Note: This story is the first in a trilogy, although it can actually stand on its own, too. I might post the other two stories on ff.net, but I haven't decided yet. You can probably consider some things in here regarding Aya's background to be a bit AU ... and, a final word of warning: I tend to take things I like from all over the Weiss universe (i.e., manga, WK series, and Gluhen) and mix them all together in my stories. Hope that won't put anyone off too much or interfere with anyone's enjoyment of the fic. ~Tex-chan
Aya sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his trench coat. He could hear sirens approaching from several directions now, and the flashing strobes of police car lights already partially illuminated the alleyway in which he was hiding. He could hear policemen shouting as they canvassed the area around the office building several blocks away, where he had made his kill, and, when he stuck his head out of the doorway that concealed him, he could see the pinpoints of their flashlights bobbing up and down as they approached the alley.
"This job sucks," he muttered, as he thought about how his mother had always told him to study hard and go to medical school. When he was a kid, it had sounded so boring, but, now, he fervently wished that things had turned out differently, so that he could have taken her advice.
Aya choked back a cough and a sneeze and tried, without much success, to wipe the water off of his face. It had been raining, practically nonstop, for over a week, and the rain was currently pelting mercilessly down on him. It seemed as if the sky had opened to unleash sheets of water on the earth below it, and, although it was only early fall, it was unseasonably cold. His target's office building was in the middle of downtown, and he had been forced to walk over ten blocks so that no one would see his car. As a result, he had been soaked and freezing by the time he had entered the deserted high rise to stalk and kill his prey.
Although he had successfully disposed of the target, he had tripped an alarm that Kritiker hadn't warned him about, and that even Omi's intel. reconnaissance had failed to discover. Within minutes, he had heard sirens screeching through the streets as the police closed in on his location, and getting out of the building had been very difficult. He had eventually managed to elude the officers, but he hadn't been able to safely return to his car. He didn't know exactly how long he had been hiding here, but he guessed it was at least half an hour. Although the alley's deep shadows offered shelter from the prying, probing lights seeking to expose him, it gave him no relief from the rain, and he could feel the cold water seeping through his thick coat, the clothes underneath, and even his heavy leather boots to reach his bare skin. The wind gusted through the alley, tunneled by the tall buildings on either side, and hit his wet body, causing him to shiver. He pulled his coat closer in a futile attempt to gain a little bit of warmth from the soaked leather.
He could hear police officers approaching his position. Their boots made a squelching noise as they splashed through the puddles on the ground, and he could hear the metallic jangling of their equipment as they jogged through the pouring rain. From the sound of it, he only had a few minutes before they reached his location. He could feel his heart thumping heavily against his ribs, as if it would jump right out of his chest, and he wondered if this was the end of the line. He had already decided that he wouldn't let the police take him alive. He had to buy protection for the other members of Weiss, and, if he was caught, his death was the only thing that could do that. Even if he had been inclined to surrender, he doubted he would have made it as far as the police station. Kritiker had spies and operatives everywhere, and the organization didn't like assassins who got caught, or who might turn into a chatterbox of information. He desperately scanned the area, searching for something he could use, somewhere he could hide, but there was nothing. The alley was bare and empty, except for a few doorways and garbage cans, neither of which would afford him any cover from the prying flashlights of the approaching officers.
"Something something anything," he hissed under his breath as he quietly stumbled out of his hiding place and into the alley's deepest shadows. "There has to be something." He coughed and winced as the harsh, shuddering sound rattled out of his chest and made his lungs ache. He could hear one of the policemen shouting for the others to follow. Aya could only guess that the man had been drawn into the alley by the sound of his cough.
As he backed into the doorway behind him, mentally preparing to meet death, he stumbled and almost fell. Getting quickly to his feet, he glared around angrily at the object that had blocked his path. It was a homeless man, sleeping in the doorway to take advantage of what little shelter he could find from the rain. The man had on a long, dirty, olive green, canvas trench coat and a dirty, stained ball cap. He was snoring loudly and clutching a half-full bottle of vodka. It had obviously been quite some time since the guy had seen the inside of a building or a shower. He had a scraggly, brown beard, and his skin was so dirty that it seemed almost black. Aya could see dirty, greasy brown hair peeking out from under the cap.
"Down here!"
Aya's head snapped around toward the street. He looked back at the man sleeping in front of him and frowned. His stomach lurched at the thought of touching someone so dirty, and he briefly debated over whether or not it would be preferable to just let the police kill him. No, that was just stupid. Aya shook his head angrily and, keeping his ears trained on the sound of the ever-approaching footsteps, he bent down and quickly stripped the dirty coat and ball cap off of the man. The guy was so drunk that he didn't resist. He probably didn't even know he was being robbed.
"Sorry, buddy," Aya murmured as he pulled the soaking wet garments off of the homeless man.
Upon accomplishing that task, he gently pulled the guy, who was lying face-down, over onto his side. He deposited his sword on the ground underneath the man and then rolled him back over onto his stomach. He glanced nervously out into the alley, toward the running footsteps that were now almost on top of him. Luckily, the shadows here were particularly deep, and the foul weather aided him by making it just that much darker. He knew they wouldn't see him until they were standing directly in front of the doorway. He quickly shrugged out of his leather coat, wincing as he felt the gunshot wounds in his side and shoulder tear open, and he silently cursed the luck that had allowed the pursuing officers to hit him as he fled. He could feel his blood mixing with the rain to run down his back, arm, and side, and he glanced down at his feet to see droplets of the thick, red liquid pooling there. He just hoped the police wouldn't notice it. Shrugging off the pain, he draped his coat over the man in front of him. The homeless guy was a little smaller than he was, and the coat seemed to swallow him as the heavy folds of fabric billowed around his sleeping form. Aya pulled one of the extra folds of material over to camouflage the drops of blood he had noticed earlier. He took one more nervous look around the alley, and, frowning at the thought of what he was about to do, bent down to rub his hands against the dirty concrete until they were covered in grime. He rubbed the dirt onto his face and hands to hide his pale skin, and pulled on the homeless guy's coat and ball cap. He grabbed the guy's bottle of vodka, wiped off the top, and took a huge swig, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. Shrugging, he splashed some of the liquid onto his clothing.
'Might as well smell the part,' he thought as he turned from the homeless man and settled down against the other side of the doorway, his back to the alley. He shivered as the cold wind blew over him. The clothing didn't provide any more shelter than the doorway, and the wind felt like knives cutting into his wet skin. He was sure he had been this cold at some point in his life, but he absolutely couldn't remember it right now. He shivered and coughed, wishing he could physically clutch at his aching lungs. Holding onto the liquor bottle he had taken from the homeless man, he silently prayed that his little ruse would work and cause the police to pass him over as just another homeless bum. As he gave in to the darkness that had been pushing in on the edges of his mind, he heard the sound of footsteps and metallic jangling stop a few feet away from his hiding spot.
"Hey, whatcha got? Anything?" A voice called out as one of the police officers stepped into the doorway and looked down at the two figures lying there. The young officer moved forward and nudged at the homeless man, who groaned, but didn't move or wake up. He then moved over to take a closer look at the second figure. He reached down and took the baseball cap off of Aya's head, and grabbed his hair to pull his face away from the door against which it rested so that he could take a closer look at him.
"Hey, Hiro," the officer called out to his companion, who approached to look over his shoulder. "What did that guy look like?"
Hiro shrugged and walked around his partner to stand next to Aya as he replied, "Don't know. No one got a really good look at him. They didn't see his face just a shadowy figure running from the dead guy's office in the penthouse." He kicked Aya, eliciting a groan from the unconscious redhead. "Can't be this guy. I mean, look at him. He's filthy, and he reeks of alcohol. Nope I'd say this guy's been right here, all night long." He placed his hand on his partner's shoulder, and said, "Come on. We have a lot more alleys to search." He looked around, over his shoulder, and shook the rain off of his hat with an irritated gesture. "Don't really expect we're gonna find him, though. That guy was a pro, and, in this rain it's damn impossible to see more than a couple of feet in front of your face. That guy's a ghost, if it was a guy. We probably wouldn't even see him if he was right in front of us."
"Yeah," the first officer said. He gently laid Aya back against the rough, wooden doorway and replaced the filthy baseball cap. "Sleep well, fella," he muttered, before turning away to follow Hiro back to the street.
*****************************************************
The music rumbled through the crowded, smoky club, blending with the patrons' raised voices to create a dull, yet deafening, roar that seemed to hang right at the back of your subconscious until it flowed down into your bones to become a part of your body. Yohji loved loud, crowded places. He hated being alone, especially on nights like this, when he couldn't stop thinking about Asuka, but, yet, when she filled his thoughts this way, he couldn't help but feel alone. Whenever she invaded his mind and refused to leave, he retreated to places like this --- noisy, crowded clubs where he could be alone in a crowd of people. When he felt the music pounding through his body, he could almost feel alive once again --- the way she had made him feel. He had lost the ability to feel the giddy rush of being alive, the joy of being with someone you loved, when he had lost her, and he missed that feeling. He knew it was hopeless, and that he would never have it again, but, in places like this, he felt like he could almost reach out and grab onto it.
The last time he had been with Asuka, just two days before she had died, it had been a night just like this. He could still remember the way their bodies had moved in time to the thunder and rushing wind from the storm blowing outside of his apartment. It seemed like it had been a long time since he had watched her die, but he could still remember the way she had felt, pressed up against his body, the touch of her bare skin against his, the smell of her perfume, and the way she had tasted.
He sighed and shook his drink, causing the ice to clink against the side of the glass. A girl approached him, wearing a flirty smile and a definite "come hither" look. She wasn't the first to approach him tonight, and she probably wouldn't be the last, but he wasn't in any mood for company. He smiled charmingly, pulled her close, and softly muttered his regrets in her ear. Like all the others, she walked away without any hard feelings. Yohji just had a way of turning women away without making them feel rejected. She retreated back to her seat at the end of the bar, and Yohji signaled to the bartender, who nodded and moved to set a fresh drink in front of the woman, explaining to her that it was from him. She smiled and waved her thanks. Yohji pulled his sunglasses down lower on his nose to regard her over their rims, and smiled back at her.
He drained his glass and signaled the bartender to let the man know it was time for another round. As he waited for his drink, he looked at his watch and winced when he noticed it was almost three A.M. He was supposed to be Aya's back up for the mission tonight. He had been on his way to meet the swordsman at the target's office building when Asuka took up residence in his head and refused to leave, and, before he knew it, he was sitting here in this noisy club slamming down drinks almost as fast as the bartender could pour them. Now, he was at least three hours overdue, and he knew he was going to really catch it from their leader when he got back to the flower shop tonight. He shrugged as he thought that he'd probably really catch hell from Omi, too, for once. Normally, the youngest Weiss member was the most even tempered of all of them, and he functioned as the peacemaker of the group. But, Yohji knew the boy would be livid with him for forcing Aya to go on this mission alone.
When Manx first presented them with the mission details, Aya had decided it was a solo mission, and he planned on carrying it out alone. But, the redhead had been fighting a cold since their last mission a few weeks ago, and Omi had insisted that someone go with him, "just in case". Ken was out of town for a week, counseling at some kind of kids' soccer camp, and Omi had to finish a report for school, which had left Yohji as the designated back up hitter for the evening.
He sighed and checked his watch again. "Well," he muttered, "If I'm catch Hell, anyhow, I might as well make it worth my while." He signaled the bartender to let the man know he wanted a double, and sat back, prepared to wait out the night in the crowded, noisy bar.
Yohji jumped when his cell phone rang into his train of thought. He was surprised that he could even hear it over all of the background noise in the club, and he fumbled with it for a few seconds before finally managing to fish it out of his pocket and bring it up to his ear.
"Hello? Hello?" he yelled, struggling to be heard above the crowd.
"Yohji?" Omi's voice squeaked out through the phone, making the tall blonde wince.
"Yeah," he replied hesitantly, dragging out the word. He fully expected the boy to tell him that Aya had returned and was throwing a tantrum over his absence.
"Where the hell are you?" Omi asked. The boy's voice took on a hard, suspicious tone. "It doesn't sound like you're at the mission site. Is that music? Are you at a bar?"
"Yeah," Yohji responded, "I'm at a bar. So?" The defensive tone of his voice made him wince internally. He knew that it came across the phone line like a red flag, announcing his guilt to the youngest team member.
Omi sighed. "How was the mission, then?"
Yohji quickly stood, tossed some money onto the table, and walked toward the door as he replied, "I don't know. I never got there. Why don't you just ask Aya?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Omi was trying to digest the information Yohji had just shared. By the time the boy spoke again, Yohji had left the club for the relative quiet of the parking lot.
"Isn't he with you?" Omi asked. The boy paused again, as if only just figuring out what Yohji had told him, and then continued, "What do you mean you never got there?"
"Well " Yohji stammered, searching for a way to explain his dereliction of duty. "Well I uh,"
"You stupid son of a bitch!" Omi screamed.
Yohji winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. He could still hear the boy yelling at him.
"You were his back up! How could you just not show up? Even for you, that's that's unforgivable. You stupid, selfish asshole!"
Yohji knew the harsh words were deserved. He had been feeling guilty all night over ditching Aya, and he knew he couldn't ever adequately explain his actions. He didn't even really understand it himself, so he knew he couldn't offer any kind of rational excuse. He didn't try to defend himself. He just let the boy rant until Omi finally ran out of breath.
"I'm sorry," he muttered into the phone. "But, look, he's a big boy, and he said all along that this was just a one person mission. A simple, in and out job. He didn't even want any back up, in the first place."
"But, he's sick!" Omi squeaked. "He shouldn't have even been on the stupid mission, but I knew he wouldn't refuse it. He never does. That's why I wanted him to at least take someone along." The boy sighed in frustration before continuing, "Shit. I knew I should have just gone myself."
Yohji felt a new wave of guilt wash over him as he realized that Omi was actually blaming himself for Aya's unexpected solo mission. He remembered that the boy had wanted to go with their leader, but Aya had insisted that he stay home to finish his school report. 'I'm such a shit,' Yohji thought, shaking his head. Suddenly, a new thought worked its way up to the front of his alcohol-soaked brain.
"Wait, a minute," he said, his hands beginning to shake with the realization of the meaning behind Omi's phone call. "Isn't he home yet?"
"No!" Omi snapped. "Why do you think I'm calling you? He well, both of you, actually," Omi continued, emphasizing the word "both" to drive home the fact that Yohji should feel really, really guilty over his behavior, "should have been home hours ago. But, there hasn't been any sign of anyone. I can't get him on his cell or on the comm." The boy sighed. "All right. Just forget it. Talking to you is a complete waste of time. I'm going to go look for him."
"Wait!" Yohji yelled into the phone, stopping Omi before the boy could sever their connection. "You stay there, in case he calls or comes back. I'm already out. I'll go look."
********************************************************************
Aya drifted in and out of the fuzzy gray and black cloud surrounding him. He was dimly aware of the heavy rain pelting down on him. It felt like little needles stinging his already soaked skin. The wind howled and whipped down the narrow alley, mercilessly pounding against him as he tried to shrink further into the doorway for protection. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was still aware enough to know that, soon, his body would be beyond the point of feeling anything at all. He had planned on returning to his car as soon as the police were away from this area, but he just didn't have the strength he needed to do it. So, instead, he resigned himself to spending the rest of the night here, in this doorway, wearing a soaking wet, filthy coat he had stolen off of the drunk sleeping a few inches away from him.
Aya managed to summon up the strength to lift his head and look at the other man, and he couldn't help thinking that they weren't all that different. When his parents had been killed and his sister injured, he had been lost, alone, and full of rage. He hadn't had anywhere to go. If he hadn't joined Kritiker, he would have probably ended up just like that man. If he survived Weiss, he would probably still end up like that guy.
'Face it, Ran,' he thought, 'you still don't have anywhere to go. You don't belong anywhere. You don't belong to anyone. No one cares what happens to you not even you. Just like in that song a "Nowhere Man". You're just the same just the same as that guy.'
He coughed violently and doubled over, holding his aching ribs and side. The darkness pushed against his mind again, calling to him with a sweet, persuasive voice. He gave into it without even fighting, almost grateful for the relief it provided from the cold and the pain that were pounding away at him. As he slipped into unconsciousness, his last thought was that he didn't belong anywhere --- that he had nowhere to go.