Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 31 ( Chapter 31 )

31

Here is the house where it all happens…

Dreams faded slowly, pleasant dreams with warm caresses and laughter. Only vaguely half-awake, I moaned and tried to soothe my aching sex. But one arm was tied, I couldn't move it, and the other hand, my off hand, was covered with bandages. Dream laughter mocked my plight; I groaned, trying to roll onto my belly. Blankets and clothing tangled around me, restrained me, heightened my distress. Then I rubbed against something firm but yielding, like a mattress, with a delightful rough/soft texture. With another groan and a shudder of pleasure, I hugged my pillow to my chest and pressed into the mattress.

I knew I was asleep, I knew I was dreaming, but the pleasure was real, and I thrust against the mattress with smooth determination. I would wake and face the day soon enough, but not just yet. I heard myself gasp as I moved just so, and I repeated the motion, speeding up and moaning with pleasure. Release came with a jolt. I lay there, unmoving, clutching my pillow and letting the sensations just wash over me. Damn, something must have really had me riled up, I thought, trying to recall where this sensual dream had come from.

Riled up, or relieved to be alive? My eyes snapped open as I remembered everything.

From somewhere nearby came the smells and sounds of cooking. I looked around. Yohji's apartment swam into focus, along with about a hundred points of pain. Glancing down, I saw my bandaged hands, my right arm still bound to my side, and the borrowed bathrobe sticky with come. Ah, hell, I thought, suddenly embarrassed. With a grumble I tried to shrug out of the soiled robe.

"Hope you like noodles for breakfast," Yohji said, coming into the room and setting down a cup of coffee and a glass of juice. He looked at me quizzically, then smiled a little. "You all right?"

I flushed. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry about this," I mumbled, still trying to get out of the damn bathrobe.

He reached over and deftly slipped the robe off my good shoulder, then out from under my butt. I pulled the blanket over me, wondering why I was so damn self-conscious all of a sudden.

Yohji just laughed and said, "That's all right, I pulled it out of the laundry basket anyway." I couldn't tell if he was joking. With smooth precision, he unfastened the bandage holding my arm down. "Try moving it a little this morning. There's ibuprofen in the bathroom, take some of that for the swelling." He wadded up the robe and the bandage and strolled to the bathroom, tossing them inside. Then he went on, presumably to his bedroom, and I could hear him rummaging around.

I managed to get to my feet, intent on a trip to the bathroom. Everything ached this morning. At least my hands weren't burning anymore. I stumbled to my destination, not bothering to close the door.

As Yohji walked by, he reached in and set a bundle of clothes by the sink. "See if these fit," he said, "I have to finish breakfast."

There was a pair of grey cotton workout pants, a little long but wearable. I cinched the drawstring as best I could one-handed, then picked up a sort of sleeveless, sideless, black mini t-shirt held together by a ribbed waistband and collar and very little else. I imagined Yohji wearing this to a disco, and grinned. That would be a sight to see! Then I realized this was about the only shirt I'd be able to get into right now, with my shoulder the way it was. I scowled and struggled into it, then returned to the sofa.

Yohji brought in two bowls of fried noodles and seated himself on the floor by the table. Thank God he'd brought me a fork! The thought of trying to eat noodles with chopsticks, left-handed, was beyond me. As it was, the fork was difficult enough. I managed to feed myself without too much embarrassment, though the noodles were cold by the time I was halfway done.

"I have to hurry," I mumbled around a mouthful, speaking more to myself than to Yohji. "I have to get back."

"Hang on, there." He gave me a serious look. "You're not going anywhere like that. It'd be cruel of me to let you out that door. The codeine's worn off by now. Can't you just talk to them from here?"

I shook my head. "Still too risky," I told him.

"I don't get it. You said it's like a radio, is it something they can intercept? The movies always have it as a closed-circuit kind of thing."

"Well, when it's working right, it's closed," I growled, frustrated at my situation. "I haven't been right since the tower."

"Oh, so instead of having a private channel, it's like a cell phone," he muttered. "Anyone with the right kind of scanner can pick it up? Like a stronger telepath?"

"Basically. It's hard to pinpoint location, but there's a chance I'd lead them right to the team, and it's a risk I'm not ready to take."

"Don't they have a phone?" he asked, a little incredulous.

"Nope. Not that I'm authorized to use, even if I did know the number." At his confused frown, I added, "Mr. Duct Tape on the Windows can't have any ringing telephones, either."

"Well, that's not very prudent," Yohji stated flatly. "There should be some kind of backup plan."

I laughed. "No shit! Then again, he probably has one, but didn't bother to tell me. Crawford works in mysterious ways."

Yohji lit up two cigarettes and handed me one, then asked, "Were you dreaming about him?"

I flushed. "Um, no, not exactly."

"Sorry, had to ask," Yohji said with a grin. "You put on a pretty good show, my friend."

I looked away, astounded. I couldn't believe we were actually discussing this. "Sell tickets next time," I quipped, having nothing else to say at the moment.

"I might," he murmured.

The trill of a cell phone interrupted. Yohji got up and retrieved his phone, answering with a clipped "Hai."

I watched him, debated eavesdropping then decided against it. I was still too sore and tired to bother using my telepathy; it would probably just give me a headache.

Yohji hung up and smiled over at me. "It's cool, man. They're okay."

"Beg pardon?" I blurted, startled.

He sauntered back over and sat next to me on the sofa. "I've got street contacts myself," he said. "I made a few calls while you were sleeping. It wasn't hard to get a message through."

My head spun. "Wait, wait. Are you telling me that you're in with the yakuza?" If Yohji knew where we were hiding, who else might know?

"Well, not exactly," he hedged, "but as a detective I did have a fair number of informants, and you never know when they might come in handy. I sort of kept a few on retainer. Word on the street is the son of a high-level crime lord is shacked up with his mistress not far from here. Seems she's quite the looker. Tall, leggy." He grinned at me. "European. Red hair. Smokes like a chimney."

I regarded the cigarette in my bandaged hand, then looked at Yohji through a curtain of tangled red hair. "Nice."

"Hey, it keeps everyone away from you guys. No questions. They've got the whole area locked down tighter than an exclusive girl's school." Yohji took a drag on his cigarette, still grinning. "And if anyone goes poking their nose in, they're going to find a couple hundred armed street thugs just itching for some action. Your Crawford is a shrewd player, my friend, with or without a phone."

"So Nagi made it all right?" I asked, still a little stunned. I hadn't expected Kudou to be so well connected.

He leaned back and blew smoke at the ceiling. "Well, from what you said, if he hadn't gotten back safely then none of them would be there, right? That caller told me that it's still business as usual, so apparently nothing has changed except your being here. I had my contact drop hints that the mistress is hiding out with a chaperone until the situation cools down a little."

I felt myself relax. That did sound like the sort of arrangement Brad had made with his own contacts, and if anything were amiss the place would be as active as an anthill under siege. "If you were me," I asked, "how long would you hide out before going back?"

"I'd give it a full day, anyway. Wait till you can walk a straight line." He regarded me closely. "Wait till you can run or fight, if you have to."

With a sigh I admitted he was right. I was in worse shape than when I woke up on the beach: at least then all my limbs worked. I tried raising my right arm. It hurt like hell. "So I guess you're stuck with me for a few more hours, anyway. That cool with you?"

"No problem, Schuldig. I have food, cigarettes, medicine, anything you need to get your shit together. Like I said, I won't let you out that door until you're functional." Yohji paused and leered at me, adding, "And I don't mean like that."

I laughed. "Right, right!"

We sat together on the sofa, enjoying the silence and our smokes for a couple of minutes. Then Yohji looked over at me and said, "So, Schuldig, you're gay, right?"

I looked away and mumbled, "What brought that up?"

"Oh, I was about to ask you when the phone rang," he said. "You're with Crawford?"

"Oh. That." I studied my bandaged hands. How should I answer him? I'd dropped enough incautious hints, that's for damn sure. We weren't exactly a couple, but we weren't exactly anything else, either. The fact that I was in love with a man who could be passionate one minute and cold the next was not something I felt particularly proud of.

Yohji watched my discomfort, then said, "Gay is cool. Me, I go all ways." He sucked at his cigarette, eyes still on me.

"All? How so?" I asked, hoping he didn't mean anything too bizarre.

"I love women," he said, "and I love men. Totally, with no reservations: never had use for the damn things. But I have pretty strict standards. It has to be special, no matter who it's with." His eyes took on a misty, far-off quality, his next words coming out as softly as a prayer. "Usually it's only one night. But for that night, it's real."

I had the feeling this was a small part of a larger truth, one he was reluctant to talk about at the moment. He sat there, locked in his reverie, his cigarette slowly burning down between his fingers. The silence grew thick, making me uncomfortable. I shifted a little and said, "I guess you could call me gay." Old memories dared me to say more, but I concentrated on my cigarette and tried to ignore them.

"You don't like women?" he asked as if sensing that, like himself, the truth went deeper than appearances.

"Let's just say," I murmured, "I won't with women." Part of me wanted to tell him everything, but shame locked it down.

Instead of prying, Yohji stubbed out his cigarette and changed the subject. "How are you feeling? Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, since you're here, may as well show you around." He helped me up, then made a grand gesture and said, "Welcome to my humble home. Here's the TV, help yourself. The remote lives here - don't lose it! The windows are tinted with safety blinds, so don't worry about being seen unless you lean right up close to the glass." Yohji led me into the kitchen. "Feel free to feed yourself. I'd avoid the takeout box in the back of the fridge, I don't remember when I bought that."

I grinned. So this was how normal folk lived.

"Did you say something?" Yohji asked.

"Uh, no," I stammered. Damn, so I was even broadcasting to a non-psi? Oh, this did not make me happy.

As we passed back through the main room, I caught sight of a small black dish with what looked like a bamboo stalk sticking out of it. I went to take a look and found it was a flower, some orchid type, with a single long stalk and one delicate, waxy-white blossom. "What's this?" I asked. I'd seen them before, but never knew what they were.

"Cattelya orchid," he replied.

"I didn't know you could grow them in an apartment," I said, impressed.

"They're not that hard," he said, reaching out to turn the dish a little. "You have to keep turning them or they'll lean toward the sunlight."

"So being a florist is like being a detective?" I teased. "Something you just can't stop doing?"

He smiled sadly, fingers caressing the petals. "This one's the last, I think. Too many memories." Not looking at me, he turned and walked toward his bedroom.

"You can help yourself to some clothes, too," he called out. "If any of them fit." He came back with a pair of sneakers and some socks. "Here, try these. Don't know if you noticed, but your shoes are trashed, too."

"I'm not surprised. For the record, I don't recommend climbing down a thorny vine in the middle of the night. Or any other time, for that matter." I was grateful he'd let me drop the flower conversation so easily. It bothered me that my comment had brought him pain, after all he'd done for me. All he was still doing. I took the sneakers and headed back to the sofa.

They fit, but barely. "Damn, Kudou! You have big feet," I grumbled, trying to pull the laces tighter.

"Not really, they actually match my height," he said, sprawling on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. "Your feet are just really narrow, that's all."

Throughout the day I tested my arm and my hands. I wanted to get back to my team, but my body was not cooperating. The bruising on my shoulder had darkened, and now it was swelling. When Yohji peeled the bandages off my hands, the cuts were angry red, and one on the left palm was seeping. He scrubbed gently at them for me, working the soap in deeper than I had the night before, and trying another disinfectant cream when that was done.

I stood in his bathroom, knowing only pain and wanting more codeine, but not wanting the sluggishness that came with it. Yohji rummaged in his medicine cabinet, then asked, "Can you take penicillin? I don't like the way your hands look."

"What, are you a doctor, now?" I asked. Then again, I was more inclined to trust Kudou with my health than that back-alley quack, or any of the other doctors employed by the underworld.

"No, but I have cut my hands up before," he said, showing me the scars. "The wire is not an easy weapon. If I'm not careful, it whips back around and bites me. Gloves don't cover everything, and wire can cut through leather. We can't get you stitches, but I can give you some antibiotics and try some liquid bandage on the worst ones."

I nodded, wanting a quick answer, even if I didn't like it. "Yeah, I can take penicillin. Nagi can't, but he's not stupid enough to tear his hands up this bad, either."

The liquid bandage felt more like liquid fire. He had me press the edges of one of the cuts together, then he painted it with the antiseptic plastic. I cursed loudly, finding some relief in the outburst. Yohji didn't use it on the seeping cut, though. That one got a butterfly bandage over a dose of ointment.

Once he was done working on my hands, he served up another couple ibuprofen and a penicillin capsule that smelled like vomit. My nose wrinkled, but I took the medicine with some food and lay down to rest. Damn, I hated feeling helpless.

The rest of the day passed among naps and meals and one more unpleasant rebandaging. Yohji pronounced my clothes unsalvageable, unless I wanted a pair of torn-up leather pants for anything. I didn't know if I could replace them at this time, and they had come in handy last night. "I'll keep them," I said, "at least until I can get a pair of Kevlar jeans."

With nightfall the restlessness became more than I could bear. I paced around his apartment, wanting only to be back with Schwarz.

Yohji fixed a simple dinner, then made up two bundles in plastic shopping bags. One held my leather pants and shoes. He dumped the penicillin capsules into the ibuprofen bottle, then tossed that into the bag. The other bag held my shirt, which was beyond hope, and the bandages and towels and anything else I had bled on.

"I hope you're going to burn that," I mumbled, eyeing the larger plastic bag.

He regarded me curiously and asked, "Any chance someone will come here looking for you?"

The thought scared me. "I sure the hell hope not," I told him.

"Yeah, I was going to burn it," he told me, eyes narrowed. "The incinerator is on the first floor. Thought I'd drop this in on the way out. You ready?"

I picked up my bag and followed him out the door.

As he drove, I kept my shields down tight, covering them with the suggestion look at the car, look at the car. I felt horribly exposed, but didn't dare use a stronger suggestion for fear of leakage. My body had taken enough damage that my mind ached. It would take several days of rest before I could do a damn thing with any degree of confidence.

Yohji coasted to a stop near the bar. "I'll look for you here," he said, "in a couple of days. Make sure you're mending okay."

"Do you want your clothes back?"

He smiled and shook his head. "You keep them. Give you something to think about."

I looked at him, then on impulse leaned over and kissed him swiftly on the mouth. He responded with tender warmth. "Be safe, Kudou," I murmured against his lips.

"Watch your back," he replied. "And remember to go slow with the kid, right?"

I smiled, backing out of the car. "I remember."

He drove away, and I turned my attention to not being seen as I walked back to the current Schwarz hideout.