Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You're Joking, Right? ❯ Chapter 10

Chapter 10 -- Lucifer

 

Aya had taken his time getting to the office. Oh, he'd fled the house like there was a tsunami on his heels when Manx had contacted him -- not because he was their dog, but because leaving had suited him. It was increasingly difficult to avoid getting caught alone with Yoji. Once he'd gotten safely outside, he'd driven the speed limit, obeyed traffic signals, and failed to avoid traffic snarls. Then he'd parked blocks away and strolled casually to the address Manx had given him, stopping along the way for a cup of coffee. When he finally got to the building, he took the stairs to the twelfth floor. It was a Takatori building, it turned out, and he'd gladly gut Crawford for bringing him here.

 

Aya saw no one in the corridor. When he found the right door -- all the way at the end of the hall -- he just let himself in. Crawford was sitting at a large desk, shuffling through a file folder. His back presided over a spectacular view of the Otemachi district skyline.

 

They were alone in the room. Ballsy, Aya had to admit, meeting him here with no backup. He hated Crawford's little displays of power.

 

“Isn't it kind of a risk to bring me here?” he asked evenly. There wouldn't be any bugs, but surely Crawford couldn't afford to be linked to Weiss.

 

Crawford waited before speaking, just long enough for Aya's annoyance to flare hot. Amazing how accurate he was with that.

 

“Don't worry, Mr. Fuyimiya, I'm not trying to get you killed. And even if I were, I could find someone better than random Takatori stooges to do it.” Crawford finally looked up from his paperwork. He eyed the paper coffee cup in Aya's hand with faint annoyance, then took off his glasses and gestured at a chair. “Sit down.”

 

Perfect bastard, Aya thought as he sat in the tastefully uncomfortable guest chair. He leaned back and crossed his legs casually in a manner guaranteed to annoy the fussy prick further.

 

“Did I keep you waiting?”

 

“Not at all. I knew exactly when you'd arrive.”

 

Aya's nose twitched in irritation. “I am surprised you're meeting with me alone -- we haven't been in the same room without a chaperone for a long time.”

 

“I'm perfectly capable of defending myself against you, Mr. Fujimiya.”

 

Aya sat his cup on the floor by his chair and stood up. He walked around the desk and leaned against it, ass perched on the edge, thigh touching Crawford's elbow. “Yeah. You've done a great job so far, I have to give you credit.”

 

“I wanted to commend you on how well you followed my orders regarding Mr. Kudoh. Your abilities as a murder and a thief are superceded only by your prodigious talent as a whore.”

 

“I ought to be good at it -- you've certainly used me that way often enough.” Aya wasn't able to keep his voice neutral, as he'd have liked, but the venom that crept in was acceptable, and far preferable to anything else he might have given away instead.

 

“I find that people do their best work when acting on their natural inclinations.”

 

Aya did want to kill him. “What did you drag me down here for, you smug mother fucker?”

 

Crawford smiled. Aya had lost the cruel insults couched as polite business chat portion of the game -- he usually did.

 

“I wanted a report on your last assignment.”

 

Now Aya smiled. “Between you and Schuldig, I'm sure you already know all about it. In fact, I almost wondered if that's why you made me do it. Spent the last couple of days jerking off to your visions?” He kneeled next to Crawford's chair and rested his face against his thigh, looking up at him. “Miss me?” He flicked his eyes down to stare pointedly at Crawford's erection. “Want me to take the edge off? You always said I was the best in town.”

 

Crawford rolled his chair back and stood up quickly, dumping Aya on the floor. Aya smirked as he rolled to his feet. “Nice to know I still get to you, daddy,” he murmured, his voice as low and sultry as he could make it. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, leaning back and spreading his legs wide. He watched to see if Crawford would check out his crotch and laughed when he did, even though the glance was so furtive as to look almost like chance.

 

“You want to come sit with me on the couch while I tell you all about how Yoji fucked me? He reminds me of you, you know. Who you used to pretend to be, rather. Did you plan that?”

 

Now Crawford looked aggravated. “Plan how you're going to react to anything?” He sniffed derisively. “Not bloody likely.”

 

Aya shrugged. “It just seemed like something you would do. You never miss an opportunity to twist a knife in a little deeper.”

 

“Just an unsavory coincidence, I assure you.”

 

“You know, if you insist on keeping that desk between us, I'm going to think you really are afraid of me.”

 

Crawford narrowed his eyes. “You wish,” he said, then forced his face into its usual smooth mask. The effort showed, though. “I'm not afraid of you, and I won't be manipulated by you, either.” He sat back down in his chair, resting his elbows comfortably on the desk.

 

Aya snorted. “Right. Don't worry -- I know who bends over and takes it in this relationship.”

 

“We do not have...”

 

“Just a metaphor, Mr. Crawford,” Aya interrupted. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the sofa. “Really. Why am I here? And why isn't anyone else here?”

 

“I have another job for you. This one is a secret. Secret from Kritiker, secret from Schwartz.

 

“Must be important for you to actually face me without your foo dog.”

 

“Don't overestimate your abilities or your position, Mr. Fujimiya. Nagi deserves your respect.”

 

Aya didn't look up. “There's only one of you who deserves my respect.”

 

“That's touching, Mr. Fujimiya. I'm sure Farfarello has reached out to comfort you in the last few days -- he was certainly interested in hearing all the details Schuldig had for us about your sordid little emotional meltdown the other night.” At Aya's silence, he added, “Oh. Or perhaps not.”

 

Crawford and Schuldig were such a perfect pair because they worked the same way, albeit using very different styles. They both kept pushing buttons until they got just the right one. Carefully, Aya said, “I knew you'd tell him.”

 

“You make it sound as if Farfarello were reluctant. He wasn't.”

 

“Whatever. Are you actually going to tell me what's going on with this secret mission, or are you going to play Kritiker and send me in blind?”

 

“Just wanted to help you focus, Mr. Fujimiya. Have you heard of Hiroto Nakayama?”

 

Aya thought about it. The name sounded familiar. “Oh. He's Kritiker. A scientist. High-level, old family, government ties. Works on... Genetics.”

 

“Very good. He's also Eszett.”

 

Aya sat up straight, eyes flying open.

 

“I see you've made the connection,” Crawford said, smiling tightly. “He's part of the breeding program your father worked with.” He paused to give Aya time to sift through the implications.

 

Aya's mind reeled. He had no loyalty to Kritiker and harbored no illusions that the organization was anything other than nest of vipers, but... He hadn't thought they were actually evil. “Do they know? Are they in on it?”

 

“We don't know the extent of his work for Kritiker, but it isn't entirely unrelated.”

 

“But Kritiker's fighting Eszett.”

 

“Kritiker does want to stop the Eszett elders -- I haven't misled you. But Kritiker is made up of many factions, and they don't all want the same thing. It would also be a mistake to think Kritiker wouldn't pursue the kind of power Nakayama could give them.”

 

“They're running their own breeding program?”

 

“No. But they're interested. They've certainly been interested in seeing what you can do, haven't they?”

 

Yes, they certainly had. Aya could see why Kritiker would want a pool of potential recruits who'd been bred for optimal speed, strength and intelligence. Of course, it wouldn't be a pool of potential recruits at all -- they'd get about as much choice as Aya had. Not as bad as trying to raise an ancient demon to destroy the world, but not something he exactly wanted to be fighting for, either.

 

Crawford nodded. “So you've done the math. I want Nakayama taken out.”

 

Aya nodded. “When?”

 

“It has to be soon. I want you to start preparing now, so you'll be ready when I see the window open.”

 

“All right.” He inclined his head toward the file folder on Crawford's desk. “Is that for me?”

 

“Read it here and memorize it.”

 

Aya reached out his hand. Crawford paused, obviously annoyed at giving in even that little bit, but he eventually got up and brought the file over. Aya started reading it immediately and was quickly engrossed. He did notice, though, that Crawford finally sat down on the other end of the sofa. Not all the way in the other corner -- that would have appeared cowardly -- but not close enough for Aya to accidentally touch him, either.

 

There was quite a bit of information. Nakayama worked from an office in his home, and Crawford had gathered floor plans, property maps, even a diagram for the security system. He had a meticulous list of which guards worked which shifts. There was also a list of files to be removed from the computer and filing cabinets, with their exact locations, along with a list of files to destroy.

 

Aya pored over the information, committing it to memory and putting the elements together. When he finally finished, he looked up, surprised to catch Crawford staring at him. For just a second, his leader's expression had been soft, like he was seeing something he loved. Crawford's face cleared immediately, but it made Aya's chest ache. “I'll need to see the blueprints and lists again,” he said, handing the folder over.

 

Crawford nodded once, all business. He hadn't gotten up, though.

 

Aya pulled one leg up onto the sofa leaning back again and sprawling out comfortably as he thought about what he'd read and ran through scenarios. There were a couple of ways to play it, but... “OK,” he finally said. “What did you have in mind?””

 

“It should look like a third-party hit. And you'll want to make a show of searching the place -- it can't look like you knew exactly what you were going to find. There can't be any appearance that Schwartz was involved. We can't help you at all, except to tell you when to go in. And you obviously can't use Kritiker, either.”

 

Aya watched Crawford closely. “This isn't a one-man job.”

 

“I'm aware of that.”

 

“So how am I...”

 

“You'll have to use a partner. Someone you can trust with your life.”

 

Oh, fuck, no, Aya thought. “You want me to bring in Yoji,” he said flatly.

 

“I told you we'd need him.”

 

Aya just stared into the mid-distance, neither eyes nor brain focused on anything in particular. He tasted bile at the back of his throat. Part of him wanted to refuse, but he chose to just accept the inevitable. The worst was already over with Yoji anyway, right? And what, had he thought he'd just have to do it once, and that would take care of it?

 

“You think he'll do it, huh,” Aya finally said.

 

“You know he'll do it.”

 

Aya closed his eyes. Yes, he knew. “How much do I tell him?”

 

“As much as you want about Kritiker; as little as you can get away with about Schwartz.”

 

“Eszett?”

 

“At your discretion, but leave Schwartz out of it.”

 

Nodding vaguely, Aya found himself staring out the window. There was an enormous traffic snarl. Roadwork. Maybe he could go somewhere and get a construction job or something. He could probably make it for a few weeks before somebody caught up with him and killed him. He wondered idly who it would be...

 

“You accept the assignment?”

 

Aya turned slowly back to face Crawford, still feeling rather far away. He dreamed about this man. He remembered those hands all over his body, remembered that voice whispering in his ear. He'd worried at it all so many times he could no longer figure out how much of it had been real and how much of it had been Crawford doing to him what he was now doing to Yoji. All of it, probably; anything else was just his own desperation talking. Still, it had been a very, very pretty dream.

 

Crawford was giving him an odd look. Concern over his ability to do the job, probably, but there was just a hint of some kind of emotion gleaming dully in the depths -- was it pity? Because he'd become accustomed to the imperiousness, the callousness, the disdain; but he wasn't going to take Brad Crawford's fucking pity.

 

Yet, he couldn't get angry. Anger -- that's how he got through all the humiliating, soul-killing shit they all dumped on him, and it was the best armor he'd found. But the rage that usually simmered just below the surface felt more like an abstraction, distant, like the difference between reading and feeling. He just stared, wondering if this was how ghosts felt. It was something he wondered often, actually. Easy to imagine himself wandering the earth as a hungry ghost, waiting for someone with enough compassion to leave him a few grains of rice...

 

This had to stop. He wasn't going to be able to play this as a moment of distraction, much less the apparent disdain he cultivated. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't. Just could not. What could he say? He closed his eyes.

 

The kiss was like a bolt from the blue. He felt Brad's breath against his face an instant before the lips; a real kiss, passionate, just like it was supposed to be. Aya wondered if he really had finally lost the ability to tell dreams from reality -- he had been half-expecting it to happen at any time for years. He held himself completely still, as if he'd been ambushed and was trying to buy precious seconds to orient himself and figure out an escape.

 

Brad pulled him into his arms, fingers digging painfully into his shoulders, lips and teeth assaulting his mouth. Then there was that voice, speaking softly into his ear. “I'd have done it some other way if I could have, Ran.”

 

Oh, God. All the effort he'd put into burying those feelings, to have the scar tissue torn away just like that.

 

“I've looked down every path I could think of for another way. There isn't one.” Brad's voice was tight and the words tumbled out like a dam had been unstopped. “I'm taking care of you the only way I can, Ran.” He let go and moved away.

 

Aya looked into his eyes. Brad was so handsome without those fugly glasses. Movie-star handsome. In fact, Aya was sure that's why Brad wore the damned things, to distract people from his appearance. Probably thought it made people take him more seriously.

 

“I can't do this,” Aya finally said. His voice sounded strained.

 

“Not yet, maybe. But you have to.” There was a single note of urgency, almost buried in the calm. Crawford, the unassailable issuer of fateful edicts, had returned. Or perhaps he'd never gone -- Brad had been known to sell himself to get what he wanted, too. The only thing you could count on with Crawford was that he had a vision, and he would move heaven and earth to achieve it. Also hell. Aya smiled suddenly at the idea of Crawford as Lucifer.

 

“Why did you change your name?”

 

Startled, Aya looked at him. “What?”

 

“Why did you start calling yourself Aya? It was a peculiar choice.”

 

“You didn't foresee it?”

 

Crawford sighed -- he actually sighed. “No.”

 

Aya shrugged. “It was one of those things.” He had intended to leave it like that, but then continued anyway. “Like if her name was out in the world instead of mine, maybe she'd come back and I'd... disappear.” He shrugged again. “Momentary lapse of reason.”

 

They sat there, looking at each other in silence as darkness started to fall and the office filled with shadows.

 

“I'll contact you when I have more information,” Crawford finally said, rising and returning to his desk. He put on his glasses and tuned to look out the window. “And please replace your cell phone. I don't enjoy going through Manx to reach you, and your little flights of passive aggressive fancy don't impress me.”

 

Aya stared at Crawford's back. This was how he'd felt at the end of his parents' funeral -- there hadn't been anything more to do, but turning away and leaving had made it all too final. He grasped at that memory, but it trailed off into blackness.

 

He stood up quietly and forced himself to walk out the door.