Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Convergence ❯ Convergence 4 (Part A) ( Chapter 5 )

Convergence

Part 4

 

A bad end to an exceptionally miserable day, Ryou thought to himself as he opened the door to what he knew would be an empty apartment. He wasn't drunk yet. He hadn't consumed nearly enough alcohol for him to be drunk, but he definitely planned to amend that as soon as humanly possible. If what occurred today weren't grounds for getting good and solidly plastered, then there was absolutely no justice in the universe. The only way that his day could possibly be worse was if his wife was late in leaving for work and was still at home. He wasn't ready to face her just yet.

 

He was thankful that his wife had left for work on time that afternoon, especially given as how he'd dawdled on the way home in a pathetic attempt to avoid her. Their last argument had gotten particularly nasty and neither of them had gotten around to forgiving the other. Coming home after having spent his afternoon drinking at a seedy bar would have just given her another opportunity to lay into him. Avoidance might not be the most courageous course of action, especially once she learned about what had happened to him at work. However, it had bought him a little time.

 

He had no idea why anybody would have given him a job involving numbers, or even would believe that he might have any aptitude for them. He supposed that he was just so grateful that someone would be willing to employ him after he'd gotten out of the hospital that he never wondered why a major company would hire a man with no verifiable employment history, no proof of education and the tendency to go into fugue states when overwhelmed. Ryou was honesty amazed that he had kept his job as long as he had. Still, the sudden dismissal had left him reeling.

 

Once inside the apartment, he kicked off his shoes and ripped off his suit jacket, the fitted garment suddenly feeling like a straightjacket. In a defiant poke at his wife's obsessively neat habits, Ryou tossed the offending garment onto the couch where he left it. His tie quickly followed, missing the couch and landing on the floor. He nearly tore off a few buttons in the process of pulling his shirt open down to mid chest. He then made his way to the kitchen where he knew he would find the only alcohol that Asuka permitted in their home. Staring at the three bottles of beer awaiting him in the refrigerator, he wished that he had thought to stop by the liquor store on the way home for a decent bottle of whiskey.

 

Well, at least it was better than nothing. Beer in hand, Ryou walked into the small space that passed for their living room and turned on the television, mildly irritated that it was too early for his favorite shows. It was much too early for him to be home as he normally worked well into the night. Asuka rarely complained about his late hours, even thought it meant that they hadn't see much of one another in the past few weeks. They needed the extra money, but now he had no job to kill time at.

 

Taking a long sip from his bottle, Ryou leaned back and put his stocking feet up on the low table in front of him. He knew that his wife would have a screaming fit if she saw him do that, but she wasn't there to witness his act of defiance. Part of him wished that she was. He was feeling just mean enough to want to deliberately provoke her. After all, why should he be the only one miserable?

 

It wasn't as if he'd enjoyed his job. It was something that filled his day and provided enough money for groceries and a roof over his head, but it was hardly something that he woke up looking forward to. Working in an office every day felt positively claustrophobic at times, but what other choices did he have? There weren't too many places offering decent-paying jobs to amnesiacs with no records, and he could hardly expect to sponge off of Asuka for the rest of his life. All that mattered was the satisfaction of knowing that he would be able pay for his share of their expenses. It didn't matter that he was bored or unfulfilled, or that he could barely tolerate the people that he worked with.

 

Still, the sudden dismissal had come as a surprise. Ryou really couldn't judge how good he'd actually been at the job, but at his 6-month evaluation he had been given a satisfactory rating and he hadn't been aware of any complaints regarding his work. Yet this afternoon he was summoned into his supervisor's office upon his return from lunch to have his ass thoroughly chewed out over some mistakes he'd apparently made on an account. In all the time he had worked there, he had never seen his supervisor raise his voice until that instant.

 

There was no disciplinary action or chance to try to fix the mistake he had made. After spending a good five minutes hearing in excruciating detail of just how utterly incompetent he was, Ryou was immediately fired. As if that wasn't bad enough, he had to swallow the humiliation of clearing his desk of the few personal possessions he'd kept there while his former co-workers watched and a security guard waited to escort him off the premises.

 

He couldn't bring himself to go home at first, not while Asuka was still there. He knew that he would have to tell her about getting fired soon enough, but he needed a little time to figure out just how to break the news. Too shaken to return home, he'd stopped off at a bar to take his sorrows for a little swim and consider just how he was going to tell his wife.

 

Not that getting fired was ever convenient, but in his case it had come at a particularly bad time. Asuka had been complaining quite a bit lately about their tiny apartment and how they should consider looking for a larger place or even a house outside the city - especially since she had been bringing up the idea of starting a family with increasing frequency. He hadn't been able to find the courage yet to tell her that this wasn't something that he was ready for. Maybe in another year or so, once things were settled down more…

 

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? The last thing he wanted or needed was a kid to take care of. Maybe he was devoid of any kind of paternal instinct, but the very thought of a screaming infant sent chills down Ryou's spine. He barely had his own life together; how could she expect him to care for children when he could hardly take care of himself?

 

Well, he supposed all that was moot now. Without his income, they would not be able to afford a bigger place. Hell, he didn't know if they would be able to afford the apartment they were currently living in. Asuka made a decent income at the hospital, but hardly enough to cover their weekly expenses. She was going to kill him for this.

 

He drained the last of his beer, wondering for the umpteenth time how the hell he'd gotten into this situation. What could have happened to him to leave him sitting there with absolutely no memory of his life beyond the past year or so, married to a woman that he could honestly say he barely knew and increasingly found that he had little in common with. Ryou had thought that when his memories hadn't returned that he would just be able to move forward and start from scratch. Instead, he felt as if he were coming apart at the seams.

 

There were just enough hints that whatever his past life had been, it certainly had not been mundane or boring. He found himself starting at his hand as he reached for another beer, once again struck by the fine tracery of scars that marred his skin. He'd never been able to figure out just how his hands had gotten so badly scarred. His fingers looked like they'd taken the worst of the damage, having been sliced open more than a few times. Almost as if he had tried to grasp a flexible saw blade or something else that possessed a very fine and sharp edge.

 

Those were not the only marks he carried. There was a pretty wide assortment of scars adorning his torso and limbs. A few of the newer marks were the result of the injuries he'd suffered the day he'd lost his memories, but most were considerably older. A few even looked like old bullet wounds. He wasn't bothered at all by the scars. While he had no interest in the newer marks, Ryou had been utterly fascinated by the older scars. He had to wonder at what kind of life he must have led to have gotten so marked up at such a young age. Asuka, however, never liked to talk about the marks on his body.

 

Then there was the tattoo on his shoulder with its English wording. The only time Asuka made any mention of it was to suggest that he speak to one of the doctors in the hospital about having it removed with lasers. He had always put her off, insisting that he couldn't take off time from work or that they couldn't afford it.

 

Drinking his second beer, he wondered she had an aversion for tattoos in general, or because it was a reminder that he had a life before they had met.

The tattoo itself wasn't unattractive to look at, and it was very well done. The design was rather unique and beautiful in a morbid fashion, and there was a certain appeal to the meaning behind the words. Ryou was at a loss to figure out why he might have picked such a design. He must have been pretty damn miserable when he'd done it.

 

Altogether, the scars and the tattoo hinted that he had led an unusual existence before his accident. He hadn't been a criminal, or at least he didn't think he had been one. He was pretty certain that he hadn't been yakuza; the tattoo wasn't nearly extensive enough and was much too western in design to hint at that. Whatever he had been, though, was obviously not the modest little office worker that he'd tried to be for the past few months.

 

There was that other little memento from his mysterious past that was not out on plain sight. He'd really wanted to buy a nice stand for the katana that was currently hidden away in the depths of a closet, thinking that it was just too beautiful to not be displayed. Ryou had only been told that the sword had been found with him, but he had no idea if it had actually been his before the accident. Still he enjoyed taking care of the blade; the weekly ritual of cleaning and polishing the sword relaxed him in a strange way and gave him something to do while his wife was out. He'd even picked up a book on katanas and a proper cleaning kit so he could do the job correctly.

 

Asuka had firmly vetoed the idea of displaying the sword, insisting that it did not go with their décor. Ryou was certain that there had to be more of a reason behind her refusal than that, but he never could get a better explanation out of her. It hadn't helped matters when Asuka openly wondered if it was worth any money and urged him to consider selling it. His outright refusal had been the cause of their first genuine argument and it seemed the best option to keep the sword put away where it wouldn't instigate additional tension between them.

 

He often wondered who had owned the katana before it came into his possession. It was painfully clear that he didn't know how to wield it. The one time he'd drawn the blade from its scabbard to see if he knew anything about swordsmanship had resulted in the untimely demise of their sole houseplant and the addition of another scar decorating his left arm. Yet someone at some point had used that katana as a weapon. For all its beauty, the katana looked as if it had been battered around as much as he had been. There were scratches on the blade that looked all too much like scars to Ryou, an obvious sign that this sword had been used for the task it had been designed for. The silk cords binding the hilt were badly stained and worn, and the tsuba was devoid of any ornamentation. The lacquer on the saya was chipped and worn thin in places, and showed a small split in the wood near the opening.

 

No, that katana was not merely an ornamental toy; it had seen hard fighting at some point. But if he hadn't been the one wielding the blade, then who had? And what kind of maniac used a katana as a weapon nowadays? The wear seemed to be recent as the blade just didn't appear to be all that old; certainly not old enough to be from a time when one might actually expect to see it used as a weapon.

 

He had spent many hours pondering the mysteries of the sword, scars and tattoo in his life. Ryou was quite certain that there was an answer somewhere in all this, but he was no closer to finding it now than he was the day he first woke up in the hospital. Asuka had been no help in finding those answers. He couldn't understand why. Asuka had held him through enough nightmares to understand just how lost he still was, and how the missing pieces of his life still tormented him. Ryou would have thought that if she loved him, she would want him to be whole, no matter what he'd been before they met.

 

Tossing the second bottle into the recycle bin, he wondered why his wife seemed so resistant to him trying to learn anything about his past, and so insistent on Ryou ridding himself of what few things he had left. After he had been released from the hospital he had wanted to continue seeing the therapist he'd been assigned. Ryou had hoped that their sessions might help to jog his memory and make some sense of the fragments that woke him screaming at night, but Asuka insisted that it was a waste of time. After all, it was so clear to her that his memories would never return, so better to focus on starting anew. Without friends, family or any other support except for Asuka, he had gone along with her wishes. Now he knew that had been a monumental mistake.

 

Ryou found himself resisting Asuka's requests more and more lately, no longer the quiet, compliant man she had married. Sure, his resolve over keeping the katana and his tattoo were his first true refusals, but he had been asserting himself much more frequently now. Of course, his acts of defiance lead to even more battles between them and less time actually spent in one another's company. He had been joining his coworkers more frequently for late dinners and nights of drinking after work. If Ryou spent a single hour around his wife on any day during the week, that was a lot.

 

And that didn't even touch upon the more intimate aspects of their relationship. Ryou didn't know how Asuka expected to get a baby considering it had been well over a week since they'd last had sex. Their sex life up until the past few weeks had been the most stable and fulfilling part of their marriage, but like everything else it had been shoved into the background and ignored more often than not. Ryou had taken to masturbating while she was out so that he wouldn't be tempted to bother her with physical demands. He didn't know why he wasn't more upset that she didn't seem to miss his touch.

 

Ryou had to wonder if they would be able to remain together for much longer. He knew that he wasn't happy with the state of their relationship, and judging from how many late shifts Asuka volunteered for at the hospital, he doubted that she was any more content. There was no way that he could think with any honesty that he was even trying to make her happy at this point. Perhaps his newly discovered contrariness was prompted merely to spite her. He couldn't even say that he loved her, or ever really did.

 

Well, he would have to face her wrath soon enough, Ryou mused as he finished off the third and final beer. Damn, still not drunk. And staring intently at the empty bottle in his hand would not magically transform it into something full and more potent. Maybe he should change and just go out for the evening. There were a few bars that he had been visiting as of late while Asuka was at work, and some very attractive men and women who would probably be more than happy to help ease his frustration.

 

A knock at the door interrupted his morose thoughts and he felt vaguely irritated at whoever was intruding on his solitude. He sincerely hoped it wasn't that chatterbox next door, Mrs. Nishimura, She was sure to blab to Asuka if she saw him home during the day before Ryou was ready to speak to her.

 

Wanting to shoo away whoever was at the door as quickly as possible, he didn't bother looking through the peephole before opening it. Ryou was rather surprised to see two men standing there; one that he did not recognize at all, a robust young man of medium height with brown hair that looked overdue for a haircut and spilled over the collar of his sweat jacket. The other man seemed a few years younger, but carried with him an air of unconscious authority. He was neatly dressed in an obviously expensive suit, and Ryou had the vague feeling that he had seen this man somewhere before, but he couldn't place where that might have been.

 

“Yes?” he demanded, wondering if they were looking to sell him something.

 

“Itou-san, I don't think you remember me, but it's very important that we speak,” the younger man said in a confident voice that sounded to Ryou as if he was accustomed to being obeyed.

 

Well, he had been shoved around all day today, and right now he wasn't in much of a mood to be obedient. “Well, you can tell me what this is about first,” he insisted, not opening the door any further and deliberately wedging his body so that they could not just push their way past him.

 

“I will most definitely explain everything,” the young man in the suit said. “But it's best that we not do it while standing in the hallway. Please, can you let us in?”

 

Ryou stared at the two men, rather surprised at the request. He might not have all his marbles in a bag, but he could definitely see that the older of the two men seemed very tense and upset about something. All of the warning bells in Ryou's head began to alarm loudly.

 

“I don't think so,” he answered, now irritated enough to be belligerent. He drew himself up to his full height, glad to see that he was significantly taller than either of the other men even though the one who had not spoken yet was a bit wider and more athletic looking than he was. “You've got one second to tell me what this is about before I call the police.”

 

The athletic man suddenly moved, taking Ryou by surprise. Before he could respond, he was shoved backwards and knocked to the floor as both men rushed into the apartment. The one in the suit quickly closed and locked the door behind them while the other man pounced onto Ryou. He opened his mouth to start hollering when a hand was quickly and firmly placed over his mouth. Ryou struggled to free himself, but this man was considerably stronger than he was and had him pinned.

 

Ryou bit down as hard as he could on the hand covering his mouth, feeling the skin break beneath his teeth. The man holding him grunted in pain but did not let go. Ryou ground his teeth, tasting blood and feeling the man tense. Any second now, the man attacking him would be forced to let go least he lose a hunk of flesh. Sensing his chance, Ryou ignored the blood and inhaled as best he could, ready to start screaming his head off.

 

He suddenly screamed in agony at the sensation of his brain being torn in two. The cry was aborted as the breath left his lungs in a rush, his entire body convulsing as powerful fingers dug ruthlessly into his skull and began pulling him to shreds. The man on top of him held on tightly, preventing him from lurching right off the floor. There was a great ripping sound that pierced his ears and everything went completely black. His last coherent thought was that he hoped Asuka wasn't the one who found his body.

 

* * * *

 

Ken had sat in the car numbly as Nagi drove them to their next destination, trying to absorb what Mamoru had just told him. Yohji was alive. After everything he had been through, he didn't know why this should surprise him.

 

He glanced out the corner of his eye at Mamoru, who was slumped rather tiredly in the seat next to him, his eyes gazing out the window. The little bastard had done it again, Ken thought, feeling sick to his stomach. He had been their friend once, and now he was playing around with their lives like they were nothing more than chess pieces in some kind of elaborate game.

 

He had really hoped that Mamoru would not turn out like the other leaders of Kritiker had. Ken would have thought that after having lived and worked with Weiß that he would remember that his operatives were humans who suffered and bled on his decisions. Instead, he had used them just as ruthlessly as previous Kritiker leaders had.

 

Ken was numb with shock after learning just how much Mamoru had deceived them. How could he have lied to them about Yohji and not told them that he was still alive? How could he have let Aya think that Yohji was dead? Sure, the two of them were having serious problems, but it seemed nothing less than heartless to tell Aya that his lover was dead.

 

Damn it, Ken didn't know what to think about all this. He could only hope that this wasn't another one of Mamoru's games because if he was being lied to again, Nagi wouldn't be able to move fast enough to save his boss. Right now, he could only go along and see if his former teammate was telling the truth.

 

Several hours later, Nagi parked the car outside of an apartment building in one of the working class residential areas of Yokahama. Ken tried to fight down the nauseous feeling that came with the realization that while Aya mourned the man he had loved, Yohji had been alive and so close by the whole time. Had Aya stayed in Japan, there was the slim likelihood that he might have even bumped into Yohji walking down the street. Suddenly, it became very apparent why Mamoru had permitted Aya to leave Japan so easily.

 

If Mamoru had seen the anger in Ken's face at the realization, he made no sign of it. He simply ordered Nagi to wait with the car and for Ken to go with him. Ken hesitated a second, not wanting to just go along with his former teammate but needing to get some answers here.

 

Nagi looked back over his shoulder at them before unlocking the doors. “Schuldig says that he's drinking, which should make him a bit easier to handle. He's in the apartment and alone,” he informed his employer. “Schuldig is standing by waiting on your command. You'd better hurry before people start returning home and we attract attention.”

 

Mamoru nodded and stepped out of the car, Ken following closely behind

“He doesn't have a job?” Ken asked.

 

Mamoru mouth tightened, a grim expression marking his face. “Not any longer. He worked for a Takatori subsidiary for a time. I made sure that he had a job after he was released from the hospital, but he was fired this afternoon.”

 

Ken didn't say anything at first as he considered just how carefully Mamoru had manipulated all of them. He supposed that they should be grateful that their old teammate had taken such close watch over Yohji, making sure that he was cared for. But he could not help blaming Mamoru for the circumstances that lead to Yohji being in that state in the first place.

 

“I guess that you're responsible about him getting fired,” he said flatly.

 

Mamoru did not deny the accusation. “Yes. I thought it would be best if he had as few ties as possible once his memories are restored. His former co-workers won't wonder why he suddenly doesn't show up for work tomorrow.”

 

“And suppose he doesn't want to go with us?” Ken demanded, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. “Have you considered what you're going to do with him then?”

 

Mamoru sighed tiredly, not rising to Ken's baiting. “If he chooses that way, he'll have his memories blocked off again. In a few days another job offer will come through.”

 

“Courtesy of Takatori Inc., of course,” Ken snapped. “Isn't it nice how you're able to screw about with people's lives without lifting a finger?”

 

The younger man did not answer, apparently deciding that it was not worth escalating the argument in order to defend himself.

 

Ken wasn't quite ready to let the discussion go. “Anything else you aren't telling me?” he spat. “Or are the rest of us mere mortals too beneath you to bother filling us in on your grand strategy?”

 

“Nothing that will affect our plans,” Mamoru assured him, obviously bothered by Ken's accusations. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice even and calm in the face of Ken's anger. “I know that it may not seem that way, but I tried to do my best by Yohji and give him what he wanted. He's led a very normal life in the past few months. He had a job where he didn't have to hurt anyone. He married a woman who cares a great deal for him, who can give him a family and a future. I made sure that he had some measure of security.

 

“I couldn't do anything to help you or Aya because neither of you would let me.” Mamoru reminded him harshly of the way his offers of help had been rebuffed. “But I did everything in my power to make sure that Yohji was safe and able to take care of himself. That was the very least that I could do for him. You'll have to forgive me if I thought that I was saving his life.”

 

Ken decided not to push the issue any further. He didn't need to be reminded of how they'd worried that Yohji would either commit suicide or get himself killed on the mission. He supposed that they had Mamoru's manipulations to thank for keeping his friend alive, but that still did not ease the intense anger his felt for his former friend.

 

The apartment Mamoru was looking for was on the fourth floor, towards the back of the building. Not one that Ken would have selected. Too high off the ground if one needed to make a quick escape out a window, and too far from any of the emergency stairwells. Not the apartment that a trained operative would have selected. But then, Yohji was not an operative any longer. It was hard to imagine that the man who had come to their team with such a deep knowledge of survival would now be so utterly clueless regarding his own safety. Ken supposed that as a low-level office worker, he would not have to worry so much about assassins coming after him.

 

He heard Mamoru inhale deeply, as if steeling himself for the trauma that he knew was to come. Ken might almost think that his former teammate actually cared about the damage that he had done to them. Maybe he was being a little hard on Mamoru, but it was just so difficult to accept how the kid who had stood at their sides had changed so much. Maybe when all this was behind them he would be able to look back and reconsider Mamoru's actions in a more forgiving light, but right now the hurt was just too close to the surface to ignore.

 

Before knocking on the door, Mamoru turned to Ken. “I don't know how he's going to react to us, but once Schuldig reawakens his memories we should be prepared for anything. He could respond violently,” he warned.

 

Ken just nodded, already preparing himself to deal with whatever Yohji's reaction might be. He knew that if it was him, he would not be too happy with things, and Yohji would hardly be predictable in his response. Their friend had been so unstable during that last mission, even attacking Aya. There was no telling what he would do now.

 

The man who opened the door resembled their friend only in the most superficial manner. Tall and slim, his blond hair was cut short in the manner appropriate to a corporate office worker. He was dressed in modest clothing, the pressed dark wool slacks and unbuttoned white dress shirt nothing like the flashy clothing that Ken was used to seeing him in.

 

“Yes?” he said questioningly, looking curiously at the strangers answering his door. There was no hint of real recognition in his eyes.

 

Ken barely listened to Mamoru's pleasantries as he sought to convince the suspicious man to allow them into the apartment, addressing Yohji by the name he'd been living under. He was rather relieved to hear suspicion in Yohji's voice, the one hint that his old instincts hadn't been completely lost with his memories. As furious as he still was with Mamoru, he could not deny the sheer joy of seeing his old teammate alive.

 

Despite Mamoru's efforts to keep the situation quiet until they'd gained access to the apartment, it was obvious that Yohji was getting apprehensive. Ken got the feeling that he was going to make enough of a fuss before long to attract the attention of any of his neighbors that might be at home.

 

Things went downhill quickly when Yohji apparently lost his patience with Mamoru and snapped, “You've got one second to tell me what this is about before I call the police.”

 

Ken knew that they had to get this confrontation out of the hallway. Before his old friend could respond, he launched his body into Yohji and hit him as hard as he could and sent him crashing to the floor. Ken threw himself on top of the other man and wrestled him down, trying to keep the struggling man pinned.

 

Yohji might be skinny, but he was still strong and Ken was having a hard time keeping him down. Fear and desperation was a great motivator and Yohji had no way of knowing that they did not mean to harm him. Without his memories, they could be kidnappers or murderers to the terrified man. He saw Yohji open his mouth and inhale as if to start screaming. Instinctively, Ken slapped his hand over Yohji's mouth.

 

“Ken, just hold him a little longer!” Mamoru urged him.

 

“I'm trying,” Ken ground out as the taller man beneath him nearly bucked him off. Yohji might be out of practice and even a bit out of shape, but he was still tough enough to make keeping him still a challenge. Damn it, this was not turning out the way he wanted. He'd hoped to reason with Yohji before…

 

And that was when the son of a bitch sank his teeth into his hand.

 

“Ken?”

 

Ken didn't answer, fighting back his own scream as he felt Yohji bite down and his skin start to tear. He had to fight the instinct to pull his hand away, knowing that they would be royally screwed if he did. He kept his hold on Yohji, which simply inspired the man to bite down harder.

 

Damn it! At this rate, he was either going to lose a chunk of skin or have Yohji's neighbors come running. What the hell was that lazy telepath waiting for? An engraved invitation?

 

The blond man suddenly screamed behind Ken's hand, releasing his bite. His body stiffened and jerked wildly as if in the grip of a seizure and Ken watched in alarm as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he gasped for breath. It was all Ken could do to hold his friend tightly, trying to keep him from injuring himself.

 

The fit seemed to go on for a frighteningly long time when it stopped as suddenly as it began. Yohji's body gave a final violent heave before falling still against the floor where he lay motionless save for the minute tremors in his limbs. Ken quickly checked his vitals, relieved to see that while Yohji's heart was racing he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.

Mamoru touched Ken on the shoulder, motioning for him to get up off of Yohji. Ken grimaced as he got to his feet, fisting his injured hand to keep from bleeding all over everything. He prayed that this would work, because if Yohji wasn't all right he was going to take it out of Schuldig's hide when he got hold of the telepath.

 

Yohji gave a low moan of pain as his eyelids fluttered. Ken forced himself to keep back, giving his old teammate room as he returned to consciousness. He sighed in relief when the other man slowly sat up and looked around wearily as he tried to regain his mental equilibrium.

 

“Yohji?” Mamoru asked softly, as if trying to see if Schuldig had succeeded in his task. “Do you know me?”

 

The blond man stared at him blankly for a minute, looking very confused. Ken could almost see him mentally sorting out his newly awakened memories, trying to place a name with the face. “Omi?” he finally asked, as if not certain of the answer.

 

Mamoru smiled softly, keeping his manner calm to prevent the other man from panicking. Ken watched them warily, trying to mask his misgivings.

 

“Good to have you back, Yohji,” Mamoru said gently. Ken released the breath that he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding, relieved to see that Yohji seemed to be all right. Mamoru gestured at Ken, trying to turn Yohji's attention to him. “You remember Ken, don't you?”

 

Yohji looked up at Ken, recognition seeming to light in his eyes. Ken could almost see Yohji's mind sorting through the various names and faces jumbled in there before coming up with a correct match.

 

“Ken? What..? I don't…” Yohji gripped his head as if in pain.

 

Ken knelt down at his side, relieved that his friend was not lashing out at them. Yet. That could all change once the blond figured out what was going on and just how much he had been screwed around with. “Glad to see you, Yohji.”

 

Yohji blinked owlishly, clearly not understand what was happening. “What's going on?” he looked down at himself, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the oddly subdued clothing that he was wearing. Ken wondered if Yohji could remember his existence for the past few months, because right then it looked as if his old memories had completely drowned out the newer ones. He seemed very confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, but that probably shouldn't surprise them. Ken knew that if he had been through what Yohji had been, his brains would be royally scrambled, too.

 

Yohji picked with disgust at the collar of his white shirt and looked about the strange apartment, not appearing to recognize it at all. “Where am I?” he demanded. “And what the hell am I wearing?”

 

Ken could not help from smiling at the display of vanity that was so familiar in his old friend. “Come on, Yohji. Let's get you off the floor.” He hauled Yohji to his unsteady feet and manhandled the blond onto the couch. Mamoru had retreated to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Ken took it from him and pressed the glass into Yohji's hands.

 

It took him a moment to get Yohji to drink. The confused man stared at the glass in his hand blankly, as if not quiet able to grasp it's purpose or why Ken might want him to have it in the first place. Ken sighed patiently, gently coaxing Yohji and finally getting him to make the connection between the contents of the glass and his needs for fluids. Once he started drinking, Yohji nearly guzzled the water down, pausing once to swish the water around his mouth as if to rid himself of an unpleasant taste.

 

Ken thought that if anything, the blond looked hung-over. Sitting there with the sickly green cast to his complexion, it reminded Ken of all the times Yohji would come stumbling home after a bender. The youngest member of their team would be the one nursing Yohji's aching head and churning stomach while Ken would tease his friend and make rude comments. All they were missing was Aya standing in the background, glaring at Yohji reproachfully.

 

Thoughts of the missing redhead forced Ken's focus away from the past and back to the situation at hand. Yohji was staring at the two of them, obviously aware that things were not as he'd last remembered. Ken knew that even as mixed up as he was, Yohji had to be getting the feeling that he was missing a pretty significant amount of time somewhere along the line. It would be hard to miss, with he and Mamoru looking so different from when Yohji had seen them last.

 

“What happened to me?” Yohji asked, glancing around again at the strange apartment.

 

“On Weiß's last mission, you were attacked by an Esset agent who blocked off your memories for a bit. It's taken us a bit of time to figure out how we could undo what she did to you,” Mamoru answered.

 

Yohji glance around again, clearly not recognizing the apartment at all. Ken resisted saying anything, knowing that they had to give Yohji time to see what he remembered on his own, but it was pretty clear that at least for now he had no recollection of the past year. Oh shit, how were they going to tell him that he had a wife? He was wearing a damn wedding ring, so it wasn't going to take too long for him to question that.

 

“Omi, what the hell is going on?” Yohji demanded, not bothering to try and hide his increasing confusion. “The last thing I can remember is my new cover at the Koua Academy. I was going in to back Aya up.”

 

Mamoru nodded, the expression on his face quietly grave. “Yohji, the Academy mission ended over a year ago. You've had amnesia ever since. Your memories have just re-awoken, so you're going to be a little disoriented. A lot has gone on in the last few months. Just stay calm and we'll get you up to speed.”

 

“Stay calm, my ass!” Yohji nearly shouted. “What the hell is going on? You're telling me that the last thing I can remember is from over a year ago and I'm sitting here in a strange apartment with a wedding ring on my finger! You want to explain that to me, Takatori?” he demanded, using Mamoru's true name like a curse word. “Where's Aya?”

 

(continued in part B)