Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Conscript Me ( Chapter 76 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.17.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 237 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.17.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 237 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Seventy-Six: Conscript Me
The alarm clock was perfectly silent, its red numbers barely interrupting the gentle wash of moonlight, but Yohji still resented it. As he watched the digital numbers slowly add up, he heard the ticking in his head. It was the feeling of that inevitable passage that kept him awake, laying in bed, watching the countdown.
Forcibly shifting his attention away, he looked to his left. When he first recognized the signs of his own restlessness, he had gently moved Aya off him so he didn’t wake the boy up with his tossing. Tired from his kendo lesson, Aya had instantly curled up on the other side of the large bed, facing away from him, and now Yohji watched the slow rise and fall of his back beneath the blankets.
He couldn’t get over how much the redhead had changed his life. In less than two months, Yohji had gone from going out every night and sleeping all day to being in bed by midnight and up by nine a.m. Not to mention that he hadn’t had one successful date, and, worse or better (he wasn’t sure), he didn’t particularly give a shit. If it wasn’t miraculous, it was pretty damn close.
Of course, he’d changed Aya life too. Irrevocably and hopefully it was for the better. No matter how much time had passed, Yohji couldn’t get the image out of his head, Aya chained up, beaten, begging him to stop and listen. What if he hadn’t?
Yohji wished he wasn’t a man who dwelt on the past, but he was. Alcohol, girls, and sex aside, he spent a hell of a lot of time reliving what might have been or what he might of done, recounting a thousand little choices that might have made a difference. He hated it, but he could no more stop it than he could stop breathing.
He had freed Aya, mostly, from a portion of the past. He hoped it was right, but…
They hadn’t heard a word from Manx, but Yohji had no delusions that Kritiker had forgotten about Aya or been benevolent enough to give them a little more time. If Omi was right, Kritiker was going to take Aya under its wing, but there was still the possibility that they wouldn’t, that they would label the boy as some kind of risk or liability.
Then Yohji would have to go. It wasn’t a pretty picture, running from the organization, but there was no way in hell he could let them hurt Aya. He wasn’t going to bare the guilt of that one.
But he didn’t really think it would be an issue. If Kritiker wanted Aya dead they wouldn’t have spent six weeks dicking around. That was the good news. The bad news, and a more genuine concern for the blonde, was the fact that they might want Aya too much. Out of Kritiker was bad, in Kritiker was bad, but being used by Kritiker was a fucking nightmare.
Yohji hated manipulation. He was an expert at it, but he fucking hated it when someone tried that shit on him, or on people he cared about. That was where he and Omi clashed, the kid being well versed in the art and not hesitant to twist someone around his little finger. Now, though, Aya faced manipulation at a higher level.
If his father was involved with Takatori, and if Kritiker had aims on the politician, Aya might be used as bait or blackmail or ten other things. If he turned out to be the result of some fucked up genetic alteration, then Kritiker might want to use whatever abilities he might have received, or test the hell out of him to see if any of those were real.
Yohji ran a weary hand over his face. He had to stop thinking about this or he was never going to sleep. Turning on his side, he reached under the bed to fish for a clear bottle he knew was there. In less than a minute, he was sitting up in bed with the vodka bottle in one hand and the top in the other.
He stopped, just a second, and evaluated the chances of himself doing something stupid.
Then he took a drink, closing his eyes over the familiar burn that rushed down his throat. It was soothing, and he took another, trying to shut out his thoughts. All was well for a few minutes, his mind focused purely on the familiar sensation of the alcohol. He reached to the nightstand for his cigarettes, managing to knock off the ashtray. It clattered noisily to the floor. Rolling his eyes, Yohji managed one more quick drink before Aya shifted, making a little noise that might have been a whimper, and started to rouse.
“Shh,” Yohji tried, touching his shoulder with the back of the hand holding the bottle’s lid. Aya pulled away, stiffening. Seconds later, he was awake, sitting up to rub at his eyes and look at Yohji. He looked at the dark window, back to Yohji, a little frown on his beautiful face.
“It’s early,” Yohji explained. He wanted to hide the vodka before Aya noticed it and freaked out, but he wasn’t sure Aya was really all that awake and had hopes that the boy would lay back down and doze off again. “Back to sleep, Aya.”
“Hn,” the boy replied, an odd, noncommittal sound. But he rubbed his eyes again, trying to anchor himself more in the waking world. He looked young when he did that, sitting up with the comforter piled in his lap, revealing thin limbs under the dark blue of his pajamas. He reached to tug at the ring of the dark collar, yawned, and readjusted it to lay better against his neck.
Yohji risked it and took another drink, bringing sleepy purple eyes back to him.
“Here,” he said, holding out the open bottle. Aya stared at it for a long minute, then shook his head. “Come on, Aya, live a little.”
Yohji pressed the bottle into the boy’s lap, forcing him to take it. It would be better if Aya was drinking too; he was sure of it. But the boy looked doubtful, and he made no move until the blonde reached to press up on the bottom of the bottle. With another look at Yohji, he brought it to his lips and drank.
Yanking it away quickly, Aya doubled over and began to cough. Yohji sighed and took the bottle out of his hand before he spilt it, setting it on the nightstand and turning back to rub Aya gently on the back as he tried to catch his breath.
He was rewarded with a glare, not quite as threatening when Aya’s eyes were trying to water.
“Sorry,” Yohji tried not to laugh and failed. It was too much; he had fallen for someone who couldn’t even handle a drink.
His mind tried to snap to attention at that last thought, but he cut it off, focusing his attention on the boy beside him. With a sound that was suspiciously like a snarl, Aya turned over and snuggled back under the covers. Shaking his head, Yohji laid down and settled in close, but not touching. He wanted to wrap his arms around Aya, but he wasn’t quite sure how the other would take it.
~*~
Upon reflection, Yohji guessed he had made some assumptions about the whole thing.
Six weeks were up. He had expected Manx to show up at six a.m., herd them down to the mission room, and point out the dark beast they were after. Then it would be planning, weapons, and praying to whatever gods would listen that they had done well enough with Aya to keep him alive.
He had not expected scheduling.
Yawning, Yohji let his head drop back against the couch. He had spent a long day of working in the shop, all the time looking over his shoulder, waiting for Manx. He had kept Aya close; even when the girls came in, Yohji had let the boy go only as far as the back room and, after a few minutes of forced flirting, joined him in the tedious task of arranging the shelves.
Aya hadn’t seemed flustered by the hovering, more than willing, apparently, to stick close by. He had been quiet to the point of silence, broken only by the occasional acknowledgement of Yohji’s requests. So the blonde had stuck close, unable to shake the idea that someone would show up and whisk Aya away, maybe to another team, maybe to some kind of training—he didn’t give a damn where it was, Aya was not leaving.
After smoking his entire pack of cigarettes (Aya sitting next to him on the back steps every time he went out), Yohji was little more than nervous by the time Manx actually came. She showed, like she usually did, just as they were closing shop, sock-clad ankles making their appearance under the closing door. She had to stalk out the shop front in order to make that kind of entrance more than once.
Everything had stopped. There was no attempt to clean up or close down; Yohji pulled the shutter and everyone went downstairs.
It was weird, having a fifth person in the room, and the boys had stopped to look at each other. Before even the seating arrangement could be decided, she had launched in, dismissing everyone but Aya.
Yohji didn’t go, and Manx didn’t seem too surprised. Still, she insisted on calling him by his code name, effectively giving him the cold shoulder, then got down to business. Not dark-beast-in-dark-alleys kind of business, but be-here-Tuesday-at-three business. Sitting on the couch beside Aya, Yohji had instantly adopted a bored-looking pose, but he listened carefully to each arrangement made. It was clear he was not invited to any of the appointments, but he intended to be there just the same.
“That will be an evaluation of your skill with a weapon,” Manx continued, her voice level with only the slightest hint of aggravation. “You do have a weapon.”
“Yes,” Aya said. Yohji was proud of the way he sat up straight on the couch and met Manx’s eyes even as she stood above him.
“Good. Korat will handle your outfitting; I imagine Balinese has already introduced you. On Thursday you’ll go to Magic Bus for a complete physical. Go through the emergency room entrance and directly to floor seven; speak to Nurse Takio at the desk, and she’ll give you instructions. You will not decline any tests, understand?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll also speak to Dr. Mitsuda. I’ve scheduled you an extended appointment at three o’clock on Friday afternoon. His office is on floor seven as well. You will answer his questions.”
“Yes.”
“Persia will review your results, and I will be back to inform you about Kritiker’s decision.”
A decision that was already made, Yohji thought. He tried to remember the red tape he had had to go through, and most of the stuff checked out, but he just couldn’t shake the idea that there was more to this than the organization’s concern about Aya’s health.
“If you are approved, it is likely that you will be assigned to Weiss. I assume Balinese had explained to you the expectations of such an assignment?” Manx asked.
Yohji rolled his eyes, what a way to put it. He sure as hell didn’t have nightmares about the ‘expectations of such an assignment.’
“Yes,” was all Aya said.
Manx nodded. Reaching for her bag, she once again withdrew the camera.
“I need pictures for your file. Stand up, please.”
Aya stood, and Manx moved away for a moment to turn on the light. Yohji wasn’t sure who had turned it off, all of them used to being in the dark when down in the mission room. Yohji stood while she walked away, touching Aya’s arm.
“Over by the wall,” he suggested. Aya nodded, letting Yohji position him so that he stood against the white wall.
Manx stepped back, lifted the camera, and put it down again.
“What’s that?” she questioned.
“What?” Yohji, standing close to her, raised an eyebrow.
“That,” she said, motioning to her own neck, “there.”
Oh. The collar. She hadn’t seen if before; Aya had been wearing his favorite sweater.
“Nothing,” Yohji dismissed. Manx turned to regard him seriously, obviously debating if she wanted to delve into the obvious lie. Oh, Yohji realized as he looked into her hard, blue eyes, she already fucking knew. “Jewelry.”
“Does it come off?” she asked, looking at Aya now but still asking Yohji.
“No,” Aya answered for himself, one hand rising to clutch at the front of the collar.
“Not yet,” Yohji amended.
“Hm,” Manx replied, making it difficult to interpret. “Stand up straight.”
Aya let go of the collar, and Manx snapped his picture.
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpzbcTXK to /dev/stdout
The alarm clock was perfectly silent, its red numbers barely interrupting the gentle wash of moonlight, but Yohji still resented it. As he watched the digital numbers slowly add up, he heard the ticking in his head. It was the feeling of that inevitable passage that kept him awake, laying in bed, watching the countdown.
Forcibly shifting his attention away, he looked to his left. When he first recognized the signs of his own restlessness, he had gently moved Aya off him so he didn’t wake the boy up with his tossing. Tired from his kendo lesson, Aya had instantly curled up on the other side of the large bed, facing away from him, and now Yohji watched the slow rise and fall of his back beneath the blankets.
He couldn’t get over how much the redhead had changed his life. In less than two months, Yohji had gone from going out every night and sleeping all day to being in bed by midnight and up by nine a.m. Not to mention that he hadn’t had one successful date, and, worse or better (he wasn’t sure), he didn’t particularly give a shit. If it wasn’t miraculous, it was pretty damn close.
Of course, he’d changed Aya life too. Irrevocably and hopefully it was for the better. No matter how much time had passed, Yohji couldn’t get the image out of his head, Aya chained up, beaten, begging him to stop and listen. What if he hadn’t?
Yohji wished he wasn’t a man who dwelt on the past, but he was. Alcohol, girls, and sex aside, he spent a hell of a lot of time reliving what might have been or what he might of done, recounting a thousand little choices that might have made a difference. He hated it, but he could no more stop it than he could stop breathing.
He had freed Aya, mostly, from a portion of the past. He hoped it was right, but…
They hadn’t heard a word from Manx, but Yohji had no delusions that Kritiker had forgotten about Aya or been benevolent enough to give them a little more time. If Omi was right, Kritiker was going to take Aya under its wing, but there was still the possibility that they wouldn’t, that they would label the boy as some kind of risk or liability.
Then Yohji would have to go. It wasn’t a pretty picture, running from the organization, but there was no way in hell he could let them hurt Aya. He wasn’t going to bare the guilt of that one.
But he didn’t really think it would be an issue. If Kritiker wanted Aya dead they wouldn’t have spent six weeks dicking around. That was the good news. The bad news, and a more genuine concern for the blonde, was the fact that they might want Aya too much. Out of Kritiker was bad, in Kritiker was bad, but being used by Kritiker was a fucking nightmare.
Yohji hated manipulation. He was an expert at it, but he fucking hated it when someone tried that shit on him, or on people he cared about. That was where he and Omi clashed, the kid being well versed in the art and not hesitant to twist someone around his little finger. Now, though, Aya faced manipulation at a higher level.
If his father was involved with Takatori, and if Kritiker had aims on the politician, Aya might be used as bait or blackmail or ten other things. If he turned out to be the result of some fucked up genetic alteration, then Kritiker might want to use whatever abilities he might have received, or test the hell out of him to see if any of those were real.
Yohji ran a weary hand over his face. He had to stop thinking about this or he was never going to sleep. Turning on his side, he reached under the bed to fish for a clear bottle he knew was there. In less than a minute, he was sitting up in bed with the vodka bottle in one hand and the top in the other.
He stopped, just a second, and evaluated the chances of himself doing something stupid.
Then he took a drink, closing his eyes over the familiar burn that rushed down his throat. It was soothing, and he took another, trying to shut out his thoughts. All was well for a few minutes, his mind focused purely on the familiar sensation of the alcohol. He reached to the nightstand for his cigarettes, managing to knock off the ashtray. It clattered noisily to the floor. Rolling his eyes, Yohji managed one more quick drink before Aya shifted, making a little noise that might have been a whimper, and started to rouse.
“Shh,” Yohji tried, touching his shoulder with the back of the hand holding the bottle’s lid. Aya pulled away, stiffening. Seconds later, he was awake, sitting up to rub at his eyes and look at Yohji. He looked at the dark window, back to Yohji, a little frown on his beautiful face.
“It’s early,” Yohji explained. He wanted to hide the vodka before Aya noticed it and freaked out, but he wasn’t sure Aya was really all that awake and had hopes that the boy would lay back down and doze off again. “Back to sleep, Aya.”
“Hn,” the boy replied, an odd, noncommittal sound. But he rubbed his eyes again, trying to anchor himself more in the waking world. He looked young when he did that, sitting up with the comforter piled in his lap, revealing thin limbs under the dark blue of his pajamas. He reached to tug at the ring of the dark collar, yawned, and readjusted it to lay better against his neck.
Yohji risked it and took another drink, bringing sleepy purple eyes back to him.
“Here,” he said, holding out the open bottle. Aya stared at it for a long minute, then shook his head. “Come on, Aya, live a little.”
Yohji pressed the bottle into the boy’s lap, forcing him to take it. It would be better if Aya was drinking too; he was sure of it. But the boy looked doubtful, and he made no move until the blonde reached to press up on the bottom of the bottle. With another look at Yohji, he brought it to his lips and drank.
Yanking it away quickly, Aya doubled over and began to cough. Yohji sighed and took the bottle out of his hand before he spilt it, setting it on the nightstand and turning back to rub Aya gently on the back as he tried to catch his breath.
He was rewarded with a glare, not quite as threatening when Aya’s eyes were trying to water.
“Sorry,” Yohji tried not to laugh and failed. It was too much; he had fallen for someone who couldn’t even handle a drink.
His mind tried to snap to attention at that last thought, but he cut it off, focusing his attention on the boy beside him. With a sound that was suspiciously like a snarl, Aya turned over and snuggled back under the covers. Shaking his head, Yohji laid down and settled in close, but not touching. He wanted to wrap his arms around Aya, but he wasn’t quite sure how the other would take it.
~*~
Upon reflection, Yohji guessed he had made some assumptions about the whole thing.
Six weeks were up. He had expected Manx to show up at six a.m., herd them down to the mission room, and point out the dark beast they were after. Then it would be planning, weapons, and praying to whatever gods would listen that they had done well enough with Aya to keep him alive.
He had not expected scheduling.
Yawning, Yohji let his head drop back against the couch. He had spent a long day of working in the shop, all the time looking over his shoulder, waiting for Manx. He had kept Aya close; even when the girls came in, Yohji had let the boy go only as far as the back room and, after a few minutes of forced flirting, joined him in the tedious task of arranging the shelves.
Aya hadn’t seemed flustered by the hovering, more than willing, apparently, to stick close by. He had been quiet to the point of silence, broken only by the occasional acknowledgement of Yohji’s requests. So the blonde had stuck close, unable to shake the idea that someone would show up and whisk Aya away, maybe to another team, maybe to some kind of training—he didn’t give a damn where it was, Aya was not leaving.
After smoking his entire pack of cigarettes (Aya sitting next to him on the back steps every time he went out), Yohji was little more than nervous by the time Manx actually came. She showed, like she usually did, just as they were closing shop, sock-clad ankles making their appearance under the closing door. She had to stalk out the shop front in order to make that kind of entrance more than once.
Everything had stopped. There was no attempt to clean up or close down; Yohji pulled the shutter and everyone went downstairs.
It was weird, having a fifth person in the room, and the boys had stopped to look at each other. Before even the seating arrangement could be decided, she had launched in, dismissing everyone but Aya.
Yohji didn’t go, and Manx didn’t seem too surprised. Still, she insisted on calling him by his code name, effectively giving him the cold shoulder, then got down to business. Not dark-beast-in-dark-alleys kind of business, but be-here-Tuesday-at-three business. Sitting on the couch beside Aya, Yohji had instantly adopted a bored-looking pose, but he listened carefully to each arrangement made. It was clear he was not invited to any of the appointments, but he intended to be there just the same.
“That will be an evaluation of your skill with a weapon,” Manx continued, her voice level with only the slightest hint of aggravation. “You do have a weapon.”
“Yes,” Aya said. Yohji was proud of the way he sat up straight on the couch and met Manx’s eyes even as she stood above him.
“Good. Korat will handle your outfitting; I imagine Balinese has already introduced you. On Thursday you’ll go to Magic Bus for a complete physical. Go through the emergency room entrance and directly to floor seven; speak to Nurse Takio at the desk, and she’ll give you instructions. You will not decline any tests, understand?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll also speak to Dr. Mitsuda. I’ve scheduled you an extended appointment at three o’clock on Friday afternoon. His office is on floor seven as well. You will answer his questions.”
“Yes.”
“Persia will review your results, and I will be back to inform you about Kritiker’s decision.”
A decision that was already made, Yohji thought. He tried to remember the red tape he had had to go through, and most of the stuff checked out, but he just couldn’t shake the idea that there was more to this than the organization’s concern about Aya’s health.
“If you are approved, it is likely that you will be assigned to Weiss. I assume Balinese had explained to you the expectations of such an assignment?” Manx asked.
Yohji rolled his eyes, what a way to put it. He sure as hell didn’t have nightmares about the ‘expectations of such an assignment.’
“Yes,” was all Aya said.
Manx nodded. Reaching for her bag, she once again withdrew the camera.
“I need pictures for your file. Stand up, please.”
Aya stood, and Manx moved away for a moment to turn on the light. Yohji wasn’t sure who had turned it off, all of them used to being in the dark when down in the mission room. Yohji stood while she walked away, touching Aya’s arm.
“Over by the wall,” he suggested. Aya nodded, letting Yohji position him so that he stood against the white wall.
Manx stepped back, lifted the camera, and put it down again.
“What’s that?” she questioned.
“What?” Yohji, standing close to her, raised an eyebrow.
“That,” she said, motioning to her own neck, “there.”
Oh. The collar. She hadn’t seen if before; Aya had been wearing his favorite sweater.
“Nothing,” Yohji dismissed. Manx turned to regard him seriously, obviously debating if she wanted to delve into the obvious lie. Oh, Yohji realized as he looked into her hard, blue eyes, she already fucking knew. “Jewelry.”
“Does it come off?” she asked, looking at Aya now but still asking Yohji.
“No,” Aya answered for himself, one hand rising to clutch at the front of the collar.
“Not yet,” Yohji amended.
“Hm,” Manx replied, making it difficult to interpret. “Stand up straight.”
Aya let go of the collar, and Manx snapped his picture.
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/phpzbcTXK to /dev/stdout