IV.  Tokyo, Later...

With a long, slow hiss like the breath of old champagne, the last waves 
in the sinking rubble died away.  There was no one to hear, no one to 
see the dust-drenched ripples slipping into one another save whoever 
swept the tiny Venetian rowboat nearby away until it melted into the 
lunar glare, leaving only the herringbone wisps in its wake where its 
oars has fallen.

Behind it, the ocean still tossed and turned, spreading itself open to 
take in fragment after fragment of stone, of plaster, of glass and of 
the spine that had once reached across the gallery of the Ani Museum.

No, the bay wasn't as deep as the shadows of the mountains made it 
look, but decades slipped past before the ruins of that night would be 
wrapped up in the seaweed that swayed about the bottom; made part of 
the shallows that came before the black drop into the trench that was 
the open ocean.

Omi awakened then to find himself on the edge of the chasm.  Through 
the silt that had been cast up around him by the tumult he could still 
see, for the lamps about the ceremonial chamber had not gone out. The 
seafloor was bathed in a cascade of their light now that the walls 
holding them had gone.  Every bronzy-green tendril twining from the 
sand was alight, and their shadows dissolved into the one shadow that 
ended all the others.

It was the most terrifying thing he had ever known.  It made him, for a 
handful of beautiful moments, forget he had ever been afraid of 
anything else.  But his eyes burned, more than his empty lungs, his 
fresh bruises.  He closed them.  Thus blind, he got to his feet, and 
shot himself upwards through a slow rain of infintescimal clear swords.  
His jacket fell behind him and all the darts therein spilled out among 
the debris, and shone there until the lights died.  

The current on the surface, once he broke it, was much wilder than that 
slow purling near the bottom.  He had no sooner taken a breath than it 
had tossed him head over heels through the gloaming murk.  He toed off 
his shoes, turned out his pockets, writhed and fought with all else he 
was wearing, just to be lighter, just so there wouldn't be so much of 
him to catch on the seething water. 

Down to his undershirt, boxers and socks, he found he could breath 
without interruption at last.  Though rather, he would not.

He just screamed.  Screamed until he thought his throat would rupture 
into a bloody mess and his teary eyes go blind.  Screamed until all his 
terrors had returned and left him without memory of that inescapable 
darkness beyond the edge of the bay.  Screamed until he couldn't even 
hurt anymore.  A wave washed over him once he was numb again, and he 
nearly fell back to the bottom he had fled.

Then, thoughts...

/What if... no... no, they couldn't! I can't be the only one! They can't 
have fallen down there! They can't have just DROWNED! They can't! No! I 
can't be alone! I just can't be!/

But the thought of Aya pale and crushed beneath the mezzanine was too 
much for him...

"Somebody! Anybody! Oh GOD! Somebody answer me! Please! Please! I don't 
wanna be alone! Don't leave me alone."

He cried.

"Is there anybody! Anybody! Please! I'm scared! Youji-kun! Aya-kun! 
KEN-KUN!"

And cried.

"I'm so scared..."

Without sense, he began to paddle through the milky halo light that 
lined the place where the tower had been, calling and choking down 
saltwater as it mumbled threats and far from gentle promises of corpses 
all around him.  Twice the currents threatened to drag him into the 
rocky shore, and twice he fought them, only to just avoid some sub-
surface, crumbling part of the ruin that would have liked nothing 
better than to run him through, make himself into his fantasies.

"Please, somebody answer me!"

He had no sense of time left to him, but it was small eternities of 
silence that followed and in his lingering terror he swore the last arc 
of the moon was laughing at him- silly Omi who dared shout at the dead.

/But they just can't be dead! They just can't be! Who cares if I had 
anyone left! I might need them but so does someone else! SOMEWHERE! 
It's just.../

"Too stupid! Oh no oh no no no no no NOOOOOOO!"

No a thousand times for such an end for them.  He drew up the water 
that cradled him and ran it over the tingling blush that had taken him 
in his tears.  Looked down in his hands... and found a few swirls of 
blood in the water.  

Which would have been expected- he couldn't even feel his skin in 
places it was so cut but... there were plumes of red in the water where 
he hadn't yet swam.  

A breath.  He plunged under and tried to sweep the fog suspended all 
around him away, but to no avail.  So he felt and he chased those few 
droplets into nothing until the lack of air made him forget what he'd 
been searching for.

In the chill night air again, he wept afresh, too weak and empty to 
fight it, or to even think of it.  In far too many moments, he made his 
way to a pylon bobbing not too far away within the lights, and he clung 
to it, rather than hold himself up any longer.  His hold was fragile at 
best though- he was always slipping and trying to grind his nails into 
it and...

He felt something warn and sticky and satiny under one palm.  Shivering 
still, he tugged himself up over the rubble, tried to do it without 
upsetting himself or what he clung to.  It was much larger than it had 
looked from the level of the water- almost the size of a bed.  In the 
middle of it, waves lapping over his ankles, was Ken, looking for all 
the world like sleeping beauty; wan and wet with his lips just barely 
parted.

Careless now, Omi clambered up beside him, and knelt there, though he 
got splinters in his bare knees.  "Ken-kun? Ken-kun... can you hear me.  
Oh... oh please.  Ken-kun..."

He'd gotten his fingers in the thin, silky hair that fell along the 
back of his head, and there had been blood there.  Rather cold blood 
but it was so hard to tell.  

Like a child might have, he shook his friend, called to him, sang and 
babbled and dared to pick him up for a little shake.  "Answer 
me, Ken..."

When he didn't, he took one more deep breath.  Hesitated with his eyes 
on the stars.  And then he kissed him.  His mouth was still warm, just 
the littlest bit responsive, though he still breathed for him for a 
little while, just like that, until the body under him began to murmur.  
Then he just held him, and kept his hand on his dancing pulse.  

"Ken-kun?" 
      
"...hey Omi... you're shaking.  You OK?"

Nodding against his friend's shoulder, he began to wail softly.  
Only this time, there was the gentle touch of a familiar hand running 
through the salt that had started to crystallize in his hair.

***

Far across the bay, Youji floated upon the waves upon the remnant of a 
wooden pillar, just another bit of rubbish that was swept towards the 
sea by the tidal surge in the aftermath of the tower's crumbling. The 
water around them was full of shattered planks and long, thin splinters, 
bobbing bits of drywall.      

Fortunately though, Youji wasn't alone on his slow, drifting journey 
towards the shore. In the moments just before the floor had given away 
altogether, he had given in to the impulse to seize Aya by his trench's 
belt. His quick thinking had wound up saving Aya's life, for the 
swordsman had been struck by a falling chunk of stone as they plunged 
into the sea and was momentarily knocked unconscious. Worryingly, he 
was still quite sluggish. Youji hoped it was just from the cold, and 
not from anything more serious. 

/Not that being cold isn't serious,/ he silently added, gingerly 
leaning down to once more resume steering their way through the water 
with his right hand--the wrist of his left being broken; he thought 
at least one rib on his left side was as well. It certainly pained 
him enough to be broken--along with all the bruises and cuts he'd 
suffered in the fall.  /At least I have my gloves and coat. And 
Aya's got his.../ 

Youji peered off into the darkness in the general direction where the 
sound of Omi's last scream had originated. Hearing his frightened cries 
had made Youji want to cry out in sympathy.  

"Did you hear him?" he said, voice anguished and soft.  "Oh, man, he's 
got to be all right!  Youdon't suppose any of those bastards have found 
him, do you?  You don't think he's hurt very badly?  Aya?"   

Youji turned to his companion for reassurance on that point, and found 
him drooping in his seat, and tilting slightly seaward. Alarmed, Youji 
grabbed him by the shoulder, and shook him hard. "Stay awake! Aya!" 

Aya jerked his head up, then immediately clapped a hand to his 
forehead with a soft intake of breath. "Don't do that." 

"Then don't fall asleep." 

"Stop nagging," Aya grumbled. "Nothing's...wrong." 

"Blood's dripping down from the right side of your forehead, you keep 
nodding off, and nothing's wrong." Youji laughed hollowly. "You're 
such a martyr." 

Aya raised his head to give him a bleary glare. "Shut up." 

Stifling a grin, Youji replied, "Can't take the truth?" If anger could 
keep Aya alert, then he was going to do his best to get him mad.  

"I'm not the only one who can't." 

Surprise fluttered briefly over his face, and then Youji gave him a 
humorless smile and a nod. Aya only sighed. A breeze came up over the 
water, smelling clean of salt, and, closing his eyes, Aya lifted his 
face to meet it, taking a deep breath to clear his foggy mind.  

"I'm not in the mood to argue." 

"Okay..." Youji said airily. "Sure...You can just help me paddle," he 
added. "That'll keep you alert." 

Without comment, Aya watched Youji make another weary attempt at 
steering them, then dipped his hands into the water. Their makeshift 
raft began to turn more towards the right, in a diagonal--which was 
where Youji wanted to head. It had seemed to him that Omi's cries had 
come from that direction. He fervently hoped that he was correct 
in his assumption. 

"You think they're okay?" Youji asked again.  

"Yeah," came the other's reply.  But to Youji, it sounded like he was 
trying to convince himself just as much; not so much confidence 
behind that word than hope.  He tried not to think of that either--or 
of his warm bed, and how much he wished he was in it at that moment.  

The two injured men lapsed into silence, concentrating on their task, 
and stayed so for several minutes until Youji piped up with, "You 
never told him, did you?" 

Aya canted a look at him, then turned away completely. "That's none of 
your business." 

"Ehhh," he answered, shrugging, "maybe, maybe not. All I know is... it 
bothers me." 

"Why do you care?" 

Youji's brows rose. "Why? Because it doesn't happen all the time, man! 
Because chances don't come along everyday--especially not for us. 
We've got to grab what we can, Aya." 

"Do we?  That's not what you told him when he and Yuriko were together."    

Sobered by his remark, Youji's face fell. He lowered his hand to his 
side, his expression deepening into a scowl. "Don't remind me 
about that."  

"Then shut up," Aya growled. 

Indeed, nothing more was said at all--they just paddled their raft 
along, their speed increasing by degrees, perhaps in time with their 
thoughts. And then suddenly, Aya straightenedup in his seat. There was 
something ahead of them. He could faintly make out the shape of the 
pylon, the moonlit silhouettes of what appeared to be two figures 
huddled upon it. 

"Hey, Aya?" whispered Youji.  "Do you think...?"

But Aya made no reply, save for quietly lowering himself to the water 
after a moment's consideration.  Muttering a curse under his breath, 
Youji followed him, awkwardly making his way through the water after 
the swordsman and wincing with every noisy splash he made.  Neither of 
the figures on the raft ahead moved, though, nor did anyone call out.  
Youji watched as Aya sidled up to the edge of the raft; the redhead 
turned then, and beckoned for him to approach.  When he was in arm's 
reach, Aya grabbed him by his uninjured arm and pulled him close.  In 
the next moment a great wave of cold sea water washed over the raft, 
and Omi gave a startled cry, twistingaround to look as best he could 
without disturbing Ken.  

As Aya crawled closer to the pair, Youji gave a smile of relief.  "
Omi..." 

*** 

He hadn't seen them.  Hadn't heard them, or felt their passing on the 
water.  They had simply come to be, real as real could be around him.  
Like ghosts, or small demons... all manner of things not really, truly 
alive.

For many a breath, he looked through them with fearful, pink eyes, and 
once more down on Ken where he lay slumped in his almost embrace.  In a 
daze, he clutched the body in his arms so tightly to him it felt as if 
their ribs would crush together, their hearts spill all over each 
other. 

"Aya-kun... Youji-kun... I... but nobody... I..."

Ken moaned, just a little.  

He would have begun to sob again then in the glittering silence that 
had since come all around them, but his irises were so dry and sticky 
there was only the sound where the tears should have been.   

"Stay!" he begged at last.  "Don't go away! Please don't go now that 
you're here.  I couldn't... I don't know what I'd do now.  I don't want 
you to go away.  I don't want to know if you're not really here!"

"Mn... Omi... What's going on? You can cry some more, I do' mind..."

The boy shook his head, shifted ever so slightly where he knelt, and 
soothingly threaded his battered fingers across Ken's bangs, drawing 
them away so he could see if he wanted to.  A kind of lachrymose dread 
seized him though at first, for Ken hadn't made any effort to rise, or 
to look around.  

Once his palm has crossed Ken's lashes though, his eyes opened, sleepy 
and cloudy though they seemed, and he looked back at the two men who 
had joined them on the drifting pylon.  Youji only winked at him, but 
the swordsman held his gaze for a long, long time.

"Aya," he said to him at last.  "I wanna go home.  My head hurts."

And as if that was simply that, he closed his eyes and snuggled his 
face down into Omi's soaking undershirt.

"No! Ken-kun, stay with me! Don't do that!"  As if he didn't want to 
the other two to see, Omi crossed one arm over that which held his 
companion, and tried to smear the blood there into his own skin.  Youji 
shook his head and caught his hand by the wrist; pulled it away, and 
laid against his throat.

Omi wasn't afraid anymore after that.  Just cold. 

***

Aya was too, though no longer just from the elements.  He'd seen the 
blood, a wide, dark smudge on Omi's arm, a drying pool on the board 
under Ken's head, and he was seized with fear.  The feeling was 
strong enough to make him put aside all consideration for his own 
throbbing body.  His numb, trembling fingers worked the clasps 
and buckles of his coat loose, and Aya whisked it off, scooting forward 
on his knees to drape it over both of them, and arranging his hidden 
sword so it lay alongside Ken's thigh.  

"I'm...l-leaving this in your care," he said, trying his 
damnedest to keep his voice as steady as he could; a cold wind cut
through his soggy, thin black T-shirt like a razor, making him 
shiver.  "I c-can't lose it."  

Omi nodded, but Aya knew the look he wore was a worried one.  Looking 
down at the still, pale figure in his arms, he understood the 
sentiment perfectly.  Aya slipped two fingers past Ken's collar, 
groping for a pulse, nearly sighing his relief when he found it--
thready, but strong enough.  He took the dangling sleeve from Ken's 
half of the trench, and made Omi take it, pressing his covered hand 
against the wound.  "Hold it there.  Maybe you can staunch the 
flow."  

Another nod.  Aya lay a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it gently 
before turning back to Youji.  "Can you swim any further?"  

Youji tried to move his hand, grimacing as he did so.  The fingers 
clearly weren't working right, but he nodded anyway.  "I've come this 
far, so..."  He shrugged.  "What do you have in mind?"  

"We swim to shore, pushing this thing, pulling it, whatever," Aya 
replied, crawling to the edge of the pylon.  "We get him to the car, 
and take him to the hospital.  I don't think we can take care of him 
ourselves."  

"Right..." Youji said, as Aya sank once more into the water.  Pausing 
to steel himself for the water's chilly embrace, he soon followed suit, 
bobbing up and down with the waves alongside the raft.  Quietly, they 
both felt their way along until they reached the end closest to the 
shore it until they both found grooves they could easily hang onto.  

And then, with deep breaths and on the count of three, they began to 
pull, one-handed, grasping with the other through the water towards 
the shore.  It took forever, took nearly the last of their strength, 
but after a time, they managed to get it close enough to where their 
feet touched the weed-choked sea floor.  Their labors were far easier 
then, not having to pull both themselves and the raft.  

The moment they got it to land and stable, Aya climbed onto the pylon 
again, and knelt beside Ken.  He felt once more for his pulse, 
finding it unchanged in tempo.  If Omi thought it strange that he 
lingered there after checking him, Aya didn't know.  Nor would he, it 
seemed, for in the next moment, Youji had whisked his own coat off, 
and was holding it out for Omi to take.  

"Come on, kid.  Put this on, and let's get the car.  I might need you 
to help steer.  Aya can look after Ken."  

Aya turned to look at him, sensing the knowing smirk he surely wore 
though he couldn't plainly see it.  One didn't work and live around 
another and not learn what sorts of expressions go with certain tones 
of voice, and Youji had made that last remark in a teasing sort of 
way.  He very nearly snapped back, and might have, if Omi were not 
there--Omi, who was already so upset.  The boy held onto Ken as if he 
were a treasured toy that Aya was threatening to steal, only finally 
giving him up with great reluctance.  Aya held Ken close, one hand 
cupping the back of his head to brace it, clamped over the still-
bleeding gash.  

"Aya won't let anything happen to him, Omi.  Will you?"  

Mutely, he looked from Youji to Omi, and slowly shook his head.  
Youji took that moment to catch Omi by the arm and hustle him away.  
The two ran across the narrow strip of sand to the stairs which led 
to the road, and Aya lowered his eyes to the unconscious boy he 
cradled in his arms.  He might have been sleeping, he looked so 
peaceful--too peaceful.  Aya tugged his glove off; his fingers, warmed 
as they were by the leather, he carefully lay over Ken's parted lips, 
feeling for breath.  Thin and warm, the wispof air circled his digits 
and faded, and Aya allowed himself to relax a little, gathering Ken
close.  

"I never told you," he whispered, swallowing hard as he moved his 
hand to Ken's cheek.  "I couldn't.  I just..."  His breath hitched 
in a soft sob, and Aya pressed his face to the top of Ken's head.  
He'd only ever wept for his sister before, and now he was shedding 
tears for him.  They streamed down his cheeks to mingle with the 
dark, silky strands of Ken's hair.  

"Don't die."  

***

When he spoke, he heard his own voice as if it were trapped in a bottle.  
And anyone else... no, there was no one close enough for him to listen 
to any longer.  But sometimes out of the darkness he felt like someone 
was speaking to him.  Just felt- the words slipping away themselves, 
and leaving only their imprints for him to try and make out.

Omi's sorrow had been tactile only, but there was someone else now, 
someone whose pain felt unfamiliar to him.  He was moved by them like 
the heavens are when the stars a million light years away wink out.  
Stars... just because if he opened his eyes he'd see them still; 
because he swore all of his weight had just evaporated as he fell.  
How long ago had that been? He didn't know.

It just kept going in and out of focus.  Everything of Time even.

His sight twinkled, the beach, the coiling, ruffled fins of the path, 
the sapphire effigies of the leaf-laden trees by night.  When he 
tried to follow them, tried to pick himself out and return to the 
umbra where he had stepped from at first someone held him down, and 
shook and squeezed him and just...

And then he knew.

/Huh... guess he really did do a number on me.  Funny, it's starting 
to go away now... just a little sore is all but... god, I'm tired./

/Well... not... TOO tired./

Ken, without fear for what it would mean by day, reached up and took 
Aya's cheek in his hand.

"There, there." 

It was all he could think of to say.

***

Aya raised his head, blinking tear-blurred eyes at the night-washed 
sea, the sparkling veil that clad the heavens.  He'd spoken, 
murmuring nonsense as one might a distraught child, petting him just 
the same, and Aya suddenly felt both ashamed and hurt.  

/He thinks I'm Omi.  He wouldn't...if he knew.../  

He lifted his hand from Ken's cheek, and rubbed at his damp eyes, 
willing his sorrow away though he felt like he could cry and cry.  
It wouldn't do for him to see.  What would he say then?  What would 
he think...?  

A peek at Ken's shadowed eyes showed no sign of revulsion, of shock.  
His hand didn't move from his cheek, but shifted just a bit, brushing 
the eartail dangling there; trapping it between two fingers and 
rubbing it.  So he did know.  And he didn't care.  He didn't care!  A 
rare feeling of euphoria fluttered in his chest, and Aya cracked a 
tiny smile.  

"Youji's gone to get the car, Ken," he whispered.  "We're going to 
take care of you.  It's going to be all right."  

The hand on his cheek fell gently onto his shoulder, turned to cup 
the side of his neck, and a quiet chuckle rose from his lips.  Ken's 
eyelids drooped lower, shuttering his eyes from Aya's view, but Aya 
didn't shake him, not wanting to jar him any more than he already had 
been.  He just slipped an arm around the other boy to better support 
him, drawing him closer, and gathered all his courage.    

Only to have it fail him for once.  

"Ken, I..." he stammered, whispering though he thought him 
sleeping, "I..."  

/...love you./  

And then Aya hesitantly placed a light kiss upon Ken's lips.  

***

All he really knew was holding his breath, that he should, that it 
was... so very, very precious.  Faint heat trickled through his 
still lips, and the heart beside his own fluttered.  For all he 
knew, he had been tickled by small elfin things who ruled the 
moonlit nights, or eaten by a cloud.  He didn't know though, 
didn't choose to know.

Ken was just content, in and odd sort of way.  Aya was with him.  Aya 
of all people.  It honored and humbled him at once together.

But the swordsman was calling his voice again, just faintly.  At l
east... it seemed to remind him of his name.

/Oh... right... I should breathe./

He did, almost a sigh then as said a moment from then, "You won't put 
me down until then, right?" But without waiting long at all for an 
answer, he sank down in the other boy's arms, limp as a doll, and just 
purred.

***

Aya was utterly dumbfounded.  Ken hadn't reacted negatively, he'd 
even...he'd even kissed him back.  Or it felt like he had.

"No," he rasped, holding him as close as he dared.  "I won't let you 
go, Ken.  Don't worry."  

***

Some fifty feet from the compound's main entrance lay a newly beaten 
trail which began off the road and curved into the woods to the right 
of it.  The ground where it lay was quite rough, suggesting it had 
been carved out of the soil by earth moving machines.  When they had 
arrived, Youji had wondered just what they were building so far from 
the eyes of strangers, and was grateful nevertheless to whomever had 
thought to place such a path in such a prime hiding spot as that.  
Now, he was more worried over how he could get the car out of there 
without either wrecking it, or without wasting any more time.  

They'd cast a tarp over it to further conceal it--a green camouflage 
one--and the two assassins hurried to drag it off the vehicle, not 
even bothering to stuff it back into the trunk where Youji always kept 
it.  They left it in a pile, and then they scrambled into the car, 
with Youji swearing softly under his breath as he jammed the key 
in the ignition.  The walk had done more harm to him than good; his 
muscles felt like they were on fire.  

"Turn on a little heat, hm?" he rasped to Omi over the humming 
engine.  "And then come here beside me."  

The boy did as he asked, curling up against him when he took his 
place under Youji's outstretched arm.  The older man hissed sharply; 
he'd hit his battered ribs by mistake.  

"It's...okay," he soothed.  "Just lean more into the seat than me.  
Yeah, that's it."  

Omi settled down beside him, and Youji cast him a weak little 
grin.  "Now let's get back to Aya and Ken."

***

Omi mumbled a little in acknowledgement, and then, though he hadn't 
been asked at all yet, set one of his shuddering hands to the steering 
wheel.  He was still then, still.  There was nothing for him to do but 
follow the nudges of Youji's fingers along, just spin it that way until 
he muttered for him to stop.  Just smell cigarettes and know how 
familiar everything about Youji's car was and how warm he would be all 
over.  Or almost all over.

When he glanced down to make sure he still had all his toes, he found 
dark, sticky blood was pouring from underneath his knees even though he 
felt nothing of the two gouges there.  

It wasn't this that made him start to whimper again, but a memory of 
himself when he'd thrown his best first aid kit in the back of the car 
and...

...it wasn't enough.  No way in hell.

/But then what... what am I supposed to do!? I'm the doctor! I'm 
supposed to be the.../

Not when he hadn't even been able to bring himself to look at what 
Farfarello had done to Ken.

/YOU FUCKWIT!/

"Youji-kun, we've gotta get Ken to the hospital... and we have to get 
him there now! But there's nothing I can do for him now! There's 
nothing... and I don' know... how're we s'posedta get him in the car?"

***

Youji had been far more concerned with finding the car and 
getting himself in it and it on the road as quickly as possible.  He 
hadn't stopped to ponder solutions to the problems Ken's injury posed 
them.  How were they going to get Ken into the car without hurting 
him further?  

"Well, we..."  He cast about for an idea as they motored down the few 
feet separating them from the beach, and found he couldn't come up 
with a sensible plan. They couldn't carry Ken to the car; they didn't 
have a stretcher, and he wasn't in the shape to be hauling anyone 
around.  

"We..." he began again, his eyes automatically falling onto the 
cellphone he always kept in the catchall behind the gear shift.  A 
tiny smile sprang to his lips.  He had forgotten about it, too, in 
all the rush.  

"We're going to call an ambulance," he stated, rolling the car to a 
stop by the narrow space in the stone wall which bordering the 
beach.  "The number for Tokyo Memorial is in--" Youji's voice died 
away at the sound of his phone's trilling ring.  They exchanged 
glances, and then Omi pounced upon it, flipping it open, and pressing 
the 'answer' button before handing it to Youji.  The number 
illuminated in the green glowing window was a familiar one; what was 
odd was the way she answered his greeting.  A sharp intake of breath, 
and then silence.  

"Youji?"  She sounded surprised.  

"Yeah, Manx," he replied in a carefree tone.  "So nice to hear your 
voice."  

Another short pause; he could imagine her sighing in relief.  "Nice 
to hear yours, too," she replied coolly, playing the game.  "I half 
expected you to be dead."   

"Ah, not yet."

"I see.  And the others?"  

"Injured.  We will be needing medical attention."  

"That's been taken care of.  I called the hospital before I left.  An 
ambulance should be there any time now."  

Youji forced a breathy sort of laugh.  "Ever practical."  

"It's my nature to be," Manx replied.  

"And I wouldn't have you any other way, Manx-san."  

A wisp of breath signifying a chuckle danced in his ear.  He could 
almost see her smiling.  "Follow the doctor's orders.  Report to me 
when you get out of the hospital."

"Yes, Manx."  

"Oh, and...tell Aya everything's been taken care of."  

Youji's gaze trailed down to the beach where his other teammates lay, 
and he nodded.  "Yeah, I will."  

She hung up without any sort of good-bye; perhaps she'd thought it 
unlucky.  Youji didn't know, but he chuckled over it all the same.  
Omi snapped the cover shut over the phone and placed it back in the 
catchall, and then turned to Youji with wide, questioning eyes.  
Youji patted the hand that clutched his sleeve, and gave him his best 
reassuring smile--one which spread into a proper grin when faraway 
whine of a siren fell upon the air.  

"It's okay, Omi.  Help's coming."  

***

Omi sighed so deeply, that his breath, as it left him, it drew a cloud 
against the windshield wider than his whole body. 

"I'm Ok... I'm Ok, really it's just..." He swallowed, "Don't usually 
go up and down that quick."  And he laughed then too, because there 
was nowhere else for his nervous energy to go, laughed until his 
eyes were wet again, and the sound of the siren that much closer.  

Before its lights came into view, he had flung his door open and 
jumped the wall between the shore and woods, gone tearing down 
the sand that had almost made him trip when his feet knew the ground 
again.  

His teammates were right where he'd left them- curled up together at 
the place just out of the reach of the waves.  It was chilly there, and 
the air stung a little with the salt that had washed up with it.  Aya's 
eyes had started to water because of it (or so he guessed) but Ken, 
some how, some way, looked happier than he had in days, smiling 
innocently as a drowsy toddler just after a nap.   His breathing was 
still steady, though he would say something gentle to Aya now and then.   
Or it sounded like he was speaking to Aya, trying to tell him something 
trivial just to keep himself awake. 

Omi, having nothing dry on his person, checked the pockets of Youji's 
coat for a kleenex, and didn't find one, or a handkerchief, but there 
was a blue, silk scarf that smelled of perfume, and with that, he 
dabbed the swordsman's face a little when he finally looked up at him.

"That's our ambulance," he said then.  "should be here any minute.  
Now... sounds like the just sent one, and if that's true, they're gonna 
want to take you and Ken in it, since you both have headwounds.  You're 
gonna have to watch out for him a little longer, okay?"

***

The sirens punctuated the boy's words beautifully. Aya blinked at 
the shape that was Omi, drawing the chill air in soft, shuddering 
breaths. His arms ached and he was trembling all over, and trying 
desperately to keep himself still. All he could manage was a jerky 
nod, and then Ken murmured against his chest, and Aya forgot about 
Omi--until he felt the boy's arms slide around his neck, squeezing 
briefly, before the rattle of a stretcher being carried down to the 
sand fell upon the salty air. Then the warmth at his back 
disappeared, and his voice once more rose above the lapping of the 
waves. 

Something heavy landed on the sand beside him, men's voices came, 
coaxing him to release his burden. Ken was eased away from him, and 
laid all too gently upon the stretcher as Aya looked on. One of them 
said something, rubbery fingers grazing the cut on his head, and then 
Omi stepped forward to urge him onto his feet; he swept his trench over 
his shoulders, before taking his arm. 

And then...staggering steps to the roadway, all a blur. He watched 
them lift Ken into the back of the ambulance, and then, one turned to 
help him into it as well. He very nearly went. If he hadn't seen 
Omi's bloody knees...

"No," he said flatly, addressing the paramedic. "Take him instead."

***

"What!?" cried Omi, rather nastily too- there wasn't really anything 
left in him to keep his emotions in check.  He knew what he was saying, 
but his heart shouted with his voice aside form himself.  And it just 
made him so mad... now of all times to deal with Aya's contrary side!  
"Oh no, don't think so.  In you get! NOW!"

But his companion just wouldn't budge- in the middle of the voices and 
the wheeling lights, there he was, still as could be, one puzzled MT 
dancing this way and that around him as the blood from Ken's wounds 
that had gathered on the leather of Aya's coat began to seep off onto 
the stones where they stood.  Youji was snapping at someone about 
himself and his car it sounded like.  The sea behind them all just 
sighed.

And then, Omi smiled, Omi once again in that wherever he had gone in 
the mean time.  He, shook his head, "You're impossible, you know?" A 
friend, he supposed, of enough pain in his life.  "I'll go then, but 
you be careful."

Just then, on of the paramedics sifting through the fine brown silk of 
Ken's hair where it fell against across his cuts swore very, very 
loudly.  The one at their side t said then, as if to drown out what 
might have followed- "Are you sure? We can send another ambulance for 
you two.  It wouldn't take long."

No, Aya and Youji wanted to take that car.  They both said so.

"We're headed for the Tenrousei then, not Tokyo Memorial, not enough of 
our staff there." She patted both of their shoulders then, slipped off, 
beckoning to Omi, who took a moment to follow.  He had to wave to Aya 
after all.  And Youji.  Before he managed to make it to the ambulance, 
one of the MTs he'd met before came to him and hoisted him into the 
front seat of the ambulance where the driver handed him some gauze to 
blot at his cuts with on the way.

So they wanted him out of the way.  At first, just as the road began to 
rush up close to them as they pulled off the driveway of the beach, it 
hurt.  More than his knees did.  But from the frantic shouts in the 
back, he got the feeling he didn't want to be there: no part of him, 
not even that who wished now and again he was the doctor for a lot more 
someones.  Even that turned away, and watched the spinning lights come 
down along the road as Tokyo began to fade back into his eyes.

/Ken-kun.../

***

Once they'd reached the emergency room, orderlies came forth with 
wheelchairs, and the two were parted.  Aya was subjected to X-rays, 
stitches, and the hassle of changing his sopping clothes for a hospital 
gown before a motherly looking nurse came to wheel him away to the room 
where he'd been spending the night.  A room just one down from Youji's, 
but two floors from Ken's--and that was as much as he knew about the 
younger man's condition.   He knew all the people he'd asked were lying 
about Ken's condition.  He was not "fine." 

If the nurse could sense his irritation, she certainly didn't let on.  

"Here we are," she sang, backing him into the room.  "I made sure the 
attendants left you plenty of blankets.  And you have the most 
charming roommate!"  With that, she spun the chair around, and he had 
his first look at a smiling boy stretched out amidst a pile of sheets 
and blankets.  One who looked absolutely relieved to see him.  

"Now," added the nurse as she drew the chair alongside the empty 
bed, "I want you to stay put!  I'll be back to check on you two 
later, and I better not find either of you gone."  Here, she gave Aya 
a pointed look, as if she expected him to make an attempt to sneak 
away.  

And then she left the two boys to themselves.  

***

Just before she got the door closed, Omi had shrieked in glee, and so 
the nurse left chuckling to herself for once in her life.  

Even the small space that had passed between his near-drowning and his 
present somewhat-comfort had brightened the youngest Weiss.  After all, 
gloomy patients were almost as bad as gloomy friends- two things he had 
plenty of experience with, but did he want to be one? Not particularly. 
"Aya-kun! I was wondering what happened to you! Youji-kun came by to 
give me a hard time and then he went to bed, but I didn't know what 
happened to you! Wow, they sure kept you a long time."

Tenrousei Memorial, being half Kritiker, and half the most grouchy, 
jaded nursing employees in Japan, wasn't known for its insistence on 
bed time.  As long as everyone was somewhat quiet after ten, no one on 
the staff complained.   To squirmy and restless to sleep, the boy had 
been sitting in the little beige room with its little beige table lamp 
on, watching the news from his unopened beige sheets for any remarks as 
to the destruction of the Ani Museum. There hadn't been any, just stock 
analysts and all the lousy political commentators who couldn't get on 
before midnight, so as soon as Aya arrived, he'd quite refused to take 
his eyes from him.

The swordsman seemed rather puzzled by it all, and so hung in his chair 
for a few moments.  The television found itself muted, but not turned 
off.

"Are you OK? I mean, since it took so long."

Aya nodded, and eased himself out of the wheelchair, slipping down 
against the covers quickly as he could so that Omi wouldn't get too 
much of a show.  At least, that was what Omi thought he was trying to 
do- hide.  It made him snicker a little, but not enough to attract 
attention.

"I'm so glad! I just didn't know! They don't tell you *anything* around 
here..." A sigh, and he waved off any ghosts of reticent doctors, 
flopping down so he faced Aya, and not the hanging TV.  "So, how many 
stitches did you get?"

*** 

"Um...twelve, I think," said Aya, rubbing his uninjured temple. "Didn't 
let the bees out though.  They're still buzzing."  Abruptly, he laughed 
at that, feeling quite giddy--only to distinctly frown, as he realized 
how odd that sounded.  

"Can't go to sleep just now, doctor said," Aya continued matter-of-
factly, dropping his hand to his lap.  "Mild concussion.  I'll be all 
better in a day or two, so long as I take it easy."  He blinked once, 
then three times at the screen, but the picture stayed annoyingly 
fuzzy.  Aya rubbed at his eyes, then turned away from the TV 
altogether, drawing the pair of blankets the attendants had left 
sprawled across his bed out from under his legs, and draped them over 
himself.  It felt like he'd never get warm that night.  

Omi was still smiling at him, though a touch uncertainly now, and 
Aya's gaze wandered to the thin bandages around his hands, his 
knees.  Once more, he frowned.  

"Are you hurt badly, Omi?"  

***

Omi shook his head, and his expression softened as he left the strange 
picture of Aya laughing at his imaginary bees go fluttering out of this 
thoughts.  "Not very badly at all! Stitches on both knees- fourteen on 
this one, and fifteen on that one." Saying so, he pointed to his left 
and his right, stopping a moment to pat the gauze on the right, for it 
had begun to tickle.

"And I got some puncture wounds on both hands, so they gave me a 
tetanus shot even though I didn't really need stitches- I got the gooey 
liquid stuff put on them and I keep thinking they're still bleeding."

A quick inspection of them found not a fresh spot of blood, no matter 
what his skin told him.

"Annnnnd... the footprints on my back, which I'm REAL glad nobody asked 
me about.  No broken bones though.  Yosh!"

It was only habit that he list his injuries so specifically to his 
teammates- one of them at least would always start asking while he 
worked on them, so he'd learned to run down what was the matter with 
himself first so they wouldn't be tempted to disturb him while he 
worked.  

Aya didn't really say anything to him- the swordsman had started to 
smile again, and it almost looked like he was trying to hide the fact 
his eyes wouldn't make anything clear for him right then.  But he 
looked somehow... like he didn't remember.  Omi didn't wait for his 
question.

"Farfarello kicked me a few times in the back after I threw him off 
Ken," the boy explained, and with that rolled over.  Sure enough, his 
back was littered with the prints of a right dress shoe, overlapping 
each other in a soar purplish-red.  One of them crept down onto his 
bottom, and since Omi happened to be wearing a hospital gown, Aya had 
no trouble making it out in its entirety.

***

One arm uncurled from the blankets, and stretched out over the low 
rail edging the bed. "Oh," Aya breathed, straining a bit as if he 
meant to touch him there. "You're hurt. Poor Omi..." 

He blinked, staring hard, and then his arm jerked back as if he'd 
touched something hot. "You...you're naked!" he hissed in 
shock. "Cover yourself up before that nurse wanders back in here 
again! You want her to think we're perverts, flashing each other in 
public places?" 

Omi adjusted his gown over his bruised bottom, but instead of being 
abashed as Aya wished, he was giggling unrestrainedly. Aya was 
properly put out, of course, as his deepening blush implied. 

"Quiet!" he ordered, but Omi didn't heed him. So Aya, grumbling under 
his breath, rolled over onto his back again with a wince brought on by 
a rather vague, dull achecentering in his right shoulder, the result of 
a previously undetected bruise.  He feigned interest in the TV, though 
nothing about it appealed to him at all, sensing all the while Omi's 
smiling regard upon him. 

It was hard to ignore him; Aya never could do it for very long. Once 
more, he shifted onto his side again, albeit more cautiously than 
before. 

"I...don't remember what happened, not all of it. I remember falling 
into the sea, and someone yelling. I remember..." he closed his 
eyes as if to better focus on the broken images whirling about his 
brain. "I remember waking up on the raft, and sitting on the beach 
with Ken..." 

At that point, Aya's attention faded, grew glassy with that memory. 
He was silent for what seemed an age, unmindful at first to Omi's 
coaxing little murmurs of his name. 

"My sister's okay," Aya whispered at last. "Youji said so. What 
about Ken?" He looked over at Omi again, half-pleading. "Is he 
dead?"

***

"Ken?" Omi echoed.  Somehow, he hadn't expected to hear that name, even 
coming from Aya who had spent so long holding the other boy.  

"Dead? No, Ken-kun's not dead! When they took him into surgery, h-he 
was still breathing on his own! He was doing really well considering."

At least, he thought so, but having never dealt with such a wound on 
his own, he couldn't be sure.

"He ah... even said something to me, but I couldn't really understand 
him.  Think it was... no, I don't remember, I'm sorry, Aya-kun, but he 
really was doing alright, I swear!"

A small sigh escaped him and with no more coming to his mind, he sagged 
back on the pillows and folded his arms over his chest, trying not to 
stir the bandages around them too much.  Something told him he hadn't 
really done all that much to console his friend, but between midnight 
and morning now, and with no word from anyone, it was the best he could 
manage.

"You ah... do know, that when you see him again, they'll probably have 
shaved his head? I wonder how he'll take THAT."

Even though he couldn't at the moment find himself thinking Ken had 
ever been picky about how he looked.

***

"He won't care," Aya murmured, fixing upon the boy's profile. "I 
don't care. He just can't die, Omi. He can't. I won't forgive 
him..." He bit his lip to silence himself, knowing he'd said far too 
much. Curled his hands around the bed's rails to keep himself from 
touching his bandaged cut. It was stinging a little, and he 
wanted to rub it so badly. 

"I didn't mean any of that," he amended quietly. "Forget it."

***

Omi nodded, but said no more.  Just turned off the televisions, and 
dimmed the light enough that he had made himself hard to see.  It 
looked for a moment as if he had found something tiny and alive about 
his blankets, for he was pawing through them without anything really 
appearing in his hand.  

But no, the sheets themselves he took up, and slung over his arm.  Step 
by step, he made his way across the tiny gulf that kept him from his 
companion's mattress, sliding his toes for he dared not bend his knees 
just yet.  

Once he had made it to the second soft island, he didn't ask a thing, 
just threw the blanket over Aya, and crawled under it beside him.

"He won't die, Aya-kun.  He won't.  He wouldn't leave us like that, I 
won't leave you over here by yourself and cold."

***

Omi's cool hands took Aya's own, drawing them away from the bedrails, 
and forcing the redhead to open his eyes again. The light was so 
dim, it didn't hurt him to look around, but he looked no further than 
into Omi's kind, blue eyes. And wordlessly, he wrapped one arm around 
Omi's waist, and coaxed him closer. 

"Okay. Okay. Ken won't leave us, and I won't leave you. And 
Youji..." he sighed, sliding his hand up Omi's back. "We'll all 
stay together."

***

Omi added just softly, "Always," before he returned the faint, 
enwrapped embrace.  One of his own palms coasted over Aya's belly, and 
the other slid beneath his neck, holding his head up for a moment just 
like the swordsman had held Ken's.

His cheek he was sure left a warm print against his shoulder.

/He... hasn't pushed me away though./

/Well.../

/He never really did.  Not for good.  Even when he knew I was a 
Takatori, he came.  And he stayed... he stayed and let me come to him./

/Oh Aya.../

"You know, I don't care what the nurses might think."

/I am funny... I am... 'that way'.  But you don't need to know.  I don't 
feel that for you./

The hand against his back patted him right between the shoulder blades, 
finally quieting his whirling heart- two taps, two drops slower back to 
almost what it should have been.

"You know I almost jumped in bed with you the night after the fire? 
You'd stopped... like... focusing on anyone, and I didn't know what to 
do.  But you fell asleep on the way home and I just kept thinking I 
should try to ask, but I couldn't wake you up."

/So.../

"Thank you... for not being mad at me now."

***

"There's nothing to be angry for, Omi.  Nothing you've ever done," Aya 
replied.  "If you weren't around to coax me into talking about 
things... There wouldn't have been anyone.  It would have all just 
stayed inside, eating away at me."  

"And I know you don't understand me, the way I act.  I know you don't 
agree with me always.  I don't mind it," he said, skimming his knuckles 
down Omi's cheek. 

"What do they know, Omi?  All these others.  They can't understand us, 
what we have to go through.  Only we can...each other.  And so, if 
they--or anyone else--thinks we're funny, then that's their problem.  
Notyours.  Not mine."

***

"I won't worry then," he said after awhile, so it could just as well 
have been he had nothing in the world to care for, when not so long ago 
their universe had almost crushed him into the floor of the sea.

Though already, all his words aside, half dreams had taken his eyes and 
he found himself seeing that world from the door of the Koneko, waiting 
for Ken to come home.  Youji had his hand on his shoulder, and they 
were both on the edges of Aya's shadow.  It was warm for fall, and the 
leaves were still green.

***

The next morning, Aya woke from a night of dreams he could only half 
remember, the strongest image being of a much younger version of 
himself sitting on a porch with a cream-topped cup of steaming 
chocolate cradled in his hands.  Aya found it strange, for never did he 
dream of such innocent things after a night of trauma and death.  He 
couldn't explain it, nor could he really explain why Omi was lying in 
his bed.  

He looked so sweet though, Aya thought, slumbering with one arm 
draped over his chest.  He fitted just so against his side.  It was 
enough to inspire Aya to chance sleeping for just a little longer, 
and he would have given in to his lingering weariness if it were not 
for the figure hovering by their bed.  Aya turned, and blinked puffy 
eyes at what turned out to be Youji; he was now clad in a black jacket, 
red shirt and a pair of black jeans.  

"Morning," he whispered, not wanting to wake Omi.  "How cozy you both 
look."  

Aya's brow wrinkled in a mild frown.  "He got cold," he replied in a 
whisper, not moving an inch.  "What do you want?" 

"Oh," said Youji, slowly bending down to rest his weight on the 
bedrail.  "I just wanted to tell you that Manx brought us some fresh 
clothes."  

"That's obvious," remarked Aya, giving him the once over again.  
"What's not is why she bothered."  

"Because our clothes are torn, soiled, and still damp.  Mine are at 
least," Youji said, with an airy shrug.  "Anyway...we'd look odd 
walking around dressed in trenches in broad daylight."  

"This is Tokyo.  Who'd notice us?"  

"This is Tokyo, but this is as far from downtown as one can get.  Lots 
of people would notice."  

"I thought you liked attention."  

"Oh, I do," Youji countered.  "It's having to walk about sopping wet 
on cold days that I can't stand."  

"I see."  He looked away from him, turning to Omi.  The boy was still 
slumbering it seemed.  Unthinkingly, Aya smoothed a lock of hair from 
his cheek, then began the process of extricating himself from Omi's 
loose embrace without disturbing him into full wakefulness; it was a 
task he was well practiced in.  Aya managed to get away and onto his 
feet with only a slight stirring and a few drowsy, unintelligible 
murmurs.  Hastily, he tucked the blankets closer to Omi's chin, then 
drew Youji away.  

"He's in room 535," Youji said before Aya could voice any questions.  
"Intensive care."  

Stoically, he lowered his eyes to the floor.   "Is it very bad?"  Aya 
asked, catching his responding nod at the edges of his vision.  

"Head wound.  Fractured skull, Manx said," Youji breathed.  "Aya--"  

"Don't.  I don't want to hear any more." And the redhead snatched up 
the plastic bag full of his clothing off the nearby chair, and headed 
off to the tiny shower room to get ready.  

After a few moments, he emerged, dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a 
dark green sweater, and his single pair of sneakers, black hi-tops.  
The TV was on low, and Youji had taken his place in bed beside Omi.  
Aya paused there, taking in the sight of the older man stroking the 
boy's golden hair, until Youji turned his sorrowing green eyes upon 
him--as if he knew what Aya had been thinking.  

And then, Aya left.  

***

Omi was neither awake nor asleep then, or any time too long before.  He 
wore only the sense he had company - the kind that he could easily doze 
through.  He had one hazy glance around the room that found familiar 
shadows flitting about; tried to say good morning, but the words never 
came.

When again he seemed impelled to speak, he knew some time- how long he 
could not tell -had passed.  Aya was gone after all, and someone else, 
someone dressed, sat beside him now.  He almost called to Ken, but 
remembered only at last breath that it couldn't be Ken.

Both for the miracles that had gone to other people, and the crisp, 
teal scent of Youji's cologne.  That, and Ken had never brushed his 
bangs away from his face.

Without warning even to his consciousness, he blushed and wished for 
pants. 

"Ohayo, Youji-kun."

***

Youji's tickling fingers stilled in his hair, wafted over his pinking 
cheek.  "Ohayo, Omi."  Favoring his injured left side, he eased 
himself down on the blankets, and gently tweaked Omi's ear.  The boy 
raised his tousled head and blinked at him.  

"I was wondering when you'd wake up."  

He yawned, then scooted closer, and lay his head upon Youji's 
shoulder; clutched one handed at his shirt.  Youji saw the bandages 
spanning his hand, and fingered them thoughtfully.  

"Man, you're a mess, kiddo," he said quietly, clearly remembering the 
previous night's battle.  "They sure did a job on you.  I bet you 
ache all over."  Youji slipped his hand up Omi's arm to tenderly cup 
his shoulder.  "Poor Omi."  

***

"I'll get over it," Omi assured his companion, even while he continued 
to nestle himself into his arms, snuffling and sighing now and then 
with every little hurt that crept in through his skin.

/So what? If you'd asked me yesterday morning, I never would have 
thought I'd get to do this with you.  Or Aya!/

"My back hurts a little, that's all.  Everything else had started going 
away before I fell asleep."

Just like that, he felt the hand that had on his shoulder slip down 
against the black and blue patches that dappled the silhouette of his 
spine.

"Are you feeling OK? You didn't get that nasty orderly who doesn't know 
the first thing about stitches, did you?"

***

"Oh, no. I didn't have any deep cuts, just barely missed having broken 
ribs, so the doctor said. My side's one massive bruise." He 
sighed. "Good news is I'll have an excuse for begging off work for 
the next day or two." 

He grinned rakishly. "'Course, Aya probably won't be around the shop 
much anyway, what with Ken and Aya-chan both holed up here. With 
Momoe-san gone to visit her sister...why, it'll just be you and me. 
Together." 

Youji winked.

***

Omi gasped, though not for the reason his companion had.  
"So Ken-kun's ok? Really!" Youji nodded, and felt the body in his arms 
shrinking with a long, long sigh of relief.  "Oh... youkatta. Aya-kun 
was... he was worried just like we were," he concluded, somewhat 
gracefully; would have gone on to say then that he was going down at 
once to see him but... that must have been where his companion for the 
night had headed.  And again, there was the sanctity of a kind he dared 
not disturb.  

"Well... Aya-kun needs some time outta the shop.  Even if it is here.  
I'm glad."

Meaning nothing of what Youji did, he returned his wink, and then 
slowly, ever so, began to draw himself away.  It took him the better 
part of a minute to sit up, and lurch to his feet without bending his 
knees.  The floor spun under him with sleepiness as he wandered over to 
the chair where what he presumed must be his clothing had been left.  
Reaching for the bag though, he heard a little snicker behind him.

And, as such, bent over at once, clasping the edges of his hospital 
gown together.

"Gomen. I forgot."

***

"I'm glad you did," said Youji with a smirk. "It's as fine an ass as 
I've ever seen--and I didn't have to buy you dinner first. Must be 
my lucky day." 

Scowling in disapproval at his companion, the boy blushed deeply, and 
opened his mouth as if to make some retort.  But Youji cut him off with 
his best bedroom leer. 

"You need any help showering or getting dressed, Omi?"

***

"Youji-kuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!"

Not needing his shirt right away, Omi had no objection to hurling it at 
his companion's head.  

***

The Intensive Care ward of Tenrousei Hospital wasn't a place strange 
and foreign to Aya, for he had spent countless hours treading its 
blue-speckled, white tile floors.  It was the place where his sister had 
been brought after Kritiker had recruited him for Weiss.  And, to his 
joy, it was the place where she had been brought the night before.  
He might have passed by her room altogether if he hadn't been looking 
for Ken's, both being on the same wing.  

Aya walked to the door, cracking it just a little to peer in at her, 
intending to greet her before seeing his teammate.  But one nurse was 
taking her vitals, and another was in the process of changing out the 
bag for her iv.  Both looked up when they saw him, both smiled sadly 
at the boy they'd so often seen sitting by the silent girl's 
bedside.  But neither noticed when he left without venturing any further 
into the room.  He would come back later, when no one might see him 
touch her hair, stroke her cheek, her hand: the ways he told her he 
loved her when he couldn't bring himself to speak.  

Sometimes, he wished he had her confidence, her glibness.  Very 
little had ever fazed her.  If she wanted something, she went for 
it.  If she were awake now, and knew about Ken...he wondered if, 
after she'd recovered from any shock she might feel over his intended 
being a boy, she would urge him on to chasing him.  He wondered if 
he'd even have the nerve to do it, forgetting how much it had taken 
to hold Ken and kiss him as he'd done.  

When Aya reached Ken's room, he showed the same hesitation in entering, 
but for entirely different reasons.  He'd already had an idea how he 
might look:  head wounds were understandably nasty.  But still, he was 
a bit taken aback when he saw him.  Ken had been placed on his side, a 
special thick, hard foam pillow beneath his head--solidly curving to 
fill in the gap between his neck and shoulders--one high enough to 
hold his cranium in a straight line from his shoulders.  Bandages 
circled his head; undoubtedly, his hair had been completely shaved 
away.  Monitors measured his heartbeat and respiration; a mask 
provided oxygen.  

Aya was relieved to find him alone.  The door fell closed with a 
whispering slide, and Aya found his way to the chair by the bedside.  
He pulled it nearer to the bed, and hesitantly slipped his hand 
beneath the metal slats in the rail to cover Ken's own.  It was 
cold.  Aya gently lifted it, and laid it in his other palm, and held 
it as if it were a baby bird.  

"I'm here, Ken," he rasped.  "It's going to be okay."  

***

Time in room 535 passed no more than one sigh at a time them, smashed 
all to pretty, soft shards by the tripping numbers of the clock on the 
nightstand, the heartbeat played out tremble by wandering tremble on 
the monitor beside Ken's bed.  The air coming off of the machine had a 
certain mechanical heat to it, but Aya sat still so long the only part 
of him that grew warm was his fingers where they embraced Ken's.

Outside, the sunlight on the streets was neither clear nor laced 
with clouds- not even really somewhere in between, as if a mist had 
settled over the almost-brilliance of the day.  Now and then 
laughter, or screams, and someone would speed past like the trails of 
light from the headlights of a car, there, moving, not there.  Or 
someone would start to weep.  

The nurses in Aya-chan's room left after awhile, and one came on to 
check on Ken, but stayed no more than a moment, clucked at the bruises 
that had faded in around the sleeping boy's eyes and those left by 
someone else's finger prints upon his cheeks.  Having made sure his bed 
was tipped up just enough to keep the blood from pooling under his 
stitches, that the monitors had nothing bad to say, and that his pillow 
was still in order, she left.  The swordsman scarcely noticed her, and 
she had nothing to say to him.

Out at the nurses station though, she tapped the woman there on the 
shoulder because she knew her, and she didn't mind being touched.  "Oi, 
Takami.  Who's that boy in with Hidaka?"

"Onea the other guys brought in with him last night," Takami replied 
between the two bubbles she had blown with her chewing gum.  One got 
pink film on her nose and she had to lick it off while she pulled the 
sticky notes she kept under the rim of her desk out.  On them was 
written every one of her patients' names, and who was permitted to 
visit.  It made double checking easier.  "See? He's got the other three 
all listed as family, so I didn't bother to stop him."

"Hmm... sou desu ka! And if his mum comes in and asks, that's what we 
tell her?"

"His mother isn't on his visitor list.  In fact, no one else is.  All 
the times he's been here, and it's just those three names."

***

Half past ten came, and tugged the shadows of the window bars just 
that much closer together, nearly washing it out in the shadow of one of 
the other wings, which was starting to cast across the parking lot.

The hand between Aya's stirred a little, stretching out of its tiny 
space, but curling up again as soon as the presence of someone else's 
touch.  The redhead started, but held him no closer, and no further 
than before.  

It had been so long since Ken moved at all...

His fingers crept out of their hiding place, twirling this way and that 
over the other boy's knuckles and his wrist and the muscles that ran 
along the underside of his arm.  It almost felt like he was trying to 
figure out what- who -was holding him.  It must have been the stiffness 
underneath his skin, the only thing that really betrayed the strength 
on his slender frame, that reminded him.

Just one of Ken's eyes opened, made it look like in another time, he 
might have been winking.  He looked up to where his bangs had been, 
and down to the mask that covered his lips.  Sighed.

He snatched his hand away, yanked the mask off, and then returned his 
palm to the exact same place it had been.

"Ih's ishy and I don' need it," he mumbled.  

***

Aya looked at Ken as if he'd just quoted a line of Latin verse, for 
his sudden waking had startled him. He had half-expected him to 
sleep on in his dream world while Aya sat by and watched, and 
waited. He hadn't expected him to willingly take hold of his hand 
again, much less trace over its lines and those of the wrist and arm 
that supported it. His skin still tingled from Ken's touch, and he 
gave the fingers blanketed between his palms a squeeze. 

"You certainly did need it before. You weren't breathing right," 
Aya said, catching a thread of memory from the night before. 

Ken blinked his one eye, murmuring something Aya couldn't quite make 
out. He didn't press him for it, however. 

"Youji and Omi are all right. I'm all right. Strange to believe, 
but..." Aya lowered his gaze to their joined hands, chancing a 
stroke of Ken's knuckles with his thumb. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should have looked after you 
better."

***

"Stop..." Ken sighed then, and he didn't mean his companion's slight 
caresses, though he had to tell in so by trying to squeeze his fingers 
back, even though his own grip was lighter than a newborn's by then.  

He smiled, and looked for all the world as if all of the pain from his 
wounds had left him already.  In truth, he felt very, very little at 
all that wasn't brought to his glass-slick sense of touch.  It felt 
like his skin had been filled with cold air, now and then a pin here or 
there.  And he was dizzy.

But he still knew what he wanted to say, "Don' be sorry.  Whahever 
happened... 's nothin' you needa be sorry about.  I don' wantcha 'o be 
sorry."

It took ever scrap of will to tilt his head just the few millimeters he 
needed to get his lashes away from the pillow case- to let him look at 
Aya with both of his eyes.  

***

Those eyes coaxed Aya into keeping his own pinned to Ken's face, 
skimming over the lips he'd kissed just a few hours past.  Surely, he 
didn't remember that, Aya wondered.  With all that had happened, his 
injuries--undoubtedly, there was little he could recall.  Aya had 
experienced something of the same due to the blow he'd suffered, and 
it was minor compared to Ken's.  

Aya didn't know whether to feel relieved, or sad.  He still felt 
sorry for what had happened, that the blame lay squarely upon his 
shoulders.  Nothing Ken might say would make him feel forgiven, 
though it made him feel a little better to hear the boy speak at 
all.  

"Aya's just down the hall from you.  She's safe.  For once."  Aya's 
voice trailed away into silence, and he took in the blue, fingertip 
bruises that marred his skin around his eyes, the bandages covering 
his head.  

"You didn't have to help me save her," he added softly, sliding one 
hand up to cover Ken's wrist.  

"...thank you..."

***

Ken managed to mumble. "Nah-ah, than' you." 

Although it was plain at once the other boy didn't know what he was 
being thanked for, and had neither the resolve just then to ask, or not 
turn away to his own forgetfulness.  He didn't move at all, save when 
he ran his fingers around his wrist, not quite rubbing, and not quite 
wandering.

"Woul you stayed wiff me.  I know you di'.  I don' remember mush, but I 
know you di'.  I jus' know it."

The memory had surely left, bit by bit as he bled, but there were some 
things in the world just then as he recalled it that refused to slip 
away.  He let his eyes rove over to the far wall, where stood a white 
and empty table.  Leaning against one of the legs was Aya's katana.

"I don' remember, but it does.  An' there's nuffin I di' las' night you 
needa than' me for.   You're my friend.  's all there is to it."

***

To Aya's credit, his expression remained as stoic as ever, though 
inwardly, he  suddenly felt as if someone had picked up his katana 
and stabbed him in the heart. 

"Yeah, Ken," he whispered. "Friends."

*****

Random Goodies At No Extra Charge

As for the WKML, no, I'm not on it. While I adore WK, I can't  
stomach Gluhen, and all the hell our darlings have been put through.  
It makes me sick that it all ever came about, and damn that prissy  
Tsuchiya! Grrr.  
 
For me, WK ends at the OVA, and then they go on to have one last  
showdown with Schwartz, where they either kill most if not all of  
each other, or decide to move in together and spend their nights  
bedhopping. Either one would be interesting.  
 
Okay, the latter would be more interesting. ^^ 
 
:madhugs: More posts coming. Sorry for the delay. "The Fall of  
the Kings" is pretty good, despite the occasional slow  
parts (all of which I think Ms. Sherman penned, and not Ms.  
Kushner).  
 
Although, the words "tool" and "rod" were used to describe a certain  
part of Theron's anatomy. Made me think of a sleazy porn novel.  
 



OOC: I'm only on the WKML to make myself mad.  Works pretty damn well 
really :D.  Anyway, never mind the horrible news, we'll just do with 
our own, all of which will be good I hope ^.^.  God for us, not the 
characters.  Nothing is sacred to those people... 

This may sound strange, but I actually vote for the last showdown.  
Just for the drama.  They meet in an old dance hall that's littered 
with dead flowers still.  Sexual insults are exchanged.  Wham! With one 
wave of his hand, Nagi has flattened Omi, who gets off a few shots 
wounding Brad and Farf before he dies in the middle of a moving speech.  
Ken tears at the dead boy's clothing, kills Farf with the tips of one 
of his arrows.  There's gore everywhere, Ken's and Farf's.  Aya tries 
to help him, but gets stabbed in the back of the shoulder by Brad.  
Youji and Nagi both end up set aflame when the boy's power backfires 
suddenly.  It's down to Aya, Ken, Schuldich and Brad! Aya's wounded of 
course.  Schuldich makes him cut the throat of the already mortally 
wounded Ken.  Then he laughs.  Ken dies in the arms of the last Weiss, 
and as soon as he's gone, Aya flips and makes a run for him while his 
merriment distracts the telepath! Brad leaps in front at the last 
possible moment! So who has fallen in the end? Aya, with one bullet to 
the chest.  Bloody, but no worse for the wear, the two members of 
Schwartz make their way to the open doors, flocks of dead rose petals 
wheeling behind them in the night...

Tool, eh? I never liked that synonym for penis, not at all.