Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 05 ( Chapter 5 )

5

 

Picking up the pieces, putting them away, something doesn't feel quite right…

 

Yohji ~ New

 

“Tell me again why I'm doing this,” I groaned, leaning against the cold tiled wall and regarding Manx with a mixture of hope and grief.

 

“You're starting a new life,” Manx replied, tossing my own words right back at me. She stood there, arms folded across her bosom, her eyes as flinty as steel. “Picking up the pieces and going on. Or have you changed your mind?”

 

“No, I'm not changing my mind. I've given too much of my life to your cause as it is. I'd like to reclaim what's left of my soul, thank you all the same.”

 

“Well, rest assured that you won't be bothered, Balinese. Or should I say, Kudou-san? It's unusual for someone to retire from the Weiß unit, but not unheard of. Go in peace.” Her expression softened a little and she added, “I'll watch over them for you, for as long as I can, anyway.”

 

“I'd appreciate that.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a book of matches. “I know this seems trite, but it's all I have at the moment.” I'd already swiped a pen from the nurse's station; before I could write on the tiny square of paper, Manx stopped me.

 

“If that's your address, we already have it,” she said with a little smile. “And I sincerely hope it wasn't intended for my use, Kudou.”

 

“Heaven forbid,” I replied, trying not to laugh. “God, woman, get over yourself!”

 

Manx chuckled, a thoroughly sexy sound that almost made me reconsider. “Seriously, we do have your address and phone number on file. I'll make sure he gets them for his personal use.”

 

“Thanks, lady.” The matchbook and pen went back into my pocket, then I stood there, gazing down the hallway. “Well, I guess this is it, then.”

 

“I guess so. I've taken the liberty of having all your belongings shipped out to your apartment. I hope you don't mind.”

 

I shook my head. “Nah, I don't mind. Simplifies things, really. Well.” Hands still in my pockets, I shrugged, then turned toward the door. “When Ken wakes up, tell him I'm okay, will you?”

 

“I won't forget. Good luck, Kudou-san.”

 

“Goodbye, Manx.” Not looking back, I strode out the door and into my new life. I had to blink against the late spring sunshine; for a moment I debated going back indoors and seeing if they had any sunglasses at the gift shop. But no, if I went back into that hospital I'd end up sitting by Ken's bedside until he woke up, or Omi's until he smiled again, and by then my resolve would have shattered for good. Taking the painful light as my penance for a life in the darkness, I made my way to the bus stop.

 

The doctor had told me to lay off the smokes and the booze for a few more weeks, but I really didn't know if I could follow that. I'd gone too long already without a cigarette, and I knew that the moment I reached my apartment I'd find one and have at it. That is, if the place hadn't been ransacked in my absence. I hadn't been joking about that; it wasn't in a very nice neighborhood.

 

Well, if that had happened, my retirement money should take care of things. Kritiker had pretty well set me up for a couple of years of lean living, or one really good year if I wanted to blow it all at once.

 

Blood money.

 

I watched out the window as familiar streets came and went, places I had walked, places I had worked. Places I had killed. My reflection hung suspended between me and the rest of the world, a ghost to haunt my waking hours. At least the rest of the ghosts wouldn't have to be so lonely, na?

 

My feet followed old remembered pathways from the bus stop to my apartment building, pathways I had traveled alone and with unremembered companions too many times to count. Looking up, I sought out my window. The glass wasn't broken, so maybe that was a good sign.

 

It felt strange to be coming home to this place. My heart told me I should be living above a flower shop, with three other young men all sharing in the same secret world. But that world was gone, broken apart and fallen into the sea how many weeks ago?

 

I decided to enter through the garage, say hello to my baby before going up. The Seven was just as I'd left her, waiting patiently for my return. My hand brushed across her fender in greeting. If I had died on that mission, I wonder what would have become of her? Ah, let's not go there, Yohji…

 

As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I had to pause twice to catch my breath. Damn. I hate being sick. Well, now I'd do this my way. To hell with pills and needles and crap. Good home-cooked noodles and lots of garlic, that was the answer. “Oh, man!” I groaned, realizing that I hadn't been here in over a month - the refrigerator! Oh hell, this was going to be nasty!

 

By habit, I checked the door. Of course, since Kritiker had delivered my stuff here while I was in hospital, the matchstick wasn't where I'd tucked it in the gap above the deadbolt. There was, however, a long russet hair running from the keyhole to a splinter on the doorframe. I smiled to myself. Good old Manx. I reached for the doorknob, then paused.

 

Manx wasn't the only redhead I knew, nor the only one with reason to stop by my apartment. And I wasn't including Aya - wrong kind of red. I regarded the nearly half-meter strand again. No lingering perfume or cologne; either there was none, or it had been here that long. But it was curly, and just a hint darker.

 

“Baka,” I growled at myself, then shoved the key in the lock. There was no reason to think he'd seek me out to finish his work, even if he had, by some weird miracle, survived. Then again, Weiß had survived…

 

I switched on the light and leaned against the door, letting it click shut with a satisfying little “ping”. “You're not Weiß anymore,” I told myself, “there is no way a former target will come looking for you now. They wouldn't waste their time.” But…he was never a target…

 

Shaking off the lingering paranoia, I reminded myself that only a friend would bother to leave such a calling card as a strand of hair to seal my door. That settled, I looked around at the place I would now call home, instead of just a place I visited from time to time.

 

It was clean and smelled vaguely of lemon oil. Someone had been in here, dusting and keeping the place looking lived-in. No wonder it hadn't been burgled or vandalized. Maybe that same kind soul had salvaged my kitchen. I gathered my courage and went in to check.

 

Dishes had been used and washed, and waited now to be put back in their proper places. I took a deep breath and opened the fridge.

 

Fresh new food gleamed through shiny packaging, all seemingly purchased in the past few days. I felt myself smile, though my vision grew cloudy. I closed the door and stood there, propping myself up against the counter while tears slid down my face. Shaking my head, I tried to banish this unwelcome flood, but to no avail.

 

The guys had taken care of me like this, and before them… And now, this was probably the last time I'd come home to someplace that actually felt like home, with everything clean and in its place, and a stocked fridge, and the faintly lingering sense of another human being sharing the same space. “Hell, Kudou, it's just some goddamn groceries!” I snarled. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand; that hand was shaking.

 

I forced myself to get moving. If I didn't, I never would. I tugged the fridge open again and pulled out a carton of orange juice. I didn't see any fresh garlic; I'd have to go shopping tomorrow.

 

Drinking from the carton, I surveyed the rest of my apartment. Even the windows had been cleaned. I couldn't tell if my mystery housekeeper had slept in my bed; if they did, they sure left it neater than I ever did.

 

Along the wall under my bedroom window sat a half-dozen packing boxes. I took another swig of juice, then decided to look for a cigarette before opening any of them. Back into the living room I went, aiming for the low table that served as either a traditional dining table or a gaijin coffee table, depending on my guests' preferences.

 

Sudden paranoia swept over me, and instead of going for a cigarette I opened the little drawer on the side nearest the kitchen. I didn't know what a Kritiker agent would do if they found my stash, and I didn't really want to think about it. But no, if anyone knew they hadn't moved any of it. I sighed, relieved. If my emotional chaos was any indication, I'd need the help sleeping. I closed that drawer and moved around to the side facing the couch. The long shallow drawer usually held my cigarettes and ashtrays, and I was pleasantly surprised to find it not only unmolested but actually quite well stocked.

 

On top of the cigarette packs lay a folded piece of paper, sealed with candle wax and a scarlet lipstick kiss.

 

I opened a pack of smokes and set a heavy glass ashtray on the table, then lit up my first stick in nearly a month. Once the coughing subsided, I picked up the note and leaned back on the couch to read it.

 

“Hey, handsome, I hope you don't mind but I let myself in. I heard you were in hospital - hope it's not serious. I took your plants over to Momoe, she's better with them than I am. And there's fresh food in your kitchen, you can thank me later. I just can't stand to see a good man starve. Call me if you need anything. My door is still open for you but I can't hold out forever. Kisses, Erika.”

 

“Good old Manx,” I murmured, filling in the unwritten parts with ease. Reflexively I glanced over at the empty windowsill, grateful that Manx had salvaged the poor things. It would really have sucked to come home to a bunch of dead houseplants. Good thing I didn't keep fish.

 

I sucked on my cigarette and frowned at the note again. “My door is still open…but I can't hold out forever. Damn. They want me to come back.” How long will they give me, I wonder?

 

More importantly, what would the price be if I chose not to return? Was I being naïve as all hell, here, thinking I could actually retire from Kritiker's lethal unit without a catch?

 

Was that why Ran had chosen to stay?

 

Ran ~ Rosebud

 

“Moshi moshi!…Ran? Is that you?”

 

I placed the handset back on the cradle, the soft click a weirdly reassuring sound. For a moment I wondered if I would ever allow myself to see my sister again, if I couldn't even bear to speak with her by phone.

 

Too many shadows lay between us now. It's true, what they say: you can't ever go home, especially when your destiny lay soaked in blood.

 

With a heavy heart I returned to my chair. The book I'd been reading had long since turned cold, its pages clutching the armrest like some weird little animal. I folded myself into the chair and stared out the window. My chest hurt when I sat like this, but I didn't really mind. Small price to pay, compared with some.

 

I shut my eyes and let my thoughts wander back four days, four days that had passed in a blur of no account. I had dressed in new clothes, the tags only cut off them that morning, and slung the ceremonial katana sheath across my back. Everything had been packed for me, the less personal items sent ahead to my new apartment, but the sword went where I went, always.

 

The hallways had nearly echoed as I forced myself to go to each of their rooms. I'd had no idea what I would say to them, and part of me had hoped they wouldn't be awake to see me go.

 

The disappointment I'd felt when that had proved the case surprised me.

 

I didn't bother going into Ken's room, or Yohji's, for that matter. Ken still needed a machine to tell visitors he was alive at all, and something about seeing Yohji in a hospital bed made my stomach hurt. I'd paused at each of their doors, peeked in the windows and whispered a prayer for the wounded before moving on.

 

My sister had already been released from hospital and moved to her own apartment, ready to follow her dreams now that she had awakened from them. But I still had one person to see, one link to a past almost too painful to bear.

 

The name on the door read “Takatori, Mamoru”. All the breath had flown from my lips on seeing that card, and I had leaned against the wall beside the door for many moments, debating what to do.

 

In the end, I had fled like a coward, saying nothing to any of the men who had fought by my side, who had nearly died by my side.

 

Late spring sunlight glared through my eyelids. I swallowed down a choking sensation and forced myself to get up. Though I excelled at self-punishment, this was clearly getting me nowhere.

 

All Manx would tell me was that Weiß was sorely needed, but there weren't enough agents to fill the gaps in our ranks. Kritiker had been crippled by Esset, and now it struggled to rebuild itself just as we each struggled to regain our strength.

 

When the call comes, I intend to be ready.

 

I pushed the table and chair back toward the wall, stripped off my shirt, and took up my sword. With slow, deliberate movements, I began to practice, my shadow following at a safe distance. Pain threaded itself through every muscle; something in my middle howled at the movement, but I persisted. I had to get through this. It was the only way to mend my body, and salvage my soul.

 

It was all I had left.