I started this fic exactly one year ago, to the day. It's been difficult, but it's been a lot of fun. I put a lot of time and effort and thought into it, and as far as I'm concerned, every second was worth it. I hope that those of you who are reading this have enjoyed it as much as I have. This is the last chapter of NV. A sequel is planned but will not be started until I finish the other projects upon which I am currently working ("Turn Around", "Brightly Shone the Light", and "Bakuryu Change!").

I would like to say, before you start reading, thank you to the following people for their kind words: Deora, MistyEyes, mibu no ookami, methodic madness, oblivious, Siberian, beriath, Blade6, Moki-chan, shini-kuma, les-mizerable, Hele, Snowshoe koneko, ariestar48, Pinky-Cat, sammi, Tao, Gnine, Bengali, tyne, Aikawa Fuuko, and elfgoddess, in chronological order. ^.~ I would also like to say that I was told – several times – by native German speakers that "verlassung" is not technically a word in German. As I speak fluent German, I am aware of this. It was the closest I would come to the concept I wished to express. 'sides, language is fluid, right? Right? ::eyes stick-wielding crowd:: ^.^;;

Uh… on to the conclusion.

Epilogue: Equilibrium

Somalian, unlike any of her new teammates, was quite new to the world of Kritiker and her duties as an assassin. However, like most of the rest of Kritiker's field agents, there had been a defining event in her past that had caused her to throw her lot in with this vigilante organization.

She just didn't remember exactly what it was.

It didn't particularly bother her that she didn't know why she was with Kritiker; she just wanted to do the best she could. As far as she was concerned, they had saved her from a terrible fate and she wanted to repay them insofar at it was possible.

Somalian had been mortified over her failure during her first mission; it was with profound relief and gratitude that she met the news that she was to continue as a member of Weiss. Manx apparently felt that the heavy makeup and liberal amounts of multicolored hair gel she'd worn to fit in at the club were enough of a disguise to keep her identity secret. Even Abyssinian, upon seeing the pictures of her circulated on the evening news, had had to agree.

In the fairly short time since then, she'd done everything in her power to prevent a repeat of the incident. The rest of Weiss had each given her compliments and encouragement, in their individual ways. Many people would have been unable to see the motivations underneath the actions, but Somalian's one area of outstanding skill was her ability to read people. Omi smiled. Yohji brushed her shoulder in passing. Aya… acknowledged her presence.

Somalian treasured the small gestures for what they were; signs of tolerance but not acceptance. Weiss, having lost one of its own, would never accept anyone again. The name of "Weiss" continued, but its being would not. The core of what Weiss truly was rested only in those four young men. Somalian rather thought Persia, at least, understood that, for Weiss had not been broken up as Manx had recommended. She herself was well aware that her stint with the team would be comparably very brief, and that her replacement would be equally short-lived. So it would continue, flexibility ranked above relative stability, until the four original members of Weiss were gone, and then perhaps even the name would be retired to live in hushed whispers and legend among the select few chosen to work outside the law.

For her part, Somalian simply watched her teammates, aware but not minding that she shared no real bond with any of them. There was enough warmth between them to keep her satisfied as an observer, and she absently catalogued their usual behavior to form a purely mental character profile and analysis.

So it was that when Aya called the shop after spending far too long on deliveries, even accounting for the unseasonable snowstorm, she could hear the unmistakable signs of extreme tension in his inexpressive voice. He demanded to speak to either Yohji or Omi. She handed Yohji the phone, as he was the closest, and watched the blood drain out of his face and the handset drop from suddenly nerveless fingers. Omi picked it up from where it had fallen, and when he hung it back up, he looked as shell-shocked as Yohji. He told her to watch the shop until they returned. Somalian didn't ask where they were going; she knew they wouldn't tell her. That was just the way it was.

Aya was waiting for them when they arrived; he'd taken Ken to the closest hospital without Kritiker ties. Even so, it was only a matter of time before Kritiker showed up to take the situation out of their hands again.

"We have a problem," were the first words out of his mouth.

Yohji ignored him. "How is he?"

"What?" Aya looked as if he had no idea what Yohji was referring to.

"How. Is. Ken." A mixture of relief, dread, and anticipation had been threatening to overwhelm Yohji from the moment he heard Aya's impassive voice announce that he'd found Ken, alive and in Tokyo, and the only issue he was capable of thinking of was Ken's wellbeing. The possible consequences hadn't even occurred to him.

"He'll be fine," Aya said, as if it were a matter of course. "But –"

"He'll be fine? What's wrong?" Yohji crossed the distance between himself and Aya in two swift steps. He was ready to shove Aya against the wall and demand answers, but Omi's hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

"Yohji-kun, Aya's right. We do have a problem." He chewed on his lower lip. "Kritiker… has been worried about Ken representing an unacceptable security risk since we were forced to leave him behind. I have reason to believe that he was a target for another Kritiker team."

Yohji restrained his instinctive shout, and all that emerged was an extremely undignified and strangled yelp. "You… Why didn't you tell us?" he asked when he got his voice under control.

Omi opened his mouth, shut it again, and glanced at Aya. Yohji followed his gaze. Aya was intently studying the hallway, looking for all the world as if he were simply scanning the surrounding area, but Yohji saw the faint blush on his cheeks.

"You told Aya, and not me?"

"We… That is, I… You couldn't have done anything, Yohji. Neither could we. But as far as Kritiker is concerned, Ken may still be a target."

"Or he may not." Aya still wasn't looking at Yohji, but the blush was gone. "We didn't know for sure."

"But if he is –" Yohji started.

"Ken is not now a target." Birman had somehow managed to sneak up on all three of them without any of them noticing. "There was no security leak."

"There… wasn't?" Omi asked weakly.

"No." Birman's voice was brisk. "However, regarding his physical condition… he's suffering from withdrawal from various chemical substances, malnutrition, and exposure. Fortunately, for both Siberian and Weiss, he should make a full recovery within a reasonable length of time. Following his recovery and reinstatement as a field agent, Weiss will be remobilized in its previous incarnation."

Aya had not relaxed; he was continuing to scan the hallway and listen to something that none of the rest of them could hear. "Why is there an agent in the room with Ken?" he asked abruptly, before Birman could reply.

"Oh, you noticed, did you?" Birman smiled. "You can go ahead and go in, if you like, but he's not awake yet."

Yohji nodded thanks and walked as quickly as he could without actually running. He could hear Birman starting to explain something to Omi and Aya about Ken's current status with Kritiker and the apparent lack of disseminated information – it seemed she'd sent in a recon team after Ken had turned up in Tokyo – but paid no attention. He could always get Omi to repeat it later.

He pushed the door to Ken's room open almost hesitantly, not entirely certain of what he'd find. The Kritiker agent stationed in the room stepped back as he entered, slipping out with a deferential nod. Yohji slowly pulled the curtains back from around the bed.

Ken looked like hell.

Yohji reached out and carefully brushed the too-long, brittle hair out of Ken's eyes, fingertips lingering for a few bare seconds on the dark circles underneath. Ken's skin was pale, almost translucent, and he'd lost so much weight over the last months…

"Oh, Kenken." It hurt just to look at him.

Ken's hands lay on the coverlet. Yohji entangled his fingers in Ken's, gently rubbing them, trying to impart what warmth he could. Ken's fingers tightened on his, just slightly. Yohji's breath caught. This really was Ken. He was back, and alive, and would survive.

"Everything's going to be all right, Kenken. You'll see. It'll all be fine." He pressed a gentle kiss to the slender fingers entwined with his own.

In his drugged and healing sleep, Ken smiled.

Over… or continue?