FIC: The Other Side of the Coin (PG) for riisha
Author: midnitemaraud_r
Recipient: riisha
Title: The Other Side of the Coin
Rating: PG
Characters: Mamoru/(Omi), Yohji, Ken, Aya, Knight.
Summary: Takatori Mamoru is nothing like Tsukiyono Omi. Except when he is.
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~2150
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt: Yohji+Mamoru, "I check on you every day, but you don't remember me." Set post-Gluhen, but events in this story occur prior to the infamous mailbox-hugging final scene in Episode 13. Thanks to inksheddings for the beta. Happy New Year!
"Right here will be fine," he says to the driver as the car slows to a stop beside the busy shopping district. "No need to wait. I'll phone when I wish to leave," he adds rather unnecessarily, considering this has become a recurring routine.
He straightens his tie, buttons his overcoat, and grabs his leather satchel from the seat beside him, exiting the car without another word. Last Sunday it was Sunshine City, today it's the Imperial Hotel Arcade. He idly wonders what his driver thinks, considering he's never carrying any parcels when the driver picks him up after these weekend excursions. Not that it matters; he isn't being paid for his thoughts.
Takatori Mamoru enters the building through the front doors, and fifteen minutes later, Tsukiyono Omi exits through a smaller side entrance, clad in casual clothes, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. He hails a taxi and steps inside, giving the driver an address in the suburbs.
He sits back and watches the traffic through the window, as if expecting it to look different from the back seat of a taxi as opposed to the back seat of a private limousine. It doesn't, and despite the change of clothes, he is no different either. Not really.
He'd tried to eradicate Tsukiyono Omi. The path he'd chosen had demanded that death. And in a way, Omi had indeed died that day, though Mamoru's fingers sometimes still clench unconsciously, as though closing around the smooth, metallic weight of a crossbow.
But he knows that if Omi was truly dead inside of him, he wouldn't need to do this; wouldn't feel this compulsion that draws him from his safe haven and propels him into a present marred by a past he cannot change. Ironically, when he asks himself, late at night in the darkness and seclusion of his bedroom, if he would indeed change the past did he have the power to do so, he has no answer. He can only concern himself with the future.
The taxi pulls up in front of a twenty-four hour convenience store, and he tosses a few yen notes to the driver before exiting. He steps out onto the sidewalk and takes a deep breath, turns and slowly walks the three blocks to his destination in the brisk November wind, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat.
*
"You ever sleep, Bishounen?"
Omi started in surprise, his fingers freezing on the keyboard of his computer as he jerked his head around to look over his shoulder.
Yohji lit a cigarette and took a lazy drag, sat down on the couch and put his feet up.
"Apparently you don't either," Omi said, quickly saving the data he was collecting, and switching to a blank screen without taking his eyes off Yohji.
Yohji shot him an amused look. "Some of us are all grown up and don't have to go to school in the morning."
Omi scowled. It wasn't that he hated being young, he merely hated being reminded of it, particularly by a lazy, patronizing pain in the ass. "I'm fine, thanks."
Yohji wasn't a bad guy. Omi rather liked him most of the time. Except he had a habit of teasing Omi just a bit too much, and it made him feel like Yohji didn't take him seriously, which wasn't exactly advantageous when he was technically this team's leader.
"Whatcha looking for? You seemed pretty intent. We haven't had a mission lately, so it wasn't a report, and hacking into Kritiker files certainly isn't for homework."
Omi sighed and shook his head, turning back to his computer and calling up the data screen he'd been searching. He heard Yohji stirring behind him, and moments later felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.
"Who's the redhead?"
"Fujiyama Ran," Omi said. "Apparently he'll be joining our unit."
"Hmph," Yohji said, and took another drag of his cigarette, turning his head to exhale away from Omi's face. "Looks a bit pissy, don't you think?"
Omi raised his eyebrows. "Well, he doesn't look like you at any rate."
Yohji laughed and clapped his hand on Omi's shoulder. "Pretty sparse for a background file."
Omi narrowed his eyes and bit his lip, fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard. "Yeah. Nothing about his history except for his work in Crashers unit. No biographical info beyond his birth date and blood type. Strange, really. It seems to have been tampered with. Your file was-." He ducked his head and blushed.
"Good reading?" Yohji asked, the hand on Omi's shoulder tightening just a fraction.
Omi shrugged, trying to hide his own tenseness. "I was curious."
"You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?"
Omi sighed. "Are you going to tell me you were the first incurious private investigator?" When Yohji laughed quietly at that, he asked, "Are you mad?"
"Nah," Yohji said, shrugging and ruffling Omi's hair. He walked over to the coffee table and stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Just prefer to be the hunter rather than the hunted."
"I'm sorry about your brother," Omi said softly. According to his file, Yohji's brother had disappeared when Yohji was six. Whether it was a kidnapping or murder was unknown. He was never found.
"Nothing to be sorry for," Yohji replied, shrugging and lighting another cigarette. "It was a long time ago. I don't really remember him anyway. No big deal."
"I never had a brother. Or a sister." He'd tried looking up his own files, but none existed; at least not in any computer database that he could access. He had no memory of his own childhood. Perhaps it was better that way.
"No wonder you're such a brat," Yohji said after a long pause. "You shouldn't ask too many questions. Our job isn't to ask questions, anyway. Besides, whoever this Fujiyama Ran is, it doesn't matter as long as he's competent. Well, I suppose it'll help if he isn't an asshole either, but beggars can't be choosers," he added, flopping back down on the couch, his arms spread across the top, head back as he blew smoke into the air.
Omi looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "And if he is?"
"I didn't come here to make friends, did I?"
"No, I suppose not. Still…"
"Take my advice, Bishounen. There's no room for friends or even family in this business. Emotional entanglements will only lead to ruin. Unless there's a pretty lady involved, of course."
*
He stops beside a large dogwood tree, a few brown leaves still stubbornly clinging to its branches. Perhaps he is like those leaves, unwilling to let go even in death. He sighs and turns to face the small house across the street. The curtains are pulled back and he can see into the living room. A lamp glows dimly, and he leans against the tree, his eyes fixed on the window.
*
It had been a beautiful spring day, the grass swaying the light breeze as they stood looking out over the lush green valley.
"It's so peaceful," Omi said.
"Yeah."
"I wish this day would last forever."
"Yeah," Yohji said. "Well…it won't last for long. When the sun sets, the reality of the mission will catch up to us. We can't escape it. Until the end, until we die, we're forever-"
"Oi," Ken interrupted, giving Yohji a look.
"Sorry," Yohji said, and knelt down in the grass, fingering the stem of a wildflower growing there. "Yeah, it would be nice if it lasted."
"That's right!" Omi said, watching him. "Flowers."
Ken furrowed his eyebrows. "Huh?"
"We could travel and sell flowers again. We have the van. Follow the wind wherever it takes us-to places we've never seen, people we've never met. And when the weather's nice, like today, we could close up, and-"
"We'd definitely have to replace the stereo. How could anyone be expected to enjoy the ride with that piece of shit?" Yohji said.
Ken grinned. "I could always sing for you instead."
Yohji snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks, but no."
Ken laughed, and Omi smiled. It really was a perfect moment, the four of them together here. It was as though they had stepped outside time; four friends planning a journey together, joking and laughing together. So normal. He wanted to remember it for as long as he could.
"Hey, Aya-kun. You'll come, too, won't you?" He looked at Aya, his short red hair blowing in the breeze, standing with his hands in his pockets. "Let's go together, Aya-kun."
Aya didn't reply, and Omi looked down at his feet. They stood on that hillside for a long time without speaking, and eventually turned and made their way back to the van. It was a nice dream of a life they could never have.
*
Omi was naïve. A dreamer and an optimist, brimming with emotion. He believed in people's kindness, believed in the loyalty of teamwork and the dependability of friends. He believed in justice.
Mamoru shakes his head because he knows there is no justice in this world, and there is no room for sentimentality. Emotions made you weak, vulnerable, and people were only kind until they stabbed you in the back. Or forgot you even existed.
Yohji appears suddenly at the window, staring out at nothing, his expression empty. If he sees Mamoru staring back at him, hidden in the shadows beside the tree, he gives no sign. Yohji looks over his shoulder briefly, turns back, and closes the sheer curtains, his silhouette fading as he retreats from the window.
Mamoru stands there for another hour, but the house remains silent and unmoving. He turns and walks slowly back up the street, blinking away the tears that brim in his eyes. It's a cold day, after all.
A car engine catches and its window rolls down as he passes.
"You're becoming too predictable," Knight says, and Mamoru finds he is unsurprised by his presence. "This kind of behavior will only get you killed."
"Would that please you?"
Knight snorts and unlocks the car doors. Mamoru hesitates for a brief second before climbing in the passenger side.
Knight rolls up his window and eyes him warily. "When's the last time you sat in the front seat of a car?"
"I'm in disguise," Mamoru says, and Knight barks out a mirthless laugh.
"You surprise me sometimes," Knight says. "Aren't we were all expendable to you? Easily replaced, you said."
"Did you have a point? If you have all of this free time, I'm sure I could find something to keep you occupied."
"You paid for his medical expenses and even got him a job. Good to know there's a pension plan in my future if I'm lucky enough to live that long. And here I thought you were a completely heartless bastard."
"I am," Mamoru says. "What I'm not is cheap."
"Touché." Knight grunts and puts the car in gear, angling away from the curb. "Maybe he doesn't want to remember."
Mamoru fastens his seatbelt and doesn't reply.
"He's not your pawn anymore," Knight says, his tone bitter. "Or is it more that you don't like to lose things that you think are yours?"
"Watch your mouth, Honjou Yushi."
Knight scowls. "To know what is right and not do it is the worst cowardice."
Mamoru turns his head and gazes out the window, his lips quirking into a wry smile. Confucius was an idealistic fool who knew nothing of the true darkness in this world, but sometimes he had a point.
"Knowledge without wisdom is a load of books on the back of an ass," he replies dryly
"Enlighten me then," Knight says, his knuckles white against the stark black of the steering wheel.
Mamoru says nothing. He can't fault Knight for his emotions. He is a passionate man, and a man of action. And loyal to a fault. Mamoru was like that once.
They ride the rest of the way in silence, and Knight pulls up across from the Imperial Hotel, a look of disgust on his face. Who was the predictable one now?
He unbuckles his seatbelt and pauses, his hand on the door handle. "Don't ever think that you know me," Mamoru says. "You know nothing. And don't forget who I am," he adds, stepping to the curb.
Who am I? he thinks, hand still on the open door. He shoulders his bag and turns to go, then stops. Who am I, really?
"New York City," Mamoru says, and slams the car door. Knight peels away from the curb and Mamoru watches the taillights disappear in the busy downtown traffic.
He doesn't know whether or not Knight will find him. Aya doesn't want to be found. But he has faith. After all, even though he despises it, Knight is still one of his.
~*~
End Notes: The flashback scene in the meadow is taken directly from episode 13 of Weiss Kreuz Gluhen, with a bit of improvisation on my part. The "Knowledge without wisdom" quote is an old, unattributed Japanese proverb. "To Know What is Right…" is from Confucius.
There's no canon about Yohji's family (Canon?! What Canon?!) so I gave him a brother who disappeared when Yohji was a child, and was never found.
Recipient: riisha
Title: The Other Side of the Coin
Rating: PG
Characters: Mamoru/(Omi), Yohji, Ken, Aya, Knight.
Summary: Takatori Mamoru is nothing like Tsukiyono Omi. Except when he is.
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~2150
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt: Yohji+Mamoru, "I check on you every day, but you don't remember me." Set post-Gluhen, but events in this story occur prior to the infamous mailbox-hugging final scene in Episode 13. Thanks to inksheddings for the beta. Happy New Year!
"Right here will be fine," he says to the driver as the car slows to a stop beside the busy shopping district. "No need to wait. I'll phone when I wish to leave," he adds rather unnecessarily, considering this has become a recurring routine.
He straightens his tie, buttons his overcoat, and grabs his leather satchel from the seat beside him, exiting the car without another word. Last Sunday it was Sunshine City, today it's the Imperial Hotel Arcade. He idly wonders what his driver thinks, considering he's never carrying any parcels when the driver picks him up after these weekend excursions. Not that it matters; he isn't being paid for his thoughts.
Takatori Mamoru enters the building through the front doors, and fifteen minutes later, Tsukiyono Omi exits through a smaller side entrance, clad in casual clothes, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. He hails a taxi and steps inside, giving the driver an address in the suburbs.
He sits back and watches the traffic through the window, as if expecting it to look different from the back seat of a taxi as opposed to the back seat of a private limousine. It doesn't, and despite the change of clothes, he is no different either. Not really.
He'd tried to eradicate Tsukiyono Omi. The path he'd chosen had demanded that death. And in a way, Omi had indeed died that day, though Mamoru's fingers sometimes still clench unconsciously, as though closing around the smooth, metallic weight of a crossbow.
But he knows that if Omi was truly dead inside of him, he wouldn't need to do this; wouldn't feel this compulsion that draws him from his safe haven and propels him into a present marred by a past he cannot change. Ironically, when he asks himself, late at night in the darkness and seclusion of his bedroom, if he would indeed change the past did he have the power to do so, he has no answer. He can only concern himself with the future.
The taxi pulls up in front of a twenty-four hour convenience store, and he tosses a few yen notes to the driver before exiting. He steps out onto the sidewalk and takes a deep breath, turns and slowly walks the three blocks to his destination in the brisk November wind, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat.
*
"You ever sleep, Bishounen?"
Omi started in surprise, his fingers freezing on the keyboard of his computer as he jerked his head around to look over his shoulder.
Yohji lit a cigarette and took a lazy drag, sat down on the couch and put his feet up.
"Apparently you don't either," Omi said, quickly saving the data he was collecting, and switching to a blank screen without taking his eyes off Yohji.
Yohji shot him an amused look. "Some of us are all grown up and don't have to go to school in the morning."
Omi scowled. It wasn't that he hated being young, he merely hated being reminded of it, particularly by a lazy, patronizing pain in the ass. "I'm fine, thanks."
Yohji wasn't a bad guy. Omi rather liked him most of the time. Except he had a habit of teasing Omi just a bit too much, and it made him feel like Yohji didn't take him seriously, which wasn't exactly advantageous when he was technically this team's leader.
"Whatcha looking for? You seemed pretty intent. We haven't had a mission lately, so it wasn't a report, and hacking into Kritiker files certainly isn't for homework."
Omi sighed and shook his head, turning back to his computer and calling up the data screen he'd been searching. He heard Yohji stirring behind him, and moments later felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.
"Who's the redhead?"
"Fujiyama Ran," Omi said. "Apparently he'll be joining our unit."
"Hmph," Yohji said, and took another drag of his cigarette, turning his head to exhale away from Omi's face. "Looks a bit pissy, don't you think?"
Omi raised his eyebrows. "Well, he doesn't look like you at any rate."
Yohji laughed and clapped his hand on Omi's shoulder. "Pretty sparse for a background file."
Omi narrowed his eyes and bit his lip, fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard. "Yeah. Nothing about his history except for his work in Crashers unit. No biographical info beyond his birth date and blood type. Strange, really. It seems to have been tampered with. Your file was-." He ducked his head and blushed.
"Good reading?" Yohji asked, the hand on Omi's shoulder tightening just a fraction.
Omi shrugged, trying to hide his own tenseness. "I was curious."
"You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?"
Omi sighed. "Are you going to tell me you were the first incurious private investigator?" When Yohji laughed quietly at that, he asked, "Are you mad?"
"Nah," Yohji said, shrugging and ruffling Omi's hair. He walked over to the coffee table and stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Just prefer to be the hunter rather than the hunted."
"I'm sorry about your brother," Omi said softly. According to his file, Yohji's brother had disappeared when Yohji was six. Whether it was a kidnapping or murder was unknown. He was never found.
"Nothing to be sorry for," Yohji replied, shrugging and lighting another cigarette. "It was a long time ago. I don't really remember him anyway. No big deal."
"I never had a brother. Or a sister." He'd tried looking up his own files, but none existed; at least not in any computer database that he could access. He had no memory of his own childhood. Perhaps it was better that way.
"No wonder you're such a brat," Yohji said after a long pause. "You shouldn't ask too many questions. Our job isn't to ask questions, anyway. Besides, whoever this Fujiyama Ran is, it doesn't matter as long as he's competent. Well, I suppose it'll help if he isn't an asshole either, but beggars can't be choosers," he added, flopping back down on the couch, his arms spread across the top, head back as he blew smoke into the air.
Omi looked at him and raised his eyebrows. "And if he is?"
"I didn't come here to make friends, did I?"
"No, I suppose not. Still…"
"Take my advice, Bishounen. There's no room for friends or even family in this business. Emotional entanglements will only lead to ruin. Unless there's a pretty lady involved, of course."
*
He stops beside a large dogwood tree, a few brown leaves still stubbornly clinging to its branches. Perhaps he is like those leaves, unwilling to let go even in death. He sighs and turns to face the small house across the street. The curtains are pulled back and he can see into the living room. A lamp glows dimly, and he leans against the tree, his eyes fixed on the window.
*
It had been a beautiful spring day, the grass swaying the light breeze as they stood looking out over the lush green valley.
"It's so peaceful," Omi said.
"Yeah."
"I wish this day would last forever."
"Yeah," Yohji said. "Well…it won't last for long. When the sun sets, the reality of the mission will catch up to us. We can't escape it. Until the end, until we die, we're forever-"
"Oi," Ken interrupted, giving Yohji a look.
"Sorry," Yohji said, and knelt down in the grass, fingering the stem of a wildflower growing there. "Yeah, it would be nice if it lasted."
"That's right!" Omi said, watching him. "Flowers."
Ken furrowed his eyebrows. "Huh?"
"We could travel and sell flowers again. We have the van. Follow the wind wherever it takes us-to places we've never seen, people we've never met. And when the weather's nice, like today, we could close up, and-"
"We'd definitely have to replace the stereo. How could anyone be expected to enjoy the ride with that piece of shit?" Yohji said.
Ken grinned. "I could always sing for you instead."
Yohji snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks, but no."
Ken laughed, and Omi smiled. It really was a perfect moment, the four of them together here. It was as though they had stepped outside time; four friends planning a journey together, joking and laughing together. So normal. He wanted to remember it for as long as he could.
"Hey, Aya-kun. You'll come, too, won't you?" He looked at Aya, his short red hair blowing in the breeze, standing with his hands in his pockets. "Let's go together, Aya-kun."
Aya didn't reply, and Omi looked down at his feet. They stood on that hillside for a long time without speaking, and eventually turned and made their way back to the van. It was a nice dream of a life they could never have.
*
Omi was naïve. A dreamer and an optimist, brimming with emotion. He believed in people's kindness, believed in the loyalty of teamwork and the dependability of friends. He believed in justice.
Mamoru shakes his head because he knows there is no justice in this world, and there is no room for sentimentality. Emotions made you weak, vulnerable, and people were only kind until they stabbed you in the back. Or forgot you even existed.
Yohji appears suddenly at the window, staring out at nothing, his expression empty. If he sees Mamoru staring back at him, hidden in the shadows beside the tree, he gives no sign. Yohji looks over his shoulder briefly, turns back, and closes the sheer curtains, his silhouette fading as he retreats from the window.
Mamoru stands there for another hour, but the house remains silent and unmoving. He turns and walks slowly back up the street, blinking away the tears that brim in his eyes. It's a cold day, after all.
A car engine catches and its window rolls down as he passes.
"You're becoming too predictable," Knight says, and Mamoru finds he is unsurprised by his presence. "This kind of behavior will only get you killed."
"Would that please you?"
Knight snorts and unlocks the car doors. Mamoru hesitates for a brief second before climbing in the passenger side.
Knight rolls up his window and eyes him warily. "When's the last time you sat in the front seat of a car?"
"I'm in disguise," Mamoru says, and Knight barks out a mirthless laugh.
"You surprise me sometimes," Knight says. "Aren't we were all expendable to you? Easily replaced, you said."
"Did you have a point? If you have all of this free time, I'm sure I could find something to keep you occupied."
"You paid for his medical expenses and even got him a job. Good to know there's a pension plan in my future if I'm lucky enough to live that long. And here I thought you were a completely heartless bastard."
"I am," Mamoru says. "What I'm not is cheap."
"Touché." Knight grunts and puts the car in gear, angling away from the curb. "Maybe he doesn't want to remember."
Mamoru fastens his seatbelt and doesn't reply.
"He's not your pawn anymore," Knight says, his tone bitter. "Or is it more that you don't like to lose things that you think are yours?"
"Watch your mouth, Honjou Yushi."
Knight scowls. "To know what is right and not do it is the worst cowardice."
Mamoru turns his head and gazes out the window, his lips quirking into a wry smile. Confucius was an idealistic fool who knew nothing of the true darkness in this world, but sometimes he had a point.
"Knowledge without wisdom is a load of books on the back of an ass," he replies dryly
"Enlighten me then," Knight says, his knuckles white against the stark black of the steering wheel.
Mamoru says nothing. He can't fault Knight for his emotions. He is a passionate man, and a man of action. And loyal to a fault. Mamoru was like that once.
They ride the rest of the way in silence, and Knight pulls up across from the Imperial Hotel, a look of disgust on his face. Who was the predictable one now?
He unbuckles his seatbelt and pauses, his hand on the door handle. "Don't ever think that you know me," Mamoru says. "You know nothing. And don't forget who I am," he adds, stepping to the curb.
Who am I? he thinks, hand still on the open door. He shoulders his bag and turns to go, then stops. Who am I, really?
"New York City," Mamoru says, and slams the car door. Knight peels away from the curb and Mamoru watches the taillights disappear in the busy downtown traffic.
He doesn't know whether or not Knight will find him. Aya doesn't want to be found. But he has faith. After all, even though he despises it, Knight is still one of his.
~*~
End Notes: The flashback scene in the meadow is taken directly from episode 13 of Weiss Kreuz Gluhen, with a bit of improvisation on my part. The "Knowledge without wisdom" quote is an old, unattributed Japanese proverb. "To Know What is Right…" is from Confucius.
There's no canon about Yohji's family (Canon?! What Canon?!) so I gave him a brother who disappeared when Yohji was a child, and was never found.