Vindication

Author\'s Note: I apologize for the long wait on this. Not only did my schedule conflict, but my beta\'s. However, she was kind enough to even help me with this project in the first place despite her busy life. Thank you so shinigamitabris!

I don\'t have much time to respond to reviews, but I promise to next time. But thank you to everyone who has given this story a chance -- it\'s been so long since I\'ve written anything that I was afraid I\'ve lost it completely. I do hope you enjoy the continuation and please let me know what you think. Thank you.

Chapter Second

It was the day of the funeral and Aya had yet to emerge from his bedroom. Yohji was worried that he wouldn’t attend at all. Two days had passed since the news of Aya-chan’s death, or as Yohji preferred to conclude, murder. There were no solid details on what had happened, but it hadn’t been an accident. All that Birman and the American detective supplied was that it had been intentional. Aya had demanded to know what had happened, who had killed his little sister, but Kritiker wasn’t talking. They had been cryptic, not relaying whether it was suicide or murder. But Yohji knew better than to think that Aya-chan had any reason to take her own life. Or did he?

In all truth, the only person that knew Aya-chan well enough to know that answer was Aya. He hadn’t voiced his own opinion on the matter, however. He had shut himself down once the raw truth had set in and he had escaped before he had caused harm to Birman or the detective. Yohji had seen the rage drowning in his violet eyes, but Aya had reluctantly restrained from unleashing it. There were times when Yohji honored that self-control. There was no doubt that Yohji would have fought hard to find out everything, though getting that information from Kritiker would have a burdening price attached to it. Kritiker wanted something from Weiss before they handed over the reports from the investigation. That was Kritiker’s system: scratch their backs first then they will scratch yours. It was a sad reality, but very true.

Yohji stood in front of Aya’s bedroom door, hand poised and ready to knock. It was still hours before the memorial began and he should have left Aya alone. The man was the most efficient out of the four members of Weiss. His schedule was always precise and he had never been late for an appointment for as long as Yohji had known him. Then why was he ready to remind Aya of the day’s event? Perhaps Yohji needed absolution that Aya had the drive to attend his own sister’s funeral. The thought was ridiculous, but Yohji couldn’t help his mind from doubting.

With a heavy sigh, Yohji softly knocked on the wooden door. He wasn’t surprised when he received silence in return. In fact, there were no sounds of sheets ruffling or feet walking along the carpet to indicate that Aya was occupying the room. Yohji called out Aya’s name in question, waiting a few seconds then he tried the knob. It easily turned beneath his hand and he pushed through the threshold. Twilight greeted his vision and he blinked to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. He scanned the empty room only to find it devoid of Aya’s presence, the computer screen illuminating an eerie glow across the spacious area.

“Aya?” Yohji called out once more, just to be safe, before stepping into the room fully. It was a simple yet stylish design set in black as the primary color, but with a bold accent of red. All of the furniture, including the thick curtains was black while the bed sheets were the centerpiece, the blood red colors standing out in starkness even in the dark. In his opinion, Yohji had always thought the room looked depressing. However, it undeniably fit Aya in every way, from his mood to his fashion style.

Yohji’s attention was suddenly drawn to the notebook computer neatly placed on the desk along with all the papers and accessories in their rightful place. Organization was almost an obsession to Aya; Yohji couldn’t understand the level of cleanliness that the redhead desired. It was unnerving at times to throw his clothes in the corner of the bathroom at night, only to find them clean and neatly folded on his bed the next morning. All that was out of place in the room that morning were the sheets - still unkempt from sleeping in them the night before. Yohji still wondered where Aya had gone. The Porsche was in the garage and Ken had said he hadn’t seen Aya leave while he was studying in the kitchen at five in the morning. Perhaps the computer had some answers behind the mystery, Yohji thought.

The screensaver hadn’t come up yet, and Aya had forgotten to close a program before he left. There was a sense of guilt by invading Aya’s privacy, but Yohji’s curiosity overpowered his slight apprehension and he quickly started to scroll through the page left on the screen. It was an article from an American newspaper in New York, headlining a story dated back a year ago on a man named Andreo del Toro; assumed underground crime lord and well-known, successful businessman. He had been linked to numerous cases of missing persons, but there had been no solid evidence to convict him of their disappearances.

“Yohji?”

“Fuck!” Yohji started, jerking around to see Omi standing in the doorway of Aya’s room. He let out a long, unsteady sigh and leaned against the edge of the desk, hiding the computer behind him. The teenager had an uncanny reputation for appearing at the most inopportune moments. “You scared me.”

Omi blinked hard, his eyes drifting from Yohji to the laptop, question furrowing his brow. “What are you doing?”

Yohji pushed away from the desk. “Nothing. Have you found him yet?”

“He’s on the roof.”

“Should’ve known,” Yohji muttered and briskly walked out of the room as though he hadn’t disturbed anything inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Omi narrowed his eyes after removing his intent gaze from Aya’s bedroom door. “Are you sure that’s a good idea right now after…”

Yohji waved it off complacently, making his way toward the stairs that led to the gym floor. “Don’t worry so much. I promise I won’t do anything stupid,” he said, “Does that reassure you enough?”

“Not really, but I guess I can’t stop you,” Omi replied, shrugging. “It’s a good thing that Aya left his sword in the gym.”

Yohji glanced over his shoulder and stopped at the edge of the stairway. “Why do you say that?”

A smirk graced the younger man’s lips and his eyes lit up with amusement. “So Aya will have to kill you with his bare hands instead. Something like that, you can deal with.”

Yohji had to laugh at that, the brutal kick Aya had delivered as a warning in the gym a reminder that Aya was more than capable of taking him down even in hand to hand combat. It was still painfully sore and Yohji suppressed the urge to cringe, but he shook his head instead and continued up the stairs. Walking through the gym, he noticed Aya’s katana resting on the practice mat and the window leading out the fire escape open. He found Aya at the far corner of the roof where a perfect spot of the horizon could be seen during sunsets. Aya looked small, vulnerable perched on the ledge with his legs curled up to his chest and his body huddled in a blanket to chase away a cold that no one but Aya could feel. A slight breeze ruffled his hair, hiding his profile from Yohji’s view.

Despite the sorrowful situation that had set Aya in this mood, Yohji was content to take in the picture before him. A peaceful moment where he was allowed to watch his roommate, observe him closely without rebuke. He shook his head at the thought, but he couldn’t help it. There was a sense of admiration for the swordsman, although Aya had a tendency to bring out the worst in Yohji. However, he was also known for revealing the best, the feelings that Yohji had thought were long forgotten. He cared about Aya more than he would have liked to admit. If only it was mutual.

Aya suddenly turned and stared at Yohji. No tears graced his cheeks, but the distinct sheen of moisture in those violet eyes gave evidence that he was holding back too much. Yohji knew that Aya refused to show weakness in front of others, but what excuse did he have when he had been alone? At a time like this Yohji wouldn’t have thought any different of Aya’s icy, steel exterior if he would just give in for once.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Yohji felt the heat of Aya’s gaze as though he was holding his hand above a flame. There was no anger set in Aya’s stare, but the sense of inquiry that lay heavy in the air was uncomfortable all the same. It was as though Aya had silently asked, ‘Why did you, of all people, come here to see me? Why do you care that much?’ As much as the two hated one another, there was still an unexplainable bond between them. Neither one would have ever admitted to it, but Yohji knew that they watched out for one another. Aya was his roommate, his partner in Weiss and there was an understanding of obligation that he wanted to uphold. It was instinct now that no matter what had occurred hours before in the gym Yohji was not completely blinded by his hatred or anger to turn away when Aya may have been in need of any sort of comfort. Whether it was a mere presence or condoling words, Yohji was willing to give it. He didn’t expect Aya to do the same, but that didn’t rule out his own commitment.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Yohji raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes. The air smelt of rain, the dark clouds already an indication of the impending downpour. “It’s going to rain,” he said with nonchalance, leveling his gaze on Aya.

Aya turned away, showing the graceful line of his profile again. “I know.”

It was as close to the start of a conversation that Yohji was going to be granted and he took it. He tried to think of a way to bring up the article on the computer, what it had to do with Aya-chan’s death. There was doubt as to whether or not Aya would reveal any information, but Yohji was determined to at least try. If he was shut out like so many times in the past, he would have accepted it and walked away.

Surprisingly, Aya spoke first; his voice soft, feeble in comparison to the scorching baritone that Yohji was so accustomed to. “There is a new mission,” he said and he appeared to burrow deeper into the blanket as though it was a form of protection from the inevitable.

Yohji blinked hard, shocked by those words. “What kind of mission?” He wanted to close the distance between them, but he was cautious, slow in his steps to reach the ledge. A decent moment was conspiring, he did not want to disturb it by making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing.

Aya closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of his knees as he said, “I had no other choice…”

“What do you mean?” Yohji asked and clenched his hands in anger. Without realizing it, he stepped too close and invaded Aya’s personal space. The redhead snapped his head around and glared, warning Yohji to back away. After what had happened in the gym, Yohji wasn’t about to disregard his roommate’s wishes. He wasn’t sure he was ready for another round of ‘lessons’ from Aya.

“It’s not your concern,” Aya said, looking away. “The mission was given to me to complete.”

“Only you?” Yohji pressed, feeling the anger rising again. He wanted more answers and he knew it was going to take a lot of effort and patience - that he didn’t have - to get it out of Aya. The man was such a stubborn bastard sometimes.

Aya’s shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened. “Yes,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Dammit!” Yohji turned to the other ledge that met with the corner that Aya was sitting on. He slammed his palms down hard, and felt the tingling pain radiate through his arms. It was a distraction from his current indignation, but it didn’t last long enough for his own tastes. There was a strong urge to shake Aya, force him to confess everything and why he had felt compelled to take on a mission so soon after… Yohji shook his head and snorted. Of course he knew why; it meant that Aya would seek his revenge in return. That was all that Aya had wanted from the beginning. Revenge ruled his life; it formed him into the man he was. Into the man that Yohji knew and nothing else.

Silence reigned on the rooftop aside from the constant flow of pedestrians and traffic on the other side of the building. Yohji lifted his face high and stared at the cityscape and the horizon beyond. He stared until he was forced to squint in order to keep focus on the trail of his vision. The ire slowly ebbed away into a dull throb at the back of his skull, but it was still there, reminding him just how easily he turned to those emotions when faced with Aya.

“Why?” he asked, softly. He kept his gaze forward, but he felt Aya staring at him.

“Why do you care?”

Yohji tensed, stilled his breath before he let out a long sigh. It didn’t help as much as a cold beer and freshly lit cigarette would have, but it was all he had at the moment. “Stop acting like a selfish child for once and let me in,” he said. Though his words were bitter, fortunately he was able to keep it out of his tone. He remained calm despite the heavy burden of frustration causing his shoulders to go rigid and his hands to clench tightly.

Cloth rustled and Yohji knew that Aya was moving off of the ledge; he was running away again. Yohji turned and grabbed Aya’s arm before he was able to escape completely. Violet eyes burned with a vicious gleam, but Yohji ignored it. He ignored Aya’s warning to let him go just as he had two days earlier in the gym. Surprisingly, Aya didn’t attack in what he considered self-defense. He remained in a half standing, half sitting position with his eyes fixed on Yohji’s own.

“Let us – Weiss – help you,” Yohji said with tenderness that he didn’t think he was capable of showing toward Aya. “Don’t think that you are always alone, especially now. We are a team.”

Aya blinked, as though in a daze then his eyes narrowed. “This is something I have to do on my own.”

“Give me a reason why you think that you have to do this on your own,” Yohji countered, narrowing his own eyes defiantly.

Finally, Aya tried to fight out of Yohji’s grip. It was a mild attempt, as though he was reluctant to hurt his roommate again, but Yohji knew otherwise. Aya was fighting his own conscience and whether or not he should give in; it was the only logical explanation. If he wanted free of Yohji there was no doubt that he would have fought hard enough to do it and to prove he was capable of defending himself. Yohji was thankful, at least, that he wasn’t sporting a black eye yet. He was, again treading on ground that was dangerous, almost forbidden. That was what made it so irresistible, Yohji had realized, because it was a challenge. Not so much a game to him, but a treasure he couldn’t help but seek out.

“Please Aya,” Yohji continued to press.

“No,” Aya said, tugging on his arm, “Now let me go.”

Yohji drew nearer, bringing Aya’s arm closer to his chest. He felt the redhead’s warmth when Aya opened his palm, flat against Yohji’s heart. The sensation traveled through Yohji from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. It felt good, wonderful in fact. The taste of Aya’s touch was almost as amazing as the feel of a woman’s bosom pressed against Yohji in the heat of sex. Such a silly thought from one simple touch, but Yohji couldn’t deny the racing of his heart and the sudden rush of heat in his loins. He imagined that it was Aya instead of some nameless girl underneath him, crying out his name on the edge of climax.

Gasping, Yohji snapped out of his reverie and jerked away from Aya, pressing his back against the ledge as though he was trying to run from what he had imagined in that small moment of proximity. His eyes widened, realizing what insane images had breathed life into this new fantasy in his mind. Disbelieving, he had never fathomed conjuring such thoughts with another man, much less his teammate. It was frightening and exhilarating all the same.

Shaking his head roughly, Yohji turned away from Aya. The redhead was staring at him, he knew, confusion and anger written plainly across his face. It must have been obvious what Yohji was thinking; he felt the shock boiling in his own veins. There was no telling what his face revealed. He tried to shake away the disturbing afterthought again, but with each second that passed standing with Aya he couldn’t get the vision out of his head.

“What is wrong with you?”

Yohji roughly brushed past Aya without a response, retreating from the uneasy moment he had created. He was stupid and such a coward for running away like that, but he needed time to think through his thoughts. They were wild and he wasn’t sure if they were even his own; there was no way he could have thought about having sex with Aya. It was… beyond reason, beyond every law of sexual science that Yohji followed. He only liked women, right? It sure as hell felt like it when he brought a new face to his bed almost every night.

“Dammit,” he muttered, clenching his hands before he decided to punch a nearby wall on his way down the stairs. A cigarette and a six-pack felt like the best option at that time; he craved for his senses to dull and the world to fade to gray where all he had to worry about was not running low on his stash. Why he picked such an outlet, he never may come to understand, but it was an addiction he couldn’t pass up at a time like this. As much as he wanted to think through what had transpired, he needed the relief of complete oblivion. He needed to forget.

“Fuck!” He slammed his fist against the wall again, shaking a frame that hung in the hallway.

“Yohji?” Ken stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck and his hair still dripping from a shower. “What’s wrong?”

Yohji sighed and leaned against the wall he had just used as a punching bag. He fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans, scrambling to light a piece of heaven before his nerves overwhelmed him again.

“What happened?”

It was more what didn’t happen physically that was the problem.

“Nothing, kid,” Yohji said dismissively. He wasn’t about to admit to Ken or anyone for that matter that he had screwed up in the worst of ways. That he had thought about making love to the one man that resented any sort of human contact. That he had wanted to make love to a man in the first place. Yohji almost smacked himself for being so stupid and so…hormonal.

Ken wasn’t satisfied with the answer, raising a brow in question. “Are you sure?”

Yohji grunted, a puff of smoke escaping from between his lips as he pushed away from the wall. “Forget it, Hidaka. It’s nothing. Just get ready.”

“Ass,” Ken muttered before slamming the door of the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Yohji murmured, agreeing with Ken. He stuffed his hands into his pockets while leisurely making his way down the stairs. That six-pack of beer was calling to him; he could feel its beckoning like the tension in his back and shoulders. Fuck it if he was incoherent during the funeral, it was better than looking at Aya and remembering what his little fantasy had created. “A world of shit, that’s what,” he said to himself, sighing, “Damn you, Aya.”

+++

Yohji hated rain.

The funeral was miserable, not only for the reason of whose ashes they were burying in the tomb, but the rain that seemed endless. It was pouring, cold droplets falling in a continuous mundane rhythm on the umbrellas and the cobblestone walkway beneath their feet. There were only a select few people that attended, the remaining members of Weiss and the old lady from the flower shop. Aya wanted the funeral discreet in order to mourn her death without the constant condolences from strangers. Yohji agreed, and it also kept the story of Aya-chan’s death away from greedy headlines. Not only did Aya-chan deserve a peaceful reception, but Aya also needed the privacy that he desired in every aspect of his life.

Yohji was cold and he needed a cigarette. He had decided not to finish off the six-pack he had promised himself earlier in the day, and he regretted it. The weather was making his mood sour and Aya’s stoic passiveness was grating on his nerves again. He couldn’t stand that Aya refused to show any amount of emotion; Yohji wanted to slap him, knock some sense into him and tell Aya that it was okay to cry. It was okay to let others know he was hurting, that he was sad.

Or was he?

Yohji glanced at Aya’s profile, and narrowed his eyes. The redhead stood, poised with such grace that it would have made a feline envious, with his head bowed and his unruly bangs hiding his gaze. His lips moved in unison to the prayer that the American priest recited; Aya-chan had been so involved in Western culture that she had wished to be buried in their tradition, not the way of her ancestors. Yohji was taken by surprise by what he encountered, it was the first time that he had ever seen Aya pray to any sort of higher being. It just proved how aloof the redhead really was around his roommates. Yohji didn’t think that Aya believed in anything but his sister and his self-ambition. Perhaps since she was gone, that had all changed.

Sighing, Yohji turned to face forward and tried to at least listen as the priest droned on. It was an unknown ritual to Yohji, one that he cared not to memorize. The old man read passages from the Holy Bible and countered the days of Aya-chan’s life instead of her untimely death. Obviously, the priest had known the girl in America for he recalled many times they had met and counseled. The stories were boring, but Ken and Omi had the decency to look interested while Aya still kept his gaze downward. Yohji shifted from one foot to the other. He was getting restless and his hands were itching to grab the pack in his pocket. Try as he might, his focus on the priest’s words were in vain; he almost felt the dregs of sleep tangle him in a web and his lids started to close on their own accord. Thankfully, Ken nudged Yohji in the ribs, bringing him to full awareness before he was able to make a complete fool of himself by falling face first in the mud.

“Pay attention,” Ken hissed under his breath, while glaring at Yohji through the corner of his vision.

Yohji gave a nonchalant shrug and was grateful that priest was finally closing with another prayer. Within seconds afterward, Yohji had a cigarette poised delicately between his lips, lighting the toxic stick as though it was his last on this earth. He snapped the lighter shut and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks, while taking a long pull on the cigarette, filling his lungs with its acrid smoke. The feeling was stimulating and he almost felt his eyes flutter in a sense of contentment. Such a silly notion to others, but they usually didn’t understand the need that burned inside of Yohji to have a cigarette in his mouth, to have that smoke encase his lungs and drown the apprehension of the day.

“Those things will kill you, if I don’t first,” Ken muttered beside Yohji, shaking the raindrops from the umbrella he was holding over himself and the old lady.

“I sure do hope so,” Yohji replied and lifted his gaze just in time to see Aya making his way up the small hill that led to the entrance of the cemetery. Out of curiosity, Yohji wanted to follow, especially after he realized Aya was meeting with Birman and the American detective. However, he was quickly stopped by Ken before he was able to step a foot off the cobblestone walkway onto the grass.

“Leave him,” Ken said softly.

Yohji stared at the younger man, searching for a reason why Ken had decided to stop him. When there was no explanation written across the blank visage, he asked, “Why?”

“This is something he has to do on his own, Yohji. We can’t stop him.”

“You’re okay with him going on a mission alone?”

Ken sighed and closed his eyes. “Of course not, but do we have a choice?” He opened his eyes and stared up at Yohji tiredly. “Aya will do whatever he wants, when he wants. No one will be able to stand in his way.”

Those words coming from Ken took Yohji by surprise. He hadn’t expected such a solemn statement from the man that pushed everyone, including himself. Rarely had Ken ever given in so easily without a fight. What was happening to Weiss - to his friends?

“Well, I can’t just let him go like that,” Yohji stated firmly.

“Maybe it’s best,” the youngest member of Weiss declared, keeping his eyes forward to avoid contact with Yohji’s glare.

“What is with you two?” he snapped. “Don’t you realize that Aya could get himself killed?”

“Just as we could have during all those missions in the past? Even with a partner by our side?” Ken replied, his words scolding like the bite of a snake.

Yohji scoffed, intent on ignoring Ken’s reasoning. It was probably not the best idea, but Yohji wasn’t known for keeping to the wise words of his own conscience most often. He ran on instinct and spontaneous actions to get him through the life of guilt and blood that he led.

“I’m disappointed in your lack of faith in our team, Hidaka,” Yohji said and walked away. He wasn’t about to listen to Ken or Omi’s protest any longer. His decision was made, his mind set on one goal to persuade Aya to change his mind about the mission. The uneasy feeling that settled in his gut told Yohji it was not right, it was the wrong time to pursue such a dangerous alternative.

Aya was handed a folder just as Yohji reached the edge of the hill, its contents a mystery to the blond, and the Kritiker agent along with the detective made their departure. The redhead turned to face Yohji, his face a mixture of emotion. Emotions that Yohji rarely witnessed, barely knew existed inside the heart of steel that Aya possessed. There was sadness in those violet eyes that pierced Yohji’s soul each time they stared at one another, but this time with an intensity to stop Yohji in his tracks. It stopped him from wanting to say all that was on his mind; it stopped all train of coherent thought aside from the fact that Aya was hurting.

“Aya?”

The redhead shook his head mournfully, leaving Yohji to stand in the rain alone as though he had just been discarded by a high school crush. It almost felt like it, but much worse. The rejection from a man that he cared for more than he’d like to admit was…painful. The urge to follow Aya was overwhelming, but Yohji knew that if he did act on his own whim that Aya would have closed off more of himself in the process. Yohji couldn’t stand that; he had tried so hard to get the redhead to confide in him. The mission may have been impossible in the beginning, but slowly, very slowly the brick wall was thinning away with time.

Yohji sighed, shoulders hunched over in disappointment as he discarded his cigarette in the grass. Aya had slipped through his fingers again, and a perfectly new cigarette was wasted; it had been soaked through from the rain along with Yohji’s hair and clothes. He really hated the rain.

TBC...

Okay, so I lied... the relationship between Aya and Yohji will definitely become more...intense sort of speak. I\'m not sure if there will be sex, but who knows? Next chapter there will be some action. Not telling what type... you\'ll just have to guess. ;)