Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Roses ❯ Epilogue ( Epilogue )

I can honestly say I'm as surprised as you are at finding this epilogue posted here. I'm not quite sure where it came from. I was simply talking to my friend and all of a sudden--poof--there it was. And in this context, `poof' means two hours and a pack of gummy bears later. I can't say I'm very pleased with this, since I don't think it's anywhere near as good as the previous chapters. I really just needed the therapy provided by writing to keep myself from going crazy with my mind-numbing summer reading assignment. Anna Karenina was not made to be read by high school students, end of story.

I hope this pleases all my fans, almost as much as I hope I still have fans, and maybe I'll come up with another story plot that I can actually finish one of these days. Sorry this took so long to spit out. Enjoy!

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The freezing wind chose the most inopportune moment to pick up in speed, and coincidently, volume. Aya turned his head slightly in an attempt to minimize the roaring of the air rushing past his ears. It was something not many people noticed unless they were straining to hear something important when it happened. For Aya, that important something happened to be his ungrateful target's footsteps as he staggered on the darkened city streets.

Alright, so maybe the guy had a right to be ungrateful. After all, he had just had a rather long, sharp, and pointy object shoved unceremoniously through his gut, but he could at least die already!

The wind died down just enough for the receding slap of tennis shoes on pavement to reach him. The target, a man responsible for the deaths of over a dozen young women, had managed to slip further away than Aya would have expected from someone with a hole in their stomach.

As he ran to catch up and fulfill his contract by witnessing the death--he wasn't sloppy, after all--he admitted to himself that this was partially his fault. Rather than his preferred impalement of the heart, he'd altered his aim at the last second to send his sword lower. In his opinion, the bastard didn't deserve the quick death he'd almost been granted. Aya had seen the victims and what was left of their bodies. And on every one, he couldn't help but see Lena's face superimposed over the pale, strained expressions of the dead young women.

The sight had frightened him far more than he'd expected, which was one of the reasons he'd volunteered for this particular mission. Now he was paying for his righteous greed of wanting to see the man suffer.

The steps had disappeared down an ally--what else?--and he paused at the entrance to study the shadowed recesses. There was a popular assumption that all city battles between good and evil happened down dark, imposing allies. At least, he'd gathered as much from various novels he'd read. But, being one of those champions of `good', he could honestly say what a load of shit that was. All things said and done, he'd just as soon not race down a narrow, dead-end ally, dark enough to not reveal whether he had clear footing, but light enough to create shadows for enemies to hide in, biding their time for an attack.

Now if he was the one setting such a trap, great, but it was rare that his targets were stupid enough to make that mistake, as difficult as that is to believe.

So he hesitated, searching out the few exposed feet of dirty pavement illuminated by the moon above. Any further in after those first few steps of light and the shadows of the flanking buildings claimed the ally as their own.

The mouth that he was able to see told him nothing of what lay beyond the darkness. Big surprise. But he couldn't just abandon his mission because he didn't want to take a little risk. The guy was wounded after all, if not finally dead.

He moved his booted foot a step into the darkness. His breath caught and he held it as he waited for some unseen danger to jump out at him. It had never made him this nervous before, to face these dangerous situations, but things had changed recently and given him a sudden, intense desire to live. He was no longer punished with a constantly-growing collection of nightmares by returning from these assignments alive, like he once had been. Instead, he was rewarded. And his reward came in the form of comforting arms that held him in the once-loathed darkness, and forgiving--maybe even loving--lips that kissed him despite how undeserving he was.

He took another step, and another, eager to be done with this hellish mission and to return to his `benefactor'. Though he would never admit it, lest he be ridiculed and mocked for weeks to come by his teammates, he really wanted a hug right about now.

<#> <#>

The Christmas lights put a cheery, rainbow glow on everything in the living room as they shined in through the dark windows. Ken and Omi had spent the entire weekend stringing the lights around the roof and windows, as well as every other angle and crevice they could find. Lena was more grateful than ever for her relationship with Aya.

He had black-out curtains.

The front door opened and closed with its trademark rattle, and she eagerly turned to look over the back of the couch, her lips already pulled up in a smile . . . to meet Yohji's green eyes and windblown hair. Needless to say, her smile dimmed a bit.

"Damn! It's gotta be below zero out there!" he exclaimed, proceeding to complain about how much he hated the cold as he stripped his jacket and gloves. Lena, like Omi and Ken appeared to do by never looking up from the laptop they were playing a game on, ignored it. It wasn't anything they hadn't already heard a thousand times since the weather began reflecting the season months ago.

She turned back to her own novel, enjoying the respite from school work during her Christmas break by not thinking about anything significant. Her eyes didn't focus on the small type, though. Instead, her mind chose to follow the topic she'd been avoiding all evening.

//Where the hell was Aya?//

He'd say it was an easy assignment and that he'd be back before ten. It was ten-thirty, and she was rudely reminded that she wasn't a very patient person. Especially when punctuality was concerned. If he didn't come back with one hell of an excuse . . . well, if he thought she kicked in her sleep before . . . .

Yohji, realizing that his complaints were falling on deaf ears, began muttering something she didn't think she really wanted to hear anyway, and went about building a fire in the well-used hearth they were all seated around. He, and surprisingly Aya, were the two who were most sensitive towards the cold, so it was usually one of them who actually lit the fires. The others would just gradually gravitate towards it after it was a nice, toasty blaze.

Giving up on her book, she set it aside and watched as the flames slowly licked up from the kindling on the bottom to the larger logs. In no time, the previously-unnoticed chill of the room was chased off by the flickering heat. It helped her to relax, to watch the tongues of fire jump around, popping and hissing. The fascination was similar to her hobby of watching storms. It was hypnotizing.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at the fire, but the slam of the front door jerked her out of her meditation. There was no one else it could be. This time with a disapproving frown on her face, she turned around.

The frown evaporated about a millisecond before she found herself jumping over the back of the couch and running to intercept the red-haired man. His right arm was stained to match those disheveled strands where the sleeve of his beloved coat was torn away.

Vaguely, she realized she must have called out his name in a somewhat panicked voice, because suddenly the others were hurrying to join her. She was in the process of trying to strip him of the rest of his mangled jacket in order to see better when they came up behind her to help.

None of them asked what happened yet. The last thing Aya needed to do at the moment was explain himself. There would be time for that later. Now, the only thing that mattered was checking how large an understatement "It's just a shallow cut" really was. Why men insisted on belittling injuries, she had no idea. But it was fucking annoying. Especially when the man doing it was the one she loved.

She listened to the little voice in her head that reminded her that that feeling might not be reciprocated and that she shouldn't be admitting such dangerous emotions, even in her head.

Then she remembered that people were institutionalized for listening to such voices and pushed it out of her thoughts. She didn't like what it had to say anyway.

"Aya, if you insist that you're alright and it's only a scratch one more time, I'm going to tell Rayne that your entertaining ideas of reproducing." Needless to say, the man shut up.

Though the others had been distracted with hiding their laughter from the glaring assassin, she managed to finally pull the coat off his broad shoulders, as well as the ragged long-sleeve shirt, and get an unobstructed look at the wound. It was not "just a shallow scratch". And it was still bleeding.

"Damn it. Come here." Though her voice was anything but caring at the moment, she made sure to keep her hands gentle as she tugged him into the kitchen retrieve the first aid kit. Finally getting a hold of themselves, the three other men followed and helped her restrain their resisting teammate. She was sifting through her ample well-spring of threats as she silently cursed the man's stubbornness. Couldn't he just shut up and let her reassure herself by taking care of his still-breathing body?

It was tempting to allow herself a small injury on her next mission to pay him back the favor. But she wasn't so coldhearted as to put Aya through what she was going through right now. Of course, what was to say he //would// experience the same apprehension?

<#> <#>

An hour later, Aya found himself reclining on the couch with a blanket thrown over his bare chest and the dying fire providing soft illumination and minimal warmth. It didn't matter though. He had his own personal heater/cushion sitting behind him.

Lena's lithe arms tightened, careful as to not disturb the new stitches gracing his still-numb arm, and he let his eyes close in contentment. The friend his target had run to down that blind ally had not only been on the large side of the scale, but had also been on the armed side. The combination was not one of his favorites. And to that the element of surprise and Aya had been at a bit of a disadvantage. All he'd needed was one shot, though, and the attacker had sufficiently given his position away by his failed attempt to kill him. The darkness didn't exactly recede just for the benefit of the trappers.

His original target hadn't survived much longer after that.

Now he was exactly where he wanted to be, collecting his reward and enjoying that earlier-desired hug.

His eyes opened lazily and he looked around at the other seats to find his housemates had drifted off to their own rooms. Lena and he were left alone in the dim living room. It was unusual that she hadn't suggested that they move to his room yet, or even question his injury. He'd told them all the summarized version of his night, but nothing that the young girl would have been mollified with. But she was only sitting behind him, her back to the sofa arm and her arms wrapped around him.

"Lena?" He could feel her tense in surprise, then relax when her thoughts surfaced enough to remind her where she was. Though it wasn't difficult to notice that there was a lingering tension in her that didn't dissolve with the rest.

"Hm?" she hummed, and he could hear hesitant catch in it.

"What's wrong?"

Only the crackling and popping of the fire invaded the peace of the living room. He waited, though he wanted to ask again, but she finally responded in a quiet whisper. "Do you think this will last? Our . . . relationship?"

The feeling that rushed over him was similar to what he'd felt looking into that dark ally, so full of surprises and traps. He really hated that feeling. "Do you think it will?" he asked, testing the dangerous grounds just as he had when easing into that ally step by cautious step.

She muttered something about his evasiveness, but her voice was stronger when she continued. "I don't know! Not only do we both face the possibility of death during every assignment, have to deal with some many pressures any normal person would collapse under the strain, but I don't even know if you lo--"

He winced at the sound of her teeth clicking together, but she didn't stop soon enough. A part of him wanted to just curl up against her and go to sleep. It seemed unfair that after everything he'd been through so far that he'd have to deal with this, too. But wasn't that what she was so nervous about? Did they really have the energy required to keep their relationship going on top of everything else?

His outright refusal to comprehend the negative aspect of that question reassured him a little. They couldn't be assassins forever, but he was confident that for as long as they were needed to work for Weiss, he could withstand the added strain. After all, it wasn't as if there were no benefits. This was one of those situations where the pros easily outnumbered the cons.

The possibility of one of their deaths was another thing he stubbornly refused to consider.

As for her last, partially-spoken argument, and the one he assumed she was most worried about . . . well, he was happy to have a clear answer to give her.

Sitting up from his comfortable position against her, he turned and leaned down to brush his lips over her forehead, then cheeks, and finally, her lips. He smiled at her because he knew she loved his smile, and would do anything to reassure her, and looked unwaveringly at the beautiful gold starbursts in her black eyes.

"Lena," he whispered, lowering his head for one more quick kiss, "I sincerely hope you don't think I've been calling you a fish all this time."

She blinked. Then blinked again. Then growled and slapped his uninjured arm. "You jerk! You were supposed to say something romantic and reassuring! The word //fish// is not romantic!"

Before she could hit him again, and possibly wake up the others when he really didn't want an audience, he caught her hands and proceeded to wipe her memory clean of all the insults she was planning to direct towards him. When he drew back, before she had a chance to collect her thoughts again, he surrendered to his natural instinct and gave her what she wanted. "Yes, I think this relationship will last, because I'm not willing to let it go. And also, because I love you, and I'm not willing to let //you// go.

She didn't need words to tell him what he already knew, and he much preferred her methods of communication any way.

<#> <#>

Lurking in the shadows of the colorful Christmas lights shining in through the windows of the living room, Sable returned from her successful cricket hunt, took one look at her people, and decided that even the large, blond man's bed would be safer than hers that night. She consoled herself by trying out her newly-strengthened claws on the recently vacated sofa.

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Some reviews would be really nice right now. It would reassure me that staying up till three-thirty in the morning to write this was worth it, and that my efforts are appreciated. Also, I'd just like to say that hate the title of this story.

Also, it's dedicated to my deceased cat, Sable, who adopted my family and not even my dad could resist. She was a cute little fluff ball.