Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ It's All Relative ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Aya twisted and thrashed in the bed.  He was too hot and miserable.  Dark flashes of pain stabbed him repeatedly in the abdomen.  Nightmarish images of devils, angels, and blood-dripping blades circled his fevered dreams.  Trapped in the never ending circle of death, he couldn't make his voice heard above his victims' screams.  His warnings were always too late.  In flickering, stop motion photography his sister was struck down by a speeding car.  In an endless repeat, the event occurred over and over again as he lay pinned and helpless to help her.


The scene changed to crumbling ramparts falling inexorably towards the cold blackness of the sea.  Without fail, each member of his team had looked to him for guidance. Aya had no answer.  He could only fall with the rest of them and struggle against the terrible pressure trying to force burning salt into his lungs.  Somehow they had crawled from the sea, but Aya had sensed a difference after that day.  He had proved to be only human.  He had saved no one.  Manx and Sakura had saved his sister and he and his team had fallen together to what should have been their deaths.

More recent memories morphed in the dreamscape as tragic events starring Aya as the failure, the one who could not save Kyo, or an innocent school teacher, young Sena, and Yohji, the only person he had ever called friend and truly felt the connection.  His only friend and, in the end, he had failed Yohji, too, letting Yohji make the sacrifice so the rest of the team could escape.  Aya had struggled through the debris of the shattered complex, but never found Yohji or his katana that Yohji had used to cut down Tsuji in the end.  He had conceded defeat when his torn and bloodied hands couldn't turn another stone.  Yohji was gone, seemingly crushed into the dust and obliterated.

Aya keened an animalistic wail of despair in his sleep and fought harder against the veil of dreams.  Cool hands smoothed over his fevered brow and a soft, deep voice whispered words of comfort directly into his ear.  Aya turned away from the soothing presence.  He deserved no such comfort, not him, not he who had failed so many and whose hands were stained with so much blood.  The insistent voice persevered, calling repeatedly for him to wake, and the soothing touch returned to ease his physical pains.

Tired of fighting, Aya reluctantly surfaced from his nightmares and opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling.  Still feverish and disoriented, he took note of a throbbing pain in his gut and slightly stained white bandages circling his middle.  Squinting his eyes in an effort to narrow his focus and block the pain, Aya remembered being stabbed by a mere child right on the street.  His eyes popped open wide and he frantically scanned the room when he recalled that Crawford and Schwarz had appeared and whisked him away.

Aya rubbed his eyes in confusion.  What the hell did they want?  If they wanted him dead, they could have killed him already while he was incapacitated.  Instead, his wound had been treated and he was tucked into a large, clean bed.  Either Schwarz was trying to lull him into a false sense of security or he had finally slipped into madness and believed them capable of caring and compassion.  Whatever the reason, it was time to leave, now.


Easier thought about than done. Aya's first attempt to sit upright left him flopping gracelessly back into the pillows, gritting his teeth against the pain. He panted against the pain and lifted himself up on his elbows and swinging his legs down only to slide in a heap to the floor. Frustrated by his weakness, Aya forgot about caution and slammed his fist angrily into the hardwood floor. Almost on cue, the bedroom door opened and Crawford entered, balancing a tray and smirked knowingly at Aya's predicament.

"I knew you would try this. I figured I better come before you tear all your stitches."

"Did you have a vision about me waking?" Aya snarled.

"I didn't need one. My office is next door and I've been listening all day. I could hear you quite clearly. What I 'saw' was you doing more damage to yourself."

Aya concealed his face with his raggedly cut hair and hoped Crawford hadn't heard him crying out in his sleep. The humiliation was unthinkable.

Crawford ignored the other man's embarrassment and set his tray on a table.

"You're clearly weak from blood loss and you probably can't remember when you last ate. You've been out for a day and a half. I'll help you back into the bed and you'll eat. It's a Western style breakfast. I'm sure you've been in the United States long enough that it will be acceptable."

Aya would have preferred to gut Crawford but his weakened condition made it impossible at present. Fuming, he allowed Crawford to haul him up to the bed and stack pillows behind his back to allow him to sit up without strain. Crawford placed the tray over Aya's legs and waved a hand over the meal after removing a cup of coffee for himself.

"It's green tea, no sugar, eggs, steak and toast." He sipped from his cup as Aya eyed the tray with suspicion. Crawford sighed, impatiently. "It's not poisoned. I didn't bring you here and treat your injury just to kill you with a meal. Eat. You need the protein to build back your strength."

It amused Crawford that Aya sniffed warily at the tea before gingerly taking his first taste. It amused him further when Aya raised his eyebrows in surprise that the tea was prepared well. Most people tended to murder a cup of tea by over steeping the leaves until it resembled acidic paint remover. Encouraged, Aya took a larger drink and selected a piece of toast.

Thirst abated, Aya asked, "Where exactly is here, why did you bring me here and what do you want from me?"

"Here is where Schuldig and I live while in the States. To be more exact, you are in my bedroom. Why is that you almost died from a planned hit executed by a child."

Crawford patiently finished his coffee while Aya mulled over his answers. Dark amethyst eyes whirled with confusion.

"Why am I in your bed?" Aya asked the question that disturbed him the most at the moment.

Crawford shrugged. "The other rooms are empty now that Nagi and Farfarello are pursuing other avenues of employment. I couldn't very well put you on the floor or on the love seat in my office."

Aya pinched the bridge of his nose tightly and rubbed a hand over his aching side. Nothing made sense. Not only had his enemy saved him, he had treated the stab wound, put Aya into his own bed, and then heightened the surreal situation by serving him breakfast in bed.

"I'm in your bed." Aya mumbled in a daze.

Crawford smiled a little, an expression that seemed foreign on the man's face to Aya. "Schuldig offered his bed, but I believe his stipulations were that you be naked, gagged and bound to the bed."

Aya gasped in outrage and dropped his toast from nerveless fingers to the plate. "No!" He seethed. "No and never!"

Crawford's smile widened and a low chuckle rumbled from his throat. "I told him you would say that."

Appetite destroyed, Aya shoved the nearly full tray to the side, crossed his arms and glared at Crawford. A lesser man would have been frightened by the malevolence in that frigid, purple glare. Crawford looked as cool and unruffled as ever.

"You still haven't said what you want from me."

That was Aya, always blunt and tactless, with no time for subtlety.

"Very well," Crawford capitulated. "Half my team is gone. I want you to join with Schuldig and I as part of Schwarz. You need a job, and I need someone with your skills."

Aya's jaw dropped open in disbelief then he covered his face with both hands, clenching his fingers in his crimson hair. He actually went so far as to pinch himself several times.

"Gods, it's true," He muttered from between his fingers. "I died and I really am in hell."

Crawford snorted contemptuously, collected his empty cup and rose to leave the room. He paused at the doorway.

"Just think about it, Aya. It's safer and more profitable to work with a quality team. Weiss is no more. Krittiker doesn't want you back. They think you are unreliable now. You're still an assassin and those aren't exactly skills you can put on a job resume. Eat your breakfast. You need it, and use your recovery time to think about my offer."

The bedroom door latched with a barely audible click, leaving behind an assassin whose world had flipped upside down completely. Crawford faced the telepath who had been lounging on his leather office chair.

"I know you were 'listening'. What's he thinking?"

Schuldig's lips parted in his trademark smirk.

"He thinks you're nuts, he's going mad, and I'm Satan's party planner." Schuldig laughed brightly. "I new this wouldn't be easy, but I didn't think it would be this much fun."

Crawford rolled his eyes at the telepath and booted him from his office to get to his computer. Someone had to work, and manipulating finances gave Crawford a natural high that allowed him to avoid thinking about the pitiful cries he had heard from the assassin who kept his emotions coiled tight while awake and was haunted by them at night.
TBC