Endless Dark

A/N: As always, Weiss doesn\'t belong to me. I\'m not making any profit from this, and I\'m only doing it for entertainment. Apologies for the length of time between updates. Hopefully the last two chapters won\'t take so long to put up.

He’d tracked down Manx and demanded this one thing from her, though he had no right, he hadn’t been back to Weiss since that last night. He’d thought he’d break under the sadness in her eyes as she agreed, never asking why he’d chosen to come to her rather than Burman. He’d left the matter in her capable hands; just one more thing he wasn’t strong enough to take care of himself.

He stared down at the dark gray veined marble of the headstone, twisting the tail of the scarf he wore in his fingers. It was lovely, though he couldn’t really admire it. His face was a frozen mask, his eyes dark and empty. She wasn’t here, of course, they hadn’t found her body, but the hard, cold stone made the fact that she was gone come crashing home again.

He dropped to his knees, feeling the dampness of the ground seep through the cloth of his pants and not caring. Dropping the scarf his fingers reached, trembling, to trace the letters carved deeply into the face of the stone.


Fujimiya Aya
Beloved Sister of Ran

Alone we are born
And die alone;
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine.
Upon the upland road
Ride easy, stranger:
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.


His heart thumped painfully in his chest, though he was becoming accustomed to that sensation. Not a day of the past week had gone by without this pain. Sleep he’d only been able to find when he was so exhausted his body wouldn’t let him carry on any longer. It was only then that he could escape the nightmares that pulled him awake in a tangle of sweat soaked sheets and cheeks damp with the tears that never fell when he was awake.

He spent his nights wandering dark city streets, almost daring the corner thugs to accost him. When they gave in to the target he presented he let his rage and pain free in an explosion of violence; his fists speaking the emotion for the tears that he wouldn’t let free. Each time his partner landed a blow he welcomed the physical pain that distracted him from the pain in his soul.

Now his hands, stained with blood for all that the pale skin was clean and flawless, clenched together, his head bowing while his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“What am I supposed to do, Aya?” he whispered to the unhearing air, going on to quote from the stone. “’Surrender to the sky/Your heart of anger’. How am I supposed to do that?”

He remained kneeling in front of the empty grave for a long time. As the sky darkened he finally stood, tipping his head back and staring up into the sky for a moment before he turned to leave the cemetery. His steps were slow, damp pants clinging to his legs in a clammy caress as he walked back to the dingy hotel he was using when he needed a place to crash.

The last of the dying sunlight caught on his hair, making it flare in a red halo about his head that burned almost as brightly as his pain.

Ken raised his head quickly when he heard the door open. It had been a slow day, and he would welcome the interruption of a customer; quiet had become hard for him to deal with. His eyes flew wide when he saw who had come in and he looked away awkwardly.

“Yohji-kun,” Omi said softly, stg atg at the older man over the bunch of roses he held carefully in his hands. “You don’t have to be here today. Ken and I can handle things.”

“I know,” Yohji looked slowly around the shop, the white bandage on his cheek standing in sharp relief against his skin. “I just… I just can’t stay alone at home right now. There’s too much…”

Omi set down the flowers hastily as Yohji’s voice broke. He lifted shaking fingers over his face as Omi hurried toward him, breathing deeply in an effort to regain his poise.

“I’m sorry Yohji, I should have thought that you might not want to be alone,” Omi said, concerning creasing his forehead in furrowed lines.

Omi had become the glue that held them all together in the week since Aya had left. Ken felt guilty for leaving the burden on the youth, but he had no idea what he could do to help. So, he simply worked in the shop all the time, covering the shifts that Aya and Yohji weren’t there for.

“No, no,” Yohji answered, lowering his hands when Omi gently touched the back of his arm. The mask was firmly back in place; the playboy that had only known Aya as a teammate was back in control.

“Yohji,” Omi said softly, insistently, but before he could say more Yohji spoke again, lips curling into a mocking, sharp smile.

“I wouldn’t want the girls to see me like this, after all,” he gestured to his bandaged cheek. “Wouldn’t be good for my reputation, you know.”

“Might earn you sommpatmpathy though,” Ken interjected himself into the conversation smoothly, accepting the reproachful look Omi cast his way. The kid had good intentions, but for now at least it might be best to let Yohji play at this game.

“You may be on to something there, Ken,” Yohji cast him an appraising look, rubbing the tip of his nose with one finger. “That may be just the way to go. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

With that Yohji breezed out of the shop, leaving Ken and Omi alone again. Ken braced himself for the explosion he knew was forthcoming from Omi. He turned chocolate-colored eyes toward Omi, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and one foot tapping on the floor.

“What was that all about?” he snapped, eyes narrowed into an angry blue glare that stabbed Ken. “How’s he supposed to deal with Aya if…?”

“He’s not going to deal with Aya,” Ken interrupted, voice hard but not angry. “In case you haven’t noticed, Aya left. I doubt he’s planning to come back any time soon, if at all. Yohji doesn’t need to deal with Aya; he needs to get over him.”

Omi blinked; shock, surprise and sadness chasing themselves across his features. Slowly, he nodded, accepting the truth of Ken’s words. There really was no way to know if Aya was coming back at all, and maybe it would help if Yohji put off facing that for a while.

He hadn’t wanted to face this now. He wasn’t ready for the question the redhead posed him, and he looked away without speaking.

“Aya,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I know this is hard. We have to know what you want to do though.”

“And what happens when I tell you?” he asked quietly, not looking back at her. “What happens to me after I make my choice?”

“That depends on what you choose,” she said, matter-of-fact as usual. “If you decide to go, then you go. You’ll be watched, of course, there’s nothing I can do to stop that. If you decide to stay, we’ll ask you to go back to the shop. Or, at the very least, to make sure we can find you.”

“You found me just fine today Manx,” he looked back at her, the expressionless killer masking the feelings beneath.

“I’ve been coming here for the last three days,” she replied, resting her hand on the top of the headstone. “I figured I’d catch you eventually. This isn’t reliable enough for assigning missions though.”

“Missions,” he repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. His lips went t as as he thought about becoming part of the team again; thought about trusting his life in the hands of the other three members of Weiss.

Manx waited quietly while he thought things through, offering him what privacy she could by turning her gaze away. She looked out over the headstones that dotted the landscape around them. For an instant she wondered just how many headstones decorated the land because of what Weiss did. She pushed the thought away as she heard Aya shift, preparing to speak.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he sounded relieved and resigned at the same time. “I know how much I owe Kritiker. For taking care of my sister for so long, and for taking care of so many things for me. But, I don’t think I can put my trust in his, in their, hands again.”

“No, Aya,” Manx shook her head slowly, her gaze sad as she finished. “You don’t owe Kritiker anything. We take payment in blood, and you’ve given enough.”

She turned and walked away theuickuickly disappearing behind a screen of trees. Aya turned back to the headstone, placing his hand lightly on top of it as he thought about what he’d just given up.

“Manx!” Yohji swept to the woman’s side, sliding an arm around her waist with a sly grin. “It’s been far too long since you shared the sight of your beautiful face with us.”

She stepped away from him neatly, not even smiling at his attempt. She looked around the shop, glad to see that all three of the boys were there and that they had no customers.

“Close up guys,” she said seriously. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Omi led the way downstairs, frowning thoughtfully. Manx wasn’t the one who came to give them their missions anymore. The fact that two weeks had passed now since Aya had left and this was the first contact from Kritiker didn’t bode well. Manx showing up now left Omi with a bad feeling.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs and Yohji passed him to settle on the couch, making a show of unconcern. Ken stopped beside Omi, looked worriedly down at him. Omi reached out and gave Ken’s hand a quick squeeze, more to reassure himself than the other man before moving to sit. Ken perched on the arm of his chair, resting his arm across the back and letting the tips of his fingers touch lightly on Omi’s shoulder.

Omi was grateful for his nearness as he looked at Manx. The grim look on the woman’s face made it obvious that she came bearing bad news.

“I just came from talking to Aya,” she began, but stopped as Yohji literally jumpff tff the couch.

“You saw him?” Yohji’s eyes were wide and his face had gone white. He made a visible effort to rein himself in, stopping in the middle of the floor and swallowing hard before he spoke again. “How is he? Where is he?”

“I saw him at Aya-chan’s grave,” Manx looked closely at Yohji and then spoke simply, not trying to soften the blow that lay in her words. “He’s the same Aya he was when he first came here.”

Yohji flinched slightly and closed his eyes, nodding slowly. “And where is Aya-chan’s grave?”

Manx frowned for a moment, but before she could speak Omi leaned forward to ask a question of his own.

“What about Sakura-san? I know Kritiker informed her family and they took care of things, but you do know where her grave is, don’t you?” Omi bit his lip, glancing down at the floor. “We should at least stop and pay our respects.”

“I agree. And I’ll give you that information after I’ve said what I came here to tell you,” Yohji made as if to protest, but she held up a hand and raised her voice to forestall him. “This is important, and I want to get through it.”

Yohji blinked, realizing then that Manx’s face was nearly as white as his own. She was obviously upset and Yohji felt a thrill of fear in his chest. He licked his lips nervously and moved back to his seat on the couch, hunched around that fear like an old man.

“Aya isn’t coming back to Weiss.”

Her words fell like lead into the silence, and Yohji felt himself shatter. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. He heard Omi say his name in sudden alarm and saw Ken leap off the arm of the chair and reach toward him.

Before Ken’s hands could touch him he was moving again, though without conscious direction. The air was pierced by a wail of despair, and deep inside Yohji knew that it was coming from his lips but he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back and forth as his despair poured out in a torrent of raw sound.