Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 23 ( Chapter 23 )

23

You'd better make your face up with your favorite disguise…

"Thanks, kid," I murmured as Nagi shut the door behind me. I set down my bags and staggered to the toilet. The headache combined with bright daylight had spawned sudden nausea; I knelt and clung to the porcelain, debating whether I would be better off if I did or did not give in and vomit.

The nausea passed slowly, my stomach still where it should be. I cautiously rose and went for the medicine cabinet, still a little amazed that Brad had actually allowed us to unpack and stock the damn thing. Two headache pills. No, make it three, swallowed dry. My throat hurt, and my stomach threatened to send them right back up, but I waited it out. Slowly I made my way to the living room. I wanted to lie down, but I had the nasty feeling that the room would spin, and I didn't really want that.

Nagi shot me a disgusted look that fairly accused me of being hung over. Farfarello ignored me, choosing instead to rummage through the bags I'd left by the door. Brad was in the kitchen, his back to me.

I went into the kitchen for some water and stopped dead in my tracks. Brad had turned, and he now sported a very neat black mustache! It amazed me how such a little change could have such a big effect. He looked like a different man, though one in dire need of a haircut to match his trim mustache.

"Wow!" I blurted, then laughed a little in spite of my headache. "Where did you learn to do that shit, Brad?"

He smirked; the mustache made him seem positively devilish. "You never took the espionage track, did you, Schuldig?"

"Saw that it would come in handy, did you?" I asked as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a cautious sip. "No, I didn't. Just explosives and general mayhem. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, then?"

Brad looked like he was debating something. Then he picked up what looked like a magazine and handed it to me. "I never took espionage either."

Dumbfounded, I stared at him.

Brad shrugged. "I cheated."

I looked at the book. Beginning Stagecraft - Makeup. "I'll be damned," I murmured. I moved closer to inspect his handiwork. Though I hadn't looked too closely at Takatori Reiji, I had a pretty good idea what genuine facial hair should look like, and this was pretty convincing. "This your first try? It's good."

"Yes, and thank you. How did your shopping go?"

"Fantastic, as you already knew, of course." I raided the freezer for some ice and wrapped it in a dish towel, then pressed it against the base of my skull. "Messing with people's minds was easy enough, but I guess I overdid it." Remembering the look on Nagi's face, I grimaced and added, "Nagi thinks it's a hangover."

"And well he might," Brad chided in a quiet voice.

I bowed my head, ashamed yet unrepentant. "I couldn't have helped him anyway, Brad. You know that."

"I do know that. That's why Nagi is angry with you, but I am not."

I looked up into his eyes. They regarded me with a gentle sadness that I could not define. "Brad, I--"

He held up a hand to stop what I was about to say. "Schuldig, leave it be. Things are going as they must. You and Nagi will both have recurring headaches for a while, so I've sent for more medications for you both. Keep using your powers regularly. That's the only way your headaches will get better. I'm still working on Nagi."

I wanted to ask, but he didn't give me the chance.

"Farf had a mild seizure this morning," Brad went on, voice low. "He didn't go into a full-blown fit or anything, he just sort of…paused. Doesn't remember the few minutes before it, though he seems clear-headed now." Brad frowned a little. "I don't want to change his meds just yet. If he has another, I'll consult the doctor again. Until then, just help me watch him."

"Sure," I mumbled. I had tried to nod, but movement brought my headache back into sharp focus. The ice had been a mistake. I dumped it into the sink, shook out the towel and draped it over the faucet. Trying to distract myself from the pain, I asked, "How long are you keeping the nose hairs?"

He raised a hand to his lip as though he'd forgotten all about it. "Oh, I want to see how long it lasts. That will be important to know: can I eat in this thing, stuff like that. Did you get the clippers?"

"Yep, along with a ton of other stuff. They didn't have deodorant, though."

"Not a problem. We can get some with our next batch of general supplies. Ever give someone a haircut, Schu?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Uh, you're joking, right? With this headache, and without some sleep first, I don't think I could make a straight line…"

"Later, then. You can practice on Farfarello, if he lets you. We'll each need to learn how to do this, on each other and on ourselves. Makeup, hair, all of it." He gave me a determined look. "We will not be captured."

"Prediction, or defiance, Brad?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, Brad turned away and rifled through the fridge. Then he stated, "Both, I think. Yes. Both."

I excused myself from the kitchen as he started fixing lunch. The sight of food made me queasy, and the damn headache was laughing at the medicine. I found something else I could take on top of the other stuff and downed it, sipping a little of my bottled water as a chaser. I didn't want to be alone, though, so I parked myself on the couch and leaned my head back. If the pain would just let me sleep…

I must have dozed off. Farf nudged my shoulder, and the smell of food wafted to my nose. "Can you eat?" he asked, voice low.

Without thinking, I nodded. Relief flooded me as I realized it hadn't hurt to do so. "Yeah, I think I can eat." Brad was no gourmet chef, but he did manage a decent stir fry. I followed Farf to the table.

Over lunch, I kept staring at Brad's mouth, with the unaccustomed hair over his lip. Amazingly, the mustache stayed on, even when he drank.

Across the table, Farf asked, "Do I get one of those too, Crawford? Or do you have something else planned for me?"

I laughed a little, and Nagi snorted. The image of the Irishman with a mustache struck me as hilarious, and it seemed that Nagi was on the same wavelength there. I gestured with a chopstick and told him, "No, but I want to see one on Nagi!"

"Like hell, Schuldig," Nagi barked, the words coming a little easier today. "You get a mustache, you look like a Viking."

Farf chuckled at that one. "Chibi's got a point, there, Schu. Eric the Red, is it?"

I expected Brad to put a stop to our bantering, insisting that this was serious business or some such, but instead he joined in. "Actually, Farfarello, I'm going to make him grow his own. I want mine to be removable, of course."

I glared at him. "Brad, you wouldn't!"

"At least I'm not making you cut your hair. Yet."

"You --! You're joking, right?"

He didn't answer, merely sipped his tea. Then: "If everyone's done, we need to get to work. There are a couple of bags that need going through, and I believe Schuldig brought us dessert."

"There's hair dye and makeup and stuff," Farf offered. "I've already looked through it."

"Thank you, Farf," Brad said. "Let's pull everything out of the bags and go through it all together, though. I want everyone familiar with these items and how to use them."

We adjourned to the living room. Farf divvied up the pastries while Brad and I lined up the various items on the low table.

"I'm impressed," Brad stated softly. "Again, good work, Schu."

"You're welcome," I murmured.

Over the next half-hour, we went through the items and read the instructions on the packaging. Mostly it was Brad reading and the three of us listening, in various stages of interest. Farfarello was already well-versed in the use of bleaching agents, and I had no intention of coloring my own hair. Nagi reached over and took one of the instruction sheets, and started reading it for himself, concentrating hard. It worried me a little that he was still having so much trouble with language. I made a mental note to discuss this with Brad later.

Once the hair color tutorial was over, Brad got his haircut, though it was Farf, not I, who did the work. The Irishman had been using clippers for years, and was quick and precise. At Brad's instruction, we used newspaper to catch the hair, and when done, I carefully took it into the bathroom and dumped the hair down the toilet. I wasn't totally sure why he had me do that, but I figured he'd tell me or not, as he saw fit.

Then we turned our attention to the makeup, regular and theatrical. Brad seemed quite interested in things that could change skin tone or distract from the color of one's eyes. In a low tone he murmured, "Colored contact lenses," as though putting that on his to-do list.

Working in tandem, Brad and I started on Farf's stage makeup to hide the scars. Nagi watched with distant amusement as more of the putty ended up stuck to us than our intended target. Finally, Farf growled, "Ah, fuck, let off! I'll do it myself!" He grabbed the thick makeup and some other items and stomped into the bathroom, where he leaned in close to the mirror and set to work fixing our mess.

"Well, it is better if he can do this himself," Brad offered, trying to get the sticky makeup off his fingers.

"Who's this stuff for?" Nagi asked, holding up an assortment of eye makeup and nail polish.

I shot him my best hentai grin. "Why, it's for you, of course!"

Nagi backed away as I came toward him. "Crawford, what is he doing?"

"I have no idea." Brad tried hard not to smile.

I took the items out of his hands and looked them over, then tumbled them onto the couch, keeping only the electric purple nail enamel. "Give me your hand," I told him as I shook the little bottle.

"Crawford, do I have to?" Nagi clearly had no desire to participate in our disguise training. Either that, or after the mess I'd helped make of Farfarello, he didn't trust me to touch him.

"Schuldig, let's wait on Nagi," Brad stated thoughtfully. "We'll have a perfect opportunity to create and test his disguise, but he needs to cooperate with you and today is not the day for that."

I sighed, disappointed. "Oh, all right." I looked at Nagi, who still regarded me with a little disgust. "Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's not that," the boy murmured, looking at his feet.

I returned the nail polish to the pile and stepped closer. Nagi didn't move. "Hey, chibi," I whispered, "I'm sorry about last night."

He looked up, midnight eyes reproachful and expectant.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Crawford told you not to go," he stated in flat accusation.

I sighed. "You're right. He did." I glanced toward where Brad had been standing, but he wasn't there. "But kiddo, I couldn't stay, either."

"Do you hate each other now?"

It suddenly occurred to me that this kid might have figured out how close Brad and I had gotten, and then the fighting… "No, kid, we don't hate each other. You know how I get when I'm stressed. Well, right now, we're all stressed, and we're all trying to get better. Right?"

Still speaking in that hesitant whisper, Nagi said, "I can't use my powers. I tried, but it hurt too much." It had the sound of a confession, and I realized that he hadn't told Crawford this.

"Give it time, chibi. Give it time." I didn't know what else to say.