Gentian Rain
a Weiss Kreuz story
by Magic Toes 11
Hidaka Ken wasn't normally a religious person. Despite being one of the few baptized, bona fide Christians in Japan, he often took whatever leave he could from any public displays of religion. No, 'converting the masses' wasn't a job for him; he'd left that up to the brothers at the mission to take care of.
As it was, Ken felt strange and self-conscious, dressed all too inappropriately in a T-shirt and jeans, at the small shrine within the graveyard. He wasn't a religious person, but he was down upon his knees, hands awkwardly folded in prayer. It might have been considered a travesty to his own unpracticed Christian beliefs if he'd been caught imitating the posture he'd seen Tsukiyono Omi, a full-blooded Buddhist, take several times before. Ken didn't know the prayers, and he didn't know the motions, but he knew enough to light the stick of incense and to pray. He knew enough to rest the small spray of gentian violets, wrapped in thin, lavender tissue paper, at the base of the shrine. He knew enough to hurt.
Unbidden, her face flashed before his eyes, bright eyed and laughing. She'd always laughed when they were together. Even when he'd found her, feverish and sweating, the telltale signs of the debilitating rash breaking scarlet upon her pale arms, she'd laughed, because Ken was there to hold her. Ken would make the sickness go away. She hadn't known his other side -- the killer side -- but she somehow knew that he would put life and limb on the line to protect her.
Little did Ken know that once she'd left for Australia, she would return to the very addiction that would eventually kill her. ~Freude.~ He hadn't been there to take the bottle of the poisoned water from her lips, hadn't been around to dispose of the remains of the stash bought in Shibuya. They'd brought her back to her home land in a box, her body riddled with sores and hemorrhaging, the result of a fever that Ken would never have been able to chase away at such an advanced state. She'd thought the drink would help her, keep her pale Japanese skin smooth and unblemished; but in the end, it was the addiction to the drink that killed her.
Ken fought the tears that threatened to spill from behind his eyes. No, he didn't love her -- not anymore. Not since he'd been forced to leave her behind, unable to shed the role that he'd been bound to, unable to wash the blood from his hands. Unable to forget the look in his teammates' eyes when he'd told them he'd be leaving. He wasn't destined to leave Weiss behind, ever, and that thought in itself was enough to set him crying.
After a while, he didn't even notice the tears, as the sky opened up, and the cold, cold drops of rain mingled with the salt water upon his cheeks. Ken knew it had been a mistake not to bring his leather jacket -- the forecasts had called for midday showers, after all -- but even despite the chill of the rain, he couldn't bring himself to move. At a small, shrine-like market for Asakawa Yuriko, his former lover, all he could do was shiver, and cry, quiet and subdued, until the rain washed away the blood and the hurt, leaving behind only a wound waiting to be stitched back together...
Ken was late for the briefing, managing to sneak into the basement of the flowershop about a quarter of the way into Persia's televised speech. His feet made very little noise as he padded down the stairs, but a soft sniffle made his presence known. Since he'd hopped on his motorcycle, the wind whipping the wet cold and chilling him straight to the bone, he'd felt less than spectacular. His throat was achy, raw, and the shivers just wouldn't abate. Not to mention the tickle that cloyed at the back of his sinuses.
"Hehk-shh! Kk-ssh!" Ken managed to half-stifle his sneezes as he circled the couch. Neither Fujimiya Aya nor Kudou Yohji -- standing to either side of the couch -- made any sign that they'd heard him. Omi, however, turned his impossibly large eyes up to Ken, and he gave him a tiny smile, scooting over to make more room on the cushions beside him.
"Bless you," whispered Omi.
Ken sniffled against the back of his hand, congestion starting to gather in his sinuses, and sank into the cushions. The area where Omi had been sitting was warm, his own clothing too chilled and wet, and Ken fought to contain another uncontrollable shiver. He'd been out in the rain far too long.
He almost missed the majority of the mission briefing -- targets, trained military professionals running an underground slave trade ring. It was almost cliched in its description. Throughout the briefing, Ken sniffled, having no handkerchief and sleeves too wet to rub his nose against. But he listened as close as he could, head leaning back against the back cushions of the sofa as Persia's computer-masked voice gave the assassins of Weiss their next assignment. Ken would have to fight the headache that insisted on forming behind his eyes -- it was a ground mission. The team would need him.
"Hunters of the night, deny these dark beasts their tomorrow."
Once the briefing ended and Persia's hidden face faded to black, a clipped, feminine voice broke the silence, "Is everyone in?" Manx, subtly hidden in the shadows as always, stepped forward with a manila folder containing the mission's exact parameters, target profiles, building layout.
"I suppose I'm in," said Yohji, stretching, catlike, and squinting as the lights in the room went up again.
"I'm in too," Omi said quietly.
"Siberian is out." Aya spoke before Ken could raise his voice in affirmation.
Ken blinked, sitting up straighter and immediately on the defensive. "What? What gives you the right to decide?"
The red-haired assassin didn't bat an eyelash. "You're ill. That makes you a hazard to the mission."
"I'm not ill!" Ken protested as he climbed to his feet. "You can't do this mission without me. You need me."
"He does have a point, Ken-kun," Omi chimed in. "You're awfully pale. You don't want to put yourself in any trouble on the mission if you're not up to it."
"Or the rest of us," said Aya, his voice like ice.
"Now see here, Aya... hah..." Ken turned his head, stifling three sudden, unexpected sneezes against the back of his hand. "Heh-kshu! Heh-sshh! Ikshuu!"
The faintest line of a smirk made its way to Aya's thin lips. "I rest my case. You're out, Siberian."
"But Aya --"
"No 'buts,'" Manx interjected, finally levying the ultimate decision. "Siberian, you're not to undertake this mission without complete assurance that you're not a hazard to yourself or to the others."
Frozen, Ken stood for a moment and simply glared, first at Aya, then at Manx. A whole string of curses fought to break loose from his lips, but he restrained himself. Just barely. Instead of arguing, he turned and stalked up the stairs, ignoring Omi's concerned shout of his name. Ignoring Yohji's lighthearted drawl as it reached his ears, "Let him go, chibi. He's in one of his moods again."
But Omi was intend upon following him, and Ken paused once he reached the landing. The younger boy's feet pounded swiftly up the stairs behind him. Ken sighed, feeling his headache growing steadily stronger at the back of his eyes.
"Ken-kun?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Omi," Ken murmured, voice a restrained growl. No, Omi didn't deserve his anger. And it was hard to stay angry when another fit of sneezes threatened to overtake him. He buried his face into the crook of his elbow. "Huh... Hehk-shuu! Hhkk-chu! Heh... Heh-eKKshuu!"
Omi placed his hand on Ken's shoulder, but drew it away just as quickly, as if he'd been burned. "Ken-kun! You're soaking wet! Where have you been?"
"I told you, I don't want to talk about it." Ken angrily rubbed the base of his nose with his fingertips. "Look, just go, okay?" He couldn't bear the weight of Omi's overwhelming concern that radiated from the boy's eyes.
"Are you alright?"
Ken snorted. "According to Aya and Manx, I'm apparently not."
"Why don't you get some rest, Ken-kun? There will be other missions."
"I suppose. Go on. Get back to your mission. They're going to need you. As much help as they can get." Ken was only slightly grudging, turning away to ascend the next set of stairs.
"I hope you feel better, Ken-kun."
"Hn." Halfway up the staircase, Ken paused, turned. Omi was still there, watching with an obvious concern in those wide, expressive eyes of his. "Ne, Omi?"
"Yes?"
"Don't get yourself killed, okay?"
Omi smiled, almost seemed to blush. Or perhaps it was Ken's imagination. Flushing, Omi was, perhaps, even endearing. His own, slightly torn feelings on sexuality notwithstanding, Ken could easily see why the other boy was a favorite among the girls that flocked to the flowershop.
"I won't die. Not tonight. I promise."
"Good."
"Take care, Ken-kun," the younger boy whispered, lingering a moment, before taking off to join his other teammates. Aya and Yohji would be waiting, and the mission would be dangerous. They'd need to be going soon if they were to succeed.
And -- as much as Ken hated to admit to himself -- while it would be difficult, the others could handle this mission on their own.
It was nearly two in the morning, and the stench of the night's mission and death hung heavily upon Omi's clothing. He was practically crawling out of his windbreaker and shorts by the time he managed to make it to the flowershop and into the downstairs shower. At least this evening, he would have first dibs on showering rights. Normally delegated to the end of the line due to his size and his age, Omi didn't have to worry this evening about waiting for Yohji, who was at a local bar drowning his sorrows in tobacco and whiskey, or for Aya, who had instead left without a word, headed towards the other side of town, as he was occasionally prone to do. And then there was Ken...
The older boy had seemed so miserable when Aya had banned him from the mission. But Aya also had a point -- it had been a particularly dangerous mission, one he was still smarting from. Ken would have been merely a liability, Omi acknowledged to himself as he dried off from the shower and climbed into more comfortable sleeping clothes.
Exiting the bathroom, Omi overheard a quiet drone from the main room. In addition to the toilet and shower, this floor held a small living area where Omi would tape American movies and Ken (and sometimes Yohji, when he was feeling in a particularly incisive mood) would make use of the gaming system.
But this evening, there was no fantasy game in progress. There was merely a sappy Japanese sitcom that Ken would normally have pulled a face at and skipped over, had he not been fast asleep before the television.
At some point in the night, Ken had slipped into sweatpants and a T-shirt, and was now huddled beneath a thin blanket, head thrown back against the couch's cushions. His breath was a light, congested snore. As Omi turned off the television, Ken made a soft noise in his throat, stirring from sleep. Omi couldn't help but notice the faint pallor in his teammate's skin, the dark circles beneath glassy eyes that turned up with effort to meet his own.
Omi leaned down, placed a hand upon Ken's shoulder, and tried not to show alarm at the heat that radiated from the other boy's skin. He was well on his way to running a high fever. "Come on, Ken-kun. I think it's time you went to bed."
Ken didn't speak, but allowed Omi to assist him to his feet. The blanket fell from his chest into a heap on the ground; when he leaned over to pick it up, the world swum dizzyingly around him, and he clasped Omi's arm tightly.
"Take it easy. I'll get your blanket later. Right now, it'd be best if you went to lie down. You look terrible."
"Pleasure to see you too, Omi," Ken croaked, his voice tinged with faint hoarseness. "How did the mission go?"
"We took the targets out easily enough," said Omi, leading Ken towards the stairs leading to the second-floor bedrooms.
"Hn." Ken fixed his eyes upon the stairs, his shoulders stiffening beneath Omi's hand.
"We could definitely have used your help, though, if you'd been up to it." At that, Ken seemed to brighten ever so slightly, his fever-weary eyes fixing much more steadily upon Omi as he led him up the stairs. "One of the targets must have been a boxer in a former lifetime."
Ken sniffled, running the back of his hand against his nose. "Why do you say th- tha... hehk-shuu! Heh-chu!" He paused, gripping the railing with a hand, his hair jerking into his eyes as he struggled to contain the unexpected, painful sounding sneezes. "Hhk-shiuu! Hah... ha-kisshh!"
"Bless you."
"Thanks," Ken murmured grouchily, rubbing his nose with the edge of his sleeve.
"I miscalculated the target's location about halfway through the operation," said Omi, couching the nature of the mission in vague terms, for both Ken's sake and his own. "Next thing I knew, he was in my face, and had nearly knocked me out before Yohji managed to subdue him."
Ken nodded, understanding. He and Aya were the close-range fighters of the group with their bladed weapons; Yohji and his harigane, and Omi and his crossbow were long-distance fighters. A faint wrinkle crossed his brow, and he suddenly stopped short of the door to his room, clasping Omi's chin in his hand. "How badly were you hurt?"
Omi flushed faintly, the pink flooding his cheeks only emphasizing the swelling bruise forming just beneath his left eye. "Not very badly, Ken-kun. I dodged all but the first punch." He chuckled, fumbling at the doorknob. "It might not have been so bad if you'd been there."
"Well, it wasn't my choice not to go." Another pause, a sharp intake of breath, and Ken turned quickly and sneezed another of his quiet, half-stifled sneezes. "Hehk-shuu!"
Pushing open the door, Omi placed a hand upon Ken's back and gently nudged him inside. Ken didn't even need his prompting -- he immediately crossed the room, immaculately neat and virtually devoid of any sort of personal belongings. On the way, he grabbed a couple tissues from the box beside his bed before burying his face into them and falling headlong atop the covers.
The bed creaked, shifted as Omi settled beside him, and Ken felt the warmth of the other boy's hand as it rested against the nape of his neck. "Do you need me to get you anything, Ken-kun?"
"Besides the obvious?" Ken murmured from around the pillows ground into his face.
Omi smiled faintly, a light blush making its way to his cheeks as he stared at Ken's prone figure. "Some blankets? Maybe some soup?"
"Blankets," came the murmured reply, and Ken rolled over, tissues still pressed to his nose. "Anything to keep wa-- hh.. warm... Hehk-shuu! Kshuu! Ih... hh-kissh!" Ken groaned, blew his nose, and gasped in a light breath through his mouth.
"Bless you."
"Ugh, this has got to stop!" Ken muttered with impatience, blowing his nose and tossing the spent tissues towards the wastebasket on the other side of the room.
But Omi merely grinned -- unlike the other boys, smiling came easily to him, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from Ken's eyes. "Relax, Ken-kun," he said in a soft voice. "I'll be right back with some blankets for you. Sleep, if you need to."
Ken snatched another tissue from the stand beside him and nodded, closing his eyes and falling back against the pillow. Sleep wasn't going to come easily, no matter how tired he felt -- he'd long dried from the downpour, but the chills wouldn't abate. But he huddled as much as he could beneath the thin covers already on his bed, and, after Omi had left him, he drifted in a haze of fever and hallucinations.
Ken awoke with a snoring gasp.
"Ken-kun?" Omi's voice, whispered, roused him from the deepest of his dreams, where Yuriko sat upon the stone of her grave and slowly melted to skeletal nothingness.
Ken groaned and sat up straighter, his head throbbing and throat aching. The drip at the back of his throat would ensure that the cold would move into his lungs, like it always did when he was a child and prone to bronchial infections.
"I brought you some tea," Omi said, fussing with the extra blanket he'd thrown atop Ken just prior to rousing him. "And some aspirin. It'll bring your fever down."
"Thanks, Omi," Ken murmured, reaching for a tissue and for the white pills that the other boy had placed on the bedstand. He dry-swallowed the aspirin, wincing, and followed them with a sip of tea.
Omi perched on the corner of Ken's bed, awkwardly finding himself some place to settle. His fingertips strayed to Ken's forehead, as if testing to see whether the aspirin had reduced his fever upon taking them. "So, Ken-kun, what were you doing today that managed to get you so sick?" he asked, casually.
Sniffling against the back of his hand, Ken fought to contain another harsh shiver. "Visiting Yuriko," he said after a moment.
Omi blinked, his impossibly large eyes momentarily unreadable before they widened even further, and he broke into a forced grin. "Yuriko-chan! So she's come back to Japan?"
If it were Yohji or even Aya, Ken might have responded sharply, sarcastically. But, somehow, he couldn't seem to manage such a tone when it came to Omi. Instead, Ken sighed and shook his head. "I was visiting her grave, Omi."
The smile faltered, a tiny gasp managing to escape. Omi's hand immediately circled around Ken's shoulder. "Oh, Ken-kun, I'm so sorry."
Ken sniffled softly, running the back of his hand against the base of his nose. "Yeah, well. There was no saving her." He looked up at Omi, and his eyes were bright with fever, though -- to Omi's relief -- not with tears. "You don't need to be sorry."
"I hope you don't mind me asking... But what happened to Yuriko-chan?"
"Remember the Freude mission?"
"Yes."
"She was still addicted." Ken let out a soft sigh and lay his head against Omi's shoulder. The younger boy was cool, enough to make Ken shiver.
"I'm sorry, Ken-kun," Omi murmured.
Fingers, rifling through the messiness that was Ken's hair. It was soothing, and Ken buried his fever-flushed face against Omi's neck. Anything to keep those fingers twined within his hair. "I told you, don't be."
"But you loved her." The boy's voice was a whisper, almost pained. Or perhaps Ken was having another fevered dream.
Ken lifted his head, a sniffle suddenly turning to a maddening tickle within his nose. "Iya... O-Omi..." Omi turned, quickly grabbing a tissue from the bedstand, and handed it to Ken just in time. "Hehk-shuu!"
"Bless you."
"Thanks," Ken murmured with a tired sigh and a soft blow of his nose. Balling up the tissue, he tossed it towards the wastebasket and missed entirely. He leaned his head heavily against Omi's shoulder once again, and the boy loosely looped an arm around him. "I didn't love her, you know. I... cared about her, yes. But I didn't love her."
Omi stared down at him, his normally animated expression unreadable. "Are you just saying that, Ken-kun?"
"Of course not, Omi!" He was almost offended, but simply didn't have the energy to be angry. Ken sighed, heavy eyes drifting shut. "If I loved her, I wouldn't have left her. I'd have gone with her to Australia and left Weiss for good."
"But you didn't leave."
"I didn't love her enough. Or maybe..." He sighed, trailing off to nothingness.
"Maybe...?" Omi prompted.
"I don't know," Ken murmured, after a moment's pause to consider. "Maybe there were those here that I loved more." He closed his eyes, rubbed his head against Omi's shoulder, rested there in tired contentment.
A decided flush rose in Omi's cheeks, and they lay there in silence, save for the occasional sniffle from Ken. Omi held the other boy, chin resting against the top of Ken's soft, slightly damp hair, until Ken shifted his body. Sliding himself up, so his cheek touched Omi's, arm circling his stomach, breath hot, exhaled through lightly parted lips. Omi turned his head, and Ken's forehead rested against his own. Unmoving. Inviting.
"Ken-kun?" The words were soft, whispered, before Omi leaned in, brushing his lips against Ken's. Ken lifted his chin, pressing up against Omi's soft kiss, his own lips faintly parted to draw the air that wouldn't pass through his congested nose. And Omi respected that, unlike, say, Yohji, who might have taken advantage the moment to slip his tongue between those parted lips. Like Omi himself, the kiss was gentle, understated, and subtly irresistible.
After what seemed like an eternity of sweetness, Omi finally pulled away, cheeks harshly aflame, Ken discovered when he opened his eyes. "Omi, you're going to catch my cold," he chided, gently.
"That's okay. If you get me sick, I'll simply make you pamper me like I'm pampering you." He chuckled somewhat nervously, but the grin on his face was impish.
"You're crazy," Ken laughed, and rested his head against Omi's chest. "We shouldn't even be doing this."
"What do you mean?" Omi curled his arms around Ken, content to hold him close. The shivers, at least, had finally begun to ease.
"We work together. We kill together. Should we really be making out together, too?"
"Ken-kun!" Omi spluttered. "We're not making out, are we?"
"No, we're not." Ken chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand atop Omi's head. The boy's hair was soft, flecks of grey starting to show through the mass of honeyed brown. "It was just a kiss."
"Anyway, do you really have a problem with it? Because if you do --"
"Ssh. Stop it, Omi. I don't have a problem with it. If I did..." He trailed off, closing his eyes. God, he was tired.
"If you did...?" Omi prompted.
"You'd know about it by now." Ken let out a drained sigh, letting his arms slide down to rest against the small of Omi's back.
Omi ran his fingers through Ken's hair, brushing the unruly, sweat-dampened strands from his eyes. Already, the other boy's forehead was starting to feel cooler, though the fever hadn't broken entirely. "Get some sleep, Ken-kun."
"Only if you stay," Ken returned. "Until I'm asleep, that is," he added, sensing the stiffening discomfort of the younger boy. Best not to push things too far. Who knew how Omi would feel once he was well again, after all? Best not to push things when Ken himself was still recovering from the death of a pretty young woman whom he'd tried so hard to save.
"Deal," Omi said with relief.
Smiling gently, Omi held him, chasing back fever-dreams and congested sniffles, until Ken finally gave in to exhaustion and comfort, and slept. Tomorrow would be another day.
The End
http://www.geocities.com/magictoes11/weissboys.html for relevant series and character information, for those unfamiliar with the fangirly goodness that is Weiss.