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Saving the Rose	By : LadyDragon Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1393 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 1
Betaed by: Falconsong K'Vala

Archives:
Nanashi– http: // w w w21 . brinkster. com / myladydragon
Bish Fics – http: //www 10 . brinkster . com / bishfics
FanDomination.net– pen: Lady Dragon
Mediaminer.org– pen: LadyDragon
Fanfiction.net– pen: Lady Dragon

Disclaimer: I have yet to pull an official document that reads: ‘ye now owns the rights to Weiβ Kreuz and all characters therein’ from inside a Cracker Jack box.

Warning: There is a sufficient amount of gore, angst and oh yes shonen ai contained within this fic. ^^ I could not help myself!

Author’s Notes: Another AyaxBrad ficcy from me! Yatta! Anyway, I just felt the need to vent some frustration and well this seemed the most appropriate for for me to do so. You may also consider this fan fiction an attempt at an apology for taking so long with TPC. ^^ The fic starts off sounding BradxAya but everyone’s fave lil kitten will be turning the tables on our fave preog soon enough.

One more thing, this is my entry for the ‘Brad as an uke’ contest; now enough rambling from me and on with the fic!

Now, as promised here is the betaed version. Soooo on with the fic!

// blah blah blah // denotes telepathic speech btw

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Saving the Rose
By LadyDragon

The darkened alley stretched ominously before me, it’s grime and feces caked path littered with puddles of what I hoped to be water from the night’s earlier rain. Bottles that once contained cheap liquor, empty cartons, loose pieces of paper, garbage bags with their contents spewed about, and crushed cans lay strewn about; a veritable hazard to the casual stroller. Not that anyone would take a stroll down this quaint little path. No, anyone fool enough to travel the dark and dangerous allies of Tokyo would think better of it upon coming face to face with the unseeing eyes of a beggar, his throat slit long ago, his body rotting and attracting flies near the mouth of the ally.

Had that not been enough to deter fools from entering, then perhaps the sight of various female body parts peeking out from beneath the scattered trash would do the trick. Normal people tended to turn tail and run when faced with a hunk of meat that was once attached to a living woman’s chest. Of course if none of the above worked then, perhaps, the idiot who dared to enter would in fact be quite deserving of his fate. Idiots allowed to breed only give birth to more imbeciles; mankind has no need for them.

The bright and shining lights of Tokyo did nothing to illuminate this small pathway to hell. It loomed before me in all its dark glory, the shimmering lights doing nothing to alleviate the dark- only managing to deepen the shadows and cast an eerie touch to the already macabre scene. I would not for any small amount of cash set foot into this alley; not because of the gore, nor because of the man that made this piece of hell his playground and a final resting place for his victims. No, I would not set foot here due to the filth that was everywhere. White suits and expensive shoes do not suit places such as these.

Yet, despite my disgust I could not leave. He was here, and only he could make me walk into a veritable trashcan. I’d follow him into hell if need be, and that’s the sad truth of it; a truth I tried for so very long to run away from. I tried to kill it with cold indifference, scathing remarks, and working for the one man that he despised above all others. None of it worked. Visions haunt me even years after our last fateful battle before we crashed into the sea and seemingly ceased to be.

He had continued on- he and his team; forever hunting the dark beasts even though their reasons had been reached, even though their goals had been attained. Such determination and courageous hearts I see in all of them, no matter how hard two of them try to hide it. His teammates pale in comparison to him though. He is the one that I am plagued with heart wrenching visions of.

I had long hoped to get over him and move on. I am true darkness and he, despite what he thinks, is a shinning and brilliant angel. How could I bring myself to sully him with my filthy hands? Despite the manicures, the thousand dollar suits, and the tasteful cologne I’m nothing more than trash. Perhaps not as vile as the creature that is responsible for the dismembered hand I have just trodden upon, but trash I am nonetheless. Well-manicured and groomed trash.

Roses. The scent is thick and cloying yet it is a scent that only I can smell. It is the same scent that accompanies all my visions pertaining to him. The scent heralds the images that flash before my mind’s eyes. Visions of pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat caused by yet another nightmare that has forced the pale beauty to give up sleep for the night, as he has done for countless nights now.

Shimmering blue eyes flash before me and I know I am seeing through his eyes now. Blue eyes that sparkle with unshed tears yet there is a fire burning within their iridescent depths. A fire fueled by hatred, her hatred of the man before her. I- he- we move to embrace her and instead feel the stinging bite of her slap. What has he done to incur the wrath of his only loved one?

The area around me shifts and no longer am I presented with the sight of the two. Instead I am greeted with the sight of cold black and white tile. I’m still seeing through his eyes, and I found that he/we are rendered incapable of movement. Frantically my mental eyes search about us, trying to find the logic of this, but nothing comes. Nothing answers my unspoken question until I look down upon myself. Gone is my tan skin, and instead I am greeted with the sight of his fair skinned and glorious nude body. Something’s not right, splashes of red liquid cover his thighs and lap, a puddle of the red substance already forming below and spreading out around him where he sits cross legged, leaning his back against the bathtub.

Blood, his blood, is spreading out at an alarming rate around us. I can feel his heart beat begin to slow to an unnaturally slow pace. He’s dying by his own hand, and there’s no one in the house- no one who will burst in at the last minute to save him. The only one who might have is gone now, gone in a burst of anger and righteous indignation. He is alone, and will die alone, and that’s exactly what he had wanted.

Cuts crisscross the wrists that lay demurely in his lap. It’s not the numerous cuts that make me wince and wish to turn away though; it is the sight of the single vertical slash he has made on both wrists that makes me cringe. From wrist to elbow he placed a single and well-planned cut, and through the now slowing blood I can glimpse some unearthly gleaming pieces of white in the wound- bone. Straight to the bone, leaving nothing to chance, he wished to die and Aya made sure to do it perfectly. There can be no backing out, no saving now from the wounds he has inflicted. He did not even stop after achieving those crucial slices, no he continued to slice and cut away until his arms and wrists were a mass of crimson slashes.

Even if his sister were to return, or if Balinese or one of the others were to walk through that door now there would be nothing that they could do. Nothing except just sit back and watch him die. The blood loss too great, the body too far into shock, the wound too deep, my kitten has done a perfect job of murdering himself.

Just as suddenly as the vision comes it is gone, and my eyes focus once again on the vile alley around me. I’ve had visions of him since the first day I laid eyes upon him, the day I helped to snatch his parents away from him and placed his sister in a coma. The visions were never like this before; no I caught glimpses of his life and unguarded moments instead, moments of pure joy and moments of pure grief.

Then there were the glimpses, promises of the future; a future I had refused to believe in. Cream colored sheets and sweat covered bodies moving together in a primal dance, our bodies and limbs entwined with one another’s. Sparkling amethyst orbs and rose tinted lips moving into a long forgotten movement as deep rich laughter bubbled forth from that luscious mouth.

Always am I plagued with these visions. But now dark and more sinister ones have begun popping up. It was these that spurred me on through the dark alley stumbling through the dark like a blind man, racing against time to find the one I love.

It will happen tonight if I don’t stop him. My rose has already begun to wilt, but tonight will be the night that the last of his petals fell to the floor in a lifeless heap if I do not make a move. I can’t afford to be a coward any longer. He is no longer
Weiβ and I am no longer Schwarz- what was done was done.

What could I say that would alter his future enough to give him a reason to live? The visions shown to me promised that he was at one point capable of caring for me. But those sweet sights had stopped months ago; all I have seen of him now are images of him surrounded by guilt and wallowing through his life’s woes. I’d had warnings of him courting death, taking unnecessary risks on his missions. He no longer carried just his sword, but that sword was no longer sharpened; it’s blade dull and uncared for. The berretta he carried never held a full clip anymore, and every night when he ran out of bullets I worried that would be the night.

Still I made no move; I suppose I’m selfish that way. I had hoped, and believed that Balinese would pull him out of his depression. Instead Aya seemingly worsened until at last, even Kudo couldn’t bear to stand by his side as he walked down the road to his own destruction.

Never did the visions warn of his suicide, though. They told me of his deep sated longing for death, told of his risks, or his frustration and depression; but just when the visions seemed at their gloomiest something always assured me that he would survive. His sister’s awakening, Balinese’s attentions, his team’s camaraderie, Tomoe’s friendship; something was always there to pull him back. I should have noticed, however, that even though something always stopped him, he couldn’t have been getting any better if he continuously returned to the brink time after time.

I had run from my rose, and in my cowardice I had failed him. He might not have realized it yet but we are two parts to a whole- one cannot function without the other. His thoughts turn to me often, though not always in ways I’d like them to, or so Schuldig reported. Had I faced the truth sooner he would not have been were he is today; but my gift has warned me of one last chance, one I cannot refuse.

The end of the alley nears, and my body trembles as my mind attempts to suppress the premonition that is coming. Again I smell the thick scent of roses. Beneath the sweet scent lies a faint and coppery one that I can almost taste. It is something I’ve smelt far too often in my life- blood. If I hesitate, if I fail him this time then it will be the end. Shaking off the disgust and bile that rises in my throat I continue along, ignoring the squishing sound of human organs that were never meant to see the outside world.

‘Only for you Ran, only for you would I do this.’

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Saving the Rose