Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Follow Me ( Chapter 96 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter Ninety-Six: Follow Me

Nagi sat on his bed, sorting through books he had already read. He pondered, again, the consequences of asking Crawford a bit of money so he could go buy some new ones, but the man hadn’t been in the best of moods over the past week; the last thing Nagi needed was to be on his bad side.

Not that he blamed Crawford for being on edge. Nagi himself was starting to feel anxious, not sure if it was worse or better that he didn’t exactly understand what was going on. Two things he knew for sure: they should have been back in Japan weeks ago and Schuldig was messing with his stuff while they were away.

He sighed and tried to put the latter out of his head. It was just that he didn’t have many things, and he didn’t like anyone touching them. He wanted to get back and assure himself that everything was still properly in place and that the idiot hadn’t broken anything.

Of course, this was probably the least of the havoc the redhead and caused in their absence.

Having overheard a few muttered curses from Crawford’s makeshift office, Nagi wondered exactly what Schuldig had been into, something that skewed the future a bit, it seemed. Nagi wasn’t sure if he wanted that kind of influence; sometimes he thought it would be grand to have such will and sway, and other times he wished he was even less significant that he was.

Turning his mind forcefully away from the subject, he went back to his books. He might have gone out, but Beilefeld had little appeal to him. He missed Paris and, in a way, he even missed the familiarity Japan. They were supposed to be going back, but, within two hours of their departure from Takatori Reiji’s office, Crawford had had a vision. An hour later, Takatori called, telling them to go to Germany. From Dresden they were shuffled and led around, ending up in Beilefeld in a small hotel suite, waiting on some mad scientist who refused to wrap up his experiments quickly just to appease his father.

They were to take Masafumi back with them. Nagi didn’t like the man, disturbed by the odd things he had seen in the lab and the odd attention the man had given him. And the women. They fawned on the scientist unnaturally, constantly at his side, finding excuses to touch him fetch him things. The little one, Tot, called him Papa, but the looks he directed her way were not that of a father, and they made Nagi slightly ill to think about.

He hoped the women weren’t coming to Japan with them.

Looking back to his books, Nagi found the outdated textbook he had bought in a small shop in Paris. Carefully he opened its wrinkled pages and set himself to the task of learning French. The rules came easily, and, he was sure, had he the right teacher, the language would have been simple enough. But he had only himself, and so he made do.

~*~

“Hey, you’ve got a customer,” Yohji called into the greenhouse. Aya looked up, surprised, a tray of seedlings resting in his dirt-brushed hands. Gently he sat it down and tried to wipe off his apron which was also dusted in the deep black of planting soil.

“C’mon,” Yohji urged with a smile. Unsure of what was going on, having never had a customer request him and not sure he wanted to set a precedent, he nonetheless followed Yohji through the yard and into the back of the shop. The blonde looked…happy, Aya thought, though he wasn’t going to bank on his ability to interpret the emotions of others.

When he stepped into the shop and Yohji moved out of the way, Aya was relieved to find that the customer was Hamami-san. She had Ken’s arm and was using it to support herself as she leaned over a window display to touch the slick leaves.

Yohji coughed, grabbing Aya’s arm and gently pulling him forward.

“Ah!” Hamami turned. “Get me my book, Hidaka-san,” she directed, shifting her hold to Aya’s arm. It was a light touch, and he found it only made him a bit uncomfortable. Ken, meanwhile, had gone to fetch what she had left on the counter and came back with a heavy, hardbound book with gold lettering on the front.

“Here.” A wrinkled hand took it from Ken, and, with a slight tremor, delivered it into Aya’s grasp. “That, my dear, is a book you need to read. All my flowers are in there, excepting one, which I’ve written into the back.”

She snagged Ken’s arm again and released Aya so he could thumb through the book. It was old, but not in bad condition, with lots of small print cluttered around black and white drawings of flowers.

“You do read English?” she asked.

He nodded, having barely noted the foreign language. It wasn’t difficult, though he wasn’t sure how familiar he would be with the more technical terms.

“Good!” The elderly lady smiled brightly. “You keep that until you’ve satisfied yourself. My eyes aren’t up to it anymore, but it’s all up here,” she pointed to her head, the worn sleeve of her kimono falling back to reveal a thin wrist and wrinkled arm. The joy was contagious, and Yohji and Ken grinned openly.

“Thank you,” Aya said, belatedly and not without a hesitant look to Yohji. He wasn’t sure how much the other wanted him to say, but the older man just kept smiling.

“You’re quite welcome,” she returned, “Now, would you mind putting together some yellow roses for me?”

He nodded and, having gone to his table, carefully set the book on its edge. About to go to the cooler, he found Yohji suddenly at his elbow proffering a collection of yellow roses. Settling down in his seat, Aya got out a square of green wrapping and set to work, stopping only once when he felt a strong sensation of being watched. Looking around, he saw the others talking and no one looking in his direction, but the disconcerting feeling lingered.

~*~

“Where did you go?” Farfarello asked, turning on the couch as Schuldig came into the large room and shed his jacket.

“Miss me?” the redhead asked, coming around to sit beside him. He looked distastefully at the new red stain on the green fabric of the sofa, having obviously come from a slash across Farfarello’s forearm that was unbandaged. As if to demonstrate, the Irishman pulled a knife out of his vest and prodded the cut with the point until another drip of blood escaped.

“Wrap it up,” Schuldig told him.

“Where did you go?”

“That first,” he directed. Obediently, the other got up and went to the bathroom to find another roll of bandages. Schuldig took the time to locate the remote and turn on the television. Bradley wasn’t there, which meant he didn’t have to watch the damn news, and he flipped channels until he found a rather vapid talk show where women tried to discover the fathers of their brats.

When Farfarello came back, it was his turn to make a face, aimed at Shu’s choice of entertainment.

“That’s inane,” he pronounced. Schuldig shrugged. “Where were you?”

“Watching.”

“The kitty?”

“Who else?”

The pale man made sat down next to him, too close, and half turned to face him, as he accused, “You didn’t take me.”

“Had to be inconspicuous.”

He seemed to think about that for a minute before flopping back on the couch and resting his head on Schuldig’s shoulder.

“Was he happy?”

“Is he supposed to be?” Schuldig wondered.

“No,” the other answered, “God won’t allow it. Crawford won’t let you do that either.”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck you.”

“In your demented little dreams,” he returned, as always. As much as he hated to admit it, Farfarello was probably right, and the quavering contentment he had sense from Ran wasn’t likely to last. But that was okay, because if the idiot blonde could just get him through this, next it would be Schuldig’s turn to try and make the kätzchen happy.

~tbc~

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