Swan Song
A 'Weiss Kreuz Gluhen' vignette
Sephy

'It feels like the end of summer,
Feels like I'm letting go
This is a swan song...'
-- Swan Song, Joydrop

"Why are you here? Why did you come?"

Mamoru paused mid-tug, his shirt halfway over his mouth, the fabric warm and clingy as he turned questioning eyes towards the door, Aya leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and expression -- closed, he decided. Even for the remote Abyssinian, there was something guarded about the way he was studying Mamoru, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to trust that Mamoru had meant what he said earlier, that he was here for entirely honorable intentions.

The sad thing was he couldn't blame or fault him for that. His intentions were his own and while he would hate to have anything happen to the Weiss, he had an agenda of his own to carry out. Mistakes had been made and he would correct them by any means necessary. Maybe there was something in his blood, some twist that could never be corrected no matter how hard he tried but he knew his place now and it wasn't here, wasn't with these people. It was out there in a world he had never and always been a part of, pulling strings and sacrificing lives to see that most of Japan could sleep at night. He could buy peace and security for them, what did the cost matter? What was his soul or their blood worth in the long run anyway if not put to this use, to this cause?

He had never felt more truly like a Takatori than he did at this moment, after smiling in the face of a friend, of friends and lying to them. He was his father's son, and Nagi had been right when he'd told him that blood will tell.

But something in him, some vestige of Tsukiyono Omi, still clinging to life, demanding to be heard, rebelled against that thought, against becoming the wolf in order to guard the rest of the flock. There had to be another way, a better way than this. There--

No, he wanted to shake his head. He'd thought and thought this through, turned things over and over in his mind until it seemed to twist in on itself like a Rubex cube and he could find no other solution. This was the only choice before him, the only viable one.

'That doesn't make it the right choice.'

"I'm here to help," he shrugged, arms lifting upward, the shirt coming up and off, his hair falling in his face as it came free. He tossed the garment on the bed and turned, the cold air seeping in from the window pane behind him, making him shiver, hands coming up to rub his arms. "Why else would I be here?"

Violet eyes narrowed. "You tell me," Aya spat out the words, stalking across the room.

He knew this trick. Aya loomed, Mamoru would fidget and then get uncomfortable and spill his guts. And that might have worked when he was seventeen but now... He wanted to weep, wondering at how far they'd all come, that he was already working out in his mind the best way to handle Aya, both physically and emotionally. He was reading his former teammate the way he did those stupid politicians and businessmen he was forced to meet on a daily basis. Reading him and no longer seeing him as a person but as a tool, as something to use and pacify until the work was done.

Fucking hell.

"I came because I'm concerned, because you can't do this alone--"

"Bull shit," Aya glowered. "Between Yohji and Ken and Sena and I, I think we can handle things."

Sena. He couldn't deny that hurt, that it hit him with the force of a blow as he stood there, smiling patiently. So what if he'd been replaced. That was his intent all the time, right? To find someone who could fit in the Weiss, who could take over his place, and keep the team running smoothly. He should be glad that they had found someone they could trust so much. And he was. He was happy and he damn well was not feeling the twinge in his throat his body told him he was.

"I thought you could use my help but if you want me to go..." Mamoru replied mildly, stepping closer, invading Aya's personal space and waiting to see what the other would do. Once not so very long ago, he would have thought nothing of this, of throwing himself against the other. Once when he trusted that strong arms would hold him, cradle him in a close embrace that was meant for no other in this world.

Once, but no longer.

A gloved hand caught around his throat and he had a knife pressing to Aya's faster than either could blink. The hand tightened and his blade pressed inward, threatening the elasticity of skin. He hadn't been this close to Aya since... No, his mind shied away from those memories, from the phantom touches and words that threatened to overwhelm. From the past and the boy ensnared, beating against his bonds and struggling anew as he stared into fathomless violet blue. 'I'm not you anymore,' he snarled at that self. 'I can't be. Not and do what is required of me. I can't love. I can't care, not like you did.'

"Or maybe," Mamoru continued. "You just want to kill me. Which is it, Abyssinian?"

There was a moment and then he was released, nearly stumbling backward, Aya turning away. "I hate you," The words were without rancor and Mamoru felt a tiny shocky spark at the words. So that was it then. They had come full circle and had ended up almost back at the beginning. Two strangers again, pretending as if they'd never been comrades, as if they'd never touched or --

Something inside him broke.

"That's your choice," he said lightly.

Tsukiyono Omi would have argued, would have chased after, and wheedled and begged until he made things work by sheer force of will. Takatori Mamoru did none of that, instead feeling the slow inexorable slam of a door, the impassioned words floating over Aya's shoulder as he walked away.

"Damn you, Takatori. Damn you for killing Omi, for taking him from us. And damn you for taking him away from me."

***End

 

| return