AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just to be clear, this is a Yohji-centric fic with a smattering of the other boys moving throughout. 'Itou Ryou' is just the name Yohji takes after he wakes up in the hospital following the events of Gluhen (as per Side B canon). That's about the only thing this takes from Side B, as I'm still bitter that Omi and Yohji aren't making any appearances beyond brief flashbacks and more importantly, I can't read Japanese and therefore don't feel comfortable writing the characters. Consider this an AU beginning the moment we fade to black on Aya and his friend the NYC mailbox. This fic was started as an intro to a timeline that popped into my head after I watched Gluhen a second time about two years ago. I wrote a paragraph, set it down, and somehow ended up picking it back up yesterday and the damn thing just sort of wrote itself. It takes place on the same timeline as One More Murder, but this one can stand pretty much on its own so I feel it's all good. Last but not least, this is for Sephy, who put up with me angsting over what the hell I thought I was doing writing Weiss fic again, encouraged me to get the hell on with it already and spot checked when I was done. You win at life, hon. ♥ Whispers A Weiss Kreuz/Gluhen Fanfiction by Amet Right now I'm having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before. -- Steven Wright ------- Itou Ryou loves his wife. It is the only thing he knows with any certainty when the kaleidoscope of memory rises up, those delicate moments between sleep and consciousness when shadowed threads of recollection threaten every certainty he's worked so hard to build since he woke to the polished sterility of his room in Asuka's extended care facility eight months, two weeks and six days ago. He remembers the long, slow climb to consciousness, struggling through cloying darkness, reaching desperately towards the echoes of a song he could hear so clearly even in the depths of his shattered psyche. A voice so sweet and guileless his jaded mind could hardly believe it was real, that innocence itself was still alive anywhere and he wanted... to protect it, maybe, or just hold it to him for a moment before it crumbled away. He doesn't know how he's become so jaded, but he's learned to accept what scraps of identity his shattered mind sees fit to share with him without question, to nurture them as best he can. They tell him he will never remember what came before, all shuttered eyes and soothing voices, inform him with that practiced medical dispassionateness that the man who once lived in his skin will remain a stranger to him forever. He is lucky, the Itou family tells him, smiling their cookie cutter smiles, and he tries to believe them. Tries to remember the stories Asuka tells of men whose memories falter rhythmically every handful of minutes for the rest of their days, to be grateful that he at least is allowed some small measure of stability as he drifts through the world. But his life is built on another man's ashes, and that man's cynicism never lets him forget it. Ryou loves his wife. He wonders, sometimes, if that is enough to live by. ------- There were flowers by his hospital bed when he woke. Roses, the expensive kind with five inch blooms and broad, tapered petals that cost a fortune and sell anyway because there's always one more dumb schmuck who needs a quick bribe to go with an apology. Ryou has no idea where they came from, and when he asked the nurses could only tell him that they were delivered by the nicest young man, cooing in quiet admiration until he began to really question them and all their simpering petered out into tight lipped concern at his 'agitated state'. Asuka agrees that he had a visitor that day but the details of the encounter are hazy, senses dulled by the drugs his doctors were always all too eager to supply whenever he asked too many questions. He remembers a deep, commanding voice and the clipped, curt introductions -- the name 'Aya'. He has visions sometimes of flame red hair and distinctly Japanese features, but he can't be certain if that is how this Aya really looks or if his mind is trying to fill in one of the uncertainties to still his anxiety. He is always uncertain. ------- He meets Mamoru-san on a Tuesday, during one of those three a.m. wanderings he knows Asuka worries about but never mentions, drifting out into the darkness on those sleepless nights when the mounting push of restlessness is too much to bear. He frightens himself sometimes -- unconsciously tracking the line of trees in the city park or jumping at the slightest brush of someone's arm on the subway -- as if wary of some imaginary attacker and it makes him edgy, feeling paranoid and disoriented in a way that has nothing to do with his memory loss and everything to do with a very real danger. Then he tells himself that he really isn't so important that anyone would want to kill him anyway. Mamoru-san was the first to actually walk out of those shadows, the dichotomy in those weary eyes and boyish features striking some long buried chord in Ryou's stolen heart. He is a sad figure in a long, cashmere overcoat that cost a fortune and fits him like a hand me down, small, lean and steadfast. Somehow their eyes meet, and it's easy to make the necessary introductions, inquire if the déjà vu Ryou is feeling means he's met Mamoru-san somewhere before. Even when the answer is an apology and a puzzled smile it's easy to trust this stranger, even in the middle of the night, and Ryou finds himself following Mamoru-san to a bar close by the park, even though he's still pleasantly buzzed from the obligatory round of drinks with his coworkers earlier in the evening. At the bar they discuss the weather, the Yomiuri Giants, the odd little patterns on the tablecloth, anything to avoid the larger hurts they both sense lurking just beneath the surface. It's comforting for a while, but after a few hours it's all Ryou can do not to pepper his new friend -- and he realizes with a strange little start that he thinks of Mamoru-san that familiarly already -- with questions. It isn't until they're about to leave, when the bartender -- a burly, abrupt man who has been eyeing them since they came in -- hollers over the din that it's last call that Mamoru-san's expression hardens, smile slipping away into something wistful, far too old to be on such a young face, and he asks if Ryou is happy in the new life that he has fashioned for himself. Ryou sits stunned for several minutes before he can reply, and he shocks himself when he says, very simply, "No." It takes him nearly the entire walk home to realize that he hadn't mentioned his past to Mamoru-san at all. ------- It takes him a few days to realize that Mamoru-san is someone important, when he's still staring at the smartly filigreed business card the other man pressed into his hand at their parting, trying to decide whether it was too forward to make the call. He has friends of his own already, coworkers and old family friends carefully introduced by Asuka-chan and her parents during his internment at the hospital, but somehow he can't shake the feeling that Mamoru-san would understand so much better, the shakiness and the fear, the strange, nameless hunger that dogs his steps wherever he goes. Itou-san, who is Asuka's father and his boss at the bank, successful and snotty and everything that grates at Ryou's nerves because he's never satisfied with anything, slams a folder down on his desk and tells him to be ready, that a new client is coming in. Ryou tries to smile, because Asuka likes it when they get along, and if nothing else, he wants to make her happy still, but the old man merely shakes his head, tells him the account will be going to a more competent employee and he is expected to attend the meeting merely to cement Itou-san's image as an upright family man. The folder for this new and much coveted client reads Takatori, and Ryou is shocked to find a picture of his friend sitting next to an elderly man in a wheelchair in the front of the packet. Itou-san scolds him and flips on the TV in the corner, where one of those plastic newscast sound bites shows Mamoru-san clipping a ribbon on a new school building. Mamoru-san is the scion of the Takatori zaibatsu, he is informed, with wealth comparable only to the amount of time he spends in the news. Of course Ryou recognizes him, and if he paid attention instead of losing himself in incessant daydreaming... He studies the photograph, tunes his father in law out, and takes an early lunch. ------- The meeting does not go as planned. Mamoru-san appears, laden with attendants and a sharply dressed woman who is more bodyguard than secretary, frowning at the accountant Itou-san introduces and turning to ask Ryou directly why he isn't handling the account himself. Itou-san sputters. Ryou's coworker promises to do his best to satisfy the Takatori family. Mamoru-san's frown deepens, and his secretary insists. He will trust his wealth to Ryou and only Ryou, because he knows that Ryou realizes he is dealing with an individual and not the family and that is that. Itou-san has no choice but to agree, and the grimace on his face is almost as impressive as the grin that beams from Mamoru-san's. ------- Time passes, and Ryou gains more notoriety at the bank through his work with Mamoru-san's investments. Asuka-chan is proud of him, and Mamoru-san is pleased. He is glad for their praise, but restless still. It is over dinner a month later that Mamoru-san admits the entire affair was an excuse to demand more of his time. Ryou laughs and wonders aloud why the rich have such spectacular ways of expressing social awkwardness where he was just fiddling with a piece of cardboard and contemplating the phone. Mamoru-san actually blushes, and Ryou finds the tension easing away even as they sit and saw at fatty Western food, talking about nothing. It seems to be their hobby, to say nothing at all nearly all of the time, and Ryou comes to treasure the rare instances where Mamoru-san chooses to share snippets of himself. This is what Ryou knows for a certainty. In addition to his grandfather, Mamoru-san has two brothers and a sister, all long dead. He loved his father and mother, but there were complications. He has three friends who were closer than brothers, but that is further complicated, and one night, while he is nursing a beer in a way that peels the wrapper from the bottle more quickly than it finishes the drink inside, he confides to Ryou that he has always preferred the company of men to women. He is in love with a schoolteacher named Ran, and that is of course the most complicated relationship in a long line of rocky associations. Ryou thinks he was expected to react more strongly to this revelation, but he doesn't care. Mamoru-san is Mamoru-san, the man eases the weariness in him like no one save Asuka, and she is a special case. He would be a fool to throw that away and he tells Mamoru-san so, watching the pleased, genuine smile bloom across his friend's face as relief sets in. He tells Mamoru-san about his own troubles of course, the memory loss and the restlessness. He tells him of the walks he takes because he can't seem to keep himself still without panicking, and how Itou-san grates on the nerves of the man he thinks he might have been. He tells Mamoru-san that as much as he wants to know who he was, sometimes he looks at the tattoo on his arm or the scars on his belly -- they say it's a bullet wound -- and he wonders if that won't simply shatter the idyll of the life he's built for himself. Mamoru-san gets a distant look in his eyes and tells him that sometimes we forget because the past is too painful to bear. ------- Asuka-chan meets Mamoru-san on Ryou's birthday, the one she's chosen for him, at a party full of family friends and relatives, coworkers and assorted spouses in numbers enough that Ryou can't quite remember names to go with most faces. It makes him claustrophobic, and for a while he fidgets in a corner and nods along absently at whatever small talk comes his way. He thinks Mamoru-san is busy until his friend finally makes his grand entrance, alone and carrying both a tastefully wrapped present for Ryou and a bouquet of flowers for Asuka-chan. Ryou is captivated by the roses. They look just like the ones that appeared in his hospital room all those months ago. Ran is invited too, but Mamoru-san waves off his questions, makes a hasty excuse that they've had another spat and grins at him as the crowd attempts to eye them without being obvious. They spend the rest of dinner making faces at one another whenever they're dragged away to speak with someone Asuka-chan or Itou-san feel they simply must meet, an unspoken, private joke hanging between them all evening that makes the whole affair bearable. When he opens Mamoru-san's present, he finds a watch inside. The kind of complicated diver's watch that has more buttons and functions than most men use in a lifetime, and he spends the next week learning how to control each feature. Something in him tells him that there's always one more function that eludes him, however, something that the watch should do that’s not included in the manual. It frustrates him, and that confuses him further. When he mentions it to Mamoru-san, the man just smiles and tells him that he'll know it when he finds it. ------- He is at the office when he gets the call, working through untangling a coworker's mess after everyone else at the bank has given up deciphering the man's admittedly cumbersome filing system. He glances at his watch as the phone rings, wonders at the reflex and picks it up, gives the usual Itou Branch greeting, and hears... static. When he's all but ready to hang up, a heavily accented voice inquires, "Itou-san?" "Yes?" "Itou Ryou-san?" He sighs, inexplicably annoyed at the -- American, he definitely knows that accent. "Yes. Can I help you, sir?" "Listen very carefully, Itou-san. I'm only going to say this once," the man says, "Your friend Mister Takatori is in danger. Do you understand? Grave danger." "Excuse me?" Ryou asks, "Who is this?" The man chuckles, and he can almost see the smug smile, déjà vu kicking in again, and he is suddenly edgy, rising from his seat even as the phone cord tethers him to his desk. "I have certain... knowledge of a plot to assassinate young Takatori-san within the hour," the man continues, voice confident and oily-slick, "A prisoner has escaped from Tokyo Prison and is heading towards the Kritiker offices. You do know where the offices are, don't you, Itou-san?" "Of course." "Then I suggest you get over there before it's too late," the man snaps. He wants to ask a million questions, like how the man is so certain he can see the future and where he gets off telling Ryou and not just calling the police or someone who can actually do something more than warn Mamoru-san and what if he's too late? "Itou-san," the voice insists, "I would hurry if I were you. The prisoner is quite deranged, and familiar enough with Takatori-san to find him without delay." ------- He runs the entire way to Kritiker's offices. Point of fact: Ryou has never actually been to Mamoru-san's workplace. His friend always insists that it's no fun to hang out at the office in his off hours, and Ryou can understand that, but now it seems stupid considering how much time they spend in his. Luckily, he's met Mamoru-san outside the building once or twice and he finds it easily enough, nearly colliding with the neat marble signpost out front as he rounds the corner. He crashes inside through tasteful glass double doors and stomps through the lobby to a security post with an aging guard sitting behind it, first startled and then derisive as Ryou slams into the marble surface of his cubicle and demands to see Takatori-san right away, it's very important please. Does he have an appointment? He freezes in horrified astonishment for half a second before exploding into motion, demanding that the man just call his friend, and if he really has to he can say it's an accounting meeting or whatever but there's an insane man on the loose who wants to hurt Mamoru-san and why doesn't the idiot man seem to care? The guard looks like he's seriously considering calling a hospital and reporting Ryou as the insane one, and Ryou looks around wildly, looking for something, anything to get him past security... His gaze settles on a flash of red as a long haired man comes in through the door, impressive in an unassuming way, dressed in an economic suit in a tasteful beige and a tie that's hanging unknotted around his shoulders. The man's hair hangs in a loose ponytail, and he's wearing wire framed glasses that look wrong on his face, sharp and intelligent already without the artificial stereotyping of the accessory. There's a look in his eyes that reminds Ryou of Mamoru-san, a bearing that makes something buried in Ryou's lost memories whisper sibilant warnings that for all the man might look mild mannered, he was dangerous. And Ryou remembers him. "Aya!" he shouts, and it's a toss up which one of them is more surprised to hear him call out as the other man's head snaps up, violet eyes narrowing behind the frames of his glasses and he jogs over at Ryou's tone, trusting and waiting to hear what the problem is. "Aya, they won't let me in to see Mamoru-san," he shouts, "He's in danger! We have to tell him!" "Suzuki-san," Aya growls, a command where another might question and it is startlingly familiar. "He was--" the man starts, then thinks better. "Yes sir. You head on up, then." Ryou has barely a moment to wonder at the command Aya wields over Mamoru-san's employees when the elevator dings, and he watches in horror as Mamoru-san exits, talking to his secretary. Mamoru-san's face lights up when he sees Aya, taking a few quick steps towards them before noticing Ryou and freezing. "Ryou-san? Ran? What...?" Then all hell breaks loose. All three of them turn when the glass doors slam open again, a skinny, too pretty man in prison blues crashing through them and the glass on one shatters as he glances around wildly, finally settling on assaulting a janitor and taking his push broom, breaking the functional end off over his thigh with a sharp crack to make a pointed edge. "Aya!" he shouts, effortlessly slamming his newly-made weapon into the gut of a man turning to restrain him, "Duck and cover, dammit!" Ryou doesn't understand, and he flinches with each fleshy thud of the man's weapon, jumping like a frightened child as several men in various corners speed into motion, opening fire. They're not firing at the prisoner, at least not entirely. Bullets come far too close for comfort, slamming into the marble at his feet, in the wall and desk behind him, and they scatter, Aya hauling him up by the collar of his shirt and tossing him behind the desk where the guard is cowering, clutching at his weapon like he doesn’t remember how to use it. They've lost Mamoru-san, and a quick spike of panic makes Ryou glance through the crack in the door hinge to the cubicle to where Mamoru-san's secretary has him pressed behind a pillar across the room, returning fire. "What--" he begins, licking his lips nervously, "What are we going to do? Aya, Mamoru-san..." "Will be fine," the redhead grits out, searching beneath the desk for something until his hand hits a button and the marble just seems to slide open, revealing... ... a katana? "You're not going to do anything," Aya says, eyes boring blue fire into his own, "But sit on your white collar ass until this is over, got it?" He nods his assent, because it seems the thing to do, and he wonders somewhat hysterically if anyone ever has the wherewithal to argue with Aya when he's this determined. Probably not, and if the cries he's hearing are any indication, they're not getting the opportunity to now. He risks another peak, sees the prisoner and Aya fighting together, back to back, wielding archaic weapons as though they're enough to stop bullets, and somehow bizarrely they seem to be winning. He doesn't know how Aya can turn his back on someone so obviously deranged, grinning with every kill and it's amazing that someone that small can inflict so much damage but he just keeps moving, spinning and jumping like an acrobat with deadly accuracy. It's over quickly, too quickly when the last combatant falls in near silence, the final casings from his weapon clattering to the marble floor with a peculiar little chime. It seems there were no bystanders to this macabre little show, simply combatants and Kritiker employees, all of which inexplicably know how to maneuver around the danger, coming out from behind pillars and overturned mail carts calm as ever, dusting off trousers and smart skirt suits as though this happened every day. Ryou turns to the guard beside him, the only one seemingly rattled by the display, and removes the gun from shaking fingers with more surety than he probably should, considering. But it feels like he's held one before, and he knows somehow that the poor man never had the wits about him to even flip the safety off, so he lays the weapon down on the counter as he helps the elderly man to his feet and pops his head up. Aya has marched over to Mamoru-san and is checking for wounds, fretting and fussing in a way that says 'mother hen' more than 'dangerous killer' and Ryou finds that comforting, even as the prisoner fidgets and turns away, eyes coming to rest on Ryou and there's a strange little spark of recognition before the man flashes a manic grin and a thumbs up in Ryou's direction. Mamoru-san allows himself to be prodded for a moment more, hands lingering over Aya's for a long moment before he moves forward, calling out. "Is everyone alright?" he glances around, "If anyone needs medical attention, please proceed to the infirmary immediately and if nothing else, take the rest of the day off." He looks around at the pock marks in the walls, the ceiling. "This is going to murder our budget this quarter," he cringes, shaking his head before his gaze finds the prisoner, face hardening, "Ken-kun, how did you get here?" "Uh..." the man begins, suddenly sheepish, dropping his weapon as though hiding the evidence of his actions and reaching to scratch absently at the back of his neck, "You see, Omi, I got this visitor..." "You broke out of prison," Aya says, matter of fact, crossing his arms over his chest and Ryou notices as the katana swishes in the air that there's no blood on the blade. Then how... "Yeah, pretty much," this Ken-kun admits, shrugging, "But I had a good reason! Don't get mad!" He's waving his arms around, and Mamoru-san looks less than pleased. "Ken-kun, we talked about this. I was very clear when we checked you into that prison to leave instructions with the wardens that said if you ever wanted out all you had to do was say so, and they'd release you. Look at you!" he insists, gesturing wildly as he searches for words, "Now you're a fugitive!" "Because that's so the worst thing I've been in this life," Ken-kun snaps, "There just wasn't time to do the formality thing, okay? Father Jei paid me a visit this afternoon and said you were about to get squished!" "I don't care what your pastor told you, Ken-kun, though it's very nice that you've found God again there is no way he could have--" Mamoru-san pauses, blinks. "Wait. Father who now?" "Jei," Ken-kun repeats, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug little grin as though this ends the argument. Beside him, Aya sighs. "Farferello?" "Had the cute little hat and everything. Really offset his complexion, I feel." "Fucking hell," Aya replies, turning to Ryou, "You. How did you know Mamoru was in trouble?" "I uh..." he began, suddenly feeling self conscious with all three men staring at him, "This is going to sound nuts, but I got a phone call from a guy who said an escaped prisoner was heading towards the building and Mamoru-san was in trouble. So I ran over." "You always do shit like that in your new life, Yohj?" Ken-kun asked, and Ryou shakes his head, brow furrowing. "How do you...?" "I don't suppose you noticed an American accent when you were talking to the person who made this phone call?" Mamoru-san asks, rubbing tiredly at his brow, "Perhaps German?" He nods, bewildered. "American, yeah." Ken-kun throws up his hands. "Fucking Crawford! What do those Schwartz psychos want now?" "Apparently to keep Mamoru-san alive," Aya replies, eyeing Mamoru-san where he's extricating his cell phone from a coat pocket. Mamoru-san's face falls. "Ran, please... not now. I have to call Ken's parole officer before they send out the riot police." He ignores Ken-kun's amused shout of "Hey, I've got a parole officer already?", dialing swiftly and turning away from Aya's suddenly frustrated scowl, and Ryou risks coming out from behind the counter as the two men recognize his movements for the dismissal it is and turn to each other. "He's not happy to see me," Ken-kun says, and he's almost pouting. Aya sighs. "Of course he's happy to see you, idiot. Don't be stupid. He just can't argue with bureaucrats on your behalf and cuddle at the same time. Pretend to be patient." "Hey, I'm patient," Ken-kun insists. "Waited in prison for a year while you guys fought it out, didn't I?" Aya seems to almost reply, catching himself and thinking better of it, nodding at Ken-kun's torn knuckles. "You're the only one in the room bleeding, you know that?" Ryou realizes he's right. Somehow with all the gunfire, that whirligig of arching weapons and falling opponents has led to... unconsciousness for most of their assailants. It occurs to him that Aya must have been careful to use the blunt end of his katana, that Ken-kun must have limited his blows to the flat end of the broomstick, and the fact that they could do that without error, in a room full of whizzing bullets and pandemonium... ...who are these men? Who are bickering like brothers, or long lost friends. Aya takes a step towards Ken-kun and is chastised as the action nearly prods Ken-kun in the gut with the katana. "Hey, watch it!" he laughs, "Point that thing away from the kidney, man, I've only got the one!" Aya's scowl deepens. He looks away. "Ah hell," Ken-kun says, moving forward, pushing the sword out of the way, "That wasn't a guilt trip, doofus, that was a joke! You know, a funny?" he annunciates carefully, throwing an arm around Aya with a carelessness that Ryou thinks might get him killed. "Oh well. At least you're happy to see me, eh Ran-y boy?" Aya gives him a Look, shrugs his arm off and smirks. "Just for that? You can bandage your own fucking hands." "Aw, crap." Ryou watches them bicker, keeps an eye on Mamoru-san as he argues into his phone, waiting for him to pause long enough to explain the situation because surely he must know what's going on, why this bizarre scene fails to actually frighten Ryou despite the shattered glass and bullet casings, the currently bitching, always dangerous men that he somehow knows despite never having seen them in his life. The restlessness is gone, and despite the danger he knows, knows is present, he is filled with a kind of resigned calm, risen from the ashes of a man he can't remember. Is this what it is to regain something of his old self? ------- Mamoru-san looks lost when he's done barking orders into his cell phone, as though all that bluster leaves him when he turns to face the others and it is Aya who breaks the deadlock by quietly, firmly suggesting that perhaps they need to have a discussion someplace more private. Mamoru-san startles at that and calls to his secretary, a pretty woman with a pixie haircut and eyes harder than any of the others who has been hanging back, observing their exchanges, finally suggesting that they take their 'meeting' upstairs to Mamoru-san's office. The others agree with varying amounts of enthusiasm, and it is just as Ryou is beginning to feel truly awkward and out of place when they all turn to him for assent. It is then that he realizes that for all that he understands none of this, he is a part of it. A part of them, and they want his presence as much as it makes them so visibly wary, Ken-kun fidgeting away and Aya's jaw clenching as they wait for him to answer. He sighs when Mamoru-san gives him a pleading look and nods. ------- Mamoru-san's office is a plush, overdone affair, all hardwoods and leather upholstery that intimidate more than invite for all the so obvious expenditure. It reminds Ryou of the lobby at the bank, formal marbles and cold, dark lacquered woods that do more to tell each person who strays inside that some proverbial 'We' has all the money and influence they've always secretly wanted and never will have. Mamoru-san looks almost embarrassed as he offers everyone a drink, heading to a tasteful sideboard to pour four different drinks even when Ryou is the only one who asks for something specific. Aya and Ken-kun pace the room, prodding at what look like random objects, under furniture and on walls, and it takes Ryou a few moments to realize that they're looking for recording devices. Mamoru-san hands him his drink, leaves the others on the edge of his desk for Aya and Ken-kun. "Who are you people?" Ryou asks, because it's bouncing around in his head and he can't not, even though he expects the flinch when Mamoru-san looks up. He points to Aya first. "This is Fujimiya Ran, I told you about him? He's my... partner." He pauses, lets the word and its many meanings hang in the air as he risks a nervous glance at Aya, stony and proud even as he perches beside Mamoru-san on a corner of the desk and sips his drink, "You obviously remember him as Aya, that's why you're confused. The comedian over there is Hidaka Ken." Ken-kun retrieves his own drink, tips the beer bottle to his lips and grins, draping himself across the chair next to Ryou's. "I've only got the one name. I'm not cool like the other kids." "And you?" Ryou asks, meeting Mamoru-san's gaze head on. "Who are you?" "Takatori Mamoru," Mamoru-san says, automatically, even as Ken-kun chirrups, "He's our Omittichi!" Mamoru-san sighs. "Ken-kun, we've talked about this. I’m Mamoru now." Aya glares. "Except when I'm not." "His father gave him the name Tsukiyono Omi," Aya corrects him, "Which is the name he was using when we met him. He was born a Takatori, however, and has since had to revert to using his birth name to control Kritiker." It doesn't take much imagination to see that Aya does not approve, he says the Takatori name like it's a curse, and Ryou takes a moment to try and process the idea that Mamoru-san's father was not the one to give him his birth name. It makes no sense, but Mamoru-san did say his family was complicated, and he looks almost pained by Aya's insistence. Ryou gets the sense that this is the cause of a lot of those frequent arguments he's been hearing about obliquely for months. He decides to leave that little mystery for another day. "I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking this, but-- what is Kritiker?" Ryou asks, and feels like an idiot for never having bothered to find out before. "In a nutshell?" Ken-kun breaks in, before the others can answer, "Anti-terrorist organization run out of these here offices by the honorable Mamoru-san in the name of the Takatori family. The family's a bunch of evil bastards -- no offense, Omi -- but Kritiker's kind of okay. Mostly. Unless you're expendable, but I'm not allowed to talk about that because there's history and it makes everyone twitch," he slumps in his seat, half-pouting again, and Ryou wants to be annoyed, but it's kind of amusing how utterly shameless the man is. "My family isn't evil... per se," Mamoru-san objected, "Not individually. They don’t start out that way, anyway, it's just..." "Complicated?" Ryou says, and he's really beginning to hate that word. "They stuff people," Ken-kun says, calm as you please, and for once Ryou understands that this does end the argument, because yuck. "After they're dead," Mamoru-san insists, grimacing a little when he realizes what that sounds like and glancing at Aya for reprieve. Aya sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Aren't you going to ask how you seem to know me when you can't remember the past however many years of your life?" "I figured we'd get to that," Ryou answered, shrugging because as much as he probably should he finds he doesn't really care now that he's sitting with these men and the restlessness is finally quiet. "But sure. What's my real name? How old am I? Where was I born, and what is with you guys?" "Aya..." Mamoru-san throws Aya a panicked look, questioning, and the redhead frowns. "Might as well tell him the truth," Aya says, sipping his drink calmly, "You got him involved. Meddled in his affairs, dragged him back into your life. About the only thing you haven't done is prepare him for the consequences of those actions." He looks up, eyes boring into Ryou's and adds, "Your name is Kudou Yohji. You're 27 years old. You were an assassin. A White Hunter. One of us. Now you're not. Any questions?" Ryou glares. "Yeah, are you fucking serious?" The name sounds right. He thinks it might be nice to have Asuka call him Yohji, to see how it sounds. The age... they'd guessed at the hospital, his driver's license says he's 30, but close enough. The rest is unbelievable. It's everything Itou-san said he could turn out to be when Asuka-chan announced she wanted to marry him, a criminal, a no good violent offender with no real sense of fidelity or loyalty. "You watch the shadows," Aya observes, face stony, "Always have your back up, constantly moving, never comfortable with the same safeties everyone around you takes for granted. Normalcy bores you as much as you know you should want it and it makes your skin crawl to have to sit in a tiny little box twelve hours a day, to have your life regimented by your work. You want the house, the family, the loving wife, but at the same time you're suffocating, because somewhere in the back of your mind you know you're not good enough for them, you're not living in their world and you can pretend for as long as you like but that won't make it true. "You know your presence puts them in danger, and you don't know if you can protect them when the wolves come howling at your door. That's why the walks, the little eleventh hour sojourns that feel almost like freedom except they're nearly as stifling because you know you'll always go back. Tethered by some invisible jesse dragging you back down when you try to fly free. You play with your watch when you're nervous." Wait -- what? "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" It's Ken-kun's turn to move, smirk slipping from his face as he reaches out. "You mind?" he asks, when Ryou starts to flinch, and takes his arm just below the watch, turns the gauge to 150 feet and pulls the second timer button out rather than pressing it inward, pushing down on the button normally used to set the clock itself, and a cable shoots out of the side. Bullet fast, the button lodges itself in the wood paneling below the sideboard, deadly force slamming it in and drawing the whole thing taut like a trip wire. "You were Ken's backup," Aya continues, unwavering, "He was the shock troop on the ground, you were the partner on high who picked off stragglers with a well place garrote wire. That watch was built to hide your weapon." "Kinda is your weapon, really," Ken adds, shrugging, "Way easier to hide than mine or Aya's." Ryou thinks of the katana in Aya's hands, the surety of his movements and everything makes sense. The apologetic roses in his hospital room that mimic the ones Mamoru-san gives at every occasion, the fact that his friend knew of his amnesia long before he ever uttered a word, their instant rapport born of unfounded familiarity and the happy coincidence of their meeting. His preoccupation with the watch Mamoru-san gave him for his birthday too, and he realizes they are giving him the unadorned, simple truth. It's not pretty and he wishes he could tell himself otherwise, but he has been carrying a weapon for months now and part of him, a very large and insistent part of him desperately needed to know how to use it to feel safe. Needed that last button on the dial pushed so he would know he had the tools to stop whatever came at him, as much as he needed air and freedom. To him it was air and freedom. He should be frightened by this. ------- He finds he can't think of himself as 'Ryou' anymore. The false name rings hollow now that he knows the difference, and he wonders if Asuka would be insulted if he changed it. It was her grandfather's name, after all. She'd planned to name her first son Ryou, and now she can. That's a good thing, he thinks. So now he supposes that he is Yohji, and Yohji like Ryou doesn't quite know what to do. He doesn't know what's expected of him in this sudden atmosphere of beleaguered camaraderie, a healthy dose of snark entering the conversation as Mamoru-san... Omi insists that Ken get his skinny ex-con ass out of his jump suit before he calls anymore attention to himself. Mamoru-san hands Ken a spare shirt and slacks kept in a cabinet in his office and helps him fold the cuffs down so he looks a little less like a ten year old who's outgrown his school clothes. Yohji donates his suit jacket, which is boring and obnoxious and it makes Ken twitch to have to look that much like a salary man, but somehow that just makes the whole thing funny. Aya scolds Ken for not eating when he realizes that Mamoru-san's clothing fits him almost perfectly where a year earlier -- before he went to prison, Yohji assumes -- Ken outweighed the smaller man by a good 5 kilos. "Sorry, Mother," Ken says, "Prison food sucks." Aya's expression says that's bullshit and they all know it. "I guess we'll just have to feed you something better so you have no excuse," Mamoru-san interjects, in a tone that manages to be cheerful even as it brooks no argument and Yohji figures this is another one of those old arguments he doesn't remember. He watches Mamoru-san fold Ken's jumpsuit neatly and place it carefully in a drawer for safekeeping with a fond little pat, though why the hell he'd want to keep a prison uniform is beyond him. These men are a weird lot. He tries not to wonder what that makes him, as it occurs to him that those closer-than-brothers friends Mamoru-san spoke of are in the room with him -- and one of them is Yohji himself. 'Complicated' suddenly sounds like one hell of an understatement. "So what now?" Yohji asks, as the room falls silent in the wake of their semi-tiff. Mamoru-san startles. "Ryou-san..." "Call me Yohji," he interrupts, "It sounds better." "Yohji-kun," Mamoru-san repeats, and he looks like he's going to cry. Yohji is surprised to find that kind of annoying, desperately wanting a cigarette though he can't remember ever having smoked one. "I think that you need to go back to your wife before it's too late. Aya's right, I should never have gotten so involved in your life." "Too late for what, exactly?" Ken shrugs. "Them. You. Trust me, it's a bitch to keep a relationship working when we're all in danger of dropping dead at a moment's notice. The bad guys aren't nice enough to keep bystanders out of it, especially when cutting them into bitty pieces is enough to stop you from getting in their way." Aya and Mamoru-san look horrified he's even speaking, and Ken sighs. "This is the part where I add the little disclaimer that I really am a crazy fucker and have lots of issues," Ken says, finishing his beer in one giant swig. "The current issue du jour and the reason why Mamoru-san looks like he's sucking a lemon right now is my dead boyfriend, who got shot on the job during the mission that fucked you over. He was the last in a long line of relationships that came to an... ehem... abrupt end, and the straw that broke the KenKen's back. So I don't eat, I don't try. I don't socialize outside of the wacky fun that is arguing with mother hens one and two over there if I can help it. Hell, I had myself put in prison so I could find a place to think long and hard about whether life was really worth all the bother free from the trappings of healthy human contact. Don't be like me, kids. Say no to crime or this could happen to you." He rolls his eyes. "My condolences," Yohji says, tries to ignore the fact that Ken doesn't sound all that upset despite the fact that he's talking about his life falling apart. "This all just seems so insane. Part of me believes you all, knows you're telling me the truth, but the rest --" he turns to Mamoru-san. "You told me you were dating a teacher. You said you met while you were both working in a flower shop when you were in high school." Aya looks insulted. "I am a teacher." Mamoru-san smiles. "And we did work in a flower shop. So did you. They were the happiest years of my life." "Even Superman needs a day job," Ken chirrups, grinning manically. Yohji takes a few moments to digest this. "Florists by day, what... assassins by night? That's absurd!" "And no one suspected a thing," says Aya. That little smirk is back, the one that Yohji is learning is possibly the closest thing the stony redhead has to a smile. "That's the point." "We even had fan girls who thought we were such nice boys," Ken adds, "You used to shove all the high school girls at me because you said they were too young for you." He's smiling something that looks more genuine now, and Yohji finds himself quietly amused. "That's hard to imagine." "You've changed a bit since your amnesia," says Mamoru-san, but there's no reproach in his voice. Ken snorts. "I know. Look at you, you're wearing a suit. Your tie's all done up right and everything." "This is bad?" Yohji asks, plucking at the offending article. He likes this tie. "Old you was kinda allergic to suits unless he was picking up chicks, yanno? And then they were usually neon. Or purple. Sexy in an 'I am so bi-curious' sort of way." Mamoru-san laughs. "I can't believe you just said that." "I'm actually hurting myself on the mental image," Yohji says, rubbing absently at his shoulder where his tattoo hides beneath his dress shirt. "Did I pick up a lot of chicks in my awesome clothes?" "You were a dog," Ken says, nodding firmly. "It actually hurts me that you've managed to stay in a monogamous relationship," Aya adds, grimacing a little. "It seems wrong, somehow." "I think it's sweet," Mamoru-san says, trying to be encouraging and Yohji just wants to pinch his cheeks at the goofy grin that crosses his face as Ken heckles and ruffles his hair. "That's... so weird," says Yohji, shaking his head, "The only thing I can ever remember being sure of is that I love Asuka-chan. Everything else is overwhelming and nervous and out of synch, but not her, never her. It may seem weird if you knew the person I was, but I don't. All I know is I'd do anything for Asuka-chan, she's my whole life." He knows he's said the wrong thing when they freeze, faces shuttered and he half wants to apologize if he could just figure out what he's done wrong. Silence stretches between them, uncomfortable, stifling, and there doesn't seem to be anything he can say to stop the sudden inexorable distance opening up between them. Ken speaks first, vaulting from his chair to pace the floor. "You need to not be here, man. Seriously." "He's right," Mamoru-san agrees, sighing and rubbing at his temple as he reaches to flip on the computer on his desk. "As much as I'm enjoying this, we need to start looking into who was behind this mess and why Crawford and Farferello felt the need to warn us about it." "Wasn't anything we couldn't handle," Aya says, frowning as the screen lights up, leaning over Mamoru-san's shoulder to watch him enter several passwords. "So why are they acting like it's the end of the world?" It's over just like that. No questions asked, no time for recriminations or apologies. Yohji recognizes a dismissal when he hears one, but he asks anyway because something in him can't not. "So you're effectively kicking me out, yeah?" Aya's gaze is steely. "You say you live for this woman? Then go live with her. You can't stay with us and give her any semblance of the life she deserves, believe me. Not without getting one or both of you killed." He stares blankly. Ken stands beside the doorway looking broken and small, arms wrapped around himself as he hunches against the wall and Yohji wonders what his lover was like, if the man had been as aimless and frightened as the men who stand before him now. Mamoru-san is studiously avoiding eye contact, losing himself in the writing on his screen, and Aya is ice -- cold, unyielding, inexorable in his push however subtle and Yohji has no choice but to do as he says. Still... "Am I ever going to see you guys again?" Mamoru-san finally looks up, expression softening into something apologetic for just a moment before it hardens again. "Perhaps. We'll be around, but -- think about what we've told you today. The more time you spend with us, the more you're putting everyone around you in danger. "Go home to your wife, Yohji. Weiss hunts without you now." ------- Ryou is not surprised to find a funny taste of betrayal in his mouth as he heads home. Asuka-chan is oblivious, surprises him with friends and family in attendance and he barely pastes the smile on his face in time to fake relative normalcy while she tells him that she's pregnant. The news is met with much clapping and cheering like he's done something wonderful himself when she's the poor thing who will have to carry the kid for nine months, and he finds that ironic, bitter in the wake of the day's revelations. He kisses her, because it's expected, and tells her she's beautiful because he knows it will make her smile. He needs that smile right now. He will try for her, even as the emptiness returns in the face of the sheer, unadulterated banality of it all, thinking of those once lost, now found and lost again brothers in arms, but there is nothing to be done for it now. Aya -- Ran -- whichever he is, is right. Ryou has moved on, he has chosen this life and it is his duty to keep those who live it with him safe. Isn't it? Ryou loves his wife. It's the only thing he's certain of, anymore. --- End Whispers --- return to splash page