Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Not Now, Not Ever ❯ Almost a Stranger ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: Mine, mine, mine! OK, OK! Not mine, dammit!

This is a work of fanfiction and is not for profit.

 

Pairing: Aya/Yohji

 

Rating: NC-17 for language and smut.

 

A/N: The long awaited chapter 4. Alright, so maybe nobody was waiting, but a girl can dream, ne? As always, thank you to Marasmine for the best beta ever and to the reviewers who have offered so much encouragement.

KD, this one's for you, dear!

 

`thoughts'

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

After Neu, Yohji was quiet and withdrawn. He went to work, always on time, and really worked. He made some of his best arrangements. He actually swept the floor instead of just using the broom as a prop. He stocked the coolers, made displays, and hauled the larger items wherever they needed to go. He carefully, almost lovingly, tended the plants; like he was tired of only seeing things die by his hands. For once, he wanted to bring life. `Explains why he used to sleep around, too, I suppose. To see another so full of life under his hands.' Aya wondered what it would feel like to be stroked and caressed by the fine-boned, wire-calloused hands.

 

Yohji did not, however, interact. He didn't wait on customers. He avoided the fangirls. He spoke only when spoken to and not always then. He watched Aya.

 

He watched Aya with something in his eyes that made Omi's heart ache. Something akin to regret mixed with longing, an apology combined with an invitation. For what, Omi wasn't sure, but he suspected. `At least,' Omi thought, `Aya is finally starting to notice the change.'

 

`Quit with the cow eyes, Omi. I know something's up with Kudoh, but what the hell do you want me to do about it? Hell, I'm so attuned to him I probably noticed it first!' Aya just wasn't sure that he was ready to approach Yohji about it. They weren't exactly friends anymore. He no longer wanted to kill the man because of the Neu fiasco. He wouldn't have minded, in the least, being the one to have cut the bitch's head off, but there was some poetic justice in her dying in the same manner in which she'd attempted to kill Yohji. Besides that, it was the closure that the blonde needed, whether he was ready to admit that or not.

 

Aya had still felt drawn to the man, even in his sullen state. `Who knew moping could look so good?' he though uncharitably. It wasn't moping, not really. It was grieving. Not just grieving for Neu or Asuka, or whomever, but grieving for some part of Yohji that had finally let go. A part of Yohji that had held to the ideas of life and love with childlike tenacity was gone. And no one knew if it could be regained. It was that fear and that grief that kept their teammate from reconnecting to the world.

 

Aya wanted things back the way they were. The companionship that had been budding before that stupid argument when he'd taken his conflicted emotions out on his friend. But really, he wanted it to be better than it was then. He still wanted an answer to the question that had created the rift.

 

`Why the playboy persona? Why any charade at all?'

 

Except, he wasn't the playboy anymore. It was something else, something darker, a little more brooding perhaps. But it was still a mask, still a way of shielding his heart and mind. Perhaps his unhappiness was clear, but they'd all have been more surprised if that hadn't shown. Asuka or not, Neu's death had to have him reliving that night in the alley over and over.

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Aya-chan's command to “live” played in his head over and over. Aya found himself inexplicably wanting to reach out. He'd never wanted to do this for anyone else, besides his sister, of course. But, now that Aya-chan had discovered his feelings, they were that much more difficult to ignore. He wanted to hold Yohji, pet him, whisper words of comfort, offer peace. But, he didn't know where or how to start! Until tonight, Aya had thought that somehow he'd know if Yohji's problems were reaching critical mass. That he could wait until then to take action. He'd been hoping that he had learned enough about the man to recognize the signs before it was too late. Now, he was sure of only one thing: he was running out of time.

 

It was Yohji's latest solo mission that drove the point home for Aya. When Yohji had a solo mission, Aya always waited up, though no one knew. He'd sit in his room reading or feigning sleep until he heard his lanky housemate enter his own room. Around 2:30 a.m., when he'd heard nothing he began to be concerned. Yohji was usually home by now.

 

At 3:30 a.m., Yohji finally stumbled through the back door, one arm clutched around his waist, one leg bearing most of his weight. He fell against the wall, barely remaining upright; panting and lamenting the last set of stairs he had to negotiate in order to get to his room. He tried not to leave a trail, but he couldn't staunch the blood flow from the wound in his leg and he knew it'd be hell to clean up before the others saw, especially in his current state. But, first things first, he had to get himself patched and cleaned.

 

He lurched toward the stairs, making a wild grab for the banister to keep some of the pressure off of his injured leg. He missed and landed with a thud at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't stifle the cry as his side was jarred and he felt it rip a little more.

 

`Come on, Kudoh! You've got to get up! If anyone heard you, they'll just assume you're too drunk to walk straight, but if they find you, well, that could be bad. So, get up and get your ass moving!' These little mental pep talks could be so inspiring.

 

He made it as far as his knees when he heard a door creak in the hall upstairs. He grit his teeth and tried to slow his breathing. He stayed very, very still, hoping whichever curious kitten it was would just go back to sleep.

 

No such luck.

 

Aya heard Yohji fall into the apartment. `Did you have to stop for drink on your way home from a mission? Gods, Kudoh, grow up!' Then a thousand other thoughts assailed him at once. `Yohji used to drink like a fish and never stumbled around the house. Even intoxicated, he's an assassin and could move silently to his room. He knows the Koneko like his hand and wouldn't stumble over anything unless it'd been moved, which it hasn't.'

 

That was when he heard the thud and accompanying muffled cry. Out of habit, he moved silently and with caution. However, when he reached the top of stairs, he threw caution to the wind and bounded to the lower level. Yohji was on all fours, damp hair clinging to the back of his neck, a rapidly spreading puddle of red around him. He squatted next to the hunched form and reached out a hand, which Yohji feebly attempted to bat away.

 

“I'm fine,” Yohji wheezed out. “I just need a moment to catch my breath.”

 

“The hell you are.” It was amazing how quickly the man could piss him off. Where once was a man who would have taken any opportunity to be touched, now was one who wouldn't accept it even in his very obvious need. `Well, I'll just have to use a different approach for the moment.' “You're making a mess. We have to get you upstairs,” he stated matter-of-factly. He took the silence as assent and reached out again. This time, he got one arm around the taller man and slung Yohji's arm over his shoulders. He slowly raised them to their feet, immediately aware that the other was favoring his right leg. With the aid of the handrail, they made it up to Yohji's room.

 

As soon as they were through the door, Yohji removed his arm from Aya's shoulders and leaned on the wall. Aya flipped the lights on and bit down on the gasp that tried to escape. He'd never seen the normally tanned man so pale.

 

“I can take it from here. Thanks for the assistance with the steps.” Yohji just wanted to be alone so he could collapse. `He can't see me like this; so weak I can barely stand. I don't want to see the disappointment, disdain, and disgust on his face. Those beautiful, chiseled features cast down on me is more than I can handle right now. Please, Aya, just go!' He could feel the weight of the amethyst eyes that raked over his appearance. One last attempt to get rid of him, he had to try. Voice as firm as he could manage in his current condition he grit out, “goodnight, Aya.”

 

“Strip,” came the calm reply.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You heard me. Get started.” And with that, Aya headed for the medical supplies.

 

Yohji knew when he was defeated. He just didn't have the strength to fight his field leader tonight. It was taking everything he had to hobble toward the bed and follow the order issued. He'd managed to let his coat slip off of his arms to the floor when he realized there wasn't much more he could do without causing a lot more pain.

 

Aya came back in to see Yohji sitting on the bed, still dressed, looking dazed. The man looked over and gave a small, sheepish smile. `This is fucking humiliating. I'm so sorry, Aya.'

 

“Let me guess, you need help with that, too?” A sigh and a nod indicated that he was correct. Aya set the basin of water on the nightstand. The towels and washcloth were laid on the bed nearby and the medical kit he sat on the floor near Yohji's feet.

 

He knelt in front of the gaunt man and began unlacing his boots. Next went socks, shirt and pants. Each article gently peeled away and soaked off where necessary. There was a bullet wound in the left thigh and a deep gash in his side. But it wasn't these that caused the sharp intake of breath. These new wounds weren't what caused the rare feeling of tears pricking the backs of his eyes as he moved behind Yohji to start washing away the blood. No, these wounds were bad, but the others were worse. Not because they were more serious, but because there were so many. The smooth tawny skin bearing only a handful of the marks of their trade Aya knew from treating previous wounds was now covered in new scars, bruises, abrasions, and even a few burns. Aya was as careful as he could be as he tended to the bullet and knife wounds from this night's mission. Once the bullet was out and the stitches were closed Yohji's breathing became easier. Aya refilled the basin with clear water to finish getting the blonde cleaned up. Aya'd kept his silence while he worked, needing to concentrate, but he couldn't hold his tongue anymore.

 

“Yohji,” he began. But the older man cut him off.

 

“Don't, Aya. Not now, not . . . not ever.” The words rang in Aya's head. He remembered the last time he'd heard them, even if he had said them to himself. They only strengthened his resolve. He didn't like to be told `no.'

 

“Damn it, Kudoh, you will hear me!” He moved in front of the blonde again. “Who's been treating your wounds?”

 

“. . .”

 

“Answer me. That's a direct order, Kritiker business. Now, who has been treating your wounds?

 

“I have,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the floor.

 

“Well, Balinese, you're doing a piss poor job of it. You know that several of these should have been treated by a professional but, at the very least, Ken, Omi, or me. What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“They're fine. I'm fine. You're over-reacting. I'm tired. Are we done?” It came out in one exasperated breath.

 

Aya would have exploded had it not been for the lines of pain all the over too thin face of his friend. The bruises under the emerald eyes were so dark they made the orbs look sunken, exhaustion clear in them. The faint frown on lush lips another indication of discomfort. Aya shook out two pills from one bottle and one pill from another in the medical kit. He handed all three to Yohji with an open bottle of water. Yohji shook his head.

 

“Swallow them or, so help me, I'll find another way to get them inside you. Am I clear?” He knew he sounded like the icy Abyssinian, but he couldn't stand to see the man he cared for so much in this state. He couldn't show how much this was hurting him, so he fell into his old habits. It was effective, though. Yohji took the pills without further comment. He didn't even ask what they were. Although, it was becoming clearer with each moment that Yohji didn't care about his own life anymore. Had the pills been cyanide, the baka probably would have taken them without the threat!

 

Aya gathered the supplies together and helped Yohji get comfortable in his bed. One of the pills had been a sleeping aid. He was trying to force the rest that the man so clearly needed onto Yohji. “We're done, for now, Yohji. Get some sleep,” he whispered before he turned out the light.

 

The last things Yohji was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness were a cool hand ghosting over his fevered face and the gentleness, usually reserved only for Aya-chan, in his teammate's voice when he spoke his name.

 

Aya leaned heavily against the closed door regaining his composure. He wanted to call Manx and chew her out for not recognizing an assassin with a death wish. For not forcing the fool to have regular medical exams after so many solo missions. For allowing him to take that many damned missions in the first place! But, it was five o'clock in the morning. And it wasn't Manx's fault. Not really.

 

He'd thought he would know, somehow, when things went too far, but he hadn't. He found out by accident, a fortuitous circumstance. He didn't like to think to about what may have happened if he hadn't been there last night… this morning… whatever.

 

Aya decided to talk to Omi and Ken first. When he asked them about the changes in Yohji's behavior they looked at the floor and shuffled their feet like children being taken to task. Aya coolly informed them that he wasn't interested in their guilt: he was concerned for Yohji. He bore as much responsibility as they did, so who was he to judge? Ken still took it hard. He had been closest to Yohji, his best friend. At one time, he had hoped to see more develop between the blonde and the redhead. He figured if he hung back it would encourage that development, forcing Yohji to look to Aya where he'd once gone to Ken. Then it became an easy habit to fall into, especially once he was so preoccupied with his new lover. He felt he should have been doing more for his friend recently. They all should have. Yohji was Weiss and Weiss was a family.

 

Well, isn't hindsight 20/20?

 

They spent a long night talking it over. And then an afternoon with Aya-chan, altering the truth while still getting the insightful girl's opinion. Then another night, this time including Manx. Eventually, the three Weiss members came up with a plan. Clearing it with Manx was relatively easy since she had shared their original reaction. She'd been wrapped up in reorganizing Kritiker and while she had noticed that there was a problem, she had failed to act. She was pleased that the team was handling it and promised to do whatever she could to help. She offered some suggestions (psychobabble) to make Aya's job a little easier and he was grateful. He'd never realized how well she knew Yohji. Aya-chan was enlisted as well. Since Manx had approved the two weeks off for Aya and Yohji, Ken and Omi would need help at the Koneko. Aya-chan said she'd be glad to take some shifts if it meant her brother was going on vacation. Aya was content to let her think that was what it was. He, however, was not suffering under the same delusion. He knew that he had his work cut out for him, but he also knew that he could handle it.

 

Aya was elected delegate, which was fine as it was what he wanted. It made approaching Yohji easier if he could think he was doing it for the team and not just himself. He could ignore his ulterior motives for the time being.

 

Time was of the essence and they decided that the plan should be executed immediately. It was 2:00 am, four days after the disastrous solo mission, but there was no doubt that the resident night owl was awake. Aya raised a tentative hand, steeled himself, then knocked firmly. He opened the door when Yohji bid him enter. The greeting he was about to issue died on his lips as he took in his surroundings. Yohji's quarters were transformed. He'd been so focused on Yohji's injuries and his own emotions the other night that he'd failed to notice. Now, though, it was glaringly obvious. Gone was the clutter of knickknacks, candles, books, magazines, and papers that had once covered every surface and had given the space a lived-in and homey feeling. Gone were the rumpled bedclothes and random articles of clothing strewn about. Gone was the soft chenille blanket that once draped invitingly over the arm of the overstuffed chair, though Aya thought he saw the corner of it peeking out of the closet. The room was immaculate. The bed was neatly made. The books were dutifully lined up in the bookcase. The knickknacks were just gone, as were the papers and magazines. Nothing adorned the walls where once were large prints of famous European artworks and a few of Yohji's own sketches. The sketch books were on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, the art supplies were nowhere to be seen. It reminded Aya of how his own quarters were in the early days of Weiss. Actually, a lot about `Yohji now' reminded him of `Aya then.'

 

When Aya came back to himself he saw Yohji perched on the windowsill. One leg was out on the fire escape, the other drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee. He was watching the tendrils of smoke from the end of the smoldering cigarette curl into the night and studiously ignoring Aya's presence. Aya started to walk toward him when sudden realization struck. `We're not friends anymore. He won't respond to an offer. Has to be a command. Has to come from the leader of Weiss.'

 

“Balinese, pack you bags. Take whatever you think you will need for a two week stay. You have one hour.” Aya turned on his heel and left without giving the other man a chance to respond. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. That wasn't Yohji in that room. That was barely a ghost of the man they'd once known, almost a stranger.

 

At 3:00 a.m. Aya found himself, once again, outside Yohji's door. This time it swung open before he could knock. Yohji was dressed in his mission gear with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. With his hair around his shoulders and his sunglasses resting fetchingly on the bridge of his nose he almost looked like the Yohji he knew. But the illusion was shattered by the too prominent collarbones seen through the open top of the coat and the dark shadows barely peeking below the lenses of the shades. Aya decided against telling Yohji this wasn't a mission right now. He merely nodded his approval. Yohji nodded back once. They were on the road heading for the mountains and Villa Weiss within minutes.