Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 36 ( Chapter 36 )

36

It's a question of trust

If Brad was worried about me picking up stray thoughts from him, I'd have to get further away than the library. Damn it.

First, though, Brad did say he wanted me to empty this account, so I set about finding a teller machine that wasn't too close to the apartment. I kept my head down as I made my transaction, letting the fall of brown hair conceal my features in case the camera was on. Good thing I had the number written on my arm: I could barely remember it long enough to key it in. There wasn't much cash in the account; I took it all, then searched for a place to sit and think.

People flowed around me, seeing but not really noticing the lanky gaijin youth dressed like some kind of mock-anarchist. I laughed softly at that thought: Farfarello and his anarchist clothes to match his taste for anarchist rock music. The temptation to reach out to his mind came on strongly, but I shrugged it aside. If Brad said they would be discussing things a leaky telepath shouldn't be privy to, I wasn't going to pry. Not until the information was no longer dangerous, anyway.

I found a shade-dappled bench with a good view. With a sigh I settled down to people-watch, and wait. By the length of shadows and the number of pedestrians, I figured it had to be lunch time, though I wasn't hungry. My thoughts flowed around me, deflected the attention of the people as they went about their way. Unless they had some weird affinity for this particular bench, they would never see it, or me.

A young girl strolled by with a bunch of flowers in her arms. For some reason she seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Cute, perky, with longish black hair and…violet eyes? No, it couldn't be. Besides, there was no reason to think the sleeping girl had the same color eyes as her brother. I watched her go, and momentarily considered following. No, that wouldn't do. It was hard enough to block so many people from seeing me clearly, I didn't need to go stalking some girl on top of it.

I pushed myself up from the bench and started walking against the tide of pedestrians, choosing that direction so I could visually scan their faces as I passed them. I didn't like not being able to use my telepathy to identify other psi talents, but I felt fairly certain I could spot an operative before they saw me. They had a certain air about them, a lingering malice like the one I had worn so casually for so many years. I sighed and tried not to get pulled into my own past. Twenty-three is too damn young for a mid-life crisis.

At least, I was pretty sure I was twenty-three. Not like you get birthday parties at Rosenkreuz.

I reined that thought in fast. Not a good thing to be casually pondering, in case of leakage. With effort, I turned my thoughts to finding a way to spend some money. Funny how the past several weeks had conditioned me to do without casual cash. I'd become spoiled during the Takatori days, with wild and expensive taste in just about everything. Now I was hanging onto my money like I did in Berlin.

No, not a good thing to think about either, damn it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my disc player and headphones. I needed to focus on something safe, and this should do the trick. I turned it on.

Nothing happened.

God damn it! That's right, the batteries had punked out on me during the night. Fuck. I looked around for a place to buy more. It took me a little while, but I found a convenience store. I got some batteries and a canned coffee, then went back to my walk. Once I'd changed out the batteries, I stopped myself from tossing the spent ones in the trash and instead dumped them in the pocket with my breakfast wrapper. I hoped Brad would come up with a solution to the trash problem soon, or this vest would be in pretty foul shape by the time Farf got it back.

When the disc got to the second track, I skipped that one. I was pretty sure it had helped bring on the nightmares last night, and I really didn't want to go there again just yet. Little monsters, my ass, I thought, hoping I'd be able to sleep better tonight.

That thought brought me to a halt; the flow of pedestrian traffic slid around me as if I were a lamp post. If Brad Saw me staying away for two days, that's the same as two nights. Where the hell was I supposed to sleep? My mind spun on this question, then served up a handful of possibilities. It was summer; I could camp out somewhere. I could pay for a hotel room. If I wanted to, I could hide out in a public building. But I hated those options - they weren't secure at all. If an operative came upon me sleeping, I wasn't sure I'd be able to defend myself.

I started walking again, with no destination. Suddenly I felt myself smiling. I had an idea. Now, if only I could remember how to get there.

I ended up backtracking to the little bar. It was way too early, but I checked anyway. They weren't even open. I tried to remember the car ride here, which turns we'd taken. Slowly I began retracing that route, hoping to hell I wasn't getting myself lost.

The day slid by, growing hotter. A clock in a window showed it was nearly two-thirty. I cursed myself for not picking up some damn sunglasses at that convenience store, or anywhere else along the line. I wasn't used to this much sunlight. Not to mention, my unrestrained hair lay annoyingly hot on the back of my neck, as I hadn't bothered to tie it back, either. And I was thirsty. By the time I reached a vaguely familiar apartment building, I was sweaty and grouchy as hell.

Again he wasn't home, but this time I had a bank card and the hard plastic packaging from the batteries I'd just bought. After a quick scan to make sure I wasn't about to startle a trained assassin, I jimmied the lock in record time and let myself into Yohji's apartment. Using a corner of the vest, I wiped the doorknob and anything else I'd touched on the outside, and I made sure to lock the door as I shut it.

I looked around the living room. It was just as it had been the last time I'd found myself here. I headed for the kitchen in search of something to drink. He had some fruit-flavored water, and that looked perfect. I had to remind myself not to drink so fast it made me sick; I really didn't know if I'd given myself heat stroke or anything. In the coolness of the apartment, I chastised myself for being so stupid. I'd probably have a sunburn, too.

Returning to the living room, I regarded the couch with a fond smile. We'd had a good time together, me and that couch. Fatigue prompted me toward it, and I sank onto the welcoming cushions with a grateful sigh. I'd had too many restless nights, and I had just taken a long walk in the summer sun. I shouldn't be surprised that I was this weary, sitting here in a safe and cool apartment.

I scowled at that thought. Safe? By whose standards? The man was Kritiker, for God's sake. Even though he said he'd left, could I really trust that?

Then again, I'd left Esset, hadn't I?

Had I?

Damn it.

Too many questions without answers. My head already ached with the exertion of keeping so many people clueless to my existence. I knew I still only had two options: I could trust Yohji, or I could kill him. If he meant me harm, avoiding him would not be enough.

With a deep sigh, I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes, wanting only a little nap to clear my head. I wasn't worried about the owner of that couch finding an intruder in his home: Yohji would probably know I was there before he ever opened that door.

When the door did open, it startled me awake. I fumbled for my gun before remembering where I was. With effort I calmed myself and sat up.

Yohji stood just inside the doorway, a couple of plastic shopping bags at his feet. When he saw me, he picked up his bags and took them into the kitchen. "What brings you here, more trouble with the missus?"

I snorted a laugh. "No, not today," I told him, getting up and wandering toward the kitchen. I looked around the room for a clock. "Team needed to be sans telepath for a little while, so I took a walk." My eyes spotted a digital readout on the microwave: 5:20. Damn, I hadn't expected to sleep so long!

Yohji regarded his purchases for a moment, then looked at me. "It's Chinese take-out, if you want some. I always get doubles."

Suddenly aware of how little I'd eaten that day, I helped myself to a box. "Thanks, I'm starving!"

"What's that, your tracking number?"

I followed his gaze to my left forearm. "Oh, that." I didn't want to go into detail and sound like a complete fool. "It's nothing, not anymore. Cleared out an account today."

He pulled two beers from the fridge and handed me one. "Okay, Schwarz, what's on your mind? So to speak," he added with a slight grin.

I picked up my dinner and followed him back to the couch. "I'm supposed to stay away for a few hours or so, spend a little cash, keep myself distracted. But he's not expecting me back for two days. I want to know why, what he Saw, but of course he wouldn't tell me."

"Two days? Does he know you're here?"

"I don't know."

Yohji sipped his beer, then asked, "Weird that he wouldn't tell you. Aren't you sort of his right hand man?"

"It's not that simple," I told him around a mouthful of noodles. "When Crawford has a vision, it's only something that might come true. It's always just a possibility, not a certainty, until it actually happens. Then you figure that acting on the knowledge of a vision can change the end result. So, unless it's immediate or extremely critical, Brad doesn't discuss his visions with anyone. Not even me."

"Weird," Yohji repeated. "It's got to be hard, living with someone like that. Then you add in the kid with his restrictions, and the psychopath, and damn, Schuldig! I thought living with Weiß was hard."

I laughed a little and shook my head. "Yeah, it's a circus, some days. Compared to us, you guys seem pretty damn normal. Unless you have some secrets lying about that I haven't found yet," I added with a leer.

His eyes distant, Yohji said, "Everyone has secrets, my friend." Then he focused on me and added, "For example, I didn't know you were left-handed."

I blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Your gun. It's in a left-hander's rig." Yohji watched me casually as he finished eating.

"How the hell did you pick up on that?" I asked, astounded. The vest had been covering the gun the entire time. There was no way he could have seen it!

"Please, Schuldig! You think I can't tell when someone's packing heat? That vest isn't hanging quite symmetrically, indicating there's something underneath it on one side but not on the other." Yohji regarded me with humor in his eyes. "And you just confirmed that it's a gun."

"Shit." I shook my head. "You should have been working in Interpol or something, Kudou. I think your skills were wasted here."

"I stayed where I was needed." He took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaled a cloud of smoke, then regarded me with a smirk. "Oh, and before you ask, yeah, I knew it was you. Obviously someone was in my apartment, and the only other people it might have been wouldn't have wiped off the doorknob."

"Man, I'm glad we're not enemies, Kudou!" Setting my take-out box down on the table, I gave a good stretch only to discover an unpleasant smell wafting up from my armpits. "Damn. I don't suppose I could borrow your shower and a shirt, could I? I didn't bring a spare, and I'm offending myself, here."

"No problem. You know where the shower is, help yourself. I'll find you another shirt. Do I get to have that one back, now that you've stunk it up?" he asked with a grin.

"If you still want it," I replied, heading for the bathroom.

I assessed the condition of my clothes as I removed each article. The jeans were fine, but everything else needed washing. Poking my head out the door I asked, "Do you have a laundry here?"

"Nah, I use a drop-off service," he replied, a cloud of cigarette smoke preceding him to the bathroom door. "Don't worry about it, I can lend you some socks and stuff too, if you need it."

"Thanks, man." A laundry room would have made this easier; Farf's vest was not wearable anymore. I emptied the pockets, setting my disc player and headphones and the bits of trash carefully beside the sink. On impulse, I tossed the vest into the shower. Maybe I could spruce it up a little while I washed. I tied the holster over the shower curtain rod, carefully placing the gun far from the water, then climbed into the shower and ducked under the spray with a grateful sigh.

I closed my eyes and let the water course over my face and down my chest. The skin on my face and arms felt tight and the warm water stung: sunburned, all right. After a quick and thorough scrubbing of the necessary parts, I turned the water temperature down and leaned into the spray. The cascade of cool water felt soothing as hell. I stood there, head bowed under the water, hands flat against the wall.

Into my calm came the whispers of doubt. Brad had said a few hours, but meant two days. I recalled other conversations I'd had with him, where he'd indicated that he knew exactly where I'd been. He'd been jealous as hell. Now I'm here again, I thought. Brad has to know, he can't not know. What are his intentions? Why did he basically send me here? My thoughts wandered back to the last time I'd gotten cleaned up in this apartment. What a mess that had been. Brad had said that, if I'd had my gun that night, it would have been a bloodbath. He had deliberately sent me out unarmed, knowing I'd run into trouble. Today he sent me out again. He was meeting with people he didn't want me to see. He knew where I was. Could he be cutting a deal to ensure his own and Nagi's safety? Brad was a hand-picked team leader from Rosenkreuz. How much did I trust him now?

And I was a hand-picked follower, conditioned to a fine edge of paranoia and betrayal. My heart rate sped up until I felt dizzy with panic. For a moment I had the urge to just sit down under the falling water and let it wash me down the drain.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of myself. Eyes tight shut, I could see my friend Karl shaking his head at me, telling me to think and figure out whether the fear was my own, or something they wanted me to feel. Rosenkreuz used fear as a tool, to keep their operatives from becoming too independent.

Did I truly believe that Brad could sell me out?

No. I did not. With effort I made my breathing slow and deep, concentrating on only that. The fear was not valid. I would not allow it to consume me. The moment I turned against the team out of fear would be the moment Esset won, and damned if I would allow that to happen. Things were not as bleak as I feared; they never were.

I picked up the soggy, smelly vest and rubbed some soap into the pits, then rinsed it and wrung it out as best I could. Yohji had one of those corner pole shelf units in the tub; I hooked the vest over the highest corner to drip for a while. Still forcing my thoughts away from unfounded worries, I turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

I dried off too roughly, making the fresh sunburn sting. With a snarl I tossed the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, then reached for the door. Then I remembered where I was, and reclaimed the towel, wrapping it quickly around my waist before leaving the bathroom.

Yohji eyed me speculatively as I padded out barefoot and clad only in a towel. "How's the shoulder?" he asked, stubbing out his cigarette and coming toward me.

I realized it must still look like hell. "It's getting better, just not there yet," I said. "That's why I'm going left-handed for a while."

Yohji reached out to my shoulder, probing gently. "Man, this does not look good. You seen a doctor for it?"

For some reason, I really didn't want to discuss this. "It's okay, really. It's only been a week, right? You know how long this shit takes."

"How about the hands?" Yohji moved his inspection from my shoulder to my palms, running his fingertips over the barely-mended flesh.

"My hands are fine. Thanks for the antibiotics, by the way." I felt the last of my panic attack dissolve under Yohji's gentle touch. The momentary disappointment I felt when he released my hands surprised me.

"There's some shirts for you to pick from," he told me. "I set them out on my bed. The button-down might be easiest, if your shoulder's stiff." He regarded me critically and suggested, "You said you had money to spend, do you want to do some shopping? I don't know what kind of stuff you have, but I'm guessing it's not up to your standard."

"You'd be right," I told him as I headed for his bedroom. "We had to leave all the good stuff behind. My favorite god damned coat, too." The button-down he'd mentioned was a long-sleeve linen shirt that would look good with the sleeves rolled up. I shrugged into the shirt and rolled the cuffs, noticing with distaste that the account number still showed faintly on my sunburned arm, pale digits against an angry red. Grumbling at myself I untied the towel, letting the long shirt guard my modesty as I headed back to the bathroom.

"Do you want to borrow some shorts?" Yohji asked as I passed him in the hallway.

I blushed in spite of myself. "Yes, please." I left the bathroom door open while I wrung out the vest a little more. "Is there someplace we could hang this to dry?" I called out, hoping he could suggest something. It occurred to me that it might take more than two days, and Farf would be furious if I left it behind.

"No problem," he said from the doorway. "Here, these should work." With that he tossed a pair of plain white undershorts at me.

I caught them and for a moment just stood there, holding a pair of Yohji's briefs in my hands. Then my mind returned from the gutter. I thanked him and quickly put them on. Strange that we wore the same size, I thought. Hell of a coincidence. Then again, compared to most of the population of Japan, Yohji and I were of fairly similar build, though he was a bit taller.

"Do they fit all right?"

"Yeah, they'll do just fine, thanks," I said, reaching for my jeans. I finished dressing and brushed my hair again, still not used to the fall of soft brown that had once been my cherished red.

Yohji watched me in the mirror. "What do you need dried?" he asked.

"Oh, right." I grabbed the soggy vest and dangled it over the tub; it was still dripping. "Um, I don't want to make a mess all over the place."

Yohji joined me by the tub and took the vest from me. I watched him bunch it up and wring it with an incredible amount of force. The tendons in his wrists and hands stood out in sharp relief; the muscles in his arms bulged and flexed with each movement as he squeezed the vest free of water, then draped it over the curtain rod. I didn't realize I was staring until he gave me a quizzical look and asked, "Did you doze off on me, Schuldig? I said, do you want me to stash the piece for you while we're out?"

"Oh, right," I murmured. "Probably should, huh?"

Yohji smiled at me and said, "Uh, yeah, unless you're planning to rob the place." He regarded me with those cool, intelligent eyes. "Come on. I'll show you." He led me back to his bedroom, then opened his closet. Inside stood a small safe. "I'll lock it in here until we're back for the night, if that's okay with you."

"Fair enough," I said, not thrilled to be without my gun again, but I was starting to get used to it.

"You got cash?" he asked, shutting my sidearm in the safe and closing the closet door.

Crawford's instructions echoed in my head, two conflicting commands: spend some money, and buy nothing. "Oh, hey, wait a minute," I said, tangling a hand in my hair in frustration. "Brad said something weird earlier today, he told me not to buy anything. But then he told me to go blow some cash." I paced out of his bedroom and back toward the kitchen. "Sometimes the visions he gets are opposite, or they change from moment to moment. I usually just go with the last one stated, but I don't know if I should go buying stuff today. Damn it, it's never simple!"

"Why would buying stuff be a problem, especially if you have money? I'm presuming it's small, unmarked bills," he added, lighting another cigarette.

"Yeah," I laughed, "got it fair and square from an auto-teller. As far as I can tell, he's worried that object readers might figure out where we are. If I buy something, and they get hold of the money I touched, they'd know I'd been there." I thought momentarily of the breakfast snack and the batteries, then told myself to leave that the hell alone. A man could drive himself crazy trying to keep up with a precog, especially one with a bad case of mice. "But there might not actually be any psychometrists within a thousand kilometers. That's the problem. I just don't know."

"Okay, I can follow about half of that. Mind explaining in layman's terms?"

"Give me a cigarette," I said, holding my hand out. "I don't talk without a bribe, Weiß."

"I thought you hated this brand," he challenged, not reaching for his pack.

"I do, but I'm getting desperate," I confessed.

Yohji shook his head and chuckled, then tossed me the pack and a lighter. "How did Schwarz manage to be so much trouble if you can't even keep track of your smokes?"

I lit up and sucked down the bitter poison, then said, "Actually, it's only been bad since the tower. I forget shit."

"Like numbers?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Like numbers."

"You said you hit your head when the tower broke apart," Yohji stated, watching me closely. "What does that do to a telepath?"

"I don't know," I told him, feeling too vulnerable in this conversation. "I'm still in the process of finding out. The telepathy is fixing itself, bit by bit. The memory problem doesn't seem to be getting any better. Not yet, anyway."

Yohji glanced at his watch, then stubbed out his cigarette and changed the subject. "Come on, let's do our shopping and get some snacks. We can talk more later."

"So do I spend money or not?" I asked, still trying to second-guess a possibly mad precog.

Yohji chuckled and said, "How about this. I'll pay, and you give me the cash. Technically, you're blowing the cash without using it to pay for stuff, right? So either way, you win."

I couldn't argue with that.

We drove about half an hour, or the duration of six pop songs and a long commercial on the radio. The shop catered to tall men, and the clerk knew Yohji by name. While they chatted, I wandered through the displays of shirts, looking for something easy to wear yet flattering: though in exile, I was still vain.

I found myself hurrying a little, not quite trusting the normalcy of the situation. First I grabbed a couple of shirts that could be worn in layers, then some sturdy denim jeans and a pair of cross-trainers to replace my wrecked leather pants and shoes. I tried everything on, then declared my mission a success. As I set everything on the counter, a small plastic package came flying at my head. I caught it, then looked at my prize: men's underwear, my size, cotton, black. I grinned sheepishly and added them to the pile.

"You done?" Yohji asked, sauntering over and pulling out a credit card.

I was about to say "yes" when I noticed a brown leather blazer that seemed to be begging me to buy it. "Just a sec," I mumbled, reaching for the jacket hopefully. If it fit, I wanted it.

It fit.

Yohji smiled a little as we added it to the tab. He finished his transaction and handed me the bags. On our way to the car, he asked, "Want any snacks or anything?"

"Got anything sweet?" I asked, craving cake.

"I can find you some," he answered. "What do you like with your sweets?"

"Coffee," I murmured, already fantasizing.

We drove to a café, one of the few in the area that was still open. Yohji bought an assortment of chocolate and fruit treats, along with a bag of coffee beans. I nodded my approval.

As we drove back to Yohji's apartment, I couldn't stop thinking about how pleasant this trip had been. This was the first time I'd ever gone shopping with a friend, or even had a friend to shop with. Far didn't count; it wasn't easy to take him anywhere. And I had never seen Karl or Sergei this side of the grey walls of Rosenkreuz. They would have loved this, I thought. This time I didn't immediately banish the wave of grief that their memory brought; I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the fullness of that loss, balanced as it was by this new friend I had found in Yohji.

On our return, Yohji set the snacks in the kitchen and went into his bedroom while I pulled tags off my new clothes. About the time I was done with that and looking for his coffee grinder, Yohji returned with my holstered gun. "Don't know where you want to keep this, but I promised I'd get it out when we got back," he said as he handed it to me by the straps.

I bundled it up with the clothes and carried it all out to the living room, leaving Kudou in charge of the caffeine. I really didn't know where to put this stuff, so I set it on the floor by the couch.

From the kitchen came the smell of coffee brewing. I sighed and leaned back on the couch. Yohji brought out the box of sweets and set it on the table. "You said you don't do well with certain drugs," Yohji commented. "Does hashish bother you?"

"No, actually, it doesn't," I told him, curious where this was going.

"Good." He opened a drawer on the side of the table and pulled out a little box and a small water pipe. "It helps me sleep, sometimes." Yohji took the pipe to the kitchen; I heard him rinse it out and fill it.

I wasn't sure if he'd offered to share, but then again, I hadn't fully decided whether to accept if he did. It never helped me with sleeping, and I was craving sugar and caffeine anyway. "All telepaths are speed freaks," I mumbled to myself with a slight smirk.

When Yohji returned with his pipe, he brought me a fresh cup of coffee, then set about preparing his smoke. Before lighting it, Yohji set the pipe down and strode over to his stereo. Graceful hands rose to the CD rack. "You like music, Schuldig?"

"I love music," I replied, curling up on the couch and savoring a small piece of lemon cake.

He set a few discs in the changer, then joined me on the couch. From the speakers drifted poetry sung by a Japanese man with a haunting voice. Yohji picked up his pipe, lit it and inhaled deeply, eyes closing as he took in the pungent smoke. As he exhaled, he asked, "Hey, so how's the kid?"

"He's doing okay. Thinks I'm a total freak, I'm sure." I breathed in the softly sweet smoke that wafted toward me, then took a sip of coffee. "What brought that up, anyway?"

"Oh. The music," he replied. "You'd mentioned that he couldn't listen to music, the restrictions and all. How's that going?"

"Oh, he can listen to some music, we just have to be careful what kind," I explained. "This would be right out."

"A Gackt-free zone? Sad." Yohji set the pipe on the table and reached for a fruit bar.

"Yeah, this is way too evocative. He listens to Mozart, and some trance music, but nothing with words. He detests pop, and anything too interesting scares the crap out of him." I finished off my piece of cake and surveyed the box for another. "Poor bastard couldn't eat any of this stuff, either."

"You're going slow with him, right?"

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm going slow. Haven't had The Talk with him yet, but I'm still trying to figure out how to get Brad to do it for me."

Yohji chuckled, a soft, mellow sound. "Good luck. Sounds like the missus isn't very open to suggestions."

"No, he's not," I replied. "You know, sometimes I really wonder what goes on in his head."

"You don't peek? That's hard to believe, Schuldig."

I finished my coffee and got up to get some more. Halfway to the kitchen I said, "He's good at keeping me out."

"That's not a very good trait for a lover."

I paused. His words had hit something painful. I swallowed and bowed my head before completing my errand.

Yohji didn't pursue the conversation, for which I was grateful. I didn't feel comfortable discussing Crawford's shortcomings. We sat in mutual silence for a few moments, listening to music and nibbling on sweets.

"Hey, Schuldig."

I blinked and focused on him. "Sorry, guess I dozed off a little."

He smiled and said, "Told you it's good for sleeping. Why don't you borrow my room for the night? There's a show I want to watch anyway, you might as well have the bed. I'm not going to be using it."

"You sure?" I asked around a yawn.

"Positive. Man, I've never seen anyone suck down two cups of strong coffee and then pass out like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Schuldig. Go on, you know where it is." He reached down and scooped up the bundle of clothes, my gun still tucked in the middle of it. "Here, take this in with you. I don't want to trip over it."

I stashed my gear next to his bed, then went back out toward the bathroom. The vest was nearly dry; I flipped it around to keep it drying evenly. On my way back to the bedroom, I paused to look into the living room. Yohji had turned off the stereo and turned on the television, and then gone into the kitchen for something. I said "good night" to an empty room and went on my way to bed.