Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 93 ( Chapter 93 )

93

 

Du willst noch leben irgendwann,

doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?

Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her...

 

Over the next twelve days, we spent more time in Yohji's car than his apartment. We told ourselves we were searching for my mad teammate, but I think we both knew that Yohji was studiously avoiding any well-meaning visitors. That, and it made my eventual departure seem a little further off: without the television to remind us what day it was, or how long I'd been there already, it became easy to pretend I'd only just arrived.

 

But it has been twelve days out of nineteen, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. From this place high in the hills, I looked down at a half bustling, half sleeping vista and sighed.

 

“You all right?”

 

“Just thinking.” I watched Yohji light another cigarette, turned down his offer. Smoke had really not been my friend lately.

 

“Amsterdam?” Yohji murmured, smiling gently.

 

I felt myself smile in response, though it probably looked a little strained. “Something like that. Yohji, what kind of life did Kritiker leave you? I mean, if you wanted to go off and get married, have a dozen kids, could you?”

 

His smile faded to something close to ice as he took the cigarette from his lips and held it in front of his gaze like a holy candle. “No. I couldn't. And it's not Kritiker's fault.” Yohji shook his head; for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard and said, “It changes you, killing on command like that. I won't pass my sins to a child.” He took a long drag on his smoke, then asked, “What about you? If you could, would you?”

 

I thought about this a moment. I had no memory of my family, beyond the occasional pain-filled image or remembered incident. I felt fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to recall their faces no matter how hard I tried, and that the trying would only bring me agony. Could I ever have been a fit father, presuming I could learn how to lay with a woman without killing her? Memory swarmed over me, and I shuddered. “No. I can't anyway, even if Esset weren't an issue. Besides, I already sort of have a kid, right? And we all know how he turned out.”

 

Yohji smiled again, this time tinged with shared regrets. “I guess we're both the end of our lines, then.”

 

I'd never thought of it that way, but hearing it said so plainly felt like a punch in the gut. “I guess so. We all are.” I almost blurted out something about Brad's family, but stopped myself at the last moment. To cover my slip, I looked up at the stars and frowned. Was Brad's family still alive, somewhere in America? Would the Crawford line continue regardless of his fate?

 

Were there other precogs to follow in his footsteps? And if so, would Esset use them too?

 

Had Esset already taken them?

 

“Where did you go?” Yohji murmured, offering me a can of beer.

 

“Nowhere helpful,” I replied.

 

“Do you think he's still in Japan?”

 

My brain didn't quite connect his question to our situation, and I gave him an odd look before comprehension set in. “Oh. Yeah, I think he's here. Are you sure your friend is all right? I mean, when Far gets his head set on something, he can't be turned. Unless he starts obsessing on something else, and that's usually worse.”

 

Yohji nodded absently. “Ken's fine. I'm trusting him to be fine. We've come too far to let one of ours fall.”

 

“I thought you didn't consider yourself part of the team anymore,” I murmured, watching him closely. I'd had enough of secrets to last a lifetime, and if Yohji was keeping something from me…

 

But he scowled and shook his head. “Not the team, but we were a little like brothers. Sometimes I do miss them, Red.”

 

I smiled. “Now it's Red? What happened to Ginger?”

 

Yohji grinned and said, “In this light, it's Red. In the apartment, it's Ginger. Sue me, I used to color coordinate floral arrangements.”

 

I toasted him with my beer. “Fair enough!” After taking a deep drink, I muttered, “Though you may as well call me Stripes. I'm getting white streaks already, damn it.”

 

“So dye it,” Yohji stated simply. “Really, I think you've probably earned them. You know they're associated with wizards and the like?”

 

“Bite me. I'm no wizard.”

 

“In ancient times, telepathy was magic. Tell me I'm wrong.”

 

I blinked, stared at him, then conceded defeat. “You're right. It would have been, wouldn't it? Damn, no wonder Esset has such a stranglehold on the world! It bought its way into the royal courts under the guise of magic and just stayed. That's a little creepy, you do realize this?”

 

Yohji nodded, then gave me a curious look. “How long do you think those old hags were building their power base? I had the feeling that they weren't of normal age, like they ate the life energy of others or something.”

 

“Please, I do NOT want to think about this, especially in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the fucking night!”

 

Yohji laughed at my outburst as I took another long drink. “Red, are you afraid of ghosts?”

 

“Hell yes!” I blurted. “Aren't you?”

 

Yohji smiled slightly and said, “Not anymore. Don't worry about it, I was just curious.”

 

“The average asshole knew jack about those three,” I murmured, fighting down the urge to look behind me as my hackles stirred. Just talking about them would always give me the willies. “They could have been vampires, for all I know.”

 

His voice low and somber, Yohji whispered, “And now they're entombed in the deep green waters right out there.”

 

I stared at Yohji, then realized he was laughing. “You shit! You got me all freaked out!”

 

“That was way too easy,” he murmured, pulling me toward him for a kiss. “Seriously, I'm not worried about them anymore. They're dead, probably long overdue, but dead nonetheless. I would think someone in that organization would decide we'd done them a favor and leave you guys and Kritiker the hell alone.”

 

“It would be nice, wouldn't it? All of us get medals for ridding the world of three archaic bastards and furthering some other bastard's career?” I sighed, considering the myriad possibilities we had unleashed upon the world. “What a fucking mess.”

 

“You ready to make another pass, or do you want to call it a night?”

 

In answer I found myself yawning. “I think I'm done.”

 

Yohji kissed me again and started the car. “Under other circumstances, I'd love to show you how comfortable the Seven is for intimate things, but…”

 

“What, first get me going on ghost shit and then try to seduce me? Where the hell did you learn your moves, Yohji?”

 

He chuckled softly. “Usually girls get a thrill out of imagined danger, with the exposed setting and ghost story and all. But it's not much fun when the danger might be real, is it?”

 

“Or when the ghosts are.” I finished off my beer and leaned back in the seat, letting the wind lend me a sense of safety. I kept my senses tuned for anything out of the ordinary, found nothing as we returned to Yohji's apartment, our shared sanctuary.

 

I watched as Yohji checked his traps and signal wires, finally declaring his home safe to enter. It reminded me of some kind of voodoo fetish, a carefully tended ritual to keep the evil out and the safety in. Between that and our earlier conversation, by the time I entered his home I had to keep from bolting inside as a creeping paranoia settled between my shoulderblades.

 

I debated saying nothing, as I believed this to be a product of my overwrought nerves, but decided to tell Yohji just in case. He frowned, then handed me his cell phone. “If this isn't a false alarm, hit the redial and drop the phone. You stay here, I'll check the stairs.”

 

The thought of Yohji going out alone chilled me to the core, though I couldn't say what, exactly, I thought might be out there waiting for him. “I don't like this.”

 

“You don't have to. Stay put, and guard this door.” With that, Yohji stepped back out, drawing a length of wire from his watch and fading into the shadows.

 

I tried to look telepathically without being seen, but I couldn't trust my nerves to keep my shields solid. Instead, I put my ear to the door and listened as intently as I could. I thought I picked out one set of footsteps, very soft and stealthy, and hoped to hell that was Yohji.

 

A few moments later, Yohji was back at the door, sidling into the apartment and sealing the door with wire. “I didn't see anything,” he whispered, “but we'll be on alert for a while. You want to start some coffee?”

 

While Yohji double-checked the windows and fire escape, I set about making some very strong coffee. I was already tired, more tired than I should have been, and I knew it would take some serious caffeine to keep me functional. Correction: to make me functional at all. At the moment, I didn't feel particularly useful for anything.

 

Yohji joined me in the kitchen, paused to embrace me before finding us a couple of large mugs.

 

“Your phone's over there,” I told him, pointing toward the microwave. I'd put it back where I'd seen him leave it, just another thing I'd picked up as habit here.

 

“I'm fairly sure we're okay,” he stated, “but I'm not taking any chances. This place is sealed tight; if we need to get out, follow me close, okay?”

 

I nodded, feeling more wretched by the second. If there were trouble, I had surely brought it here.

 

“Will you stop blaming yourself?” Yohji murmured, setting his fingertips under my chin and raising my head back up. “I made myself a target the day I joined Kritiker; leaving is no different. Only the hunter changes. I'm not afraid to die, but I am afraid to fail, and I will not fail you.”

 

“Yohji, don't promise this,” I whispered, more afraid than before. Something about his demeanor worried me, something I couldn't quite recognize. “You hardly even know me, and we both know I can't stay!”

 

Yohji shook his head, looked into my eyes, his own eyes the deep jade of sacred oaths. “I do know you, Shooga. More than you realize. And for God's sake, someone should be willing to defend you, unconditionally, for once in your life! That someone…is me.”

 

As his lips brushed mine, the coffee maker boiled over, spilling hot water and coffee grounds all over the counter. I flinched as the mess hit my hand. Yohji cursed and switched the possessed machine off, then struggled to slide it over to the sink without making too much more of a disaster out of things.

 

From somewhere in myself I found a tide of laughter rise up, and I didn't have the will to stop it. The mundane absurdity of the situation bore his words home to me in a way no kiss could do. I had become a part of Yohji's home, of his life, enough to get swept away in his paranoia and his unruly outdated coffee maker. I had become dear to him, and he didn't resent me for it. He didn't push me away or play with my affections.

 

He loved me.

 

So did Brad.

 

Or did they? Laughter turned to weary tears, and I hoped Yohji didn't see them. I'd dreamed for so long of loving Brad, of giving myself to him and having him love me and keep me to himself, but he confused me so much. I felt torn around Brad, almost as if there were two of him: the one who loved me and the one who used me.

 

Yohji never made me doubt myself.

 

Which one was real?

 

“You didn't get burned, did you?” Yohji reached for my hand, a cold compress at the ready.

 

“No,” I whispered, swallowing my tears. “Just a little brewed.” I let him wipe the coffee residue off my hand, my other hand rising on its own to pull him closer.

 

His eyes met mine, saw the confusion there.

 

I didn't give him time to speak. I leaned in and kissed him softly, honestly, offering him what Brad had alternately scoffed at and cherished. My heart couldn't accept the changing weather anymore; Yohji had always been steadfast and stable, offering me nothing but himself, asking nothing but my company.

 

As we stood there, complete for the moment in each other, I recognized the turning tide within myself and accepted it. Brad had sent me here for this chance at a happiness he could not give me. I would be a fool to throw it away.

 

If Farfarello did indeed leave the team, then it was time for me to do the same.

 

 

 

 

A/N:

Du willst noch leben irgendwann,

doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?

Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her...

 

You want to live some day,

But if not today, tell me when?

After all, some day, even a dream will be too long ago

 

“Kein Zurück” - Wolfsheim Casting Shadows

 

A telepath's life is never easy, especially at Rosenkreuz. First one is broken to within a hair's width of sanity. Then he's given over to a master, whether a team leader or other authority figure; usually this involves a certain dominance structure in which the telepath is never in control. Over time, he loses faith in his own decisions, in his own desires, in his own heart.

 

Though Brad Crawford never took leader privilege with Schuldig, he still dominated him as thoroughly as was expected, and now neither of them really know how to change things. Schuldig has tried to forge a real, human relationship with the man, but something is still holding Brad back, keeping him from admitting whatever his feelings might truly be. How long can a sane man put up with such a conundrum without losing hope? I think we may have just found out.