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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained	By : KDSarge Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6318 -:- 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
- 9
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Reflections

Schuldig
sat in his favorite get-the-hell-away-from-normals hideout, and
drank. It was quiet up there. That was why it was the best. As quiet
as standing next to Bradley fucking Crawford. No one whining
in his head about how they looked fat or they wanted to go to bed or
how that damn redheaded gaijin made them nervous.

He
drank, though he knew that was what Kudou was doing, and he didn’t
want to be like that idiot. He drank because Bradley Crawford
hated when he drank. Tequila, because it burned well, and Brad
Crawford hated tequila. It was from Mexico, whatever that had to do
with anything, and it had a worm in it.

Fuck
Brad Crawford. What did he have to be angry about? Because he’d
made a bet with Balinese? The bastard ought to be grateful for
anything that turned Schuldig’s eyes to him. Crawford was hot,
yes. But Schu was hotter, and he had his pick of playmates. Crawford
was always alone.

Prince
of the Universe? “The prince is a fool,” Schu growled,
and spun to survey himself in the tinted glass door of the balcony.

Beautiful.
Sexy. Hotter than hell, and Brad fucking Crawford knew it. What kind
of idiot refused sex with a telepath, anyway? Any telepath? And Schu
was the best, Crawford knew that, too. The things he could have done
to the American...Schu growled and took another swig. Straight from
the bottle, Bradley would hate that. Something solid, the damn
worm–Schu swallowed the tequila and spit the invertebrate off
the balcony. He’d heard that a pfennig dropped off some
skyscraper in New York could kill a person. He doubted that, and knew
this wasn’t comparable anyway, but maybe the damn thing would
get stuck on someone’s shoe, drawing eyes and comments as the
alcohol smell permeated an elevator, or collected under a desk...

The
ants were on their way to work now, the sidewalks starting to fill.
Miserable little drones, or they ought to be. Many of them weren’t,
and Schu didn’t get that. It wasn’t ignorance. They knew
they were vulnerable, to disease, to their bosses’ whims, to
the predators that roamed the streets even in daylight. They had
bills, they had problems, they walked through a dangerous world
knowing that only hiding in anonymity might keep them safe, and yet
they were happy.

In
other words, they were sheep. And they liked it that way. Even with
only pathetic Weiss to guard them from the wolves, the sheep were
happy. Like Kudou. Sheepdog though he was, Kudou was one of the happy
ones.

Fujimiya
Schuldig could understand. Fujimiya lived for his sister’s
happiness, knowing he didn’t deserve any of his own. On the
rare occasions he did forget that, just a little nudge put him back
on path. Tsukiyono–Takatori, rather, and wasn’t that a
great joke!–was even better than Bradley fucking
Crawford at lying to himself. Pushing a bit of truth into that busy
brain was always good for a laugh. But neither were much of a
challenge. And Hidaka–he wasn’t worth the trouble, he
just wasn’t bright enough to see he ought to give up and die.

But
Kudou. Schu couldn’t help messing with the man. It was like
poking a stick in a marmot hole, or pulling the wings off of flies.
He didn’t even do it out of cruelty–mostly. Tonight had
been nothing but, and Schu had enjoyed every second. Usually, though,
he just wanted to see what the man would do. Because he didn’t
get Kudou. Miserable as his life was, worthless and pointless and
futile, he could be happy. Not for long at a time, of course, it
didn’t take much to knock him down–but it didn’t
take much to get him there, either. The first cigarette of the day. A
grateful smile from Tsukiyono, or a not-rude word from Fujimiya, even
just Hidaka using his nickname.

The
sheep were happy. The sheepdogs weren’t, mostly, but they could
be. And the wolves were not. Schuldig did not get it, not at all.

***

“Yohji!”
Ken yelled again, pounding again. “Yohji, wake up or I’m
tearing this door down!”

“Ken-kun,”
Omi rolled his eyes, “do you really think he’s asleep
with that noise?”

“Whiskey
River, take my mind,” someone wailed, making Omi sorry he
ever studied English. “Don't let her mem’ry torture
me.” And was that–Yohji-kun’s voice, too?
“Whiskey River, don't run dry. You're all I’ve got,
take care of me.”

“Agghh!”
Ken kicked the door. “I can’t stand any more!
Yohhh-jjjiiii!!!”

“Leave
him!” a deep voice snapped.

“Aya-kun–“

”That’s
fine!” Ken growled, “but who’s going to run the
shop? You’re already on, and I’m not staying, and Omi has
plans, and so does Aya-chan!”

“Go
take over for Aya-chan. I’ll be down in five minutes, and I’ll
run the shop alone.”

“Aya-kun–“
Omi started again. Ken cut him off. Again.

“Must
have been some fight you two had,” the soccer player said with
a grin. “What happened, did he grope you? Even better than last
time?”

Omi
dropped his head into his hand. Would he never learn? But the
swordsman just looked at Ken. Not even one of his glares, just
looked.

“I
keep hearing you’re concerned about my happiness.”
Ken shifted his feet. “All this thought you’re giving
me is–”

“Mou
ii!” Ken threw up his hands. “Just next time I want a day
off, don’t get mad if I start a fight!” With that bit of
illogic, he ran down the stairs. Omi stepped closer as Aya made to
move on down the hall. Not in the way, he could see the
more-than-usual anger in the redhead’s face, even if Ken
couldn’t. Just–stepped. Aya looked at him.

“While
you and your friends are worrying about me–“

“Anou,
Aya-kun, it’s just–Yohji-kun hasn’t been out all
day. I’m–I’m worried about him. More than usual.”

The
redhead simply looked at him, Omi sighed. He really preferred when it
was Aya in a funk, and Yohji to be sent to the rescue. Though oddly
Yohji was harder to convince. What he really wished, was that the two
would get it together. He’d really hoped last night–

“Counting
flowers on the wall, that don’t bother me at all...”

Aya
shuddered. “He probably is asleep,” he said.

“With
that?” Omi demanded. Honestly. The supposed adults were worse–

“A-YAAA!”
Ken yelled up the stairs. “I have to go!” Omi sighed
again and stepped aside. He’d go see Hideo-kun, and when he got
home, he’d go talk to Yohji. Aya was suffering too, anyone with
eyes could see it. Maybe he just needed to go at the problem from the
other side.

“Smokin’
cigarettes and watchin’ Captain Kann-ga-roooo..

Now
don’t tell meee I’ve nothing to dooo...”

Omi
cringed and left.

***

“Farfarello,
I will throw your favorite knife in the bay if you do that one more
time.”

The
Irishman looked up from the turntable. “It’s supposed to
be a spell.”

“It’s
gibberish molded into a crusade by religious zealots who wanted to
frighten children,” Crawford told him from where he lay on the
couch. It wasn’t dignified, but he didn’t have the energy
to do better. And he didn’t have the energy for the stairs,
either. “Among the fo–three of us, we speak five
languages, and it doesn’t make sense in any of them.”

“Aa,”
Farfarello sighed, slipping the vinyl record back into its sleeve.
Crawford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Crawford-san,”
Nagi said as a bottle of water and a bottle of pills floated into the
room, “where is Schuldig?”

“I
don’t know where Mastermind is.” The American sat up to
accept both items. “I expect he will be home any time, drunk
and make-up smeared and perhaps wearing a kilt this time.”
Which would be more than he’d worn home last time.

“You
don’t believe that,” the quiet boy said. His teammates
stared at him. “Is he ever coming back?”

“Are
you saying you can read my mind?” Crawford demanded, more
irritably than he’d meant to. Nagi jumped, he’d been
nervous all day. And he was staying at least two meters from
Farfarello, though the white-haired assassin was having a quiet day.
He was tired from howling half the night, even after Crawford shook
him out of his dream. And then when he’d gone to his own bed,
he’d heard Nagi crying, but he’d been glad when the boy
didn’t answer his knock–

Nagi
had said something. Crawford took his glasses off and rubbed his
eyes. Did he even want to know?

“So
we are children?” the boy said. “You dribble out
information, you snap orders, you tell us only what you please, and
we’re all supposed to just do what you say?”

“I
am the leader!” Crawford snapped. He did not need this today–

“You
are the leader of Schwarz,” Nagi said. Crawford gasped as he
felt the couch lift. “But what is Schwarz?”

”Prodigy,
stop this now!”

“My
name,” the teen said, as his seat thumped hard enough to jar
Crawford’s teeth, “is Nagi. Don’t act like we’re
a team, if you’re going to treat us like this.”

Crawford
stood, his fists balling without conscious direction. “Do not
tell me–“

”Hit
me,” Nagi said. “At least I’ll get to see it
coming.” He sneered as Crawford relaxed his hand. The child was
spending too much time with Schuldig. “But that isn’t
your style, is it, Crawford? If I see it coming, I can defend
myself. And you don’t want that.”

Crawford
stared at the boy, astonished. Where had this bitterness come from?
Rather, when had the child started aiming it at him? Did Nagi really
see him that way?

“That
hurt him,” Farfarello said with a chuckle. “Do it again.”

Nagi
blinked, his face crumpled. “Gomen nasai!” he gasped, and
ran. Crawford sat slowly. He should really go after the boy, but–

“Teenagers,”
Farfarello said. “What can you do?” He picked up the
prescription bottle. “Were you going to finish this?”

***

It
was late afternoon, and Aya still winced at the bell when the
salaryman left. If Yohji had been there, he could have asked the
blonde what to do about a hangover.

Had
Yohji been there, that was the last thing he would have talked about,
Aya admitted. He should have tried before his shift. He should have
realized Yohji wasn’t coming out on his own. Aya couldn’t
blame him, he didn’t want to face the blonde any more than
Yohji wanted to face him. The difference was, Aya had reason to be
ashamed.

Despite
Yohji’s fears–or hopes–Aya remembered everything
from the night before. How he had shoved the blonde around, attacked
him, mauled him, pawed him even while Yohji asked him to stop–

Aya
cringed again, and flushed again. How could he have treated Yohji
like that? Anyone like that, but especially Yohji, his teammate, his
friend, his subordinate even, though Yohji tended not to see it that
way. And Aya had jumped the man in his own bedroom, tried to handcuff
him to his own bed, threatened his life when Yohji defended himself.

He
deserved the headache. He deserved a lot worse. Aya let his head sink
onto his arms at his work table. He needed to apologize. Before Yohji
could, because Yohji would, and he shouldn’t. So the blonde had
made a stupid bet with Schuldig. It was the sort of thing Yohji would
do. For a smart man, he did some incredibly stupid things. Like
wanting to get near the–the Ice Princess, they’d called
him, and been right–in the first place. It was just...Yohji. He
was a kind man, he couldn’t help it. Kind and forgiving. Only
Yohji could have managed to forget that Schuldig was a sadistic
bastard.

“Kudou,
you idiot,” Aya growled, mostly out of habit. He felt guilty
for it, after.

So
Yohji had made his bet. He must have wanted Aya at the time. There
were degrees of–of slut-ness, and Yohji was not one who would
sleep with someone he didn’t find attractive. But then he’d
changed his mind. And Aya had decided not to let him.

Had
Aya been with a drunken Yohji acting like that, he would have left
the man to find his own way home, or if he were too drunk to be left,
just knocked him out and carried him. But Kudou was kind, and so Aya
had made an incredible fool of himself, and still Yohji had been
kind. Aya knew he had taken his shirt off, but he hadn’t
removed his boots. Yohji must have. And Yohji had had water and
medicine ready, when he woke the man usurping his bed. And then Aya
had treated the blonde like that, ignoring the pain he
glimpsed in Yohji’s face as he stalked out, too damn worried
about his own humiliation...

Even
now, Yohji would forgive him. Aya knew that. He shouldn’t, but
he would. And he’d blame Schuldig for Aya’s behavior, as
if reacting to the German’s prods were an excuse, as if Aya
didn’t know quite well that Schuldig’s entire goal was to
divide them, and he should act accordingly. Schuldig had almost
turned Omi against the rest of Weiss, after all. Aya knew not
to listen to the man.

He
had to apologize. As soon as anyone came back, he would take a break
and run up and–no, he would wait until he’d closed the
shop. And he’d take–well, if Yohji was drinking, he
wouldn’t want food. Aya hadn’t drank since leaving the
club, and he still didn’t want to eat. But he would take
something. Tea seemed right, but Yohji would prefer coffee, so that
was what he would get. Maybe he’d go and buy some, Yohji
complained that only Omi made decent coffee.

That
was a good idea. He’d go buy one of those expensive coffees the
blonde liked so much, and make it a real apology, a good one, because
Kudou Yohji deserved it. He would give the man a formal apology, and
he would promise never to drink again. Promising not to molest him
was a little more than Aya could bring himself to say, but Yohji
would understand what he meant. Yohji was good at that.

“Tadaima,
Ran-niisan!”

Aya
sat up straight, and felt himself flush again. K’so, to quote
Yohji. He would not hide from his sister! “Okaeri, Aya-chan.
Did you have fun?” Even embarassed, Aya took a moment to admire
her, smiling and cheerful and awake. Alive. She was more happiness
than he deserved, and any other dreams had been foolish anyway. He
took the opportunity to hug her, as he always did. She hugged back,
even as she complained.

“Mou,
Oniisan, I’ve only been gone a few hours!”

“I
missed you the whole time.” Aya released her, though. Yohji
said he was smothering her, and Yohji was probably right.

“This
was outside,” Aya-chan said, waving an envelope. “It’s
for Yohji-kun, where is he?”

Despite
himself, Aya flushed again. “Yohji–hasn’t gotten up
yet.”

“Masaka!
Have you been all alone? Ran-niisan, it’s after four!”

“He...didn’t
get any sleep last night,” Aya explained, then realized how
Aya-chan would interpret that. Kami-sama, if he blushed any more his
face would explode! He tried to go into the back room, but Aya-chan
caught his arm. Aya could not brush her off, and she knew it.

“Ran-niisan,”
she said softly, “what happened?”

Of
course she knew something was wrong. Aya took a deep breath and
realized he could not tell her. He could not look into those trusting
eyes and tell her what he had done to her sweet Yohji-kun. Aya had
realized she didn’t have a crush on Yohji, but still, Aya-chan
adored him. He put his hand over hers. “Nothing that concerns
you,” he said gently. “I will take care of it, Aya-chan.”
One more secret, added to the rest. One more secret, to keep her
world safe.

“Ran,
please–“

”I
will take care of it,” Aya repeated. “Please take that
into the kitchen, Yohji will find it when he comes down.”

She
wanted to argue, she was a Fujimiya and did not take orders well. But
“Hai, Oniisan,” she answered, and went. Aya stared after
her.

Alive
and awake, she was every prayer he’d prayed for years, every
dream he’d thought would never come true. He should not have
had the arrogance to try for more. He already had far more happiness
than he deserved.

***

Ran
was watching her, Aya-chan knew. He always was. Sometimes she had to
make herself cry, thinking of him standing over her hospital bed for
years, before she could keep
from snapping at him for it.

Years.
Ran thought he had only done his duty, and sometimes apologized for
not having done it better. Aya-chan sometimes wanted to scream at
him.

Like
now. She closed the door behind her, and tossed the envelope on the
table. She’d make tea, Ran would like that. It was one small
thing he would let her do for him.

It
was not fair. He never let her help him, though always, no matter
what it cost him, Ran was there for her. She knew there was more to
his new life than flowers. He hadn’t paid her hospital bills,
and he didn’t get injured frequently, making and selling
ikebana. No, there was something else, some huge secret he kept from
her, though she was certain Ken-kun and Yohji-kun and even Omi-kun
were in on it. Birman, and Manx, and Momoe-san wasn’t as crazy
as she seemed, and that orange-haired man who seemed so
familiar...Aya-chan tossed her head. Ran was what mattered right now,
not that damn secret.

In
the long view, though, that secret mattered, because whatever it was,
it hurt him. She was starting to realize that Aya-kun wasn’t
just a mask he wore, that icy man was what her sweet, shy, gentle
brother had become. What he had made of himself. For her. It was
beautiful and tragic, and it made her want to cry. And throw things,
and avenge the boy she’d known, if only she knew who to kill.
Ran wasn’t the only one with the Fujimiya temper.

But
either because she had more sense, or she just lacked a target,
Aya-chan chose to direct her anger more productively. She was awake
now, and she wanted her brother back. Ran had known how to be happy.
Aya-kun didn’t, and Aya-chan was sick of it. She was going to
fix him. She had the Fujimiya determination, too.

Yohji-kun
was supposed to have helped, he usually made Ran’s face
lighter. This morning she’d thought Yohji had succeeded. Ran
had not come out of his room all morning, and–Aya-chan flushed,
remembering the handcuffs. She could almost think of them without
blushing. Keiko and her older sister would never look at her the
same, but Hitomi-san had answered Aya-chan’s carefully-vague
questions, and apparently handcuffs weren’t that big a deal.

But
when she peeped in the window of the Koneko–knowing Yohji-kun
as she did, she was afraid she might walk in on something–and
seen Ran alone with his head on his arms, she knew something had
happened. Something had gone wrong, and Aya-chan wanted to know what.

Omi-kun
was right. Adults were only pretending they knew what they were
doing.

Aya-chan
set a tray on the table, and collected what she needed. The envelope
caught her eye. There were two, they had been stuck together.
Aya-chan lifted the second one. A plain envelope with only her name
on it, spelled out in the English alphabet. The other had Yohji’s
name in kanji. Keiko had been talking about some party, but she
wouldn’t have...Aya-chan opened hers, and stared at the only
thing it contained. In shock for a long moment, then she didn’t
even see it, as her mind raced.

Ran
had her father’s katana, but he wouldn’t let her touch
it. She didn’t know how to use it anyway. Think realistically.
Her eyes focused again, Aya-chan made to shred the cursed thing, but
she didn’t. Instead she reached for the other envelope, not
even hesitating at the rudeness.

She
read quickly, then turned off the stove before stalking up the
stairs.

Mess
with a Fujimiya, would he?

***

”Whiskey
River” is Willie Nelson’s. “Flowers on the
Wall”–the version Yohji has is the Statler Brothers.

umm...I’m
now aware Ran does not have his father’s katana. In canon.
One of many things that made me decide this was AU...

No
glossary today, I don’t have the energy. I would like to say
thanks to those who review, you make my day every time. I am most
humbly grateful.
- 9
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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained