Deep Inside of You part 8
"Hi, Aya-chan," Aya murmured as he slipped inside his sister’s room. The last rays of the setting sun bathed her still form in a rosy glow and Aya leaned against the door for a moment, smiling softly at the sight. She looked so peaceful, but he no longer saw her stillness as the peace of death held off by science. No, he had set his doubts aside and believed again that she was merely sleeping, and one day, she would wake.
After all, he’d been sure about Yohji being gone, and he’d been wrong.
Aya sighed slightly and flicked on the overhead light in the hospital room as the pinkish light of sunset began to deepen into twilight. He crossed the small room and settled in a chair beside his sister’s bed, taking one small, cool hand in his own. Her skin felt soft against his hand, where new calluses were developing alongside the old ones. Manual labor, like the construction work he’d been doing to pay the bills, toughened a man’s hands in different places than wielding a katana did.
In a way, he preferred these new calluses, and was waiting for the older ones to fade. In another way…
He shoved his free hand through the bright red hair that had earned him a few snickers around the workplace, until one day he’d hauled off and punched the most obnoxious of his new coworkers. It wasn’t that their mockery, mostly good-natured as it was, had particularly bothered him, but because he recognized their behavior as the sort of territorial challenge he’d encountered from Ken when he’d first joined Weiss. Not a serious threat, just a necessary sort of formality if he wanted the others’ respect.
Aya sighed again as his thoughts drifted inevitably to his former teammates, one in particular. He knew he’d hurt Ken when he’d just…left. A part of Aya felt very guilty for doing that to the younger man. He knew what it felt like to be left behind, abandoned, and he knew it was a cruel thing to do to someone deliberately. At least those who had left Aya had been forced to by death or illness. Ken, and Yohji and Omi, too, he had just walked away from. Just turned his back and left, as if they had never mattered to him in the first place.
He was sure that was what they thought, what they said about him now. That Fujimiya, he was a cold bastard from day one. He never gave a shit about any of us, just making money to support his sister, and killing Takatori to avenge her. Now that Takatori was dead, he was too good to hang around with a bunch of ex-assassins selling flowers.
Aya found himself frowning at the thought that Ken and the others might believe these things about him, and forced the expression from his face. He shouldn’t frown here, shouldn’t think these sorts of thoughts here. The doctors here said that Aya-chan might be very aware of her environment, even though she seemed so oblivious, so Aya tried to keep his mood positive when he visited her.
But it was hard sometimes. Especially when he thought about his friends, wondered what they were doing, how they were…
His friends. Did he even deserve to call them that? They’d cared about him, he knew that…well, Ken had. Omi liked everybody. Yohji…Yohji had never quite understood him, but regarded him with fond bemusement.
He’d cared about them. A part of him still did, always would. But…
Ken had been right, that time they’d talked, before… Aya still had his sister. When Reiji Takatori was dead, Weiss’ purpose was completed. This bizarre interlude in their lives during which they’d become dark avengers of the night, hunting and killing the wicked beyond the reach of the law, had come to an end.
Suddenly, it had been time to move on. To forget Weiss, and find a new way to live. A new purpose.
Aya already had one waiting for him.
They had looked so surprised, the day he’d informed them he was taking Aya-chan away to a better facility. He couldn’t believe they’d have thought he would stay in Tokyo now that he had a chance to get away, to live a better life while he waited for her to come back to him. How could they stand to stay in that city, where any street they might turn down could be one whose gutters had run with the blood of their victims? Aya had had no problem killing Weiss’ targets. They had been evil, and deserved the justice they got. But still…he hated the blood left on his hands, that he could never quite wash off. He’d thought, in the beginning, that his desire to kill Takatori meant he could handle becoming an assassin. As time wore on, he was not so sure. Despite how his skills had improved, the actual killing had only gotten harder. He’d been forced to shut down his emotions just to deal with the life he’d fallen into, forced to withdraw into himself…
Even with Weiss, it hadn’t been much better. But slowly, it had started to be. As he lived, day in and day out, with these three other young men who did the same things he did at night, and yet somehow managed to get up the next day and go to school, coach soccer, and flirt with women, he had started to wonder… How did they do that? How could they spend their nights killing, and their days…living? Aya had voluntarily given up his life to Kritiker when his parents were killed and his sister injured. It hadn’t meant anything to him at that point. He had come to learn that his teammates had similar histories, having also lost whatever it was they held most dear.
They were, as Ken had said, the walking dead. But they had seemed so alive.
Ken, Aya knew, had a lot of repressed anger. The younger man had never really dealt with his impotent rage at the lies and deceptions that had prematurely ended his soccer career. More than that, after discovering his former best friend, Kase, had been behind the whole scandal, Aya had never seen Ken vent any of the anger he must have been feeling. That betrayal had to cut deep, yet after mourning the loss of his friendship for a short time and having a brief fling with that Yuriko girl, Ken had been right back to work, both in the flower shop and in Weiss. It wasn’t until then that Aya had found himself wondering at Ken’s choice of weapon. The former soccer player always seemed so good-natured and easy-going, but he couldn’t have chosen a more brutal, up-close-and-personal weapon than his bugnuks. Even Aya’s sword allowed him a certain distance. Aya wondered what it was like to feel those claws sink into and tear through flesh, the blood splattering onto your face and chest and arm… Ken, he had decided, was more violent than he looked.
Then there was Yohji. On the surface, the former detective seemed almost oblivious to everything around him unless it related directly to his personal happiness or pleasure. He didn’t seem to care more than casually for anything or anyone. As the oldest of the group, Aya had expected Yohji to be the one to challenge his entrance, but it had been Ken who forced the confrontation. Yohji hadn’t seemed to care much one way or another, except that he would have to spend less time in the flower shop now that there was another employee. Yet despite Yohji’s blasé attitude, Aya had observed, most noticeably during his altercation with Ken when Yohji had been in a coma, that the younger members of the group were fiercely loyal to the lazy playboy. Personally, Aya had had a lot of trouble at first understanding why Yohji had ended up in Weiss. He would have thought the older man better suited to some other branch of Kritiker. Yohji seemed so self-centered, it was hard to imagine him as part of a team, much less as a dispenser of vigilante justice.
Aya had been leaving the scene of a job one night, and stumbled across one of Yohji’s victims. The man had been garroted and hung from an overhanging pipe, the corpse dangling grotesquely, face purple, eyes bulging. His eyes had followed the line of the wire holding the body suspended, to where it was neatly and precisely wrapped around another pipe, ensuring the body would continue to hang there until someone cut it down. Sickened at the sight, Aya had snapped the tight wire with one sweep of his blade, and the man had crumpled to the floor. Aya had left the building and met up with the rest of the team outside. He’d stared at Yohji in amazement as the blond casually lit a cigarette and announced pointedly that he had a date to get to if they were done with the job. He’d strung a man up from the ceiling inside, to die slowly of strangulation, and now he wanted to go out on the town. It didn’t bother him, what he’d done. It didn’t affect his personal happiness or pleasure, so…he didn’t care.
And Omi…Omi frankly unnerved Aya. Those huge, innocent blue eyes that were strangely empty, the never-ending supply of smiles and cheer when his entire life was a bloody lie… Aya worried about Omi. Right up until Ouka was killed, Aya had worried about Omi. But the boy had taken the loss in stride. Oh, he’d mourned her, missed her, just as Ken had Kase. But he’d gotten over it so much more quickly than Aya could believe possible. So he hadn’t even known she was his sister until shortly before her death. She had still been family, the only family Omi could bring himself to claim. Aya’s relief at Omi’s rejection of the Takatoris had been dampened by the boy’s acceptance of his sister’s loss. Aya couldn’t understand how anyone could let go of his family, the only remnant of family he had left, so easily. He’d approached the boy about it once, hesitantly, but Omi had only stared at him in confusion for a moment, then shrugged away his concern with a smile. Of course he missed her, he always would, but she was in a better place now. She was beyond pain, and he still had work to do. Aya supposed he had looked curious at this response, and Omi had cheerfully elaborated that he could never forgive the bad ones. He had to punish them. As long as there were dark beasts to hunt, he would be a white hunter. Then he had picked up a pot of flowers and lugged it outside, humming some popular tune softly to himself.
Aya had considered Omi’s words for a while, and found himself reminded of something he didn’t think about often. Omi was the longest-standing member of Weiss. Despite being the youngest, he had been killing for Kritiker longer than any of them. He had been raised to it. The rest of them had joined Weiss, but Omi was Weiss. An innocent, cheerful, fresh-faced murderer.
The creak of the door as the nurse looked in to check on him and his sister brought Aya from his grim contemplation. He nodded solemnly at the woman, too long accustomed to keeping his face expressionless to smile for anyone but Aya-chan. The nurse, already familiar with him after just four months, grinned at his reserve and nodded back, withdrawing from the room.
Aya frowned slightly at his sister, forgetting his own rule about maintaining a cheerful demeanor around her. She lay there so still, and he wondered if it was dark and quiet inside her mind, or if she dreamed. Were there wild currents beneath the unchanging surface? Still waters, as he knew too well, could run very deep.
Aya propped his elbow on the mattress, and set his chin in his hand, still staring at Aya-chan’s face as his thoughts drifted again to his erstwhile teammates.
They were killers, plain and simple. It was what they did, and they were good at it. Aya was good at it as well, but there had been times when he had really wondered if perhaps his teammates didn’t actually enjoy their work. At the very least, it seemed not to bother them as it did him. But then, they didn’t have an Aya-chan.
There wasn’t anyone waiting for them, when Takatori was dead. No light at the end of the tunnel. They didn’t have to worry about the blood on their hands when they held their sister in their arms, would never have to try and explain to innocent, trusting eyes how they had killed people to protect and support and avenge her… She would never understand, he feared. She would never have wanted him to do what he had done at all, and certainly not for her benefit. He was afraid she would say she would rather he had let her die than kill to keep her alive, and use her as an excuse for murder.
The part of him that knew this was his fate understood Ken, and Yohji, and Omi. They had nothing left that mattered to them. Why should they care about the blood on their hands? All they had…all they had was each other. That was what he had finally figured out, as he studied them all, trying to figure out how they could seem so normal, so…happy, when they were killers. Walking dead men.
They had each other. Weiss had become more than just a team for them, it was the only family they had. It was the closest thing they would ever know to normal life. And the price for that refuge, for not being alone, was murder.
Part of Aya could understand how that could seem little enough to pay.
But once he understood where they got the strength to go on living "normal" lives, he’d become, if anything, more wary of them. He had been alone since his parents had died and Aya-chan had gone into her coma. He’d been alone for so long, and his solitude had been his driving motivation. He waited only for her, to come back to him, to fill the void inside.
But there were other ways to fill that void. Other people he could care about, could let inside his walls…if he dared.
He wasn’t afraid they would turn on him. Although he’d come to realize that Kritiker had chosen them well for their places in Weiss, that all three of them, for whatever reason or quirks of fate or personality, were born killers, he didn’t fear them. Not for that. He was part of the team, after all. They defended their own. He understood that as well. He understood it far too well, in fact.
They had made Weiss their family. And if he was in Weiss…
There had been times, when it would have been so easy to just let go. She’d been asleep for so long, there didn’t seem to be any hope left…and his friends were there, patiently waiting for him to accept his place among them.
When Yohji had gotten hurt, when Aya had believed the older man was dead, it had felt… It was horrible, because he had realized that he had begun to accept them as his new family. And he couldn’t bear to lose more family. When Ken had come to him…
It had been as much about comfort as passion, although that wasn’t to say Aya wasn’t attracted to the younger man. Ken had a certain rough-edged charm that was more appealing to Aya than Yohji’s polished suavity. And there was simply no denying that the former soccer player was attractive. Aya sometimes found it almost painfully ironic that his parents’ deaths had had one unexpected benefit: he had never had to deal with telling them that he wasn’t interested in women. He’d been planning and dreading that conversation for a few weeks before the explosion, but had been putting it off until after his sister’s birthday.
But anyway, Ken… Having declared Yohji and Aya-chan dead, Aya had been somewhat in shock, drifting, not knowing what to do with himself. He felt that he’d been clinging to a false hope, and because of that, he’d never allowed himself to admit how important Yohji had become to him, and now he was lost as well. He’d been silently panicking at the thought of losing his family all over again, and then Ken had been there, and refused to be pushed away...
Despite Ken’s initial uncertainty and surprise, Aya had figured out pretty quickly that it had hardly been the younger man’s first time. In a way, that had made it easier for Aya to stick to his decision to keep his distance until he figured out what exactly he was doing. If Ken had been a virgin, things might have been different, but he knew what he was doing, what he was getting into…
Not that that mattered. Aya had known he would still hurt Ken by ignoring him. Despite Ken’s words, Aya had known the younger man really cared about him, for some reason, and wanted more than a one-night stand. Would have given him more than a one-night stand.
But Aya had been confused, so he had pushed Ken away once he had himself back under control. And if he had regretted his actions, well, it still had to be done. And if he still regretted it…well, that just made moving away an even better idea. Ken didn’t need someone like Aya cluttering up his life now that he had a chance to really live again. Aya knew he could never really give himself to someone else while he was waiting for his sister.
If Yohji hadn’t woken up…
Aya frowned again at that thought. He was glad Yohji had woken up. Yohji was part of the team, and even if Weiss wasn’t as much a surrogate family to Aya as it was to the others, they were still important to him, and he didn’t want to see them hurt, much less…
But Yohji had woken up. Aya’s proclamation had been proved wrong.
He’d been quietly thrilled.
And it was Ken who had pointed out that Yohji’s recovery might mean Aya had been wrong about his sister as well.
Sweet, considerate Ken, wanting to cheer him up, and never realizing that he’d just destroyed any hope of their relationship developing any further than it had.
When he’d been ready to give up on Aya-chan, Aya had turned to Ken in desperation, in need. And perhaps Ken had needed something from Aya as well, considering the younger man’s brotherly attachment to Yohji. So they had used each other for comfort, for closeness. It could have been more. That thought haunted Aya some nights, when he laid in bed and wondered just what it could have been, to have Ken at his side, knowing all his dark secrets and not hating him for them. Able to ignore the blood on Aya’s hands, since his own were just as stained.
It just might have been wonderful.
But he had Aya-chan.
She had to come first. He owed her that. And more than that, she was his sister. He loved her. He might have been able to love Ken, someday. But he loved Aya-chan now. And she still needed his protection and support, now that he’d accomplished his empty vengeance. Ken…didn’t need him. Ken cared for him, Aya knew that. He cared for Ken as well. He cared for Yohji and Omi, too, in slightly different ways. But they all still had each other. They’d never really needed him. He’d never really been part of the group, and in the end, Ken would be better off without him. Weiss was over, now, and there was no reason any of them should stay tied to the past. If he and Ken had become lovers, if he had stayed in Tokyo, they would have been constant reminders for each other. Ken deserved better than that.
"Fujimiya-san? You should go home and get some rest," a soft voice scolded gently from the doorway. Aya glanced over, surprised to see the nurse smiling at him again. He hadn’t heard the door open this time. That both pleased and bothered him. He nodded at her, knowing he’d already been permitted to stay long past visiting hours, and would mess up their schedule if he lingered longer. Years of sitting at his sister’s bedside had taught him some hospital etiquette.
He stood reluctantly and settled her hand gently on the mattress, running work-roughened fingers along her smooth cheek in lieu of a kiss. He didn’t like to kiss her when the nurses were watching. It made him feel silly.
How she would roll her eyes at that.
Come to think of it, so would Ken. Omi would shake his head and smile in amusement, and Yohji would make some remark about how a man should never be embarrassed to be seen kissing a pretty girl…
For a moment, he could almost hear them, see them… Then he shook his head and banished the ghosts of memory. He had enough phantoms haunting him already. He didn’t need the living to start tormenting him as well.
He walked to the door, the nurse stepping into the room as he left.
"You should bring her some flowers," the woman advised as he stepped past her. "Brighten the place up a bit."
He blinked in surprise as he left the room, considering her words. He realized that he hadn’t brought Aya-chan flowers since he’d left Weiss and the shop. He had used to bring them to her all the time…
To cover up the smell of blood. That was what flowers were good for, concealing the stench of death. For funerals, hospitals, murderers.
But…they were also for weddings, and gifts, and lovers…
Flowers had for so long been a part of his new life in the shadows that he’d almost forgotten that for other people, they generally had more pleasant associations. It was a different perspective. Aya knew he sometimes had trouble seeing things from a point of view other than his own.
So, well, perhaps tomorrow he would bring her some flowers.