Title: Halcyon

Author: Genuinelie(s)

Series: Weiss Kreuz

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Weiss no es mio.

Note: Pre-AxY.

Continuation. Part 1.

Additional: Takes place mid-series, after the OVA, but will jump in later chapter(s).

"Aya-kun..."

Aya looked up from the counter, scissors coming together to cut the tip of a rose stem. Afternoon sun gave the shop a clean, shadowed glow. He had stayed after hours with Omi to prepare arrangements for the next day, and they were working only with natural light. His choice - but Omi hadn't questioned it. Aya, for his part, preferred the dusky half-light to artificial brightness.

Omi was sincerely waiting for his permission to speak.

"Yes," he added to his pause.

"The mission...a few days ago..."

The reminder fell like a block of ice into his gut.

They were ordered to kill one another. He knew they'd all had nightmares about it since. Himself included.

"It's not worth thinking about," Aya said tightly. He was holding the scissors like a sword, pointed upward, the other hand dropped by his side.

Omi's eyelids dipped, but when he met Aya's gaze again his expression was earnest. "I just have one question," he said softly. He shifted a large turquoise vase he had propped on his stomach.

Aya met his stare evenly, and repeated shortly, "It's over. Try not to think about it." He turned back to the flowers. They looked like felled bodies, spread out on the countertop before him.

"Y-Yohji-kun said..." His teammate's voice wavered from behind him, then strengthened, "Is it true, Aya? Would you really have killed us, if that's what Kritiker had ordered? If it hadn't been a lie?"

Aya's violet eyes widened, his head jerking up, but he was facing away from Omi.

Omi, wrapped in a wire.

Ken coming at him, bugnuks open. Blade and claws sparking.

Weiss, dead.

...but for Manx with an unexpected allergy.

Aya closed his eyes, the opened them, expression impassive. He didn't turn. "Wouldn't you?" He picked up a flower, snipped off its base. "We work for Kritiker."

There was a long silence. Aya turned, genuinely surprised.

Omi's eyes shone in the dim light, but he could have sworn they were glistening.

"They would never ask that," Aya offered. Kritiker would never trust them enough.

"A-Aya. I wouldn't." Omi replied. He blinked, slowly. His expression was smoothed back into one of almost-cheerfulness. "I wouldn't. I would never turn against you, or Yohji-kun, or Ken-kun. Even if Kritiker asked it. I didn't think..." his expression faltered, but then he nodded, as if accepting what he saw before him. "Like you said, it doesn't matter, and it's better not to think about it. I don't think they would ever ask that, either." He turned, and set the vase on the windowsill. He went and grabbed a broom to begin cleaning up his station.

Aya blinked at Omi, then carefully placed the scissors on the counter, leaning on them with one hand.

His eyes were wide again, emotion slipping through, but Omi wasn't watching.

He had never answered the question.

xxxxx

Aya stepped, thrust, drew back, swung around. Footwork executed with precision and grace.

His sword was unsteady.

You'll be killed in an instant if you concentration wavers!

He positioned himself back at the beginning. Step, thrust, backstep, swing.

He felt like throwing his katana at the wall, or like slicing the punching bag in half. Instead, seething, he went back to the first part of the sequence and started again.

Did his teammates really think that of him?

Yohji had said that to Omi, had obviously expressed that he thought Aya would kill the others under orders. Omi, too, had thought that of him.

He hadn't listened to Aya's answer, just assumed...

Aya stopped his movement and stood in the middle of the dark training room, shaking.

He brought one arm up across his chest, gloved fingers tightening on his own bicep.

"I wouldn't."

The empty room did not offer an opinion.

xxxxx

Aya sat hunched over his bowl of noodles, red eartails falling in front of his face.

It was a strange thing these days, Yohji reflected, that the other assassin had taken to eating his meals with him in the mornings, almost as if he were a normal human.

He took a drag on the cigarette Aya had miraculously let him keep.

Admittedly, he wasn't the best company. But he was grateful for even a sliver of evidence that the younger man did not really hate them all. Even if that's exactly what it seemed like Aya would like them all to think.

That observation was completely beyond the ex-detective's comprehension.

Aya was steadfastly ignoring him, as usual. It made him want to shatter the silence and harass the swordsman into breaking his diamond-cut self-control. What stopped him was the fact that - and he hated to admit it - these mornings with Aya had become comfortable.

He would almost go so far to say that the swordsman's presence was comforting.

Almost.

What wasn't usual, Yohji finally decided, was the younger man's posture. It lacked the deliberacy so characteristic of the other assassin.

Aya looked up then, as if sensing eyes on him, but Yohji had looked away. A moment later Aya shifted in his seat, back straightening into his accustomed rigidity.

A normal person would talk about something that was bothering them, Yohji mused.

Aya was fraying, he decided. No matter that he doubted anyone noticed, or that the other man was unaware it was noticeable.

But Aya was a bastard. If there was a reason for it, the rest of them would never know. And in a week, Mr. Perfecto would make some repairs, and start aiming whatever he was thinking back at them, rather than at himself.

Yohji drank some of his coffee, then went back to reading the paper.

The moon was a crescent in the Tokyo sky, but the lights of the city were brighter than any natural, ancient light. Aya's breath puffed white into the air, then disappeared. He hunched his shoulders, digging his hands further into the pockets of his beige trench coat.

The lanky form of his coworker rounded the corner, three blocks ahead of him.

You're an idiot. Aya was disgusted with himself.

He couldn't explain his actions. But none of them knew where the other man went, only that he came home smelling of things that reminded Aya of some of the people he'd killed. Perfume in brothels and booze on the breath of the yakuza, cigarette smoke at the end of dark alleys. He wondered if it comforted Yohji, to understand the other side.

He trailed Yohji to the door of a bar with a flickering pink neon sign. The bouncers at the door nodded to him as if he were an old friend. Yohji, to Aya's surprise, trailed a hand across the chest of one of them with a wink. Alarmed, he looked from one to the other.

Damn him. We're Weiss. We can't afford to make enemies!

But the man hadn't seemed to mind. Yohji went inside.

Aya looked back to the sign. Malchiki! It meant nothing to him. Aya frowned.

A waste of time. What had he been hoping to find? The other assassin was only where he said he was at night.

Not everyone had a hospital to go to.

"Hey," Aya had turned to go, but he glanced over his shoulder. Only one of the bouncers remained at the door, and the man had a smile on his face. He was short but well-built, with a piecey, bleached-blond haircut. "You curious?"

Aya frowned. He looked to the door, but it was closed, and pounding music would have blocked their voices even if it had been open. "About what?" He asked impassively.

The man gestured to the club. He looked friendly, with an open, pleasant face. "Only one reason to come to this alley, man."

"There's never one reason for anything," Aya replied tersely. He walked away, just as two men, hand in hand, rounded the corner.

Aya stopped on the sidewalk, on the other side of the building. His eyes widened.

A couple cars passed him, but otherwise the street was deserted. The bass of the music could be felt through the concrete.

He turned around, and walked straight up to the bouncer. "What type of club is this?" His voice was low.

The bouncer looked both surprised and intimidated. "We don't want no trouble. It's a legal, private establishment. You a cop?"

Wordlessly, Aya pushed open the door a crack. He gave the man a careful look. The bouncer nodded nervously at him to go in.

He didn't have to. One glance was enough.

He hadn't known.

The mesh of bodies, stench of smoke, swirling lights. For all his talk, it wasn't even a place he would have pegged Yohji for liking.

The man nodded at him to go in again, the friendly smile back in place. Aya shook his head. "Not tonight." He took long strides away from the club.

He shouldn't have come. Yohji had kept this part of his life secret. It was none of his business, not any more than a girl in a hospital bed was theirs.

It didn't matter. At least, Aya thought with a ghost of the humor his teammates didn't know he had, Yohji had been telling them the truth when he claimed he didn't go with many women.

xxxxx

"The sun was out today," Aya said, his voice steady. His fingers smoothed over the warm skin of his sister's hand, his eyes on her sleeping face. "It was a beautiful day. We could have taken a walk, or gone to the beach or the park. I had to work in the flower shop. But when you wake up, I'll take the day off for you."

It was a mesh of past and future, possibilities and facts. It was how he had become accustomed to talking to Aya, as if she were awake, and as if she would be soon.

The beep of the machine was steady. It was artificially bright in the room, perhaps to encourage the sleeping girl to wake. He reached forward with his other hand, and brushed a lock of brown hair, spread out on the pillow by her ear. The nurses cared for her well. She was always dressed, always clean, hair always done, and sometimes he found her nails painted.

She would like knowing that, Aya imagined. That she was cared for.

Even if her brother wasn't.

"Aya-kun...the mission, a few days ago..."

Aya's eyes widened, breathing suddenly unsteady.

"I wouldn't."

He had lied.

He was nothing.

Next to his sister, what did his life mean? More blood on his hands would mean little. More guilt on his conscience was irrelevant.

They were all nothing, next to the purity of those they protected. If sacrificing himself meant Aya-chan would have continued safety...did any of them matter?

Do you know who your brother is? Of course not. Be glad you won't.

Images that he woke to on some nights since that mission, blood marring crisp new snow and sprawled, familiar bodies...he had wished that those images would leave him.

Now he knew they wouldn't.

"Ran?" The voice came from the doorway.

Aya looked up at the doctor, then back to his sister. He placed her hand gently on the sheets and stood, leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead. "Sleep well," he said softly.

She didn't answer, but in his head, her voice said, "Save me."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Ran promised. He nodded to the doctor on his way out.

xxxxx

"So, Aya," Yohji said, leaning on the broom he held.

All four Weiss were in the flowershop, preparing to open. Aya had gotten back late, when Ken and Omi were already in bed, and Yohji was still not home. He was tired from staying out most of the night, and had slept past when he usually met Yohji for breakfast.

Aya looked up from the till, surprised. The other assassin wore a devious smirk. "Where'd you go last night, eh? Hot date? The boys said you weren't around."

Aya narrowed his eyes. Yohji's green ones were amused in a way that said he knew something.

He didn't have an answer for Yohji, so he didn't give one.

"Hm," Yohji said anyway, like he'd gotten a response. He stretched, the muscles on his stomach hidden by his apron, though his shirt pulled up beneath it. He gave the floor a few halfhearted sweeps, and ended up next to Aya. A hand fell on the swordsman's shoulder, making the shorter assassin tense.

When Yohji spoke, his mouth was close enough to his ear that his breath tickled Aya's skin. "I didn't know you liked gay clubs, Ayan."

Aya's face reddened, and he slammed the cash register shut. "I don't," he said shortly, shoving Yohji off and turning to face him.

"The bouncer asked who my shy friend was," Yohji said. The smile was still in place, but now that he was facing him, Aya saw that his green eyes were serious.

"I didn't know you liked gay clubs." Aya snapped, louder than he'd meant to. Ken, in the corner, knocked over a vase, and Omi tripped as he came through the storeroom doorway. Aya ignored them both. "And if a 'friend' tailed you, you could be endangering Weiss."

"Weiss is in no danger with you watching my back so closely," Yohji snapped back. His lips had lost the quirk.

"Leave me alone," Aya said shortly, his expression dangerous.

"Oh, I would," Yohji said, eyes narrowed. "But it's a little hard with you spying on me."

"I wasn't - I'm sorry."

"What?" The taller assassin's face was incredulous.

"If that was meant to be a secret..."

"That's not a secret!" Yohji exclaimed. He dropped the broom. It fell to the floor with a clatter. He pointed a finger into Aya's chest. "It's not like any of you can judge, yanno."

All three teammates turned a vivid shade of pink.

"...I just think it's a little unfair that you tail me, when you know damned well you'd kill any one of us for even asking..."

It took all Aya had not to punch Yohji out.

If only he hadn't been right. Aya glanced at the younger Weiss. They were standing stock-still, faces shocked.

The last mission had thrown them off. Aya couldn't help but be aware that the lingering anxiety in the koneko was mostly due to him.

Three who wouldn't kill their friends, one who would.

He would dispel their doubts.

"I've lied to myself," he said.

Yohji's eyebrows raised.

"You and Omi were both right. I would kill you, if Kritiker ordered it."

"What?" Yohji's eyes were wide. He stuttered. "All this is about that last -?"

"Aya-kun," Omi breathed. Ken's face had fallen into a scowl.

"You told Omi I would kill you, when Manx ordered it. I would."

"Aya..."

"Never forget that. We are all sinners, none of us deserve to live as much as she does. I would do it, and live with the guilt of it, if..." Aya's eyes widened a moment later, and he turned his head.

Yohji's fingers dug into his arm, spinning him around. Aya's fists clenched. "' ...'she', Aya? Who is 'she'?!"

xxxxx

tbc.