Stille Nacht: CHRISTMAS NIGHT WATCH

By Shimizu Maiko


Disclaimer:

 

Weiß Kreuz is copyrighted ©1997-1999 Project Weiß and Koyasu Takehito.

 

Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht – “Silent Night, Holy Night” Original lyrics in German by Joseph Mohr, and set to music by Franz Grüber. First sang on Christmas Eve, 1818 in a church in Oberndorf, Germany.

 

Warnings: Spoiler (?) Ran’s past is alluded to in passing. Nothing else, other than that. And oh, just a teensy-weensy bit of angst.

 

Teaser: Can ice-cold Aya be an angel of mercy? Ran visits his imouto in the hospital on Christmas Eve, and is mistaken for another man. Things are not quite the same for the red-haired Weiß when the night is through.


Charity sees the need, not the cause.

- German Proverb

 

“Okaasan…” the head nurse touched the old woman’s shoulder gently, “your son is here.”

She had to repeat the words several times before the woman’s eyes opened. A recluse, she had suffered a massive heart attack and was heavily sedated. Beside her bed, the oxygen tank, the monitors and the respirator hummed – the only things keeping her alive. Blinking soft almond eyes dimmed with cataracts, she saw the shadowy outline of a tall, slender young man in a black pullover and a dark coat standing beside her bed.

The old woman’s face creased into a sweet smile at the sight of the young man. A look of pure joy radiated from her eyes; for a brief moment the youth caught a glimpse of the beauty she must have been when she was his age. She reached out a gnarled hand, weak and trembling from arthritis. The youth wrapped his fingers gingerly around her limp hand, and squeezed gently. The nurse brought a chair. With a mumbled “arigatou,” he sat down at the bedside, carefully setting down his Christmas packages and a giant stuffed Hello Kitty doll on the floor beside him.

All through the night he sat, holding the old woman’s hand, ignoring the clinical smells, the hiss of the oxygen tanks and the moans of the other patients in the dimly lit ward.

No, he did not like hospitals.

If it were not for imouto-san… the youth softly sighed, thinking of another patient in another room several floors up.

The dying woman said nothing but kept her feeble grip on the young man’s hand. Every now and then, the door would swing open, the night staff bustling in and out of the ward. The faint sound of carols drifted in from the hallway; Christmas cheer ringing false and hollow in rooms filled with so much pain and suffering.

It was a long night. Still, the young man kept his lonely vigil.

The night staff felt sorry for him, whispering among themselves how brave he was to keep watch over his dying mother, and on Christmas Eve, of all times! Silently, some of the younger nurses wondered if he was single, if he was seeing anyone… so beautiful he was, with eyes like amethysts and hair the color of sunset! They found a hundred reasons to slip into the darkened room to check Okaasan’s blood pressure and steal a glance at her beautiful son. They offered him muffins, cookies and pillows to ease his discomfort from sitting up the whole night. The young man politely declined, saying all he needed was to be with Okaasan. The young women sighed. Their hearts fluttered. Moved by his courage, each secretly wished she knew how to make the son smile, even for the briefest of moments. Several times the head nurse returned with a steaming cup of coffee and begged the young man to leave and rest for a while. Each time, he flatly refused to leave the old woman’s bedside.

Near dawn the old woman died.

For a long time the youth stood still and silent. He studied her. She was beautiful even in death. Her wrinkles were now smoothed out in sweet, peaceful slumber; her delicate lips curved gently in a soft smile. Her vibrant auburn hair – shot through with brown and a richer shade of red than his – was streaked with frosty silver. Her skin was translucent with age.

He was no stranger to death, but this was different.

“Oyasumi nasai, Okaasan,” he whispered softly in the dark, giving her hand one last squeeze. “Sleep tight….”

Tears glistened on his pale, smooth face; tears he would not show to anyone, not even his closest friends. The finely chiseled face and the violet eyes many called cold and unfeeling were naked with pain – of love, grief, and memories of Christmases past; memories of another woman he called Okaasan, and the man he called Otousan. Mother. Father. Sighing, he wiped his cheeks dry, placed the old woman’s lifeless hand on the bed and left to find the head nurse. He waited while she took the old woman away and attended the necessary procedures.

When she returned, she began to offer words of sympathy, but the young man interrupted her.

"Who was that lady?" he asked.

The nurse blinked, confusion written all over her weary, sleep-deprived face. “Why, she was your mother!”

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“Then why didn’t you say something… anything, when I took you to her?”

Silence.

He had never been good with words – not like eloquent green-eyed Yoji, who not only had a way with words but also a way with women.

“She was all alone,” he stammered, “she needed her son, and her son wasn’t there. She needed to have someone, so I decided to stay.”

The nurse’s face when she looked up at him was soft and glowing. She had been up on her aching feet working the night shift the last nine hours, and all she wanted was to be with her own family on Christmas Eve. Slowly though, she felt the nervous tension and the fatigue roll off her shoulders as she regarded the young man with wonder and admiration.

“That was a very kind thing to do,” she smiled through her tears, her voice all wobbly. “How can I thank you….”

“No… don’t,” he cut her off, his face growing uncomfortably red. He avoided her gaze, looking down instead at his packages, in their bright tinsel and ribbons, and the stuffed Hello Kitty he hugged to his chest.

No, he was not good with emotions, either – unlike Ken who wore his feelings on his sleeves, and bright-eyed Omi and his disarming smiles. No, he was not like that.

“It is Christmas,” he finally said, as if that short simple statement explained everything. “It is Christmas.”

With a barely perceptible bow, he turned, carrying his packages down the long white corridor to where his dear little sister waited. He gave Hello Kitty a squeeze, all velvety soft and downy. Aya-chan had always loved the cuddly feline. The toy was almost as tall as he was and quite expensive, but he would give anything, just to see her smile again.

“Wait,” the nurse called after him. “Will you at least tell me your name, son?”

“Fujimiya,” he smiled, it was something he did not do often. “Fujimiya Ran.”


About this Story…       

One ice-cold Aya coming up!

 

It is Christmas, and the most cold-hearted of all assassins and bishounens gets into the spirit. ^_^  Whipped up this fic in minutes, after watching all those mushy Christmas specials they show this time of year. ^^;;

 

Happy Holidays, everyone… hope you have a good time, and may you find love, happiness, and loads of presents under your tree! ^_^

 

Did it melt your heart or leave you cold? Please let me know, at mailto:kirei_onna@hotmail.com?subject=Comments/Suggestions to Fanfic. Arigatou!