Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Something I Can Never Have ❯ One-Shot

Author's Notes: Gluhen spoilers from episodes 1-8 lurk within! But mostly dealing with episode 8, since this is set in that time.

Someday, I will stop tormenting poor Ken and leave him to his misery. (Someday.)

Pressed back against the wall, breathing low and shallow, scarcely making even a slight movement, he listened to them talk. Moments of normalcy were far and few between for them. Life was anything but normal any longer. When your hands were bloodied when you went home, when it seemed that the stains on your clothing would never be cleaned, normalcy ceased to exist. Smiling cheerfully at people and pretending nothing at all had happened, that no blood was seen the night before, that no life had been drained before his eyes, that was normalcy.

The lines of right and wrong had blurred for him long ago when he lived in such a jaded, cynical world. In another life, he might have thought it wrong to sneak into the teacher lounge of the school. He might have realized that his intrusion would be unwelcome. But the simple truth was that he did not care. Privacy was something he had lost a long time ago; why the hell should anyone else be allowed it? Normalcy was something that had been taken from him; why the hell should that guy have what he could not?

So he listened, pressed against the wall, unnoticed by the twittering auburn-haired professor, listening to them speak as though they had not a care in the world. Listening to that guy speak as though his own hands had never been bloodied, as though he were any ordinary guy, like he wore some shield against the world that protected him from what he saw. It made him angry, frustrated, and irritated all at once, feelings he had no where to channel. He wanted to punch something. Anything. A wall would have done nicely.

But no. He listened, mouth shut, forcing his breathing to come slow and shallow that he made not even a sound. The twittering woman babbled about something. He barely heard. She was not the one he was interested in. It was the other member of the conversation that he wanted to hear. He listened to that man talk in his light, careless tones, and wanted to laugh. Aya could pretend. Aya was a brilliant actor. He was very good at lying, good at making people believe there was nothing to fear from him, good at gaining trust and then destroying it all. What would that woman think, to know she was talking to a man that carried more kills under his belt than there were teachers at this institution?

She would not have asked him to join her that Saturday morning for a 'school-related excursion.' If she had ever seen what he saw, that man covered in blood from head to toe, his clothing soaked, thick, rivulets of blood streaming down his face and arms and chest, she would not have asked him to meet her there at the fountain. What would she do, if she ever saw what he did? Maybe scream. Run away screaming to the police, maybe. But she would never make it there. If she knew, they would kill her before she could reach anyone.

Sympathy for life was not a wanted or needed feeling for an assassin. Remorse was something that was unnecessary when blood spilled on your hands. You could not kill and go home and think of it. Killing, murdering, it had to be left behind when it happened. Anything else would eat anyone alive. Anything else, and he might have died a long time ago.

A burst of adrenaline always filled him when he felt those last shuddering moments of life leaving. When he felt the blades of his weapon digging deeper and further in, tearing open flesh and a hot rush of thick liquid over his hands, the feeling he had was indescribable. He felt guilt in those moments. A quick flash would fill him. This is wrong, it would say. How can you do this? it asked. And then he drove the blades deeper in, ignoring the voice, and it was gone. The voice left him when the life left his victim, and he was left only with the bittersweet aftertaste.

He listened to them speak and wondered what the hell made Aya so special. What made him any different than the rest of them, that he was able to carry on with these normal, casual conversations, as though he were something better than them. Why was he able to pretend when the rest of them could not; why was he so damn special? He had seen the same blood. He had seen the same bodies fall. He had seen the numbers of lives destroyed. But what made him so different that he could pretend so well?

The woman, laughing nervously, was backing at the room. He knew by the shuffle of her feet that she was not paying attention where she was going. The dull thump of her back hitting a wall or the door was expected. He almost rolled his eyes. He remembered those years at the flower shop. He could remember when that guy had been anything but polite to women. 'Buy or get out,' he would say. And the girls would only laugh, giggle uncontrollably, and continue to flock around him as though he had said nothing. Something about him drew women. He had that quality. Not like Youji. The thought of Aya being like Youji again gave him the urge to laugh, and he had to muffle the sound. No... it was something else. Something genuine in him only a woman would have noticed.

"Then, tomorrow at ten," she said. Her laughter came without force, in bursts of nervous, anxious giggles. He heard the door open slid open. "Excuse me." He cocked his head and listened. The tap of heels on tiled floors echoed down the hall. He listened until they had nearly faded completely away, and then Aya invaded his silence.

"Come out."

He smiled. Aya had known all along. He knew Aya had known he was there, listening to them. More importantly than having trained in the same rigorous way to become what they were, they had known and worked together for years. Aya knew his movements as he knew his own, and he the same. He knew the rhythm of his breathing, the shuffle of his feet across the floor; he knew what it sounded like when he wore shoes and when he was without, he had studied him so closely.

He revealed himself in one brief, sweeping nonchalant movement. A glance over his shoulder and he was looking into Aya's eyes. A smile appeared on his face. Aya was angry with him. No, maybe more irritated. He had come in, after all, uninvited. He had listened in on a private conversation. He had stepped past that unspoken boundary of privacy that had been drawn, and Aya was angry with him for that invasion.

"Sorry to intrude," he said. The smile did not fade.

"Ken," Aya said, his voice low and threatening, "what do you want?"

Ken stepped further into the light. Mock hurt passed his face. "To talk, Aya, to talk," he said. "We're friends, aren't we?" He watched as the question caused conflict to pass Aya in one quick flash. There it was and then it was gone from his face, like it had never been. Aya always did hide. That and pretending so well were his talents. Hiding who he was and pretending to be someone else was second nature to him.

"But not here," he said quietly. "Somewhere else."

The gazebo on the water was still blocked with yellow police tape. Students had torn most of it down. Ken lead the way, down the path of stepping stones across the water. The fountain generators hummed softly, their sound and the sound of chirping crickets filling the night. His own feet barely made a sound when he stepped up onto the last step, not even when he stepped on the stones he knew lead to a hollow underground. It was so carefully hidden. No one would have been any the wiser that the gazebo lead to their twisted lab. It was a harmless, careless distraction for students during the day. Nothing more.

He folded his arms and leaned against a stone pillar that held the arched roof above them. Aya stood with his back to him. He did not want to be with him; Ken knew that. The way he held himself was even an indication of that. But his expression said it all. Sometimes, Aya could not hide so easily. He did not want to be here. He was angry, irritated perhaps, and it was the last place he wanted to be. The last person he wanted to be with.

"What do you want?" Quick and efficient, that was Aya. He did not waste a moment.

His voice suggested that he had better things to do with his time. What? If he had not come, would Aya have gone with that woman? Casual sex was not something he would have expected from the other man. From Youji, but not Aya. But maybe he would have gone with that woman. Maybe something would have happened, maybe nothing at all. Casual sex could have not been at all what he was looking for. Instead, a moment of normalcy. Something they could never have.

"If we continue to ignore Takatori's withdrawal orders, you know they just won't ignore it." Right. Business. That was all it ever was. That was all he had come for. It was his excuse to come at all. "They'll probably even bring in their Crashers unit."

'They' was vague. He did not know who 'they' were. Persia? Kritiker? Who did he work for anymore? He had no idea. He knew only to expect those mission orders coming in. It was his only constant in life. When everything else was jumbled and confused and he did not know where to turn, he knew that the mission orders would always come. There would always be a Persia. There would always be Weiss. And it was his curse to carry the cross until he died.

"But I don't think they can beat us..." He murmured, amused, and with a hint of arrogance in his voice.

"What do they want?" Aya interrupted.

He said 'they,' but he knew who 'they' were. Business was the reason Ken had come, but it was not his own excuse. He had been asked to. They wanted Aya to withdrawal and would get him to by any means necessary. If they had to, they would kill him. That was how Weiss worked. Obey your commands or be killed. Follow the mission exactly or be eliminated. There were no second chances.

"Tch." Ken unfolded his arms and stepped away from the pillar he was leaned against. "Fine. I won't dance around it. Aya, tell me why you betrayed Persia's orders."

Aya turned to face him. Wearing those glasses, Ken thought he could almost see him more clearly. He was tired. Lines of age he should not have had when he was still only in his twenties had begun to appear already. He was exhausted. Everything was beginning to take its toll on him.

"Why are you still here with me?" he asked.

Ken turned, pressing his hands to the stone railing circling the gazebo. "Probably the same reason as you," he answered. "But I know why I'm here. I want to hear it from you. I want you to tell me." He inclined his head to look over his shoulder. "Why are you ignoring the withdrawal order and continuing to investigate here?"

Their eyes held only briefly, brown glaring into amethyst. Aya broke the gaze, turning from him. It was easy for him to turn his back on people. Aya had never had respect for anyone else. Maybe that was why it was easy for him to pretend and hide the way he did. He had no respect for their feelings. He did not care one way or another if he hurt them. Maybe that was it.

"The enemy knows my identity," he said. "You should stay away from me."

The last was not a warning made from concern. It was a threat.

He started to walk away. Ken felt anger well up in him, quick and irrational.

"Hey! We're not done talking yet!" He launched himself forward and caught Aya by the shoulder, gripping him tightly between his fingers. He felt the muscles bunch up and tense beneath his hand. Instinct told him to pull away, but anger held him in place.

"Let go of me." The order held the same threat. Let go, or he would not be held accountable for his actions.

"You're scared to say it," Ken said softly. "Once you say it, you can't go back. You can tell me. Why? Why did you oppose Persia?"

He knew it was coming. Aya made a small sound, low and irritated, and then it came toward him. The fist came hurtling at him and he caught it bare-handed. He saw Aya narrow his eyes; he had not expected him to move so quickly. Aya had always underestimated him.

"Will you leave Weiss?"

It hurt to ask. Why did it hurt to ask?

"I don't know," was the soft response.

This time, he did not see it. He was so lost in those eyes that he did not feel or see it coming, did not realize until it happened. The fist ground into his stomach. He felt all of the air in his lungs leaving him in one quick rush and he choked on his breath. A sound of pain escaped him as the fist ground in mercilessly. It drew away only when he thought he would suffocate, and he slumped to the ground, gasping for breath.

"The night air is bad for your health."

He could have laughed. Aya was mocking him, even now. He wanted to laugh, but the pain that would come with it was not worth bearing.

"Dammit..." He ground out the curse between gasps. "Aya! Is that your answer!"

He saw him walking away and could do nothing to stop him.

"So that... so that we can continue to be Weiss, so that we can be a true Weiss, and not just tools of Takatori... you're going to abandon us for that, right?"

He closed his eyes.

"I'll do it too. We'll do it together... hey, Aya! Aya, listen to me!"

He struggled to his feet. He knew that there was no chance that he could stop him. Not now that he was so far gone. He could have tried. He could have run after him, pulled him back again, but he did not want to. It was a choice Aya had to make.

And he made it. Ken watched as slowly, but without any hesitation, Aya ceased his steps. He turned very slightly, angling his body toward him.

"I don't want you to do it with me."

"Aya--"

"I don't want you to follow me."

'Don't follow me,' he said. But he what he meant was, 'I don't need you.'

"I'll do it too," Ken repeated. Was it desperation he heard in his voice? Was that why it hurt to think that Aya would leave Weiss? They had been together for so long. How could he let it end so easily? How could he let all the years they had spent together, living together, working together, being Weiss together disappear and fade away? How could he? How could Aya?

"I don't want to be a tool anymore," he murmured. And then, with fire in his voice, "We can quit Weiss, Aya, we can do it together."

"Don't sacrifice yourself for me."

"But--"

"I said don't. Let it go, Ken."

The threat still lingered in the air. Ken said nothing. He knew not to. He had gone too far. He had already stepped beyond that unseen boundary of privacy, and now he had stepped past another unseen line. Personal feelings mixed with business. It was a line that was not to be crossed, not under any circumstances. And yet it always was. If it had never been crossed before, he would have let Aya go. He would have let him walk into his own death alone. He would even be able to kill him without a second thought of it if Persia gave him the order.

But not now. Not now that the boundaries had all be crossed and the lines of business and personal relationships blurred together and were the same.

"I won't it end like this," he hissed. A stitch of pain stabbed into his abdomen as he used the stone pillar as leverage to stand. "There is no way in hell I'll let it end like this!"

Aya narrowed his eyes. "You never knew when to stay down."

"No one ever said I was the brightest crayon in the box." He could feel some of his old humor coming back to him. He had thought it had died a long time ago, replaced with cynical words and sarcasm, and twisted smiles to hide the pain. Sarcasm maybe was all it was. Probably. Not humor, just his usual stale sarcasm, his quick rebuttals to bite back at the world.

"What happens will happen, Ken."

"Isn't that a vaguely morbid thing to say..."

Aya did not answer his jibe. "I am prepared for it. Are you?"

Was he? Who knew. He could say that he was. Sure, he was prepared; he could convince himself he was. Prepared to see Youji and Omi and Aya crumple, prepared to see it all come falling down on them, prepared for whatever happened when this was over. Sure. Completely prepped.

He wasn't. Not even slightly. He did not know what would happen, and it bothered him. Before, he could always think, 'the good guys triumph over the bad guys.' 'That's how the world works,' he could say. That was how it had always been. They were the good guys. Weiss was the good. Everyone else, they were all the bad, and he would triumph over all of them.

But he realized they were not good. There was no bad or good. There were only people with differing objectives. He had never been on the side of good. He had been a murderer, just like all of them. But they had paid for their crimes with death. He had yet to atone.

And so he was the bad guy, and he was not prepared for what would come, and what that meant.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Go and tell them I won't withdrawal."

That was it, he knew. Aya would say no more. He let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding in.

"I would leave Weiss," he said. His voice came out in a whisper, surprising him. He hated the way it sounded. So weak, so pathetic. Aya did not care what he said, what he would do for him; why did he let it bother him so much?

He had never mattered at all. Youji and Omi, all of them, they had never mattered to Aya. Were they even companions to him, or acquaintances? Just the people he worked with? Never friends, never friends, were they? They never were to Aya. Never anything beyond people he interacted with, people that were a part of his life, but nothing more. Did Aya even care what lengths he was willing to go to? He would leave Weiss. He would reject the only thing he had ever known as a truth in his life, the only constant he had, to join him. He would leave the only sense of family he had ever had.

Did Aya even understand what that meant? Did he even care?

"I know," Aya interjected into his thoughts. He said it carelessly. It meant nothing that he understood, he knew what he meant, what he was feeling. "You always were selfless," he murmured.

"Don't follow me," he said. "Don't chase after me."

"Let you go," Ken said softly.

"Yes."

"They'll kill you."

"Maybe."

"Don't you care?"

He shook his head, slowly and deliberately.

"I am prepared for it," he repeated.

Ken wanted to reach out as he watched him walk away. Stop him, say something, do anything. But what could he do? Aya had made his decision. Whatever the consequence, he would do what he thought was right. And for that, Ken envied him and hated him all at once. He was so stupidly stubborn. He was so stubborn, so headstrong, so careless of his own life, that he would throw away everything he had in the blink of an eye. Everything. He could let it go so easily.

What about Aya-chan, he wanted to ask. He wanted to yell after him. What about Aya-chan? What about Omi and Youji? Even that brat Sena; what about him? Did Aya even think of them when he was so willing to destroy everything?

Did Aya ever stop to wonder how he would feel?

No. No, Aya never cared. And because of that, he was strong. He was invincible because he did not care. Nothing kept him bound. No strings kept him tied down. All that he had and all that he was, he had seen it shattered once before in the hands of someone else. Maybe, in his own hands, he was more willing to let it all slip away.

Normalcy, he thought. It was a joke. But wouldn't it be great? Even for just a moment, it would be great to feel that normalcy again he had once had. Those moments in the flower shop that were so broken and disjointed now. Omi blushing bright red as Ouka teased him, Youji flirting shamelessly with the girls, and Aya off in his own world, ignoring everyone else, tending to the flowers so delicately and gently.

Wouldn't it be great to feel that just one more time?

He was just kidding himself, wishing for such a pathetic thing. Nothing would ever be the same. Everything had changed. And all that was to come would change them, warp all of them, and he knew they would drift only further and further away.

And clinging to such pathetic dreams would only drag him deeper into his hidden misery.

Normalcy, huh.

What a joke.