Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Talking To The Dead ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

Chapter 11

"And please remember, Hidaka-san, that you are to refrain from any heavy lifting until your next visit. Don't forget to do your exercises at least four times a day, and to make an appointment to see your doctor on your way out. Here is your prescription, in case the pain gets to be too much, though you really should be resting. That's the best kind of recovery. And -"

Ken tuned out the physical therapy nurse as she nattered on for another five minutes about possible side effects and what he needed to bring with him for his next appointment. And this is why Kritiker hates it when injured operatives are taken in to civilian hospitals. He frowned, wincing as his abused fingers curled around the thick pen, and scribbled a sloppy signature across the bottom of the insurance form.

Thankful to be finally out of that woman's daily torture session, Ken stopped off at front desk and scheduled a doctor's appointment, much like the dutiful patient he was. He had wanted to talk to the doctor anyhow, to see what kind of treatment his hand would require to mend back to its previous state of utility.

The nurse had told him that if left untreated for much longer, his right hand would probably require separate therapy, if not surgery, in order to regain complete flexibility of his fingers at the knuckles. After just one week of physical therapy, Ken had a better appreciation of why his former J-Leaguers went through great pains to avoid injury. Sometimes the healing hurt more than the injury itself.

He strolled leisurely down the hallway, taking note of the time as he passed the hospital cafeteria. It was mid-afternoon - 14:21, according to the clock on the wall - which meant he had at least an hour until Kyou arrived with his ride. Stopping only long enough in the gift shop to grab a bottle of water, Ken soon found himself hesitating on the threshold of an open room.

"You can come in, whoever you are," a familiar gruff voice called out from the other end of the room. A pause, and then, almost an afterthought, "Unless you're here to deliver more goddamn flowers. Then you can leave."

Ken smiled despite himself and entered the room. Sure enough, almost every usable surface was covered with some kind of bloom - lilies, tulips, carnations, peonies - and of course, roses. Nearly every naturally occurring hue of rose sold in their shop (and perhaps a few extra) were represented somewhere in the room.

"I swear, this is someone's idea of a sick joke. Who the hell sends flowers to a sick florist?"

"Quit bitching, Yohji. I brought you something better." Ken reached into his jacket, making a show of fumbling around a moment before he triumphantly yanked the gift out into the air.

"Ken! My lifesaver!"

Yohji lunged forward eagerly. The small rectangular carton dangled from Ken's fingers enticingly in view, just barely out of the range of Yohji's grasp.

"Wha-? Hey, give them to me!"

Ken snatched the cigarettes back and re-pocketed them. "Not until you're discharged. Consider it an incentive. After all," he gestured expansively to surrounding room, "you wouldn't want to wilt any of the lovely flowers your fangirls brought you, right?"

Something that sounded suspiciously like a mumbled "bastard" floated across the room, but Ken chose to ignore it. It was enough, he decided, to see his friend in such good cheer. He leaned against the wall next to the bed, content in the shared silence.

"You know, Kritiker's going to have a shitfit when it comes time to cover this one up." Unsurprisingly, Yohji had been the one to break the quiet.

Ken shrugged. He had not given the matter much thought. "They'll manage. It's not our job to worry about it." Just the killing, he added silently to himself.

Yohji seemed to accept the answer at face value. He turned his head to the side, staring out of the window beside his bed into the overcast mid-afternoon sky. "Yeah."

The silence between them grew uncomfortable. An inscrutable look crossed Yohji's face as he continued to gaze out the window, deep in thought. Ken opened his mouth and closed it, unable to bring to tongue clever words to break the strange tension that had descended upon the room. After a couple of minutes of fidgeting in place, he leaned across the bed and peered over his friend's shoulder. "What's so interesting?"

"Nothing." The slightest note of wistfulness betrayed Yohji's otherwise irenic voice. "Nothing in particular." Yohji shook his head and manufactured a smile. "Nothing for you to worry about, at least. Hey..." He eyed the elaborate splint on Ken's wrist. "I never did get the story on that. Is that what you're here for today?"

Grateful for the change of topic, Ken waved the splint carelessly in the air. "Naw. Today was the shoulder. This wrist'll be next week, if that sadistic nurse has any say." At the mention of "nurse" Yohji's eyes visibly brightened. "Don't even think about it, Yohji. Not unless you're into some serious S&M."

Yohji made a shooing motion with his hand. "I think I'll pass. I've already got a full-time job just trying to please the ladies in the shop." He plucked a pink rose from the vase next to the bed and twirled the stem between his fingers. "Seriously, though. How've you been holding up?"

"I'm fine, Yohji." Ken waved his hand dismissively, forcing a smile to his face that he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. "Really."

"Don't give me that crap, Hidaka." A tight grasp trapped his wrist, hard green eyes turning to pin him in place. "That's bullshit and you know it. Something's bothering you, and I'm not going to stand here and watch it eat you alive."

Ken averted his eyes, but did not speak.

"It's him, isn't it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, Ken." Yohji leaned forward and grabbed his forearm. The verdant gaze had softened - still intense, but not unkind. "You need to do it."

He turned his head away. "I'm not ready yet."

"Dammit, Ken." An indiscernible emotion, a mixture of anger and self-loathing, colored Yohji's voice. "The longer you wait, the more it's going to hurt. Don't you think I know that?"

Brown eyes widened in shock. The grip on his forearm loosened - a presence now, rather than restraint.

"Don't make the same mistake I made."

The hand on his arm dropped away.

Why did he suddenly feel so cold?

"I know, Yohji." Summoning up strength from within, Ken turned to his friend and regarded him with resigned, tired eyes. He had already been over this many times before with himself. "I need to think it over a little more."

Yohji looked ready to say something in response, but was interrupted by three sharp raps on the doorframe.

"Aya!" Yohji's face split into a wide grin. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Aya's expression was carefully neutral. "Sena is being released today. I'm here to pick him up."

Yohji's face fell. If it was at all possible for Yohji Kudou to pout, he doing his damndest to try. "You didn't come here to visit me?"

"I'm on the clock, Kudou." He reached back, grabbed the edge of the trolley behind him, and pulled it forward into the center of the room.

Wait a second - is Aya smirking? "I came to deliver these."

Ken was certain Yohji's scream could be heard on the other end of the wing. He walked over to the trolley and casually picked a white rose up out of the dozen or so just-delivered bouquets. "Think you can spare one, Yohji?"

A short distance away, the older man was aghast, staring at the massive pile of bouquets in marked disbelief. "This is a joke, right?"

Aya folded his arms and glared at Yohji, completely straight-faced. "Does it look like one?"

Yohji opened his mouth to answer, and shut it immediately.

Ken had to suppress a snicker; it was not often Yohji was at a complete loss for words. "On that note," he shuffled across the room to the exit, "I think I'll be taking my leave. Aya, I'll see you and Sena back at the Koneko." Aya bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Yohji - I'll stop by tomorrow after my session with the nurse's phone number. Good enough?"

"Ken." Something in Yohji's tone made Ken pause in the doorway. "Don't take too long to figure it out." Ken nodded, the sick knot of grief twisting tight in his stomach, and pulled the door shut behind him.

Walking out into the hallway, Ken was grateful to find it devoid of the usual mill of doctors and nurses. Only a few mid-day visitors and the occasional outpatient haunted this wing of the building at this time of day. He accepted the rare solitude gratefully; he needed some time to think, and he wanted to do it alone.

About midway down the corridor he stopped in front of one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard. He has been inexplicably drawn to the view almost a week ago, when he first happened upon it on his way out of the hospital. Every day since then he had gone there after his physical therapy session, to meditate upon his life, and to reflect upon the many hard decisions facing him.

Today was no exception. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Yohji's words echoed dimly in the forefront of Ken's mind.

"The longer you wait, the more it's going to hurt."

He closed his eyes and pressed his palm against the pane. What was holding him back?

Was it cowardice? Was it his own inability to accept reality, to acknowledge the loss he refused to accept?

"Don't make the same mistake I made."

Time was supposed to heal all wounds.

If that was so, then why did it only hurt more?

"Don't take too long to figure it out."

He needed to move on. He acknowledged that fact, for all that he continually crippled himself by holding on to the broken past. Every day he stopped at this window; every day, he asked himself if he finally had to the courage to start anew.

Was it really cowardice holding him back? Or was it stubborn hope?

He pounded his hand against the casement, damning the world, damning himself for his own inability to face the reality waiting for him at the other end of the hallway.

After all, he thought grimly, it really is no different than the way things were before.

And if you were able to deal with it back then, then you should be able to face the consequences of his sacrifice and move on.

No. Something in that statement rang hollow to him.

Ken pushed himself away from the window.

It was not the same as before.

But it was time for him to move on.

The blinds had been drawn, but there was enough incident light coming in from the hallway through the open door to give a clear picture of the interior. Ken paused in the threshold, taking a moment to survey the room for visitors. Even without an audience the words he needed to say would be difficult; already he could feel his throat beginning to constrict in nervous anticipation. A small rivulet of blood dripped languidly down from his left hand, thorns of the forgotten rose biting into his palm as he squeezed the stem convulsively.

Satisfied that the room was otherwise devoid of visitors, Ken made his way across the linoleum tile to the center of the room. It's now or never. He placed the white rose into a small vase on the nearby table, and took a seat in a chair by the bedside, just left of the array of steadily-beeping life support machines.

"I'm sorry, Omi." The words caught in his throat, coming out only just above the volume of a whisper. Hesitantly, he reached forward and cupped Omi's limp hand beneath his own, struggling to speak past the tightness in his throat. He had known that this would be difficult, but he never could have estimated beforehand how much just seeing him like this would hurt. It felt like someone had reached into his stomach and rent apart his innards.

"I..." The words died on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath to steady himself, gently squeezing the hand beneath his own. In the background, the heart monitor beat a staccato rhythm counterpoint to the pulse thumping in his ears.

"I came here to say goodbye." The words spoken, he unclasped Omi's hand and watched it fall limp on to the bed. He could still feel the warmth from where their hands had touched; a glow that intensified and burned, surging through him and lending him the strength he needed to make his decision.

"I don't want to say goodbye."

A statement of rebellion, and a statement of truth.

"I don't ever want to lose hope."

A suspicious stinging burned at the corners of his eyes. Ken bit his lip to distract himself from the pain, concentrating instead on the serene visage of the man lying on the bed in front of him. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the relaxed lines of his face made Omi appear all for the world like he was simply sleeping peacefully.

Ken knew better. Omi had fallen into a coma not long after the combined efforts of Ken and Sena resuscitated him, and every day that Omi did not wake up drastically reduced the probability that he would ever return to consciousness. Unless Omi awoke soon, it would take a miracle on the order of Aya-chan's recovery to bring him back.

But regardless of how bad the odds looked, regardless of whether or not the rest of the world had written him off, Ken refused to lose hope for Omi. Omi had never once lost faith in him, and he owed Omi the same kind of respect.

He reached forward and smoothed an errant lock of hair back from Omi's forehead. "It probably seems a little strange to you, me sitting here talking to a person that can't answer." A bark of self-depreciative laughter slipped out from his mouth. "And perhaps a little unhealthy, too." He flexed the broken fingers on his right hand; the image of blood on stark white marble, trampled periwinkles, and muddy freesia flashed in his mind's eye. "Though maybe in some way, it's been kind of therapeutic."

The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm in the silence. The same repeated pattern continuously scrolled across its display; both comforting and disheartening at the same time.

"I've had a lot of time, lately, to think things over. Things that didn't make any sense at first got a lot clearer once I spent some time separated from them and thought them through."

Memories of his time in the hospital, of ambivalent meetings and reunions with the members of Weiss, and of surreal conversations with silent grave markers flashed through Ken's mind. Every step of the journey had been another step forward in his long road to healing; another key to unlock the doors hiding the missing pieces of his soul.

"And I think I understand, finally. I needed to come to terms with a lot of things I'd been in denial over. My past. Weiss. My... instability, I guess. And -"

His tongue betrayed him at the vital juncture. And you, Omi.

He looked across the peaceful form lying still in front of him. I had to finally come to terms with my feelings for you.

"I'm not too late, am I?" His voice cracked on the last word, the effort required to speak too much for the tenacious hold he held on his fragile self-control. The saline wetness in his eyes burned, threatening to break loose and cascade down his cheeks at any moment.

It was too much. He did not know what he had thought to accomplish coming here today, but he had reached his breaking point, and lingering here any longer would only compound the hurt within.

The chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as he pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave. "Goodbye, Omi."

"Ken-kun." A throaty whisper and a weak hand on his forearm froze him mid-step. "Ken-kun... wait."

His mind was reeling and his heart caught in his throat, but that did not stop Ken from turning around to confront the culmination of his every wish, hope, and prayer of the past seven days.

Wide blinking bright blue eyes regarded him guilelessly with unmasked hope. Ken's breath caught in his throat. He reached forward, daring to press his fingertips against the warm flesh of the other's cheek. "Omi?"

His voice could not have possibly sounded louder than a whisper, but it was enough for Omi to hear him. "Ken-kun?" A warm hand came up to press his against the side of Omi's face. "Ken-kun? You're alive!"

To be the reason for that look of happiness - for that smile - Ken would have gladly laid down his life. He was certain the look of wonderment on Omi's face was echoed on his own. "Omi." He felt his body moving beneath him; in two swift steps, he was leaning over the bed, his arms clasped as tightly as possible around his friend's thin body. "If this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up."

"Ken-kun?" Hot tears wet Ken's jacket collar as the body in his arms shook with the expulsion of suppressed emotion. "Ken-kun, I -"

"Shh Omi, you don't need to say anything." He released Omi from the embrace and stepped back to regard him critically from an arm's length. "You just woke up, and there's probably a million tests the doctors -"

"That's it, Ken-kun." Omi averted his eyes, his cheeks flushing shamefully. "I didn't just wake up." He looked up to meet Ken's gaze with beseeching eyes. "I've been awake for almost two days."

What?

Ken felt the rug pulled out from beneath him. Awake? His mind raced to desperately to comprehend the simple words. Awake? For almost two days?

His shock must have written itself across his face. Omi broke his gaze almost immediately and looked away, shamefaced. Ken fumbled, reaching out with his good hand to grab him underneath the chin. Omi froze, and Ken took the opening to draw closer, lifting his face so that their eyes met once again. "Don't take too long to figure it out." Ken wanted to laugh. "That'll teach me to be so dense."

"Ken-kun?"

"Don't worry about it, Omi." He leaned in closer, so that their noses almost touched. "I'm just realizing it's about time I stop hesitating, and face up to all of the demons I've been hiding from all these years." Their faces were close enough that their breaths mingled.

It's now or never, Hidaka.

A hot mouth descended upon his own, robbing him of all faculty of speech as his mind reeled with an overload of sensation. Instinctually he had closed his eyes, but that did not stop the colors swirling in his vision or the euphoria-induced vertigo from making him sway drunkenly on his feet. This was bliss... so similar to his dream, yet completely different, because this was real - this was Omi kissing him, Omi's lips pressed demandingly, needingly against his own, a million thoughts and sensations dismissed in this single eternal moment -

Ken stumbled backward as the kiss was broken abruptly.

"Omi?" He blinked dazedly, desperately trying to process the chaos of swirling thoughts in his head. "Omi?"

Omi's eyes were somewhat glazed, but a hint of fire was evident in their depths. "Are you sure about this, Ken?" The eyes hardened, and in that moment he looked every bit the leader that Ken had grown to respect and love. "Because I'm tired of waiting. And I'm sick of lost chances."

"Omi..." Ken's heart cried for him to immediately accept, but nagging doubt reined him back. "Omi, what about - "

"Mamoru Takatori is dead." The words were spoken with the ringing declaration of an official edict. Ken stared at Omi in open-mouthed astonishment. "He was pronounced dead on arrival seven days ago in the emergency room downstairs."

"Omi?"

"My grandfather is dead, Ken. I'm the last of the Takatori clan." A wistful light glinted in Omi's eyes briefly. "There's a whole life there, if I wanted it." The light faded, replaced by icy determination. "But I had already made my decision when I took this mission. Mamoru Takatori was necessary to reform Weiss, but the position of Persia can be held by anybody." He paused just long enough for a faint smile to touch his lips.

"Even Omi Tsukiyono."

"You - you would sacrifice - for - ?"

Omi held up a hand to cut him off. "We've all made sacrifices, Ken-kun," he pleaded gently. "The magnitude of those sacrifices is irrelevant. We are bound together because of our sins - but they are also the very roots of our strength. Because of that, I believe in pursuing every opportunity for happiness that comes my way." Omi smiled at him, at once somehow both the cheerful teen and the confident leader that Ken fondly remembered. "Are you willing to accept that as well? Can you accept happiness?"

"Every opportunity for happiness." Happiness - that was what he wanted, right? Happiness; peace of mind; a sense of fulfillment. Not a complete list, but he was certain he would find time to add to it in the future. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

"I accept it, Omi." He smiled at Omi with a confidence he had not felt since the final days before Weiss disbanded - the last time he could remember ever feeling this alive.

I accept our happiness.

-----------------------