Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 48 ( Chapter 48 )

48

 

I'm having a wonderful time but I'd rather be whistling in the dark

 

We reached the Holiday Inn Wuhan before noon the next day. My nerves were buzzing with exhaustion, but I couldn't let my guard down until we had a room. Party of three, fourth floor, crappy view - we were in. True, any security cameras would show the four of us, but as far as the desk clerk was concerned, Brad did not exist.

 

As we neared the elevator, I noticed a small group of travelers coming our way. One young man had a notebook computer case slung over his shoulder. Nagi and I exchanged looks. ::I'll be right back,:: I told the team, then hurried toward my mark.

 

I'd been using my gift a hell of a lot lately, more in fact than before the tower, more even than during the Takatori heyday. Thank whatever gods watch over crazed telepaths, the headache was less dramatic each time now. I decided to go for group subtlety this time, test myself a little.

 

I gently wove my thoughts through their minds, causing them to see nothing but each other for those crucial few moments. The owner of the notebook computer slid the strap from his shoulder and held the bag out to me. I took it casually and turned away from him, all the while keeping his attention focused on his fellows and their discussion about the day's agenda. I riffled through his mind a little more and found an image of the notebook case lying in a chair next to the window, and I reinforced it just enough. When he discovered it was missing, he'd check his room first, and by that time it would turn up in the lost and found. I didn't plan on keeping it long, just enough for Nagi to do his research.

 

The elevator door opened, and I rejoined my team with a grin on my face and a borrowed computer in my hands.

 

We reached our room and let ourselves in. The air conditioning was cranked up too high; it felt fantastic.

 

“Quickly, everyone, let's get washed up and see what we can do about our clothing,” Brad said, stripping out of his shirt as he spoke. “We have a couple of hours safely here, let's not waste it.”

 

Nagi set up the computer and started to work. “I'll take the last one, if you don't mind,” he murmured, already beginning his search of the internet.

 

“I'll keep watch,” Far offered, sitting on the edge of a bed and watching Nagi type.

 

“It's okay,” Brad told me, “he won't do anything. Help me with the shower.”

 

I guided Brad to the bathroom and turned on the water. Quickly I peeled out of my clothes, and Brad added his pants and underwear to the pile. I grabbed one of the little bars of deodorant soap, ran it under the water, then rubbed it into the more fragrant areas of our clothing. Until we could get to a real laundry or get replacements, it would have to do.

 

Carefully I helped Brad into the tub and stood close behind him.

 

“Uh, Schu? I'm blind, but my sense of balance is just fine,” he told me. “You don't have to prop me up like that.”

 

“Sorry,” I replied, backing off a little.

 

We washed quickly and deliberately, then I helped Brad back out of the tub and handed him a towel. “Do what you can for our clothes, Schu. Get everything from our bags and see what's wearable today.”

 

I wrapped a towel around my middle and hurried to comply, only then deciding that the air conditioner was, in fact, set way too cold. I turned it down before rummaging through all our bags and sorting the clothes into `wearable', `washable', and `to be put out of their misery'. Fortunately, only a few undergarments and a pair of socks made that last category, but I didn't enjoy discovering them in the bottom of Far's bag. When he stank out his clothes like that, a psychotic episode was sure to follow.

 

“Hey, Far, your turn at the water,” I told him.

 

The pale Irishman stood and stripped right there, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor and walking into the bathroom. Brad passed him on his way out, walking in careful slow-motion toward the beds.

 

I picked up Far's discarded clothing and cringed. Not a good sign, here. But at least they hadn't sat in the bottom of a travel bag in the summer heat for several days. I gathered them with the `washables' and followed him back to the bathroom.

 

By the time I was done salvaging what I could, I'd used up the deodorant soap and most of the shampoo, leaving only enough for Nagi's shower. But at least we'd have wearable clothes for a while. I brought the damp garments out and arranged them over the air conditioner vents to dry, grateful that they only smelled like soap now.

 

Nagi took a break to shower, and was back at the keyboard within seven minutes. His damp hair clung to his forehead as he frowned at the little screen.

 

Far and Brad were dozing on the beds. I flopped down on my belly next to Brad and watched Nagi work for a bit before sliding into an unintended nap.

 

I had no idea how much time had passed. When I awoke, my hair was nearly dry and Brad was seated on the edge of the bed. Far was out cold, and Nagi was still staring at the computer, though he seemed to have stopped typing.

 

For a moment I thought Brad was looking at the screen with him, but then I realized he was listening to the silence. ::Brad? What's up?::

 

::I think he's found something.:: “Nagi? What is it?” Brad asked, voice low.

 

At the sound of Brad's voice, Farfarello stirred and opened his eye.

 

“If this is it…” Nagi shook his head. “Crawford, if this is what happened, it is reversible. But…”

 

“What did you find, kiddo?” I asked, moving to stand behind him and look over his shoulder.

 

“It's a clotting disorder, but it usually only affects one eye or the other,” Nagi said. “But it's the closest thing I could find. It came on suddenly, with no warning. There was no pain, and no other symptoms.” He shook his head again. “But, Crawford, it's not exactly the same.”

 

“How is it treated?” Brad asked.

 

“Anticoagulants. Blood thinners. Warfarin,” Nagi explained in increasing detail.

 

“Warfarin?” I murmured. “What the fuck?”

 

“Rat poison,” Far offered.

 

I blinked. Nagi flinched, then nodded.

 

From behind me Brad growled, “I do not have to see you to shoot you. The first one who laughs, dies.”

 

A muffled snicker vanished from the vicinity of the Irishman.

 

“You're suggesting we feed Brad rat poison?” I hissed, glaring at Nagi. “What the hell kind of medicine is that?”

 

“It's the same chemical, yes,” Nagi snarled at me, “but the method of delivery is different. Besides, a grown man and a rat have vastly different body mass and metabolism. It's a legitimate drug, Schuldig. Grow up.” He turned toward Brad and said, “Crawford, there's something else. If I've found the real cause of your blindness, it can indicate an underlying problem.”

 

Brad held up a hand for silence. “Don't worry about that right now,” he said softly. “I'm more concerned with getting shot than any health problem at the moment. I'll let you know if and when that changes, all right? We'll go with the warfarin for now. Find the range of dosage recommended for this problem, and note any dangerous side effects. I'd rather take this chance than stay blind for too long.”

 

“Brad, I don't like this,” I whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “It's poison, I don't want to do this, isn't there another way? What if Nagi's wrong?”

 

“Schu, from what I know of this kind of medication, we'll have to watch for bleeding and stomach problems first,” Brad told me, taking hold of my hand and brushing his lips across my fingers. “Frankly, as long as I don't have any bullet holes in me, I should pull through just fine.” He frowned then, his dark eyes closing; he pressed his lips to the palm of my hand and lingered there. “Besides,” he said, shaking off whatever had just shadowed his thoughts, “I'd sooner trust Nagi with my health than some back-alley quack.”

 

I nodded, though the gesture was lost on him. “All right, we'll try this. But you have to promise to tell me if anything goes wrong.”

 

“I promise. I won't try to bluff my way through it.”

 

“What about this underlying condition thing?” I asked, suddenly wondering how Brad knew anything about this medication at all. “Is there something you haven't told me, Brad?”

 

He hesitated, then said, “Not that I'm aware of.”

 

Nagi hacked into a pharmacy and arranged for three weeks of standard dosage pills, then began covering his tracks. He erased his searches, deleted all cookies and temporary files, reset the internet preferences and then started a new search for porn sites. He methodically sought out the kinds of sites that leave spyware on a computer, and downloaded a number of very objectionable files. I watched with a sort of pride. “Chibi, I didn't know you had it in you!”

 

“Oh, please, Schuldig,” Nagi growled up at me, “keep your pants zipped! I know how to cripple a computer without looking like an operative, all right? You'd think you actually liked this sort of crap yourself! Want me to find a nice German toilet sex website? Or do you still like donkeys?”

 

Far laughed at that, and this time it was Brad hiding a snicker.

 

“For your information, you little pervert,” I snarled, “I did not buy that magazine! Someone, probably a one-eyed Irishman, planted it in my room as a prank!”

 

“So why was it sticky?” Nagi asked coolly, still typing away and downloading from three sites at once.

 

“Because I was laughing so hard I cried! I was laughing so hard I was blowing snot, all right?” Fuck, that damn Japanese bestiality magazine was going to haunt me the rest of my goddamned life!

 

“`So hard, so hard'; you just keep saying it, don't you?” Brad chimed in, grinning. “Come on, Schuldig, we all know that Farf didn't buy it, you did. You were coked out of your mind and for some twisted reason you decided to buy it and bring it home, then blame it on Farfarello. I swear, if that wasn't enough to get you to clean up your act, I don't know what would have worked.” He paused a moment, then asked, “Whatever happened to that magazine, anyway?”

 

Paybacks were now in order! “Oh, I got rid of it,” I purred, inspiration guiding my words. “I tossed it in the trunk of your car. You know, the Mercedes?”

 

Brad scowled suddenly. “You didn't.”

 

“Oh, yes I did,” I said, enjoying this turn of conversation. “Imagine what people will think when they find your abandoned car and look in the trunk…”

 

Brad concentrated a moment, then said, “Nice try, Schuldig. You threw it in the incinerator at our old apartment building.”

 

I sighed. Well, it had been fun while it lasted, and at least it had taken my mind off my fears for the moment. “It's a fair cop,” I confessed.

 

“At least he didn't keep it,” Farf observed.

 

“I'm done,” Nagi stated.

 

I looked down. The little screen glowed with overlapping message boxes; the cursor didn't move.

 

Nagi shut it off and closed it, then put it back in the bag. “Now all we have to do is get the medicine, and figure out what we're doing next,” he said, sounding suddenly tired. He looked up at me. “The pharmacy will probably be your job. I want some sleep. Is that all right, Crawford-san?”

 

“No problem, Nagi. Give Schu the information he needs. Schuldig, you and Farfarello take care of this. Pick up some extra supplies while you're out.” Brad paused as though getting a brief vision, then added, ::Don't be noticed, and do not under any circumstances allow Farfarello to draw blood.::

 

 

I'm having a wonderful time but I'd rather be whistling in the dark

Ah, yes, “Whistling in the Dark,” a means by which the faint of heart pretend nothing's wrong… A brief Farfarello interlude, courtesy of They Might Be Giants Flood. Far's not the one doing the whistling…but Schuldig does tend toward a, er, whistling past the graveyard frame of mind, and on some level he sincerely does not want to believe any of this is really happening.

 

Public Service Announcement:

Remember, unless you are a psionic assassin running for his life, I do not endorse any of the medical practices mentioned in this story. The emergency field medic measures are not a safe substitute for real medical care. While the medical conditions described in this story are based on “real-life” conditions, they are not identical in severity, cause, symptoms, prognosis or treatment - do not take these descriptions as literal diagnoses. (For more scientific detail, I will address this issue further in my live journal - www.livejournal.com/users/guiltyred.)