Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 63 ( Chapter 63 )

63

 

was it mirror? or window glass? the subtle residue beyond your grasp…

 

We arrived at the Charles deGaulle International Airport a little before eight the next morning. During the early morning hours I had found us a new vehicle, and now pulled the panel van into a parking spot in the middle of a shining array of cars.

 

Far was still agitated, and I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of taking him into the terminal. I looked at him with my most sincere smile on and said, “If we're keeping this van for a while, I need you to stay out here and make sure nobody messes with it. I trust that if anyone comes by looking for us, you can make enough of a ruckus to get my attention?”

 

“You'll see it on the monitors,” Far growled. “I'll throw body parts at the cameras just for you.”

 

I took a deep breath and nodded. “You guard the van, I'll look for Crawford.”

 

The Irishman stared at me with uncanny certainty. “He'll be here.”

 

I gave the keys to Far in case he needed to move the van, or in case he needed some small hand-to-hand weaponry. I didn't really think we'd be bothered here; this was one of those random plans that Brad endorsed, and I hadn't sensed any surveillance after leaving Germany. Still, the thought of wandering through a crowded airport alone, searching for someone who rightly shouldn't even be there, left me feeling less than confident. I straightened my rumpled clothes as best I could, ran a hand through the unruly and dye-faded mop that was my hair, and headed for the main terminal.

 

Inside, the pressure of hundreds of minds crept up on my shields with the inexorable momentum of a glacier. This was worse than the mall, worse than any place we'd stopped in the past four months. I ground my teeth together and tried to concentrate. I hadn't been in this tight a crowd in a long time. And now I was doing this without Brad, without his silence to lean against.

 

It was harder than I'd remembered.

 

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window and paused. I looked like a hitchhiker, or a drunk. Either way, it wasn't good. At least there was a change of clothes back at the van.

 

Trying not to look like a lost tourist, I searched for the arrivals board. Then I realized I had no idea where they would be coming from. If they were even coming here!

 

“Damn it!” I snarled to myself. This was crazy, and futile. How the fuck was I supposed to guess where to look?

 

Falling in with a group of British kids on holiday, I ended up at an overpriced eatery. Out of spite more than necessity, I swindled the cashier out of a bit of money and a cup of coffee. Served them right for charging so damn much for this nasty stuff! Prize in hand, I stalked to a table and slumped into a rickety plastic chair.

 

Farfarello had insisted that Brad would meet us in France. I'd guessed this airport just because I knew Brad was familiar with it, but it wasn't the only place he could go. I had no idea where he would be coming from, or when. But Far had been so certain.

 

I tried to find some logic in the situation and failed. Closing my eyes, I sent my thoughts out in a cautious sweep. For a moment I felt myself caught up in the excitement of the young travellers, and the boredom of the staff - it was an odd mix that left me feeling both lethargic and energized. Then I sent my thoughts toward the parking lot.

 

::Far? Can you hear me?::

 

::I'm sorry, but you've exceeded your anytime minutes,:: Far replied. I could taste his grin.

 

::Do you know where he's coming in from,:: I sent back, ::or when?::

 

Farfarello considered this, his mind buzzing and searching for an answer. Dimly I picked up the tune of that song that started this whole wild goose chase. ::The only major player not mentioned in the song is the United States. That must be it. They're coming in from America.::

 

::Great. Any idea on when?::

 

::Check the arrivals board.::

 

Fuck. ::Right.:: I released the mindlink and lurched to my feet. I'd been driving so long my legs didn't want to work now. Well, one wild goose or several, it really didn't matter to me anymore. I may as well check it out. Besides, I'd need an answer for Farfarello if they didn't show. I couldn't let him think I hadn't looked.

 

As fate would have it, there was an early flight due in from New York in about forty minutes. I settled down to wait for it. Every so often I sent out a mental probe to make certain Far was still okay, and to see if anyone had taken undue interest in me. I discovered that I could have made a bit of cash if I'd followed a couple of men into the restroom; my lip snarled in distaste. They were the kind of people who thought they owned anyone poorer than themselves. Like Takatori.

 

Like Esset.

 

Paranoia swept over me and I scanned them again, but no, they were just horny tourists looking to cheat on their wives without “really” cheating.

 

My heart didn't want to slow back down. I watched the clock and tried counting the seconds, but either my internal clock was wound up way too tight or time itself was grinding to a halt. This was becoming the longest forty minutes of my life. And the odds were that Brad and Nagi were nowhere near here.

 

He had said I would know how to find them, I'd know when to look. But this was insane, literally insane: inspired by a certified lunatic.

 

I ran a hand through my unkempt hair and winced as I hit a tangle. My hand shook as I combed through the mess.

 

Twelve minutes to go.

 

Trying to look casual, I sauntered toward the gate. I couldn't convince my way through to the arrival gate itself, that would look suspicious as hell on the security cameras. I had to be content waiting with a herd of locals and peering out the window. My reflection in the glass was thin and lacking color, like a ghost made of water.

 

I found myself hoping against hope that by some mad chance Far was right, and they would be here.

 

The plane from America cruised down to the runway and sped away toward the turnaround. I resisted the urge to scan it; if there were Esset operatives onboard, I didn't want to give them any advance notice.

 

And if Brad weren't onboard, I didn't want to give myself any advance letdown.

 

The wait was excruciating.

 

When the first few passengers came trudging up from the gate, I searched their faces only, wondering suddenly if Brad would be so changed I wouldn't even recognize him. The fear was silly, but real: it had been four months, and he was less attached to his unique appearance than I was. He'd been the one to try the fake mustache, after all.

 

People streamed from the plane in twos and threes, one wheelchair, a woman with an infant, a small cluster of students, a military officer, a couple on honeymoon.

 

I started to turn away in disappointment, and stopped.

 

The officer drew a pair of glasses out of his pocket and put them on, the gesture as familiar to me as my own reflection.

 

I swallowed. Damn, he looked good like that! Navy blue uniform, impeccably neat; black hair cropped short, and - was that a gray patch at his right temple?

 

Coffee-colored eyes regarded me with warmth and a little humor. As he came even with me, he looked me up and down and gave a subtle nod toward the men's room. Recalling the horny tourist, I leered a little and followed him in. If anyone noticed, they were doing their damnedest not to think about it.

 

We pretended not to look at each other as we paused at the urinals. Out of the corner of my eye I confirmed that yes, Brad had a very distinguished streak of silver through his hair and no, it didn't look fake. It would show up even more once it grew out again. I wondered if that was why he'd cut it.

 

::Good to see you. Where's Farfarello?:: Brad asked, his mental voice strong and welcome in my head.

 

::Guarding our ride.:: I paused before asking, ::And Nagi?::

 

Brad glanced down at his watch, a new, sleek, steel-bright band at his left wrist. ::He should be ahead of us…now.:: Ignoring me, Brad pulled out the handle of his carry-on and wheeled it toward the door.

 

I followed, my throat tight. For a moment I had feared… Then I saw him with my own eyes and smiled.

 

Nagi strode down the concourse, not looking back. He seemed older, more confident in himself. Either that, or they'd rehearsed this until it was comfortable.

 

Not looking at each other, we followed him, the officer and the pick-up.

 

::Which parking lot?:: Brad asked as Nagi neared the exits.

 

I expanded my contact to touch the kid's mind and said, ::Out and to the left. Good to see you, chibi.::

 

::Don't you mean `nice to see you're back'?:: Nagi sent, totally deadpan.

 

It took me a moment to register the pun. ::Chibi, you made a funny!::

 

::Whatever, Schuldig.::

 

::Brad, I've been meaning to ask you,:: I began, but Brad cut me off.

 

::Not here. We'll talk later. Believe me, we'll talk.::

 

The three of us managed a neat pass-by, allowing me to take the lead in the parking lot. Nagi followed, with Brad at the rear. The van was right where it should have been, Far safely within it and fairly lucid from the feel of things. Nagi and Brad climbed into the back with Farfarello, I took position behind the wheel, and with cautious optimism I drove away from the airport. “Where to, oh fearless leader?” I asked, unaccountably cheerful.

 

“Unspoiled wilderness,” Brad stated. “North and a little west of here. We need privacy.”

 

I could hear the rustle of clothing and resisted the temptation to glance back. I allowed the highway to turn us toward green and tree-topped hills. The next exit gave me access to dirt paths and fields. A quick scan showed no witnesses as I aimed the van across the grass and off toward the trees.

 

Once we were as hidden as possible in broad daylight, I parked the van and leaned back with a sigh. The quiet of Brad Crawford flowed over me like sauna steam, warming me in places I didn't even know were cold. The team was together again. Together and safe.

 

“Schuldig, come with me,” Brad stated, opening the back door of the van and squinting against the glare. “Far, over there.” He gestured to the faint tracks where we drove into the woods. “Keep watch. Anyone comes this way, stop them fast and get back to the van.” Leaning back into the van, Brad addressed Nagi: “You have the keys. Any trouble, get this thing moving.”

 

Nagi slid into the driver's seat, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Far stared at him a moment longer than strictly necessary, then stalked to his post. Brad regarded me with dark, wise eyes and said, “We need to talk.”

 

I frowned, but followed him without a word. This didn't seem right, somehow. The whole damn situation didn't seem right. I touched his mind, not really intending to make sure it was really him but confirming it without a doubt.

 

It also confirmed that something was very wrong.

 

Now dressed in jeans and a soccer shirt, Brad strode a measured distance away from Farfarello and stopped to wait for me. “How did your recon go?”

 

I started to reply, then realized that this wasn't exactly the question he wanted answered. “Disturbing,” I finally stated. “They don't know about us. The other facilities - they don't know.”

 

Brad nodded to himself. “I thought as much. What else?”

 

I pondered this. “We think the only place looking for us is -” I couldn't bring myself to say the name, even here. I swallowed and said, “The big house. All the others, they don't even know what's going on. I told a few of them, hopefully that will muck things up a bit.”

 

“Did you finish your list?”

 

“The only place we didn't get to was Copenhagen,” I murmured, hoping to hell we really were out of Farfarello's earshot. “Far said something about them making robots there, he's thinking Nagi isn't human - again. If he hadn't caught your signal, we'd be there now, and who knows what he'd have done.”

 

Brad raised an eyebrow. “What signal?”

 

I realized my mouth was hanging open, and shut it, shaking my head. “The song, Brad. The song on the radio.”

 

Brad stared at me. “What song?”

 

“But - didn't you - he -” I spluttered, my nerves completely shot.

 

“There was no signal,” Crawford stated, his voice low. “I had a vision that Farfarello would make you drive to France for some ungodly reason. We were actually heading for Italy.”

 

My legs didn't want to hold me up anymore, and I let them fold under me until I sat down on the lush grass with a thump. “I'll kill him.”

 

“You'll do no such thing.” Brad reached down and grasped my arm, hauling me roughly to my feet. “In any case, it worked. We're going to be travelling together for a while. I need time to work some things through. You're going to be driving. You all right with that?”

 

“Yeah,” I snarled, “as long as Far keeps his fucking hands off the radio.”

 

 

A/N:

was it mirror? or window glass? the subtle residue beyond your grasp…

 

Back to CXS Telemetry. The song - “Hanged Man”. It's a very Farfarello song, and a very Brad song as well: a fortune teller laying out the cards, or is it one of the Fates Herself? Hard to say. But here lies the point where mystery and madness meet: how did Farfarello find Brad, really? That's what Schuldig wants to know…