Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 14 ( Chapter 14 )

14

is it any wonder that my mind's on fire…
it's a flaming wonder telepath

Two days. Two days of no Crawford, of no waking Nagi, of very little sleep and a lot of worry. I lit another cigarette, crumpled the empty pack and dropped it in the trash.

I sat heavily on the little chair and sprawled across the table, reaching for paper and pen. At least my hand didn't hurt so much now, though my handwriting didn't show much improvement for it. Left hand tangled in my hair, I scribbled out a short list of supplies. I added cigarettes and a scarf to the list. I'd had to leave my favorite yellow one behind. Too noticeable. I needed something, though; my signature mane was pissing me off, but I wasn't about to cut it.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I leaned back and regarded the ceiling. Farfarello was out walking yet again. He preferred it to sitting here and waiting, I supposed. In any case, he hadn't attacked anyone since we got here, so either they hadn't gotten his attention or Crawford had given him strict orders on the matter. He hadn't seized, either, for which I was both grateful and extremely anxious. It seemed too easy, considering his head wound; I kept waiting for something to give, and chain smoking while I waited.

I took my list and went looking for one of the women of the house. Though they didn't see me as much of a man, they were unfailingly polite, and quite willing to run a shopping errand for me. They made sure Farfarello and I had enough food, and even helped me bathe Nagi. The older woman was pretty good with a sponge bath, so I welcomed her assistance with my unconscious teammate. She never asked, just tended to his immediate needs.

"He is warmer today," she had observed this morning, laying a wrinkled hand on his cheek. Warmer today, like a weather forecast. I wondered if the evening would be fair to partly comatose; manic giggles had chased her from the room.

I had managed to apologize to her later. She no doubt thought I was on drugs or something, but accepted my apology and told me that she thought the child was only waiting to wake up. I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but took it as the comfort she had intended.

Now I found the youngest, a girl of about fifteen, and offered her the list. She wrinkled her nose at my cigarette, but took the note with a bow and went off in search of her aunt. I sighed and leaned against the doorframe. This waiting was really getting to me. Thank the gods that there were only a handful of people here, though; any more and I'd be a real mental case.

Oh, nice timing - on the heels of that thought, Farfarello turned the corner toward me, two steaming bowls in his hands. "Lunch?"

I snorted a short laugh at myself and tossed the cigarette butt out the window as we passed it. "What do we get today?" I asked, honestly curious and looking forward to the meal. The women here were not only pleasant to us, they were damn good cooks as well, and I knew it wouldn't last too much longer. I'd better enjoy the high life while I could.

"Noodles with duck," he replied, just as pleased as I was. "I didn't think we'd get our own personal cooks again after the Takatori business. It's a nice perk."

"That it is, my friend. That it is." I took one of the bowls and parked myself on a chair.

"Any change in the boy?"

Far asked me that several times a day now, and I never had a new answer for him. "No, not that I can tell, anyway."

"Why don't you go looking for him?"

I glanced up from my bowl. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Dead serious." He fixed me with an expectant stare. "You're a telepath, why don't you just go in and wake him from the inside?"

I put down my chopsticks and sighed. "I can't, that's why. It's not common for a telepath to be able to go into unconscious people, Far. Not safely, anyway. It's disorienting, and there's the chance that the telepath will get lost in the dreamer's world. If that happens, the telepath could go insane, or have a stroke or a heart attack from the strain of it. I wish I could, but I don't have that gift."

His stare didn't waver. "But you come into my head. How is that any different? You've said I'm always dreaming."

"I meant that in a poetic sense, my friend. Your logic is different from most. Compared to the rest of the world, you live in a series of dream images that regular people wouldn't understand. But you're physically aware, you're conscious, even if the wiring is a little unorthodox. It's not the same. My blood pressure doesn't react when I read you; with a sleeper, it would."

"Oh. I see." He returned his attention to his noodles.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Fatigue had robbed me of my sharpness, and all I could do was watch, unsleeping, as the sunlight changed its slant in the garden and birds came and went about their business. Farfarello came and went with them, reminding me from time to time to eat something or have some tea, or to check Nagi's condition. The matron returned from shopping with my nicotine and a ridiculously gaudy silk scarf, which I had received with a smile and a bow and an inward wince.

I wished Brad would hurry the fuck up and get back here.

"He'll come back for us," Far said through a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke. He regarded me through my blue-grey curtain, refusing to allow me to isolate myself.

I looked out the window. Sunset hovered just above the horizon, the light shifting color until it reminded me of my own hair, still unrestrained, the brand new scarf tossed aimlessly on my pillows. Sunset fire hair. "Godawful red," Brad called it. A wistful smile tugged the corner of my mouth. I pushed it back with the cigarette.

"I know he will. The question is, when?"

Farfarello didn't say anything, and I couldn't feel him looking at me anymore. I turned sharply to verify that he hadn't, in fact, just vanished or something.

He sat where he had been, opposite me at the little table, and his gaze was still directed at me. A thin line of spittle drooled from his lower lip, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a sad, bemused expression. His one eye focused on me for a moment as though asking a question, then his entire body went slack and slid to the floor.

I bolted around the table as Farfarello went into a full grand mal seizure. I was screaming and cursing as I searched frantically for something to cram between his teeth so he wouldn't bite his tongue off.

My hand landed on one of his sheathed knives. I slid the weapon from the heavy leather case and turned to run the three steps back to Farfarello's side. In my panic I tripped and fell hard, landing on my knees. I slid the remaining few feet. Cradling his head between my knees, I gripped the knife sheath with both hands, forced his mouth open and his tongue flat, and let the leather withstand the force of his jaws so my hands wouldn't have to.

There was no clock in the room. I don't know how long he lay there, body thrashing at the mercy of some broken internal wiring. My thoughts were spinning around me, dizzying and frightening. I didn't want to think about him dying, not Far, and especially not now. Had I forgotten his medicine? No, I'd prepared the syringes dare I say religiously, allowing him to inject himself on schedule under my watchful eye. He'd said he liked watching the liquid flow into his body, and I hated injections, so I gladly let him do it himself. What had gone wrong today? I couldn't think of a damn thing.

The Irishman's powerful muscles finally relaxed and he lay like a rag doll, half in my lap. Tears flowed down my face, exhausted, terrified tears, frustrated and burning hot. A pale, strong hand slowly rose to touch the wetness on my cheek. "Did I die?"

Sobs and mad laughter mixed into a hellish sound that I couldn't stop. "No, you stupid bastard, you still didn't die! Does this look like heaven or even hell to you?"

"It wouldn't be heaven," he murmured, voice sluggish but clear. "And I wouldn't expect hell to look so simple, even with a red-haired devil to greet me at the door. So I guess you're right. I'm not dead today. But I am on the floor. What happened to me?"

"You had a seizure, Far. Bad one. How do you feel?"

"Sort of like after E.S.T., actually. Calm. I feel calm. And a little thirsty."

I shook my head. The man sounded like he was fondly reminiscing over his electro-shock therapy days. I ran a shaky hand through my hair, then wiped my arm across my eyes and face. Enough with the tears, I thought. "Want a beer?" I joked, half-heartedly.

"Water, actually, if you don't mind." Far slid his hand up the side of his face and pushed the eyepatch off. Like me, his face was wet, though his was from sweat rather than tears. "And a washrag."

He sat up, pulling his legs into a half-lotus position and stretched his back, raising his hands high and pushing them behind him. I swore I could hear his shoulders pop out of joint, then back in. "Attractive, Farf," I mumbled, trying to get my legs to work after their recent abuse.

"I'll teach you sometime," he said with a grin.

I really couldn't tell if he was joking.

A mug of water, a wet washcloth, a change of clothes and a pot of tea later, Farfarello was curled up on his futon, sleeping like an innocent while I limped to the bathroom to tend my injured knees. They were both scuffed to bleeding from my jeans, and I had to pull cotton lint out of the left one. I cursed my own stupidity. Why had I panicked so? Farfarello was damn near indestructible. But he was my friend, my teammate, and at the moment the only living companion I had to talk to. He understood me in ways the other two never would. He knew the telepath's hell, for it was much like his own. Only a few other people had understood my daily struggle, and I had left them behind in the bowels of Rosenkreuz.

God damn it. My knees were already dark with bruising, and it hurt to walk. I'd mend; I had to, after all. But I wasn't looking forward to the time in between.

I sat there by the tub, in my underwear, smearing salve onto my torn knees and occasionally crying. I knew I was being stupid, feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn't seem to stop. As it had become too fond of doing lately, the past rose up and pulled me under. I thought about friends I hadn't seen in five years now, wondered if they were alive or dead. I suspected the latter. They were gentle souls, and Rosenkreuz ate gentle souls for lunch.

I closed my eyes, wishing for the first time since leaving that place to see Karl just once more, to feel his soothing touch on my shoulder, to hear the quiet laughter in his voice. My sweet friend, where have you gone? You who could ease my fear, make me forget my pain, with a touch, a kiss, a smile.

I heard the door to our room open.

Unmindful of the pain from my knees, I sprinted out of the bathroom, my jeans still in my hands. I skidded to a halt at the door.

Brad stood beside his futon. He'd set two large suitcases on the floor by the door, and I glared down at them, his sudden reappearance robbing me of speech.

Brad looked up. He almost smiled. "Schuldig. I have some more things in the car. Give me a hand…" His voice trailed off as he surveyed my torn knees and general state of disarray. He frowned.

"Didn't See it, did you." I stated the accusation in a flat voice.

"What happened, Schuldig?" Brad came toward me, concern in his eyes. I could pick up from his surface thoughts that I looked like a rape victim.

Momentarily self-conscious, I pulled on my jeans. Then I gestured toward the door. "I need to talk with you."

He allowed me to lead him outside, into the garden. I wished I'd grabbed a smoke. I took a deep breath of annoyingly fresh air and all my anger and frustration flowed up and out like lava. "Far had a seizure today," I said; my voice came out high-pitched and prissy.

Brad frowned again. "No, I didn't See that happening. Is he all right?"

"You saw for yourself, he's sleeping like a baby now. Had all the benefits of electroshock, he told me, but without the smell of burning hair. I needed you today, Brad! Where were you? I've never had to deal with this shit before! I didn't know what to do! I thought he was going to die."

"I'm sorry, Schuldig," he said, honestly concerned. "But I had to do this. And I had to do it now. Everything that will happen in our favor over the next several months hinges on it. You just have to trust --"

"Yeah, trust you, trust you! You didn't even See this, Brad!"

"How is Nagi?" Brad tried to gain control of the discussion.

I wasn't about to let him. "What, don't you already know, oh Seer?"

"Schuldig, you know it doesn't work like that. I don't know everything, and I never claimed to. Now will you stop the histrionics and report on the team, or do I have to get drastic?"

"Nagi is fine, oh Leader. He's sleeping about as well as Farfarello. As for me, I'm going fucking insane! You left me, Brad. You left me with two people who need more care than I can give them, and you left me without any goddamn shields!"

"You're in the mountains, there aren't more than a dozen humans within a hundred miles," Brad said with infuriating calm. "You'll mend. That much I have Seen."

"Just as soon as I'm done feeding Nagi through a fucking tube in his arm and keeping Farf from biting his own damn tongue off, I'll work on it!" I spat, unable to stop the momentum of my rage. It felt good to have a target, even if that target was as dangerous a one as Crawford.

"I got you all those tapes, why didn't you find something to concentrate on?"

"You took the car, and the car has the tape player," I snarled, disgusted. "Your bad."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Schuldig, what about your disc player? I know you have that."

"Batteries, Bradley!"

Crawford looked up, his glasses flashing. He didn't give me the expected I'm-your-leader-don't-call-me-that look. Something other than ego and pride burned in his expression. His eyes had gone forbiddingly cold, and I backed away a step. "No one," he stated in a near whisper, "calls me `Bradley,' Schuldig. No one." Not waiting for an answer or apology, he shifted his gaze out of the arctic range, adjusted his glasses, and asked, "Why didn't you send one of the ladies here to buy you some?"

"Forgot," I mumbled, chagrined but not yet ready to give up the fight. I had too much adrenaline invested already. "I'm not perfect, all right? I don't remember shit! It's not like I have a fucking supercomputer in my head! No, that would be the kid lying in there!" I pointed through the window at Nagi.

Crawford sighed, not defeated but weary. "Schuldig, I have more work to do. I'm only staying the night. Will you calm down and tell me what happened to your legs, or would you rather stand here in pain and keep fighting? Because I can promise you, you won't win. Your choice, but make it quick. I am damn tired, and I want some sleep in a somewhat familiar bed."

"I fell," I whispered. "Trying to get something for Farf to bite on. I fell, on my knees. He seized bad, Brad. Worst one since the beach. And before you ask, no, I didn't forget a dose."

I hoped he would become tender, kind, that he would hold me and tell me things would be all right. But no, this was Brad Crawford, not Karl, not Sergei, not a man to be gentle with a combative bitch like me. "Increase it. Give him an extra dose tomorrow. We can go up to two more, we'll start with one. I'll make arrangements for another doctor in about a week. That's when we'll be leaving. I suggest you have your shields in order by then. Right now, bring the other bags in from the car." With that, Brad strode past me and back into our room.