Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ A Matter of Control ❯ Part III - FUBAR (Yohji) ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Saanrio 
Yohji looks back at his time with Weiss and tries to figure out where it all went wrong. Follows in the same timeline as “The Bet.” It is not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, though, as all the stories in this ‘series’ are written as stand-alone pieces.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.11.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 255 | Status: Work In Progress
Yohji looks back at his time with Weiss and tries to figure out where it all went wrong. Follows in the same timeline as “The Bet.” It is not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, though, as all the stories in this ‘series’ are written as stand-alone pieces.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.11.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 255 | Status: Work In Progress
Title: FUBAR
Author: Saanrio
Rating: Mature, 18+ only
Warnings: Mention of questionable consent, sexual content. Language.
Summary: Yohji looks back at his time with Weiss and tries to figure out where it all went wrong. Follows in the same timeline as “The Bet.” It is not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, though, as all the stories in this ‘series’ are written as stand-alone pieces.
Author’s note: For those who don’t know “FUBAR” stands for “Fucked-up beyond all recognition.”
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all of its characters do not belong to me, they are the property of Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. No profit is made from this story.
"Go home. I don't play with other people's broken toys."
The words echoed in my mind, and I took another deep drag from my cigarette, shivering slightly in the chill air. The metal step was turning my ass into a block of ice, but I didn't mind, it just helped numb a feeling I really didn't want to be reminded of. I didn't want to remember that entire night, so I started thinking back, trying to figure out where, exactly, it all started to go wrong. At first I thought that it was when Asuka had died. That was, after all, when Kritiker had approached me, when I'd decided to give my life away and started killing for a paycheck. Sure, we could put all the pretty wrapping paper on it, tie it up in bows that read "Justice," or "Helping the Innocent," but it all came down to one thing: I killed the target, and a nice sum found it's way to my bank account. The only difference between the average hit man and me was that I had the umbrella of Kritiker over me, keeping me from having to face the same justice that my targets were evading with lawyers and accountants and loopholes.
But that wasn't what caused the mess I was in. Yes, I'd made a choice, but even then, things had been okay. I had become a killer, but I'd been given a cover job that I kind of liked, and a couple of younger teammates to help look after. Granted, even Omi never needed much looking after, he'd been raised to be independent and take care of himself, since he really had no one else. Still, even though the chain of command was explained very clearly to me, and I was expected to obey the orders of a kid who couldn't be older than sixteen at the most, I was somehow expected to fill some sort of older brother role. I played along sometimes, mainly just for Ken's benefit, and later Aya's, keeping up the illusion that I was doing what Kritiker asked. Omi and I knew different. We both knew that there was no way I would ever fit anyone's idea of an older brother, much less Omi's. Then, after he remembered who he was, I was pretty sure the last thing he needed to be reminded of was his family. So, I followed the pattern I had established at the very beginning. I teased when there was something on the surface to tease about, but I made sure I never went further than the surface. I didn't want anyone poking around in my past any further than I had to let them, and I was sure they would expect the same from me. That was possibly where I went wrong.
I never celebrated my birthday. I never wanted to remember a milestone that just marked another year of service to Kritiker; I never wanted to remember I had signed away my soul on my own birthday. Kind of fitting in a morbid sort of way, I suppose. Considering my own aversions to the day, I never stopped to think that any of my teammates would think any more of their birthday than I did mine. So, Omi sort of stayed in suspended animation in my mind, forever a kid whose mind and soul were older than they should have been at his age, but whose body and emotions never quite caught up. He caught me at a weak point in my life, when I was trying so hard to forget something and someone else that I couldn't deny what he was offering. I would have taken anyone that night, anyone who had bothered to show that I might mean something, even if it was only for the fleeting moments of pleasure we could give each other. His fear and hesitation were seductive, warring with the very obvious crush he had on me, and I wondered how I'd never seen it before. Now, of course, I know. I never bothered to look. When I noticed the far-off gaze, that hint of red high on his cheekbones, or the way he was sighing randomly I just automatically attributed it to some girl at the shop or at school. It was an easy topic to tease him about, something that was expected of me anyway. But then, I'd thought Asuka had come back and I'd been ready to give up everything for her.
The thought of having her back, of rescuing her from Takatori's clutches, woke in me a hope I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a very, very long time. Then realizing I had been used, that the woman I had loved for so many years was truly gone, and having to kill her with my own weapon had broken me. I'd gone back to my usual ways at first, and then some. I left as soon as my shift in the shop was over, regardless of the time, and found somewhere that would start the alcohol flowing. I never bothered to eat anything when I went out, it would just slow the effects and keep me feeling something longer. Sometimes I took some woman back to her place, intending to have fun and try to forget, but mostly one or the other of us would pass out long before the big event. Finally, I just stopped going anywhere. I woke one morning, and it just felt like too much effort to even get out of bed. So, I didn't. I was aware of Omi coming in and bringing me food, making me eat, and I only did because he asked. Despite trying to keep myself distanced from my teammates, I still cared about them, and I would risk myself for them in a heartbeat if it came to it. Hearing the sadness in Omi's voice when he spoke to me was more than I could process right then. I'd have done just about anything to get rid of it.
The night it happened, I don't remember much before. I know I'd gotten out of bed and showered and dressed because the threat of having the water hose turned on me was enough. I don't remember when Omi came in, I just remember floating in my own thoughts and being oblivious. If someone had meant to kill me, they'd have found me a pathetically easy target. What brought me out of my fugue was Omi kissing me. My hands had come up out of reflex, my vision coming into sharp focus in surprise. He'd started pulling away and I'd tightened my hands, pulling him back. I knew, just from the way he kissed that he had to be a virgin. It was confirmed when he came after just a minute of pressing his hips into mine. Normally, I avoid virgins like the plague, but I was so desperate for something to get my mind off of Asuka just for a little while, I didn't care. Then I realized that here was someone who could give me an acceptance I'd never had from a partner before. The girls I dated, they only knew me as a good-looking florist, they had no idea that I was a killer, and I knew that if they even got a hint of my other life, they'd run screaming. But, Omi knew, he'd been killing before I had; he was a chance at true acceptance. In that moment, I didn't care that he was a virgin, I didn't care that he was only seventeen, I just wanted to make him mine, some piece of me looking for a connection I usually scoffed at. I should have kicked him out as soon as he kissed me, I should have sent him back to his own apartment, and I shouldn't have made love to him.
Usually, what I do with my partners can only be described as fucking. Don't get me wrong, I make sure it feels good, because there's no point if it doesn't, but making love is an entirely different animal. I can't be sure why I broke that rule with him, but I did. When I woke up alone, I first thought it was just because he was an early riser. Even on days when he didn't work in the shop in the morning, he had school, and he had to be out the door early. He was even up early on his days off. The guy never seemed to change his schedule, like he was on autopilot or something. I do remember going down to the shop to look for him, knowing I had to say something to him, that I couldn't get away with just pretending it didn't happen. Hearing his conversation with Ken had hurt more than I'd thought it would, if I'd ever bothered to think about such a thing. The pain I'd seen in his face, and the pain I'd felt when he'd rubbed my negligence and distance in my face was something I hadn't been able to let go of. When he'd insisted on carrying the hurt after that day, I'd encouraged it, trying to keep him as far away from me as possible. He was dangerous to me, he made me feel too much. After a while, I went back to drinking myself into drunken stupors and going through partners like cheap beer.
Then he was gone. Manx never told us where, or why, said it was classified, but they'd get us someone to replace him. They tried three different people, and I hated all of them. In the end, Aya told her not to bother trying anymore and took over the computer work himself, as much as he could, and some nameless, faceless hacker at Kritiker handled the rest. Things between the three of us were strained. Ken and I had never been exceptionally close, but he blamed me for Omi leaving. Aya said he understood and didn't blame me for that, but I knew he blamed me for the increase in his own workload after I helped run off the replacements they sent one after the other. I think I overdid it on the last one, though. He left in tears and an hour later Manx and some burly moving men arrived to clear out his room. I don’t feel bad about it, though. After all, if you don't have a thick enough skin to handle the little bit of hell Ken and I put them through, I can't see how you could handle killing for a living.
After that, things just kept falling apart, or at least, I did. Something had snapped tight when I'd had to kill Asuka - Neu - whoever the hell she really was. I've come to the point that I know that if she ever was my Asuka, that woman was long gone by then, but I still just can't help but think of her as I prefer to remember her - smiling, happy, full of life and ready to kick some ass at a moment's notice. Regardless of what happened in the years between when I thought she died and when I killed her, that final act left me balanced on a very thin rope that was fraying at one end. After Omi left, it seemed like it started fraying at the other end, too, and it didn't take too long before it snapped completely.
The first time, I realized what my hands were doing before they'd done more than caress. I tried to keep a better reign on myself, but then there was the inevitable night that I squeezed a little bit. The girl I was with thought I was just trying a little BDSM with her and it actually turned her on. She didn't understand why I ran like hell when she was begging me to tie her up and spank her. But I knew. I was sick, I was sliding into a hell of my own making. I was becoming what I had told myself for years I was against, and it revolted me so much I swore off sex for a whole month. But I went back, not ready to swear off women completely. I convinced myself I was in control, that I could keep that strange urge under wraps, but I should have known better. Manx and Kritiker covered up the first one completely, bought the girl off and didn't even tell the rest of the team as far as I know. They remained blissfully ignorant of the dark beast growing in their midst.
The second one, Manx bought off again, but this time, I know she told Aya what had happened. I could see the censure in his body language, hear it every time he spoke to me. The guilt of that was almost worse than the knowledge of what I'd done. That was when I decided that maybe it was time to encourage a side of myself I'd been denying for years. In high school, at least before my mother died and I dropped out, I'd been known as a sure thing, regardless of whether it was a girl or a guy coming on to me. I'd do anyone who wanted me, almost. I drew the line at fat guys, and even I couldn't manage to get it up for the poor girl with coke-bottle glasses and a mouth full of metal. All I could think about when she smiled at me was one of those wires catching while she gave me a blowjob, and that ended any chance she had. Funny thing is, I ran into her years later at a club, but I didn’t recognize her. She seemed to get some satisfaction out of seeing me practically drool over her and then turning me down. What a difference a few years, some contacts and a good orthodontist can make. But this isn't the point.
I started spending time in gay bars, trying everything I could to avoid women. One night, none of the guys in my normal hangout were looking at all attractive, so I spent more time with a bottle of sake than any of them. I ended up falling prey to a wily waitress who was more than happy to take me home with her. I don't remember much after we got to her place, but when Manx came by the next morning and literally kicked me out of my bed, I knew I'd fucked up royally. I'd put this one in the hospital, nearly crushed her windpipe with my bare hands. Kritiker was taking care of everything, including relocating her to the other end of the country at her request, but I was in deep shit. I was told without mercy that I had three months to get myself under control. Three months with no missions, just the flower shop; three months to get my head together and be ready to resume activities as part of Weiss. However, one more woman to buy off, and I was through. They'd give me as a mission to another lethal team, brand me a dark beast and let justice be done. When she left, I laughed. It wasn't funny. It had to be one of the least funny moments of my entire life, but I laughed. Aya left the next day, reassigned indefinitely. He might be back in three months, he might be back in six, he might never be back -- no one would tell us, and Aya claimed he didn't know.
So, here I was, just Ken and I to work the shop, which meant there was absolutely zero chance of me getting out of a morning shift, since my shifts were now from open to close every damn day the shop was open. I couldn't help but curse Kritiker in between cursing myself. I was working twelve-hour days six days a week and this was supposed to help me get my head back on straight? Oh, and no help from a friendly neighborhood Kritiker psychologist. No, that might have actually been helpful. I found myself looking for solace at the bottom of a bottle, alone in my room night after night. Mornings were hell, but I managed. A few cups of strong coffee and about four aspirin helped, and the sunglasses made the sun reflecting off the shop windows across the street almost bearable.
Ken's attitude, however, was not helpful in the least. Not only did he growl and snap at me if I was down too late to help drag out the plants and count out the till for the start of the day, but his temper with the customers was short, too. I overheard the fan club remarking one day that it was like he was trying to make up for Aya being gone. Thinking back on it, that doesn't seem that far off. I tried to keep my distance, but still be my same flirty self. I mostly succeeded with the school girls, since I could quite honestly tell them that I didn't date girls under eighteen, but it was the older women, the ones who came in because they knew me and they knew I was usually up for a date and they wanted some company that evening or over the weekend. I started making up dates so they would leave me alone. The last thing I wanted was to have to admit the truth. Ken looked at me oddly whenever he overheard any of these conversations, obviously knowing I was spending my time drinking alone, the look in his eyes telling me he knew why, but he wondered what it all meant.
Things went on pretty much the same for the three months that Kritiker had decided that Ken and I were on 'hiatus' as Manx termed it. She showed up one Saturday evening as we were closing the shop to let us know that Aya was coming back and would be here the following morning, along with a fourth tem member who would be with Weiss temporarily. They had a mission for us that required four to pull off correctly. It always worries me when things are given to us like that. The unspoken 'you can refuse, but you'll be dooming your team to a hideous, painful death' thing just makes my skin crawl. It didn't come along often, but I figured after Kritiker covered for my transgressions and didn't turn me in as a dark beast that I kind of had to just take this lying down and keep my mouth shut. After all, I certainly felt like I was only one step above the beasts we hunted right then, I certainly didn't deserve better.
I didn't drink that night, wanting to present a halfway decent face to my new teammate and show Aya that I wasn't quite as much of a scumbag as he probably thought I was right then. It was hard, having to sleep without the alcohol to numb my brain and wash away the nightmares before they could form enough to trouble me. I woke up at least five times, each time unable to sleep for a little while, fighting not to run to the bathroom and start frantically washing my hands, trying to rid them of the feel of smooth flesh under my palms, the fluttering feeling as someone fights for their breath. I went through an entire pack of cigarettes and had to pour a brand new bottle of whisky down the drain to avoid the temptation of drinking it all in one long drink. But when the sun came up, I was sober and by the time Aya arrived I had managed to get a shower and dress and was waiting with Ken down in the mission room.
Manx was with them, as she had picked them up from the train station. Aya looked just as good as ever, his hair pulled back in a low tail brushing his mid-back, and I could see Ken swallow and a light come into his eyes that had been missing. It was more than obvious in that moment that Aya being gone had been the reason for his mood. I figured he hadn't said anything to Aya about his interest, though, or that look wouldn't have been so strong and what happened in the next few days wouldn't have been so fucked up. The person behind Aya was shorter, his hair mostly white with streaks here and there of a medium blonde, similar to the color mine used to be when I had been bleaching it years ago. I'd stopped dying it when I'd stopped dating women, and I'd been letting my roots grow out. When Aya left, I'd cut it all off one night while I was drunk. The girl at the hair salon who'd fixed the hack job I'd done had apologized profusely, but after the way I cut it, I can't blame her for leaving me with only an inch of hair on my head. It's grown out some now, it has always grown fast, so it doesn't look quite so bad, but it's going to be another year or so before it approaches the length it was. The person behind Aya was slender, and there was something about the way he moved that seemed familiar. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned his head to look at Ken and I, we were both stunned. If my cigarette had been lit, I probably would have burned a good hole in the carpet because I dropped it and promptly forgot all about it.
Omi was back. That was all I could think. Yeah, he looked different; older, stressed, as though he was standing on a cliff's edge and trying not to fall off. But he was back, and that was what mattered. Ken was ecstatic, jumping the poor boy and hugging the life out of him, while a pained, awkward look came over Omi's face. Once he'd been released by Ken he calmly informed us that he'd made a decision and he was no longer to be known as Tsukiyono Omi. He was Takatori Mamoru now. Ken looked like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer, and I felt like I had. Our innocent little Omi was taking on the name given to him by a man he'd helped to kill, taking a name he had renounced with conviction when his older brother had been beating him with a kendo stick. The rest of that meeting is kind of lost in my memory, and I only remember bits and pieces of Manx giving us our first mission as a team now that we were all together again, such as we were.
The mission went off without a hitch the next night. Omi slipped easily back into the role of leader, planner and hacker. Aya took back his position as field leader, and Ken and I followed along like good little puppies just like always. The target was relatively simple compared to some of the things we had been asked to do over the years we'd been with Kritiker. We went in, took out a few dozen guards, killed the target, hacked the files, set the building to blow and got out, watching the explosion and the resulting fire from a safe distance, making sure no one left the building that was supposed to be dead. It was after we got back that the hitch developed. Omi -- Mamoru had gotten a little too close to one of the target's bodyguards, and had gotten a small cut on his forearm for his trouble. While Aya was efficient at dressing the wound, he took a care with Mamoru that had always been missing before. The resulting confrontation between Mamoru and Ken had Aya in the middle. I never would have suspected Aya had a thing for the chibi. Turns out, Ken hadn't suspected, either.
I retreated to where I was always retreating those days -- straight into the bottom of a bottle. That night, I just chose to do it at a local gay bar I knew of. One without female wait staff. I don't remember passing out, but I do remember waking up in Ken's bed. I still wasn't entirely sober, but Ken was. He was clingy, kissing me and touching me, and I just sat there staring at him for a moment as he told me how good I'd been. There was something about him that seemed off. He didn't seem drunk or high, but there was just something ... not right about him. I wanted to get up and go to my own bed to finish sleeping off the liquor I'd had, but he wouldn't let me go. After a little while, I stopped fighting and just let it happen. It didn't matter what the reasons for it were anymore, something in my mind whispered that I didn't deserve gentle, I didn't deserve love. Not when I was just as bad, in my own way, as the target we'd taken down the night before.
So what Ken and I started that morning turned into some kind of messed up relationship. He was never gentle, he was never kind, using the excuse that since I was a guy, he didn't have to be gentle because I could take it. He even muttered in my ear while he fucked me dry that I liked this way, didn't I? I never contradicted him, and I always pretended when I hid my face in the shower spray that I wasn't crying and I didn't see the pink tinged water that ran down the drain for the first minute or so of my shower the next morning. My back, which had previously been mostly unmarked, was soon criss-crossed with a network of thin scars, most of them courtesy of Ken's bugnuks, since he seemed to think cutting me and licking the blood off me was foreplay.
One night, after he'd fucked me till I was sore -- which never took long, since I never really healed all the way between -- I decided to go back to the bar I'd gone the night before all this started. It had been about three months that we'd been having our 'relationship' and I was just wanting to get away from him, away from it, maybe let someone else use me for a while just on the off chance I might get someone who wouldn't hurt me as bad. The last person I ever expected to run into was Schuldich. The orange hair was missing, just like my blond hair was. I was somewhat surprised to see his hair just as long as ever, but a deep brown almost the same shade as my own. On me, it just looked almost natural since I was still used to seeing blonde in the mirror, but on him... It made the blue of his eyes pop and emphasized that he was much paler than almost anyone I knew except Aya. On me, it was a dull color that didn't inspire much other than indifference. On him, the same color was stunning. He was stunning, and I didn't have the guts to approach him, especially since he was the only face I recognized in the entire bar.
I was looking into the bottom of my second glass of beer when he sat down next to me. When he leaned over after my fourth and asked me to go out into the alley with him, I followed without even thinking about it. Just like with Ken, something in the back of my mind whispered that it was no more than I deserved if he intended to fuck me, fuck with me or leave me for dead. When we got outside he pushed me up against the brick wall and just stared at me. I was waiting, not initiating anything, but not putting up any kind of a fight, either. When he leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over mine, I couldn't help but respond. The kiss was light, sweet and so gentle I almost thought it had to be all in my head. Then he pulled back a little, turned my head to the side and whispered in my ear.
"Go home. I don't play with other people's broken toys."
I hadn't thought anything could break me anymore than I already was, but that did. I don't remember how I got home, just that I'd gotten there and spent the rest of the night trying to figure out where things went wrong. I spent the next month trying to figure it out before I stopped bothering. I'm still not sure I know, but I've decided that I just don't care. Where it went wrong doesn't matter because I can't change that. I kept letting Ken do what he wanted with my body for another month, but when Mamoru took over as Persia he brought in some new 'contractors' in the form of the former members of Schwartz, or at least the three that were left after the Museum fell on us all. He decided that Weiss as it had been was no longer functional. We were all 'reassigned' and a new Weiss was to be formed. Aya was given an administrative job somewhere in Kritiker. I don't know what Ken was sent to do. I was assigned to Schwartz. Yeah, me. I still haven't figured out why I wasn't sent to some facility to rot in a cell all by my lonesome or to be fucked by some guy who's only gay when institutionalized. Instead, I get to be the third wheel to the team of Crawford and Schuldich. God hates me.
Author: Saanrio
Rating: Mature, 18+ only
Warnings: Mention of questionable consent, sexual content. Language.
Summary: Yohji looks back at his time with Weiss and tries to figure out where it all went wrong. Follows in the same timeline as “The Bet.” It is not necessary to have read that story to understand this one, though, as all the stories in this ‘series’ are written as stand-alone pieces.
Author’s note: For those who don’t know “FUBAR” stands for “Fucked-up beyond all recognition.”
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all of its characters do not belong to me, they are the property of Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. No profit is made from this story.
"Go home. I don't play with other people's broken toys."
The words echoed in my mind, and I took another deep drag from my cigarette, shivering slightly in the chill air. The metal step was turning my ass into a block of ice, but I didn't mind, it just helped numb a feeling I really didn't want to be reminded of. I didn't want to remember that entire night, so I started thinking back, trying to figure out where, exactly, it all started to go wrong. At first I thought that it was when Asuka had died. That was, after all, when Kritiker had approached me, when I'd decided to give my life away and started killing for a paycheck. Sure, we could put all the pretty wrapping paper on it, tie it up in bows that read "Justice," or "Helping the Innocent," but it all came down to one thing: I killed the target, and a nice sum found it's way to my bank account. The only difference between the average hit man and me was that I had the umbrella of Kritiker over me, keeping me from having to face the same justice that my targets were evading with lawyers and accountants and loopholes.
But that wasn't what caused the mess I was in. Yes, I'd made a choice, but even then, things had been okay. I had become a killer, but I'd been given a cover job that I kind of liked, and a couple of younger teammates to help look after. Granted, even Omi never needed much looking after, he'd been raised to be independent and take care of himself, since he really had no one else. Still, even though the chain of command was explained very clearly to me, and I was expected to obey the orders of a kid who couldn't be older than sixteen at the most, I was somehow expected to fill some sort of older brother role. I played along sometimes, mainly just for Ken's benefit, and later Aya's, keeping up the illusion that I was doing what Kritiker asked. Omi and I knew different. We both knew that there was no way I would ever fit anyone's idea of an older brother, much less Omi's. Then, after he remembered who he was, I was pretty sure the last thing he needed to be reminded of was his family. So, I followed the pattern I had established at the very beginning. I teased when there was something on the surface to tease about, but I made sure I never went further than the surface. I didn't want anyone poking around in my past any further than I had to let them, and I was sure they would expect the same from me. That was possibly where I went wrong.
I never celebrated my birthday. I never wanted to remember a milestone that just marked another year of service to Kritiker; I never wanted to remember I had signed away my soul on my own birthday. Kind of fitting in a morbid sort of way, I suppose. Considering my own aversions to the day, I never stopped to think that any of my teammates would think any more of their birthday than I did mine. So, Omi sort of stayed in suspended animation in my mind, forever a kid whose mind and soul were older than they should have been at his age, but whose body and emotions never quite caught up. He caught me at a weak point in my life, when I was trying so hard to forget something and someone else that I couldn't deny what he was offering. I would have taken anyone that night, anyone who had bothered to show that I might mean something, even if it was only for the fleeting moments of pleasure we could give each other. His fear and hesitation were seductive, warring with the very obvious crush he had on me, and I wondered how I'd never seen it before. Now, of course, I know. I never bothered to look. When I noticed the far-off gaze, that hint of red high on his cheekbones, or the way he was sighing randomly I just automatically attributed it to some girl at the shop or at school. It was an easy topic to tease him about, something that was expected of me anyway. But then, I'd thought Asuka had come back and I'd been ready to give up everything for her.
The thought of having her back, of rescuing her from Takatori's clutches, woke in me a hope I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a very, very long time. Then realizing I had been used, that the woman I had loved for so many years was truly gone, and having to kill her with my own weapon had broken me. I'd gone back to my usual ways at first, and then some. I left as soon as my shift in the shop was over, regardless of the time, and found somewhere that would start the alcohol flowing. I never bothered to eat anything when I went out, it would just slow the effects and keep me feeling something longer. Sometimes I took some woman back to her place, intending to have fun and try to forget, but mostly one or the other of us would pass out long before the big event. Finally, I just stopped going anywhere. I woke one morning, and it just felt like too much effort to even get out of bed. So, I didn't. I was aware of Omi coming in and bringing me food, making me eat, and I only did because he asked. Despite trying to keep myself distanced from my teammates, I still cared about them, and I would risk myself for them in a heartbeat if it came to it. Hearing the sadness in Omi's voice when he spoke to me was more than I could process right then. I'd have done just about anything to get rid of it.
The night it happened, I don't remember much before. I know I'd gotten out of bed and showered and dressed because the threat of having the water hose turned on me was enough. I don't remember when Omi came in, I just remember floating in my own thoughts and being oblivious. If someone had meant to kill me, they'd have found me a pathetically easy target. What brought me out of my fugue was Omi kissing me. My hands had come up out of reflex, my vision coming into sharp focus in surprise. He'd started pulling away and I'd tightened my hands, pulling him back. I knew, just from the way he kissed that he had to be a virgin. It was confirmed when he came after just a minute of pressing his hips into mine. Normally, I avoid virgins like the plague, but I was so desperate for something to get my mind off of Asuka just for a little while, I didn't care. Then I realized that here was someone who could give me an acceptance I'd never had from a partner before. The girls I dated, they only knew me as a good-looking florist, they had no idea that I was a killer, and I knew that if they even got a hint of my other life, they'd run screaming. But, Omi knew, he'd been killing before I had; he was a chance at true acceptance. In that moment, I didn't care that he was a virgin, I didn't care that he was only seventeen, I just wanted to make him mine, some piece of me looking for a connection I usually scoffed at. I should have kicked him out as soon as he kissed me, I should have sent him back to his own apartment, and I shouldn't have made love to him.
Usually, what I do with my partners can only be described as fucking. Don't get me wrong, I make sure it feels good, because there's no point if it doesn't, but making love is an entirely different animal. I can't be sure why I broke that rule with him, but I did. When I woke up alone, I first thought it was just because he was an early riser. Even on days when he didn't work in the shop in the morning, he had school, and he had to be out the door early. He was even up early on his days off. The guy never seemed to change his schedule, like he was on autopilot or something. I do remember going down to the shop to look for him, knowing I had to say something to him, that I couldn't get away with just pretending it didn't happen. Hearing his conversation with Ken had hurt more than I'd thought it would, if I'd ever bothered to think about such a thing. The pain I'd seen in his face, and the pain I'd felt when he'd rubbed my negligence and distance in my face was something I hadn't been able to let go of. When he'd insisted on carrying the hurt after that day, I'd encouraged it, trying to keep him as far away from me as possible. He was dangerous to me, he made me feel too much. After a while, I went back to drinking myself into drunken stupors and going through partners like cheap beer.
Then he was gone. Manx never told us where, or why, said it was classified, but they'd get us someone to replace him. They tried three different people, and I hated all of them. In the end, Aya told her not to bother trying anymore and took over the computer work himself, as much as he could, and some nameless, faceless hacker at Kritiker handled the rest. Things between the three of us were strained. Ken and I had never been exceptionally close, but he blamed me for Omi leaving. Aya said he understood and didn't blame me for that, but I knew he blamed me for the increase in his own workload after I helped run off the replacements they sent one after the other. I think I overdid it on the last one, though. He left in tears and an hour later Manx and some burly moving men arrived to clear out his room. I don’t feel bad about it, though. After all, if you don't have a thick enough skin to handle the little bit of hell Ken and I put them through, I can't see how you could handle killing for a living.
After that, things just kept falling apart, or at least, I did. Something had snapped tight when I'd had to kill Asuka - Neu - whoever the hell she really was. I've come to the point that I know that if she ever was my Asuka, that woman was long gone by then, but I still just can't help but think of her as I prefer to remember her - smiling, happy, full of life and ready to kick some ass at a moment's notice. Regardless of what happened in the years between when I thought she died and when I killed her, that final act left me balanced on a very thin rope that was fraying at one end. After Omi left, it seemed like it started fraying at the other end, too, and it didn't take too long before it snapped completely.
The first time, I realized what my hands were doing before they'd done more than caress. I tried to keep a better reign on myself, but then there was the inevitable night that I squeezed a little bit. The girl I was with thought I was just trying a little BDSM with her and it actually turned her on. She didn't understand why I ran like hell when she was begging me to tie her up and spank her. But I knew. I was sick, I was sliding into a hell of my own making. I was becoming what I had told myself for years I was against, and it revolted me so much I swore off sex for a whole month. But I went back, not ready to swear off women completely. I convinced myself I was in control, that I could keep that strange urge under wraps, but I should have known better. Manx and Kritiker covered up the first one completely, bought the girl off and didn't even tell the rest of the team as far as I know. They remained blissfully ignorant of the dark beast growing in their midst.
The second one, Manx bought off again, but this time, I know she told Aya what had happened. I could see the censure in his body language, hear it every time he spoke to me. The guilt of that was almost worse than the knowledge of what I'd done. That was when I decided that maybe it was time to encourage a side of myself I'd been denying for years. In high school, at least before my mother died and I dropped out, I'd been known as a sure thing, regardless of whether it was a girl or a guy coming on to me. I'd do anyone who wanted me, almost. I drew the line at fat guys, and even I couldn't manage to get it up for the poor girl with coke-bottle glasses and a mouth full of metal. All I could think about when she smiled at me was one of those wires catching while she gave me a blowjob, and that ended any chance she had. Funny thing is, I ran into her years later at a club, but I didn’t recognize her. She seemed to get some satisfaction out of seeing me practically drool over her and then turning me down. What a difference a few years, some contacts and a good orthodontist can make. But this isn't the point.
I started spending time in gay bars, trying everything I could to avoid women. One night, none of the guys in my normal hangout were looking at all attractive, so I spent more time with a bottle of sake than any of them. I ended up falling prey to a wily waitress who was more than happy to take me home with her. I don't remember much after we got to her place, but when Manx came by the next morning and literally kicked me out of my bed, I knew I'd fucked up royally. I'd put this one in the hospital, nearly crushed her windpipe with my bare hands. Kritiker was taking care of everything, including relocating her to the other end of the country at her request, but I was in deep shit. I was told without mercy that I had three months to get myself under control. Three months with no missions, just the flower shop; three months to get my head together and be ready to resume activities as part of Weiss. However, one more woman to buy off, and I was through. They'd give me as a mission to another lethal team, brand me a dark beast and let justice be done. When she left, I laughed. It wasn't funny. It had to be one of the least funny moments of my entire life, but I laughed. Aya left the next day, reassigned indefinitely. He might be back in three months, he might be back in six, he might never be back -- no one would tell us, and Aya claimed he didn't know.
So, here I was, just Ken and I to work the shop, which meant there was absolutely zero chance of me getting out of a morning shift, since my shifts were now from open to close every damn day the shop was open. I couldn't help but curse Kritiker in between cursing myself. I was working twelve-hour days six days a week and this was supposed to help me get my head back on straight? Oh, and no help from a friendly neighborhood Kritiker psychologist. No, that might have actually been helpful. I found myself looking for solace at the bottom of a bottle, alone in my room night after night. Mornings were hell, but I managed. A few cups of strong coffee and about four aspirin helped, and the sunglasses made the sun reflecting off the shop windows across the street almost bearable.
Ken's attitude, however, was not helpful in the least. Not only did he growl and snap at me if I was down too late to help drag out the plants and count out the till for the start of the day, but his temper with the customers was short, too. I overheard the fan club remarking one day that it was like he was trying to make up for Aya being gone. Thinking back on it, that doesn't seem that far off. I tried to keep my distance, but still be my same flirty self. I mostly succeeded with the school girls, since I could quite honestly tell them that I didn't date girls under eighteen, but it was the older women, the ones who came in because they knew me and they knew I was usually up for a date and they wanted some company that evening or over the weekend. I started making up dates so they would leave me alone. The last thing I wanted was to have to admit the truth. Ken looked at me oddly whenever he overheard any of these conversations, obviously knowing I was spending my time drinking alone, the look in his eyes telling me he knew why, but he wondered what it all meant.
Things went on pretty much the same for the three months that Kritiker had decided that Ken and I were on 'hiatus' as Manx termed it. She showed up one Saturday evening as we were closing the shop to let us know that Aya was coming back and would be here the following morning, along with a fourth tem member who would be with Weiss temporarily. They had a mission for us that required four to pull off correctly. It always worries me when things are given to us like that. The unspoken 'you can refuse, but you'll be dooming your team to a hideous, painful death' thing just makes my skin crawl. It didn't come along often, but I figured after Kritiker covered for my transgressions and didn't turn me in as a dark beast that I kind of had to just take this lying down and keep my mouth shut. After all, I certainly felt like I was only one step above the beasts we hunted right then, I certainly didn't deserve better.
I didn't drink that night, wanting to present a halfway decent face to my new teammate and show Aya that I wasn't quite as much of a scumbag as he probably thought I was right then. It was hard, having to sleep without the alcohol to numb my brain and wash away the nightmares before they could form enough to trouble me. I woke up at least five times, each time unable to sleep for a little while, fighting not to run to the bathroom and start frantically washing my hands, trying to rid them of the feel of smooth flesh under my palms, the fluttering feeling as someone fights for their breath. I went through an entire pack of cigarettes and had to pour a brand new bottle of whisky down the drain to avoid the temptation of drinking it all in one long drink. But when the sun came up, I was sober and by the time Aya arrived I had managed to get a shower and dress and was waiting with Ken down in the mission room.
Manx was with them, as she had picked them up from the train station. Aya looked just as good as ever, his hair pulled back in a low tail brushing his mid-back, and I could see Ken swallow and a light come into his eyes that had been missing. It was more than obvious in that moment that Aya being gone had been the reason for his mood. I figured he hadn't said anything to Aya about his interest, though, or that look wouldn't have been so strong and what happened in the next few days wouldn't have been so fucked up. The person behind Aya was shorter, his hair mostly white with streaks here and there of a medium blonde, similar to the color mine used to be when I had been bleaching it years ago. I'd stopped dying it when I'd stopped dating women, and I'd been letting my roots grow out. When Aya left, I'd cut it all off one night while I was drunk. The girl at the hair salon who'd fixed the hack job I'd done had apologized profusely, but after the way I cut it, I can't blame her for leaving me with only an inch of hair on my head. It's grown out some now, it has always grown fast, so it doesn't look quite so bad, but it's going to be another year or so before it approaches the length it was. The person behind Aya was slender, and there was something about the way he moved that seemed familiar. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned his head to look at Ken and I, we were both stunned. If my cigarette had been lit, I probably would have burned a good hole in the carpet because I dropped it and promptly forgot all about it.
Omi was back. That was all I could think. Yeah, he looked different; older, stressed, as though he was standing on a cliff's edge and trying not to fall off. But he was back, and that was what mattered. Ken was ecstatic, jumping the poor boy and hugging the life out of him, while a pained, awkward look came over Omi's face. Once he'd been released by Ken he calmly informed us that he'd made a decision and he was no longer to be known as Tsukiyono Omi. He was Takatori Mamoru now. Ken looked like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer, and I felt like I had. Our innocent little Omi was taking on the name given to him by a man he'd helped to kill, taking a name he had renounced with conviction when his older brother had been beating him with a kendo stick. The rest of that meeting is kind of lost in my memory, and I only remember bits and pieces of Manx giving us our first mission as a team now that we were all together again, such as we were.
The mission went off without a hitch the next night. Omi slipped easily back into the role of leader, planner and hacker. Aya took back his position as field leader, and Ken and I followed along like good little puppies just like always. The target was relatively simple compared to some of the things we had been asked to do over the years we'd been with Kritiker. We went in, took out a few dozen guards, killed the target, hacked the files, set the building to blow and got out, watching the explosion and the resulting fire from a safe distance, making sure no one left the building that was supposed to be dead. It was after we got back that the hitch developed. Omi -- Mamoru had gotten a little too close to one of the target's bodyguards, and had gotten a small cut on his forearm for his trouble. While Aya was efficient at dressing the wound, he took a care with Mamoru that had always been missing before. The resulting confrontation between Mamoru and Ken had Aya in the middle. I never would have suspected Aya had a thing for the chibi. Turns out, Ken hadn't suspected, either.
I retreated to where I was always retreating those days -- straight into the bottom of a bottle. That night, I just chose to do it at a local gay bar I knew of. One without female wait staff. I don't remember passing out, but I do remember waking up in Ken's bed. I still wasn't entirely sober, but Ken was. He was clingy, kissing me and touching me, and I just sat there staring at him for a moment as he told me how good I'd been. There was something about him that seemed off. He didn't seem drunk or high, but there was just something ... not right about him. I wanted to get up and go to my own bed to finish sleeping off the liquor I'd had, but he wouldn't let me go. After a little while, I stopped fighting and just let it happen. It didn't matter what the reasons for it were anymore, something in my mind whispered that I didn't deserve gentle, I didn't deserve love. Not when I was just as bad, in my own way, as the target we'd taken down the night before.
So what Ken and I started that morning turned into some kind of messed up relationship. He was never gentle, he was never kind, using the excuse that since I was a guy, he didn't have to be gentle because I could take it. He even muttered in my ear while he fucked me dry that I liked this way, didn't I? I never contradicted him, and I always pretended when I hid my face in the shower spray that I wasn't crying and I didn't see the pink tinged water that ran down the drain for the first minute or so of my shower the next morning. My back, which had previously been mostly unmarked, was soon criss-crossed with a network of thin scars, most of them courtesy of Ken's bugnuks, since he seemed to think cutting me and licking the blood off me was foreplay.
One night, after he'd fucked me till I was sore -- which never took long, since I never really healed all the way between -- I decided to go back to the bar I'd gone the night before all this started. It had been about three months that we'd been having our 'relationship' and I was just wanting to get away from him, away from it, maybe let someone else use me for a while just on the off chance I might get someone who wouldn't hurt me as bad. The last person I ever expected to run into was Schuldich. The orange hair was missing, just like my blond hair was. I was somewhat surprised to see his hair just as long as ever, but a deep brown almost the same shade as my own. On me, it just looked almost natural since I was still used to seeing blonde in the mirror, but on him... It made the blue of his eyes pop and emphasized that he was much paler than almost anyone I knew except Aya. On me, it was a dull color that didn't inspire much other than indifference. On him, the same color was stunning. He was stunning, and I didn't have the guts to approach him, especially since he was the only face I recognized in the entire bar.
I was looking into the bottom of my second glass of beer when he sat down next to me. When he leaned over after my fourth and asked me to go out into the alley with him, I followed without even thinking about it. Just like with Ken, something in the back of my mind whispered that it was no more than I deserved if he intended to fuck me, fuck with me or leave me for dead. When we got outside he pushed me up against the brick wall and just stared at me. I was waiting, not initiating anything, but not putting up any kind of a fight, either. When he leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over mine, I couldn't help but respond. The kiss was light, sweet and so gentle I almost thought it had to be all in my head. Then he pulled back a little, turned my head to the side and whispered in my ear.
"Go home. I don't play with other people's broken toys."
I hadn't thought anything could break me anymore than I already was, but that did. I don't remember how I got home, just that I'd gotten there and spent the rest of the night trying to figure out where things went wrong. I spent the next month trying to figure it out before I stopped bothering. I'm still not sure I know, but I've decided that I just don't care. Where it went wrong doesn't matter because I can't change that. I kept letting Ken do what he wanted with my body for another month, but when Mamoru took over as Persia he brought in some new 'contractors' in the form of the former members of Schwartz, or at least the three that were left after the Museum fell on us all. He decided that Weiss as it had been was no longer functional. We were all 'reassigned' and a new Weiss was to be formed. Aya was given an administrative job somewhere in Kritiker. I don't know what Ken was sent to do. I was assigned to Schwartz. Yeah, me. I still haven't figured out why I wasn't sent to some facility to rot in a cell all by my lonesome or to be fucked by some guy who's only gay when institutionalized. Instead, I get to be the third wheel to the team of Crawford and Schuldich. God hates me.