Hitomi (Eyes)

Series: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Yohji x Aya
Warnings: LEMON, Angst, Darkness. ^_^

This is my second Weiß fic, it’s really dark, and is sort of meant as an exploration into the darker side of Weiß we don’t usually see.  It’s kind of depressing. **Sweatdrop** Not really my style, but we’ll see how it goes. ^_^  Beware of strong gore and surrealistic imagery.  Hee hee hee. ^_^

Disclaimer: The Weiß boys are owned by Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiß (not me), but I’m sure they don’t mind me borrowing them for a minute.  ^_^  I’ll put them back where I found them, I promise! ^_^

Flames, discouragement, comments, donations, gripes, suggestions, and questions all go to Skuld. ^_^

Hitomi (Eyes)

For the first time in my life, I was afraid. It's been three days since the mission, but I can't get it out of my head. It was a mission that Manx gave to us secretly, only Abyssinian and I, Balinese. She'd feared the trauma the mission would wreak on our two younger members, so she sent only us. She thought we'd be seasoned enough, she thought we could handle it. 

I remember grimly accepting the mission after she'd secretly shown us the video. I'm not one after some abstract ideal like justice, but I have to admit the criminal really struck a chord in me.  That's what Aya and I both thought, we were so eager to put an end to the torture…

It was an old abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere. Far, far away from Tokyo, or any type of civilization at all. Manx said it was his hideout, a rundown old thing that hadn't been inhabited since the early days of Japan's eager modernization after the Second World War. I wonder why nobody demolished it. I supposed nobody had bothered. It sat there among the tall spring grasses, looking rather forlorn, but menacing in it's own way. We thought we were prepared for what we would find inside, but in truth, nothing could have. Not even if I had been in Weiß for ten more years. Something like that just hits you deep down, like a harpoon from head to toe, and it never goes away after that.

Our target was a young man, nobody knew his name. Manx said he'd been at it for years, just so secretly that nobody noticed it. The police would never find them again; the children that is. They were spirited away in the night: from parties, walking out in the street, wherever he could find them alone in the darkness.

Aya and I entered the building quietly, the large wooden door at the front of the building had nearly fallen off from all the weathering, so it was no great task to unhinge it quietly and slip inside. We were wary from the first, no knowing what our target could do. The main floor of the building was abandoned, quiet, nothing stirred. Aya and I watched the evening sunlight drift in through the cracked glass windows. Shadows of former workbenches, boxes, boards, what have you, were scattered all about the floor, piled against the walls. There was nobody, only dead silence, until we heard a small sound, like a cry far off into the night, a pinpoint of light in a vastly black universe. Aya and I looked at each other for moment, not sure if it was just our imaginations deceiving us or...

To this day, I am still not sure if  I really saw what I did.

We spotted a staircase hidden behind the remnants of some tall bookcases. It had taken a bit of time to spot it, but did so after some searching. We descended carefully: I with my wire clutched in my hands, and Aya with his katana drawn. The stairs led deep below the earth, our way lighted by a single bulb burning in solitary silence before a pair of large iron double doors, slightly ajar.

As we slipped through the gap, the first thing I was greeted with was a hanging corpse. That made me jump a bit. I guess I should have expected it, even if it was a child. I quickly got over my surprise, though. I'm used to seeing hanging cadavers, after all. I use a wire. I didn't even need to look at the body a second time to tell that it had been dead for quite some time, two weeks I guessed, from the stench starting to waft from it.(description of corpse?)

Aya and I journeyed on through the morbid mausoleum, trying not to look at the child cadavers that surrounded us, some hanged, others pinned to the wall with various sharp objects; we tried to ignore the deep marooned colored stones we stepped on. We both knew what had colored them.

When we reached the innermost chamber, we found our target quietly slumbering up on his desk, a pile of severed fingers clutched in his hands. This is was disgusting, I turned to Aya and made a face. He looked back at me, always the ice cold Aya, and nodded his agreement. I looked down at our target again, disheveled blond hair, the beginnings of a beard, a bloodstained flannel shirt, and a dream-like smile about his face.

Overcome by contempt, I looped my wire about his neck, and pulled as hard as I could, the man, flying from his chair and straight onto Aya's katana. That was quick work, he'd died before he even knew what hit him, which was too much to say for his victims.

We didn't want to do this, but we had to roam around the room a bit, seeing if anybody was still alive. The chamber was large, but lit only by a single lamp, sitting quietly in the middle of the bloodstained floor. Aya and I wandered off beyond the light, to search the dark corners for possible survivors of this horrific holocaust.

She was a girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen years, I suppose. She was tortured beyond belief, I suppose the psycho had taken some kind of liking to her. Her head lay perfectly on a china platter, in a tiny pool of fresh blood. Her expressive brown eyes peered at me as I stepped closer, mesmerized by that stare. Never once did I break that gaze before I left the room.

"Aya," I whispered breathlessly, "come here."

"What is it?" he asked, in his usual cold tone, striding to my side quietly. His breath caught as he saw the head of the girl. "Aya…" he breathed.

I continued to stare at the girl's eyes, they were open wide, her eyebrows arched in an expression of terrible surprise and pain. Her mouth was slightly open, as if to utter some horrendous cry for help: for her parents, for her God, we'll never know. She was left by our target as immaculate. It was a perfect expression of the horror of life, and release that death provides. The left side of her hair was braided flawlessly, resting serenely on the plate. The other side of her hair, was arranged as a fountain of raven tresses cascading over the plate, barely touching the floor and, for a moment, I thought I saw it obscure the blood that surrounded her stump of neck in a perfectly circular pool of crimson liquid.

"Come," Aya said, finally grasping my arm and trying to drag me away, "We need to go now. I need to…"

"Yes, Aya," I replied, my eyes fixed on girl's head and her pleading expression, "I know."

Aya continued to drag me backwards by my arm, but my gaze never left her eyes, her wide, expressive, begging, praying eyes, until Aya had me through the doorway. He turned me around, and gripped me by my shoulders. I now stared into his purple irises, and found nearly the same crazed expression.

Without another thought, we both ran through the building, closing our eyes against the cadavers that were taunting us with their eyes, their own little javelins that pierced us and threatened to reel us onto the wall beside them. After what seemed like an eternity in a never-ending maze of death, we finally broke out of the warehouse, into the setting sun, thankful of the release from that hell. We didn't stop there however, we bolted all the way to our car, jumped in, and drove off.

Mission accomplished...

Aya drove us home, back to Koneko as if some demon were chasing us. I sat in the passenger's seat, my eyes fixed to the sun-tinted scarlet clouds overhead, only one image racing through our heads: Her.

He told me later that he'd actually stopped off at his sister's hospital first, to make sure she was still there. He was very relieved she was.

But I don't remember any of that. I only saw the girl, and her expression. The image, like a brand, it's been pressed over and over into my mind, and each time I see it, it changes a bit. She has more feeling in her face, and sometimes I can hear her echoing cry.

I now sit on the couch with Aya, our hands entwined, our arms around each other. But we're both thinking the same thing, we're both seeing the girl and her mockery of life. Life, how ironic it is. The very thing that humans cling to, the very thing we all want forever. She didn't wish for it any longer. She found solace in death.

We keep thinking of her, she's like a string tied onto our fingers, never letting us forget, always making us see…making us see what we are. Weiß: the paradoxical saviors, we bring death and joyous release to those who deserve it, but yet deserve it the least.

Ken and Omi are worried, they don't know what happened on the mission, we haven't told them. We will never tell anybody. Aya and I walk around all day like automatons, machines ruled only by one thought, one perfect ideal, one image we're always pursuing, one end to the rainbow.

We haven't been working up in Koneko for three days, and Ken and Omi desperately need our help. But we can't go back there, not among the girls, all calling our names with delight, like harpies leading us to our demise. They laugh and joke; their wide-eyed adoration only serves to madden us both.

We wander the days, in each others arms, for we've been lovers for a long time now, our thoughts immersed in the same reflective pool. We can't get out, we can't control what we think. We think about our lives, and how suddenly we want the release She had. We're dead inside, and everybody knows it. We're full of the blood of those we have killed, and,slowly and painfully, it's drowning us. It's a torrent of crimson threatening to wash over our heads, to sweep us away in its suffering and misery, and She is always there at the end, watching us, calling us.

I think we turn violent sometimes, we cry, scream, and plead for Her to leave us alone, to stop bothering us and let us get on with our lives. We don't want Her message.

I remember taking all the plates in our kitchen and dashing them to pieces upon the floor in a frenzy. I can't stand plates anymore, not the ones we have here. Omi's such a darling dish-washer, he always makes sure they're clean when he's done. Clean, white and perfect.

I don't know what's happening to me, it's been six days and I…we still can't get over it. I can't sleep, because She haunts me, so Aya and I sit on the couch all night, watching television. We don't even have the heart to play our video games anymore, we don't know what we want. I keep seeing Her face, Her invisible outstretched hands reaching towards the heavens as Her body sinks imminently into darkness. I see Her cry to hell, to the only place She can go for help, the only place that will relieve Her of her pain. Aya and I realize with a shock of morbidity, that we want that too. We look down at our feet and night, and see nothing. Nothing, just endless darkness.

Ken and Omi don't say anything, but I know they've invited Manx over… I think. But we can't look at her, she tries to make eye contact and speak with us, but we just look away. We can't look at her, we can't look at ourselves inside anymore. Death the girl says, is the only way out of our wretchedness, the only way out of our nightmare.

That's not what I used to believe. I would drown myself nearly every night in alcohol and women, making sure the loads of pleasure and haziness were sufficient to drown out my suffering, and the fact that I was dead inside.

"Kudou Yohji," I used to always say to myself when I was feeling particularly desolate, "you're dead inside. You've killed so many people, you're nothing but a shell full of the blood of your victims." But I'd still stoically keep going, and that's how I met Ran, not Aya, the real Fujimiya Ran. We shared the same pain, the same suffering…and eventually the same bed. We made each other feel needed and wanted, as if there was something finally worth living for, other than bringing others into hell with us.
But I don't know anymore, I don't talk, I just sit around and think all the time, about Her, about it, about the way it used to be. Sometimes even now…I just don't know what to think anymore.

She's bothering me again, I don't know why. I've already done half of what She's told me to. I've finally been able to let go. I guess She won't leave me until I've finished the job.

I sit here in the tub and stroke Aya's red hair, it has a luster to it in the bathroom light that I've never seen before. That's too bad, because I won't be able to see it for much longer. I look at the water in the bathtub, and it's nearly the color of Aya's hair. I'm tired of holding the wire about his wrists, haven't they cut deep enough yet?

I don't know how long I've sat here, beside Aya…he's finally let go too, She told him to. He's so pale…I fish his wrists out of the water, and Aya's white as a ghost, white as the tiles in the bathroom. His eyes are closed, but I know they are neither lifted to the heavens, nor down to hell, but simply staring ahead. Those violet eyes…white lips, now sealed forever. I kiss them one last time.

Suddenly I feel myself pitch forward as a wave of nausea crashes over me. Before I know it, I'm submerged in a sea of red. I can see Aya here, but most of all, I can see Her too. She's gotten her body back, the one that was taken away so painfully from her, and She comes to me with crimson-black hair and open arms, welcoming me into her eternal embrace.

~*owari*~

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