Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Aya and Gladiolus ( Chapter 17 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

By Kelly

 

Monozuki 17 - Aya and Gladiolus

 

 

********

 

 

“Hey.”

 

Aya ignored the weary greeting, padding past the slumped figure leaning against the sink who gave it, to somewhat half-heartedly pull the refrigerator door open. The lack of light in the kitchen made the cold orange glow spilling out all the brighter and the more offensive for it. Squinting a bit as the dim light spoiled his night-vision, Aya perused the contents of the fridge with the air of a man looking for salvation.

 

And whatever sort of salvation he was looking for, he did not find it, as the swordsman leaned resignedly against the steel door, letting it prop his tired body. The cool mist drifting, curling around his bare feet was comforting, too-warm as he was. Even in his usual sleep attire - threadbare grey sweats and nothing else.

 

“Aya? You okay?”

 

The redhead gave an approximation of a grunt. Kudoh was too damn persistent for four in the morning. The non-verbal reply deemed sufficient, Kudoh uncurled like a great, big, lazy cat and sort of puddled into the nearest chair. The table itself was gone, as all four members of Weiss unanimously voted for its destruction and didn't that send a similarly cold tendril down his spine when Aya thought about the. . stunt he pulled off?

 

“Come on, sit.” Kudoh patted the chair next to his and held out a mug. “I've got tea.”

 

That, Aya decided, was an underhanded move. Typical Kudoh, knowing his more apparent weaknesses and moving in for the kill. Scowling, the redhead took the proffered chair, though he made sure to sit as far away from the blond as decently possible and not fall off. He took the tea with a muttered thanks.

 

The drink was still too hot to sip, so he had nothing to do save curl his chilled hands around the mug, and let the warmth seep into him, and nothing to talk about (not that he was ever the sort for small talk). Hence, his mind had plenty of chances to think, analyze and generally to be very worried about the sudden talent he just discovered a few hours ago.

 

Which was why he found himself awake and decidedly crabby at four a.m. in the first place.

 

But. . why worry? That voice sounded insidious, mocking, and a bit too much like how he sounded to the rest of the world; cold and sneering. Isn't it anotherweapon in yourarsenal to be used against the world that took your sister away from you? Granted, it's too late to use it against Takatori, but there'll be other Dark Beasts. . .other monsters to kill. . .other scum. . plenty of them.

 

Long, tapered, elegant fingers flexed slightly. His first, at least he was sure that was the first time he had done it, demonstration of. . .magic, was to erect a barrier. A `kekkai' as that Tsuzuki called it.

 

A barrier made to protect. To shield.

 

He could have used it when Takatori mowed down his sister like so much garbage.

 

“So.” The blond stretched lazily only to slouch, if it was possible, even further in his chair. “Was that party trick a first occurrence, or are you reallyan ass and have been hiding that particular talent from the rest of us?”

 

Aya let out an oath, having scalded the roof of his mouth with a hasty gulp of hot tea. He glared at a smiling Yohji. “And why,” the kenkaku snarled, “would it be of concern to you?”

 

Kudoh gave an easy roll of his shoulders. “Maybe it's because we're supposed to be a team, and teammates are not supposed to have secrets from each other. At least, not the kindthat could have helped us out in the past.”

 

Still glaring, the redhead tried to find any flaw in that reasoning, if only to wipe that infuriatingly lazy smile of the blond's face. But he had to concede defeat finally, and his sour tones showed it. “That was the first,” he admitted grudgingly. “And no, I don't have any idea how I did it or why I could in the first place.”

 

“Alright,” Kudoh said simply. “Maybe you should take up Tsuzuki-san's offer for training. Could be of use in the future. Say, maybe when insane, albino doctors decide to send us more curses or something?” His tone was light, teasing and held absolutely no censure.

 

Taken aback by the effortless acceptance, Aya frowned suspiciously, certain that an inappropriate follow-upwas in the making. Only to be rather disappointed by the lack of a verbal target to vent his simmering frustrations on.

 

The blond had gone back to a careful study of the depths of his own mug, long legs sprawled out. The man himself was clad only in a pair of cotton pants, their worn state a testament to the fact that Kudoh himself was a sucker for comfortable pajamas. Unbidden, Aya's violet eyes tracked the lean lines of the man - with his summer coloring and a height that easily dwarfed the other Weiss, even him, Kudoh fit the image of his codename: all svelte smoothness that hid a surprising strength. He should know, having endured the courtesy of a few undignified fireman's carries when his injuries due to a mission were incapacitating.

 

Sudden, fierce anger throbbed through him, pounding behind his eyelids and he ignored the fact that his words were perhaps delivered too sharply. “You met Matsumada and Shiozaki before today, didn't you?”

 

Half-lidded green eyes met his challenging stare indolently, further sparking the stressed out redhead's temper. Teeth grinding, Aya waited, impatient, as Kudoh finally decided to grace him with an answer.

 

“Bishounen,” Kudoh drawled. “Shiozaki is as pretty in the light of day as he was that night. So is Matsumada, don't you think? Though Shiozaki wasn't that. . .” Kudoh made the universal gesture for `crazy', something dark and disturbed in his eyes.

 

Narrowing darkened violet eyes, Aya bit out, “So you make it a habit to compromise our situation by letting your hormones overrule your mind? If you have one,” he added bitterly.

 

“Fuck you, Fujimiya.” The insult, delivered in perfectly flat tones raised his hackles. The wire man slammed his mug down on the opposite chair, droplets of tea flying everywhere, the sharp motion a violent contrast to his even voice. “Do you actually think I'd be stupid enough to jeopardize our work just for a lay? No matter how good it could be? Any fool could see that those four knew about us long before we knew about them, so don't you dare lay the blame on me just because you thought you screwed up!”

 

Aya shot to his feet, his own mug crashing to the floor and soaking the hem of his pants with hot liquid. “Fuck you!” he screamed. “I did not screw up! Ken should have been more careful! And Omi should have fucking well been on his guard, especially on a recon! Now look what happened! We've been compromised! How long do you think it would take before Kritiker takes action?! Weiss has been found out!”

 

Even before he finished his tirade, Kudoh gotto his feet as well, glaring right back at him, refusing to back down.

 

“Don't you dare lay this on Kenken and Omitchi, you bastard!” Kudoh shouted, finger jabbing Aya'schest at every other word. “Yes, we've been compromised and who the hell knows whose fault it was? And since it slipped your mind, you bastard, it's not them! You confirmed it yourself; Birman knows about them. Hell, she's even used them herself for this crazy shit situation we've gotten ourselves into! It's that crazy motherfucker who slashed Omi that you should be worrying about! What we should do is damage control and you're not helping any, oh I'm-such-a-perfect-team-leader-Fujimiya, by being such a blind ass!”

 

With an inarticulate scream of rage, Aya threw himself at the blond and both of them went crashing down on the floor in a tangle of limbs. There was no finesse or form to the fight - it was an honest to goodness, flat out brawl, and for a long moment, there was only the occasional gasp and swearing to punctuate their near-silent scuffle. Aya had always prided himself on being an honorable fighter; years of dedicating himself to the sword could not let him be anything but. But Kudoh had grownup on the streets; a man hardened by a game that was sure to kill off the weakest. Only the strong survived, honor be damned, and the few times the blond got into close combat without his wire, his fighting style showed it witha savagery that used every trick that could be employed.

 

And soon enough, with the swordsman nearly incoherent with rage, spoiling his usual deadly skills, Kudoh was straddling him, pinning him down on the kitchen floor with both of his arms pulled back at a painful angle.

 

“What the hell is your problem, Abyssinian?” the former P.I. snapped, even as he refused to relinquish his hold.

 

When the blond only got a muffled curse in response, Kudoh grinned, eyes wild with leftover adrenalin. “Wrong answer, Abyssinian,” he sang out and pulled harder.

 

It took a few more minutes of useless struggle before Aya gave up. Slumping to the ground, shoulders burning, Aya rested his cheek against the cool ceramic tiles and closed his eyes. “Fuck you, Kudoh,” he repeated wearily.

 

There was a moment's hesitation before Kudoh released his arms and got off of him but Aya did nothing save to just let his tired, bruised and aching body lie sprawled on the floor. His teammate slid to his side, facing Aya and leaning against the wall.

 

“What's wrong, Aya?” Kudoh asked again but this time, there was something. . .indefinable in his voice. A certain. . .perhaps, genuine caring that tried to break through the stubborn swordsman's defenses. “You've been acting weird ever since. . .” Kudoh broke off, and what little illumination spilled from the hallway beyond the kitchen showed a faint flush to the playboy's cheeks.

 

Ever since Aya-chan.

 

For a long time, there was only the hum of the fridge motor and the distant yowl of an alley cat. But the cold finally managed to prod Aya into sitting up, resting his back against the lower kitchen cabinets. Even as he settled himself into a more comfortable position, the blond had already taken a clean hand towel from one of the drawers and had made a neat ice pack. Before Aya could protest, he sat on the floor next to the weary swordsman, pack in hand and a wordless question in his gaze.

 

The redhead nodded once, stiffly. With a small smile, one which lacked any overt emotion Aya could pin downand act on, Balinese set the ice pack gently at the corner of his left eye, which he just then noticed stung quite a bit.

 

“We shouldn't let that bruise swell,” Balinese said quietly, the faintest of breath warm on Aya's cheek - a delicious contrast to the cold ice numbing his eye. “It'd be a pity to mar such beauty.”

 

Aya glanced up sharply, ignoring the soft admonition as the pack slipped. He locked eyes with the man, but that verdant gaze held nothing but plain honesty and. . . .admiration? Scowling, he cursed Balinese inwardly. Anger, he could deal with. Animosity, easy enough. But appreciation? His time with Crashers had exposed him to the other side of Kritiker; where espionage and intrigue was just an effective weapon as a blade and sex was used as often as his katana.

 

But not when it concerned one of his team members.

 

It disconcerted the usually cool Abyssinian to realize that his side practically burned with the man's heat. Aya shifted awkwardly, muttering a gruff thanks.

 

“No problem,” Kudoh replied easily.

 

Only when the ice had partially melted, and running cold rivulets down the side of his face did the blond draw away, discarding the rest of the ice in the sink. With his back to Aya, he said, softly, “It wasn't your fault.”

 

“What wasn't?” he asked, distracted by the play of shadows on Balinese's broad back.

 

“Aya-chan.”

 

Abyssinian stiffened, before a sudden burst of motion had him on his feet again. “Listen, y- ”

 

“We're not blind, Aya.” The blond finally turned to face him, leaning negligently against the sink. “Your focus has been practically non-existent since then. We all knew you were one angry bastard when you joined Weiss - ” the fact that there was no rancour in the former P.I.'s words made it possible for Aya to ignore the jibe. “But this is getting out of control.”

 

The swordsman stood silent, fists clenched and refusing to meet Yohji's steady gaze. Getting no answer from his team mate, Yohji continued, gently. “You're a good leader, Abyssinian. And someone we can rely on as a member of Weiss but lately, your rage is just. . .all over the place. Poor Kenken is terrified of you now. And,” he added quietly, “this has nothing to do with your new talent.”

 

That rebuke, no matter how gently it was delivered, stung. And it hurt because deep inside, Aya knew it was the truth. Before, it was easy to corral his fury and direct it to where it was deserved: Takatori and later on, Eszett. But now, without a target, without a purpose in life, he was lost. And he hated it.

 

He had failed Aya-chan. How long would it take before he would fail Yohji? Or Ken? Or Omi-kun whose large, guileless eyes reminded him so badly of the sister he'd lost?

 

As though his thoughts were read, Balinese said, “It's not your fault.”

 

Aya jerked his head up, lips thinned with denial.

 

“It's not,” Kudoh insisted. The wire man pushed off from the sink to cross the small distance between them and bemusement allowed the blond to invade his personal space, for hands with roughened fingers to settle with care on his shoulders. “You've avenged your family. And we brought Eszett down. But that does not mean you have nothing left. You have us. Weiss. Ken, Omi and me. We need you and you haven't failed us. But-” he hesitated, summer green eyes earnest, “You will, if you keep on like this.”

 

He could not deny that. Not when he dreamt variations of it every damn night. He had seen his team members fall in missions against Dark Beasts who loomed gigantic over them like raksha, too strong to be fought and they all fell in bloodied heaps while he watched helpless, caged by his own mind. He had watched as his sister gavea tentative smile, an offering, and he turned it down and pushed her away because he could and would soil her innocence with his taint.

 

Oh, the irony of it. To walk down the path of blood to save the one whom he had given up everything for, only to realize that at the end of that road, he had sacrificed too much to ever walk in the light again.

 

And he knew that it was only a matter of time before he, Abyssinian, would fail to keep his team safe - that they might tread in the Darkness so that others might live blameless in the Light.

 

Before Weiss would be lost.

 

He would fail them. Amida butsu aide him, but he would and then he'd be alone again, just like before, when Aya-chan would not wake up despite his pleading, would not open her eyes would not move would not grip his hand back would not—

 

“-Aya?”

 

The voice was soft. Concerned. Caring.

 

It scalded him like hot water.

 

He jerked his arm back and only just managed to rein in the savage fury that insisted he swing out and slice the offender from shoulder to hip. The fact that he didn't have his katana in hand registered not a moment too soon, as well as other, minor little details - that his opponent was shirtless, wearing nothing but pants and had hair the color of old gold dipped in shadows.

 

Balinese. Kudoh Yohji. Not an enemy.

 

“You should get some sleep,” he rasped, not meeting the man's forest-shade eyes in case the wildness within his own was witnessed. “You have the morning shift tomorrow and I'm not going to cover your ass again.”

 

That generous mouth which so often could be found curled lovingly around a cigarette was pulled into a frown, and he looked away, disconcerted. That, and the eyes. Because the eyes saw.

 

“Stop avoiding the issue, Abyssinian,” Kudoh snapped. He was reaching out again, wanting to touch, to hold, to establish a physical link and that was the one thing the agitated swordsman could do without.

 

Like quicksilver, he evaded, and was almost out of the kitchen and on the first tread of the stairs before he threw back over his shoulder, “8 a.m. Kudoh. You have first shift.”

 

***

 

Gladiolus - Strength of character