Fic Archive: Nowhere Man, 12
May. 28th, 2009 01:14 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 12
Yohji quickly pulled into an empty parking space and turned off his car. About a block away, further up the street, he could see the large, blue, dancing hippo sign that marked the alleyway where he had found Aya on the night of that last mission. He hoped against hope that he would find the redhead there now. He didn't have any idea how long Aya had been gone before Omi had noticed his disappearance, and it had taken him almost an hour and a half to get here from the flower shop, thanks to the morning traffic. Yohji just hoped that Aya had come here on purpose, as opposed to wandering aimlessly around town in a feverish state. If it was the latter, it would take him forever to find the redhead.
He stretched the aching muscles in his back and shoulders as he stepped out of his car. Over a week in that damn uncomfortable chair sure hadn't done any wonders for his back. He felt like he could have done with a few more days of sleep, and he really wished Aya had chosen a better time for his little disappearing act.
Yohji sighed and reached into the car to retrieve the heavy leather bomber jacket he had brought for Aya. "Stupid Aya," he muttered under his breath as he locked the car doors behind him and turned toward the hippo sign. "He's nothing but trouble to me. Could he let me sleep in? No… not him, selfish bastard. I'm so gonna kick his ass when I find him." He looked down at the jacket he held in his hand and then up into the sky as he mumbled, "I'm sure that idiot ran off without a proper coat on. I swear, I don't even know why I bother."
Yohji jogged down the street toward the alley. He didn't want to admit it, but he wouldn't really be able to relax until he saw Aya with his own eyes and knew the redhead was all right. With his long strides, it only took a couple of minutes before he was standing beside the hippo. He looked over at the sign and thought, as he had the last time he had seen it, that it was possibly the most idiotic, ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. What kind of whacked-out weirdo used a giant, dancing hippo for advertising?
'It takes a sick, sick mind to think up something like that,' he thought as he patted the hippo's bulging nose and entered the relative darkness of the alley.
He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He could hear voices from about halfway down the alley. It sounded like two people talking and laughing, and he thought he recognized one of the voices as Aya's. Yohji frowned as he thought, 'Wait a minute … Aya, laughing? Too weird.' He shrugged and jogged down the alley toward the voices.
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"So," Hank asked as he took another drink and passed the bottle, which was now half-empty, over to Aya, "What the hell were you doing out here in all that weather the other night? You sorta looked the part then, but, lookin' at 'ya now, I can't imagine you spend just a ton of time hanging out in dark alleys and such."
Aya took a large drink from the bottle and laughed, "You'd be … surprised … at where I hang out. But, my business out here that night is just that … my business. It's best to leave it at that." Aya's voice clearly implied that this would be the end of any discussion on the matter, and that anyone inquiring further would probably regret it.
Hank stared at his new drinking companion for a moment. This "Ran" kid was a strange one, that was for sure. He seemed pleasant enough; Hank had certainly had his share of more unpleasant drinking buddies. But, he sure didn't say much, and, when he did, it was only in the form of short answers to Hank's questions. Somehow, though, Hank got the feeling that there was a lot more meaning behind the things he said. Besides that, he was pretty sure the kid was drunk. His speech wasn't all that slurred, but his laughter was giddy, and his eyes were bright and a bit unfocused --- all sure signs that he was feeling no pain. But he had yet to let any information about himself slip. Hank hadn't known very many men who were capable of that.
'Yep,' he thought, as he took the bottle back from Aya, 'Any way you look at it, there's a lot more to this kid than meets the eye.'
"Hmm," Hank said, his words muffled as he took a swallow from the bottle. He opened the package of cigarettes Aya had given him and shook out one of the sticks. As he placed the cigarette between his lips, he mumbled, "If you don't want to tell me why you were here that night, at least tell me why you did all this. I mean, I've had lots of stuff stolen since I started living on the streets, but no one ever returned anything or did anything nice like this for me before. So, what's your angle? Trying to get into Heaven or what?" He glanced sideways at Aya with pleading eyes and said, "Please tell me you've got a light for these."
Aya threw back his head and laughed a loud laugh that came right from his belly. The laughter quickly disintegrated into a bone-shuddering cough. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth for a few moments. "Getting into Heaven," he gasped, when he managed to catch his breath, "Now, that's a funny one. If only you knew how far away from the truth you were about me. You wouldn't believe it." He looked over at Hank, who was staring at him with a look that told him he had probably just grown three heads. "I'm sorry, though, I don't think I have a light, unless …" He paused as a thought occurred to him. The jacket he was wearing wasn't his. It was Yohji's. He had grabbed it off of the living room sofa when he had gone out to do some nighttime snooping for that last mission, and he had just left it in his room afterward. If he knew Yohji at all, there was probably a lighter here somewhere, and he fumbled around in the pockets. "Ha!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a lighter and held it up triumphantly.
"All right, now we're cookin'!" Hank exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.
"Cookin'?" Aya repeated, raising his eyebrow and cocking his head to the side in a questioning gesture.
Hank stared at him for a second, and then waved his hand in front of his face, "Ah, never mind. Just hand over that lighter!"
Aya balanced the lighter in between his first two fingers and held it out to Hank in a casual gesture. When the other man leaned forward to take it, he snatched it away, laughing in response to Hank's fake cry of anger. "Only if you give me one of those, too," he said, dangling the lighter just in front of Hank's nose, like a carrot in front of a horse.
"From the sound of that cough, you really shouldn't be using these," Hank replied, but he shook out another cigarette and passed it to Aya.
Aya lit the cigarette and then cupped his hands around the stick Hank held between his lips, to light it, too. Once that was done, he tossed the lighter to the other man. "For later," he said in response to the question he saw in Hank's eyes. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before tilting his head back to blow it out into the cool mid-morning air. It hung above his head like a small cloud for a moment and then dissipated on the breeze. As he sucked in a second time, he started coughing again, and doubled over to hold his ribs, as if that action could stop the burning ache and rattle he felt in his lungs. He didn't let go of the cigarette, though, and, once the coughing fit stopped, he continued to take drag after drag and blow little clouds of smoke out over his head. After a few pulls, he brought the scotch bottle to his lips with shaking hands and took a long drink, coughing and choking slightly as he swallowed around the cigarette he still held in his mouth.
Hank watched him silently for a few moments and then turned away, shaking his head. "You sure seem in a hurry to destroy yourself, kid," he commented as he puffed his own cigarette and stared up at the sky.
"My destruction is my business," Aya replied, his voice and eyes hard. He didn't look at Hank, but, instead, stared at the ground directly at his feet.
Hank shrugged and decided not to pursue the topic any further. This kid was likeable enough, but something about him was frightening. That cold voice and those hard, cruel eyes, made the hairs on the back of Hank's neck stand on end. "Hey," he said, "Suit yourself, kid." He paused for a few moments and regarded Aya silently out of the corner of his eye. "So," he finally continued, when it seemed safe to converse with the redhead again, "Why did you come down here? Why did you bring me these things?"
Aya shrugged and leaned his head against the door jamb that was acting as his support. He sighed and stared up at the sky as he quietly said, "No reason, I guess. I mean … I don't know. I guess … I guess it's because … we're just alike, you know. Nowhere to go, nowhere to belong."
Hank seemed to think about this for a while. "Yeah, a "Nowhere Man", just like in that song. Guess that pretty much describes me, that's for sure." He gave Aya a piercing look, as if he was trying to ascertain exactly what the kid was thinking, and then continued, "But, you're nothing like me, kid. No one cares about me, about whether I live or die. There's no one left in this world to look for me, but someone always comes looking for you." He gestured slightly forward, toward the alley.
Almost as if on cue, a shadow fell across the dimly lit doorway, darkening it even further. Aya looked up to see a familiar pair of shoes. He allowed his eyes to travel upward, squinting and placing his open hand over them in a saluting motion to shield them against the sunlight that now poured into the alley, and finally arrived at a familiar, very unhappy-looking face framed by honey-blonde hair and topped with a pair of dark sunglasses. Was it just his imagination, or had Yohji gotten a lot taller?
"Huh," Aya said, putting his hand down. He grinned crookedly at Yohji and then gestured from the tall blonde to his new drinking companion and back again as he said, "Yohji, Hank. Hank, Yohji."
Yohji ignored the introductions and crouched down in front of Aya, pulling the sunglasses down on his nose to study the redhead closely with worried green eyes. Finally, he sighed and asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Aya eyed Yohji calmly, and then looked down at the half-full liquor bottle he still held in his hand. "Um," he replied slowly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, "Smoking and drinking?"
Yohji frowned. "Yeah. So I see," he commented flatly. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Aya's hair, pulling the redhead's face slightly into the light so that he could get a better look at Aya's eyes. He frowned again at what he saw there. Aya was obviously either drunk or high as a kite, or, maybe, considering the amount of antibiotics and painkillers running through his system, both of those things. The redhead's normally clear, violet eyes were slightly glazed over, unfocused, and very, very shiny. He released his hold on Aya's hair when the swordsman angrily swatted at his arm and hand.
Aya took a long drag from his cigarette, which caused him to double over coughing. Yohji took advantage of this momentary imbalance of power to reach over and grab the cigarette out of Aya's mouth with an angry jerk. He started to stub it out against the building's brick wall, when he noticed that it had only been smoked half-way and reconsidered his actions. Instead of putting the glowing little stick out, he stuck it in his own mouth and then proceeded to pick Aya up off of the ground. Once he was again sitting upright, leaning against the doorjamb, Aya grabbed for the cigarette, but Yohji jerked his head backward, out of the swordsman's reach.
"Nope," he said as he calmly batted the redhead's hands away. "People who have pneumonia definitely shouldn't be smoking." He made a great show of taking a long drag off of the cigarette and slowly blowing the smoke out into the air, and he laughed in response to Aya's little growls of frustration.
"You're so damn funny," Aya snarled, glaring at Yohji. The redhead glanced back over at Hank and snapped, "Give me another one of those."
The younger man's voice was angry, flat, and toneless, leaving no room for argument, and the homeless man silently passed the package over to Aya in response to his request. Frankly, he had the feeling he didn't want to argue with either one of these guys, so he decided to just let them duel it out on their own. Just as Aya started to reach for the cigarettes, Yohji's hand shot out to grab the package away from Hank.
"Give him another one, and I'll kill you for real," he growled through clenched teeth. He speared the homeless man with a look that would peel paint. When he looked down at the half-empty package crushed in his hand, he exclaimed, "Hey! Wait a minute! These … these are mine!"
Aya laughed a crazy, drunken, little laugh and held up the almost empty bottle of scotch, swinging it through the air like a pendulum. "So's this," he said, still laughing.
"WHAT?!" Yohji yelped, leaping forward to grab the bottle out of Aya's hand. When he looked at it, he immediately noticed the large, red "x" he'd drawn on the label to mark it as his last bottle, and he looked back at Aya with pleading eyes. "This was my last bottle!" he protested. He rolled his eyes up toward the sky, as if it could tell him why such horrors had to be visited upon him. He looked back at Aya, who was still laughing, and muttered, "Geez, you little shit! What have I ever done to you, anyhow?" He sighed and leaned back onto his heels, holding the bottle up in front of his eyes. "Why me?" He shook his head and dropped it heavily onto his open palm, "It's … it's just so … horrible," he mumbled.
"Well," Hank said, indicating the empty doorstep beside him, "Why don't you join us?"
Yohji sighed and looked at the bottle again. "Might as well get to taste some of my own booze," he said as he settled in between Aya and Hank. As he sat down, he dropped the warm bomber jacket over Aya's shoulders and ordered, "Put that on."
Aya tried to shrug off the jacket's weight with a snarled, "I don't need your damn jacket."
Yohji ignored him and settled in comfortably, back against the doorway of the restaurant where he and Aya had hidden after that last mission. He glared at the redhead and snarled back, "I'm not arguing with you, you little bastard. Just put on the damn jacket and stop acting like such a shit." He paused long enough to watch, with no small amount of satisfaction, Aya shrug his arms into the coat's sleeves. He was finding that he quite liked making the redhead do what he wanted, but he knew that, once Aya was feeling better, he would lose any semblance of control over their leader. Consequently, he decided to make the best of the situation while he could. As he raised the bottle to his lips, Aya made a lightening-quick grab for it, and Yohji barely managed to jerk it out of his reach without spilling any of the precious liquid. He gently shoved the redhead aside, and said, "Nope. You've had quite enough already, I think." He gave the swordsman another appraising look and continued, "Pain killers, antibiotics, and alcohol don't mix, you know. You're a regular, walking anti-drug poster, aren't you? What're you trying to do, anyhow? Kill yourself?"
"What do you care?" Aya replied in a hard, cold voice. He refused to even look at Yohji.
Yohji shrugged and drained the bottle's remaining contents with one swallow.
"How did you find me, Yohji?" Aya asked, his tone angry and slightly sullen.
"Huh?" Yohji replied. "Oh … um, I remembered that hippo sign from the other night." Hank's responding laugh caused Yohji to jump. He'd almost forgotten about the other man.
"Isn't that the most ridiculous sign you've ever seen?" Hank asked, leaning forward so that he was in Yohji's line of sight.
Aya laughed, too, a sound that surprised Yohji almost as much as seeing the normally up-tight, in-control redhead sitting in an alley drinking with a homeless guy. He turned his eyes back toward Hank and replied, "Yeah, it's a damn, damn ugly sign." He paused and then said, quietly, "Sorry about that, by the way." He dragged his thumb across his throat to indicate a corresponding red mark that ran across Hank's neck.
"Huh?" Hank asked. He put his hand to his throat in imitation of Yohji's gesture and felt the almost-healed cut. "Oh, this," he said. He shrugged. "It's OK. No hard feelings. At least I got a night in out of the weather out of it."
"Hmm," Yohji replied. He looked slightly sideways as Aya, who had fallen asleep, slumped companionably against his side, and he unconsciously shifted so that the redhead would be more comfortable. After stubbing out the cigarette he'd taken from the swordsman, he pulled the bomber jacket tighter around Aya's shivering body and zipped it up against the chilly wind. When he looked up, he saw Hank watching him with a faint smile.
"Your friend's a strange one," Hank said. He offered Yohji another cigarette from the package, followed by the lighter. When Yohji looked down at the lighter with a frown, he asked, "Yours?"
Yohji sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He lit his cigarette and then passed the lighter back to Hank. "You can keep it, though." He pulled the bag slightly toward him and began pulling the items out to inspect them. Once he had ascertained that the clothes were Aya's and not his, he replaced them. "Just checking," he said in response to Hank's questioning look. He felt one last item at the bottom of the shopping bag and lifted out the pair of shoes with a groan. He looked toward the heavens again, as if he was asking for strength, and said, "That little shit." Then, he sighed and put the shoes back in the bag.
"Shoes?" Hank asked.
"Yeah," Yohji replied, "they're mine." He glanced down at Aya, who was still sleeping soundly against his side, and said, "He's not exactly my friend. Not for lack of trying, though."
"What do you mean?" Hank asked.
Yohji shrugged off the question without responding. "You're not from here, are you? I didn't notice the other night. You speak Japanese so well, but … you definitely have a foreign accent."
"Yeah, that's true. I've been trying my damndest to get out of this godforsaken country of yours, too. No offense meant," he added hastily, glancing over to see if he had offended his newest companion.
Yohji shrugged, "None taken." He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette and then removed it from his lips, holding it out in front of him for inspection. "So, where are you from?" he finally asked as he rolled the cigarette around between his index finger and thumb.
"Texas," Hank replied.
Yohji laughed, dipping his head slightly between his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. In response to Hank's questioning look, he said, "Sorry. I've met a lot of people from the United States, and a lot of people from Texas. It's funny. Most Americans, when you ask where they're from, they say: "America". But, anyone from Texas always says: "Texas", like it's a separate place. It actually took me a long time to figure out that Texas was one of the states."
Now it was Hank's turn to laugh. He fished out another cigarette and lit it as he replied, "Yeah, guess that just about sums all of us up real good… Texan first, American second." He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ashes from the end of it. "We do love our state," he said wistfully, "So much so that we never want to leave, and, when we do, we spend every waking moment trying to get back there."
"So," Yohji asked, "How'd you end up here, then?"
Hank shrugged and put the cigarette back into his mouth. His words were a bit muffled since he was speaking around it, but Yohji didn't have any problem understanding him. "Ah, I was in the service. Somehow, made my way over here. I met the sweetest little 'ol gal --- Yuki." He looked off into the distance, as if he had forgotten Yohji was even present. "She was the most beautiful woman, and … I … I loved her. I couldn't believe it when she agreed to be my wife, but … she didn't want to leave Japan. She couldn't bring herself to leave her parents. So, I … I resolved that I'd never see my Texas again. But … it didn't matter, as long as I could spend my life with Yuki. We were happy, too. We had a daughter." He leaned forward slightly and fished around in his back pocket until he produced a grubby photo, which he handed to Yohji. "My little Keiko."
Yohji looked down at the picture, which showed a young girl, barely a toddler. She was waving and laughing at the camera. Her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. "She's beautiful," he commented as he handed the picture back to Hank.
Hank looked at it for a moment and rubbed his finger gently across the child's face before replacing the photo in his pocket. He looked back toward the sky and continued his story, "She's a lot older now. It's probably been three, maybe four years since I've seen her. My Yuki … she … she was killed. In a store robbery. She … she was shopping there, and … guess she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time." He sighed and muttered, almost under his breath, "Damn story of my life." He wiped away a couple of tears that had gathered in his eyes, and said, "Anyhow, Yuki's parents … they never really took to me. You know, me being un-Japanese and all. So, after she was dead … they went to court and managed to take custody of my little girl. And, that brings me here --- no Yuki, no Keiko, and no Texas. Guess I thought I could bring them back if I drank enough. For a while it worked, and then, it just became all about the drinking and had nothing to do with them at all."
Yohji stared silently at Hank as he finished his tale. He kept thinking about Asuka. "That's … that's a hell of a story," he finally replied in a soft, gentle voice.
Hank shrugged. "Probably not compared to yours … or his," he said, jerking his thumb toward the sleeping redhead.
"Yeah, guess that's true," Yohji said. He slipped his arm around Aya to give the swordsman extra warmth when he felt him shiver.
"So?" Hank asked. "Wanna reciprocate by sharing your story? I love hearing a good tale o' woe."
Yohji laughed. "My story's pretty boring, actually, and I don't really know his," he said tilting his head to the side to indicate Aya. "Aya's not one to usually share much with other people. It's part of his sparkling charm."
"Aya?" Hank asked. "He told me his name was Ran."
Yohji blinked in astonishment at the other man. He was surprised that Aya would tell a complete stranger his real name. So, Aya really liked this guy, then. He smiled at that thought, and said, "It is. We just call him Aya. Sort of like a nickname."
Hank shrugged. "But, you care about him, huh? You're friends?"
"Well," Yohji said slowly, "Not exactly. Aya's kind of like a stray cat. He lets people stay around him, but he's not really friends with anyone. And, he makes it pretty hard for other people to care about him, too. But, I guess you could say I've developed a certain fondness for him, even though he's pretty much just a thorn in my side. He's kind of like the delinquent little brother I never had. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment or something. He's got this really bad self-destructive streak. I swear he pulls most of his shit just to piss me off."
"But, you always come after him, right?" Hank prompted.
Yohji shrugged again. "The others are too afraid of him. If I didn't do it, who would?"
"He thinks he belongs down here," Hank said softly, staring at the ground between his feet. "He thinks no one cares about him; that he should be here, like me. That's why … that's why he brought the clothes."
"Yeah," Yohji said slowly, with a heavy sigh. "I can't seem to get through to him, to convince him that there are people who care enough about him to be his friends. He thinks he doesn't deserve to have friends … doesn't deserve to have anyone care about him." The blonde sighed and pulled the last cigarette out of the package. "Maybe, in time, I can convince him otherwise," he said as he lit the ciggie.
"He probably knows, on some level," Hank replied. He stubbed out his cigarette and stretched. "After all," he continued, "How many people live with you guys? But, he chose to give away your stuff, didn't he?"
"Right," Yohji said with a short laugh. "Theft … a sure sign of friendship. The family that steals together stays together, right?"
Hank laughed in return. "Either way, he damn sure doesn't belong down here."
Yohji's response was cut off by the angry jangling of his cell phone. He fished it out of his coat pocket, being careful not to disturb Aya, who was still leaning against him, and managed to answer it after the third ring. "Yeah? Omi?" he asked. He paused for a moment, and then waved his hand in front of his face, as if the person on the other end of the phone could see him, and said, "Yeah, Yeah. I found him. No, he's OK. Yeah, I'm gonna bring him home soon."
He hung up the phone with a click, and turned to Hank. "Sorry," he said, "But, we've gotta go. I need to get Sleeping Beauty here home before our house mother has a cow."
He nudged Aya gently, and, when he received an answering groan from the redhead, he said, "Come on, sleepy head. Time to get up."
Aya slowly opened his eyes and gave Yohji a confused look. "Yo … Yohji?" he asked. "What … What are you doing here?"
Yohji rolled his eyes toward the sky in a "why do I even bother" sort of gesture, and replied, "I came looking for you. Are you a pain in the ass or what?"
"Mmmm," Aya replied. He yawned and stretched, rubbing his eyes sleepily, "Sorry," he said. "Can … can we go home now?"
Yohji let out a short snort of laughter and replied, "Yeah." When Hank gave him a questioning look, he shrugged and explained, "Fever. He's kinda been in and out lately … mostly out."
The tall blonde stood up and stretched muscles that were kinked from sitting on the cold ground too long. He bent down and pulled the redhead up behind him. Aya let Yohji lift him off the ground without protest. When he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, the older man reached out quickly to steady him. As soon as the wave of dizziness passed, Aya impatiently pushed Yohji's hands away and stumbled toward the alley entrance.
"What'd I tell you?" Yohji asked Hank. "Just like a stray cat." He paused before following Aya down the alley, and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. He shuffled through its contents and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Hank.
"Koneko no Sumu Ie," Hank read. "What's this for?"
"Come by that address, if you want a job. It's not as fun or glamorous as this," he said, gesturing at the surrounding alleyway. "But, it's honest work, and it pays. Maybe you'll eventually make enough money to get back to Texas."
"Why?" Hank asked. "You don't even know me."
Yohji shrugged and replied, "Aya likes you. That's good enough for me, and it'll be good enough for everyone else, too. He doesn't like that many people --- I know that's hard to believe, given his sparkling personality. Besides, no one belongs down here." He gave Hank a small wave and a smile as he started to turn away, but he stopped when he heard Aya call something back to him. "He says he's sorry about your coat," Yohji said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Aya.
Yohji managed to catch up with Aya in about three long strides, and he slapped him gently on the back of the head.
"What's that for?" Aya asked irritably.
"When you're feeling better, junior, we're gonna to have a long talk about what's yours and what's mine," Yohji said, with a short laugh. When Aya just stared at him, Yohji gently shoved him toward the street and growled, "Get going, OK? Omi's about to have kittens over you disappearing like that."
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 12
Yohji quickly pulled into an empty parking space and turned off his car. About a block away, further up the street, he could see the large, blue, dancing hippo sign that marked the alleyway where he had found Aya on the night of that last mission. He hoped against hope that he would find the redhead there now. He didn't have any idea how long Aya had been gone before Omi had noticed his disappearance, and it had taken him almost an hour and a half to get here from the flower shop, thanks to the morning traffic. Yohji just hoped that Aya had come here on purpose, as opposed to wandering aimlessly around town in a feverish state. If it was the latter, it would take him forever to find the redhead.
He stretched the aching muscles in his back and shoulders as he stepped out of his car. Over a week in that damn uncomfortable chair sure hadn't done any wonders for his back. He felt like he could have done with a few more days of sleep, and he really wished Aya had chosen a better time for his little disappearing act.
Yohji sighed and reached into the car to retrieve the heavy leather bomber jacket he had brought for Aya. "Stupid Aya," he muttered under his breath as he locked the car doors behind him and turned toward the hippo sign. "He's nothing but trouble to me. Could he let me sleep in? No… not him, selfish bastard. I'm so gonna kick his ass when I find him." He looked down at the jacket he held in his hand and then up into the sky as he mumbled, "I'm sure that idiot ran off without a proper coat on. I swear, I don't even know why I bother."
Yohji jogged down the street toward the alley. He didn't want to admit it, but he wouldn't really be able to relax until he saw Aya with his own eyes and knew the redhead was all right. With his long strides, it only took a couple of minutes before he was standing beside the hippo. He looked over at the sign and thought, as he had the last time he had seen it, that it was possibly the most idiotic, ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. What kind of whacked-out weirdo used a giant, dancing hippo for advertising?
'It takes a sick, sick mind to think up something like that,' he thought as he patted the hippo's bulging nose and entered the relative darkness of the alley.
He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He could hear voices from about halfway down the alley. It sounded like two people talking and laughing, and he thought he recognized one of the voices as Aya's. Yohji frowned as he thought, 'Wait a minute … Aya, laughing? Too weird.' He shrugged and jogged down the alley toward the voices.
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"So," Hank asked as he took another drink and passed the bottle, which was now half-empty, over to Aya, "What the hell were you doing out here in all that weather the other night? You sorta looked the part then, but, lookin' at 'ya now, I can't imagine you spend just a ton of time hanging out in dark alleys and such."
Aya took a large drink from the bottle and laughed, "You'd be … surprised … at where I hang out. But, my business out here that night is just that … my business. It's best to leave it at that." Aya's voice clearly implied that this would be the end of any discussion on the matter, and that anyone inquiring further would probably regret it.
Hank stared at his new drinking companion for a moment. This "Ran" kid was a strange one, that was for sure. He seemed pleasant enough; Hank had certainly had his share of more unpleasant drinking buddies. But, he sure didn't say much, and, when he did, it was only in the form of short answers to Hank's questions. Somehow, though, Hank got the feeling that there was a lot more meaning behind the things he said. Besides that, he was pretty sure the kid was drunk. His speech wasn't all that slurred, but his laughter was giddy, and his eyes were bright and a bit unfocused --- all sure signs that he was feeling no pain. But he had yet to let any information about himself slip. Hank hadn't known very many men who were capable of that.
'Yep,' he thought, as he took the bottle back from Aya, 'Any way you look at it, there's a lot more to this kid than meets the eye.'
"Hmm," Hank said, his words muffled as he took a swallow from the bottle. He opened the package of cigarettes Aya had given him and shook out one of the sticks. As he placed the cigarette between his lips, he mumbled, "If you don't want to tell me why you were here that night, at least tell me why you did all this. I mean, I've had lots of stuff stolen since I started living on the streets, but no one ever returned anything or did anything nice like this for me before. So, what's your angle? Trying to get into Heaven or what?" He glanced sideways at Aya with pleading eyes and said, "Please tell me you've got a light for these."
Aya threw back his head and laughed a loud laugh that came right from his belly. The laughter quickly disintegrated into a bone-shuddering cough. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth for a few moments. "Getting into Heaven," he gasped, when he managed to catch his breath, "Now, that's a funny one. If only you knew how far away from the truth you were about me. You wouldn't believe it." He looked over at Hank, who was staring at him with a look that told him he had probably just grown three heads. "I'm sorry, though, I don't think I have a light, unless …" He paused as a thought occurred to him. The jacket he was wearing wasn't his. It was Yohji's. He had grabbed it off of the living room sofa when he had gone out to do some nighttime snooping for that last mission, and he had just left it in his room afterward. If he knew Yohji at all, there was probably a lighter here somewhere, and he fumbled around in the pockets. "Ha!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a lighter and held it up triumphantly.
"All right, now we're cookin'!" Hank exclaimed, rubbing his hands together.
"Cookin'?" Aya repeated, raising his eyebrow and cocking his head to the side in a questioning gesture.
Hank stared at him for a second, and then waved his hand in front of his face, "Ah, never mind. Just hand over that lighter!"
Aya balanced the lighter in between his first two fingers and held it out to Hank in a casual gesture. When the other man leaned forward to take it, he snatched it away, laughing in response to Hank's fake cry of anger. "Only if you give me one of those, too," he said, dangling the lighter just in front of Hank's nose, like a carrot in front of a horse.
"From the sound of that cough, you really shouldn't be using these," Hank replied, but he shook out another cigarette and passed it to Aya.
Aya lit the cigarette and then cupped his hands around the stick Hank held between his lips, to light it, too. Once that was done, he tossed the lighter to the other man. "For later," he said in response to the question he saw in Hank's eyes. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before tilting his head back to blow it out into the cool mid-morning air. It hung above his head like a small cloud for a moment and then dissipated on the breeze. As he sucked in a second time, he started coughing again, and doubled over to hold his ribs, as if that action could stop the burning ache and rattle he felt in his lungs. He didn't let go of the cigarette, though, and, once the coughing fit stopped, he continued to take drag after drag and blow little clouds of smoke out over his head. After a few pulls, he brought the scotch bottle to his lips with shaking hands and took a long drink, coughing and choking slightly as he swallowed around the cigarette he still held in his mouth.
Hank watched him silently for a few moments and then turned away, shaking his head. "You sure seem in a hurry to destroy yourself, kid," he commented as he puffed his own cigarette and stared up at the sky.
"My destruction is my business," Aya replied, his voice and eyes hard. He didn't look at Hank, but, instead, stared at the ground directly at his feet.
Hank shrugged and decided not to pursue the topic any further. This kid was likeable enough, but something about him was frightening. That cold voice and those hard, cruel eyes, made the hairs on the back of Hank's neck stand on end. "Hey," he said, "Suit yourself, kid." He paused for a few moments and regarded Aya silently out of the corner of his eye. "So," he finally continued, when it seemed safe to converse with the redhead again, "Why did you come down here? Why did you bring me these things?"
Aya shrugged and leaned his head against the door jamb that was acting as his support. He sighed and stared up at the sky as he quietly said, "No reason, I guess. I mean … I don't know. I guess … I guess it's because … we're just alike, you know. Nowhere to go, nowhere to belong."
Hank seemed to think about this for a while. "Yeah, a "Nowhere Man", just like in that song. Guess that pretty much describes me, that's for sure." He gave Aya a piercing look, as if he was trying to ascertain exactly what the kid was thinking, and then continued, "But, you're nothing like me, kid. No one cares about me, about whether I live or die. There's no one left in this world to look for me, but someone always comes looking for you." He gestured slightly forward, toward the alley.
Almost as if on cue, a shadow fell across the dimly lit doorway, darkening it even further. Aya looked up to see a familiar pair of shoes. He allowed his eyes to travel upward, squinting and placing his open hand over them in a saluting motion to shield them against the sunlight that now poured into the alley, and finally arrived at a familiar, very unhappy-looking face framed by honey-blonde hair and topped with a pair of dark sunglasses. Was it just his imagination, or had Yohji gotten a lot taller?
"Huh," Aya said, putting his hand down. He grinned crookedly at Yohji and then gestured from the tall blonde to his new drinking companion and back again as he said, "Yohji, Hank. Hank, Yohji."
Yohji ignored the introductions and crouched down in front of Aya, pulling the sunglasses down on his nose to study the redhead closely with worried green eyes. Finally, he sighed and asked, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Aya eyed Yohji calmly, and then looked down at the half-full liquor bottle he still held in his hand. "Um," he replied slowly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, "Smoking and drinking?"
Yohji frowned. "Yeah. So I see," he commented flatly. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Aya's hair, pulling the redhead's face slightly into the light so that he could get a better look at Aya's eyes. He frowned again at what he saw there. Aya was obviously either drunk or high as a kite, or, maybe, considering the amount of antibiotics and painkillers running through his system, both of those things. The redhead's normally clear, violet eyes were slightly glazed over, unfocused, and very, very shiny. He released his hold on Aya's hair when the swordsman angrily swatted at his arm and hand.
Aya took a long drag from his cigarette, which caused him to double over coughing. Yohji took advantage of this momentary imbalance of power to reach over and grab the cigarette out of Aya's mouth with an angry jerk. He started to stub it out against the building's brick wall, when he noticed that it had only been smoked half-way and reconsidered his actions. Instead of putting the glowing little stick out, he stuck it in his own mouth and then proceeded to pick Aya up off of the ground. Once he was again sitting upright, leaning against the doorjamb, Aya grabbed for the cigarette, but Yohji jerked his head backward, out of the swordsman's reach.
"Nope," he said as he calmly batted the redhead's hands away. "People who have pneumonia definitely shouldn't be smoking." He made a great show of taking a long drag off of the cigarette and slowly blowing the smoke out into the air, and he laughed in response to Aya's little growls of frustration.
"You're so damn funny," Aya snarled, glaring at Yohji. The redhead glanced back over at Hank and snapped, "Give me another one of those."
The younger man's voice was angry, flat, and toneless, leaving no room for argument, and the homeless man silently passed the package over to Aya in response to his request. Frankly, he had the feeling he didn't want to argue with either one of these guys, so he decided to just let them duel it out on their own. Just as Aya started to reach for the cigarettes, Yohji's hand shot out to grab the package away from Hank.
"Give him another one, and I'll kill you for real," he growled through clenched teeth. He speared the homeless man with a look that would peel paint. When he looked down at the half-empty package crushed in his hand, he exclaimed, "Hey! Wait a minute! These … these are mine!"
Aya laughed a crazy, drunken, little laugh and held up the almost empty bottle of scotch, swinging it through the air like a pendulum. "So's this," he said, still laughing.
"WHAT?!" Yohji yelped, leaping forward to grab the bottle out of Aya's hand. When he looked at it, he immediately noticed the large, red "x" he'd drawn on the label to mark it as his last bottle, and he looked back at Aya with pleading eyes. "This was my last bottle!" he protested. He rolled his eyes up toward the sky, as if it could tell him why such horrors had to be visited upon him. He looked back at Aya, who was still laughing, and muttered, "Geez, you little shit! What have I ever done to you, anyhow?" He sighed and leaned back onto his heels, holding the bottle up in front of his eyes. "Why me?" He shook his head and dropped it heavily onto his open palm, "It's … it's just so … horrible," he mumbled.
"Well," Hank said, indicating the empty doorstep beside him, "Why don't you join us?"
Yohji sighed and looked at the bottle again. "Might as well get to taste some of my own booze," he said as he settled in between Aya and Hank. As he sat down, he dropped the warm bomber jacket over Aya's shoulders and ordered, "Put that on."
Aya tried to shrug off the jacket's weight with a snarled, "I don't need your damn jacket."
Yohji ignored him and settled in comfortably, back against the doorway of the restaurant where he and Aya had hidden after that last mission. He glared at the redhead and snarled back, "I'm not arguing with you, you little bastard. Just put on the damn jacket and stop acting like such a shit." He paused long enough to watch, with no small amount of satisfaction, Aya shrug his arms into the coat's sleeves. He was finding that he quite liked making the redhead do what he wanted, but he knew that, once Aya was feeling better, he would lose any semblance of control over their leader. Consequently, he decided to make the best of the situation while he could. As he raised the bottle to his lips, Aya made a lightening-quick grab for it, and Yohji barely managed to jerk it out of his reach without spilling any of the precious liquid. He gently shoved the redhead aside, and said, "Nope. You've had quite enough already, I think." He gave the swordsman another appraising look and continued, "Pain killers, antibiotics, and alcohol don't mix, you know. You're a regular, walking anti-drug poster, aren't you? What're you trying to do, anyhow? Kill yourself?"
"What do you care?" Aya replied in a hard, cold voice. He refused to even look at Yohji.
Yohji shrugged and drained the bottle's remaining contents with one swallow.
"How did you find me, Yohji?" Aya asked, his tone angry and slightly sullen.
"Huh?" Yohji replied. "Oh … um, I remembered that hippo sign from the other night." Hank's responding laugh caused Yohji to jump. He'd almost forgotten about the other man.
"Isn't that the most ridiculous sign you've ever seen?" Hank asked, leaning forward so that he was in Yohji's line of sight.
Aya laughed, too, a sound that surprised Yohji almost as much as seeing the normally up-tight, in-control redhead sitting in an alley drinking with a homeless guy. He turned his eyes back toward Hank and replied, "Yeah, it's a damn, damn ugly sign." He paused and then said, quietly, "Sorry about that, by the way." He dragged his thumb across his throat to indicate a corresponding red mark that ran across Hank's neck.
"Huh?" Hank asked. He put his hand to his throat in imitation of Yohji's gesture and felt the almost-healed cut. "Oh, this," he said. He shrugged. "It's OK. No hard feelings. At least I got a night in out of the weather out of it."
"Hmm," Yohji replied. He looked slightly sideways as Aya, who had fallen asleep, slumped companionably against his side, and he unconsciously shifted so that the redhead would be more comfortable. After stubbing out the cigarette he'd taken from the swordsman, he pulled the bomber jacket tighter around Aya's shivering body and zipped it up against the chilly wind. When he looked up, he saw Hank watching him with a faint smile.
"Your friend's a strange one," Hank said. He offered Yohji another cigarette from the package, followed by the lighter. When Yohji looked down at the lighter with a frown, he asked, "Yours?"
Yohji sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He lit his cigarette and then passed the lighter back to Hank. "You can keep it, though." He pulled the bag slightly toward him and began pulling the items out to inspect them. Once he had ascertained that the clothes were Aya's and not his, he replaced them. "Just checking," he said in response to Hank's questioning look. He felt one last item at the bottom of the shopping bag and lifted out the pair of shoes with a groan. He looked toward the heavens again, as if he was asking for strength, and said, "That little shit." Then, he sighed and put the shoes back in the bag.
"Shoes?" Hank asked.
"Yeah," Yohji replied, "they're mine." He glanced down at Aya, who was still sleeping soundly against his side, and said, "He's not exactly my friend. Not for lack of trying, though."
"What do you mean?" Hank asked.
Yohji shrugged off the question without responding. "You're not from here, are you? I didn't notice the other night. You speak Japanese so well, but … you definitely have a foreign accent."
"Yeah, that's true. I've been trying my damndest to get out of this godforsaken country of yours, too. No offense meant," he added hastily, glancing over to see if he had offended his newest companion.
Yohji shrugged, "None taken." He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette and then removed it from his lips, holding it out in front of him for inspection. "So, where are you from?" he finally asked as he rolled the cigarette around between his index finger and thumb.
"Texas," Hank replied.
Yohji laughed, dipping his head slightly between his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. In response to Hank's questioning look, he said, "Sorry. I've met a lot of people from the United States, and a lot of people from Texas. It's funny. Most Americans, when you ask where they're from, they say: "America". But, anyone from Texas always says: "Texas", like it's a separate place. It actually took me a long time to figure out that Texas was one of the states."
Now it was Hank's turn to laugh. He fished out another cigarette and lit it as he replied, "Yeah, guess that just about sums all of us up real good… Texan first, American second." He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ashes from the end of it. "We do love our state," he said wistfully, "So much so that we never want to leave, and, when we do, we spend every waking moment trying to get back there."
"So," Yohji asked, "How'd you end up here, then?"
Hank shrugged and put the cigarette back into his mouth. His words were a bit muffled since he was speaking around it, but Yohji didn't have any problem understanding him. "Ah, I was in the service. Somehow, made my way over here. I met the sweetest little 'ol gal --- Yuki." He looked off into the distance, as if he had forgotten Yohji was even present. "She was the most beautiful woman, and … I … I loved her. I couldn't believe it when she agreed to be my wife, but … she didn't want to leave Japan. She couldn't bring herself to leave her parents. So, I … I resolved that I'd never see my Texas again. But … it didn't matter, as long as I could spend my life with Yuki. We were happy, too. We had a daughter." He leaned forward slightly and fished around in his back pocket until he produced a grubby photo, which he handed to Yohji. "My little Keiko."
Yohji looked down at the picture, which showed a young girl, barely a toddler. She was waving and laughing at the camera. Her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. "She's beautiful," he commented as he handed the picture back to Hank.
Hank looked at it for a moment and rubbed his finger gently across the child's face before replacing the photo in his pocket. He looked back toward the sky and continued his story, "She's a lot older now. It's probably been three, maybe four years since I've seen her. My Yuki … she … she was killed. In a store robbery. She … she was shopping there, and … guess she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time." He sighed and muttered, almost under his breath, "Damn story of my life." He wiped away a couple of tears that had gathered in his eyes, and said, "Anyhow, Yuki's parents … they never really took to me. You know, me being un-Japanese and all. So, after she was dead … they went to court and managed to take custody of my little girl. And, that brings me here --- no Yuki, no Keiko, and no Texas. Guess I thought I could bring them back if I drank enough. For a while it worked, and then, it just became all about the drinking and had nothing to do with them at all."
Yohji stared silently at Hank as he finished his tale. He kept thinking about Asuka. "That's … that's a hell of a story," he finally replied in a soft, gentle voice.
Hank shrugged. "Probably not compared to yours … or his," he said, jerking his thumb toward the sleeping redhead.
"Yeah, guess that's true," Yohji said. He slipped his arm around Aya to give the swordsman extra warmth when he felt him shiver.
"So?" Hank asked. "Wanna reciprocate by sharing your story? I love hearing a good tale o' woe."
Yohji laughed. "My story's pretty boring, actually, and I don't really know his," he said tilting his head to the side to indicate Aya. "Aya's not one to usually share much with other people. It's part of his sparkling charm."
"Aya?" Hank asked. "He told me his name was Ran."
Yohji blinked in astonishment at the other man. He was surprised that Aya would tell a complete stranger his real name. So, Aya really liked this guy, then. He smiled at that thought, and said, "It is. We just call him Aya. Sort of like a nickname."
Hank shrugged. "But, you care about him, huh? You're friends?"
"Well," Yohji said slowly, "Not exactly. Aya's kind of like a stray cat. He lets people stay around him, but he's not really friends with anyone. And, he makes it pretty hard for other people to care about him, too. But, I guess you could say I've developed a certain fondness for him, even though he's pretty much just a thorn in my side. He's kind of like the delinquent little brother I never had. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment or something. He's got this really bad self-destructive streak. I swear he pulls most of his shit just to piss me off."
"But, you always come after him, right?" Hank prompted.
Yohji shrugged again. "The others are too afraid of him. If I didn't do it, who would?"
"He thinks he belongs down here," Hank said softly, staring at the ground between his feet. "He thinks no one cares about him; that he should be here, like me. That's why … that's why he brought the clothes."
"Yeah," Yohji said slowly, with a heavy sigh. "I can't seem to get through to him, to convince him that there are people who care enough about him to be his friends. He thinks he doesn't deserve to have friends … doesn't deserve to have anyone care about him." The blonde sighed and pulled the last cigarette out of the package. "Maybe, in time, I can convince him otherwise," he said as he lit the ciggie.
"He probably knows, on some level," Hank replied. He stubbed out his cigarette and stretched. "After all," he continued, "How many people live with you guys? But, he chose to give away your stuff, didn't he?"
"Right," Yohji said with a short laugh. "Theft … a sure sign of friendship. The family that steals together stays together, right?"
Hank laughed in return. "Either way, he damn sure doesn't belong down here."
Yohji's response was cut off by the angry jangling of his cell phone. He fished it out of his coat pocket, being careful not to disturb Aya, who was still leaning against him, and managed to answer it after the third ring. "Yeah? Omi?" he asked. He paused for a moment, and then waved his hand in front of his face, as if the person on the other end of the phone could see him, and said, "Yeah, Yeah. I found him. No, he's OK. Yeah, I'm gonna bring him home soon."
He hung up the phone with a click, and turned to Hank. "Sorry," he said, "But, we've gotta go. I need to get Sleeping Beauty here home before our house mother has a cow."
He nudged Aya gently, and, when he received an answering groan from the redhead, he said, "Come on, sleepy head. Time to get up."
Aya slowly opened his eyes and gave Yohji a confused look. "Yo … Yohji?" he asked. "What … What are you doing here?"
Yohji rolled his eyes toward the sky in a "why do I even bother" sort of gesture, and replied, "I came looking for you. Are you a pain in the ass or what?"
"Mmmm," Aya replied. He yawned and stretched, rubbing his eyes sleepily, "Sorry," he said. "Can … can we go home now?"
Yohji let out a short snort of laughter and replied, "Yeah." When Hank gave him a questioning look, he shrugged and explained, "Fever. He's kinda been in and out lately … mostly out."
The tall blonde stood up and stretched muscles that were kinked from sitting on the cold ground too long. He bent down and pulled the redhead up behind him. Aya let Yohji lift him off the ground without protest. When he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, the older man reached out quickly to steady him. As soon as the wave of dizziness passed, Aya impatiently pushed Yohji's hands away and stumbled toward the alley entrance.
"What'd I tell you?" Yohji asked Hank. "Just like a stray cat." He paused before following Aya down the alley, and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. He shuffled through its contents and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Hank.
"Koneko no Sumu Ie," Hank read. "What's this for?"
"Come by that address, if you want a job. It's not as fun or glamorous as this," he said, gesturing at the surrounding alleyway. "But, it's honest work, and it pays. Maybe you'll eventually make enough money to get back to Texas."
"Why?" Hank asked. "You don't even know me."
Yohji shrugged and replied, "Aya likes you. That's good enough for me, and it'll be good enough for everyone else, too. He doesn't like that many people --- I know that's hard to believe, given his sparkling personality. Besides, no one belongs down here." He gave Hank a small wave and a smile as he started to turn away, but he stopped when he heard Aya call something back to him. "He says he's sorry about your coat," Yohji said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Aya.
Yohji managed to catch up with Aya in about three long strides, and he slapped him gently on the back of the head.
"What's that for?" Aya asked irritably.
"When you're feeling better, junior, we're gonna to have a long talk about what's yours and what's mine," Yohji said, with a short laugh. When Aya just stared at him, Yohji gently shoved him toward the street and growled, "Get going, OK? Omi's about to have kittens over you disappearing like that."