help but smile at the tone of voice, which, although weak, was so cold and disapproving that it left no room for doubt that the Aya he knew was still there with him. He finished cleaning the shoulder wound and quickly turned his attention to the shallow gash in Aya's side. The swordsman flinched as Yohji poked and prodded at the wound, trying to remove all of the dirt and dried blood around it, but he didn't try to move away. Once Aya stopped trying to escape, it only took a few minutes for Yohji to finish cleaning the second wound. He ripped a few of the dry tablecloths into strips and began bandaging the injuries. He had had a lot of experience cleaning and bandaging various wounds over the years; they all had. And, his hands almost seemed to move of their own accord, without need of any commands from his brain, in expert motions perfected through years of hard-earned practice. Before long, he leaned back and surveyed his work in satisfaction.
"There," he said, smoothing out the last cloth strip. "Bleeding's stopped, and, hopefully, they won't get infected."
He paused, waiting for Aya to respond. When the redhead said nothing, Yohji leaned around to see if he was still awake. Aya's eyes were still open, but he appeared to be zoning out, staring at the floor some distance in front of him. Yohji tried to shrug off the uncomfortable feeling of worry that came over him when he saw the glazed-over, unfocused stare.
"Well," the blonde continued, reaching again for the soap and another piece of wet cloth, "Let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."
He gently soaped down Aya's hands, arms, and face, and then used another piece of wet cloth to wipe away the soap. He had to admit that he was relieved when the dirt and muck easily came off of to allow Aya's light, porcelain-like skin to show through.
Aya was almost obsessive about cleanliness; he hated being dirty, and he was always cleaning and straightening up the common areas they all shared in the apartment above the flower shop. Yohji always needled him about being such a neat freak, mainly because he gained a perverse pleasure from seeing their normally calm and in-control leader become flustered and embarrassed. Yohji had never styled himself as a psychiatrist or anything like that, but, inside, the blonde believed that being overly clean was one of the ways in which Aya sought to assert control over a life that, too often, seemed to spin completely out of control. The same was true of Aya's attempts to distance himself, emotionally, from everyone around him. Yohji had long ago decided that Aya's anti-social behavior was a protection mechanism, and this realization had allowed the blonde assassin to become well-equipped in dealing with the Weiss leader's mercurial moods and temper tantrums.
"All right," he said softly as he finished drying Aya off, "All clean now. Better?" He felt Aya nod against his chest and then continued, "How'd you get so damn dirty, anyhow? I never thought I'd see a neat freak like you looking so filthy and wearing dirty clothes stolen from a bum, to boot."
Aya let out a short laugh in response to Yohji's teasing, which caused the blonde to smile, in spite of the fact that the laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit that traveled in rough shudders through his body.
"Alarm … our intel. … didn't pick it up, and I … tripped it. I couldn't … make the car," Aya said in a whisper, once he regained his breath after the coughing fit. "Cops were everywhere, and I had to … hide." He shrugged slightly, "Seemed like a good idea … even with all the dirt … and wearing someone else's clothes."
"Guess it was," Yohji assured him. "They didn't find you." He paused for a moment, thinking, and finally asked, "Did you really steal that guy's coat?"
Aya didn't respond. He was struggling to remember exactly what had happened in the alley earlier that night. His mind told him it hadn't been very long ago, but all of his memories of that evening seemed to jumble together in a foggy, hazy mess. He struggled to make sense of them, and finally, answered, "I … I don't … remember everything. But, yeah … I think I did."
He stiffened slightly as a thought occurred to him. Yohji had said "that guy", as if he knew the homeless man who had previously owned the now-ruined, olive-colored canvas jacket he had been wearing when the older man found him. "You … talked to him?"
Yohji laughed shortly and replied, "Well, "talked" isn't really the word for it. I got there in time to see him trying to brain you with a liquor bottle. I threatened to cut his throat for it. There wasn't too much actual "talking" involved, really. Just a lot of yammering on his part, which is how I found out about the coat."
It seemed to Yohji that Aya started shaking even more, if that was possible, as he asked, "You … you didn't … hurt him, did you?"
Yohji pushed Aya away slightly, so that there was a small space between them, which gave him enough room to struggle out of his coat and t-shirt. He allowed the coat to remain crumpled on the floor behind him, and he pulled the t-shirt, which was now dry and warm, thanks to the combination of their stay in the building and his own body heat, over Aya's torso. He helped the redhead pull his arms through the shirt's sleeves to make sure that the younger man's wounds didn't start bleeding. With that accomplished, he pulled the two blankets around his shivering friend. Then, he pulled Aya back toward him, resting the swordsman's back against his own chest.
"I didn't hurt him," Yohji finally replied. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at Aya's almost imperceptible sigh of relief. "To kill someone like that --- a little man who has nothing to do with any mission… You really think I'm that bad?" he asked, his voice involuntarily taking on a hurt tone.
Aya pulled uncomfortably at the hem of Yohji's t-shirt, which only reached halfway down his torso, and frowned slightly. "Don't you own any normal shirts?" he asked. When Yohji didn't respond, Aya shook his head and continued, "No." He leaned his head back against Yohji's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I don't think that. But, sometimes, you … get a little … crazy," he said slowly, hesitantly, as if he was searching for just the right words.
Yohji shrugged. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. He considered his teammates to be family. They were his, and it was true that he became blinded by rage whenever someone tried to damage anything that was his. It was especially true when Aya was at stake, thanks to Yohji's over-protective, big-brotherly tendencies toward the younger man. Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, "I didn't hurt him. I gave him some money so he could get a hotel room and get out of the rain."
Aya sighed again and replied, "Thanks, Yohji."
"What do you care, anyhow?" Yohji asked. "I mean, that guy … you don't know him. He's nothing to you … nothing to anyone. So, what does it matter?"
Aya shrugged and paused for a long few moments before softly responding, "He's … like me. Nothing to anyone … with no place to go … no place to belong … no place to hide. A "Nowhere Man" … you know … like in that song."
Yohji was shocked at Aya's revelation. He felt like the swordsman had suddenly and unexpectedly bared his soul, and he didn't know how to respond. Could it be true that, even after all this time, Aya really believed he didn't matter to any of them, that his life meant nothing to them or to anyone else? After a few moments, he leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Aya … that's … that's not true. You belong … with us."
The redhead didn't respond, and Yohji leaned around to look into his face, only to discover that Aya had fallen asleep. His arms tightened protectively around his sleeping friend, and he repeated, "You belong with us."