Aya’s Scheme ~ CHAPTER TWO

“Why am I doing this?” Omi groaned as he stared down at himself. Standing on a short stool, he was being fitted for the most ludicrous costume he had ever seen, and that included the wire mesh shirt thing he had been wearing for the past few days.

“Yeah Omi,” Youji looked up and muttered round a mouthful of bobby pins, “Why are you doing this?”

A dull flush abruptly stained the young boy’s cheeks and a muttered “None of your business,” answered him. Youji grinned, sensing possible prey, opened his mouth to continue, only to be stopped short by the “prey’s” brilliant attack.

“And why are *you* doing this?” Omi asked, one brow lifted, cheeks still slightly pink, staring down at the lanky blonde assassin who was attempting to pin up the hem of the long purple trousers that was brushing the floor.

Youji abruptly found the purple satin to be unbelievably fascinating and Omi would have pursued the matter were it not for the entrance of the villain of the piece.

“Aya-chan what are you doing with that?” Omi looked at the two pieces of wood with thinly disguised fear and suspicion, not even noticing that he had lapsed into their usual term of endearment for her. Well, usual when Ran wasn’t around.

“It’s for your stilts.” She answered absent-mindedly as she put them down and started hunting for the tool kit.

“Stilts?” Omi’s other brow went up. “Why do I need stilts? I’m fine the way I am.”

Aya smiled. “That’s the spirit. I did find a few pieces that were a bit longer but I was a bit afraid that you wouldn’t be able to run with those so I thought we’d try with these first.”

Youji stood up and after stretching out the kinks in his back, reached out for the sticks and studied them carefully. “Hmm… not bad. He’d still be a bit short but it won’t be too much of a problem.”

“So Onii-chan won’t recognize him immediately as Omi?” Aya-chan questioned. “His height is… erm… rather distinctive.”

For once, the teenager, who continually insisted that he was going to hit puberty soon, *real soon*, ignored that inflammatory comment and focussed all his concentration on the one important matter. “Aya-chan, what do you mean run? Why would I be running? Guys?”

Youji shook his head. “Once we’re done with him, not even he’d recognize himself. How soon do you want these to be done by? His clothes are going to take a while. My stuff are still too big for him, even with the stilts. It’ll probably take me a while to get them amended. We can’t use Ken’s stuff as he wears the same clothes day in day out and even Aya is not that blind to miss a person who looks like Omi and is wearing Ken’s clothes. Besides, take away Ken’s clothes, what else will he wear?”

Aya-chan looked thoughtful. “Well, I would like it to be as soon as possible. Onii-chan’s really been breathing down my neck and I have a dance at my school next week and I *do* have someone in mind but Onii-chan would probably have objections to him.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that he doesn’t have them to everybody else.”

“Poor guy.” Ignoring Omi’s sotto-voce comment, save for a sharp look in his direction, she continued. “But really Youji-kun, I’m very impressed by your versatility! Where did you learn how to sew and do woodcrafts?”

Shrugging modestly, the ex-detective placed the sticks down on the floor and picked up his measuring tape, frowning down at it. “You pick up things in my line of work.” Aya missed out the muttering of breath which detailed the fact that by being busy, he wouldn’t have to be the star of this particularly horrific plan. It was bad enough to get constant ribbing from Ken who caught him unaware reading “Sewing for dummies” at the flower shop one fine afternoon, but if Ken ever found out what was the alternative, he would have heartily agreed with Youji that this was the better alternative.

“What? This what?” Omi’s face had turned a deep fiery red and he looked perilously close to exploding.

“More like strangled.” Youji muttered, taking the pencil besides him and marking the exact spot.

“You mean she didn’t tell you?” Youji looked genuinely taken aback and turned to look at a blushing Aya who stared down at the floor. His tone suddenly turned very suspicious. “What did you tell him Aya?”

Knitting her fingers together, Aya refused to look up into both pairs of eyes, one accusatory and one very, very scared. “Well, I asked him if he could help…”

“After much screaming and pleading.” Youji adlibbed. Omi looked suspiciously at his older teammate. He seemed remarkably experienced in the entire process and understanding slowly dawned on our boy genius, who had been thrown a bit off since the beginning of the day due to a purple-haired girl.

“… and I told him to stand on the stool and be fitted for the clothes.” Her words became softer and softer till they finally dwindled into silence. Youji stared silently at the young girl.

Youji sighed and shook his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leaned against the side of a convenient wall and gestured towards the bewildered boy. “Go ahead Aya-chan. The more you delay, the worse it’s going to get.”

Gulping, Omi watched the slight girl move to stand in front of him, his only vantage point being the crown of her head.

“Omi?” He had to strain to hear the soft voice. “Do you want to know what’s going on?”

Barely restraining himself from yelling, he managed a polite, though hoarse, answer. “Yes, I would.”

Aya looked towards to Youji who frowned and gestured at her again to get on with it.

“Well…” she started, shuffling her left foot, “… you know that Onii-chan and I have been having some… minor disagreements on my… erm… activities.”

Both snorted at that but did not interrupt. “… and I… well, I sort of came up with a plan…”

“Louder Aya.” Youji prompted as her words softened into intelligible murmurs.

“Pretend what?” Omi repeated, his heart suddenly sinking deep into the ground while his brain insisted that he really did not want to hear what he had promised.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Youji threw up his hands in the air and stamped down hard on the cigarette butt he had thrown on the floor. “She wants you to pretend to be her date. You two go on a date, make a move on her, and she protects herself successfully against you. Ran, being on the scene, would start to think that maybe his little sister can protect herself and let her out of his constant supervision. Anything else, Aya?”

Glazed eyes met hers and she blinked. Waving her hand in front of the vacant blue eyes, she turned to Youji for help, worry in her own large ones. “Youji?”

“Four, three.” He counted blithely, lighting another cigarette. “Two, one…”

“WHAT?!” Omi goggled at the duo before his head started shaking from side to side vigorously. “No… no way. I am not doing this. No way.”

“But you promised.” Aya looked up at her bestest friend, her playmate who never let her down, her sensei -in the uncharted minefields of schoolwork, her near-brother who would give his life for…

“I said no.” Her bestest friend’s stony blue eyes stared coldly back. “I do not want to die.”

“But you won’t die.” She smiled nervously. “You might be a wee bit injured, but that’s it.”

“A wee bit injured?” He cocked one brow, torn between mild amused disbelief and cold ravening fear. He went with the latter. “Aya-chan. It’s Aya we’re talking about. Aya. Remember Aya? Your brother? The guy who goes out in the night and dices villains as part of supper entertainment. The guy who is solely responsible why the incidence of street crime has plummeted to unheralded lows for fear that you might meet one of such person. Your brother, to put it politely, is a psychopath. He worries, actually, he obsesses about your safety. He kills insects which dare foul your dainty skin with more thoroughness and care than I’ve seen surgeons exhibit in emergency cardiac surgery with a four-way bypass on a diabetic patient.”

She smiled weakly, voice faltering in admission. “He’s… kinder to people he knows?”

Omi snorted. “I don’t think so. Remember the mysterious boogeyman that gives all your dates nightmares?”

“Pretty please?” Seeing the determined expression on his face, she frowned and tiptoed up to whisper in his ear.

Silence. Omi was starting to believe that steel was hereditary. That unwavering determination was worthy of his red hair scowling teammate. On one hand stood certain death… on the other, stood… prolonged certain death.

Aya’s face crinkled up into his with a pleased smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a plan.”

Omi winced at the sudden change in demeanour. Visions of a cat with an Omi-mouse came swimming to mind. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

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