22-Sept-2002
Breakdown: An Alternate Universe Weiss Kreutz Fanfic
by Nixerchan and bonnejeanne
Contact: nixerchan@aol.com and bonnejeanne@yahoo.com
Category: AU
Pairings: Various, or to put it another way, most of them ^__^;;
Warnings: LEMON this section. Weird premise, weird psychic powers, probably confusing plot, um, possibly some OOC, some violence, probably gratuitous use of pointless Japanese and German, what else... oh yeah, LEMON from time to time... poor Nixers, I'm such a corrupting influence... ^__~
Rating: NC-17
SUMMARY/PREMISE: What if the Weiss boys actually possessed psychic powers similar to Schwartz, which had been suppressed or erased from their memories?
AU TIMELINE: Picks up *almost* at the end of the OAV, just after the death of Gen. Norman Powell.
/something/ - may indicate thoughts, telepathy or other psychic contact.
'something' - indicates just thoughts.
Chapter 12: Morning Chill
It wasn't quite those full eight hours, and certainly before dawn that Aya was pulled back to awareness. A few things were immediately apparent to the part of his mind that never really fuzzed over with unconsciousness, the first the basics, that he was still in the dressing room, in almost quite the same position that he'd gone to sleep, it was when it went over his condition and his company that the notion that something wasn't quite right intensified.
For one, it shouldn't be possible to feel so to-the-bone cold when skin to skin with someone so warm.
He didn't think about trying to get closer, it was a natural reaction, seeking his bedmate's body heat as a series of shivers ran through his body. Waking up a bit more, he tried to determine if there was anything close by he could grab to pull over himself. The closest thing was Ken's jacket, and he pulled it over his shoulders. The shivers were getting more intense and he had to bite the collar of the jacket to keep his teeth from chattering.
The movement caused an unconscious reaction in the one beside him. Face deeply lined from some dream, he made a soft noise of protest. His arms already loosely around Ran, tightened a bit, increasing the hot/cold sensation surrounding the swordsman, stiffening the fabric that Aya had brought around himself unnaturally.
That woke Ran up even more, as the cold in his joints began to throb slightly. He gave Ken a shake. "Ken. Ken!"
When the other's eyes snapped open, they were completely unfocused and the wrong color. They sometimes had changed with the boy's often erratic moods, but the hue was almost slate grey. It took a long moment, to shake off whatever dream lingered, but when he did focus again, the speed at which the warmth snapped back was almost painful.
A hissed breath, a fumbled grip. "What?" Ken asked, squinting in the darkness of the room.
Aya gasped, as his system tried to absorb and process the returned warmth. His hands shook just a little as he pushed the jacket off. Breathing deeply, he flexed his limbs a little, relieved that the numb areas of his skin seemed to be getting feeling back. "Cold," he managed. "It got really cold... but you were warm. Like you were pulling the heat out of... everything..." /Including me.../
The other didn't respond immediately, a sharp tension still in his frame. Ken frowned settling a little deeper to hide the expression. Something wasn't quite clicking even though a sense of familiarity was there. Then with another idea slipping in, he seemed to relax all at once.
Aya felt a hand press lightly to the side of his face. "'Ve got a fever," the voice was tired and on that edge of just falling back asleep. "You're prolly just dreaming."
Lips pressing together, Aya sat up, his body protesting. "Ken," he said, his tone commanding attention.
"Mmm?" Green eyes opened again, under protest, to meet his. Ken moved to his side to offer the demanded attention without sacrificing the comfortable spot he'd found at the edge of the bedding.
Conscious of the risk, Aya cleared his thoughts. If what he suspected had really happened, his team mate and lover could kill him as they slept.
/Whatever is blocking you, let it go./
The other assassin had a single sharp moment of pure awake reflected on his face before the sloppily self-reimposed blocks at the word /STOP/ unraveled completely, finishing the descent they'd begun two nights ago. There was a faint feeling of a release of power, impotent now that what had been building had already left.
What came back was too much to sort out at once, to even attempt to find a foothold in. There was a wash of 'new' and old memories, some becoming prominent, others dissolving as if they've never existed at all. Of the first realization of how born from a soul deep mixture of despair, rage and fear. The memory of a lighter flickered and vanished, the too familiar smirk on one of the Creeper's faces turning to surprise and startlement as a sourceless spark started a fire in gasoline soaked ground of the equipment storehouse. Of finding not really feeling the temperature rise as more and more of it caught, and standing up despite bruises and broken bones and walking through the fire that was melting the metal walls.
//Collapsing outside, the view of a neat suit before he passed out. Waking up and going 'off' again, assuming that the clinical room he'd come to in was the same organization. A delicate, female hand on his forehead and nothing.//
//Akira's body, hardly recognizable. Anger gathering a strength he didn't know the source of, grief transforming it as something gave away again under the pressure. The view, later of the control room warping under the cold, a flash back of snow far too late in the spring.//
//Waking up next to a freezing Aya.//
The rush didn't subside but subsided to the background, sorting itself without his attention. He shook, drawing a hard breath as his body finally remembered to breathe. The look he gave Aya was more than a little panicked and nowhere near rational, and his skin had gone pale beneath the tan. Unsteady hands found the edge of the bed and pushed himself up with the slow determination of a forced movement.
Aya followed barely a beat behind him, reaching out to settle his hands on Ken's shoulders and turn them face to face.
"Ken."
The hands were knocked away, and the dark haired assassin took another step back out of range. "There's another.." Ken's voice was quiet and hoarse. "I'll just.. tonight..." Another step. "I didn't mean to."
Pressing his lips together, Aya locked his eyes to the other boy's.
"Stop panicking," he said, his tone cutting through the emotions whirling through Ken's head. "Stop, and think. I don't want to try and make you stop the other way."
Ken stopped, settling back unconsciously into a loose fighting stance, still breathing a little to fast. He gave off the impression of cornered animal, but there was more sanity in the second meeting of stares. He recoiled from the second comment, his hand moving up to press against the side of his head - there was still too much, too fast. "Everything..," the statement started as a whisper and rose as whatever was playing out behind his eyes reinforced it, "Three years was a lie." //Manx offering to help him 'get everything sorted out,' after he had killed Kase.//
Aya watched him, wishing he could have done something different, but knowing that waiting would have been riskier. He stepped forward, slowly, gracefully, his hands up and loosely held, palms exposed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I had to."
Ken allowed the approach, a long trust keeping his curled fist at his side. //A flash of an offer, some training then being abandoned under the label of uncontrollable. Her apology before she followed orders.// "I don't..." he tried, the more recent memories came easier, the attempt at control, the 'test' Aya gave him before it slipped out of his memory like the rest. A number of small things, 'unnoticed' or explained away. "It's... How many times have I nearly.. done that.. nearly killed you?"
Aya took another step, continuing to approach slowly until he was close to the other boy. "Nearly doesn't count," he said, reaching up and cupping his hands around Ken's face as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the other boy's lips. The touch was firm, requiring attention, sweet with a barely controlled and much hotter passion just beneath.
It met resistance at first and the yielding was gradual. Too many memories were falling into place, answering the question that Aya wouldn't. As the internal confusion began to subside, his arms finally reached up, curling around Aya, the return of pressure having more to do with uncertainty than passion. He pulled away just a bit without relinquishing his hold. "I don't know how to control it," he said, a frustration and tightly held apprehension in his voice. "There's nothing like that with the rest."
A pair of strong arms wrapped around him tightly. "I didn't know how to control a sword the first few times I picked one up. I managed not to cut off my foot or kill anybody - until I was ready to. Control is just something you learn. It will be a hell of a lot easier now that you know something's actually happening. I'm sorry, I wish I'd had a better way. But don't you dare give up on me."
"No, your right. It's probably better this way," Ken said, slowly getting his heart rate under control. The most he would relax however was to put a little more weight on Aya, sinking minutely into the offered embrace. It felt *too* easy, like a twitch of sense could push phantoms of energy in the air with a whim. He just shook his head at the last statement, trying for a smile. "Who're you talking to? I don't give up, 'member?"
There was another flash of heat in the lavender eyes searching Ken's, and another kiss that wasn't quite so careful. Ran took a little of his own fear out on the partial source of it, demanding more from Ken than he'd given before. 'Lukewarm' wasn't an option on the list of acceptable responses.
This time there wasn't the hesitation, not even a space for breath before Ken pushed up into the kiss, seeking some focus there, a conversion of that fear into something else. He parted his lips for Aya, letting the other take the lead, whatever he wanted as long as it would help in some way.
Nagi spent quite a bit more time coasting somewhere between fully alert and in a deeper sleep than he would have normally allowed himself. It wasn't so much the change of bedding or the lack of Crawford's carefully 'suitable' choices for living arrangements, more along the lines of a comfortable weight that had curled and settled over him like the feline he was code named for. The shared body heat added just the right temperature for lethargy and his hand curled lazily in honey-blond locks.
/Aww, now isn't that just *cute*/ The intrusion of Schuldig's 'voice' evaporated all of it in a swift mood swing. He let out an irritated sigh and closed off a little, as not to disturb the assassin he shared the futon with.
/... I hope you have a reason for this,/ he replied, concentrating a little. It was both odd and relieving in a way that the communication between himself and the telepath took more effort than the one with Omi.
/Heh, that's more familiar. You're to have them meet us at Shinjuku National Gardens, I'll give you further directions when you get there./
/Time?/
/Three hours./ With a last, lingering mental smirk at his expense, Schuldig's presence retreated, and after a few moments, disappeared all together. The kinetic sighed and sank back a little bit, a little reluctant to move just yet, trying to calculate the odds of the rest of Weiss getting up within the hour.
A pair of blue eyes opened as Omi yawned hugely. Without disentangling himself, he propped his head on one elbow and looked at Nagi. /Schuldig, huh?/
/Hai. Hard to miss him./ Nagi gave the ceiling an irritable look. He *had* been comfortable. /Sorry, I didn't know how much I could close up safely now./
/Don't worry about it,/ Omi said. "It was more you being irritated that I was getting than anything of him. So you did a nice selective block there."
Nagi's eyes closed with a light touch of dry humor. /Saved by not being a graceful morning person./ He gave in to the urge to yawn and worked at waking up the rest of the way. /The rest of them early risers I hope?/
An image of Youji sprang to the blond's mind with fond denial. "Not hardly. But I'll be surprised if..." he broke off and sat up suddenly, head turning as a pulse of concern grew in his touch.
The other was a little slower to rise, the emotion involuntarily echoed, more unfocused. "What's wrong?"
/Ken.../ Omi stayed still on the futon, his head turned towards one of the dressing rooms. His hand went out to rest on Nagi's shoulder but it was almost a gesture to himself, Nagi could hear him deciding to sit tight. He was preparing to get up in the blink of an eye however. There was a very distant, displaced impression of blocks going down, panic, raw confusion and fear/guilt. Omi tensed again, his legs gathering under him and then he stopped, and slowly relaxed back. /Aya.... Ran.../ the fumble was with an unfamiliar name. /...good... that's.../ Then a sudden flush and the sense of Omi pulling back very quickly.
For Nagi it was like listening to one side of a phone conversation. He could pick up a general idea of what was going on to cause the concern, and followed just with a vague understanding as the situation escalated and was... apparently diverted. It brought to mind another pair with occasionally similar tactics. /...Better?/ he hazarded, watching Omi's cheeks color.
The blond ducked his head, unable to keep an embarrassed grin from his face. "Yeah..." his expression change to one of wonder. "Aya... took down Ken's blocks... He's getting his feet back under him though." He shook his head. "I worked mine down over months. I can't imagine what it would be like to have everything back like that...." His affection and admiration for Ken and for Aya was palpable.
Nagi gave the dressing room door that had fixed Omi's attention a rather wary stare, not as quick to agree with the sentiment. "That had to have been a gamble," he said, a little neutrally. He let the breath go in the next instant with a reminder to himself that it wasn't his business unless it had failed. /Still dangerous./
/Something happened, I'm not sure what... I got an impression of something... Ken... 'leaking'..?/ Omi shook his head. "Aya wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been necessary. But this is good, I think." He shrugged. /I'll keep an eye on him. Anyway, *everything* is dangerous right now.../
There was an impression of the comments being taken in and mulled over, but Nagi didn't offer any opinion on it. He got his feet under himself and stood, glancing down at his now wrinkled uniform, worn a bit too long. /Should have told Schuldig to bring a spare set of clothes for me./ The comment wasn't so much directed, but loud enough to be heard. He took one of the now-warm cans of soda on the counter, lifting one in Omi's direction questioningly. /I don't suppose there's access to the shower until they're done, right?/
Omi stood up and stretched. "Hmm... there's two... we could sneak into the other one... I probably have a change of clothes you could use..."
Nagi raised an eyebrow. "No cut offs?"
The blond grinned. "Most of my shorts have hems.." He looked thoughtful. "I might have the midriff shirt though..."
The other boy snorted softly and opened one of the cans, deeming it good enough for breakfast. "You want a distraction for today you'll need to think harder than that."
Omi wandered up and took the can from Nagi's fingers, taking a drink and putting it back. "Don't tempt me," he said sweetly. Then he sauntered off in the direction of the other dressing room.
Nagi pulled himself up to sit on the countertop, working on the contents of the can with the consideration of actually sending something of a message to the telepath in the way of clothes and in watching the door to make sure Omi didn't return with anything green in hand.
He did return, however, with a small duffle bag and dumped it on the futon. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a fresh shirt, some underwear, socks, and then waved at the bag. "Help yourself," he said. "Youji-kun is out for the count, I'm going to sneak in and get a quick wash, I feel like I slept in my clothes two nights running." He smirked slightly - it was a joke. They had. "Wanna come? Or tough it out?"
Nagi had already found a dress shirt and slacks, obviously in there for more formal occasions. He looked up at the last question, considering then, shook his head, looking quickly back to the duffle. "I'll go after you're done."
The pulse of disappointment was perceptible just as Omi trying to block it off a second too late. "Sure," he said cheerfully. Toting the clothing selections, he slipped back to the dressing room and tiptoed through it to get to the shower. /Probably for the best,/ he thought wistfully. /Wouldn't want to spoil his breakfast./
A sort of mental sigh came in response to that, and a quiet, /Don't think that way,/ before he could feel the other's presence pull partially away, offering something of belated privacy.
Flushing as he realized he'd been 'heard' and thwapping himself mentally for forgetting that would happen, Omi set about attempting to make his time in the shower short and productive. It worked. He was out and dressing in Youji's room in ten minutes. Poking his head out of the door, he gestured to the other boy. /Want me to run interference for Youji-kun? In case he wakes up ten minutes too soon?/
The other boy nodded in approaching, his footsteps loosing any sound at all just before he reached Omi. /I'll be quick./ He promised, a little anxious to finish with it not just out of risk but the strain of a forced distance.
Taking advantage of the close physical proximity, Omi reached one hand over for a light, brief touch. /The towels feel like sandpaper but there's a small stack of them just inside./ He winked at the other boy and then went to poke through Youji's things for a comb.
Nagi disappeared into the other room to be followed by the shut door and the sound of water. Some minutes after Omi's victory over Youji's lack of organization in packing, the taller blond didn't so much as stir or give any indication of awareness other than, "I'll overlook all of this if you humor me and tell me it's noon."
"How about it's not noon, and we have to meet Schwartz in two and a half hours..." Omi answered, pulling the comb through his damp hair as he perched on the other cot. "And don't go in the shower right now...."
One of Youji's arms came up to drape across his eyes. "You are all insane," was the typical morning complaint. "Mmm, figured it would be a little dangerous. S'okay, I'm not moving 'til I have to."
Omi smiled fondly at the older blond, dropping the comb back in the top of Youji's bag.
The water cut and a damp Nagi reappeared, the outfit was still on the crinkled side, but a bit more in line with his usual appearance now. He started a bit internally at a lazy wave from Youji before the taller man twisted over onto his side. "'Nother hour and a half... maybe," Youji said.
The closer contact between the two resumed at the first opportunity Nagi saw. A brush as he walked passed Omi. /Is.. that typical?/
Omi jumped up and followed him, closing the door. "Which? The non-morning persona? Fairly." He grinned. "If you had morning shift at the flower shop with Youji, you had morning shift at the flower shop... alone."
"Ahh," Nagi answered, looking back briefly. "He will be ready...?"
Omi nodded. "Never late to a business call," he said, a brief flash of something in his touch that had the flavor of an assassin's cool.
The answer seemed to satisfy for a moment. Then consideration, curiosity and a vague feeling of reevaluation. /You're... serious about the rest aren't you?/ came with a return of the memory of disappointment.
Omi blinked. He looked at the other boy and then quickly away. /If I'm making you uncomfortable.../ then his thoughts did a u-turn. "Were you?" /Screw it. Yes. The answer is yes. If it's a problem, I'll work on it./
"A little. I'm used to..." the response to the audible question was cut off and dismissed as Omi continued between their connection. He was silent for a moment, not the discomfort that Omi had anticipated but more of that consideration. /Don't worry about it, any of it./ Then a breath's time later, /Do what you like./
The blond nibbled his thumb nervously for a moment. The conversation he'd had with Youji the night before came back to him for a moment. /Okay.../ "What... are you used to?" he asked, hoping for an answer that would help him get a handle on any of this.
"That kind of teasing," Nagi said, the reply casual. /I usually just ignore him, but every now and then a good return sets him off guard./ There was a feel of a smug satisfaction in that, though the whole thought had the vague texture associated with Mastermind.
/'Him'...?/ the question had a different intonation than Nagi had felt before. A sudden, fierce flash of hatred for the inferred other, and a surge of possessive anger also directed at inferred telepath that almost had a faint hint of familiarity to it.
The reaction caused a flash of concern in the dark boy. Not responding, directly, he reached out to Omi, offering a simple brush of fingers. /You've got to let that go.../ he paused and shook his head, /Nevermind, just find a good spot to hide it. You'll make it too easy. Hatred is one of his favorite targets./
The response was a flicker of something startlingly cold, something that almost felt like another person altogether. /If he tries to fuck with me one more time about something that matters to me, he's dead./ After a few seconds, Omi forced a couple of deep breaths and the colder presence seemed to fade, but a last flicker of thought before it was gone... /... or he'll wish he was.../
Nagi just watched for a moment, stilling both inside and out. He shook his head. /Don't let me know about it before you do./ He sat at the edge of the futon, considering the possible distraction of the laptop. /It would be the same as if I threatened... say Aya, you'd have to stop me./
Omi took another deep breath, the sense of warmth normally radiating from him returning. He sat down beside Nagi. /Is it really the same?/ he shrugged. /I don't do things like that for... fun. Or even for revenge. I won't do anything unless... unless he makes it necessary./ Another nearly inaudible sigh. "I understand what you are saying. I can't explain what he put me through." He scrubbed his hands over his face for a second. Pushing the killer back down where it belonged.
The other boy considered it carefully, the feeling of several options brought to the fore and discarded just as quickly. /Crawford will have him keep it down. If he crosses the line, let me know first./ He did figure he'd have to say that he'd probably feel it, it seemed pretty apparent. /We have a couple of rules on what goes on between Schwartz members/ A touch of irony. /Mostly to keep us from killing each other./ He paused again, subduing a little. /He's not bad, compared to many of his type really./
A combination of bemused near-disbelief and an answering irony flickered at that. "Tell me one thing. And I won't talk about that any more. What they did to Oka... and me... was that 'official business'? Orders?"
/No. The whole thing was stupid./ There was still some lingering annoyance surrounding that. /The whole agreement with Takatori was useful in preparing for the ritual, but there were hundreds of better things we could have been doing to get there faster./ The thought had the tones of an old argument or at least a mental litany.
There was a sense of something settling in the young assassin. /Then I'll leave it to Crawford. Until that doesn't work./ He rubbed his temples for a moment. With a tangible application of willpower, it was put away. A moment of groping for what they had been talking about, something left unfinished... and a brief return of the possessive flare. /He... comes on to you?/ it was carefully held, almost a sense of /No I'm not going to go apeshit I promise.../
Nagi gave Omi a sidelong glance. /Not seriously. I think he just finds me difficult./ He shrugged.
"In other words he's an asshole," Omi said, a suspicion of a chuckle. /So am I painting myself with the same brush?/
"You would be if you were just fishing for a reaction," Nagi said, a twitch of lips betraying a restrained smile at the analysis of the German. /That's why I asked./
Omi nodded, and Nagi could feel even more relaxing in the other boy, along with a wistful sense of interest. Then a combination of consideration and curiosity. "You don't seem too freaked out by the idea of.. it," he murmured. /Shounen ai.../
Nagi shook his head and he gave Omi a slight smirk. "If I was, I'd had a lot of time to get used to the concept," he said. "You blush pretty well at the hint of it." /But you act like you don't want me to know./
Blue eyes widened and a touch of that color stained Omi's fair cheeks. /That's not it,/ the tone was embarrassed. /I want you to know... I don't think I could keep it from you, I'm just.... nervous about... I don't want to shove it in your face if it bothers you... and.../ The sigh was heartfelt. /Knowing how I am and thinking about it for... years isn't the same as.../ Thoughts and feelings tangled rendering the former incoherent for a few moments.
The kinetic had a mix of a mild, wondering shock at the other boy's inexperience, contradicted with an almost anger at the idea of anyone else. /I told you at the very beginning, whatever you want./ He let the surprise, patience and confusion go between them. /You hadn't done anything, really, so I figured it *was* just teasing./
The shock was returned in a different way. Omi's shock at the thought of taking Nagi's first words on that night literally. /No... I won't.../ He tried to get a handle on his reaction, which had a strong component of protectiveness. /Not unless you want to, too.../ There was a helpless pang or realization that it probably wasn't.... might not be possible for the dark haired boy. /If it was... teasing, it was, I guess... sort of to try and find out if you... had any feelings about it. I guess I thought when you teased back that... that you did.../ Then, much quieter, /Not if it's just because you think you.... have to do what I want. Never that./ It had the quiet intensity of a vow.
Nagi took the vow with a divided acceptance, too much mixed in to really identify his opinion on it. Instead of answering, he got to his feet again. "We should get the others up," he said, a glance towards a digital clock half obscured by the other occupants of the counterspace.
Omi nodded, pushing a whole raft of thoughts, reactions, emotions to one side with the resignation of long habit. He smiled at Nagi, an odd sort of smile but quite genuine. /I'm such a dork sometimes,/ it was faint and self directed but not without a touch of humor. Going over to the second dressing room, he rapped on the door. "Aya... Oracle agreed to the meeting terms and the time is in an hour and a half...Shinjuku National Garden..."
The answer was muffled but clear enough. "Understood. We'll be out in ten minutes. Kick Youji out of bed. We need planning time."
TBC