Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Grill Me ( Chapter 70 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Notes: Sorry for the delay! The author has once again been sick…seriously, if I don’t get better soon, they’re gonna put me down. Anyway, to make up for the lapse, here’s a long chapter that actually has plot, yay!



Chapter Seventy: Grill Me

“Sit down, please,” Omi motioned to the couch, watching as Aya settled stiffly close to one end. Yohji, who never seemed very far away from the redhead, took the invitation to include him as well and dropped onto the center cushion, long legs stretched out in front of him. As relaxed as his posture was, there was a slight narrowing of green eyes as he stared not at Omi, but at the manila folder in his lap.

Nothing good came in folders, they had all decided, and while Omi would have liked to avoid presenting this in one, the collection of documents demanded the treatment. And really, it wasn’t pleasant news, so perhaps it was fitting. Resting the file against his bare knees, he sat up a little straighter in the chair, wishing Aya had chosen to sit on the end of the couch closest to him rather than the exact opposite; as softly as the boy tended to talk, it might make things difficult. Not to mention the arrangement put Yohji in the middle of everything.

“Yohji-kun, don’t you have something to do?” he hinted politely, catching the blonde’s eye and making it clear he would prefer to talk with Aya privately.

“Nope,” Yohji answered, all smiles and feigned contentment. From the moment Omi had asked Aya to join him in the mission room, the older man had been silently antagonistic.

Knowing there was little hope of budging Yohji once he had made up his mind on something (especially if that something had to do with the protection of someone else), Omi tried a slightly less innocuous request.

“Could you get us something to drink, then? Maybe some tea?”

He was eyes suspiciously, “This gonna take that long?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t start without me.”

“Yohji-kun…”

“Tea, right. Going.”

He did go, but the casual pace at which he took the steps was not enough to convince Omi that he had very long. Not that he didn’t want Yohji to hear things, but it would be so much better if he could get some details from Aya and deal with the boy first before confronting Yohji’s rather unpredictable reactions.

“Aya-kun,” he began, pausing in surprise as he looked up to find Aya’s eyes on him. He hadn’t noticed before, with all the time the boy spent staring at the floor, but they were a strikingly odd color; perhaps it was the red tint of Aya’s hair that made them look purple in the light of the nearby lamp, but he wasn’t sure.

Covering with a smile, Omi started again.

“Are you feeling better?”

Aya nodded, unease reading in his movements.

“Good. It’s time we had a little chat.”

~*~

Yohji glared at the tea kettle as if the mere force of his gaze could make the water boil faster.

To say he didn’t like the fact that Omi was getting rid of him was an understatement. He knew that the little twerp was going to try to pump Aya for information while he was gone. While he wanted that information just as badly, well, almost, he wasn’t willing to traumatize Aya anymore at the moment.

And did Omi really think he had a better chance of talking to the boy without Yohji’s help? Bullshit. Aya barely talked to anyone else.

Shoving his loose hair back from his face, Yohji sighed and glared some more at the unsuspecting kettle.

~*~

This wasn’t going well. As much as he had tried to keep it light, Omi could almost feel himself slipping into mission mode. His smile felt false, and he wondered if his drive for details was showing through. Aya was at the very least suspicious, but Omi suspected he was suspicious of everything. So far he hadn’t gotten two words out of the younger boy, and they hadn’t moved beyond small talk.

“How are your lessons going?”

Again Aya nodded, the motion apparently meaning they were going well.

“Ken said the two of you practiced yesterday.”

Another nod. There was something in the eyes now, but Omi wasn’t sure what it was.

“He said you did really good.”

Nothing there, just a level stare. It was unnerving. Aya rarely looked at anyone for long, and Omi didn’t think he liked it.

Deciding that this wasn’t doing anything, Omi took another route.

“What’s your real name?”

Purple eyes went wide, then finally fled his own, focusing on Aya’s lap while his left hand came up to tug on the wide collar around his neck.

“My name is Aya.”

~*~

Tray carefully balanced over one arm, Yohji started down the stairs.

“I’m not a person you want to lie to.”

Though Omi’s voice was quiet, there was enough unspoken threat to make him hurry down the steps, tea kept from spilling only by natural instinct and not conscious attention.

Thankfully Omi was still in his chair, not close enough to Aya to actually be threatening the boy. Had he been, Yohji wasn’t exactly sure what he would have done, but it wouldn’t have been good.

Now, as he settled the tray on the low coffee table in front of the couch, they both looked up at him. Omi’s look was one of reserved aggravation, and Aya’s was a shifting mix of relief and anxiety. Putting himself deliberately between them, Yohji resumed his seat. No one touched the tea.

“What’re we talking about?” he asked.

Omi sighed and frowned. Yohji hated it when he looked like that, like Manx when they asked too many questions about a mission. As much as he loved Omi, and as good as the kid was, he had picked up more than a few bad habits.

“We’re talking about Aya,” Omi answered. “I did some research, and there are some surprising gaps.”

Well, shit. Gaps were bad, especially if Omi couldn’t get the info. It could be a number of things, but on the top of the list was the possibility that Aya might be involved in something big, like Kritiker. Or worse. Yohji could only hope the organization had gotten to Aya’s past first, creating those blank spots that had Omi so concerned.

“I need you to give me some information, Aya-kun. I need to know about your past, how you got here—”

“Yohji brought me here.”

Yohji couldn’t help but smile at the remark, almost proud that Aya could snap at someone who wasn’t him. Better, the boy didn’t follow it with any type of apology. To Omi’s credit, he didn’t seem flustered, merely shifting the folder and pulling out a piece of paper.

“No birth certificate. No tax numbers. No dental records. I did find junior high records for Aya Fujimiya, but that’s not you, is it?”

“What’s he talking about?” Yohji turned towards Aya, suddenly fearful that the boy had been lying to him all along. Maybe Omi had been right, that the kid was actually a spy. The thought made his whole body tighten with tension and his voice rough with anger. “Aya, what’s he talking about?”

“I…I…he, they…my name is Aya.”

There was a desperation in his voice, and Yohji’s fear fled as quickly as it had come. This wasn’t a captured spy. Though it was now entirely obvious that Aya was lying to him, this was the same voice he used to tell Yohji that he wanted to keep on that damn collar. He broke in before Omi could speak.

“Did he tell you to say that? Your master?”

Aya looked up at him then, expression unreadable, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Yohji debated for a second, “Well, you said it. You have another name?”

“No,” Aya answered, fingers pulling at the silver ring at the front of his neck in yet another nervous gesture. At least he wasn’t pulling his hair.

Yohji sighed, but before he could sort through the mess, Omi reached over him to shove the paper into Aya’s lap. For a second it laid there, then it was snatched up by pale hands. Aya was perfectly still as he stared at it, until he started to shiver slightly.

Yohji, sitting close now, looked over his shoulder. It was a picture, printed out from the computer with a few lines crossing it where the ink cartridge had failed to fill in the image. But overall it was clear. There was the face and shoulders of a young girl with dark braids, dark eyes, and a charming smile. She flashed the ‘victory’ sign as she grinned at the camera.

“Aya.”

It was a hushed whisper that escaped the redhead’s lips. His trembling hand reached to touch the printed cheek, like it might feel differently beneath his fingers. He didn’t look anything like the girl in the picture, but Yohji knew who she was.

“Your sister,” he said.

Again Aya’s head snapped up. He took a sudden breath as he nodded.

“That’s Aya?” Yohji asked, already knowing the answer but hoping to glean some insight as to why his Aya was using the girl’s name.

Purple eyes flicked from him to Omi and back again, but the boy didn’t answer.

“You can trust him. You’ve got to trust us…” he floundered when he wanted to put in the boy’s name.

“My master—”

“Fuck him!” Yohji tossed up a hand, unable to resist an outburst at Aya being controlled by some absent bastard, “Don’t you get it? There’s no way in hell we’re letting you go back!”

Aya looked startled, but he clutched tight at the paper in his hands.

“You’re staying, got it? There’s no way I’m letting that sick fuck touch you ever again—”

“Yohji,” Omi put in, a stern voice trying to cut off his tirade.

“Wait a damn minute,” he replied. “This is important. We’ll keep you safe, Aya, whatever your name is, hell, I’ll just call you princess if it comes to that—the thing is, you’re with us now. Kritiker’s its own tangled mess of shit, but Weiss is just us, and we watch each other’s backs. You’ve got to trust us, and we’ve got to trust you. No bullshit.

“Stop thinking that these guys are gonna come back and get you. They’ll have to go through me first. And Omi here won’t be far behind. But you can’t hide things.

“Plus,” he let his voice fall into a softer cadence, “Omi’s our research guy—if you didn’t figure that out already—
he needs to know so he can try to find her.”

“Aya?”

“Yeah,” Yohji answered, slightly awed by the tremulous quality of the deep voice. “If anyone can do it, Omi can, but you’ve got to—”

“Anything,” the boy said suddenly, nodding his head vigorously and sitting up straighter, the picture clutched in his lap, “I’ll do anything.”

Not for the first time, Yohji felt chilled by the utter conviction of those words.

“Just tell us the truth,” he emphasized the just. Again Aya nodded, his eyes back on the page. Yohji turned to Omi, finding the younger blonde intent upon their conversation. He made a small gesture with his head, inviting him to take a turn.

Besides, that would teach the brat to try to talk to Aya without him.

“Aya-kun,” Omi started, obviously plagued by the same inability to find a better name that Yohji was, “how old is she?”

There was no response, and they both watched as Aya just stared at the page. Yohji wondered how long it had been since he had seen the girl; he seemed so awed by just the image. Omi looked put out, but the older man doubted Aya was being contrary. He looked mesmerized.

He didn’t want to, but with a sigh, Yohji reached out to tug on the paper. There was a moment of resistance, but Aya, obviously trained against resistance, let it go. Still, the quiet whine he made almost caused Yohji to give it back.

“You can keep it,” he promised, not about to consult Omi on the matter with Aya looking after it so piteously. “Talk to Omi first, then you can have it back.”

It took a few seconds for Aya to process that and nod. He turned his attention to Omi, glancing back only long enough to watch Yohji sit the precious picture aside. For his part, Yohji thought his hard work was done, and after grabbing one cooling mug of tea, settled back on the couch to listen.

“How old is your sister now?”

“Fourteen.”

“Her name’s Aya?”

“Yes.”

“And your name’s Ran?”

Aya started at that.

“I…Aya…” Looking flustered, Aya shook his head and tugged on his hair. Instantly Yohji put down his cup and caught the hand and held on to it.

Omi pulled another page from the folder, and once again Yohji examined it while it sat in Aya’s lap.

It was a newspaper article this time. Across the top was the bold headline, “Business Scandal Ends in Death.” Rather than scan the tiny columns of print below, Yohji looked at the picture. Two men shook hands in front of a partially obscured sign; one looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place him or relate him to the title. He thought he might read it, but Aya handed it quickly back to Omi who began, much to Aya’s discomfort, to read part of it aloud.

“While Takatori-san regrets the unfortunate events that befell Fujimiya and his family, he acknowledges that the business leader was at fault. Recently revealed to have been involved in illegal experiments of genetic engineering, Fujimiya is thought to have encouraged the use of human tests subjects, many of whom did not agree to the dangerous tests beforehand. This information having been leaked, it is suspected that an enraged subject thought to get revenge on Fujimiya by—”

“Stop it,” Yohji demanded, voice flat. Aya’s hand was shaking in his own. “Shit, Omi, go a little slower.”

“I just wanted him to know I knew about it,” the blonde defended.

“He knows, okay?”

“Yes,” Omi answered, sounding contrite, if only slightly. “But I need to know—”

“He didn’t do it,” Aya said suddenly, quietly. “Father didn’t do anything to those people.”

“Can you start at the beginning?” Yohji asked, feeling out of the loop.

No, Aya shook his head.

“Try,” he suggested in return.

“Your father owned a business,” Omi began instead. Then, almost an aside to Yohji, “He was very successful.”

Rich, he meant. Whether or not it was simply a comment on the status of Aya’s family or meant to imply something more, Yohji wasn’t sure. Did Omi suspect the wealth was ill-gotten?

“Vaccines, right? That’s what Sanda specialized in, at least until Fujimiya-san chose to expand.”

“He didn’t,” Aya put in, a slight snap in his voice, though the volume was still at a minimum.

“He didn’t choose to merge with Muribai and take up genetic studies?” Omi questioned.

Yohji was beginning to suspect there was something very important he was missing out on. What did it matter what Aya’s father had done? Had he killed someone? Was that what the ‘death’ in the headline was about, and, more importantly, had it resulted in Aya’s situation?

“No,” Aya replied, “He did that.”

“Your father.”

“Takatori.”

There was malice in the word, hissed between clenched teeth. For a second, Yohji thought perhaps he had finally come upon the name of Aya’s mysterious master, but he doubted Aya would have let it slip so easily or displayed such an obvious dislike towards him.

Omi was again trying to catch Yohji’s eye, demanding his attention to the name. What for? Gods, he needed some kind of translator for this conversation. He might have asked, but it seemed Omi had finally hit upon one of those rare subjects on which Aya was willing to talk. Both of them knew well enough to shut up and listen, taking close note since it was unlikely any of it would be repeated.

“Takatori tricked Father. He was always around…always had been, for as long as I could remember. He was powerful, and he invested heavily in the company; he pushed a merger, and Father couldn’t risk displeasing him. Once he acquired Muribai through our business, he fired their board and installed his own men.”

Absently, Yohji realized Aya had a larger vocabulary than he had expected.

“He let them do experiments. Horrible things. Father didn’t know, not for many years. I think…I think they gave false reports. He never said much about it. When he found out what was going on, he was angry. He didn’t…he…Father was very serious about protecting human rights.

“Takatori said it would damage the company to stop, and when Father threatened to go to the press, he…

“He…,” Aya tried again, but there was no breath behind the word. He was shaking now, all over, like he had stood too long in the snow.

“Easy,” Yohji directed, releasing his captured hand long enough to press his own mug of tea into it. Aya clasped the lukewarm mug with both hands, and Yohji was forced to steady the bottom of it in order to get it to his lips without dropping. “It’s okay.”

“It’ll be easier to get it all done at once,” Omi put in at a little above a whisper, thwarting Yohji’s half-formed plans of a break. Truth be told, he wanted to know how all this went together, the PI part of him clamoring for some connections. But Aya looked so worn out as he relinquished the cup, wrapping his arms around his middle and depriving Yohji of his hand.

“What happened?” he asked, saving Omi from being the bad guy all the time.

“Takatori.”

Well, like that explained it all. He waited, and Aya finally unclenched his teeth and went on, some of the shivering seeming to subside even if there was a disturbingly distant tint to his eyes.

“She wanted to go to the festival…it was the last one before school started. Mother…Mother didn’t want her to go alone, and…it was my responsibility. I…I…her birthday, it was almost Aya-chan’s birthday. She was going to be a teenager, and she didn’t want me to go along.”

Yohji pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers, contemplating the seemingly unrelated narrative.

“Something happened…rain. It rained. We went back, even though it stopped. She was wearing a new yukata and didn’t want…wait.”

He stopped, prying one hand from his side to run it over his face. He left it there as he leaned forward, elbow propped on one thin knee and head held up by that hand.

“They were dead. I went in first, and they were dead,” he said it quickly, and Yohji wondered if he was trying to block out the memories. “I saw it, too. I saw it and told her to run.”

“What?” Omi asked.

“A bomb.”

“No shit?” Yohji couldn’t help it. Normal people didn’t see things like that. He was beginning to suspect Aya was a little less normal than even he had suspected.

Aya made no effort to reply to him, nor to continue. They were all quiet for over two minutes, Omi and Yohji trading looks and silently trying to figure out how to get the boy going again. They finally went for straight forward.

“What happened?”

A short, unpleasant syllable of laughter, “It exploded.”

Yohji didn’t like that. It didn’t sound like the Aya he had gotten used to, and he was starting to think they were pushing him too far, too quickly after the last emotional ordeal.

“We were in the hall…and he came…right before. They said…I know he was there.”

That made no sense. A check with Omi confirmed that the other was just as confused.

“Who is he?” Yohji asked.

Still hiding behind his hand, Aya answered, “I told you about him. The one who works for my...Master. He saved us. He took us outside. There was debris…but we would have…I saw her, Aya-chan, I saw her get up. He was gone. I…got caught in it somehow, and she…something happened…I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Aya…”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.”

“I would tell you…I…I don’t know, Yohji.”

“It’s fine, just tell what you remember.”

“Hospital. A strange… They…they told me things, Aya-chan was hurt. She wasn’t waking up…coma. They used that word over and over, coma. I…they wanted money. I…Father’s accounts…there was nothing I could do. They said…I wasn’t…I couldn’t.”

Aya would have been barely fifteen, as Yohji figured it. Homeless. Broke. With a seriously injured sister.

“What did you do?”

“I…he…he took me away.”

“Takatori?” Omi asked.

“One of his men. My…master.”

“Who?” Omi questioned quickly, and Yohji admitted he was eager for the information. But Aya just shook his head.

“He’ll kill her,” he said.

Omi opened his mouth, but Yohji waved him off. They were getting a lot, and pushing would probably shut Aya up all together.

“What did he do?” he tried instead.

Suddenly Aya looked up at him, exhausted and desperate and pleading, “Don’t send me back, Yohji.”

For a second all he could do was shake his head in denial. How many times did he have to say it?

“I won’t.”

Those strange eyes closed, the expression fading. Aya’s head dropped forward, landing softly on Yohji’s shoulder. There was one more shuddering breath, and then he was still save for gentle breathing.

~*~

Omi wasn’t quite sure what to say about that.

“Is he asleep?” he finally asked when Aya didn’t move.

“Yeah,” Yohji just smiled, settling the boy a little more against him and getting an arm around his thin shoulders. With his free hand he brushed back Aya’s ragged bangs, revealing a face that was slightly drawn even in sleep. “I think we wore him out.”

Omi sighed, shuffling his folder. There were other things there, odds and ends he had collected. Making a decision, he handed them over to Yohji. The other nodded in appreciation, laying the folder beside his leg.

“Think he’s telling the truth?”

Yohji nodded, “Have to be a hell of an actor not to be.”

He stood looking at the boy for a minute. Aya had come a long way, but he was still thin and fragile-looking. Ken said he was getting good, very good, with his weapon, but Omi wondered if he would be truly fit for a mission. There were, after all, more than physical concerns. Aya struggled through conversations, could he make it through killing someone?

It wasn’t a pretty question.

Omi didn’t want him to get hurt, but he couldn’t let the rest of them get hurt either.

“He’ll do it,” Yohji said solemnly, and Omi wondered if he had spoken out loud. The blond lit his cigarette one-handed, exhaling as he looked up at him. “He made it through all that.”


~tbc~


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