29-July-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, 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 6: YinYang
"You're wrong on one thing, Brad," Schuldig said, taking more than his share of the bench. "It's more than weird. The brat hasn't been that pissy with me since we first met. Oh, he's on the way, by the by."
Crawford gave the German a nudge to get a little bit of elbow room back. "This time you are going to control your impulses," he said, using an old formula that Schuldig hadn't heard since... probably since the last time he'd ignored it, and ended up with a golf club imprinted in his skull.
The familiar credo caused the German to pause in mid-feline ooze for yet more space. He twitched and gave Crawford a rather ruffled look, "And let me guess, I shouldn't ask the specifics because you don't know yet."
"Four is no longer the optimal number. More, or less," Crawford replied, his tone annoyed enough to make it clear he wasn't happy about whatever it was. But he'd long since learned that being happy about a thing had no effect on its truth or probability.
Schuldig gave Crawford a put upon expression, while internally working over the implications. "So this is what had you in a snit last night," the redhead complained. "And I can't take out my frustrations, which by the way, you gave to me, on anyone else. Correct?"
Brad glanced over, maintaining a bored expression. "Be good and I'll let you take them out on me, afterwards." It wasn't a carte blanche, more of an offer than he usually made.
The telepath sat up a bit, taking a long look at the American. Whatever it was, their leader wanted it to work. He put on an indifferent expression and offered the closest to an agreement as he ever did, "I'll think about it."
"You do that," Crawford muttered, stretching his arms out as if tired of sitting for too long. When he brought his arms down, one of his hands ran caressing through the thick mop of orange hair before crossing over his chest with the other. When he was actually willing to focus himself, the precog had developed some unusual ways to bring his particular talent to an intimate encounter.
He glanced around absently for a sign of white hair but shrugged it off when none was immediately apparently. There wasn't any point in telling Farfarello what do to in a situation like this anyway.
Schuldig seemed to lean back and simply enjoy the faint hints of what was offered, knowing from long experience it was stupid to do anything else. Or at least counterproductive. "He's closed up pretty tightly, and it wasn't an impulse, it was a precaution."
Crawford nodded, accepting the information. His eyes seemed to focus on something on the other side of a small group of trees. Blinking, he let a cool, forbidding expression slide across his face. No point in letting the boy know how limited he was by the evident possibilities.
The guest was not long in fulfilling Crawford's expectations, following the path around the grove with an almost typical fearlessness, blue eyes sweeping up to meet the other two, older members of Schwartz. At his side, so close it that it could be imagined they were touching, was another boy, a little taller, and extremely familiar.
At Crawford's side, Schuldig stood up, a sloppy bit of anger leaking through the telepath's shields to the American.
Crawford barely even glanced at the redhead. His attention was focused on the two, taking in the little details that he'd *not* foreseen, slight changes, adjusting to the view, and calculating what it would mean to Schwartz.
He decided to make Nagi speak first, maintaining the chilly demeanor that boy was expecting.
Prodigy stopped first, putting himself between Omi and the other two. For a moment, he stared up at the German, knowing very well what was sending him into a twofold rage, then shifted his attention back to Crawford, older instincts marking the man as the important one. Nagi bowed his head slightly, not a full measure of respect, but close. "I apologize for your headaches. I'm assuming this was the cause of most of them."
Crawford's eyes narrowed behind the glasses. "If that turns out to be true, there will be some form of restitution, so start thinking about it." His eyes turned to the Weiss boy, unable to completely control a certain amount of sheer curiosity. Omi met the regard as steadily as he could, taking a couple of steps to put himself beside Nagi instead of behind him, only fractionally back from the other boy to show a kind of deference. He was avoiding any eye contact whatsoever with Schuldig, unable to control reactions and memories even under these circumstances, but trying to do the next best thing.
Smiling slightly, Crawford said, "So you brought us Bombay. What shall we do with him?" He was fairly certain the situation was miles from what he'd just stated, but wanted to see what Nagi's reaction would be, and whether the connection was as solid as it appeared.
Omi's hand tightened ever so slightly on Nagi's and his chin lifted a fraction but he kept his reaction controlled.
Nagi's eyes went flat, the expression that had been missing now apparent as it returned. "I stated that I would be bringing a guest, not a hostage," Nagi said, the air in the park going calm. "You will do nothing to him if you value my efficiency."
A tangible outrage laced the edges of a new perspective, given directly into Crawford's mind, the two boys standing there and a unique blur and overlap on their forms. A second vision - of a mental attack from the red head on their enemy - formed and dissolved as the German seemed to get a hold of the impulse.
A very slight smile curved one corner of Crawford's mouth. However it was gone in an instant. His perceptions fine tuned a little around Schuldig, to give him time to forestall if the redhead couldn't manage to maintain the lid on his hatred. Under other circumstances Crawford might have let him go off and take the consequences, but in this scenario he knew that he would lose two, perhaps three... Schwartz would effectively cease to exist if this broke out.
"Interesting choice of words," he commented. "Isn't it interesting, Schuldig? Efficiency." He tilted his head. "So, a guest. Is he joining up, Nagi-kun?"
Nagi glanced to the side at Omi, then back again. He was silent for more than a moment, choosing carefully. "He will not leave me, but he is also reluctant to compromise older affiliations. We haven't determined a solution yet," Nagi said, finally. "That's all I can be sure of right now."
"Well, Weiss?" Crawford said. He smirked slightly. "Cat got your tongue?"
Omi managed to give him a sour look without making it threatening. "We're sticking together. There's a lot more stuff than that happening, but I bet you already know that. Don't know what it means yet." He took a deep breath. "You cut loose Taketori when his agenda diverged from yours. And Estet. I don't know what your agenda is right now but there's not going to be any benefit in forcing Nagi on this one. Or me."
Crawford found himself feel a little grudging admiration for the boy. He was also noticing something about him which was different that before. There was an aura. /It was true. He's one of us now./ The "us" wasn't his narrowest concept of the word, but in the broader sense of the talented and the mundanes. /A wildcard, unschooled talent./
Standing up, he moved close enough to Schuldig to press his shoulder to the redhead's.
/This flux is just a consequence of the first. They aren't going to be the Weiss we knew. Adjustments will have to be made./
/They'd better be good. We're damned vulnerable with him right now, soon as Weiss figures that out. (a mental shrug)/
Schuldig received the impression of a mental smile, one of Brad's cool, calculating expressions. /Then we don't wait for them to figure out./
Out loud, he turned his gaze back to Nagi. Pushing his glasses up absently, he said, "It looks as if a proposal for a merger is under development. Very well. After I get my report from you, consider yourself initial negotiator. Your job is to bring them to the table. With that characteristic efficiency you are so proud of."
The only reaction from Nagi at the light slap was a narrowing of the eyes. "I completed the primary objective of your orders within the first hour, but was discovered almost immediately by my subject," Nagi glanced over at Omi, "Who was alone and isolated from the rest of the group. Seeing little danger, I made contact and started an interrogation, which became a negotiation in short order. It appears all of Weiss are our kind, merely under suppression at the time of most engagements. The first flux marked a break, from which Kritiker didn't recover them. Their group is currently as is ours, a free agent. The rest of the information I sent to you last night, their situation should be apparent from that." Nagi paused, a faint smile at the challenge it posed. "If you will withhold outside influence," the boy glanced over to Schuldig pointedly, "I will see to it that your request is fulfilled in as short an order as possible."
Schuldig broke contact with Crawford moving into close enough proximity to look directly down at the youngest member of Schwartz. "You're leaving something out," the German purred, stating the obvious.
Nagi simply took a step back to glare up at him, "That's for me to deal with."
"Us," Omi said quietly, now standing side by side with the other boy. 'Don't be challenging,' he thought. It was hard enough to stand so close the to redhead and take no action. Unconsciously he began to prepare himself for the mental invasion he was more than half expecting. If it came, he had something ready for the possible intruder to 'see'. Something that just might hit Schuldig harder than it had even hit him.
"Meow," a voice behind Nagi said, the tone almost curious. A hand brushed through Omi's hair from the rear. The boy promptly jumped about a foot and a half.
Nagi spared a bit of caution to turn to face Omi and the final member of Schwartz, sending a feeling of calm, amusement and a little caution to Omi. "Don't play," Nagi said turning back. "He wouldn't be any sport."
Omi's hand all but crushed Nagi's and a single clear image came through, sharply focused. His arms around a girl, a shot, looking up and seeing the redhead and another... a gun in a scar-painted hand, a gold eye beyond.
"Nagi pick up a stray?" Farfarello said, the curiosity still evident. He tilted his head, turning his attention easily to the dark-haired boy. He reached up and brushed a finger along Nagi's cheek. "You're different," he said, and there was a faint hint of accusation in it.
/Calm down,/ the impossible request was delivered to Omi. Something that Omi had taken from Nagi twisted a little and spread as the dark boy systematically worked at shutting down his own emotions, the involuntary response of the loss of a phantom sister.
"Mine," the boy stated, not flinching from the cyclops' stare or touch. The accusation seemed to be accepted without a qualm.
Omi's hand relaxed just fractionally. He'd known this was coming, eventually. It was time to prove he could do what he'd made such an irrevocable commitment to. /In all wars, there has to come a time for a truce,/ he forced himself to remember. /Or *everything* dies./
"Brad thinks they've joined the fallen," Farfarello said, walking around the two in a circle. "Is that true? They do have nice, bloody claws..."
"And what do you think?" Nagi asked, a brief, assessing glance at Crawford at the information. That was expected, but also, apparently, common knowledge. There was a little contempt in his voice when he continued, "That I'd go this far to walk away?"
The Irishman tilted his head. He gave Nagi a little push to the shoulder, not enough to move him, just a deep nudge. "Did God smile at you, Nagi?"
A faint smile surfaced on the younger boy's face, having nothing to do with humor. "God doesn't know I exist."
Farfarello smiled back, the impulse something almost automated. He stopped circling and walked over to the bench. "Not even now that you've taken one of His angels?" he said, a slightly vicious edge to his voice, but an odd kind of acceptance as well.
"And if the angel chose to fall?" Nagi asked, the relief at the distance mixed with a suppressed panic. The new twist on the old game reminding him that the 'angel' could have just left him, still could, despite the many reassurances. "I doubt I'd gain His smile for that."
The hand around Nagi's tightened slightly. /Won't, can't./ Along with the reassurance, a brief memory of standing outside the cafe when Nagi withdrew to make contact. A rapidly seeping chill and an echo of emptiness that seemed to crawl slowly up from something too deep to be a mere memory.
The Irishman climbed on the bench, sitting on the back with his feet on the seat. "Nooo.... that would piss Him off good and proper." Suddenly, Farfarello smiled.
An echo of Omi's earlier comment returned to him, tasting of irony, /One down./
Nagi glanced up at Crawford, past the redhead who seemed to be distracted enough by the odd conversation to have backed down a bit, a little more out of Omi's space. "Shall I begin then?" Nagi asked, waiting for the dismissal.
The American smiled. "Nice maneuvering, Prodigy," he commented. "You have negotiating skills after all. Yes, begin. But don't forget who you came to the dance with. Bring them to the table. Don't give away the store."
Nagi bowed a little deeper this time. "Understood," he said, turning to leave.
Schuldig's lips twisted into a half smirk, annoyance and range diverting into a strange admiration and parody of fondness. "Scheiße, von roboter zu vampir..." he called back to Crawford, watching the two leave.[1]
The reaction the comment provoked in Nagi got locked down so fast it was hard for Omi to register it causing a wound.
The flare of rage was so sudden and so outside of everything Nagi had felt from the young blond before, he all but felt the dart falling into the boy's hand from heaven knew where. Omi was turned and facing the redhead before even he could think, but as fast as the impulse was, his mind was only a fraction slower. His hand fisted around the dart, knowing he couldn't throw it, the razor point breaking skin. His voice was unrecognizable to himself. "Leave him /ALONE/!" the last word reverberated with an emotional impact that was incredibly tangible, almost closer to something the telekinetic might do, for all that it existed only in the minds/emotions of those nearby.
The telepath took a half-step back, but gathered himself again quickly, the expression that crossed his face pure delight. "You know, Abyssinian's pretty impressive when you poke at his sister," he said, a little saunter as he approached. "Same rage.... same weakness."
"Stop," the quiet command came from behind Omi, directed at both of them. Nagi looked up at Crawford, a promise in his eyes. "I've been building up since last night. You know what I can do."
"Mastermind," Brad said, his tone bored. "Trying for another day of frustration?" Behind the facade he was watching the situation with a great deal of interest.
Omi didn't react outwardly, for once unflustered by the telepath's needling. Schuldig had gotten under the boy's skin easily and effectively before. But this time he found himself dealing not with the boy, but with the killer.
Schuldig slid a glance back towards Crawford and Farfarello, then beyond to Nagi. The redhead gave an overdramatic sigh, feigning a much put upon expression. "Fine, fine," he said, turning away sharply, a dismissive wave of his hand. A malicious touch slid quickly over the surface of Omi's mind quickly, /I'll play with you later./
Omi shoved the touch away with strength half based on new practice at blocking, and half just sheer temper, an uncontrolled and powerful reaction he almost didn't recognize in himself. It felt like something else. Something from years of being harassed, shunned, attacked or used for a difference he...
Turning around, he concentrated on walking away.
The telepath watched both of them go, hackles raised. He turned around slowly and walked back to the bench, only passing Farfarello a mildly annoyed glance for hovering over his spot. "Could have sworn that wasn't Bombay," Schuldig mused out loud, for Brad's benefit. A fit of moods had brought him right back around to curious. "But the kid doesn't know how to do that."
Crawford was still standing, looking after the two, slightly unfocused. He shook his head and pulled back in. The major fireworks were over for a short time.
"Now you know why I had a headache," he said, reaching up to rub his temples absently. "It's a time for caution. I need you working, not burned out by some freak psy-combination. Until we get the combination under some kind of binding contract."
Schuldig slid past the American to take the abandoned seat, stretching out a little again. It didn't matter, it didn't take a precog to tell him he'd be ordered up and moving shortly. "It'll be easier than trying to untangle them," he gave Brad a honeyed expression before asking, "Don't you wonder how that happened?"
Crawford glanced at the telepath. "Wild talent with no training, that's how it happened. A lesson in discipline." His tone was faintly smug. Then he shook his head and frowned. "I hate this," he admitted after two days of being inundated with a wild kaleidoscope of constantly changing possibilities. "If we don't get a handle on this, we'll end up null."
The German sobered a little, not liking the sound of any of that. "I could follow them easily," he offered.
Brad shook his head. "Too risky - think where they're going. We don't have enough information on what other wild cards we're dealing with to risk it. Bombay spotted Prodigy. But there's something else." He rubbed his temples again. The twin images of some kind of unbelievable conflagration and a mental force that went beyond what he was familiar with stayed with him from two days before. "Let the boy earn his salary," he said. "It's time to go fishing rather than hunting."
The first sensation of the morning was officially the scent of coffee. The distinct aroma of it curled under the door of the dressing room from some not so distant point beyond, promising strength and potency.
Aya stretched, feeling the solid form curled around his body. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he looked down, threading long fingers through the disarrayed mop of dark hair that was effectively pinning his left arm. Parts of his body felt sticky and a bit of soreness remained. He seemed to recall Omi mentioning showers in conjunction with the accommodations. There would be showers off the dressing rooms.
With a silent sigh, he began trying to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs mingled with his on the cot, which was intended for one sleeper, not two.
Green eyes opened blearily, under obvious protest. With some reluctance, Ken shifted, making escape easier. "Time to go already?"
Aya paused, a softer expression on his features than Ken had ever seen directed at anyone but Aya-chan. "Depends on what you mean by go," Aya answered, feeling his body demand a certain relief ASAP. "I smelled coffee. Omi must have gone out or something. I need a shower before I can go get some."
Ken got something more of an aware expression as that registered with a taste of the air. It wasn't the first or the last he'd had the youngest member's thoughtfulness to thank. "I'll try to save you some," he grinned.
He got a sour look in return. And a swat to the exposed part of his posterior. Aya quit trying to be gentle and left the cot with a grunt, padding to the back of the room to discover the entrance to the shower in question.
With some effort, Ken managed to get limbs to coordinate and pull himself out of bed. A quick hunt for cloths turned out to be successful and in short order was dressed and Aya's clothes 'laid' out on the cot with Ken's rather haphazard version of care.
The person by the makeshift kitchenette backstage, little more than a portable steamer and restaurant style coffee maker, wasn't quite the one expected.
"Ohayo, Youji," Ken greeted, making a direct line for an offered cup. "What dragged you up this early?"
The blond passed the sugar easily to the younger assassin, quite a bit more relaxed having had some time between the morning meeting and the other's appearance. "Omi gave me a call and I can never get back to sleep once I'm up," Youji affected an air of tragedy to the declaration, "He won't be back till later."
"Mmm," Ken commented, the tangible feeling of caffeine through his system starting to wake the athlete up. "He's found something then?"
"Eh, something like that." Youji said. He waited until the other assassin was reaching for a second cup before continuing. "I've gotten a little bit of the situation," /A really up close and personal one,/ he added to himself, wryly, "And I may need your help keeping Aya a little... er, levelheaded about this until we can get it all sorted out."
"Get what sorted out?" the question was chilly. The redhead had evidently figured Ken would make good on his threat. His hair was damp but he was dressed and wide awake. And his eyes were fixed on Youji.
Without a comment, Ken grabbed a second cup and filled it, passing it back. He hadn't had time to ask if /he'd/ like it, much less Aya.
The cup was accepted and the regard never wavered an inch.
'Well, did this to myself. Might as well take some of the blast off the chibi's hands,' Youji thought, resigning himself to it. "Omi's hooked up with a new acquaintance and is pretty sure you aren't going to like it," Youji said out loud. "But he's also pretty sure it's going to be a pretty big help to us if we can smooth down the waters a bit."
The empty cup was placed on the nearest flat surface. Aya advanced, forcing Youji to retreat until he found a wall at his back. "What did you have to do with this?"
"Nothing," Youji said, steeling himself to look directly into Aya's eyes. "I just trust his judgment."
Ken shook his head, putting down his own cup to cross his arms over his chest. "We don't even know who it is yet, Ran," he said, some wary neutrality in his voice.
Aya stared into Youji's eyes for a long moment. "Why did you come back here," he growled finally. "Why not cut your losses and run back to your superiors?"
Youji's expression darkened but let the accusation slide off of him. "To make sure you don't hurt him," he replied, getting quieter as he got more angry, thinking about it. "He's got way too much fucking faith in you."
Aya's eyes narrowed. He stayed in Youji's face for a full silent minute. Then he backed off and walked away. Completely away, leaving the two young men and returning to the dressing room.
Ken raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. There was a distinct urge to hit something to let it all out, and at the moment, Youji was looking like a pretty good target. "This isn't working."
"Of course not," Youji said, slumping a little against the wall he'd been backed into. "We can't just avoid each other anymore."
"You're not going to follow?" the other asked, a very short and tired patience was wearing thinner.
"I'm not stupid." He'd more than a good idea of how far he'd just pushed.
"Not sure about that," Ken muttered, ignoring the expression on the taller assassin as he passed him, not bothering to knock on the door before entering.
Aya'd retrieved his katana from under the cot. He knelt in the middle of the room, his shirt off his shoulders and hanging around his waist. The sword rested across his knees and he stared at the edge of it, his back as straight as an arrow.
Ken stopped just a couple feet in front of him, and dropped smoothly first into a crouch, then to sit. "It was pretty low," Ken started, watching Aya with a little awkwardness. Of all of them, he was just barely above Aya in skill with delicacy - which he was painfully aware at the moment, didn't count for very much. "But you know it's not right, right?"
Aya continued to stare at the polished metal as if it held answers. After a little while, he said, "You believe him, then."
Ken stared at Aya for a second, trying futilely to figure out where he'd gotten that from what he'd said. "Omi's got too much faith in /all/ of us," Ken said, "I just don't think its misplaced."
Aya looked up finally and shook his head, looking back down. "Not what I meant. You believe that Youji is... with us. And not whoever..." It was a question, devoid of feeling, neutral.
The answer was a long time in coming. "I don't. But... I can't think that way. I never really could," Ken said, sighing. "It's been a long time with him. I'm having a hard time just with Kritiker, and I've /seen/ that." He looked down at his own hands briefly before shoving them in his pockets. "I'd rather know for sure before having to kill someone close again."
Aya looked up again at that, his eyes catching Ken's and holding them.
"I don't like feeling this naked," he said finally, forcing the words out. "Feel like it obvious that I'm... that I don't..." His lips rebelled releasing the words to the air, even to Ken. He looked down again, once again seeking answers in the blade.
"I believe him," he said finally. "I'm just... I don't want to be wrong."
"You've got to play it out with the rest of us," Ken said, letting go of a little of a buildup. "If it helps, he's a lot different from when Weiss was first put together, about a year before we found you. I wouldn't have believed him back then, wouldn't have even hesitated."
"Wakatta," Aya said. There was almost the hint of a sigh in it. Placing the katana on the floor, he pulled his shirt back on. Then he grabbed the weapon's hilt and got up, finding the sheath on the floor and sheathing the blade. Stopping next to Ken, he reached a hand down.
Ken used the offered handhold up, rising easily.
Aya padded out of the room, the sheathed katana still in his hand, and went looking for Youji.
There were moments that Youji was absolutely certain he was insane, since anyone, he reasoned, with a shred of sanity left, would have bolted seeing Aya with a weapon after that short conversation. It was probably the fact that there wasn't any panic or hostility in the expression of the man behind him, but whatever it was, he stayed perched on the counter, feet dangling lazily over the edge.
It was with a sort of fatalistic anticipation that he waited for Aya to make the first move.
"I know what Ken can do," Aya said, typically skipping lead in. "I know what I can do," he kept his voice neutral. "Saw the thing you did with the wire. Is that it? And what about Omi?" Unable to attempt a bridge in any other way, he asked for information, implying at least some trust in the other's answers and allegiance. It was extremely tentative but it was what he was prepared to offer.
"I've got an unusually high level of intuition, but that doesn't really count as a talent." Youji said, a little surprised at an imperceptible drop of tension. "Omi's got two low level talents that make up for power in uniqueness. A reverse sort of empathy and.. "Youji hesitated, the other had been a little guarded about it when he'd brought it up, but that was when another subject was involved, "Enhanced skill with technology, I don't know how much on that one, he's pretty secretive about it."
Aya listened to the information, watching Youji's face. "How good are you? Do you have to use the wire or can you do other stuff with it?"
"Other stuff, but it has to be really lightweight. My strength is nothing really, but I've got finesse with it that you'll never see in a high level or heavyweight," Youji said, a little embarrassment evident. "Even with that, it's not really much."
"So not enough to stop a sword blow..." Aya said. "What about to deflect?"
The blond looked a little wary at the examples but still didn't move. "If I knew it was coming... but I'd be better off dodging, honestly."
Aya shrugged. The idea in his head was something he got from Ken the night before and it had had some questionable results then but...
Moving out onto the stage floor, he beckoned with one hand. "Let's see. It could come in useful. I'll go slow."
Youji slid off the countertop. A glance back at Ken shown nothing more helpful than an extremely focused look in Aya's direction. He reached for his gloves in the pocket of his overcoat. "Do I have the option of my own weapon?"
"You have the option to say no, this isn't a requirement," Aya said, starting to do stretches. "I'm sure Ken will spar with me. But I do want to see what you can do. And what happens if you don't have your favorite weapon? We have no idea who or what we might have to go up against."
Stopping for a moment, his nostrils flared and then he said, his voice a bit quieter, "If I can see what you are doing, I think I can teach you a few things. There are ways to defend against an edged weapon. Beside wrapping the enemy up in fishing line."
Youji shook his head, but he had dropped the gloves and his fingers was already working on the clasp to the watch. It would be a convenient scenario for Aya to 'accidentally' get rid of him, and from the distance, could do it long before Ken could do anything about it if he wanted to. 'And so we're back to faith.'
The blond stepped forward, shrugging off his overcoat - it would only be a hindrance without the wire it was designed to insulate himself from - and letting it drop to the floor. He took a quick survey of the stage, looking for something, anything to be used as an advantage. "Well?" Youji said, already putting his surroundings to memory. "You might as well lead."
Aya shook his head. Then he placed himself a few feet away from Youji and in front of him. "I'm going to lunge at half speed. See if you can push the blade to the left, but wait until its past the apex of the arc. Don't worry if you miss, I'll pull it if it gets too close."
Taking a familiar stance, his body moved out, the blade arching down. It was slow enough for Youji to watch it coming. It was slow enough that he could have stepped out from under it.
There was an instinctive halfstep, not out of range before it was halted. There was no perceptible force on the blade, if he was waiting for resistance or force, Aya wasn't going to receive it. It instead seemed like a guidance along the tip, just enough and almost gently enough that a lesser swordsman wouldn't have noticed and blamed it on a flaw in the grip. The blade passed Youji's shoulder with an inch to spare.
Recovering automatically, Aya drew back. His attention was sharpened and there was a real interest in his eyes. "Sou ka." He nodded. "Was it hard? Easy?"
"Its not hard," Youji said. There was no sign on his face that he'd done anything at all, but he'd been working with the wire for as long as any of them had known him. "It doesn't take a lot to move something already in motion."
Aya nodded. It confirmed his initial theory. "Could you do it if the blade was coming faster?"
Youji nodded after a moment's hesitation, consideration rather than doubt on his face. "I've got a feel for it now."
"Three quarter speed," Aya responded. "Add a second attack."
He waited to see if Youji would demur before taking his stance again.
The blond nodded, taking an open, ready stance opposite him.
The attack was exactly as described. When the first blow was deflected, a second came, no faster. When the deflection of the second blow was a few seconds too late to change the arc enough, Aya pulled the blade.
Standing back up, he nodded again. "If we'd some time, you could become quite a barehanded defender."
Youji took the rare praise with a slight smile and larger shrug. "I'd rather use my old methods. I'm not adverse to picking up a few tricks, but a little underestimation never hurt in a real battle," Youji said, the smile yielding to a bit of a grin at the last.
Aya inclined his head. He sheathed the katana reflexively. "Understandable," he said in answer. "Your old methods are quite effective. Even if not quite as miraculous as I used to think," he said, deadpan, but not impossible to detect an Aya-style tease. The swordsman found a certain amount of tension was beginning to seep out of his body. He'd doubted Youji for a little over twenty four hours. The extent of the relief was a little nerve-wracking.
"Oi," Youji complained, hooking his foot under the collar of his overcoat and giving it a bit of a kick into the air. It wasn't a coincidence that it made it just to hand level in time to be caught. "You try controlling a couple dozen spots on a wire and making it look natural, might rework your view on miracles."
Aya shrugged, the barest of semi-existent smiles shadowing his lips for a moment. "So when is Omi supposed to show up?"
The look wasn't missed. It didn't help old guilt at all, but something about the unexpected acceptance settled a large peace of mind. "He's going to give me a call at about 1:00 to let me know he's okay," he said, "If he hasn't shown or called by then I'm hunting him down. His immediate company... I think... is trustworthy. I just don't like the situation surrounding it much."
Aya glanced at Ken. "His 'immediate company'?"
Youji glanced at the face of the watch he recovered from the counter. Not even noon yet. If Aya didn't go immediately at the name, Ken would beat them all to the door. "I wasn't even supposed to say that much," Youji said tiredly. He was getting more than sick of secrets. "I've got to leave the rest to him. I don't think he could really have a better bodyguard though." The look Nagi flashed at the table at the mention of a threat to Omi hadn't faded at all.
It was evident that Youji really didn't want to be pushed to give more. Reluctant to sacrifice the fragile peace so quickly, Aya simply grunted softly and wandered over to the counter to see if there was any more coffee, cold or otherwise.
TBC