Heart of Sword
RK/WK Xover
03/30/00
[disclaimer stuff: The characters of Ruroni Kenshin and Weiss Kreuz are © and TM their rightful and respective owners. Michihiro is mine… No copyright infringement is meant under any circumstances, just a way to try and bring two of my favorite things together. Notes follow at the end of the fic]
PART I
~~~~~~~~~~~~Tomoe.. Tomoe… I'm sorry.. He was standing over her, blood shimmying down the bright edge of his katana, chest heaving with the effort of his beating heart. Tomoe…lying in her coma…no..Aya.. That's Aya.. Imouto.. I didn't kill you… not like Tomoe…
Aya held out her hands to him, hospital room replaced by something older, antique, wooden. Blood spattered lips parted on the pale face. "Ran….Don't lose yourself in the killing…. Please…." Aya jerked upright in the utter dark, violet eyes wide. There was a thrumming in his head, his own pulse like a drumbeat. (what the HELL was that?) He raked his fingers through crimson-silk hair, the strands damp against his forehead. He looked around, comforted by the familiar reality of his room.. There was the soft sound of music down the hall. Ken had left his radio on. Aya leaned back on the soft pillows. It had felt like a warning. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Ohayou, Aya-kun!" Omi's bright voice and the smell of breakfast.. some American abomination today. "Ohayou, Omi" Aya's stomach did a small lurch, and he poured himself a mug of coffee. He looked around the room, the kitchen exactly the same as it was every morning. Ken was devouring breakfast and reading the sports section. Typical. Comforting. Ken looked up, dark-green eyes as warm and open as ever. "Aya? You ok?" Aya blinked. Of course he was ok. He quirked an eyebrow. "I'm fine." "Of course he's fine." Youji made a snort as he shambled into the kitchen and reached past Aya. "sumimasen?" Youji was irritable, not uncommon in the morning. Even THAT was comforting to Aya. The fact that he was finding his teammates a relief instead of an annoyance peeved him. "……I'll see you at the shop." Aya got out tersely, and stalked out of the room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was a day like any other day at the Kitten in the House, Aya mused sourly as it unfolded. He absently stacked rolls of green tissue, already aching for the night, when they would move against that devil Takatori. His hands itched for it, when he would lose himself in the bright arc of the katana, each completed mission bringing him so much closer to salvation for his sister. ….his own seemed to slip further away each day. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The tape flickered, giving a pallid glow to the white hunters as Persia outlined the next mission. "Our main objective is information. They have spies in almost every facet of the government, of big business in this country. The information they've amassed on Takatori would be invaluable, even as is the information they're selling to him. Technological information, financial data, the Kurasu hover in the shadows of industry…." Aya startled imperceptibly as the tape showed a young man… pale as Aya himself was, with jet black hair spilling over the armani suit, and brilliant green eyes.. eyes that carried the same haunted, cold edge. Persia's voice droned in the background, but the young man who called himself Abssyinian was someplace else for a moment, looking into those green eyes in their beautiful setting, wild with madness and guilt. "……Aoshi….." the word escaped Aya's lips like a brief sigh, so soft, only Ken, who sat closest, heard. The soccer player turned dark, questioning eyes towards him for a moment, then looked away. Persia's voice snapped him back to the present. "..oldest son, Michihiro Kurasuhime. He has a reputation for being prominently on the Roppongi party scene when he's not acting as his father's primary soldier…" Aya frowned, focusing not on their target, Tetsuya Kurasuhime, head of the largest illicit information network in Japan, but in the slender young man by his side in all the pictures. The feeling of déjà vu was strong enough to choke him, the feeling that he was stepping down a road that had been walked many times before. Birman looked them over, noting wordlessly Aya's distant eyes. "The Kurasu mainframe is going to be the primary target.. Omi, I think that falls in your particular skill set." She said with a professional smile. "A secondary objective is to remove Tetsuya Kurasuhime from the scene… his oldest son may be his favored foot soldier, but Michihiro is apparently not too enamored of the family business.. and in turn not beloved by his siblings. If he inherits it, the infighting that will occur between his younger brothers to oust him will cripple the Kurasu , and in turn, damage Takatori." Aya's eyes snapped up to meet Birman's beautiful dark ones. "I want the secondary objective." He said quietly, and without much evident emotion. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure, Aya?" she sounded mildly incredulous. "A frontal assault on Kurasuhime's compound is going to be.. exceedingly difficult. Youji or Ken might be better suited to go underc.." she was stopped by a razor-edged violet glare. "I want the secondary objective." Ken blinked at him, and somewhere off to his right, Youji made a snort. "maaaa.. if he wants it that badly, I'm not going to argue it with him." Birman shrugged expansively. "well, then.. " she lobbed a file folder at Aya, who caught it absently. "Files on the Kurasu for you and Omi to review. Enjoy." ---------------------- Aya sat on his bed, the files on the Kurasu spread out before him as he sipped a mug of tea, thinking. The Kurasu, as an organization, could trace their beginnings back to the early Meiji era, if not before. He skimmed the documentation on Tetsuya and his sons perfunctorily, clicking back necessary bits of information, before unclipping the documentation on Michihiro. Aya made a snort not unlike Youji's earlier. Kritiker's information network must have been as good as the Kurasu, to achieve these sort of detailed surveillance records. Michihiro didn't look like any of his brothers, Aya noticed, spreading the pictures out on his bed. Tall and lithe where the others, including their father, were square and solid. He clicked his tounge. There was a dirty secret out in plain view, he felt. The sort of thing Youji enjoyed. He picked up one of the surveillance photos again. Michihiro's pale skin helping stand him out of the crowded club scene. It wouldn't do to approach the secondary objective through frontal means, Birman had been right about that. Aya ran his tounge over his teeth in deep thought, absently glancing up to where his katana rested in it's stand. Blood oozed from the scabbard, puddling on the nondescript carpet, staining it dark red and sticky and.. Aya rubbed his eyes and blinked. He immediately shoved aside the thought that he was going crazy. He didn't have time to be insane while Takatori and his underlings lived…. While his imouto lay locked in that neverending sleep. With a grunt, he pushed off the bed and padded to Omi's room, where the teenager was absorbed in his own mission files. Aya knocked on the frame of the open door, and Omi looked up, startled. Aya rarely sought him.. or any of the others out off duty. "Aya-kun!" He said brightly, recovering. "What can I do for you?" Aya leaned against the doorframe. "I need to do some historical research on the Kurasu." It was a lie, and he didn't even realize it was until he'd said it. "Birman's paperwork indicated it dated back to the Meiji era…" Omi only blinked once to his credit. "I never took you for a history buff, Aya-kun." He scooted off his own bed to the desk where his computer sat, connected through invisible digital phone lines to the rest of the wired universe. Aya hated computers. They struck him as cold and cut off.. and far too much like himself. Omi tapped out a few things, his finger lightly tracing the trackpad. "The University of Tokyo has a pretty significant part of it's research library online now." Omi was saying, dragging Aya's attention to the screen. "it's all searchable.. it's pretty sweet." Aya nodded. "Searchable.. could you look up a name, then?" he asked with an almost normal level of human curiosity, surprising Omi again. "…well.. sure, yeah.. who do you wanna look up?" "Someone who might be connected with the Kurasu.. the name… Aoshi… I don't have a family name.." "Aoshi?" Omi made a little face and typed it in to the University's search engine. "How old fashioned! But I guess given the timeframe..." The younger man drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently as the search plodded through the university's records. "Hey, you're in luck.." He clicked on the first link. "only a few matches." The page came up with an antique photograph of a boy.. younger than Omi, dressed formally and looking angry and uncomfortable at the camera. " Aoshi Shinomori.. only known photograph.. was listed as the head of the Edo palace guards during the bakufu.." Omi scanned down the page. "The Edo palace guards were a group known as the Oniwabanshuu.. spies…. " He looked up at Aya, who was staring intently at the image and the words that followed it. "I guess some of them stayed in business all these years, ne?" he said with a small amount of admiration. Aya was only marginally listening to Omi, eyes dissecting the image on the screen. The long hair was caught up in a high pony tail, the cheeks still carrying some of the roundness of childhood, but it was the face of Michihiro Kurasuhime staring back at him over the span of over a hundred years. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The faded, sepia image of the young leader of the Edo palace guard hung in the back of Aya's brain as he perched on rooftop, scanning the warehouse across the street. The building was artfully designed to appear abandoned if not for the throbbing pulse of bass that rumbled the walls, and the psychedelic colors leaking from the cracks in the boarded windows. Aya replaced the night vision binocs in the black duffel at his feet, the rubberized housing making no sound against the fabric-wrapped length of the katana. He pushed back an errant strand of crimson and made a small snort. A press of humanity like reeking cattle.. it gave Aya a bad taste in his mouth, but he made his way back down to street level. There was no other way to do it. A stop at his car divested him of the duffel and his usual uniform for hunting. He disliked leaving the katana behind, but there would be no way to get it into the dance club, without a scene from security… and since they weren't with Takatori, he didn't feel any compulsion to kill them. His thoughts were racing by as he put on his camouflage and costume, preparing to blend in with his prey. Aya locked the door of the car and looked at himself in the dim reflection. If it weren't for the ice-hard edge in his gaze, he might have been any pretty-boy club kid out cruising. If things had been different… He put a stop to that thought and prowled to the entrance of the club. Getting in was easier than he'd expected.. having been prepared to either bribe or beat the bouncers into submission. He had the "right look" they told him, giving him a critical eye before letting him in with his cover charge. The club was a riot of sound and light and movement, the floor trembling from the electronic drumbeat and bass that made Aya's bones resonate in time. Expressionless, focused, he cut through the crowd of young people drinking and dancing, some not content with that and trying to grope their partners in the anonymity of the swelling crowd. Aya scowled at the sea of bodies. His target was somewhere in the mass, the green eyes teasing some pretty girl as the lights painted his white skin in rainbow colors? Aya's train of thought was disrupted when some pretty little thing with bleached hair and dark rimmed eyes slid against him, inviting him onto the dance floor. Normally he would have growled at her, shot her a look that would drive the most intrepid flirt fleeing for cover. He hated having his personal space violated… and worse. Aya Fujimiya couldn't dance to save his life. He let her lead him out, deeper into the press of bodies, though. "I'm looking for someone!" he nearly shouted, close to her ear as she wriggled. "Will I do?" was the coy response. "No.. I'm looking for someone in specific.. a friend of mine.. Michihiro is his name.. tall, green eyes.." She giggled, moving to the insistent beat of the music. "Mii-kun! I should have known.. you're so pretty… like he is.." The girl gave Aya a lascivious wink, and took him by the hand. "I'm Kaori, if you…get lonely … " she purred against his ear. "I ..didn't get your name, I'm afraid." "Kenichi.. Kenichi Kuroda." The response was automatic. None of the members of Weiss would use their real names.. or as real as their names were… on a mission. He had used Kenichi before, other circumstances, and it came easily to his tongue. "Follow me, then, Ken-kun!" She led him through the crowd, a pert elfin guide in revealing gold vinyl. Behind the expressionless mask of his face, Aya's stomach felt queasy. It stunk of sweat, perfume and alcohol here. Coupled with the swirling lights, the throb of the music, it made the hunter feel almost seasick, like the room would tip off to one side at any second. "Mii-kun!!" Kaori's voice pierced the wall of sound that surrounded them, and Aya immediately saw him look. The green eyes were brilliant and sharp, and he gracefully extricated himself from the group he'd been dancing and drinking with. "Mii-kun.. Ken-kun's been looking for you!" The tall young man prowled towards them, looking far different from his surveillance photos in black leather jeans and a close-cut green t-shirt. Aya froze for a long second as Michihiro Kurasuhime looked him over, trying to gauge what his reaction would be, what his own next move would be. One raven-black eyebrow quirked on the pale face. "Ken-kun.. it's been so long…" he said lightly, giving Aya a surprising, sudden embrace, his cheek ghosting against the hunter's. "It's so good to see you." The amused purr next to Aya's ear gave him the shivers. He shooed Kaori off and the girl left with a pout. Michihiro turned to the dance floor, a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes half-shaded behind silken black bangs. Unlike Kaori, he didn't take Aya's hand, didn't offer his own, but the invitation was clear. Aya followed him, his target acquired, nothing would stop him from completion of an assignment. Although, it was odd, because his assignment was no longer clear here in this throbbing bright/dark world. The music changed, slowing, and Michihiro moved closer to him, compressing the world into a few square feet anchored by his intense, assessing gaze. Put your head on my shoulder, baby//Things can't get any worse Night is getting colder//Sometimes life feels like it's a curse I can't carry these sins on my back//Don't wanna carry any more I'm gonna carry this train off the tracks//Gonna swim to the ocean floor//Crash to the other shore. Aya felt like he couldn't move, his peripheral vision surging with the serpentine movement of the surrounding dancers. "What am I doing here?" he half whispered into Michiro's ear, the silver ring there cool against his cheek. "Maybe you're looking for something, Ken-kun?" The response was more of a vibration against Aya's chest. "…and maybe it's not here…" He backed away, and gave the assassin something that was barely a smile, before turning away and moving like a shadow through the crowd. Aya snapped himself out, with a small curse. Maybe he should have let Ken or Youji take this one. No. He shook his head, and pushed after him, seeing Michihro pulling on his coat and heading towards the door. It seemed to take forever to get to the street. (I lost him.. k'so… now I have to find another angle of approach and…) his train of thought stopped as he looked up the sidewalk to the slim figure in a long dark coat. He stood there, seemingly appraising Aya, hands resting in his pockets. Waiting. "I've been waiting for you, Hitokiri Battousai" Aoshi… Michihiro turned on his heel and Aya jogged after him. How much did the Kurasu heir realize? Was this all an elaborate trap? His heart was pounding as he cautiously rounded the corner Michihiro just had, poised for any number of consequences. An alley. A dead end. Aya's hand twitched for the hilt of his katana, locked safely away in the trunk of his car. Violet eyes narrowed, scanning for the threat that would come. It had to be a tr… "Up here." Michihiro's soft, even voice carried through the alleyway, drawing Aya's gaze upwards to it's source. Clouds were rolling in behind him, crouched on the edge of the rooftop above Aya's head. "Why are you following me?" There was no anger or fear, his tone was as conversational as if he'd asked Aya the time. The rising breeze rippled the black trenchcoat around him, and feathered out the long raven hair. Aya frowned up at him. "I want to get to know you." He said simply. The other lifted his chin with a faint smirk. "Then come up here. I won't speak to anyone beneath me." He unfolded in a single clean movement and vanished from the edge of the roof, the wind briefly unfurling the coat around him, silken black wings. It wasn't difficult for Aya to get to the rooftop, but when he did, the sky was ominous above him, leaden and close, looming over the asphalt roof with it's wan garden of weatherbeaten aluminum ventilation stacks and the lonely brick cottage of the access stairwell in the center. "So. Are we going to have to fight?" Michihiro's voice behind him was mild. Aya turned to see him leaning against one of the stacks, a pale and dark shadow against the dull metal. The question surprised Aya. Were they? No. No, they weren't. He needed this young man to get to his father, in turn cut another head from Takatori's hydra. Aoshi was waiting for him in a library full of madness and guilt, demanding a challenge. Demanding release…. "I don't want to fight you." The wind teased Aya's hair like an expectant lover as Michihiro pushed away from his perch and prowled close the distance between them. "Do you belong to one of my father's competitors?" The question was in those unnervingly direct jade eyes. Aya's hand twitched again, the leaden sky making the open rooftop claustrophobic. "No… I've wanted to meet you ever since I saw you." Truth, nothing less, in his lie. Aya didn't have Youji's ability to feign sincerity, or Ken or Omi's rampant earnestness. "I feel like we've met before. I'm.." Michihro was in front him now "Ken-kun.." the long fingers gloved in black leather stilled Aya's lips. "No. I don't want to know who you are. I'm tired of knowing things like that." The sweet scent of the leather was strong in Aya's nose, even as the fingers were replaced by Michihiro's mouth, lips at once firm and yielding. Aya stiffened at the sudden imposition, hand fisting in the soft fabric of the coat to push him away, get him out of his space. That compulsion dissolved in the next second and he used it instead to turn them, to press Michihiro against the rough brick of the roof's access stairwell. A soft moan trembled through one of them. Aya couldn't be certain it wasn't him, even as the thunder rumbled through the heavy clouds weighing on them from above. Michihiro's mouth tasted of cigarettes and alcohol and something else, fleeting and elusive, that drove Aya with an irrational need to devour it in search of more. "you've lost your pride…." He slid the coat down Michihiro's shoulders, pinning his arms at his side as Aya sought out a sensitive spot nestled behind his ear in the fine black hair. The word slipped out him as a sigh. "..Aoshi.." The response was a soft moan. "Ken…" There was a pleading quality to it. He was running away from everything…. Aya found that same ephemeral taste on the side of Michihiro's throat, sharp teeth raising tender red places on the white flesh, a creak of leather and sinuous movement as the slender body ground against him. Aya's own body returned the action with involuntary grace, pressing painfully close against the form beneath him. There was a soft, sharp cry from Michihiro and Aya relented enough to see the green eyes darkening like the sky had. He let his grip on the coat loosen, the soft black fabric sliding to the rooftop. Warm, fat droplets of rain began hit against his back as they slid down the brick wall. In the distance were the sounds of traffic, humanity bustling to get out of the coming downpour. The only thing Aya could hear was the soft rasp of cotton on brick, the harsher rhythm of his own breathing, the staccato of rain on the narrow overhang before it plastered against his hair. "You need to lighten up, big brother, else you'll never have any luck with the women!" Aya teased him, but the angry red slash against her white skin from the masonry falling all around them in a painful gale… Aya's scarlet hair brushed against the pale skin covering the planes of Michihiro's chest, the close green fabric of his shirt discarded. The rain came down in curtains along the overhang, spattering crystal beading across Michihiro's skin. They carried his elusive taste as Aya bent his head to sample them trickling through the finely defined muscles. Thunder growled through the dirty clouds, drowning out Michihiro's strangled gasps. His body arched catlike against Aya and pale fingers tangled painfully his dampening cardinal hair. There was no conversation between them, and even the ghosts that had been haunting Aya throughout the day retreated in the warmth between their bodies. The rain was beating down harder on the overhang, the insistent sound bringing Aya back to himself for a moment, looking down at Michihiro. Aya could feel his own sudden discomfort creep into his expression, seeing the raven hair spread out behind Michihiro like a black corona, and the green eyes that held a moment of amusement. One hand, still in its black glove, stroked the wet hair back from Aya's cheek. "…don't worry.. it's easy.." he murmured. Aya's violet eyes slid closed at the touch, letting himself be carried back out on the tide surging inside of him. Black and red and white, tangled strands of color blurred in Aya's vision, frozen moments caught in the lightning that strobed in the distance. He buried his face Michihiro's rain-soaked hair, losing himself in the scent of it, even as the lean white body pressed back against the length of his own. For a moment, Aya forgot how to even breathe as he filled the beautiful, raven-haired boy beneath him with himself. Time had taken on a peculiar suspended quality, it's passing marked only by the pounding of Aya's pulse in his ears, Michihiro's soft, rhythmic moans, and the incessant tapping of the rain. The sensation of acute need, of the promise of bliss obscured everything else. "I promised I would bring you home" There was a sharp cry beneath him, filled with a sweet pain, as Michihiro stiffened, a tremor shaking him, trembling through him to Aya. His fingers dug into the Kurasu's broad, pale shoulders, at the moment aware of nothing else but the blinding release that wracked him. Panting, Aya sagged on top of Michihiro, suddenly aware of the cold night air and the silence as the rain passed. There was the soft drip of water as Aya pushed himself up with a shiver, leaning against the brick. It was harsh against his back, a reminder of what he'd just done. The hunter frowned. He expected to feel worse about it, even as Michihiro arched back, curling into the space between Aya's knees, dragging the soft, dampened coat with him like a blanket. Aya slid his arms around the other's shoulders, noting idly how pale skin blended with pale skin. "Ken…." The soft question thrummed against Aya's chest. "…do you love me?" Michihiro looked over his shoulder, jade green and twilight purple locked in a silent discussion. Aya ran his cheek against the wet black silk. "no.. No, I don't." he felt almost apologetic for saying it. He would've added more, but a short laugh cut him off. "Good." He closed his eyes, leaning back into the circle of Aya's arms. "…..can I.. give you a lift home?" Aya finally said again after what seemed an eternity of listening to the drip of water and the even breathing against his chest. With clearer eyes than before, he could see the puckered, starlike scars of bullet wounds, the more graceful lines of blade cuts, scattered on Michihiro's white skin. (..his father's favored foot soldier…….) Aoshi carried the scars of Edo on his body.. but some ran as deep as his soul. He was speaking to him in the dust of the past. "…you want to drive me home? How gallant." The incongruous reply, with it's cool amusement, shook Aya for a moment. "I accept." They dressed in awkward silence, Aya not wanting to look at him. Something nagged at him, even as he plucked distastefully at the wet clothing. (who are you really?) The Kurasu heir was self-possessed as a cat, grooming back his long, dark hair. The drive out of the city was as silent as the rooftop had become, so Michihiro's soft voice startled Aya like a thunderclap when he said, simply, "Here." The western style mansion, with it's sprawling architecture and massive gates was almost a cliché.. Aya had seen it any number of movies. Out of habit, he started looking for the security devices at the enterance. "Kenichi-kun.. what're you doing Saturday?" Michihiro's hand closed over Aya's on the gearshift. "…Nothing I was aware of.." he answered, trying to fathom out what was going on between the impenetrable green eyes. Michihiro laughed softly. "My father's having a little birthday party for me.. it's going to be a lot of old men and business acquaintances of his… He doesn't like …. My friends." He lingered on that last word and it sent a tremor, not at all unpleasant, down Aya's spine. "What time?" "It'll drag on all day.. just dress… nice.." he let himself out of the car with a graceful, feline motion. "I'll see you then, Kenichi-kun.." He looked over his shoulder, and Aya caught the faintest motion in the darkness of the overhanging trees. "hmph."The Kurasu turned on his heel, then Aya seemingly forgotten, and vanished into the shadows of the long driveway with a careless stride. Aya watched him, until he couldn't even see an echo of black clothing and raven hair in the evening gloom.