Name: Androgene

Website: www.angelfire.com/space/noir13

Email: androgene@lycos.com

Title: The Wolf and the Abyssinian - Act 4

Summary: a Rurouni Kenshin and WeiB Kreuz crossover, with both worlds fused into an alternate one.

Date of completion: 7 Dec 2001

Category: Drama, action, yaoi, lime

Pairings: SaitoxAya, hints of YohjixAya

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their individual creators. Rurouni Kenshin™ is created by Nobuhiro Watsuki and WeiB Kreuz™ is created by Takehito Koyasu and Project WeiB. I don't own them and I don't profit from using these characters.

Author's comments: I can't help it. The idea of a SaitoxRan pairing just popped in my head while I was writing my other fanfic and it won't leave!

Warning: This is a yaoi story, meaning it had homosexual themes in it. Whether or not there are sex scenes, I don't know yet. But when that happens, I'll warn ya. So if you're uncomfortable with yaoi story, don't read it. It's as simple as that.

~ The Wolf & The Abyssinian ~

a WeiB Kreuz-Ruroni Kenshin crossover

Act Four Scene One

The sun was high and bright by the time Aya finally woke up. Turning away from the bright sunlight, he lazily reached over to the other side of his bed - and met cold empty space.

Orchid eyes flew open immediately.

He was alone in bed, had been for some time judging from the coolness of the sheets. Aya propped himself up on one elbow and looked about. There was nothing left of Saito's presence. Wait, the navy jacket he had borrowed from Saito was gone too. Only his wrapped katana and assassin gear by the side of his bed indicated that last night ever happened.

Aya lay back down in bed, the disappointment leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

What was he expecting? The man had obviously gotten what he wanted from the beginning. There was no reason for him to hang around like a lover would. All those feelings of being loved and held in a possessive embrace were just that - mistaken emotions on his part. Aya closed his eyes, one hand unconsciously covering his chest. He was just a murderer and murderers do not deserve to be loved. Last night, for all its pleasures, was just a one-night stand.

Cursing himself for his foolishness, Aya threw back the blanket and winced. God, he hurt twice as bad as before. Every muscle in the lower region of his body was screaming in pain. Even in his most punishing workout, Aya had never felt like this. Carefully, he sat up trying not to put pressure on his raw bottom. He had barely risen to his feet before discovering to his disgust that he could barely walk - again - his legs still shaky. The state of his body, it all reminded him just how well taken he had been last night.

If only Saito had stayed…

Aya growled, shaking his head fiercely to shake the wistful notion from his mind. He was alone, always had been and always will be.

It was during his slow journey to the bathroom on shaky legs that Aya noticed the folded piece of paper on his dresser. Curious, he picked it and opened it. His heartbeat sped up when he saw from who the message was.

Tell Persia to come to the safe house alone. You know which one. Tonight at seven. Do not be late.

The neatly written note was unsigned and below it was the postscript, 'come along as well kitten.'

Aya snorted, crushing the paper in his hand. So now he had become the go-between for Saito and Persia. For a wild moment, he debated not going but decided against it. He remembered what Omi told him about Kritiker needing the Mibu's Wolf. He had experienced enough of the chaos that resulted from its instability, lost too many of those he cared about, and also nearly losing his own life because of it.

Kritiker needed to be strong again.

And he would do whatever is necessary to help Omi, just like once he had did whatever it took to fulfill his vengeance and care for his imouto.

Act Four Scene Two

They arrived at the safe house at seven o'clock sharp. Just him and Omi. Omi wearing something un-Omi-like - a brown three-piece suit tailored to his teenaged stature. Aya was sure the teenaged boy had secreted a whole bunch of darts and kunai in his suit. In deference to the seriousness of the meeting, Aya wore a black close-fitting turtleneck sweater and brown slacks. He hid his katana and gun beneath the long brown woolen coat he wore.

Saito was already waiting for them, meeting his guests at the door. He wore a gray Mao-style suit (the man seemed to like the style a lot) and his hands were white-gloved. As usual, a cigarette perched between his thin lips.

"Good evening," Saito greeted. "You must be Persia."

Omi bowed back solemnly. "You must be Saito Hajime. You already know Abyssinian."

"Of course," Saito's glittering eyes met Aya's as he answered.

Aya looked away from those lazy amused eyes, suppressing a blush with difficulty. He glowered at the unoffending wall, seeming to find fault in its plaster.

Omi did not miss the subtle exchange. He wisely chose not to say anything about it. It was clear from their talk yesterday that there were more to his encounter with Saito than Aya was letting on. But knowing the stubborn redhead, Omi was content to wait until Aya was ready to confide in him. It couldn't have been anything important if Aya wasn't forced to reveal it.

They took their seats in the living room, Saito and Omi kneeling on the mat with Aya stationing himself by the door. For a long moment, both Mibu's Wolf and Persia seized each other up.

Saito was exactly as he was in the photograph - a lean hunting wolf, calculative and remorseless, bloodthirsty but not evil. No, definitely not evil. Omi had fought and killed many evil men; he was very keenly attuned to such things. The man was simply a hunter, a predator living by a very rigid coda. If he could persuade Saito to rejoin Kritiker, it would bore well for everybody.

The Mibu's Wolf was surprised to find Persia to an honest-looking teenaged boy. Even from Aya's somewhat incoherent description during their bed games, he had not seriously expected Persia to be this young. But the dignity of a Takatori was evident in his carriage; the intelligence and confidence clear in those sky-blue eyes. Young Persia reminded Saito of Saijou-san in some ways.

"I heard from Abyssinian that you are looking for me," Saito stated lazily.

"Hai. I like to invite you to rejoin Kritiker again."

Saito took a long drag on his cigarette. "Why?"

"Kritiker is in a very precarious state," Omi explained. "It needs someone like you to help safeguard it from further damage as it is being rebuilt. And later, it would need the Mibu's Wolf to assume its role once more."

"Watching and guarding Kritiker from corruption within," Saito finished neutrally. "Do you know the reason behind the Wolves' downfall?"

"You were betrayed from within. That will never happen again." Omi leaned forward. "Mibu's Wolves was destroyed because it was a big pack. Though every Wolf shared your sentiments, it was still too easy to convert someone who doesn't have your kind of willpower and strength of faith, even easier to slip in a deceiver who can pretend to be one of you until it's too late. No one in such a big pack knew everyone well other to suspect anything."

"What do you propose?"

"The new Mibu's Wolves would be a small group. Just you to begin with and anyone you handpick to join the pack."

"A small pack to safeguard an organization that covers the entire country," Saito muttered. "You are ambitious."

"No, just picky. It's hard to find anyone with your strong sense of justice," Omi admitted. "You could have returned when Shuuichi-san took over Kritiker but you didn't. Instead you went underground and remerged with a new identity. I won't ask why you didn't choose to return. Most probably there was something about Kritiker that made you lost your trust in us. But Kritiker is different now; Persia is different. I'm not going to repeat the mistakes my father and uncle did. And I…Kritiker really needs your help, Saito-san."

Saito studied Omi for a long while as he smoked his cigarette, golden eyes inscrutable and assessing.

Omi met Saito's eyes unflinchingly, a silent challenge meeting the one in the golden orbs. He was determined to get Saito back into Kritiker again.

"Does the world really need an organization like Kritiker?"

"Someone has got to guard the innocents."

"Power such like Kritiker's will eventually corrupt the wielder. It has been proven twice, the second time almost claiming the lives of WeiB. One would expect you to learn from those events and lay Kritiker to rest forever."

"But who will guard the innocents? Who will make sure the guilty ones pay?" Omi spoke earnestly, passion and firm belief bright and intense in his eyes. "When a crime happens, can you honestly see yourself not doing anything about it? I can't, Saito-san."

"True, Kritiker is capable of great harm and good. But that's what power is in the end - a double-edged sword. How it cuts depends on the wielder. I'm just human, that's why it's better for us to run in a pack. We watch each other, and each other's back. That's why grandfather created the Mibu's Wolves in the first place. To watch Kritiker and check its power, and members within the Wolves check each other's powers. It failed the first time because the pack is too big. If we size it down, it should work."

Omi sat back, having said his piece. He eyed the silent unimpressed man and decided to go for the pitch. "Onegai, will you help me Saito-san?"

Saito eyed Omi's bowed form for a long moment. "You certainly aren't much of a Takatori," he remarked at last.

Omi blinked, the comment taking him somewhat off guard. "Is that supposed to be an insult?" he asked calmly.

"The Takatoris are known for their eloquence and skilful use of words to persuade people to their cause. You have the eloquence but you lack the polished skill for lying."

Saito stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray next to him and mused idly, "I know Reiji Takatori abandoned his youngest son to the evils of the world. One wonders why."

Omi's eyes narrowed but he wisely said nothing.

"But that's in the past." He lit another cigarette. "I am currently on a hunt. I can only give you an answer a week from now."

Omi controlled the flash of impatience and disappointment. It was more than he had hoped for. "Very well, a week from now." He rose from his seat, sensing that their meeting was at an end.

"Don't mind if I don't show you out," Saito said. "I have business to discuss with the Abyssinian."

Omi paused, turning a curious look to Aya. The redhead, for his part, was aiming his patented scowl at Saito who was completely unfazed by his icy displeasure. There were not many people who could withstand the full brunt of a Fujimiya Death Glare.

"Very well then. I'll get the chauffeur to wait for him."

"No need for that," Saito replied calmly before Aya could. "I'll send him home when we're done."

The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.

"Abyssinian, you are fine with this?" Omi asked.

Long silence as orchid eyes bore into Saito's profile like lasers, then a sharp nod without breaking the glare. Wisely, Omi decided not to press further. If looks could kill, Saito would be six feet under and rotting already.

"Arigato, Saito-san for consenting to meet with me tonight. I hope you will consider my request. Abyssinian will be able to convey your answer to me." Omi bowed again and left the living room.

Silence reigned.

Then Aya rose to his feet and took the few necessary steps to take Omi's seat. He lowered himself carefully, hiding a wince as he lay his katana by his side. "Well?" he demanded.

"This Takatori is different from his predecessors," Saito remarked. "Young, earnest, uncorrupted. Perceptive, but not jaded yet."

"Why didn't you give him an answer then? Coupled with your observations and what I've told you, you should be able to make your decision."

Saito didn't answer, serenely puffing on his cigarette.

"What would it take for you to rejoin Kritiker?"

There was something about Aya's tone that caught Saito's attention. The older man looked intently at the redhead whose cold emotionless gaze was a match for his own inscrutable front. "Are you offering to make a deal on his behalf?"

Aya's gaze remained calm and steady. "Hai. Whatever you want."

Saito stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. Sharp golden eyes pinned him to the spot. "Say if I want to own you? Like you are a toy?"

"Hai." Aya strove to maintain his indifferent mask. Inside he was feeling anything but indifferent. All his self-preservation instincts were screaming at him, demanding to get the hell out of there and as far away as possible. Somehow he knew instinctively that if he strikes this bargain, he would be effectively sealing his fate. Saito was not the type to easily give up a possession.

"You owe that much to Persia?"

"I've known him long before he is Persia," Aya stated flatly. "As long as you rejoin Kritiker and help him, I'll give you whatever you want."

Terse silence descended.

Aya felt his nerves were about to break from the tension while he saw Saito smiled. Not the mocking or sharp-edged smile, but a smile that somehow softened the harsh lines of his austere face. He blinked. The smile was gone, replaced by Saito's usual smirk but he swore he did see it.

"No deal," Saito answered crisply.

Aya felt deflated, relieved and inexplicably angry. He had all but offered himself to the man, wasn't he good enough for Saito?

*pause*

He didn't just think that, did he?

"It's late."

Aya watched blankly as Saito rose to his feet. A glimmer of amusement crossed his eyes as he looked down at the bewildered pale redhead.

"Come, I'll drive you home."

Slowly, Aya got to his feet, automatically tucking his katana under his coat. A tiny voice within him was wondering why Saito hadn't touched him at all, as he followed the older man to the door.

The point was made moot when Saito grasped his chin and tilted his head up. "If I hadn't known you're still sore, I would have taken you tonight. But tomorrow, tomorrow I expect to see you here at seven. Do not be late."

Act Four Scene Three

So for nearly a week, Aya was a nightly guest at Saito's safe house.

Every night he would arrive at seven o'clock sharp, and they would dine and talk about a wide variety of topics. Kritiker was left at the doorstep. After the first time Aya persistently attempted to bring up the topic and Saito had to kiss him to shut him up, the redhead got the message almost immediately. Discussion about work was a taboo on these visits.

Saito, Aya found out, was quite a gracious host, though he still seemed to take delight in getting a raise out of him. And Aya, despite his misgivings, came to enjoy their time together. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why Saito was being as nice to him as he could possibly be. The paranoid side of him was suspicious and was waiting nervously for the other shoe to drop. But there was another part of him - small, fragile and filled with the softer emotions he thought was long dead - that dared to hope and dream.

On the sixth day, hope and such thoughts were far from Aya's mind as he hurried through his shower. The flower shop had been extremely busy today, leaving him with less time than usual to prepare for his visit. Wearing only his boxers and a T-shirt, he went through his closet, wondering what to wear. He wanted to look nice for Saito but his limited supply of shirts was running out; Saito had a thing for tearing the buttons off his shirts before taking him.

Color tinged his pale cheeks and he smiled slightly at the memories. Sex with Saito was very, very good. In that week, he had gotten quite an education from Saito and surprised himself with his own sexual appetite and stamina in bed. He almost never leaves for home until it was nearly dawn.

Aya had pulled on a pair of gray woolen pants when there came a knock on his door. "Come in." He didn't bother to turn to look as he rummaged through his closet for a top that would hopefully survive the night.

"Going somewhere?"

Aya glanced over his shoulder.

Yohji had closed the door behind him, lounging casually against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. His green eyes were unreadable. If it was possible, Yohji actually looked serious.

"No date tonight?" he asked the blond.

"Nope," Yohji smiled rakishly. "Even the infamous playboy needs a break to recover every now and then."

"Hn." The redhead smiled again and studied his closet again with a concentration worthy of any mission. What top should he wear?

"You've been going out every night and returning at dawn these couple of days," Yohji noted casually.

Aya didn't answer.

"You're the last person I expect to pick up my habits."

"If you're worried about my safety, don't. I can take care of myself."

"We're concerned about you."

A white cable-knitted sweater in hands, Aya paused in mid motion. "'We'?"

Yohji gave him a look. "Aya, we are living in the same apartment. Of course we noticed."

Aya sighed internally and pulled on his sweater. He crossed the room to his dresser and began pulling a hairbrush through his damp hair. "I'm fine, Yohji. I am not courting trouble if that's what you are worried about."

Silence ruled for the next couple of minutes, broken only by the steady sound of Aya brushing his hair.

"So who's the guy?"

Aya whirled around, almost giving himself whiplash, to gape at Yohji. His hairbrush clattered to the floor from nerveless fingers as he tried to kick-start his brain again.

"Wh-what made you say that?" he managed to blurt out.

Yohji lazily crossed over to where he was frozen to the spot. Before he could stop him, the blond swiftly pulled up the hem of his sweater and tugged at the waistband of his pants. There, an array of five telltale bruises stood out vividly against the pale tender skin of his hip.

"It's a little hard to hide these with the T-shirt you wear."

Aya flushed, averting his gaze from Yohji's knowing eyes. The bruises were from a particularly hot session two days again - Saito had been ravenous that night, taking him hard and fast several times before he was satisfied. Aya stepped away, self-consciously tucking his clothes back into place.

"So I'm seeing someone. What's it to you?"

"Hey, I've got no problem with you being gay. I just want to know if the guy is treating you well." He leveled his patented glare at the blond, bristling at his audacity. Yohji, either oblivious or simply used to being glared at by Aya, plowed on nevertheless. "I'm the last person to give love advice on gay relationships. But it still doesn't take a genius to figure out that this relationship bothers you a lot."

"You -"

"If the guy is making you truly happy," Yohji continued matter-of-factly, "you wouldn't be brooding about it all the time."

And that, Aya abruptly realized, was the crux of the problem. There was something missing from his relationship with Saito, something he had trouble naming. A sense that the boundaries of their relationship were still undefined. He didn't know what to make of Saito, didn't know what the older man really feel for him while he had a nagging suspicion that he was beginning to have feelings for the older man. He didn't trust easily and yet…it was unsettling to think that someone as callous as Saito had managed to get past all his defenses so quick.

"I-I got to go." Badly disturbed, Aya grabbed his wallet and keys, nearly running out of his bedroom to escape Yohji's concerned gaze.

But the blond's comments stayed with him all the while he was driving to Saito's safe house, gnawing away at the tiny vulnerable part of his heart. Rationally speaking, he knew he should speak to Saito as soon as possible, clear the air once and for all. But fear and doubts gripped him. What if Yohji was right? What if there was nothing more to their relationship than just sex? He lost his family and all the love that came with it in a single horrific night, and it almost killed him. Would he be able to survive that kind of devastation again?

"Are you going to stay out here the whole night, kitten?"

Aya jumped, badly startled by the voice at his elbow. Swamped in his thoughts, he failed to notice Saito's approach to the garage. The older man rested an arm casually on the open car window, eyeing him with an expression he could not decipher. His doubts sprang to the fore again. He could never read Saito's expression. And they called him the blank slate.

Saito straightened, opening the car door. "Come, dinner's waiting."

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. Aya was too distracted and consumed with his own doubts to enjoy his meal and hold a decent conversation. Saito make no effort to maintain conversations either. If he noticed Aya's gloomy mood, he said nothing.

His advances in the bedroom, however, managed to snare Aya's attention.

There was no rough animal passion tonight, that itself was enough to pull him from his troubled mood. Just slow gentle loving that somehow managed to chase the doubts from his heart. He was never more pliant and receptive to Saito's long languid exploration; feeling oddly cherished with each caress soothing away the loneliness within him. Saito's unusual gentleness…it made tears came to his eyes even as he arched up against Saito, willingly, completely giving himself to the older man. Aided by the soft scented darkness of the room, for a moment he could pretend that he was loved.

The moment didn't last long.

Spooned snugly against Saito's lean naked body, with his passion drying on his stomach, the doubts came back full force again. Aya rested his arms about the sinewy limbs cradling him close against Saito's chest, troubled orchid eyes unseeing in the dark.

When the passion abated, and the illusion of love has faded, what was left in its wake? Aya didn't know. And hearing Yohji's words once more in his mind, he knew he could not live with this uncertainty.

"Saito?" he spoke softly, eyes still staring into the darkness. "Are you awake?"

Behind him, the older man grunted, his exhalation soft and warm against the back of his neck. "Hai."

Aya took a deep breath. It was now or never. "I…need to ask…Saito…What am I to you?"

He could sense the slight but distinct ripple of surprise in the man behind him. He kept very still, heart in his mouth, as he waited almost fearfully for his reply.

"I thought it's obvious."

"Obvious? In what way?" Now that the subject was broached, Aya found it easier by the minute to continue. He turned around, orchid eyes meeting Saito's impassive gaze. "I don't know your feelings for me. I don't even know much about you."

"We talked every night."

"But you told me nothing about yourself whereas I hid nothing from you. Am I your lover or just a bed partner?"

"You're mine."

A trace of anger was beginning to stir within Aya. "Is that all I am to you? Just a possession?"

Saito didn't answer.

Angry and hurting, Aya pulled away and rolled out of bed. He began dressing in quick jerky movements, trying to suppress the tears he could feel coming. He felt cheap, used and worst of all, betrayed. There was a throbbing pain in his chest, twisting and aching so much that he could barely breathe. He stalked towards the door, stinging tears blurring his vision.

"I love you, Saito Hajime, but I am not a thing to be owned."

Author's post-script notes:

Lots of OOC on Aya's part and maybe a little on Saito's as well. We all know this had to come. No relationship ever runs smooth, especially not like theirs. Aya doesn't strike me the type to do things halfway. If he loves, he gives it his all. And Saito, I doubt he's the type to express his emotions much, especially love. He's just too caustic and ruthless for that, a killer with no remorse or conscience. If he does express his feelings, it would most likely be in private and with his actions. Words, to a man like him, meant little unless he can prove it.

So where do they go from here? I don't know yet. I need my sleep first!