Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 95 ( Chapter 95 )

95

 

See the way we fell astray
Dead until our dying day
Hold my hand and we will pray
For all in disrepair

 

The rain beat a frenetic rhythm on the metal skin of the train as we sped toward the airport. Our journey to the train station had been a wet and miserable one, in spite of the umbrella. I shivered and pulled my coat closer around my sides.

 

Yohji's cigarette smoke clung to the leather, a bittersweet reminder of what might have been.

 

Farfarello had placed himself between me and the rest of humanity on this godforsaken ride, shielding me physically at least. The other passengers' thoughts battered against my mind in a hodgepodge of languages and desires and destinations. I didn't feel like I had the energy or the inclination to keep them out, either; I lied to myself that I was keeping a lookout for Esset agents when the truth was I just didn't care.

 

For a few brilliant days I had escaped the darkness of my reality, only to be dragged bodily back into it the very morning I'd decided to stay in Japan.

 

There are no accidents. I've known Brad Crawford and Farfarello too damn long to believe in coincidence anymore.

 

Still, the timing hurt like hell.

 

Far fixed me with a kind stare, then blinked slowly like a cat. “You should try to sleep.”

 

“Not likely, but thanks for the thought.” I stretched in my seat and tried to get comfortable. At the moment my head wasn't rebelling against the load, but any minute now the hovering migraine might just make itself at home, and I didn't want to be asleep when that happened. Besides, my hair was still wet. I wiped at the ends with a handful of napkins. “Tell me something, Far. How long were you waiting for me?”

 

“I'm surprised you waited so long to ask, but that isn't your real question.”

 

“No, it's not.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “You knew where I was. You didn't make contact. Why?”

 

“My business is not with him,” Far murmured, his expression thoughtful. “You warned him, though. For his friend.” There was no threat in his statement, only words.

 

“I did, yes.” Turning toward him, I watched his face closely as I asked, “Would you have hurt Yohji?”

 

Farfarello answered without hesitation. “No, your business is your own. Crawford did as much as send you there, didn't he? More than once?”

 

“I guess so, yeah.” Brad kept using me as a messenger, sending hints and warnings to Kritiker via Yohji - the same Yohji who wanted nothing more to do with any of it, yet had at least one associate's phone number neatly memorized. Again a raw chill coursed through me at the thought of leading Esset to his door.

 

“No one approached his home while I kept watch,” Far whispered, turning away from me. “That was two days, plus the rain. You might want to take something for your head if I can hear you so easily.”

 

My throat felt like sandpaper as I forced some migraine pills down with a mouthful of water. Leaning back in my seat, I shut my eyes and let the motion of the car lull me to a half-doze.

 

The half-dreams weren't worth the effort. I startled awake as the train jolted to a halt. “Where -?”

 

“It's still raining,” Far stated, “but we can catch a shuttle to the terminal.”

 

I clutched the black umbrella like a talisman and nodded.

 

A little telepathic mojo and the migraine kicked into high gear, though it had the good grace to hold off until we were actually onboard the plane to Milan. One transfer to go, and I already felt like hell. I tried to tally my score while I waited for the pain to recede, figured I'd scrambled the good sense of at least two dozen airport employees and two sharp-eyed tourists in our quest for transportation. Probably more, but my head hurt too much to be specific about it.

 

“You know, it's almost funny,” Farfarello observed in a ventriloquist-quality non-whisper that only I could catch, “but none of us does so well alone, do we?”

 

“What do you mean?” I muttered back through clenched teeth. Being used to silent communication, I lacked Far's finesse at the art of actually making sound without moving my face.

 

“You don't look so good, I'm weary to the bone; I wonder how they're faring.”

 

Instead of commenting, I lay back in my seat and thought about it. My shields had taken a beating in Poland, and right now they felt more like paper than anything remotely sturdy. We all had wounds from that ambush; whether psychic, physical, or emotional, there hadn't been enough time for healing. As much as my heart missed Yohji, my sanity missed Brad, and a little nagging part of my soul prayed that Nagi was all right.

 

Two more airports to get through before I would know. Presuming, of course, that Brad would be there ahead of me. If we arrived first, I'd be a basket case worrying about them until they showed up.

 

I spent the inflight hours trying to rest and gather my strength. The airport at Milan would be teeming with tourists whose thoughts echoed in languages I easily understood, and that meant more noise against my already strained shields.

 

It also meant that Esset agents could hide in the open.

 

I winced as the plane landed hard and the flaps screeched into braking position. As the plane rolled to a halt, the migraine throbbed to full awareness, blinding me with flashes of light and nearly doubling me over with nausea.

 

“Easy, Pretty.” Farfarello put an arm around my waist and helped me stand. “Let's do this nice and easy.” He supported me for those crucial first moments until the pain and weakness passed, then ushered me to the exit. I could feel his tension vibrating through his skin; if there was trouble, he would deal with it and heaven help the fallen.

 

I focused through the pain, inspecting the anonymous mental voices for anything suspicious. Finding nothing, I let Far herd me toward the lounge to wait for our connecting flight. We had only half an hour, so I promised myself a good loud puke once it was all done. In exchange for that privilege, my body had to agree to be calm and relatively functional until we reached Sicily. All things considered, I thought it was a pretty fair bargain.

 

The takeoff nearly invalidated my deal right there.

 

Farfarello opened one of those airline-issue mini-Coke cans and wrapped my hand around it. “Sip this. If it doesn't help, there's a `courtesy bag' in the seat pocket.”

 

I almost choked. “`Courtesy bag'? Is that what they're calling it these days?”

 

Far shrugged, his face impassive. “Thought that would snap you out of it.”

 

The act of smiling actually made my head hurt a little less as the muscles around my eyes relaxed. I sipped my drink, letting it settle my stomach and speed a little caffeine into my blood.

 

With the caffeine came a degree of alertness I didn't really want. I held frantically to my fading smile as thoughts about what we might or might not find in Sicily began to swarm through my mind. Would they be there? Would they not?

 

Would there be only one?

 

Or would there be a welcoming committee, fresh from Rosenkreuz?

 

As the wheels squeaked into a secure grip on the Palermo runway, I draped my jacket across my lap and used the cover to transfer my gun from backpack to waistband. Beside me, Farfarello flexed his shoulders, then popped his neck with a casual roll of his head. Gathering my will and bracing against the migraine, I touched his hand and asked, ::Ready for anything, my friend?::

 

Far bared his teeth in a shark-like smile. ::Damn near, though a Mafia shootout would be annoying as hell.::

 

::As long as they're not shooting at us, I don't give a rat's ass today.:: I slipped the jacket on and hefted the pack onto my shoulder. ::Let's do this.::

 

With well-rehearsed precision, Far and I vanished into the throng at the arrival gate. No one would remember our passing unless they were well-shielded and extremely observant. Or out of range. I tried not to dwell on the limits of my telepathy and instead used my waning strength to search for the rest of our team. Knowing Brad, if they were all right, they were already here.

 

And if not…

 

::Welcome to Sicily, gentlemen.::

 

 

 

 

A/N

See the way we fell astray
Dead until our dying day
Hold my hand and we will pray
For all in disrepair

 

“We Could Have Flown Like Pollen” - ThouShaltNot The White Beyond

 

I'm tempted to include a disclaimer against the sneaking of firearms onto airplanes, just in case Esset Homeland Security is reading this, but I think that all reasonable folks will get the point.