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Come As You Are	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6971 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Disclaimer: All characters except the boring, ugly ones belong to Weiss Kreuz and Koyasu Takehito.
Surprisingly enough, he spotted him immediately as he pulled up to the building, letting the motorcycle die and rolled up alongside the curb of the visiting entrance to the hospital. Omi blinked at him in surprise as Ken pulled off his helmet, like he had been expecting someone else. Baby blues were bloodshot and tired-looking as Omi smiled faintly, like he was about to be very politely ill. As bitter and childish as it was, Omi wasn’t the one that had to clean up the bathroom. Picking up glass covered in Aya’s blood was not how he had wanted to spend the afternoon. Ken had permanently lost his appetite, frowning at Omi’s miserable expression. Now the guy responsible for this all was missing. Ken now regretted not tying Yohji down to something after knocking him unconscious, worried that the man might wake up while they were gone and try running around in the streets like a madman in order to find Aya.

Ken had dared to wonder how things could possibly get worse, coming to a stop and reaching around for the spare helmet automatically.

"You didn’t have to come," Omi muttered, all the cheerfulness gone from his voice. Ken froze and blinked at his lover, not recognizing him in shorts and a sweater that covered his fingers. The usual cheerfulness, that kind of glow Omi always seemed to carry around with him was gone. There was a little bit of red bruising at the corner of Omi’s narrowed and hardened baby blues, showing Ken that the kid was done with crying for now. He wasn’t looking at his usual lover, but someone that was able to shoot people down in their tracks. Ken was unable to listen as Omi began explaining most of the security cameras in the hospital had been broken, a nurse was dead- but above all, Aya was gone without a trace. Ken damn well knew it wasn’t because the man had tried to escape on his own; Aya had barely been able to breathe under his own power a few hours ago. He didn’t understand why Omi was giving him this summary now, was only staring at the helmet Ken was shoving at him like he had never ridden a motorcycle before.

"Aya’s missing. Get on, we’re going to the police station to report this," Ken jerked his head back at the seat behind him. He remembered another time when they had wanted to take Aya to the hospital- when Yohji had first found the guy bleeding to death against the back door. But, that had been for such drastically different reasons. Yohji had eventually made it clear to Ken, explaining that Aya hadn’t wanted to go because the local hospitals were likely to be tagged for anyone coming in under his description. Ken had a hard time believing that the inner-city pimps were so organized… but they had gotten someone like Aya to work for them. Still, there was no possible way that after a good, solid year and a half or more they would still be searching for him. Ken was almost hoping that it was the enemy assassin Omi’s grandfather had been threatening them with. They would at least be getting a ransom note or such soon if that was the case. A pimp would just sweep Aya up into the underworld and they’d never hear of him again. Abyssinian had a better chance of survival in this mess, likely to make a very good hostage right now. Unconscious people were like that.

"I already did that through the hospital," Omi calmly answered, making Ken’s eyes narrow in suspicion. He could tell when Omi wanted to hide something from him, eyes shifting around to the side of him. An unfamiliar couple walked past them on the way into the hospital, glancing over curiously in their direction as Ken waited to hear what was next. He couldn’t deal with just sitting around, waiting for the police to finally get off their ass and do something. Omi should be sitting in front of the computer, miraculously finding out something about Aya’s whereabouts through that crazy Internet shit. They shouldn’t be standing in front of the hospital in an awkward silence. Ken needed more than that guarded and carefully blank gaze. He was on the verge of breaking down himself, if that wouldn’t leave just Omi as the only sane one in the house. He felt his hand dig in painfully to the curve of the helmet, hard plastic biting into his palm as Omi coughed and glanced around at everything but Ken’s face.

"I have something to do before I go home," Omi explained softly with his eyes downcast and his hands in his pockets.

"Omi, now is not the fucking time to be thinking about schoolwork-..." Ken started, amazed that his little blonde could still be so concerned about his classes at a time like this. If Omi said he wanted to go to the library right now, Ken would really have to slap some sense into him. They had a hundred things to do, exactly what Ken still wasn’t sure of, but either way they had to find Aya.

"It’s not that!" Omi yelled, anger suddenly exploding as his head snapped up to glare at Ken. His eyes were dry for once; his mouth set in a determined line as he faced off with Ken. He suddenly had the sinking feeling that Omi wasn’t going to come home with him. That he was going to have to somehow get through this alone. Ken went cold in the middle of this summer day, wishing that Aya hadn’t seen fit to run off. They needed their leader here, unconscious or not. He wanted that man back home as soon as possible, close at hand so Ken could keep on eye on the crazy idiot from now on. He wasn’t going to let Aya ever harm himself again- or let anyone else do so for the selfish bastard.

"I’m going to ask my grandfather for a favor," Omi whispered softly at last, the golden fringe of his bangs hanging low to cover his eyes. Omi couldn’t ever keep a secret from Ken for too long, but this was one of the times that he wished he had. How could Omi possibly be thinking of asking a Takatori for a favor? Didn’t he know the consequences? Yohji had done it once, because Aya had been on his deathbed, and had come back from the mission looking like hell in the next morning. Ken had felt so sorry for the poor guy until he had learned just whom Yohji had been ordered to kill- and began to joyful slap the man on the back. He may have become a solo mass-murderer, but they had all deserved it. Sadly enough, it was unlikely that Omi would simply be asked to complete one more mission. His sweet old grandfather would have Omi at the head of an organization that killed people to be forever tied down by the responsibilities of Persia. There was no way that Omi could ever have the detached ruthlessness necessary to be a leader. Omi would never be able to judge who had to die, if they were a criminal or not, if he should risk the lives of assassins on missions that may or may not succeed.

"Omi, you don’t have to do this. We’ll find Aya on our own," Ken argued, trying to figure out what he could say to change his lover’s mind. They’d be able to find him. Stranger miracles had happened before. Hell, Aya had lived through slitting his wrists. What was a little kidnapping attempt right now? The trail was still fresh, if they could just find some sort of clue or hint... Ken wasn’t even sure what the fuck they were supposed to look for, he just knew that he couldn’t let Omi turn to his family for help. That was likely to get the boy killed, or even worse. Ken couldn’t let Omi return to Kritiker, not when he had been the one who wanted so badly to start a new life. Hadn’t Omi been the one telling them that they could all start over, forget about all their sins and just live like normal human beings? He couldn’t really mean to throw that all away.

"How, Ken? How are we going to find him? I don’t even know if he’s still in Tokyo!" Omi shouted, overpowering any attempt Ken made to interrupt him. Ken had never been on the losing side of a fight between them- Christ; they didn’t even fight that much! But, here they were. Ken didn’t have an answer. Aya could be on an international flight by now and they would never even know. It was terrifying to even imagine half of the possibilities. Ken knew that Omi was upset, that he wasn’t doing too fucking well himself, but he couldn’t just believe that Omi could think for a moment that he could trust his grandfather would help him. They were family only by blood, that antique fucker showing up to finally reunite with his grandson when it benefited him. At this rate, Omi was walking straight into that man’s clutches. Ken wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the old man had something to do with it in the first place.

Ken surprised himself with his own thinking, opening his mouth to warn Omi as well.

"There he is. Listen, Ken, go home and watch Yohji-kun. Maybe Aya-kun will show up," Omi suggested gently, like a parent that was forced to leave their child to go to work, glancing over his shoulder meaningfully. Ken watched as along with Omi as a nice, black, stretch-limo pull up alongside his own bike. They didn’t even kill the engine, nor did anyone get out to open the doors for Omi or such. Someone just waited inside for Omi to finish up this conversation and get inside. Ken wanted to punch grandpa Takatori right through his tinted windows, hating the fact that the driver had parked so closely to his bike. It was like they were trying to dig in the fact that they had managed to force their way into their lives again, Kritiker coming in to grab a hold of Omi like a disease. He didn’t want to do anything more than hold Omi back right now; just grab the boy in a hug and drive off before he could come to his senses.

"Omi, you can’t go," Ken insisted, making his voice as firm as possible. He just wasn’t going to let this happen, period. He made a grab for the shorter blonde’s wrist and found Omi stepping back gracefully. He was dodged easily and Omi quickly began walking, making a wide circuit around his bike- too far for Ken to simply reach out and hold down. He found himself staring, impossibly stuck watching the most horrible moment of his life. It was like watching Omi walking straight into the devil’s embrace, smiling without any humor, every strand of hair perfectly in place, his eyes impossibly bright when he glanced back at Ken one more time.

"I’ll come home when I’m done," Omi promised before he opened up the door to the limo, nodding in greeting to whoever was inside.

"Omi!" Ken yelled it as the door closed behind his lover. The car was immediately rolling forward after that, leaving Ken to sit there on his bike and stare after it in horror. It was a rather quite day at the hospital, only a few people exiting and entering who got to see the fight he had just had. Ken knew that they were watching him as he stared at the spot where that limo had been only a few seconds ago, trying to understand what had just happened. Hadn’t he been yelling, hadn’t he tried to explain just what was going on? Omi really had left him.

***

There he was.

Looking down intently at his current page, fine brows pressed together as Aya was absorbed up into one particular spot. He was sitting straight up on the edge of the couch, leaning over the book as if he was going to jump into it himself. Really, no one should ever be so serious when they were simply reading a book. Yohji was torn between admiring that beautiful profile and getting in there to stop it. Aya spent as much time reading during a day than Yohji had thought physically possible. The last time he had tried to read one of Aya’s books, he hadn’t even gotten down to the bottom of the first page before he had a roaring headache and needed a beer. Yohji didn’t find it a very interesting hobby, except it made Aya happy, and that was more than enough for him. Besides, it was the only time Aya ever completely relaxed; so wrapped up in what was on the page that he didn’t even notice it when Yohji crossed the room.

"What'cha reading?" Yohji purred out as he dropped his head down in Aya’s lap, throwing the rest of his body out on the couch as he used his lover’s hip for a pillow. Aya shook his head in surprise as he was forced back into the real world, arching one eyebrow at Yohji’s antics. He quickly removed his reading glasses and set them out of harms way in a learned habit that made Yohji grin. He had lost count of how many pairs he had broken in the process of pouncing on Aya, never able to resist how damn sexy that man could look in a pair of glasses. Even the bookworm side of Aya was sexy, despite that dynamite body being hidden underneath a muted blue sweater. It was the brightest color Yohji could talk Aya into beyond that horrible orange, and it suited this happy, civilian Aya so much better than the black he was so fond of.

"I was reading ‘The Art of War,’" Aya answered tiredly, closing the said book and bopping it on Yohji’s forehead affectionately. He knew that there was no chance of reading any further if Yohji was on the afternoon prowl, the slightest hint of a smile edging into the corners of Aya’s mouth despite the fierce glare of irritation he was trying to send toward Yohji. A hand that was now free because Aya had stopped reading combed through Yohji’s bangs, like a master scratching his cat behind the ears. Yohji repressed the urge to purr, loving it when Aya scratched his head with those perfect fingernails. It really did feel like heaven. Once Aya found someone to love and trust, he opened up in ways that Yohji’s hadn’t even imagined; so fond of a good cuddle that it was unbelievable they had ever called the guy ‘Ice Princess’ behind his back.

"Oh, sounds sexy," Yohji grinned, turning his face into Aya’s groin and nuzzling malleable flesh underneath the jeans. There was an offended ‘Yohji!’ followed by the sound of the book hitting the coffee table. The hand that had been scratching his hair suddenly turned into a loose fist, pulling Yohji’s face away from his pants to lean down and plant a kiss on his lips. Aya was an excellent kisser, and Yohji would like to think that he was a good teacher. At first, the poor guy didn’t know how to do anything other than take it, but now his tongue rimmed Yohji’s lower lip before sliding in and meeting his own. Aya soundly kissed Yohji, both of them reaching up into each other’s hair and drawing the other in closer.

Finally they had to breathe, and Aya drew away with a contented smile. He licked his lips as he grinned down at Yohji, so happy that it was irresistible at that point. Yohji grabbed the bottom of that sweater and yanked it up a few inches to reveal a pale, washboard stomach and a bellybutton. He pressed his mouth up against that flesh and blew air out hard, as if tickling a baby. And Aya laughed like mad, one palm shoved up against Yohji’s face as he tried to push the man away. It was magic to hear that deep, rich voice finally fill the room up with good humor, yelling Yohji’s name and struggling playfully. Yohji finally backed off when Aya started panting weakly, flushed and obviously giddy from such exertion. It was such a painful shame that Aya had never flirted, hadn’t ever hugged his father, and hadn’t even wrestled around with friends like boys tended to do when they were young. Aya had been taught that the physical was bad, bad, bad from day one, a rigid family life followed up by even more stunted adulthood in an underground assassin unit. It had definitely been tough at first, since Yohji was a man that loved to touch and hold onto his partners; but eventually all the hesitation fell away to reveal an extremely tender lover underneath those ice-cold looks.

"I love you," Yohji said like he had so may times before, but he really meant every word of it for Aya. Those purple eyes softened enough to take Yohji completely in, somehow able to express those sentiments right back without actually saying so.

"Me too," Aya whispered back, but his voice held a little more pain than one would normally have for such an answer. Yohji smiled sadly up into those violet eyes, knowing that those words really were the best Aya could do. They could trust each other completely and Aya still wasn’t able to tell Yohji that he loved him. They were three little words that became incredibly fucking difficult when strung together, but Yohji could understand that. Some things were just difficult for Aya, after being emotionally constipated for the better half of his whole damn life. They began to kiss again after that, words no longer necessary; and Yohji made sure to lose his shirt in between. He moved off of Aya’s lap, or maybe he was pushed, but he ended up with his back against the couch and the former swordsman straddling his thighs. Aya had his mouth latched onto the side of Yohji’s neck, a little bit of teeth digging in as his kitten sucked hard enough to make Yohji cry out in surprise.

"Did I hurt you?" Aya immediately was backing off, his spine going straight as a board and all of the passion bleeding out of his face as he watched Yohji anxiously. Yohji could almost laugh at how overwhelmingly concerned Aya was, his whole body shaking and quite suddenly on the verge of tears when they had been making out just a second ago. Yohji reached up to check that spot on his neck that was still wet from Aya’s mouth with his fingers.

"You just gave me a fucking hickey," Yohji had to announce it, just so amazed and proud. He felt like a parent watching his son win the home game; it was the very first time Aya had ever had the confidence to leave a mark on him. The poor guy had been taught that leaving any love nips or bruises from passionate sex was only meant to be degrading...until Yohji had made it a personal mission to always have a nice red-and-blue pimpled bruise in the shape of his mouth somewhere on Aya; his neck, his shoulder, the inside of his thigh. Aya had gotten used to it simply because Yohji insisted, on the verge of loving the man too much. Aya’s lower lip trembled, obviously expecting some kind of punishment for daring to do the same. Once they got out of Aya’s comfort zone; the only thing he anticipated was violence, even though Yohji had proven time and time again that he would never hit his lover out of anger.

"I’m sor-..."

"Thank you, Aya," Yohji interrupted the man before he could ruin it. As much as he loved Aya, the man could be a complete idiot when it came to talking aloud. Some things were better left unsaid, merely the physical as Yohji put a hand to the side of Aya’s face and kissed him again. There was reluctance at first, Aya still feeling bad about simply getting a little bit frisky. Yohji’s couldn’t understand it himself, but he used his lips and tongue to coax back into the mood. Soon enough there was a hand sneaking around to the back of his neck, drawing him in deeper. This was how Aya said ‘I love you,’ with his body and actions as Yohji reached down in between them to begin unbuckling Aya’s belt. The man didn’t even flinch away like he had always done before; in fact, he lifted his body up so Yohji could have a better angle. He had the belt undone and the zipper down so quickly that a magician would be jealous of his hand speed. Out popped a pink erection with a purple head, fitting perfectly in to the palm of Yohji’s hand. It was if Aya had been made for him, arching up at the sensation and settling his arms on Yohji’s shoulders easily. Yohji was a little bit taller than Aya if they were standing up, but sitting down they were both completely even with each other. It was because Aya had a longer torso than him- one that Yohji suddenly wanted to see right now. He took his hand away from the straining cock to push at Aya’s sweater, even though the man whined and twisted against him in disappointment. Aya tore the clothing off himself, throwing it aside and putting his hands back around Yohji’s neck for leverage as he rubbed his hard-on against his stomach. The front of Yohji’s own jeans were suddenly much too tight, unable to believe how incredibly beautiful Aya was on top of his lap; his hair deepening into wine-red as it grew out to brush his shoulders. He could spend all day admiring Aya’s face, if the man wasn’t glowering at him despite the aroused blush on his face, those exotic eyes narrowing as Yohji was momentarily hypnotized by their color.

"Yohji-..." Aya started to growl impatiently before it ended in a high gasp as Yohji leaned forward to fasten his mouth to one of those two perky nipples. He swirled his tongue against it, feeling a foreign lump that was nothing more than scar tissue. Yohji didn’t really get angry anymore, having eventually learned to enjoy the strange texture. It was another little quirk that made Aya... Aya. Besides, the man seemed to appreciate the attention as he made a lovely moan; his hand reaching for Yohji’s...to drag it back to his free and weeping erection. Yohji smirked against Aya’s chest at the man’s insistence, pumping that organ a few times to smear a bit of the precum, using that wet his fingers before switching hands; reaching around to dip his hand underneath Aya’s loose jeans and slide a sticky finger between his buttocks. Yohji began to tease Aya’s entrance, squeezing and cupping his balls while-

"Come on, Omi, we’re going to miss the start of the game," Ken’s voice broke into their mood so loudly that several things happened at once. Yohji was so startled he accidentally bit down on Aya’s nipple, causing the man to cry out so passionately that Yohji couldn’t even control himself. He came in his pants, hot liquid caught up against fabric and pubic hair, left to shudder with his hands down Aya’s pants. The man was too embarrassed to even move, perched on top of Yohji’s lap and staring forward at him with wide eyes, as if begging Yohji to tell him that the voice had just been imagined; but was too afraid to see for himself. Behind Aya, Ken and Omi were standing at the entrance into the living room, both of them shocked as hell while Yohji fell back against the couch, too contented to be humiliated. The looks on Ken and Omi’s faces were too funny to be upset about this.

"Watch it in the den," Yohji ordered when he could finally speak again, not even bothering to watch as their footsteps made a quick retreat. He just pulled the driest hand he had out of Aya’s pants to grab the man by the back of the head and pull him in closer. Aya’s lips were a little bit reluctant as they began kissing again, but Yohji soon got the man to forget about Ken and Omi; turning the world into just them, just this moment. He loved Aya so much that it hurt sometimes, never wanting to let the man go again-...

Yohji woke up to nibbling on a throw pillow, humping the edge of a couch cushion he had messed up in his sleep. It took a moment of dizzy, nauseous recollection to even know who he was right now. His mind was brittle and dry right now, his lips cracked, and eyes sore. Yohji slapped a hand to his face, rubbing at his skull as he tried to work himself back into the real world. He had to roll off of his unwilling partner, turning up onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He wondered what time it was as he slapped a hand over the lazy erection coming to life the more he woke up. There was no point to it if Aya wasn’t there, if the last time he had seen Aya was with a plastic tube shoved up his nose. How could he fantasize about his lover when he was in the hospital? It left Yohji with a sick taste in his mouth, or maybe that was just from sleeping on the couch. He wondered how he even got there in the first place, slowly pushing off the furniture to stagger upright. He had to wake up; had to get himself decent enough to go back to that hospital and make sure that Aya was alright- before going to beat the utter shit out of that doctor. He hadn’t been in the right mind to argue with the man on the spot, but that accusation still burned. Yohji was the last person on earth who would ever hit Aya, and he had gotten kicked out of the man’s hospital room. They were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake! Aya wasn’t supposed to be committing suicide, and no matter how selfish that decision had been, Yohji couldn’t hate Aya for it. He hated himself, blamed himself for all of this. Why did he have to get mad instead of listening? How could he have possibly found any comfort in sex that he couldn’t remember; that had made him bleed?

He was seriously one sad son of a bitch. Yohji couldn’t even pity himself; he was too disgusted with what he had done. Yohji didn’t really care about his own body, able to take a lot of physical hurt and discomfort- but not when it ended up hurting Aya. Aya had already been through more than his fair share- why had Yohji seen fit to add on top of it all? He should have just stayed home and listened to Aya. He regretted that more than anything else in his whole life, and wanted nothing more than for Aya to open up his eyes again. Yohji had to explain that to the doctor without crying when he could barely even get off of the couch. He stood up and only then did he realize that he was naked despite the palm kneading his balls as if he could sooth his erection back into nothing. He had to have looked like hell, not very sure how long he had been out on the couch.

Either way, he needed a shower. He wasn’t going to convince a doctor that he wasn’t crazy with unwashed hair and body odor. Besides, Aya might wake up today. Yohji wanted to look his best for that, wanted Aya to see exactly what he would miss out on if he had succeeded in killing himself. Just remembering how much blood there had been gave Yohji the chills, feeling sick as he walked up the stairs. He realized a moment too late exactly where he was going, turning into the bathroom with the broken door only to be assaulted by the smell of bleach.

It was white, cleaned up like a bad dream. If Yohji didn’t feel like such shit, he might even believe that it had never even happened in the first place. He wondered where Ken and Omi were, sure that they had done this while he had been napping because they knew just how horrible it would be for Yohji to see his lover’s blood all over the floor. Aya was their best friend as well, but for some reason that just didn’t factor in very highly in Yohji’s mind right now. Aya’s wrists had been simply awful, reminding Yohji of the slabs of raw meat they hung in the butcher shops. He was no stranger to body wounds, but it was something else entirely when they were self-inflicted. Yohji inched into the bathroom, remembering where Aya’s body had lay as he moved across the room. He turned on the hot water, pausing for a moment as he wondering where Ken and Omi were. The house was still and quiet without Aya there, the stoic man somehow always making enough noise to reassure Yohji that he was still there; the low hum of conversation or the television, music being played almost too loudly, or Aya simply screaming his lungs out over something Yohji had done again... It was all gone now.

Yohji had to get back to the hospital and see Aya again, had to make sure that his lover was at least alive for now. He could worry about all those smaller details later. Yohji stepped into the shower stall that now only had one glass panel, hissing and adjusting the water temperature even though a bastard like him didn’t deserve it. He wanted to get cleaned up, get every last bit of dirt off of him. He was going to go back to the hospital, and he’d leave again when Aya had woken up. It was simple as that. Yohji sighed at the headache, at some nagging memory that wanted to make itself made- but Yohji felt too much like shit to think clearly this morning. He hadn’t woken up alone in years, at the hurt was still sitting hard inside his chest. Aya had always made a nice warm spot against his back or stomach, however they had ended up lying together that night. Yohji liked to think that he had trained Aya to like cuddling just as much as him, but there were sometimes when Yohji would be woken up in the middle of the night from Aya holding onto him with crushing strength. The man didn’t even know that he did it, but Aya would grip Yohji hard in his sleep when he was having a nightmare, desperately trying to cling to his security blanket. If he started talking softly just for the sake of Aya hearing his voice, the man would calm down soon enough. Yohji also found that petting Aya’s hair helped the man calm down as well, yet another reason to love the fact that Aya had agreed to grow it out.

Yohji began shampoo his hair, wondering what he had done wrong at the hospital. He had combed out every single silky strand on Aya’s head, had talked to him softly while Aya lay like the dead. It was hard not be physically sick. Why was he so fucking stupid? He was supposed to know Aya better than anyone did, and yet he couldn’t figure out a way to make the man wake up. He couldn’t even began to imagine what the man’s dreams must be like right now. He thought he had raped Yohji. It had to be utterly devastating to Aya, who knew that particular violation more intimately than any of them. How could Yohji have made such a mistake? Aya hadn’t been able to handle the guilt, had freaked out when it wasn’t even his fault! It was his, and he couldn’t get anyone to understand that. He couldn’t let Aya go like this, couldn’t bear it for himself if things ended with Aya dying in a hospital. It was just too horrifying of a reality; it managed to chill Yohji despite the warm shower he was in. Each drop managed to feel like a knife, stabbing into him as Yohji slowly came to realize the enormity of what he had done. Aya had committed suicide because of him, when he had promised the man he would never hurt him. What a fucking joke. Yohji should have chased Aya down after that fight and gotten the swordsman to hit him a few more times. Yohji deserved it. He should start another fistfight with Ken, which would be almost too easy. There were plenty of reasons to hate a bastard like himself.

His stomach was starting to hurt. Yohji wanted a cigarette, but he had to finish his shower first. Yohji washed out his hair and put in conditioner, staring forward at wet tile in a dismal silence. He had never thought that anyone would ever come to mean so much to him as Aya. He really did love him. Yohji didn’t know much about family, hating what little bit he had known of it, but if he was going to call anyone such it would be Aya. Ken and Omi were his best friends - but Aya was so much more than that. He was a person Yohji had managed to find in this fucked-up world that actually understood him. Aya may not act like it at all the time, but he was the most compassionate person Yohji had ever met. He couldn’t help but adore everything Aya did, from the way he breathed to how he clipped his toenails neatly over the toilet. Yohji hadn’t so much as spent a moment away from Aya after the second he had realized that he was in love with the man, not since this silly college thing had started. Yohji wished he could blame some of it on Aya continuing his education, but knew that it wouldn’t hold water. His fault, his stupid fucking fault; over and over again like a mantra. He had to get Aya to wake up again so that he could apologize for every last thing that had gone wrong.

Yohji finally finished his shower, turning off the water and stepping out to dry himself off with a fluffy, soft white towel that he didn’t deserve. He paused in the middle of wiping down his arm, staring down at his tattoo in silent irony. Just when the fuck was he gonna learn? Yohji held a hand up to his face, not sure if he was going to cry or laugh, but determined to do neither. He had one goal: Aya. Yohji calmly turned to himself in the mirror, pulling out the drawer and pulling out his brush on autopilot. He combed his hair out in muted, robotic movements until he noticed a red hair amongst the blonde buried in between the small teeth.

Amazing how everything could hurt. He couldn’t even get through five seconds without seeing something that would remind him of Aya. He wasn’t going to be able to deal with it if Aya never came back to the house. He needed to hold Aya again, needed to have the man hold him as well. He had become to depend on Aya more than anyone would ever know. Yohji dropped the towel and brush, shuffling back into their room and picking out clothes from the dresser that he figured would go together. Yohji had a hard time simply distinguishing between colors right now, but anything that was Aya seemed to be brighter than usual. Someone should just spare them all the pain and shot him now. What a miserable fucking excuse of a man he’d become.

Yohji staggered down the stairs, falling onto each step as he realized what a hypocrite he was for considering suicide. No matter how self-pitying or ‘bad’ it got, he had always pulled through before? Why did he have to suddenly give out now, when Aya was probably going to need him the most? Yohji was down in the kitchen, searching for his keys in a frenzy that just seemed to be going faster and faster. He almost didn’t notice the note on the refrigerator door, snatching it up as soon as he saw his name.

Yohji, I went to the hospital to pick Omi up. Please stay here in case the police call. Ken.

Had he taken lessons on how to give a fuck from Omi? Yohji was almost too angry with Ken to really read the words before he actually saw ‘police’ and wondered just what the fuck it could be now… and finally remembered why he had woken up on the couch in the first place. Ken had knocked him out cold because Yohji had been about to run out into the street naked, desperately searching for Aya. Because Aya was missing. He had been unconscious and recovering from near-fatal loss of blood. They had told him everything would be okay if he’d just go home and get some sleep. Aya wasn’t going to be waking up soon. Yohji had been stupid enough to believe them and now he was fucking paying with what was most precious to him. He couldn’t lose Aya, the sense of hopelessness smacking Yohji in the face. He couldn’t sit here and wait around for the cops to figure something out. He had spent his whole life doing the things that law enforcement should have taken care of. He had been a private investigator once. It would be nothing to find a missing person, especially someone he knew so much about. There was no place in this city that would be able to hide Aya from him. He tried once more to find his keys, trying to remember the names of old informants and places he could go to help get the word out. He was going to need cash for this, finally giving up on finding the damn keys and deciding to walk. He couldn’t stay in this house a moment longer when he knew his lover was wandering around outside somewhere, probably hurt or about to be hurt. It was more frightening than Yohji wanted to think about, opening the back door up violently to…

Aya.

Aya, his striking violet eyes blinking in a slight surprise at being met so suddenly. He was wearing a deep wine-red, short sleeved silk shirt with several buttons undone, looking definitely alluring…and ridiculous in this cold. It was certainly not anything Aya would typically wear, the too-tight leather pants obviously not his size but that was such a small detail when seeing Aya in something like that. He must have stolen it from some spoiled rich kid he’d been able to overpower after waking up from a coma. What a perfect morning exercise that had managed to regenerate Aya back into his familiar, healthy figure. Just standing there in one whole piece, wearing this classically shocked expression that blurred for a second…probably from his tears.

Yohji fell down and grabbed a hold of Aya, warm body that was muscle and bone underneath clothing. God, he had to smell him, had to press his face in the curve of Aya’s neck, take a deep breath, and sob in relief. He didn’t care why Aya was here right now, wasn’t about to ask for a reason, just that he was there. He didn’t care if he broke bones; it still wouldn’t be close enough. Yohji crushed Aya up against himself, heard that familiar voice gasp in surprise, one hand grabbing around his side and the other sliding down his back and coming to rest on his ass.

Yohji became aware of a hundred little things, going off like fire alarms. Aya’s hair was too silky in texture, uncharacteristically loose around his shoulders, the color too close to his old red, and the scent of styling gel a little too harsh. His shoulders were too thick and his body taller than the one Yohji remember from when he had last embraced his lover. His eyes were half-lidded; flirtatious even when Yohji pulled away to get a better look at the man. Yohji couldn’t ever recall a time when Aya had not been beautiful, but now he was holding himself like he knew it. Something was just wrong, something that Yohji could feel all the way down to his bones.

Yohji didn’t know who pushed whom away first, but he nearly stumbled against the stairs before regaining his balance and facing off against this not-Aya. Violet-green eyes glared back at him, almost giving him a headache before Yohji just grabbed Aya’s wrist. He pulled down the loose sleeve of that soft shirt and exposed a perfectly smoothed and slightly tanned arm. It wasn’t the pale white of Aya’s flesh, even though the image seemed to swim under his eyes and want to look very much like his lover. Yohji could tell the difference between the real Aya and any imposter any day. He had spent years studying the man.

"Where are your bandages, Aya?" Yohji hissed out as those familiar but strange eyes narrowed in hate. They both knew that this little act was up, the cheap fake in front of him swimming and melting until Yohji was forced to turn away and rub at his eyes in irritation. It felt like the nerves behind his pupils were burning, a pressure he hadn’t even been aware of suddenly released. When Yohji looked again, the man standing in front of him was no more than a German psychopath he had thought died long ago, adjusting his shirt angrily.

"Schuldig?!" Yohji couldn’t help screaming the name, staring in utter horror at the assassin standing in front of him. This just couldn’t be possible. Not this particularly insane and unpredictable, perverted, murdering son of a bitch. The Schwarz agent was sick to the core, some of his victims mangled beyond recognition. They knew that it wasn’t the Irish one, because Farfarello tended to cut his up into fine pieces at the end. It was a rare day when Schwarz left an unmutilated corpse. They had been the worst of enemies on a good day, such a pain in the ass that Yohji hated them on principal alone. Then, Aya had told Yohji- haltingly, taking small pauses to cry when it had simply gotten to be to much- about how the German had haunted his dreams when he had first joined Kritiker. How Aya had been outright tortured over each and every single murder he committed under orders. How he had been forced to feel guilt over being the only survivor in his family whenever he’d been foolish enough to fall asleep. About how Schuldig had called Aya a flawed human being, had told him his heart was too black and barren from the sin murdering to ever know love. Just throw in that religious taint and the Schuldig had Aya, hook, line, and sinker. His swordsman had always had a weakness for divine suffering, getting off on guilt so much that it was practically pointless to try punishing the guy in the first place. Aya had believed Schuldig’s words for far too long after the man had decided to stop, just as flippantly as he had begun harassing Aya in the first place.

There were few people that Yohji utterly fucking despised more in the world, beyond the pimps and countless customers that had laid their filthy hands on Aya. Nobody related to that business had been stupid enough to wander into their shop after Yohji had killed a rather notorious one between the potted plants and roses display. He had certainly learned his lesson after that. If he ever met someone that had hurt Aya again, he’d make sure that it would be slow. Schuldig had the lucky fortune of being a culprit Yohji could put a face and a name to.

In hindsight, the only reason why Yohji managed to touch the man was because he’d been too pissed off to think straight.

He threw a right hook, the one he had learned whenever he tried to take Aya out in public. He always ended up fighting for glorious little ice-princess, who would just order a straight shot of tequila for when Yohji returned and another drink for himself to work on while he watched the show. It was always best to take care of things as quickly as possible and Yohji meant to knock Schuldig unconscious with that hit alone. He felt the impact, good and solid… but, for some reason, he wasn’t very surprised when Schuldig only smirked and laughed out something in German at him. Yohji was sure he could take it as insult, eyes widening when Schuldig wound back for a blow of his own. It was coming down before Yohji actually realized he should move, stepping under the fist and kneeing Schuldig where it would count. He didn’t care about being fair in a fight with this guy, knowing that if he stopped for one moment, he’d wind up like one of those pictures they were shown for Schwarz’s file. Just another victim at this bastard’s feet. And a chilling fear running down his neck that forced him forward, because he could easily guess that Aya’s disappearance and that freaky impersonation Schuldig had just performed were connected. He didn’t stand a chance in hell against an assassin that was probably still notoriously active, had been their best match every time. He was called Mastermind for a reason, and Yohji figured the disgusting bastard could read his thoughts.

He hoped Schuldig could know how much he hated him.

Yohji punched the German in the side of the neck while he got a fist to sternum at the same moment. They both staggered back from each other, choking and gagging from the last round of sucker punches. Yohji tried to shake off the damage before Schuldig, failing when he got the somewhat bulkier man lunging straight as his stomach. Instead of any fancy martial arts, they had descended into outright brawling as Yohji was lifted right up off of his feet and slammed into the side of the garage. Things went fuzzy for a moment, his body going limp and his will to fight draining right out of him with it. Schuldig laughed heartily as Yohji slumped down until his ass hit the ground; legs sprawled out in front of him. He seemed pleased with the damage, turning away in a swirl of loose, dyed hair and bad cologne. Yohji numbly realized that if he lost here, Schuldig was going to kill him and then trot on back to wherever he had Aya stashed and torture his lover until he died as well. Aya would never fucking forgive him when they met down in Hell, going to walk around with a stick up his butt for all eternity if Yohji screwed it up like this.

Schuldig started walking away, sparking Yohji into motion despite the dizzy feeling of being hit too hard. He went forward with little grace, grabbing Schuldig’s ankle and tripping him face-first into the pavement. The German went down in a tumble of expensive clothing, what must be Italian leather shoes whistling past his head as Yohji dodged being kicked in the teeth and threw himself on top of the other man. He meant to hit Schuldig in his ugly face again, but the movement to bring his fist back allowed Schuldig to toss him over his side. The assassin rolled onto the top, switching their positions for a single moment… but Yohji kept the momentum up, using his longer legs to force Schuldig back down into the driveway. He did punch the dirty son of a bitch then, socked him good in that smug little face. Red mucus splattered down from Schuldig’s nose, Yohji winning first blood. However, instead of damaging the man, it only seemed to piss him off further. They started rolling again, Schuldig getting in a set of knuckles against Yohji’s cheek and a knee in his side. It wasn’t fair that the bastard was wearing rings, the punch ringing against his bone as he skinned his elbows on the pavement jumping out from underneath Schuldig, bringing his knee against the German’s chin in the process. He heard the man’s jaw clack shut, extremely satisfying as Yohji managed to get up to his feet. His vision went for a moment, his guts already starting to harden up from taking body blows. Dirty, cheating, motherfucker. At least Schuldig was still on his hands and knees, that last hit seeming to do some hurt.

Yohji raced forward, meaning to kick Schuldig in the face like it was a damn soccer ball while he was still on the ground. Mastermind managed to jump aside, leaping up and slamming his shoulder into Yohji’s side, yet again. He started taking him down the rest of the driveway, likely until Yohji slammed against something solid. Like hell was he going to get taken by the same move, locking his fingers around the back of Schuldig’s neck and awkwardly suspending all his weight from the German’s head. His balance was lost and they both went down in an awkward tumble in the sidewalk. Yohji didn’t really take note of it until they separated and regained their footing; mutually tired of tussling on the ground as they both put their fists up. There was a scattering of people, murmuring and trying to stay out of the way- while watching the fight eagerly at the same time. Yohji distantly heard the click of cellphone cameras, grinning viciously. He’d love to see Schwarz try to cover their ass after this one, holding his fists up by his nose as he began edging toward Schuldig.

"Where’s Aya?" He demanded when he was close enough, surprising himself by talking. It truly was the only concern for him, and would remain so until he could hold the real Aya in his arms. Schuldig wiped the blood leaking down his chin off with the back of his hand, spitting to the side as he combed his hair out of his face. He threw his head to the side, cracking his neck before grinning widely, just like the insane piece of shit that he was.

"Don’t worry, Yohji-dear. I’ll be sure to keep him entertained until you find us," Schuldig laughed in that horrible, accented Japanese of his, grabbing the front of his pants and adjusting his balls lewdly. A girl that was foolish enough to stick around watching them shrieked in offense, able to watch a fistfight to the death but unable to handle the mention of sex. Yohji didn’t know if he was more pissed about what Schuldig was insinuating, or that Mastermind had said ‘us.’ Like he and Aya had some sort of connection beyond victim and deranged lunatic.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Yohji demanded, beginning to edge even closer, almost within striking distance. Adrenaline was giving him a strange focus, his breath coming hot and fast but his mind sharp. Schuldig was going to hurt Aya. That couldn’t be allowed. He could feel that mind-reading son of a bitch running his fingers around his head, trying to pry up some sort of loose thought. Aya had once explained that he had been able to fight Schuldig’s mental powers because he had been so focused on their mission. Yohji supposed he was experiencing something of the same, so damn scared for Aya that he didn’t care if he died- as long as he took Schuldig out before he could ever touch Aya again. Mastermind visibly jerked back as his psychic touch was withdrawn again, Yohji too pissed off to allow anyone fucking around inside his head. He had promised Aya that he would keep him safe, that he would protect him from people like this. Yohji wasn’t about to go back on his words.

"Don’t tell me you don’t remember our night, mein Lieber?" Schuldig sneered, his voice dropping into a familiar sort of tone that Yohji didn’t want used on him. He jabbed out with his left, glancing along Schuldig’s ear as the man dodged. The German came right back with a hard left that landed right on Yohji’s eye. It felt like the bastard had slammed a brick into his face, stunning him enough for Schuldig to knee him hard in the side. Yohji bent down and caught the leg, yanking it up to throw the Schwarz agent right onto his back with a nice crack. Yohji hoped the bastard had broken his fucking spine. Disappointingly, Schuldig was scrambling up before Yohji could take advantage of him being on the ground, rushing into one of their spectators. A girl screamed a green and white school uniform and straight black hair glimpsed before a large pink purse was flying at him. Yohji knocked it aside, a cellphone and set of keys with jingling plastic charms still hitting him in the chest. He could only wonder what sort of pain Schuldig had already inflicted on Aya already, for however long Yohji had been unconscious on that couch.

"I’m never going to give him back to you," Schuldig swore, his eyes more than a little bit unfocused, shining brightly with insanity.

"Where’s Aya?!" Yohji roared again, feeling a tooth finally come loose and fly out of his mouth. He completely ignored the high school girl the German had hanging from a fist in the front of her shirt. The girl had both hands wrapped around the assassin’s arms, shiny black shoes dangling above the ground as she cried out for help.

"Put her down!" Another man in the crowd beat Yohji to it, stepping forward without any clue. There was no way a guy in a rumbled brown two-piece suit, armed only with a beaten leather briefcase could take on one of the members from Esset’s top team. The man would get killed so easily that it was ridiculous to see him standing up for an innocent girl. There seemed to be a few other brave souls who were about to step in now that it had turned from carefree street brawling to a hostage situation. Yohji eyed the crowd, not wanting them all to die, but praying at the same time they wouldn’t be enough to drive Schuldig off. He still had to find out about Aya. The German looked back at him, around the man yelling for his attention, catching his eyes and grinning, a secret smile that was supposed to be just between them. Yohji felt sick.

"You shouldn’t care about him! I’m going to make your life hell!" Schuldig swore, tossing the girl into the businessman trying to stand up for her. She was caught and put back onto her feet with any more damage as Schuldig swirled back around on Yohji, just so angry about his relationship with Aya that Yohji couldn’t even begin to understand. He didn’t want to either, not about to sympathize with a psychopath that had tortured Aya in his dreams for years. Even on the first day Aya had come to Weiss and been given a welcome can of whoop ass by Ken, while recovering in Yohji’s bed he had started tossing around, mumbling and reaching for something with this horrible expression on his face that wasn’t meant for sleeping. Yohji hadn’t known at the time that it was because Schuldig danced images of Aya’s little sister through his head, always making sure to end with Aya-chan’s body being crushed underneath a slab of cement and her comatose body. Aya’s survivor guilt to the assassination of his family had been his driving force for years, never confiding in anyone else why’d he go into berserk rages whenever Takatori was mentioned. Schuldig had been one of the man’s prized agents, Schwarz running around as a private killing service for the man. Yohji didn’t want to imagine who they were working for now, determined to have nothing to do with it beyond getting Aya back safely.

"Just tell me where he is!" Yohji sobbed out; sure that Aya was scared and alone and needed his help. They weren’t supposed to be attacked like this, they weren’t supposed to be involved with life and death situations any more. How could they possibly be worthy enemies now when they had barely been equals before? Couldn’t Schuldig just see how pathetically docile they’d become and leave them alone? Yohji wouldn’t care if the man was disgusted with the way they lived their lives and held them in contempt as weakling, it was better to survive through pity than die with pride. He knew that Aya wouldn’t agree.

"Did he do something bad to Aya-kun?!" A girl in a different high school uniform demanded shrilly, eavesdropping on their conversation. Well, they were yelling so loudly the whole neighborhood could probably hear them.

"Is he why the flower shop’s been closed?" It was a woman this time, in a trim skirt and high heels. With legs like that, Yohji was sure that he must have asked for her number back in his active duty days. She had a nice voice, and her words put a silent hush over the crowd. Yohji felt like he was in the calm of the storm...and then, his eardrums exploded with the outraged shrieking of their female customers. He would have never suspected that they had so many loyal patrons, even a few of the men turning around on Schuldig. A sudden barrage of purses, lipsticks, date books, lighters, umbrellas, and one boot rained down on the assassin, the crowd turning very ugly as Schuldig was fingered for all the closed shop days lately.

"Yohji! What hell is going on?!" Ken was there, grabbing his arm to get his attention before they both hissed, Yohji in pain and Ken in sympathy at the evidence of a rough fight. Schuldig saw his arrival through the crowd trying to surround and intimidate him, eyes going wide as he saw two against one odds. Ken yelled out the German’s name in surprise right as Mastermind began shoving through the people gathering on the sidewalk. Yohji saw the man starting to run, realizing that he was going to get away at this rate. Yohji wasn’t going to find Aya if he let Schuldig get away now. The German was already running down the sidewalk, the soon-to-be mob pausing as they realized their prey was getting away.

"Shit!" Yohji cursed, sprinting away from Ken before his friend stopped him, before all the various hurts of the fight caught up with him. There was no way he’d be able to break through the people staring after Schuldig, so he cut through the cars parked on the side of the street and began running along side the cars. His side starting burning like a bitch, screaming in protest at Yohji moving right now; but he just used that pain to go faster. He was certain that if he let Schuldig go, Aya would suffer much worse. He could see the assassin over the hoods of the car, cutting through the few people walking along oblivious to their fight with a grace that just wasn’t human. It still wasn’t the bastard’s usual speed, so Yohji could figure he had managed to hurt Schuldig, at least enough for him to stand a chance.

Schuldig turned the corner at the end of the block before Yohji could catch up to him. He had to dodge around the last parked car and some asshole walking his dog, nearly tripping on the curb but going too fast to really fall. He just kept moving; his eyes focused on Schuldig’s retreating back. It was easier for him to follow through the path the psychopath was making through the traffic on the sidewalk, bicyclists and people alike getting the hell out of the way. Yohji didn’t waste his breath on trying to yell for anyone to stop Schuldig, knowing that very few citizens would anyway as they blew past. He may have longer legs than the murdering son of a bitch he was chasing down, but the German definitely had more stamina. His lungs were starting to hurt, making Yohji regret smoking so many cigarettes in his life for a brief moment. He could remember how Aya had lectured him before about his habit, and knew that he’d never get to hear that speech about cancer-sticks and death from secondhand smoke if he let Schuldig go now.

The German glanced over his shoulder, seeming to finally notice that Yohji was still following him. The pace picked up impossibly, the sound of his feet hitting the pavement echoing loud. He forced himself to go faster, ignoring the spreading heat in his chest and stomach. Schuldig was slowly pulling away, bit by bit, ducking down an alley before Yohji could even register it. He tried to turn too fast, his own feet skidding out from underneath him as he hit the sidewalk. That was the last straw, his own body refusing to go on any further. Yohji got up onto his hands and knees just in time to vomit loudly, overheated and overexerted. There was blood in it, making Yohji realize that Schuldig must have gotten him in the mouth a few times.

"Get back here!" Yohji cried out hoarsely down the alley, certain that Schuldig was already long gone. Anyone who hadn’t been staring at him was doing so now, Yohji struggling up to his knees before his muscles began screaming protest.

"Yohji… Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on?" Ken’s voice reached him before the brunette landed down beside him, picking Yohji up by the shoulders and hauling him into a standing position. He stared blindly into Ken’s eyes, taking a moment to recognize the chocolate, canine gaze. Then, he had his fists in Ken’s shirt, hauling the other man closer this time.

"Schwarz has Aya!" Yohji cried out into Ken’s startled face, the soccer player just shaking his head in confusion. Yohji let go him, meaning to slap some sense into Ken before he simply fell without the support, into a blackness he couldn’t afford right now. He had to find Aya first.

---

Omi shifted around uncomfortable in the large leather seats, feeling incredibly out of place in shorts and oversized sweater compared to his Grandfather in crisp, traditional black clothes and his matching guard in a black suit. Omi honestly couldn’t tell if it was the same man from their coffee meeting or not. The limo rolled forward through traffic, taking them somewhere that Omi didn’t really care to know. He was making a mistake. His gut was telling him that, clenching up into a ball of ice as he stared at his only remaining family member. Omi had to steel himself up to met with this man, repressing that little kid that just wanted to be held, hugged, smothered for as long as it took to make up for all the years he’d been alone, telling himself stop hoping for a grandfather. This was the temporary head of Kritiker, at least as far as Omi could tell from that fiercely emotionless face mostly hidden behind wide glasses.

To his side was a woman, looking rather sharp in a matching purple and black business suit. She was wearing shoes with heels so thin it was like she was riding around on chopsticks. Her legs were only a slightly bit thicker, too skinny to even be called slender. Omi figured that even he would be able to pick her up. Shoulder length, blue hair was gelled into a demanding style around a face that was wearing just a little too much make-up to be pretty underneath it all. Omi frowned back to the old man, wondering just where this woman fit into the picture, if it would be all right to talk in front of her. It would just be his luck for his grandfather to be a lecher on top of a cold, heartless bastard. He sighed, realizing he didn’t have the time to be uncomfortable, to think about other people… except Aya.

"I’m sure you already know what’s happened," Omi started tiredly, clasping his hands over his lap and digging his fingers into his knuckles to calm himself. He had to be composed in situations like these, because to sit there and try to be friendly with the old man would get him nowhere. The Takatori motioned the woman, who nodded and pulled out a sleek laptop and turn it on. She waited for the system to load while Omi stared at his Grandfather in what he hoped was relative impassiveness. It was hard to just sit still when he knew that Aya was missing. They had taken so many measures against it before, because after a single attack in the sanctity of their flower shop, they had realized that Aya being kidnapped was a very real fear. Aya never worked the store alone, which was relatively easily since Yohji had become permanently attached to Aya at the hip. That hadn’t changed in the hospital either. Omi felt so guiltily, knowing just who had been so demanding, had tried to persuade Yohji to go home and sleep. If only he had left Yohji along like the older blonde had wanted; he would have been there to prevent Aya getting kidnapped. Omi had to take care of this, by himself, sniffing and straightening out his shoulders haughtily as the woman moved across the limo to join Omi on the other side of the backseat.

"This is my secretary, Rex," his grandfather announced in a delayed fashion, making Omi wonder if him staring in disgust at the woman getting so close to him would have promoted the introduction. Gramps didn’t see very talkative otherwise as the laptop screen was turned within easy view.

"This is the last scene the surveillance camera caught before Abyssinian went missing," she explained, pressing play on a video. Omi recognized Aya’s hospital room immediately; the very pale figure on the bed with long wine-red the only color sparing him from the harsh white. There were numbers of the date and the time in the corner of the video as a nurse moved away from Aya’s monitors, marking things off on her clipboard. She began walking toward the door before dropping like a sack of flour, no warning, no sign of anything wrong other than the fact that she was now a corpse. A man walked into the room with bright orange hair that Omi frowned out, a memory begging to get triggered.

And then Nagi stepped onto the screen; turning around and looking straight at the camera with those haunting, piercing black eyes before the screen changed into static. Omi was too stunned to hide his reaction, blinking up at the woman who began closing the program and typing in something else, no doubt working on a wireless internet. Omi felt his lower lip begin to tremble… stopped it… and turned to his grandfather. The old man hadn’t so much as twitched since he had stepped into the limo, but he was sure that that his grandfather was no doubt taking delight in the horrible turn of events. They both knew that Omi had nobody else to go to.

"Schwarz has captured Abyssinian. We’re looking into this because we can’t have our agent spilling any secrets," he explained, surprisingly talkative today. Omi frowned at that, wishing that his grandfather would want to talk about what he had done all these years after being abandoned by his family. He didn’t care that Aya was his very dear friend, that they had lived together ever since quitting Weiss because the four of them had made bonds that went deeper than simple teammates. All his grandfather saw was an agent that could possibly compromise his crumbling organization.

"But, Aya-kun hasn’t been involved with Kritiker in years!" Omi protested, feeling so powerless in the middle of this mess. He resisted the urge to look at his watch and start calculating how many hours they had. How long would Aya be able to last if Schwarz decided to torture him? He had been unconscious from blood loss when Omi had last seen him, but he also doubted that Esset agents would have much pity. Neither would Kritiker, unfortunately.

"Whether or not you’re involved in this is entirely up to you," he answered back calmly that Takatori tone of voice that Omi had learned to hate. His grandfather had the upper hand and he knew it. There would be no more information until Omi agreed to become the new Persia. Even worse, if he didn’t become a part of Kritiker’s rescue team, they would more than likely be going in to kill Aya rather than try to save him. Omi realized he was biting on his thumbnail mind racing as he tried to consider the possibilities. It wouldn’t be all that hard to hack around and find information about Schwarz, but locating their current hideout would be virtually impossible. They had only known the general area of where the most assassinations took place and guess from there when Weiss had been actively searching for Schwarz. Planning a secret attack had been impossible then, so what would make them think they could find Aya now?

"Do you know where Schwarz is?" Omi demanded, determined not to agree to anything unless absolutely necessary. He could barter for as long as possible, ignoring the woman seated beside him to glare at his grandfather. The old man just sighed impatiently at his stubbornness, adjusting his glasses before reaching to his side and taking a glass of amber alcohol from the luxurious limo bar. It looked like it had already been worked on, a small white line around the edge from the old man’s drying lips sticking to the surface. Omi winced and tried to focus on that wrinkled face, finding it ridiculously easy to hate the man. Why would anyone treat family like this, underground leader or not? Omi had seen plenty of family criminals, mobs passing down leadership through blood. There were movies about it, for crying out loud!

"What do you intend to do as mere citizen?" the old man asked at last, sneering at the end. He was truly ugly then, Omi wanting nothing more than to just get out of this car. He couldn’t imagine coming to someone like this for help, someone that was so obviously cold-hearted and selfish. He made the early Aya’s death glares seem like a little kitten’s, a grinning and feral old wolf on the other side of the car like he’d found a tasty new meal. Except Omi wasn’t powerless in this situation, even if the only playing chip he had was himself.

"If you don’t rescue Aya-kun, there’s no deal," Omi announced quietly, making sure that his voice was as monotone as he could make it. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to fake a smile. He didn’t care if he was giving up his future in order to save his friend. He remembers the horrible nights when Aya would wake everyone up in the house with his nightmares, so distressed that even Yohji couldn’t calm him down. Aya certainly didn’t need anything more to add onto that, which he was sure Schwarz was so ready to do.

"Oh, I understand that. Is there anything else you want, my grandson?" the old man asked, like he was ready to buy some fabulous present in order to makeup for everything. Omi truly hated him, usually finding it hard to dislike people so soon after meeting them, but with this man Omi could barely keeping from screaming aloud.

"Don’t call me that. I’m obviously nothing to you… other than Persia," Omi snapped backed, crossing his arms and legs angrily. If that’s what he was going to have to become, so be it. He had only been fooling himself when he though an ex-assassin could attend college like any other person. They really would never escape their past. They had been actively avoiding it and this horrible mess had still caught up with them. Omi knew that he was going to have to be strong if he wanted to get through this, wanted to see Aya alive again. He wasn’t going to be able to depend on Ken or anyone else.

"Well, then, if everything’s straightened out…" the Takatori drawled off, giving Omi one more chance to say anything contrary. He just kept his gaze level as his grandfather took another sip from his drink and then knocked on the window behind him, ordering the driver to go back to the Kitten in the House. Immediately Omi felt the vehicle speed up now that there was an actual direction to go, hanging a right as the three of them stared at each other in silence waiting for the privacy window to roll back up.

"Do you know where Aya-kun is?" Omi demanded again.

"We expect to find that out by some time tonight. Rex will contact you then," his grandfather answered, gesturing at the woman yet again. She nodded cordially while Omi tried not to shove her off the backseat. He just wanted to go home and have Aya, Yohji, and Ken all there waiting for him.

---

Ken went out once to grab two six-packs from the convenience store down the block. He’d like to see the person that wouldn’t want to drink after everything that had happened this afternoon. There had been quite a crowd gathering in front of the shop when he had pulled up after being sent home by Omi, wanting to just park his bike inside the garage- but found the street completely filled with a screaming and yelling mob getting ready to lynch some poor son of a bitch. Ken managed to find Yohji, of course, at the center of it, bleeding from the mouth and looking like the losing end of the fight… and then taking off after what had apparently been a member of Schwarz. Ken didn’t see anyone, not even after chasing Yohji down until the man collapsed. He had to admit, Yohji had run longer than he would have ever thought a habitual smoker ever could. He had been a sweaty deadweight to carry home; Ken forced to gather the skinny, taller man up awkwardly into a piggyback all the way. People stared at them all the way home, Yohji bled onto his shirt, and when Ken had tried to patch the man up; he’d just moaned ‘Aya’ and struggled while unconscious. Omi was, of course, gone. His cellphone was turned off. He hadn’t wanted a ride home.

Besides, there was nothing left in the freezer to use as an ice pack. Ken broke off one beer and carefully wedged it between the couch and the swelling coming in on the side of Yohji’s unconscious face. He took the time to bandage Yohji up, because he knew Aya would bitch his ear off if there were bloodstains on the couch when he got back. They were going to find him, no matter what. Ken just wished that they hadn’t already needed to go crawling back to Kritiker…Well, at least Omi was. Completely alone as well, because he sure as shit wasn’t telling Ken what was going on. Yohji had at least tried to explain what was going on before he passed out. He put the beer down on the coffee table after taking one for himself, looking for the remote with a little more violence than necessary. He got to throw some pillows around, finally finding the stupid thing and throwing himself into the lazy-boy by the couch.

He felt so alone for one horrible moment.

Ken didn’t ever really think about being left by himself, usually too active to feel sorry for himself. With Yohji laid out on the couch, Aya missing, and Omi off making some deal with the devil himself, Ken wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the night. He needed the television, not really watching what was on, but listening to human voices other than the hundred little nagging worries in the back of his head. The hospital called once to tell him that they had issued a search for Aya to the police themselves, since it was bad press if the hospital ended up with missing patients. They were worried about Aya Fujimiya’s loved ones pressing charges, not even having a clue that not a single one of them could ever go into a courthouse and expect to walk out again. Ken had settled into numbness by then, unable to do anything else other than wait for Yohji to wake up or Omi to come home. He started really watching the show that was on for lack of anything better to do; realizing that he had been on the evening news for quite a while now. Ken couldn’t handle any of the dramas or action films that were on, settling for a sitcom he had never seen before but obviously safe, family humor if more than a little bit cheesy.

Four beers later, it was the most hilarious show on basic cable. Ken was laughing so loudly that he wondered why Yohji didn’t wake up, not even realizing that a door had opened because suddenly Omi was standing in the doorway to the living room, blinking and shivering. Ken would usually say something like ‘welcome back,’ perhaps would have started explaining why the oldest member of the house covered in bruises and swelling from a fistfight. He could only stare at Omi, honestly not expecting to see the blonde again. Omi was still taking in Yohji, not realizing that Ken was struggling over on his soft, cushioned seat. He wanted to say something, he really did, but he was afraid it was going to come out wrong. He was still pissed with Omi for leaving him like that, for going off with his grandfather whom was obviously nothing but bad news. Ken didn’t want Omi associating with that man, but his wishes had been completely ignored. It had been the first time that Omi had ever kept such a secret from him, and it hurt. The alcohol in his system that had been numbing that pain up until now suddenly switched, only worsening his mood. Why did Omi get too look so cute and innocent when he was clearly going to lie when Ken asked for an explanation? Omi had to know that the only way they’d get any help at all would be if they became dogs for Kritiker again…

…Or rather cats.

"Ken?" Omi asked in a soft voice when he began laughing aloud. He was drunk. It was funny. He hated Omi for walking closer, standing in front of the TV and looking down in him with those worried, loving eyes. Ken still remembered how he had looked in front of the hospital, so serious and stern. Was this expression false now? Ken had no idea, was sure that Omi wasn’t going to tell him either. Yohji wasn’t there to give him any advice- at least, not consciously, that long and slender body still thrown over the couch where Ken had left him, beer cans icing down the side of his face at was turning a fierce yellow and purple.

"We’re so screwed," he announced at last, surprised at how little emotion he actually felt. Omi let out one small little bark of humor himself, reaching down and picking up the half-finished beer in Ken’s limp fingers. He usually never had a taste for the stuff, but Omi took a solid chug from the can, pausing before he resumed and drained the whole thing. The blonde picked up another one from the coffee table, opening it up and handing a fresh can to Ken in apology. He took it quietly, hoping that Omi would make this easy and just explain everything without him having to ask any questions. The nicest person he had ever known was blocking Ken out; Omi had never kept something bottled up inside before. Omi looked over at Yohji, shaking his head as if he was arguing with himself. Ken would believe it, since Omi wasn’t saying anything aloud right now. Ken didn’t have enough time to cope with everything, still stuck back in trying to accept the fact that Aya had committed suicide. Omi supposed to be there to keep him sane during times like this, not going off on his own and promising to do horrible, awful things. That was the only thing he could expect from Kritiker, not about to save Aya as a charity mission.

"What happened to Yohji?" Omi asked in a weak, restrained tone that just didn’t belong to him. They both frowned over at the unconscious man, obviously in so much pain. Aya had become the center of Yohji’s life, and without the man around it felt like a crucial part of their lives had just disappeared. Ken hadn’t known how much Aya held them all together until he was gone, that sour asshole somehow balancing out their household. It was too quiet now, too tense. There were too many things that they couldn’t say any more.

"I’m not too sure, but apparently he got in a fight with Schwarz," Ken finally answered, checking over at his lover as Omi just nodded. He wasn’t surprised at all by the information, though Ken was still having a hard time believing it. His grandfather must have told Omi, and it pissed Ken off that Kritiker had been ahead of them. He took a sip of the beer to wet his throat before daring to continue this conversation.

"You already knew," Ken accused coldly.

Another nod, smaller this time.

"So, what’s going on?" he asked in fake politeness at last as Omi ran his hands through his hair. The studio audience on the television laughed at this horrible little exchange as Omi’s face twisted up in physical pain. Ken couldn’t find it in himself to care, so angry that Omi wasn’t sharing anything with him in the first place. Ken was there to help and protect Omi, not just stand there was watch as Omi ruined his life. They could find Aya without having to go to Kritiker for help- if time wasn’t been a major problem right now.

"Please, Ken, don’t ask me any questions. They’re going to call me later tonight, I’m going to tell you then, you’ll get angry… but-… but, until then, can we not talk about it?" Omi finally asked at last, becoming seriously intrigued with the pattern of the carpet- obviously scared that they were going to get into an argument. Ken got angry all over again, but it was more at himself. Omi was afraid of his temper, of his reaction when he heard just what the plan was. He was sure that it wasn’t the only reason why Omi was going to keep this a secret, but that didn’t help matters very much. Ken didn’t know what to do, wasn’t smart enough to figure out something better, and didn’t have psychic powers like Schwarz had. Why couldn’t they have all just sat down and talked before things had gone to hell in a hand basket?

"Omi," Ken was sure that he planned to say something after that, but nothing came out. The smaller blonde slowly edged forward, lowering himself down onto Ken’s lap and wrapping an arm around his neck. Omi was still as warm and light as usual, feeling more like an oversized pillow than an actual person sitting on him. Omi swung his legs over the armchair, letting Ken rest his arm on top of them so that his beer was within easy reach, his other hand going around Omi’s side. They didn’t say anything after that, silently watching the television show together with Yohji unconscious next to them. Omi would sometimes laugh at the lame jokes, would take sips from the beer in between Ken’s own swallows, and was prompt in switching out the empty can to a new one. It was almost like the early days, when they had been so in love that they could hardly stand a moment where they weren’t touching. How long had it been since they had watched TV together? How long would it be until they did it again?

Ken had a sick feeling in his stomach that this would be the last time, a phone ring shattering the moment sometime around midnight.

---
Schuldig cursed as he knocked on Crawford’s door, wishing he had the time to clean himself. He had hardly stepped inside the house when the butler had announced that Master Crawford was awaiting his presence. The old prick had worn a smile that let Schuldig know that Bradley was in a bad mood, and that was likely ready to punish him for any little reason. Walking into the house with his face smashed in would be more than good enough. He didn’t even know how bad it looked. Schuldig wished he had used his powers in hindsight to dodge some of the blows, but he had been having too much damn fun. He had relished every blow Yohji had landed, had found ecstasy in hitting the man as well. He should have just beaten Balinese to death, but it was hard when he suddenly found himself prey of a crazy street mob. He hated Japanese people, too easily caught up in-group mentality as things were thrown and Schuldig was forced to run. How happy Yohji had made him when the blonde had given chase. He knew that it was just because Yohji loved Ran so much, almost to a sickening amount. It had been pure agony to touch the man’s mind when he was so obsessed, so adoring and concerned for Ran. Yohji had put himself aside because he wanted Ran back safe, a selflessness that Schuldig never would have suspected of the most sexually-active member of Weiss, only a step above sleeping with a Bordsteinschwalbe. He was with Ran, after all.

Schuldig despised how he had felt when Yohji had grabbed him without a single word, thinking that he was his pathetic lover. How warm Yohji had been, clutching him closer than anyone ever had before, his arms strong enough to lift Schuldig off the ground. For one moment Schuldig forgot that he had come there to kill Yohji... or at least one member of Weiss. He had felt so loved for a moment- until Yohji saw right through his mental illusion. It certainly wasn’t the first time anyone had been able to change their train of thought, suddenly jerking out from Schuldig’ control and actually see what their eyes were taking in… but, Yohji had actually been able to pick out everything that was wrong with his impression. That had been rather shocking, since Schuldig knew Ran quite intimately. Making up a flawless, psychic version of that pretty little redhead was as easy as breathing. The only problem had been that Yohji knew Ran better than he had. Abyssinian had shared every last little aspect of himself with that slutty blonde, and Yohji had come to truly love the Käztchen Schuldig had tried to make so unlovable. He didn’t know who he was more pissed off at now.

"How long do you intend to stand out there, Mastermind?" came that deep, commanding voice from inside the office. Schuldig blinked as he realized he had been standing in front of the large, polished wood doors in an effort to compose his thoughts before had to confront his dear Chef. What use was it anyway, when Bradley had probably already had a vision of exactly how he was going to look when he walked into that office? His shirt was torn and hanging off one shoulder from his fight with Yohji, a tingle sensation in his scalp from when hair must have gotten torn out. Balinese had gone into a complete berserk rage, even better than Farfarello as he attacked Schuldig so blindly that he couldn’t even read the man’s thoughts. His face and sides were aching, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed… but he still had to face off with Crawford. Absolutely lovely, like going in to met the Devil himself as he pushed through the office doors.

"Guten Abend, mein Lieber. Just what are you doing home alone on a Friday night?" Schuldig drawled as he came sauntering in, nose pointed up high, eyes lingering on the bookshelves instead of immediately looking for the boss of Schwarz. He wanted to ignore Crawford just to get underneath the Hurensohns skin- which seemed to be exactly what he was doing when a three-hole puncher slammed against the side of his face. Schuldig went down onto the expensive Persian rug, cupping his ear in disbelief as he felt blood trickle out against his palm. Brad’s smooth loafer stomped down on top of that hand and onto his head, grinding his heel down. The long metal office tool that Crawford had hit him with dropped to the floor, now that it had already been used to blindside him. He hated Bradley so much that it was hard to put into words, staring up at their Chef. Crawford was impeccable as always in a three-piece suit, a navy-blue suit so dark it must be black. He hated Crawford for looking so good in it, stepping back to survey his agent bleeding on the floor.

"Did you have fun today, Schuldig?" Crawford asked in an irritated tone, pushing his glasses up on his nose. For Oracle to put that much emotion into his voice, Schuldig knew that he was in trouble. He felt a little stab of bitter loathing for that butler that had smiled at him before, because that old Bastard had probably been expecting that Schuldig was walking into the beating of his life. This would make it twice today. He was going to kill that butler the moment he got out of this office. Crawford kicked off, turning around and returning to his all-so-mighty desk. Schuldig glared at the vulnerable backside, knowing from experience that Oracle would always be able to foretell any attack he attempted. Schuldig would only make his punishment worse in the end, even if he wasn’t sure what he had done wrong this time. Weren’t they supposed to be villains, breaking rules as second nature? Crawford had no appreciation for his work.

"Come here," Crawford ordered impatiently when Schuldig didn’t jump off the floor and lick his heels like a good dog. He cursed, climbing up to his knees as he nursed his injured head, wishing he could defy the Arschloch. Schuldig reminded himself to shield his thoughts before Crawford started reading something and started beating him for something Schuldig would do in the future. He was always treading a fine path with their dear leader, coming around to meet Crawford on the other side of his desk. Plain brown eyes glanced down at him underneath the thin rim of his glasses; deceptively normal as Crawford grabbed Schuldig by the hair and slammed h is face down against the cleared surface of his desk. Schuldig got an arm underneath him, trying to brace himself better as Crawford took the mouse in his other hand and clicked the screensaver off the computer.

"What does that look like to you?" Crawford demanded coldly, giving Schuldig a shake for good measure. He tilted his eyes up to the monitor, seeing a bright pink web site covered in that awful, ugly Japanese that he hadn’t really bothered to learn how to read. The only thing he could understand was the picture in the dead center of the screen, a somewhat fuzzy picture from a cellphone camera. It was still good enough for Schuldig to make out himself getting punched in the face by Balinese, more blurry faces beyond them as if to illustrate how big the crowd had been by then.

"Beschissen. Nobody ever gets my good side-…" Schuldig started, earning himself a quick twist of the fist in his hair that sent unbearable tingling all the way around his skull and down his neck.

"You are becoming expendable, Schuldig," Crawford hissed, his miniscule patience obviously used up. His free hand left the mouse to grab the back of Schuldig’s leather pants. They fell right down; no underwear underneath as Crawford forced his knee between Schuldig’s legs. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, since sometimes Bradley liked to show him just where his position in Schwarz was, rather literally as he found Crawford’s fully clothed body pressed over his own. Schuldig entertained himself with the dream of one day ripping Crawford’s throat out, getting the final moments on videotape so he could watch it over and over again.

"What, are you going to terminate me? After all our times together?" Schuldig sneered as the Hurensohn let go of his hair to start loosening his tie. He stayed down, knuckles creaking around the death grip on Crawford’s desk. The asshole had a gun in his left drawer. He had a short temper right now, and Schuldig had fucked up big time by getting his face plastered on the Internet. He may be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. He only had one last chance, one thing that he could use to remind Bradley why it was better to keep him alive. He could only hope that Crawford was in the mood, not about to dare touching the man’s mind and trying to force that emotion. Oracle would know in a moment if he was trying to tamper with his head, and Schuldig would definitely be killed then. He shouldn’t be standing on such unstable ground when he was one of the most important members for Schwarz. He did more for their leader than anyone knew…except that fucking butler. Schuldig was going to make that death particularly slow.

Brad only laughed at Schuldig’s little joke, drawing out the necktie and dropping it down to the floor. He really shouldn’t have sighed in relief, rather afraid that Crawford would be restraining him again. Schuldig hated being tied up, being reminded of early times on the street of Germany; nothing but an orphan with a shaky hold on his weak powers. Kritiker had saved him from that life, and Crawford had saved his life from Kritiker in turn. It was better to tell himself that he wanted this. That in some way he had control over Crawford, because every now and then the man would get fed up enough to fuck him. And he knew that the man hadn’t done the same to Farfarello, too abhorrent to the Irishman’s insanity to ever touch him sexually, and that even Crawford didn’t have the stomach to take a minor like Nagi. He was the last one left, and Schuldig was damn well sure the practically celibate Hurensohn wasn’t taking any women on the side. The fairer sex wouldn’t fit into his tight schedule, but Schuldig had the luck to be always around and ready for a good screw. It was such habit that Schuldig didn’t even fight it, long since realizing that he didn’t have a choice so he might as well enjoy it. He always found himself underneath Crawford, and never once had they faced each other during sex. Yohji had cried the whole time, had held onto Schuldig’s shoulders as he was torn up on the inside; physically and mentally. Schuldig had achieved complete mental breakdown with Balinese, and it had been better than anything he’d ever known before, the closest thing to love he’d ever experienced. This act with Crawford was merely a trick to stretch his life out a little bit longer. He would one day see the handsome Arschloch dead at his feet… It was the only dream he had left to live for. Until then he had to entertain Crawford, pressing his ass back into a hardening groin.

"Now, there is some fun for me," Schuldig sneered, looking down at the desk. No shame, no feeling, nothing but Crawford undoing his belt buckle and pulling down his zipper. The man had never once undressed completely for sex either, refusing to let Schuldig have that sort of intimacy. Schuldig hated Crawford enough to love him, gritting his teeth and waited. Not struggling was the best he could do, since Bradley didn’t like it whenever Schuldig tried to touch him beyond the bare minimum required for intercourse. He had Schuldig ruthlessly checked the first of every month for any kind of STD, not trusting his pets to stay clean enough to screw. There was the soft slap of Crawford moving his hand up and down on his own erection, ignoring Schuldig completely other than a place to stick the leaking tip. There was never any preparation, just however much Schuldig could relax his own muscles and spread his legs wide enough, bracing his knees against the cabinets of the desk as Crawford slowly drove into him. Each inch was fought for with grunting and cursing on both their parts, so much that even Schuldig had to wonder if there really was any pleasure in this other than the fact that Crawford was screwing him. He bit his tongue and the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes and waiting for it to be over as Bradley began to mutely thrust into him. Anyone outside in the hallway wouldn’t hear a thing; Schuldig doing his best not to upset the few items scattered on top of Crawford’s desk. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He just accepted it; his hips and thighs getting bruised against the edge of the furniture as the Hurensohn began to really start moving. Schuldig could understand his victims’ pain, relishing in it when he had the chance to hurt another person in the same way; blood and a little bit of Crawford’s semen lubricating the way. All he had to do was concentrate on his breathing, keeping it in rhythm with Bradley’s rocking motion. It was a little trick he had learned long ago to make things easier to endure, somehow bringing Crawford to climax earlier. Schuldig didn’t even get hard, just clenched his eyes shut as Brad shoved a hand into the small of the back to keep him pinned down as he began to move a little bit more spasmodically- almost out of control. Crawford would never lose himself that much, shuddering hard as he came up inside Schuldig’s organs. He winced and squirmed in discomfort, doing his best not to struggle as Crawford finally began to relax against him. It was always too quick and too little, Schuldig being used like some kind of object to jerk off into that was better than Crawford’s own hand. Bradley pulled out and stepped away, letting Schuldig drop back down to the floor bonelessly. He would have just fallen all the way down to his side, but Brad caught him by the neck as he settled down into his plush leather seat.

"Clean it off," was the calm order, fingered digging into his throat and jaw as Crawford dragged him back between his legs. Leck mich. He could still hear it in his ears, painfully familiar with this as he stared forward at a flaccid penis still wet with sperm and his blood. Schuldig found himself to be very, very tired as he leaned forward without complaint, not about to let Crawford win by being ashamed of this. Just deal with these few minutes of hell, and he could live through the rest of the week... at least, that was the average before he pissed Crawford off again. That was what Schuldig told himself, opening up his mouth and stretching out his tongue to start tentatively licking Crawford dry. Eventually it was a lost cause, too much to get with his just his tongue as Schuldig took the whole thing into his mouth, sucking off the terrible mix of Crawford’s cum and his own blood. In the middle of trying to lick Crawford’s pubes clean, he found himself dragged up by the hair yet again.

"You take responsibility for this. I want you to kill everyone who knows anything about this," Crawford ordered annoyed manner, glaring hard at Schuldig just to make sure his point got through. Schuldig just nodded before he was tossed aside, his pants catching him up and forcing him to fall in an awkward pile beside the man’s chair. His body was twitching with something, nerves overloaded from physical sensations and yet… there was nothing. Schuldig couldn’t tell if it was because he was truly dead inside, or if it was Crawford. Yohji had seemed to be able to make him feel something, however small and horrible it might be. His hands were shaking as they grabbed up his pants and began to pull them up in an effort to hide what was leaking out of his ass. His victims should consider him merciful in comparison to what he was going through now, his eyes stunningly dry and heartbeat steady. He had cried everything out long ago, back when he didn’t know any better.

"You better be thankful Nagi will take care of this," Crawford snapped, throwing a hand back at the computer as Schuldig crawled up onto his knees. He didn’t give a fuck about the damned Internet other than it had somehow managed to get him into this mess. It took another moment to get all the way to his feet. He fastened up the button on his pants, taking a few staggering steps backward before he finally found his balance. Crawford didn’t say anything after that, clearly contented with whatever impression he had managed to make on Schuldig’s skin. It took a great effort not to make any noise as he staggered out from Crawford’s office, his leather pants soaking up most of the mess with each painful step. At least he had one victim waiting for him, once that had irritated him for so very long. One that had stolen from him the only person that had shown him something resembling affection. Schuldig didn’t care if it had mostly been trickery on his part, because he could tell there was something special. Yohji and he belong together, had something that went beyond mere enemies. He could feel it in the way that the man’s warmth lingered, enough to undermine the filth of Crawford’s touch as he made it out into the hallway.

Doors closed shut behind him and Schuldig was finally given a moment to draw his clothing up into something that resembled decency. He wasn’t about to walk around like some whore just used up to their limit, making a detour for his bedroom and the private bath before he went down to meet Farfarello and their captured Käztchen.

----
Yohji woke up to a dark living room; the television casting everything in a gray-blue lighting as the weather for tomorrow was announced. Ken and Omi were softly arguing in front of the coffee table, Yohji not quite able to understand their words yet. He was more concerned with waking up on the couch again, feeling like hell. Where was Aya? The last thing he remembered was chasing Schuldig after doing a fair job of kicking the German’s ass. Yohji didn’t recall getting beaten up in return, raw and throbbing in dozens of spots. He became aware of a warm beer resting on top of the left side of his face, testing out a painful split lip and what had to be a broken nose. It felt like it, at least. Something was fucking broken, especially his ribs. Schuldig had been throwing a lot of gut-punches, just like he’d expect from a villain like that, even though he felt like he’d been winning the fight. Yohji had gotten quite a few battle scars in the process, both sets of knuckles aching sore and bandaged up. He knew immediately from the wrapping that Ken had been at work: the bandage was too tight and tied off in a loose knot made from ripping the fabric in half and looping around his fingers. Ken must have followed their little footrace and dragged Yohji back when he couldn’t run any more. He had let Schuldig get away.

"Some sweet-ass deal this is turning out to be," Ken snapped out, his loud and irritated voice forcing Yohji to hear him if he wanted to or not.

"Because we can find them quicker? Give me a break, Ken-kun," came Omi’s answer, his voice much more serious and angry than Yohji had ever heard it go before. He plucked the beer off his face, slowly drawing himself up into a sitting position as Ken and Omi continued to argue in hushed tones on the other side of the coffee table.

"Where’s Aya?" he interrupted them at last, not seeing a clear end in sight for this. It was amazing how little he felt at this point. It was like his emotions had flat-lined, nothing left inside. He was tired, he was hurting, and all he wanted was for Aya to give him a hug. But, of course the little bastard had to get kidnapped by the most insane professional killer out there. One that definitely had it out for Aya. Yohji didn’t bother to think too deeply about what Mastermind had been screaming at him in the middle of their fight, knowing that it was all coming from a raving lunatic. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him… but Schuldig’s talk about ‘their night’ made bile gather at the back of his throat. Yohji wasn’t going to think about that instinctive tugging in his gut, he was just going to find Aya.

"My grandfather just called to tell me they have a general idea of Schwarz’s whereabouts," Omi began with a warning glare at Ken, their usual loving affection gone. Ken ignored it completely, of course.

"He means they have no fucking clue. You agreed to become Persia for this?" Ken really yelled now that he didn’t have to worry about waking Yohji up. It was just wrong to see Ken and Omi fighting now when those two wouldn’t even argue about…anything! Yohji needed all the support he could get without Aya being here, and having the world’s most perfect couple fight was almost more than he could take. Omi was actually frowning at Ken for saying anything at all; the words slowly sinking in.

"You what?" Yohji wasn’t sure he had heard that one right, hoping that it had gotten messed up with the television.

"Listen, my grandfather is preparing a team to get Aya-kun, and if I’m not in Kritiker when they go, it won’t be to save Aya-kun!" Omi raised his own voice as well, obviously not just trying to explain this one to Yohji. He was looking straight at Ken the whole time, seeming just about ready to either cry or scream. Yohji could only moan, partially in irritation, mostly in pain. Omi had gone out and made a deal as the youngest Takatori left alive, likely the only person with a pedigree that Kritiker would accept for their leader. Omi was going to become Persia in order to get his grandfather’s cooperation in finding Aya. The shit had hit the fan long ago, but more and more kept seeming to flick more onto the wall behind it.

"If they ever find them. ‘General area’ my ass," Ken grumbled, not letting this one go in the slightest. It was as if he was looking for things to get pissed about, and Ken was usually such an easy-going guy. It was like Ken and Omi loved each other so much that it had finally grown into hatred. Yohji didn’t have any explanation as Omi obviously fought to keep in control of himself, small shoulders shaking as he made fists as his side. Ken only seemed to smirk at it, seeing that he was getting the upper hand. Yohji felt like he might as well not be in the room.

"Ken-kun, will you please shut up for a second?" Omi asked with deadly politeness, the sweetness in his voice enough to kill. Ken opened his mouth to say something that Yohji knew the brunette was going to regret later. He had been in enough fights himself these days, and too many of them had been with Aya.

"Omi. Ken," Yohji interrupted them. The pair turned around on Yohji in confusion, like they hadn’t even known he was in the room with half of his face bashed in. It hurt just to talk, but he had to do something about this. He had already spent too much time on the couch when he knew that Aya was in serious danger. At least there was hope now. At least somebody had a general idea, because otherwise Yohji wouldn’t have known what to do. Except now, there was a small bit of hope that they might find Aya before Schwarz even dared touch him. He was going to break every single one of Schuldig’s fingers if he did anything to Aya, was just as determined to see that German dead as he wanted to see his lover again.

"Tell your grandfather he doesn’t need to get a team ready. We’ve got one right here," Yohji ordered Omi, throwing his hand out at the three of them, probably the best and only choice for this rescue mission.
IT’S GERMAN!

Sincerest thanks to Auribiel and Cattley for helping me with German.

Arschloch- asshole

Bastard- Bastard (go figure)

Beschissen- shitty

Bordsteinschwalbe- prostitute

Chef- leader

Guten Abend, mein Lieber- Good evening, my lover

Hurensohn- son of a bitch

Käztchen- kitten

Leck mich- lick me

mein Lieber- my lover (male)
BETA-BITCHES

(I can’t live without them)

Eternity’s End, Iie Nome, Tougakiryuukun
AUTHOR’S NOTES- took me long enough, I know, I know. I’ve been working on other fics in order to clear out some of the plot bunnies. I also got in the Christmas spirit and decided to bestow this little chapter before I left for vacation. Is it getting soap-opera enough for you? I promise next chapter will have Aya, so rest assured.
AUTHOR’S ALPHABETICAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Amethyst- thank you for the review, and I’m sorry but I’m going to keep you waiting on Aya and Yohji meeting up again. The reference to ‘I Hate Him’ did make me laugh though, good one.

Bisexual Pygmie- thank you for your constant support! Sorry for killing Schuldig, but he really is a bad guy. Notice the ‘bad’ part of that label. Some people seem to skip over it… Why I’ll never know, it’s so much fun I should be arrested. Eheh, Schuldig still winds up with his own tragic past. I just can’t get rid of the angst!

Bleachmeagain- Thank you reviewing. I love Nagi too, but it’s hard to give everyone the time they deserve in this fic. I hope you like how I’ll treat their characters in the future.

Delphinium- I hope the plot doesn’t get too thick. I want to be able to end it successfully- but yet I always write more. Sigh. Thank you for always reviewing.

Flamingolo- thank you for reviewing, I love the nice long comments. I’m still trying to figure out who is the main character in the end, and I guess it would have to be Yohji this time around.

Halcyon- thank you for reviewing and saying so much about your feelings on the fic, it lets me know you enjoyed it. I hope that you continue enjoying the fuel I keep adding to this fire…Weiss is just too much fun to play with!

Jukebox- thank you for another review. I promise that Aya will get rescued…. It’s just a matter of when.

Kayla- Sorry about the long wait, I needed to be poked. Thanks for letting me know that you wanted more.

MurasakiSilver- thanks for the note; I’m sorry that this took so long to get out.

Memorietrail- thanks for the review, and here is some more writing, as... promised (did I ever promise? I should have if I didn’t).

Neuroticsquirrel- thanks for the review and music tip; I’ll have to check those out. Sorry for the scary chapter title.
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Come As You Are