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Mar. 8th, 2008 | 05:55 pm
Title: The Confrontation
Warnings: Language, implied shounen-ai, un-beta’ed (self-editted)
Category: One Shot
Characters: Aya(Ran), Yohji
Disclaimers: Weiss Kreuz is owned by its creator Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss and others I may have failed to mention. Point is: not mine in the least; I’ve just borrowed characters for a non-profit work!
Standing in the hallway as I waited for the bathroom, and my chance to wash the blood and grime off from the mission, I let my body lean back against the wall. Eyes close and my mind begins to wander. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours I drifted, all I know is that the next thing I am aware of is something akin to a very rude awakening call:
Someone spitting my name.
Kudou Yohji stands but mere inches from me, the darkest scowl that I’ve perhaps ever noticed upon his features. He’s mad. No, he’s pissed. And he’s looming…over me. Cornering me. Questioning his motive doesn’t even occur to me. Just the simple fact that such contempt is being leveled at my being, and done so in my own personal space, by someone who definitely was not permitted to do anything of the sort, sets me on edge. He’s pushing it, and I feel anger start to burn in my chest, my eyes narrowing.
“Back off Kudou,” is the sibilant growl that escapes thin lips. He’d be wise to heed me. But then again, whoever knew the blonde idiot to be wise.
“Shut it, asshole. I’ll fucking talk and you’ll fucking listen, understand almighty leader?” His tone is not much more pleasant than mine, but he seems not to have mastered the impeccable control over volume that I have. His voice tends to rise in decibels when angry. It doesn’t intimidate me. It speaks of immaturity. And makes me grossly irritated.
My eyes narrow the slightest bit more as I square my shoulders and raise my chin slightly. I am not at all in the mood for practicing the patience and self-discipline it takes to talk to this man. I don’t succumb to orders, I give them. And I expect them to be followed. Kudou knows this, so it appears he’s taken a momentary lapse from thinking or else his nightly drunken escapades have erased the brain cells that held those facts in place. I scoff. So be it if he must be re-taught to never, ever, threaten me.
My body tightens in preparation. If he won’t back off, I’ll make him. A full out brawl would be taking it too far, this I know, but a few “love-taps” wouldn’t be crossing the line. My hands ball into fists by my side, and with lightning speed I jamb the right one up into his stomach.
Or I thought I had. He felt it coming, those damn highly trained reflexes pulling him back into safety before the blow hit. His scowl darkens even more, and his tan face transforms into something like a wild animal about to foam at the mouth in a psychotic fervor to rip its target to shreds. His eyes are gleaming and his blonde hair is wild about his face. It shocks me for a moment, how such a good looking man could become so ugly with fury. And so quickly.
That moment of shock was all he needed.
He charges and slams my head slightly into the wall, enough to daze me. In the seconds it takes for me to regain my focus and equilibrium, he’s stepped on both my feet to pin them and slammed my wrists above my head in a one-handed grip. Goddamn his speed and strength. And while I’m at it, goddamn his fucking height that lets him look down at me while trapped like this. It’s a bruise to the pride having to glare up, even the tiniest bit. But I won’t show it, I’d rather be gutted with my own sword than show weakness to this man.
I don’t struggle, not yet. Let him think he’s won, accomplished something, before I throw him on his ass and then continue to kick it into the ground. But I will warn him.
“Kudou,” I hiss, “let go n-“
He slams his free hand to the wall beside my head; I feel the impact sting my left ear, making me flinch slightly at the unexpected movement.
“No! You don’t talk, you listen!” For good measure his grip on my wrists tightens briefly, displaying how training with the wire for so many years has strengthened his hands and forearms. He’s formidable. I will admit it, though only to myself. When focused, Kudou the laid-back ladies-killer is something to be reckoned with. And his show has managed to thoroughly stifle my words for the moment.
However, his true aim, which I can easily read in every line of his body and the glow in his eyes, is unreachable. He wants to cow me, to intimidate into submission, and I won’t allow such a thing, ever.
I think of thrashing, for this situation is simply unbearable. If I had known I’d be prostrated like this, I would have simply gone to bed with the smell of death on me to accompany the memories. He sees the thought. I have no idea how he reads me so well, maybe from our months of working and killing together, but he sees the plan of action as quickly as I formulate it.
He pushes himself full up against me brutally, grinding his knees into my thighs and laying one forearm harshly against previously held wrists while the once free arm pushes relentlessly upon the biceps stretched above my head. His chest, his weight, keeps me from bucking my middle, and his feet never once lift from mine.
My anger at once turns into fury. No one, and I mean NO ONE, touches me arbitrarily, much less traps me in such an invasive manner. I glare ice and daggers, and I’m sure my face begins to mimic the one before me with just as much intensity. Not that we can see each others’ visages, as we’re nearly cross-eyed with being nose to nose. But what I can clearly see are his green eyes, eyes that are screaming at me. They speak volumes of wanting to strangle and destroy. But I can tell…there’s a bit of fear. I almost gloat in pride at provoking such an emotion in a comrade, until I come to my senses with the bitter fact that Yohji is not, and never has been, afraid of me. It's often caused me to question his sanity, but in the end it has ultimately won him my grudging respect. Right now though, hatred flares red and deep at his dismissal of my retaliation.
Fucking bastard, I want to spit in his face. Everything is tense, the air, our bodies, our breathing, our thoughts, our faces. We just stand and stare our anger at each other, muscles tightening with every second. It’s nearly unbearable until Yohji finally breaks the spell.
Leaning forward, he tilts his head to the side so as to speak directly into my ear. Perhaps his thinking is that the more direct a path his words take to my brain, the less likely I will be able to ignore them. I would scoff once more if my mouth wasn't so set on a snarl.
“Never, and I mean never, abandon a teammate in need again. We do not go to a mission to die, we go to survive and to let the deserving live,” He hisses the discourse, hot breath playing off my cheek and skin, “We only have each other. And once that’s gone…there are no second chances in this line of work, Aya. We aren’t invincible. So don’t be so fucking arrogant to use us as pawns to reach your own fucking end! And an end is what you seem to be seeking, you bastard!” his voice had gotten rougher with that last sentence
More menacing and full of stifled fury he continued his litany, “So help me god, if I ever see you flee the side of an unconscious and bleeding member of Weiss again like you did tonight, I will hang you from the nearest rafter and watch you suffer as the life is choked out of you. Comrades are NEVER hindrances or burdens. We’re people, living, breathing people who trust and depend on you, you cold son of a bitch! I just…”
Yohji’s voice speaks of frustration as he growls, “Goddammit Aya!” He smacks his hand once again beside my head, this time startling me into a jump. His breathing is ragged in my ear, and I can almost imagine his face tight with eyes squinted closed as he struggles for composure. The familiarity of the sound freezes me into place, my features falling slack and then falsely calm as images pass quickly through my mind. But this breathing isn't the same, it doesn't have the tinge of breathlessness it should. It doesn't speak of anything but frustration and hurt.
His hand slides from the wall into the crimson strands of my hair and I come back to myself as I feel them gripped at the root. Wincing a bit at the pain, my head is slowly pulled back so that I’m forced to look up into simmering jade eyes. I hadn’t known I’d looked down during his words.
Yohji just looks weary now, earnest and knowing himself a fool for it, as he searches my face for something, what I don’t know. He finally re-meets my gaze, “If only you’d just listen for once, this wouldn’t have to be so hard," entreating? or lamenting. The fingers in my hair slowly loosen their hold and drift softly down the curves of my face, a ghostly caress against my cheekbone making me shiver slightly. “Just, my god Aya, this wouldn’t have to be so hard,” a pained whisper is all that's left of that teasing voice.
Yohji’s eyes track the movement of his fingers as they slip from skin to fall back to his side. He doesn’t look back up. Frozen in place for a moment before me, he's lost in thought, and after a time just turns wearily away.
Gradually and with shock I notice that he’d released me quite a while ago and simply stood in front of me. When did he do that? And how hadn’t I noticed?
It’s dangerous, this thing, this distraction.
I watch him walk away to his bedroom down the hall, lowering my arms completely and standing back up straight. Without turning back once, Yohji in his slack pajama bottoms and white t-shirt enters the darkness of his room and closes the door softly behind him.
Lifting my hand to where Yohji’s had been just moments ago, and so many times before, my eyes glaze as I sift through words I hadn’t been aware of actually listening to.
Yohji didn’t like my mission conduct. Yohji didn’t like how I was becoming reckless. Yohji didn’t like my increasing indifference, or more like my lack of feeling all together. And as he said these things, Yohji had been angry, frustrated, and...afraid. He had not been afraid of me, as I had previously established, so what? Afraid for me? For himself? For the others caught in the crossfire? Afraid of the next loss...
Silently I glance at the bathroom that I had suffered more than enough in a night to gain access to. Feeling listless and a bit apathetic, I sink back into my post-mission depression with new ammo to fuel the nightmares. I couldn’t care less about getting clean any longer. In actuality, no amount of soap and water could ever make me clean. With a sigh, I head back to my room wishing I had never left it to begin with.