Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction / Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Midnight Aloha ❯ Chapter 6

The pain faded back rapidly, even before Schuldig managed to find some prescription painkillers in their unknowing host's master bedroom. Crawford slipped out of his jacket and carrying it over his arm, proceeded to explore the house they'd taken over. The first floor was nice, showroom nice. The keys on the computer keyboard were even new still, not a shiny one.

The kitchen was the same, showroom perfect. Nice dishes, black triangles for plates, golden colored flatware. Every dish done, it didn't surprise Crawford in some way when he found nothing perishable in the refrigerator, just neatly ordered beers and juices, set up neatly enough to pose for a commercial. The man he'd kissed did not live or eat in this space.

Just out the back door of the kitchen a garden was laid out in a Japanese style, fountains and rocks. One of the little temples had been knocked over though. In distance, what seemed like a kennel took up the back half and obviously wasn't part of the design. So Officer Braid kept a dog?

He didn't need any conflicts with whatever pet the man had, and he made a not to see that Farfarello didn't have any tasting parties either. Back inside, he wandered up the stairs, away from the bickering that Schuldig and Farfarello were starting.

They were all alive. As he went up the stairs, that though echoed through him His visions were changed, mixed up. He hadn't known when he got up that morning how the day would end. By the time the ball of flame swallowed the room they were fighting in, he'd known though, known that death would win that day.

At the top of the stairs he turned and leaned his back against the wall. Distantly he could hear Schuldig and Farfarello arguing, complaining to each other over what to do with some amount of money they'd found. It wouldn't be long until they found the beer. Schuldig wouldn't let them get out of hand though. Crawford wished that Schuldig could keep him from getting out of control, but he'd never let the telepath know.

Death. They had not died. Crawford took his glasses off, and pressed a finger and thumb to either eye, wishing they'd stop stinging. Nagi was right though. They weren't going home. He had a feeling that Estet was over, gone, by so long that their plans to over throw the world had probably come to pass several times over. The passage of time left him feeling insignificant.

Throat dry, soot from the fireball still clinging to him, he moved away from the wall and down the hallway. Three doors let themselves into a home gym with such a variety of work out equipment. It looked like three bedrooms had been knocked out to make room for it. The same on the other side, though it was books, a library with all the order of a bag of chips. Briefly, he stepped into the room, which smelled of paper and old sweat. His cop liked to sweat, it seemed. His cop, he thought again, letting that idea settle into him.

He doubted the cop would appreciate being owned by a… he let his mind wander over a variety of terms he could apply to himself as he took the last set of stairs up to the last floor. Body guard seemed like a nice term, with the occasional homicide and kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, torture? He paused in the door way to Duo's room though and took a breath to push his glasses back into place.

It wasn't anything like he'd expected. To the side, farthest from any windows was a small bed, covered in black sheets, a crumpled pillow. The room slanted, an attic room under the pitched Japanese roof. Opposite the bed there was a life sized statue of Mary with a candle burning at her feet, in some kind of safe set up so that it would burn all the time. Brad squatted down, looking at all the little prayer papers folded up around the candle. It wasn't really like any Catholic shrine he'd seen, but people did things in their own way sometimes.

He reached out and picked one of the little cream colored papers, holding the delicately folded thing in the palm of his hand, not at all sure why he just didn't open it. Angry for a moment, he wanted to take them all, all the little prayer papers and throw them in the candle, watch them sink under melted wax and burn up in the flame. Prayers. Did the idiot think that the Virgin Mary would hear his prayers? He bounced the little paper in his palm, and took a deep breath before setting it back, unopened, where it had been before.

It was something in the man he'd kissed, some mystery of life that he wanted to unravel. Respect for someone like this was a new flame that sputtered to life in him, reflecting uncomfortably in his psyche. The little shift in his perception of the world cast shadows too, making him seem darker to himself than he'd really thought he was. Uncomfortable, he stood, turned his back to the religious shrine.

Around the rest of the room, posters of music groups, clothes thrown around, a stack of pizza boxes, even some plastic figures, all of it made it look like a teenager's room. He reached down and picked up one of the plastic toys, a black man thing, with pointed toes and huge black wings. No visions came to him from the thing though, and he put it back. This boy, because now he was thinking of him as a boy, didn't know what he was getting into, maybe. Shinigami, wasn't the right name, Puck, Peter Pan?

Crawford opened the closet, both doors, one in each hand and found a closet full of black, neatly organized, sorted by type, size, even shade of black. Chills went down his back. It was like the first floor, like the closet belonged to someone completely different. It was a long walking closet though, and he stepped in, running his fingers over soft ironed black tee-shirts, black jeans, and even dark business suits, a whole rack of black ties.

The hamper was there too, and Crawford actually looked over his shoulder to see that he was alone before opening it, lifting out a shirt and touching it to his cheek. The boy smelled in some indescribable way, something that made his stomach tighten and sexual need rise. It wasn't some perfume or chemical, it was just the scent of the boy. Behind the hamper though, he found something that made him drop the shirt, close the lid.

Another pillow and blanket, curled up like a nest, behind the hamper, a small silver cross nailed to the wall, and a black leather book. Crawford squatted down again, running the back of his hand over the black wool blanket. The boy was running from something, something dark.

::Crawford,:: Schuldig sent telepathically. ::Braided slut is here. Farfarello wants to know if he can kill him now? Or at least taste him a little. He's about in the door.:: Schuldig followed it up with an image of Duo walking up towards his door, jacket open, braid swinging, pistol already in his hand. ::Me thinks he knows we're here.::

::I am coming. Do not touch him, either of you.::