Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 55 ( Chapter 55 )

55

 

And I am the face you see within the mirror

And I am the hand that holds the fist away

And I am the dream forgotten in the morning

And I am… I am…

 

Too soon, too late. The landscape flashed past my window as the train rushed me back to my team. I wasn't sure what I'd find when I got there, but my insides were squirming. The past several hours had been bliss, and something in my head told me I would likely pay dearly for them.

 

Damn it, why couldn't I just accept a few moments of happiness without falling back into that Rosenkreuz mindset? Real people don't have to pay for their joy, or suffer because of it. This shit was giving me a headache. I leaned back in my seat and tried to relax, but all I could think of was disaster.

 

This is ridiculous. I gritted my teeth in aggravation. They don't own me. Not anymore.

 

Thanks to Brad, they didn't own any of us.

 

A soft whisper from my own mind brought a tremor of uncertainty, and I paused to look at it a little more closely. Doubt? Of Brad?

 

Wait a minute…

 

I frowned and concentrated inward. Something had just made sense, an ugly kind of sense that made me want to spit in disgust.

 

That inner voice in my head…that voice wasn't mine.

 

Half a dozen other telepaths had been in my head at one time or another, in training sessions or mock combat or simple brutality. They had all left scars, but only the teachers were strong enough to leave suggestions, or commands. I'd been dancing to their music all along: the self doubts, the uncertainty, the unquenchable longing - when I was a child, I hadn't had any of that.

 

The headache flared behind my eyes, but I refused to let go. I fought to see the boy I had been, the untouched mind that was my only link to my own past. It hurt like hell. I wasn't sure if something inside my head was broken, or if someone along the way had decided it would be better if I simply couldn't remember. In either case, I pushed into the fog of time and tried to dismiss the growing agony. I'd had worse than this; it wouldn't kill me.

 

Like a breath of a whisper, a name drifted upward, only to be swallowed away again. But that moment was enough. With a gasp I broke out of my trance, looking around quickly to see if any of the other passengers had noticed anything. But no, I had this corner of the car to myself, and my initial suggestion to ignore the lanky gaijin had apparently worked quite well.

 

I could see inside my own mind the glowing edges of imposed thought, things that didn't belong, things that had never been mine. Behind them danced my past, darting out of reach faster than a dragonfly. Still, I had what I needed: I knew the truth of my own heart. Whoever I might have once been, I was now and ever Schuldig, self-named and self-made, proud member of Schwarz and right hand of Brad Crawford. I loved two men, and owed the world nothing in return for that love.

 

I did not doubt either of them.

 

The brief urge to run away from Crawford vanished, as did the crushing guilt over my own happiness. The dark words and poisonous whispers evaporated from my mind, taking with them the remembered voices of telepathic teachers who had spared me no compassion. For the first time in many years, my thoughts were truly my own.

 

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I sat there, panting open-mouthed, and staring at my reflection in the train's smudgy window. The intensive programming wouldn't unravel all at once, but I'd given it a good solid rip. It couldn't remain in place much longer.

 

My reflection had a nosebleed.

 

I wiped absently at my lip. My hand trembled, and the headache began to swell to life again. Rather than try fighting it this time, I shut my eyes and tried to focus on calming things.

 

All I could think of was Yohji. The scent of him, the texture of his skin, the delightful moments when I couldn't see him but had to rely on all my other senses. I felt my pulse slow until it was almost normal, and my back relaxed a little in spite of the train's unpredictable jolts.

 

Yohji, my sweet lover. So sensual, so very different from most of the men I'd ever lain with. That he cared went without question. And he was amazingly not jealous. Concerned, but not possessive. He couldn't see Brad as anything other than abusive, which only made sense. Brad didn't like to show much of anything else, for fear of seeming weak.

 

Then Brad's sleeping face floated up before my mind's eye, and I smiled. Yes, we of the Rose Cross were broken men, but not as broken as they hoped we were. In his sleep, he remembered who he was, and I suspected he remembered while awake, too. Brad Crawford knew who he was; it was the `why' that eluded him.

 

I needed both of them.

 

This sudden and painfully bright clarity amazed me. It was as though I'd torn through a fine membrane and discovered my self on the other side. I needed both of them. No guilt, no shame, no sorrow - just me. Needing them. Brad's solidity, his confidence, his anger: these things kept me strong, sure, and driven. Yohji's gentleness, his perceptiveness, his warmth: these things kept me trusting, observant, and humane. Without Brad, I would forget to fight. Without Yohji, I would forget why. My heart sang with this knowledge.

 

And in that moment I realized why Esset wanted us stopped. Needed us stopped. All their training, all their brainwashing, all their control was nothing compared to the power of love. I had something to anchor to that they could not control, and it was stronger than they could ever hope to be. It didn't matter whether my love was returned, either. Being loved is good, but being able to love is grace, and I felt as though I were in a state of grace so pure no one and nothing could disrupt it.

 

I, Schuldig, once a boy with an unremembered name, can love.

 

Esset loved nothing. Esset would destroy the simple human capacity for love, for without it, life becomes cheap and men are easily controlled. It tried, oh it tried, with me. Time and again I suffered the worst punishments Rosenkreuz could dish out, all because I refused to surrender my humanity without a struggle.

 

And my defiance had finally paid off. I had become free. Never again would they control my mind, or my life. They could kill me, but I would never break.

 

And, what then of Schwarz?

 

If Esset hoped to bring us in alive, they were in for a rude surprise. A rude surprise that Brad Crawford had set in motion, I suspected, many years ago.

 

I was free. Nagi was craving vengeance. Far was beyond their control. And Brad Crawford was…well, Brad Crawford, perhaps the only man capable of taking on Esset and winning.

 

Kritiker has been warned.

 

Now, let the war begin.

 

 

 

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