"Sayanora, Aya-san. We'll be sure to be here early tomorrow to scold the others for deserting you when you're not feeling well."

"Rest well, Aya-san." The girls giggled as they departed clutching the small bouquets of Camellias Aya had made for them for the help they rendered to him through the afternoon.

He was happy to give them the sweet arrangements, for sparing him from the world of hurt he would have been in that afternoon if he had been forced to be more mobile. He dreaded to think of what he'd have to endure after Birman returned from her 'foraging' mission. He truthfully wasn't overly concerned about the review she was proposing to give him. Aya would admit that he was occasionally sloppy when he was under stress, but he had kept up adequate practise so that his mental shields were tight enough to repel someone of Schuldich's strength. However, he couldn't deny that he was rather vulnerable now, especially with an almost constant reminder throbbing behind him. It only made him think of the agony he'd have the endue when he got behind the wheel to drive back to their warehouse base camp.

A twinge of pain gripped him, again making Aya regret not letting Ken and Omi bring him to a doctor. That morning, they were so depressingly awkward about wanting him to get a medical examination, but not willing to pressure him into agreeing to it. He should have listened to them, but he just couldn't-- He didn't know if he could handle facing an intimate examination, much less the questions that were sure to be asked.

Once he woke up that morning, he had taken a shower and stayed under the cold spray for a long time, building his nerve to make a cursory examination. By whatever mercy that was granted to him during that nightmarish assault, he didn't think they tore him open. At least-- he didn't feel that there was an open wound that needed stitches. But it still hurt and according to Ken, he had bled quite a bit. So... he probably had an internal tear. And what other consequences were there? Infection? How about STDs? Youji-- he trusted Youji to use condoms and practise safe sex. But how careful *was* Schuldich with his sex life?

A couple of times during the day, he had changed his mind and given in to the sound reasoning that he *had* to see a doctor about the assault. But each time when Ken and Omi returned to report their activities, he had lost his resolve. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, Aya hastily reminded himself. He had accepted their comfort, let them clean him up and put him back in bed. Aya loved them as his friends and family, but he didn't think he could handle having either of them with him at the doctor's clinic.

How was he to handle this then? He didn't know if he had the courage to see the doctor on his own. If he wanted someone there for moral support, who then? Birman? Manx? He'd trust their discretion, but would they believe him? Aya swallowed hard and he could feel his face burning in shame at the thought of their scrutiny. Who would believe that he had been raped, other than those involved? Not him. He couldn't believe it himself, even when it was happening to him.

Reminded of one other who he'd guess would know of the events, Aya threw a quick glance towards the café that was across the street. The American was still there. No longer making any pretence of reading the newspapers, but he wasn't looking at him either. Instead, he appeared to be staring at his cellular phone as if it would bite him. Aya frowned to himself wondering when the man would finally make his move and reveal why he had spent almost the entire afternoon watching him.

His hand reached up again to unconsciously grip his left earlobe, the feel of the emptiness there sending yet another chill through his heart. He jerked his hand away guiltily. He had managed not to think about it for most of the day, surrounded as he was by chattering admirers and customers. Part of him wished that Birman would hurry back quickly before he could be sucked back into his thoughts with the quiet that now surrounded him.

Aya tried to tell himself that he had to let it go. That the earring did not mean anything to him now, since his revenge was complete, and his sister awake from her coma. But it felt so strange not to feel the comfortable weight that he wondered if he could ever get used to not having it anymore. It meant nothing-- it was really more an irritant to remind him of his vow to avenge his parent's deaths. Initially, it had caused him only pain for the unaccustomed weight. In fact, the resolve to keep the earring as a memento of revenge had been nearly squelched not long after he started wearing it when he had a troublesome, though thankfully brief bout with infection when the piercing had gone septic. He told himself that there were more bad memories attached to the earring than good ones and he was well rid of it. With his revenge satisfied and his sister awake, he had *no more* need for it.

But-- Manx had told him that Aya-chan had actually kept a grip of its mate the whole time she was shuffled between Schreient and Schwartz. That Sakura-chan now wore the earring in his memory, perhaps waiting for their return. If only... If only he had thought to remove it earlier, he might still have it among his belongings to remember *them* by. Instead, Schuldich had the earring. Should he feel bad about that? If-- he had not been wearing the earring, wouldn't-- wouldn't the German have taken him as he did threaten to do.

Aya could feel his heart start racing again, the fear and the tension suddenly returning like a crushing weight. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. Clearing his mind of the thoughts that plagued him over what had happened. He unconsciously reached up to touch the unadorned earlobe and he again jerked the hand away, cursing himself for dwelling on the loss.

/I *don't* need it anymore!/ He wasn't even sure if he wanted it back. Not after Schuldich removed it and made sure he was watching as he lovingly sucked it before his eyes. Did he really want it back? The very image of that slender piece of jewellery was-- fouled. Just as he felt soiled for what was done-- to him.

Aya chewed on his lower lip as tears threatened to escape his eyes. Yes, he wanted it back. He could not leave it with the German. Schuldich would hang it over his head as a constant reminder of the horrific night. He had to get it back, but not to wear ever again. It served no more purpose that way. He only wanted it back to keep and move on. Remembering only it's significance to his sister and that young girl they had left behind in Tokyo. *Not* Schuldich. Not anything that had to do with the night. He would get it back and he *would not* let the German soil that memory. He-- he--

The memories slammed into him again, making him sag against the side of the trailer. He remembered his utter helplessness to take any action... the pain and humiliation... the betrayal he had felt to see Youji-- to have him-- Aya's hand reached for his earlobe again. Angry with the unconscious action he pinched it hard, the brief pain bringing him back to his surroundings and away from the memory of the dark warehouse loft.

/You will not cry. You *will not* cry. Tears are useless. They only make you look weak. Ken and Omi-- it frightened them to see you so-- so weak and needy. And it only amused-- it amused *him* most of all./ Aya chewed on his lower lip breathing deeply to force himself to calm down again. /Tears were useless... Schuldich didn't care. Not even Youji cared.

/Youji.../

Try as he might, Aya couldn't suppress the shiver which ran through him at the memory the name evoked. He had to hand it to Schuldich for the well executed assault. He had been *totally* caught off guard. Youji *was* the last person he would have expected to attack him, given the close friendship they shared. An image of Youji's strangely dead but rage filled eyes came to him again. Aya leaned his back against the trailer, trying desperately to throw off the memory's hold over him. /It's *not* his fault. Schuldich has shown this power before with me, and most recently with Sakura Tomoe./

A small smile quirked on Aya lips as the image of a face so much like his sister's appeared in his mind. But the smile disappeared just as quickly as his thoughts of the girl darkened. At their last meeting, he had told her that he would explain 'things' to her once it was all over, but he never did. Instead departing Tokyo with Weiß, not even returning to let his sister see him again after she woke up.

She had tried to get close to him, but he wouldn't let her. Sakura-chan had an innocence about her that he did not want to stain with his own guilt, anymore than he wanted to befoul his sister's purity with his presence. Not for the first time did he wish that Sakura-chan had taken the hint on that fateful mission when she accidentally found out what he did 'on the side', and removed herself from his affairs. But she didn't leave, and eventually fell prey to Schuldich's manipulation. Aya couldn't begin to describe how shocked he was to see her step between him and the leaders of the SS on that chaotic airstrip. Then, to see Schuldich wielding his power over her... He made her brandish a gun at him. Despite her obvious distress and unwillingness to harm him, her aim was still sure and true. To be fair, Sakura-chan couldn't be expected to resist Schuldich's powers when she did not have the basic training demanded of all Kritiker agents. Unlike-- Youji...

/It's not his fault./ Aya reminded himself fiercely. /Something's been bothering him, you've known that for sometime now. Schuldich just-- slipped past his defences. He's done this with *you* before.

/It's not Youji's fault./

It hurt to remember how betrayed he had felt when Youji forced his way into him. 'What did I do to make you hate me?' That question kept returning to him. Even now when he knew Youji had been under Schuldich's control during the rape, the question still remind, if to a lesser degree. Aya had always thought their friendship to be strong, even through the trying days when Youji was trying to remind Neu of her past as Asuka and ignored his concern for his kidnapped sister. But he must have been wrong, since obviously some spark of hate must have existed for Schuldich to have magnified it enough to have it manifest in the brutal rape.

Just a little seed of an emotion was all Schuldich need, as he had proven in that time long past when Schuldich first invaded his dreams. Lying in a hospital in Tokyo, alone and hurt having just failed in his first Kritker mission and lost his team... Aya could remember awakening to Erika-- Manx's critical scrutiny, to have her call him a failure to his face. He had felt worthless then, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the blankets and hide from her accusatory expression.

It was just a fleeting thought. That was all he had of the idea that the world might be better off without him. Aya would swear that he didn't dwell on it for very long. He had dismissed it, reminding himself that he still had his desires for revenge and that he still had Aya-chan to take care of. Schuldich slipped into his dreams shortly after Manx had left him to sleep. The German had been all insinuation then, and dripping with disturbing sexuality. Worming his way past his rudimentary mental defences, throwing twisted memories at him of his sister and his late team-mates, and giving him no peace in his sleep.

He had been fortunate Manx decided to check on him after his assignment to the Tsushima Training Centre. He supposed she might have been uneasy over his apparent overnight change of personality from being somewhat easily readable, to becoming tightly closed and withdrawn. She was the one who had caught him and shaken him out of Schuldich's control before he managed to kill himself with Shion's sword in the privacy of his own quarters.

He had no memories of the events leading up to his attempt at suicide. He didn't remember when he had picked up the sword, or even the pain of slicing open the vein of his left arm. The only thing Aya could recall was Manx straddling his recumbent form as she desperately held his sword arm pinned to the floor. It took him a moment longer to realise that the blood generously splattered over their clothes and the surroundings belonged to him. Then he blacked out from blood loss. Manx had been decidedly gentler in speaking to him when he awakened in the hospital the second time, embarrassed and confused over what had happened to him.

//"It's not your fault, and we can make sure it never happens again."// She had assured him before putting him through a hellish three days of training. Not to mention making him see a psychiatrist for the week following that. But at least Schuldich lost control over him. Remaining at best, a fleeting irritant that he could easily brush off. At worse, a nightmare he could still tear himself awake from. The German hardly bothered after that, and apparently lost interest in trying to torment him. That is, until he joined Weiß.

"It's not Youji's fault he lost control." Aya reminded himself firmly as he pushed himself away from the trailer. "Birman's here to train us and make sure it won't ever happen again."

Still, he knew some part of Youji resented him. It made him consider that there must have something he said or had done wrong. Something horrible enough that friendship could not make Youji forgive him for having done. But for the life of him, Aya couldn't figured out what it was. An image of his friend's enraged expression filled his vision again, making Aya feel so cold that he folded his arms tightly in front of him. /I'm sorry, Youji. What did I do wrong to have made you so angry with me?/

He was shaken from his thoughts by the faint sounds of a chair sliding back, bringing his attention back to the American. Aya pushed aside all other thoughts to gaze expectantly at the approaching man. Without looking around, he could sense that there was a moment of true quiet around them now. The streets were almost empty and there appeared to be few if any witnesses in close range. Aya knew that he was hardly in any shape to face an all out attack. Still, he wasn't worried. If necessary, he could painfully hold his own until Birman returned, but he seriously doubted he was in any danger.

From their encounters, he knew Crawford to be a purposeful man who did not believe in wasting any effort when there was little or nothing to gain from it. If he was to be honest about it, Weiß were fortunate that Takatori Reiji had chosen to dismiss the services of Schwartz when they had brought the battle to him, or they might not have so easily killed the man. Unlike the German, the American was not one to play games, he was direct and to the point. If Crawford intended to attack him, Aya had little doubt that he'd already be fighting for his life with what little adequate instruments he currently had at his disposal.

Not by a flicker of expression did either give any indication that they knew each other as they stood facing each other in awkward silence. Outside of missions, there had never been any reason or opportunity to interact. They had last clashed as enemies, but with nothing to gain on either side at this moment, there was little purpose for them to step into their usual roles of adversaries. So what now?

Crawford finally broke the silence for them. "I-- would like a small arrangement."

"Do you have any preference or style?"

"Ikebana?"

"Any vase preference?" Aya wondered if there was a slight challenge in the American's eyes with the question. As if he was seeking an answer to a query; perhaps if Aya had learned more than sword work under Shion's tutelage. Whatever the intention, it seemed a harmless enough revelation to make. "There are different styles, Nageire, Moribana, Jiyuka ..." Seeing no recognition in Crawford's eyes, he backtracked to the older styles. "er-- Rikka is used more for temples, maybe Shoka--?"

"F--freestyle will do."

"If you wish, I can give you a stand to suit the flowers you want for the arrangement." He tried to hide a slight disappointment in the man's choice of a modern style. Despite his earlier resistance to Shion's guidance in using floral arrangements as an outlet to his emotions, Aya had to admit that he did come to like immersing himself in the creative process. Since the majority of their clientele were young girls, he didn't have much opportunity to indulge in the art. "Any particular preference?"

"Have you any hyacinths?"

Aya frowned as he indicated the appropriate display and watched curiously as Crawford browsed through the selection. "The current trend is for buds or half blossoms, most of my hyacinths are in full bloom though. But if that's your preferenc-- " He did not let his surprise reach his eyes when the American turned back and offered him a stem of purple hyacinths.

"Actually, I have another flower in mind for the arrangement." Crawford locked eyes with him and deliberately dropped his mask. "Th--they say a florist can create secret messages in their compositions."

"A-- " To see true regret in the American's eyes-- this time, Aya let his surprise show. "A French writer in the Victorian era published a dictionary of the 'Language of Flowers.' I-- I am-- familiar with it." He lifted his hand slowly to accept the stem of purple blossoms.