Written under the heavy influence of Yoko Kanno’s Blue, from the third Cowboy Bebop OST.

Roses

Klayter McCabe

000

“Roses,” announced Omi, looking out the front window of the Koneko no Sumu Ie. Rain pounded against the glass; he and Aya were alone in the shop. Aya quirked an eyebrow, but Omi’s back was to him. Deciding that the boy was mumbling to himself, Aya returned to the bills he was organizing.

“Do you ever wonder about roses, Aya-kun?” asked Omi, turning to look at the older man.

“What’s there to wonder about?” asked Aya, not looking up.

“Anything,” murmured Omi. Then, quietly, “I hate the rain.” Aya wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all. Omi looked down at the ground, laughing softly at himself.

“I guess that talking to you is kind of pointless, ne, Aya-kun?”

“Yes, if you’re not going to make sense.”

“Oh. I thought I was making sense.”

“Not really.”

“Oh,” murmured Omi again. “I made sense in my own head, I guess. Just... the roses...” There was the strangest hint of something in his voice, and it made Aya look up.

“What about the roses?” he asked, surprising both of them.

“They’re beautiful.” Pause. “I mean, the kind of beautiful that makes you remember that they’re not going to last very long. You know what I mean? They’re beautiful while they’re here, but they don’t last very long.”

“All flowers die.”

“Everything dies,” agreed Omi, with just a thread of sadness weaving through his voice.

“Is this a teenager thing?” asked Aya awkwardly. “Should I speak with Kritiker about putting you on anti-depressants?” Omi looked at him and smiled.

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t think Prozac is necessary.” Silence.

“Well...” said Aya, looking determinedly away, “Don’t be sad.”

“Don’t be sad?”

“It doesn’t suit you. You’re happy.”

“I don’t feel very happy right now.”

“So... Do you want me to do something about?” From Aya, the offer was sincere, not rude.

“Do you know what day it is?” asked Omi.

“Tuesday, February 29.”

“Yeah,” said Omi, his voice only barely above a whisper. “Leap year. Isn’t it funny, that it’s raining? You’d think that February would be cold enough for snow.”

“Weather’s always unpredictable.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re...okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, you’re not acting okay.” Aya hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Yeah, it is.” Omi looked up as he spoke, and Aya realized that both of them had drifted towards each other, so that now they were standing uncomfortably close. He took a step back. Omi didn’t seem to notice.

“You know you can talk to us, right Omi? Me or Ken or Youji. We’ll listen to whatever. I mean, if you’re having nightmares again, or trouble at school, or just...need to talk.”

“Of course.” Omi’s bitterness was almost entirely undetectable. “I mean, if I trust you guys to have my back while I kill someone, I should certainly be able to turn to you for more mundane problems.”

“Well, yes,” said Aya slowly. Omi turned suddenly and gave him the bright, cheerful smile Aya had grown used to. In his hand was a single white rose.

“Of course,” Omi murmured, and held out the flower. “Here. You should keep this.”

“Ch.” Aya hid his confusion with mild disgust. “That’s like Youji, freeloading flowers to give to the girls.”

“No, Youji gives them flowers because he wants dates. I’m giving you a flower just because.”

“I really don’t think that you’re feeling okay,” said Aya, accepting the rose.

“I don’t think so either,” agreed Omi, but the expression on his face was still so cheerful.

Aya paused before his next sentence, but then steeled himself and took the plunge. “I’d rather you were happy.”

“Happy,” breathed Omi. “It’s been awhile. Do you believe in God, Aya-kun?”

“God?” Aya wrinkled his nose, and the expression made him look his age, rather than the old, old face he normally wore in front of other people. “I don’t believe in anything.”

“Neither do I, anymore. I used to, though. I really used to. I wonder when I stopped.”

“When you grew up.” Aya paused. “Or maybe when you were kidnapped.”

Omi shook his head. “No. Even after Kritiker, I believed. If I hadn’t believed in it so strongly, I never would’ve stuck around this line of work so long.”

Aya wondered, briefly, exactly what percentage of his life Omi had spent devoting nights and weekends to murder.

“Do you still believe in it?” he asked, not entirely comfortable with the question. “That we’re doing the right thing?”

“Sometimes.” Omi licked his lips. “Sometimes I can look a man in the eye, and remember what the files have said, or even what we’ve run into and seen ourselves, and then it’s a pleasure to watch him die. But most of the time I think we’re probably just political dogs.”

Aya closed his eyes, and they were silent for what seemed like a long time.

“I miss it,” Omi offered finally. “I miss believing.”

“Faith is just naïveté.”

The smile that Omi offered Aya then was soft, almost condescending. “Faith is better. Otherwise we’re just in it for the paycheck, and that makes us monsters.”

Aya made his voice firm. “I don’t mind being a monster.”

Omi laughed. “You believe more than I do, Aya-kun. You still think that you’re a white knight.”

Aya opened his mouth to contradict him, and then closed it again. Omi was right, and they both knew it. What was the point in arguing?

Omi leaned on the counter, once again closer to Aya than Aya was necessarily comfortable with. “You know what I miss most of all?” he asked. “I miss dreaming.”

“Dreaming?” Aya didn’t bother to conceal his surprise.

“Yeah. At night. I don’t do it anymore, and I wish that I did. Even bad dreams. Otherwise it’s like there’s nothing there at all.”

Omi’s voice didn’t tremble, or anything like that. But Aya suddenly understood what nothing meant to Omi, and how much it terrified him.

“I’m sorry you can’t dream anymore,” he offered quietly.

“Thank you.” Omi’s voice was so sincere for those two words that it made Aya wonder if the rest of the conversation had been somehow fake.

“So,” said Omi, and his voice was once again up in the ridiculously cheerful tones that Aya had come to associate with the youngest of his assassins. “Do you know why I gave you the rose?”

Aya shrugged. “No.”

“It was a gift. A Happy My-Birthday gift. Did you know that today’s my birthday, Aya-kun?”

“No.” Aya blinked. “I didn’t.”

“It is.”

“Oh...” said Aya slowly. “I’m sorry. Happy birthday.”

Omi smiled. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Well,” said Aya lamely, “I can handle the rest of the shift, if you have plans or anything.”

“No plans.”

“I’ll still take the rest of the shift. You shouldn’t have to work on your birthday.” They looked at each other. Omi finally shook his head.

“It’s okay, Aya-kun. I don’t mind working.”

Aya nodded, taking that for what it was worth. He looked at the white rose in his hand, and held it out. “Happy birthday, Omi.”

And Omi smiled.

000

End “Roses”

000

Version 1.0: November 29, 2001

Revised: September 1, 2005