Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Darkness ❯ Darkness ( Chapter 1 )

Darkness
A Weiss Kreuz songfic (sidefic, actually) by drunkelnatt (also known as natt_syuusuke in ff.net).

Summary: It nearly drove Aya insane, it nearly broke Aya, it totally changed Aya. A sidefic of Reflections by L.A.Mason. Read Reflections to understand more. Can stand on its own, I think, if you can take the insanity. One-shot.

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, Brad hasn't screwed Aya yet in the anime, so no, Weiss Kreuz doesn't belong to me in any way. I don't make profit from this piece of work. Song used isn't mine either. It belongs to the songwriters as well as Mr. Darren Hayes.

Note: Read "Reflections"… if it wasn't for Reflections, this songfic wouldn't be here. Please click http: // www. fanfiction. net/s / 2042613/1 / (remove the spaces) or http: // www. mediaminer. org/fanfic /view_st.php/75065 (remove spaces) to read Reflections.

Been spending so much time underground
I guess my eyes adjusted
to the lack of light
I got
Covered in darkness
Covered in darkness

He grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. His vision swam as he climbed to his feet; he had to steady himself with a hand on the dingy wall as he swayed precariously.

A frustrated groan escaped his lips as he checked the empty space before the door. Damn. No food yet.

He didn't know how long he was in that room, how long had it been since he was first brought to that place, how long he had been their captive.

It would probably be a week, maybe more.

But Aya couldn't get it. Why was he brought here in the first place? What did they actually want from him? They never did ask him anything else apart from that stupid question that Aya had come to hate.

"Who are you?"

He loathed that query almost as much as he hated Takatori.

Despite his protesting body, Aya let go of the wall and paced the room, making nearly full use of the room's space - not that the room was big enough for Aya to get far with his long strides.

Stabs of pain travelled through his side and thigh every time he took a step. And yet, he ignored the smarting wounds. He kept telling himself that he had felt worse agony than this. But a voice at the back of his mind told him that the pain this time was the worst, and it didn't help a bit that he hadn't been fed properly.

I have been waiting
Always waiting for something new

He didn't have any of his gear with him anymore. Not since his first escape attempt.

What the hell had he been thinking?!

After all these years in Crashers and in Weiss, he should have already known that a plan that was concocted in less than five minutes would never turn out to be a good one - not even when it came from the master himself. No matter how many times Aya had thought it through; he should have known that the chances of escaping were low. He didn't know the perimeter of this place; he didn't know how far he was from the ground, or below ground, or whatever. He didn't know the fastest exit nor did he know how many people were there outside the door.

He was foolish to think that his plan would work. He was stupid to carry out that strategy, thinking that he would be able to outwit his captors. He recalled bringing down just one man before the second man actually managed to tackle him and knocked him unconscious. And it was all because of his stupid plan. Funny how much damage could be done when one was so desperate, one doesn't even care about the consequences.

Happiness has always ended
In the blink of an eye
There was no one attending
No one attending

Aya sat down again when he felt the last of his energy waning again. He anticipated the dizzy spell that he could feel was creeping up. They were more frequent lately. And Aya realised that was because he hadn't had any proper food ever since he was brought to that place. Then again, he should feel grateful since they had not left him to starve. At least he had an abundance of water from a leaking utility sink - and it didn't matter to Aya that the water tasted iffy - and some dry crackers and sometimes, a miserable bowl of soup or broth that looked as if it weren't even suitable for any form of living being.

Oh yes, at least he had some food, even if it looked inedible.

It was only with those miserable things that they brought that Aya had managed to stay upright for a bit of time. He knew he was on the edge of starvation and it didn't need a genius to figure it out.

His stomach rumbled in complaint again and this time, it actually hurt. Aya gingerly pressed a hand to his growling belly and groaned in pain when the grumbling of his stomach somehow somewhere made the wound on his side flare up in pain again.

Aya's vision dimmed as he vaguely recalled collapsing on his front, sprawling unceremoniously as exhaustion took him back to the uncaring darkness. Darkness that had been his only companion during the four days straight days that he had lain in pained oblivion.

It doesn't really matter where it all began
All I know
I got covered in darkness
Covered in darkness

How long had he been here?

Aya paced the room again, deep in thought as his slender eyebrows furrowed.

He didn't have a watch with him. Hell, he'd never worn a watch unless he was on a mission. Then again, some of his missions didn't need him to wear a watch since they had Omi to direct them and tell them how much time they had left and things like that.

"Will I die here?" Aya whispered to himself as he sat down again, carefully avoiding the places that he'd woken up to, carefully avoiding the filth. "Will I ever survive? Will I ever get out?" He looked down at his body, picking at the bandages that were wrapped around his middle. He'd somehow lost his shirt around the time when someone dressed his wounds crudely. Then again, Aya was sure that his wounds had developed some sort of infection. His side throbbed with fiery agony and the coarse fabric seemed to stick to his body even though the wounds weren't bleeding anymore. He didn't dare to unwrap the bandages - he didn't like looking at swollen, pus filled injuries. They made him sick.

Ever wonder why I never really truly connect
Although my eyes are open
I can hold your gaze
But I am never connected
Never connected

The door that was opened suddenly startled Aya.

"Oh…" There was another man in the room, or whatever place he was held captive.

His limbs felt like heavy weights when he tried to move them. His arms were unresponsive, his head was pounding as if he had Yohji's stereo system playing one of those techno/trance pieces of music that Yohji liked so much in his skull on a really grand scale - he didn't even dare to try moving his legs.

"Awake now, aren't we?" the voice asked again. The man walked closer to Aya. He didn't seem to be anyhow affected by the fact that Aya was filthy nor did he even seem to notice the unhealthy pallor that Aya had developed since the last few days. "Let me ask you again. Who are you?"

"Fujita Masahiro," Aya replied without looking up from the bandages that covered his middle. When there was no answer or retort whatsoever from the man, Aya dared himself to look up at him. A gasp of agony escaped his lips as he was unceremoniously lifted from the ground a little when his captor grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. "Since I didn't get my answer the first time, I'm going to ask you again. Who are you?"

Aya could see through his slightly swimming vision that the man was gritting his teeth as he directed that question at him. He struggled - or tried to struggle since it didn't even seem that he moved a finger. Right, face the question and maybe he'd be spared the pain. The mission… the mission! A small voice inside Aya's head screamed at him. Oh yes, the mission. "Fujita Masahiro," he croaked out. Damn, it hurt even to speak!

He saw the man shake his head repeatedly. "Who are you?" he asked Aya again and this time Aya noticed the fist that was clenching and unclenching at the man's side.

"I told you. Fujita Mas-"

Aya didn't have the chance to finish his sentence as the man grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him as if he were a rag-doll. The man repeated his question again. "Who are you? Who are you?!"

He was about to answer but the man was shaking him so hard he swore his head was flopping. And the man's thumb was so near to the wound on his shoulder. His shoulder hurt, dammit! He gritted his teeth against the pain.

Finger dug into the sides of his neck; the large yet long digits threatening to cut off his air circulation.

"Fu-" Aya wheezed. However, he didn't get to finish his sentence as the man backhanded Aya across the cheek, hard.

The redheaded man's eyes widened as the pain registered in his mind. His head flopped to the side as if he were a rag-doll.

"Wrong answer. Who are you?" the man asked again as he pulled the injured man closer to him.

"Fujita…" Aya rasped. His throat seriously hurt now.

"Who are you?!" the man was nearly screaming in rage now. "Dammit! I know that's not your name, and you know you're not that bastard. Who are you?" The man's thumbs were directly underneath the slight bump that was Aya's Adam's apple and the thick pads of the digits were pressing mercilessly into the hollowed area of Aya's throat.

Aya's own hands were scrabbling at the man's grip, prying at those strong fingers. Out of the corner of his blurry eyes, Aya could see a hand on that man's shoulder. "Stop."

Aya felt the fingers on his neck loosen as the man let go of him. The crimson-haired man slid to the ground - almost in a boneless way - and he lifted one hand to his neck, flinching slightly as he felt the throbbing there as he gasped for the air that was cut off earlier.

"Who are you?!"

Aya could feel that he was teetering on the edge of consciousness again. He was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. And he knew that he should rest in order for him to heal or at the very least, replace the blood loss. Then again, his body was already demanding that he close his eyes and let slumber consume his awareness. He felt his mind starting to slip over - the edges of his vision were tinted with darkness but this time Aya didn't struggle against it.

He heard the man repeated the question, slapping him as his eyes slid close. No, he wouldn't open his eyes. No, he wouldn't face that man. He was so sick of answering the same question with that same fake answer he'd been giving.

He let himself slipped into the safe world where darkness reigned and he didn't need to hear that hateful question, nor would he have to answer it.

I am famous for my generosity
They say I am the kindest
But it is easier to
Give than receive love
Give than receive love

Aya sat down in a crouch, ignoring the burning pain on his left inner thigh as he did so. "I'll never get out…" he mumbled, his hands going up to fist bits of his red hair. "I'm never gonna get out…" the hands tightened considerably. "Never get out…" His face contorted into an unpleasant mask, smiling sadistically as he did so. "Is this how everything will end?" He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged at it; and soon he was nearly tearing out locks of his burgundy hair.

"Maybe this is because of my sins…" he whispered mostly to himself. He lowered his hands from his hair and stared at the few maroon strands between his fingers. "No matter how many rights I've done to rectify my wrongs." He studied the red strands of hair. "No matter how hard I try to forget…"

He could hear them now; the screaming of the innocent whose lives he'd had to take in order to finish his missions. He could see the blood - bright red and sometimes dark red that resembled wine - splattered on the ground, onto his clothes. And no matter how many times he washed his hands, his trench coats, the blood would never wash out. No matter how many bottles of soap he used, no matter how many bars of soap he used, no matter how long he scrubbed, no matter how many times he scrubbed, right until the skin of his fingers were shrivelled and looked like dried prunes, he could still smell the blood - the sickening, coppery smell of blood.

It doesn't really matter where it all began
All I know
I was covered in darkness
Covered in darkness

"Let me carry your sins," he heard himself say. And that was when the screaming started. To the left and a body fell. Another swing of his arms and another body fell. They were screaming, screaming; shrieking in fear and in pain. Blood spattered on his face, on his neck, hot against his skin. Hands tugged at his pants. He turned and swung his katana down, stabbing the scrabbling person. Blood was on his pants, on his boots.

"Shut up." Aya whispered as he pressed his hands to his ears. "Shut up!" but the screaming never ceased.

"Please don't kill me!"

"… Carry your sins."

"No! Please don't!"

"Shut up!" Aya screamed as he got up from his crouched position, staggering to the other end of the room, leaning onto the cool wall. "Get away from me!" Aya's amethyst eyes wide with fear and bewilderment. But the shrieking continued, regardless of how many times he screamed at them, telling them to stop.

He kept seeing himself in that black trench coat; in those black clothes he liked so much, boots stomping at fingers that struggled to clutch at his pants, the clasps on his boots, the hem of his coat.

He pressed his hands tightly against his ears, hoping that it might somehow block the screaming and crying.

Turning pages over
Run away to nowhere
And it's hard to take control
When your enemy's old and afraid of you

He threw another look at the slim book near his feet. "Is this what you meant, Batoussai?" Aya dropped his hands and knelt near the book. He picked it up and looked at the cover again. A pair of violet eyes stared back at him. Eyes so similar to his own; the stare from the redheaded young man on the cover that was from several decades ago was ever so like his own.

Aya opened the book again and read the first paragraph again. But only one line caught his attention.

The murderer of the innocent.

Aya stiffened, waiting for the screaming to start all over again. The screaming of the innocent people that he'd killed throughout his career. The innocents shrieking in pain and surprise just as the cold iron blade of his katana sliced through skin and flesh.

However, there were none.

Aya continued reading the book. He was very near to the end of the first page. Did that mean ten minutes had passed? Or was it fifteen minutes? It couldn't be twenty, could it? There was no way he would read that slowly, would he? But he didn't care. He flipped another page and carried on reading; his original plan of reading the book and using it as a way to figure it out the time and how long he'd be kept in that room totally forgotten. He was sure he was reading and flipping pages faster than he had the first time he opened the book.

And I will never kill again.

All Aya could think of was how similar he was to this man; a legendary swordsman known as Hitokiri Batoussai. "Himura Keshin…" the name slipped out of Aya's lips, so soft it could've been nothing but imagination. Aya could see it in his mind's eye - the renowned Batoussai, in his dark blue hakama and haori, with his katana out and slashing at the other men who were considered as obstacles. He could see the long red hair, swishing to the left and then to the right, following its owner's movement as Batoussai himself moved gracefully from one side to the other, his katana never ceasing its motion; his swings so fast that even Aya couldn't imagined seeing the blade itself as it shifted from one position to another - the tip of the blade first pointing to the sky and in less than a split-second, the tip was already pointing to the ground, or horizontally as it pierced through another man's body.

You'll discover that the monster
you were running from
Is the monster in you

Sometimes, I wonder what the true aspect of an assassin ought to be.

True… that was so true. Aya wondered about that sometimes too. Their cover as florists was just plain ridiculous. People usually think of assassins as rough, killing whenever they like, never having partners in crime, always working alone.

But it was different for them, for Weiss. Hell, they were all florists! "How ridiculous could life get?!" he whispered to himself, his features twisted in a weird smile that wasn't Aya-like as he turned yet another page, absorbed in his reading.

He saw a small picture of Batoussai's katana, then another artwork of the swordsman - a six by three fine masterpiece of the Meiji era assassin - below the depiction of the sword. In this particular portrait, the long-haired man was in that particular pose that Aya had done so often - legs slightly apart, his right shoulder hunching a little as his right hand was settled on the hilt of the katana that was sheathed and held with his left hand; a pose that screamed of the inclination to fight.

And then, there it was again. On the last page of that slim book. That line…

And I will never kill again. For if I kill…

But the rest of the sentence was lost as Aya replayed Batoussai's words in his mind over and over again.

… Nothing will ever wash away my sins.

Aya let go of the book and stood up shakily. It didn't matter to him that he hardly had the strength to stand, let alone paced the room.He spotted the small tray of dry crackers and the glass of water by the door. He dove for the food; his stomach had hurt him enough. He thought he was going to die from all the loud rumblings that his stomach produced.

Better to hold on to love
Better to hold on to love
Change will come

He was now pacing the room; the book cradled carefully in his right hand, his pointer and middle fingers of his left hand pressed onto the lower middle of the two pages to keep the book open. His right wrist hurt when the weight of his left hand was placed on it but he didn't care. He didn't even seem to notice. He was now reading the book for the third time. He paced the room, replaying Batoussai's words in his mind; understanding word for word, sentence for sentence as he read on.

He could definitely comprehendthe anguish that Batoussai went through.

It is time to stop killing. For once, my tired body agrees with me. I watch as my hand lowers the katana down…

And I swear I will never pick up my katana and kill another innocent.

Aya looked up from the book as he stopped his pacing. He stared at the wall right ahead. "Killing is…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word, he couldn't! After all, it was all he'd done since only God knows how long. All he did was picked up his katana and take the lives of the innocent people. And although he was paid to assassinate others who had done much wrong, right then he felt that what he'd done was wrong.

Who am I to play God? The thought crossed Aya's mind. Batoussai was right. Nothing would ever wash away Aya's sins. Although no one else would be able to see the blood that stained Aya's hands, Aya could. He could see the blood that stained his hands; he could even smell the blood. Blood, fresh blood; still flowing from that body that was sprawled by his feet.

It doesn't really matter where it all began
All I know
I was covered in darkness
Covered in darkness

Bile rose in Aya's throat. Blood, so much blood…

But Aya fought it. He swallowed several times, and instead, concentrated on his hunger. Those crackers weren't enough; they were never enough to fill his rumbling belly. God, how long had he been in this room?!

He turned his attention back to the book again.

He could hear Batoussai's voice in his head, saying the words that the author had penned down. Aya was sure his voice was rich; maybe it was like his. His heart gave a little lurch as he read on. Batoussai's life was so much like his own, although of course, Batoussai never sold flowers as a cover. But the guilt, the anguish that Batoussai had kept bottled up in his heart - Aya could understand that. Aya could feel them.

The pain that Batoussai had felt every time he accepted a new assignment - Aya could understand that now. He finally knew what the little lurch in his heart had meant whenever Manx brought them those new missions, especially missions that involved taking another man's life.

Aya read the book again. And again. And again. He never stopped even when he had finished the book. He almost immediately turned back the pages of the book, back to the first page and reread the paragraphs of neatly typed words all over again. He went over each word carefully, as if trying to memorise them.

It doesn't really matter where it all began
'Cause all I know
I was lost
I was lost
No, no…

When his eyes had grown tired, Aya folded the top corner of the book - a tiny dog-ear to remind himself where he'd left off. He put the book down and then he started pacing again.

Himura Kenshin. A man who considered himself the devil since he took other people's lives for a living. A man whom, in the end, turned out to be good and tried to bring peace to the Meiji Ishin.

"Killing is wrong. Must not kill," Aya whispered softly. He tugged at his hair again. He watched as he opened his fingers and turned his hands around so that his palms faced the floor instead. He watched as wine-red strands of hair fluttered to the ground. "Human lives are just like hair, don't you think, Himura Kenshin-san?" Aya asked as he turned his head to look at the young Batoussai's face on the cover of the book. It didn't bother him that that was just an artwork. "Just one strong tug and they'd fall. Run a razor through a lock of hair and the hair will be cut off."

Aya turned and picked up the book. He stared at Himura Kenshin's face again as he spoke. "Is that how fragile human lives are?" he looked at the violet eyes of the man in the portrait. "Ironic isn't it, Himura Kenshin-san? It is so difficult to bring a life to this world, and yet it is so easy to take a life. All it takes is just one thrust from the katana to the heart and a twist and a life is gone. But to bring a life to this world… it takes nine months! Nine months, Himura Kenshin-san… NINE months!" A mirthless laugh escaped Aya's throat. "How ironic can this world get?"

Aya crouched down again, rocking himself gently on his heels as he stared at the artwork on the cover of the think volume. "If we can take lives, we should be given rights to bring lives to this earth, isn't it? So, why is it that this birth and death cycle is so hard? Why is it so easy to die and take another's life but so hard to make a new life, to deliver this new life to the world?"

Aya's left hand reached out to his head again and he grasped a small tuft of maroon hair between his fingers. "It's wrong of me…!" Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought back of all the innocent lives that he'd taken - men, women and children alike. He pulled at his hair. "It's wrong of me…!" he repeated, saying it over and over like a mantra.

It doesn't really matter where it all began
No, no…
All I know
I was lost
I feel lost
Lost
No…

"I shouldn't kill." Aya whispered to himself as he rocked himself gently, his hands at the sides of his head, covering his ears; the book lay near to his folded form. "It's wrong to kill. I shouldn't kill." Aya's bewildered eyes looked up as they roved around the room. "What should I do? What should I do?!" he asked, his voice nearly a half-shrieked, edged with an unnatural squeak to it. "What can I do to stop killing?" He brought his hands down and stared at the pale fingers; the last two fingers on his right hand were swollen at the joints and were of a purple so dark, they were nearly black in colour while there was a visible jut on his wrist. Definitely dislocated.

However, Aya didn't seem to notice the condition of his hands. "How will I be able to get rid of the blood?"

And yet, Batoussai's words were still in his mind.

For although I have laboured to atone… nothing will ever wash away my sins.

But I will never cease to try.

And I will never kill again.

Finished on the 8th of December 2004 - 4.29pm
Revised after beta on December 17, 2004 - 7.45pm
Revised after beta and last run-through on December 23, 2004 - 12.10am

I'd like to thank the author of Reflections, Lisa, for allowing me to write this side-fic as well as for beta-ing for me. Thank you for putting up with the technical errors and the bits and pieces. And lastly, thank you for reading this.

- drunkelnatt