What need do I have of God? He's forgotten me; I'm not worth remembering. I still pray to him, though. Pray to him for her sake. I'm beyond redemption but Aya-chan is pure; He'll remember her. If He even does exist.

They say that time forgives all sins. It might be true. All but the worst. All but mine. I have no right to live--only duties to do, obligations to fulfill, revenge to take. Aya-chan needs me. I'll live for her sake if nothing else.

I want to forget but I never can. Each night when I close my eyes the dreams come. Dreams of her, dreams of it, dreams of him.

If anyone deserved to die more than me, it's him. My sins pale beside his. He hurt Aya-chan in ways that I could never conceive of. Carefree innocence and he tried to destroy it.

My dreams have been shattered. Did I ever have any? I can't remember anymore. My life before it is like broken fragments from an oft-remembered dream or maybe a past life. Past is true-- that life, that kind of innocence, can never be mine anymore. My hands are too stained with blood, too dirty to touch the pure white of those memories. Pain, madness, and death are all that awaits me now.

The light flickers on and I jerk myself away from my thoughts, my whetstone slowing in its strokes down the katana's blade. Omi, ever cheerful and still drunk off the adrenaline of the mission has come to check up on me. Irritating if it had been anyone one else. I can tolerate it from Omi--that's just his nature. Kind and gentle, he has the best chance of all of us to reclaim a normal life. Ironic considering he's been one of us the longest. I guess he never lost his hope. Not like the rest of us. Or maybe he never had any to lose.

Content to know that I am fine, Omi leaves, called away by Ken in the other room. The light flickers off, just as I'd asked him. A small smile crosses my lips almost unnoticed as he passes through the door. A year ago, I wouldn't have done such a gesture, of that I'm sure. He had been nothing more than another face in the crowd to me--one I just saw more often than others. Now...now they've become...important. I'd rather die than admit it but maybe I would care if one of them were to die. I've become...fond of them, I suppose I could say. Strange to find such comfort here. What a group we are--pathetic creatures of shadows unworthy of seeing the light of day banding together and finding our own sort of companionship.

Footsteps quietly padding towards me draws my attention once more into the here and now. I turn my head, an unwelcoming glare firmly in place, fully expecting it to be Omi come back to try and convince me to join the rest of them. I'd thought I'd made myself clear, maybe not. The lanky figure that greets me, however, surprises me. I'd have thought he'd have left by now--gone to find a soft and easy body to spend the night with. Maybe the mission tired him more than he'd care to admit.

Strange of him not to turn on the light--perhaps he is sharing my dark mood, as impossible as that seems. Seeing Yohji serious about anything other than missions is rare enough but to have him search me out of all people--unbelievable. Yohji prefers to suffer through his depressions alone--much like the rest of us. Only Omi likes company then. Unlike the rest of us, though, sometimes Yohji will work off his moods in someone's arms. We don't condemn him, however disapproving we might be, as we all carry our crosses in different ways.

"Aya?" he calls softly as if unsure of who I am or how I'll receive him. He knows better than to expect an answer. I slide the whetstone firmly over the blade, the metallic sound echoing through the dark room. He doesn't say anything more, just sits beside me on the couch. Disconcerting his closeness. My mind blanks and I don't know why. I'm irritated at him for bothering me, and irritated at myself for caring.

Full minutes pass by without either of us saying a word. I don't mind. I just wish he'd leave. Omi is easy to drive away; he's predictable. Yohji--I never know what he wants. He won't leave, though. Ever talkative, I'm sure the strain is getting to him. Maybe the silence will unnerve him enough to leave--unlikely but one can dream. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on his stomach. He's dying to have a cigarette, I know, wanting one to calm his nerves but he knows better than to light one up in my presence. I can't stand the smoke and I've made myself crystal clear on that point several times in the past.

Instead of indulging his addiction, he chooses instead to throw his feet up on the table in front of us. I glare at him. He grins back at me. This seems to be a new habit of his-- trying to see how far he can push me before I shove back. Not willing to play this game tonight, I stand, forfeiting the room to him. Slender fingers wrap themselves around my arm. "Aya?" he asks again softly.

"What?" I snap, unable or unwilling to hide my annoyance.

His hand drops from my sleeve. "It's nothing. Nevermind." His eyes turn away from my slightly inquisitive stare. Nothing doesn't cause this type of behavior. I'm willing to let him have his secrets, however, as long as they don't interfere with the mission. I turn to leave once more and almost make it to the door before his voice stops me again. "Don't go," he says, a hint of pleading in his voice. Concerned despite myself I face him. He's still sitting on the couch but is half-turned so as to see me. "Don't go," he repeats, quiet as a whisper.

Stunned, I can't think of anything to say. I simply stand there, struck dumb, watching apprehensively as he approaches. He slides a hand along my cheek and my breath hitches. Inside, underneath my obviously incapable consciousness, I know that I should move away, glare at him, strike out from his presumptuousness. He's awfully sure of himself to touch me this way. I'm not some toy of his to play with.

My anger rising, I work up enough free will to move away. I grab his hand jerking it away from my face. "Don't touch me."

The bastard actually grins at me. "Are you afraid, Aya?" Afraid of what, I'm dying to ask. I fear nothing--not the missions, not Taketori, and most certainly not him. He leans in closer despite my glare. "Are you going to deny it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I hiss as he pushes me back against the wall, keeping me there with his own body. When did I get close to the wall? I don't remember.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks as if he doesn't know the answer already. I glare at him. "Answer."

"You know the answer."

Again, he smiles his devil-may-care grin. My hand itches to smack it off his face. "No, Aya. No, I don't. I need you to tell me."

I stare up at him, my mouth opening to tell him 'yes' but the word catches in my throat as he takes advantage and dips his head, his lips gently claiming mine. My eyes widen in shock. What? My mind blanks completely; I'm unable to cope.

He tugs me out of the room and up the stairs into his room before I even think to protest. I yank my hand out of his grip. I work my jaw, trying desperately to think of something appropriate to say, something that will stop this before it goes to far. Deep inside I have the nasty thought that maybe he's only playing with me--waiting for me to take this serious so he can tell me it was only a joke. Yeah, damn funny. It's that thought that brings my traitorous body under control. He leans in for another mind-blowing kiss, the kind that only he, with his vast experience can give, but I stop him with one upheld hand. "No, Yohji."

"Shh." He grins as if he thinks I'm kidding, moving my hand out the way while his left hand wanders down to align our hips together. The touch is almost enough to rob me of logical thought. He tries to claim my mouth but I avert my head, tilting it to the side. Undeterred, he nips at my neck. I shudder helplessly. How can he do this to me?

He rubs up against me and I'm presented with the proof that either he's serious about this or he's taking the joke a little too far. I grasp his shoulders holding him close for an all too brief moment before thrusting him away. "Stop," I whisper, horrified to notice the note of begging in the tone.

"Stop?" he teases, following me as I back away from him. My back hits the wall and I feel a surge of panic. My hand grasps blindly for the door only to find that it's locked. My heart races and icy fear fills my veins. Damn him. "Aya?" he asks, a bit of concern showing on his face. As if he has any right to be worried now. Angry beyond words, I raise a fist to hit him but he grabs it out of the air bringing it around to twist behind my back. He hugs me to his chest and I feel my desperate rage leaving me. I feel hollow. "Shh, easy, easy," he soothes. "It's okay, Aya." Like Hell it is. Why couldn't he just leave me alone to my thoughts? Remembering my various sins is easier than this by any stretch.

A minute passes by with nothing but silence and him stroking my back. I don't know why I'm allowing him the liberty. "Aya?" he asks, lifting my chin so I have to look him in the eye. What he sees I may never know. "I handled this badly. I'm sorry." That surprises me. "Can we try again?" He stops waiting for my answer. I bow my head, unable to believe that I am actually considering it. "Please?" he adds. It sends me over and I give him a small nod.

Once again, I'm surprised by my thoughts. We're so pathetic--carrying our sins and hoping for that one last chance at happiness or at least a reasonable facsimile. I don't know which one this is, but I think I'll take it. Will it work? God only knows. If he cares enough about these poor sinners to even make the effort.