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The Black Sea |
"Omi!" "Yes, Ran-san?" It pleases me when my youngest soldier responds so quickly. Prompt obedience is the finest quality in a subordinate. It has taken little time to mold this one into a killer. He is young, his mind is sharp and he exhibits the ability to concentrate, to plan. He is useful. "Where are the others?" "Ken is delivering arrangements and Yohji is..." "Konnichiwa, Omi! Konnichiwa, Aya!" Ken breezes through the door, catches himself, recovers quickly. "Ohayou gozaimasu, Ran-sempai!" he says in a more respectful tone, adding a little bow for good measure. I nod once, acknowledging his correction and accepting his deference. Hidaka Ken. With this soldier, too, I am pleased. Quick, attentive, agile. He is reliable, though despite his easy-going demeanor, it has taken more force and a bit longer to make him respond to training. These two were at first entirely too familiar with me. Kritiker operates with great efficiency, their smooth process polished with repeated use. Efficiency would explain why their previous leader, this Aya, was much like me, although I fear the proper respect was not demanded. Efficiency would explain my own familiarity with my new assignment: the house, the job, teammates - it all echoes faintly in my memory, perhaps from a previous tour. I pay it little attention. What happened yesterday has no claim on the present; one does not allow what has happened in the past to influence one's actions today. I nod again. They know to resume their work. I survey the shop and am satisfied. In my world, things are Weiss or they are Schwarz. Grey is a shade in between and therefore not allowed. Grey is a shade awaiting death if it cannot choose a side. I stifle a small sigh and head upstairs. The room is dim, sunlight barely filtering through still-drawn curtains. Piles of clothes, items scattered across every flat surface. I seethe inwardly at this lack of discipline, this reckless disregard for order and propriety. The room reeks of alcohol, cigarettes, the aftermath of sex. Kudou Yohji. Slovenly. Dissolute. Careless. The grey in Weiss. He lies in bed still, unaware of how close I am, or unconcerned. Why Kritiker retains this so-called assassin is not mine to question. However, he is now under my command and will change his ways or be terminated. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. I permit myself a moment of regret at the waste of potential that is Yohji. Long, shaggy hair covers up his face. Lean, powerful body, barely covered by the sheet, sprawls across the bed. In motion, he seems loose-limbed and fluid, but with time to study his body in repose, I note the solid, heavy muscles sliding smoothly under his skin. What I could do with him, if only he were worthy, if only he would respond to my training. I grab the sheet and pull. Watch dispassionately as his body tenses, comes awake immediately. For a moment, my mind blanks, and a black puddle, small and toxic and ever-present, emerges from its hiding place. Something else, light, tugs at the edge of my mind, like a flickering silent movie. I ruthlessly shove them both away, lest I forget who I am and why I am here. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. "What the fuck? Oh, Aya, it's you." He should be showing his leader some respect. Instead Yohji rolls over onto his back, stretches indolently and yawns. He smiles at me, slides one sturdy hand slowly down over his flat stomach, scratches idly at the waistband of his boxers, then slips underneath. I curse myself for watching its progress. And him for noticing. I turned away quickly and cross the room to the door. "You are late for work. I expect you to report in 30 minutes." "Aya." He draws out the word. Against my will, I pause at the door. "Come here. The kids can handle the shop for a few more minutes." He sits up and again that moment of blankness; time fractures and I feel ... something. Panic? Confusion? My head aches at the thought of the black tide advancing. Yohji is watching me quizzically, concerned, and I must not show weakness. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. When I resume my glare at him, Yohji slowly smiles again. "It's been a while, Aya. C'mon. I'll make you feel so good, you'll forget your name. Or," he suppresses a sigh, "in your case, remember it." "Twenty-nine minutes." I slam the door harder than necessary. Why does he make me lose control so quickly? I resolve to discipline him and myself. Surprisingly, he does show up at work before my deadline. And again the next day. Omi and Ken like him; their cheerful banter at first provides a pleasantly distracting background noise. My mind remains sharp and my own. But when the school girls arrive and Yohji begins his lecherous routine, even ikebana fails to soothe. I leave the shop before the accursed black water finds me. I spend the afternoon studying the latest assignment from Kritiker. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. We go out that night. The mission is nearly flawless. The information and background Omi has gathered serves us well. Yohji, despite his seeming indifference to protocol, proves himself an efficient, lethal killer, darting gracefully in with his wire. Ken's knowledge of security alarms, underground garages and electrical systems gets us quickly in and, fortunately, as rapidly out of the building after I faltered. I, Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, jeopardized the mission -- a misstep I cannot forgive. I am furious with them, but mostly with myself. First Ken, then Omi attempt some consoling conversation on the ride home, but quickly and wisely cease. I stare out the car window, watching the rain fall on the dark shiny streets. Like a black sea. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, I chant to myself, willing the sea to recede. Yohji says nothing, simply waits as we get out of the car, then drives away into the night. Lying in bed later that night, I replay it over and over in my mind. The set-up, as planned, even though Omi acted like he was in charge; several times I had to remind him I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. Locking in on the targets, as planned; I approved Ken's schemata because I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. Our approach, as planned. It was that last moment when Yohji turned and winked. At me. I stumbled and my katana scraped against the wall. Oh so slight a sound and yet it alerted the targets, requiring Yohji to confront them before we were all in place. Ken had reached out to steady me, but I shook off his hand angrily. He and Omi exchanged concerned looks, as if I wouldn't notice, before Ken fell in behind Yohji and completed the mission. I stayed where I was, shaking with rage. Omi remained with me. "It's all right, Aya, first time back is hard. Let Yohji and Ken handle it. It's too much, too soon, that's all. Everything's okay now." I ignore his babble. Useless, soft emotions play across his expressive face. I must train that weakness out of him. Sheets twist around my legs as I toss and turn. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, I say in the dark. The mantra, like ikebana earlier, does not bring peace. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. I cannot find the armor of ice that always surrounds me and I fear the black hole will swallow me up this time. An hour later, perhaps two, still not at peace, I hear the car return. Yohji's unsteady footsteps sound on the stairs. At last, a righteous target for my wrath. Yohji. Suddenly it all falls into place for me. His disrespect, his slovenly appearance, his casual attitude. His constant flirting, his inappropriate attire, his easy acceptance of whatever comes along. His inability to follow the simplest mission plan. The wink. The inexplicable, what? invitation?, yesterday in his bedroom. Calling me Aya. I finally register the insult: Aya is a girl's name. It was his fault I stumbled, not mine at all. I am still Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss. In a blinding flash, it comes to me. Kudou Yohji is not the grey stain on Weiss, he is the Schwarz, the black presence that torments me night and day. My decision is made. With a purpose I rise from my bed and tread noiselessly down the hall. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, a Weiss that will soon be purged of its Schwarz. Listening for a moment to the sounds of a drunk attempting to quietly disrobe, I open the door silently, slip inside and turn the lock. As is his wont, his clothes are scattered, his harigane in a pile with keys, lighter, cigarettes, change. At the faint click, Yohji turns, surprised. That strange feeling of unreality returns: I've been here before with Yohji near-naked, late at night, with the door locked. For a moment my vision wavers, then I reclaim my purpose and clear my aching head. But why am I here without my katana? "Aya? It's late. Go away. Whatever tightass order you're issuing this time, it can wait till morning." He turns away and that's when I move. Flying across the space between us, I hit him full in the jaw just as he looks around. He goes down hard. That sight, along with the pain in my knuckles, begins to bring me some relief from the incessant drumbeat in my head. Perhaps the black sea flow back into its hole and leave me in peace. But Yohji surges to his feet, much quicker than I would expect a drunk to do. Eyes narrowed with pent-up rage that is fairly visible, blood dripping down his chin, his alcohol-fueled momentum slams us both against the wall. "Jesus, Aya. What the fuck is up with you?" He's twisted one of my arms painfully back between my shoulders and holds the other high over my head. As soon as I raise one knee, he moves to trap my legs between his. Our bodies heave and push against each other, but he has all the leverage. In a small, rational part of my mind, tendrils of fear and uncertainty twist emerge like poisonous bog plants on the banks of the looming black sea. Yohji is heavier and taller than I, yes, but it shouldn't give him such an advantage. Where is my will to fight? My body seems to waver between fighting back and yielding, something I can only blame on lack of oxygen and his Schwarz-tainted proximity. Yohji releases my wrist to grab my throat. He slams my head back against the wall and tightens his grip. With a terrifying sense of disassociation, I know the calluses on his broad palm and along his fingers, predict the warmth of his hand, even as I begin to gasp for breath. "I know we're still supposed to be treating you with kid gloves, walking on tiptoe around you, Aya, but you have crossed the fucking line." He slams my head against the wall again. "I'm sorry you totaled your Porsche. slam Sorry about your concussion. slam Sorry you freaked out about being in the hospital. slam Sorry you don't recognize us, slam but you got to deal with it better than this." slam slam slam I struggle, needing to breathe, needing his body away from mine, needing to recover. The black water is nearly touching me and I must get away. "Don't move." One more push, but that only results in my arm being twisted higher and the grip around my throat growing tighter. My vision dims. I try one more time. "I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss." I am teetering on the edge of the black hole, barely holding on. I look away as best I can, using my hair as a crimson shield against Yohji's steely gaze. "We've been indulging you for weeks, with your 'I am Fujimiya Ran' bullshit." He pauses for a breath; his face, like Omi's, not hiding his emotions, his anger, his pain. "You are not 'leader of Weiss,' and we are not your subordinates. You're Aya, our friend. We're teammates, equals, partners." Again I feel that fracture. Oily black water surges up. My head aches, pounds. I am angry. I am afraid. I want to hurt the body so painfully pinning me against the wall. I want to lean against it. I want to surrender to the ever-encroaching black sea. I want Yohji to banish it. "We're used to you being all prickly and solitary and shit. You've got a right. But you've really hurt Omi and Ken with that 'training' when they didn't show you 'proper respect.' You were a bully and a stone-cold asshole. That isn't what we're about." He takes another deep, shuddering breath and releases my arm, brushes the hair from my face. His whole demeanor changes, as though the rage has gone out of him. Sadness softens his eyes. I feel my rage seeping away, too, but it leaves me empty, unsure. I scramble frantically for it, but can't find it. I feel frozen in place, but without my usual protective layer of ice, and the black waves are lapping around my ankles. He leans in, whispers in my ear. "And you've hurt me, Aya. I know you don't want to hear it, but we have something, you and me." His warm hand slides along my jaw and gently cradles my face. "I miss you, Aya. I'm not giving up on you, no matter how fucked up you are." And with that, the black water rises up and closes over my head. Blindly panicking, I reach up to clasp his wrist, but not to push his hand away. I need a lifeline. "How fucked up am I, Yohji? I don't know any more." Yohji's eyes -- green, deep, tender -- study me carefully. His thumb rubs lightly across my cheek. "You're fucked up, Aya, but tonight? That was my mistake, not yours. I should have known better. My fault." He shakes his head again and his shoulders slump in sorrow. I was mistaken to think he was indifferent or disloyal. "It was our good luck token, a ritual. We've been doing it a long time. We wink at each other just before we go in and it keeps us safe. Stupid, I know, but you looked so good tonight, like you were back, like the old Aya. We thought you were ready. If we had known, if I had thought about it…. I'm sorry, so sorry," his voice trails off. He straightens up and pulls me against him. "What I said was way out of line. But I'm just so frustrated with this whole situation and I miss you, Aya, I miss you." The need to break free, to escape
this confinement, swells up in me again, but only briefly. I feel scattered, weakened,
as if my reason for being (I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss) is wavering
like a mirage. I can't remember how I felt an hour ago, so angry, so self-righteous,
so sure. I can't remember anything now. It is not for me. For if I am not Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, who am I? Without warning my shaking legs buckle. I am lost. No past, no present, what future? Yohji pulls me over to his messy bed and we clumsily sit on its edge. My head throbs, my shoulder feels dislocated, it's still hard to take a deep breath. The fracture between what I believe to be true and what Yohji says is so deep, I'm falling into an abyss. "We're too tired to make sense of it right now. Stay with me tonight, like you used to do. It will feel good and we'll talk in the morning. He waits. "Come back to me, Aya." I say nothing, afraid to accept, afraid that a black tidal wave will drown me in that instant of vulnerability. He straightens up and attempts to cover his hurt with anger. "Or go back to your room and to being Fujimiya Ran, or leader of Weiss, or whoever you think you are." A faint resistance tries to make itself known. I am Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, it whispers then fades. Yohji shakily stands, looking worn and exhausted, and goes to his small bathroom to wash off blood from his mouth. Should I stay? Yohji's asking a black or white question. I look for the lurking presence of the sea and find it rolling in towards the edge of the bed. Unnerved, I climb into his disheveled bed, settle under the soft sheets and heavy quilt. He's in the bathroom so I have a moment to choose; staying is still a grey area. But grey is a shade awaiting death if it cannot choose a side. Better here than to risk a trip back to my room, where something is out there waiting to swallow me up. I will stay. His bed smells good, like Yohji, and a rapid flash of images explodes in my brain, too fast to catch but leaving me with a sense of security. Nevertheless, I startle when he slides under the sheets. My spine goes rigid but Yohji ignores that and pulls me close. "Thank you," he mumbles into my hair. I push at his chest, panicking, but if I back up too far, I'll tumble off the bed and sink below the surface of the black sea. "S'okay, Aya. Just you and me. Nothing bad will happen to us now." I hug my ribs tightly, trying to protect whoever I am now (not Fujimiya Ran? not leader of Weiss?). He wraps his arms around me and we lay in the middle of his rumpled bed, in the middle of his cluttered room, in the middle of this hauntingly confusing night. Several times I awake, bewildered and terrified and mind-numbingly blank. Each time Yohji tightens his embrace, whispers comforting words, and cradles my head to his chest. I fall back asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart. I am…, I am…, I am… "Aya?" I struggle to wake. Dawn approaches and with it will come the grueling task of maintaining my balance between Weiss and Schwarz. Of not slipping into the black sea that surrounds me. "Close your eyes," Yohji whispers, turning me so my back fits against his chest, his legs curving under mine. I am safe. "Ken brings her flowers every day. She's not been alone." His response puzzles me, yet it gives me such a sense of peace that Weiss, Schwarz and the agony of not knowing fall away, leaving me only with Yohji. I wake again as the becomes day, weak light showing around the edges of the curtains. Yohji's body is warm and solid, still wrapped around me. Strange, the black sea seems distant this morning, though I see it there on the horizon. "Yohji?" I whisper hoarsely. "Yohji?" He stirs but doesn't wake. The black water takes advantage of the moment to seep a little closer. "Yohji!" I curse myself for sounding so frightened, but I am. I am not Fujimiya Ran any more, but I don't know who I am. Yohji does and I need him to tell me again. "Sshhh, Aya, hush," comes the sleepy voice near my ear. "I'm right here and so are you. We're safe." I want to believe him, I do, but he can't see the black water as I can. Chaotic thoughts whirl through my mind. I twist around in his arms. Suddenly I need Yohji's touch more than I need to breathe. I try to get closer to him, away from the watery oblivion that is always so close. Yohji gives a soft grunt of surprise, comes awake and fixes his eyes on mine. An image of a time so warm, so comforting, so reassuring flashes like lightning above the black sea that haunts me. All my senses engage: the scent, the sight, the sound of Yohji in this bed, this room. My hand glides along his sturdy form and I lean in to taste his lips. "Aya?" Hesitantly, as though he were trying not to startle a wild animal. "Yohji," I begin, but stop, uncertain about what to ask for. Help me? Save me? Bring me home? I reach up for Yohji's mouth. As though I were a drowning man, his lips part to give me resuscitation. He groans and rolls onto his back, pulling me atop of him. Our limbs tangle and, like it is second nature to me, I push Yohji's legs apart with my knee and settle there between them. "Aya? Is it you now, are you back?" I don't know for sure and won't take the time to find out. I need Yohji in some way that is slowly becoming clearer, as if a mist is lifting. Our kisses deepen. It is Yohji who breaks contact first, pulling away with difficulty as I am holding his head, his long hair wound around my fingers. The way I used to. "Aya?" But I still don't want to answer. Sensuous kisses grow in intensity. I pull his briefs down far enough for him to kick them off, and then take off my own without breaking the kiss. I feel Yohji's body shiver, then slowly undulate under me, as though he knows what is coming. I moan softly and thrust my tongue rhythmically in and out of his mouth even as I reach down and slide our cocks together. Yohji rocks up hard against me. "Aya, please. I've waited so long for you to come back." His breath hitches as I roll my hips down onto him, just once. "Don't leave me again." I don't speak but Yohji doesn't seem offended by this, not like before. I want to touch him everywhere. I want to taste him and lick him and make him cry out my name. I want to push him down and thrust into his mouth. I want to turn him over, bend his knees and take him hard. I have done all those things and will do them again but later. For now, I don't want to lose contact with his emerald eyes. The black sea is not yet gone. Mine. Yohji is mine. I know this as he arches up under me, know this as he pants in my ear, whispering my name, know this as he spreads his legs wider for me, canting his hips up in offering. He seems to understand that this has to be a fast fuck, like our ritual after a successful mission, an affirmation that we still live, that we survive to fight another day. I need to repossess Yohji in order to find myself again. I roll down again, hard, and watch as his eyes flutter, his lips part, breath coming in short gasps. I lift up and push down again. Slowly. With every thrust I make, every panting shudder I elicit, the black tide recedes. I become stronger. I am remembering. Yohji moans continually. I hear my name, and "more" and "please." His long, lithe body is trembling in anticipation. I won't -- I can't -- make him wait. "Suck me," I command, shoving two fingers in his mouth. His lips, his tongue, his whimpers from deep in his throat threaten to undo me. He never takes his eyes off me. I ease my fingers out of his mouth and down between his legs. He lifts, denying me nothing. I am remembering. His passage is tight but welcoming. He clenches down, riding my hand with desperate need. "God, Aya, it's so good," he pants. "So good. I've missed you. I've missed this." I withdraw my fingers and position myself between his legs, pulling one up to rest in the crook of my arm. "Open yourself to me, Yohji." I have not prepared him long enough or well enough, but I know he will. Not because I command it, but because he wants me in his body as badly as I want to be there. This I know. I am remembering. At the same time, I take his cock in my hand, running up and down its velvet length, firm strokes then gentle. Yohji shudders and shakes as I press hard against his opening and gain entry. I withdraw a little and thrust back in even though I know I must be hurting him. He has little leverage to move, so my hands on his hips guide him. I fuck him slowly at first. He grabs my arms, holds my gaze, trusting completely. Fascinated, I watch his emotions flicker across his face. Mine, Yohji, that's what I remember now. You are mine. My partner, my friend, my lover, my protector. Mine. I use his eyes as a beacon to guide me safely home across a treacherous sea. I am remembering. Suddenly, I am overcome with an urgent need to be closer still to Yohji, to stay buried in his body where it's safe and warm and accepting. I release his leg so that I may lay pressing fully against him. His muscular legs wrap around my waist to hold me close. It is not a position that allows deep thrusts, but the small rocking motions, the slight in-and-out slide seems all the more intense and intimate. I gather Yohji into my arms and whisper in his ear, "I am Fujimiya Aya, lover of Yohji." He convulses and for a moment I think he has found his release, shuddering as he is. But then I realize he is sobbing and attempting to hide it from me. Not part of our ritual. Vaguely uncomfortable with this, I rise up and push into him faster and harder. Yohji moans softly and shifts slightly. I pound him furiously, pulling him hard in time to my thrusts, until he is crying out. I struggle for some control; I think I might be hurting him, but I can't stop. "Now, Yohji, come for me now," My voice is raspy. He does as I ask. The pure pleasure that streaks across his face, the rhythmic contractions of his hot, silky passage on my cock, the low, deep moans send lightning through me. With all my strength, I thrust and press and push until I am as deep in Yohji as I can be, then I come, hard and fast and long. I collapse on him and he holds me tight while our heart rates slow. Finally, reluctantly, I roll to the side, giving him some room to breathe. Warily, cautiously, I look around for the black sea. Nothing but the warm, golden light that signals the start of a new day. How could I have forgotten any of this? Weiss. Our team. Ken. Omi. Our missions. Aya-chan. The wink. The post-mission fuck. And shining throughout it all: Yohji. Yohji, who hides his love and loyalty and compassion -- and until recently his pain -- beneath an exterior of carefree nonchalance, where I, in my ignorance as Fujimiya Ran, leader of Weiss, did not look. I brush back his hair. Silvery tears trail down his cheeks, white come dries on his hard belly. I imagine each as his Weiss offering to banish my Schwarz sea. Yohji, who never gave up, who braved the dark water to rescue me, who brought me back to the light. In my world, things are Weiss or they are Schwarz. I am Fujimiya Aya.
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