Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 96 ( Chapter 96 )

96

 

Do you fear what lies in store?
Do you cry like you did before?
Is there trust left anymore?
Or shall we spend forever unaware?

 

My hand flew to the gun in my waistband, nearly drawing it before I recognized the mental signature. ::Jesus, Brad! Give me a fucking heart attack - where the hell are you?:: I forced myself to at least seem calm even as my heart pounded behind my ribs and the migraine pounded behind my eyes.

 

His reply came through in bits and pieces; either I was a total wreck, or he was exhausted. Or both. ::…north lot. Just keep heading for the exit, I'll…waiting for you.::

 

I gestured to Far to stand down. He nodded and relaxed, though I could tell he was still on high alert. Together we made our way through the tourists and out into cool autumn sunshine.

 

A black sedan flashed its headlights at us. Behind the wheel sat Brad Crawford.

 

He was alone in the car.

 

I choked down the urge to run and instead met the car at a dignified pace. As I opened the door, Brad leaned toward me. “He's safe. Get in. We have a lot to talk about.”

 

Far took my pack and slid into the back seat. I let gravity and relief drop me into the passenger seat, though the movement made my head throb.

 

“Did you hear me?” Brad said, rather loudly. He turned and scowled. “How long has he been like this?”

 

Confusion made me dizzy. From somewhere behind me, Farfarello murmured, “Since leaving Japan. He's had enough medicine to drop a horse.”

 

“Apparently not enough. Here, Schuldig.” Brad dug into a pocket and handed me a small bottle.

 

I tried to read the label, but all I could think about was finding Nagi.

 

The car lurched, swinging onto a sun-dappled street. Where the hell were we?

 

Numbly I shook two tablets into my hand and forced them down dry. This had to rank as the worst headache in my personal history, and it was threatening to add another round of motion sickness to the package.

 

Brad spoke again, his voice distorted like an audible strobe. “Just relax…about time for… migraines, Schuldig…get you to…hotel, you can…a while.”

 

Everything drifted to gray, whether from the medicine or the pain I couldn't really tell. Logic insisted there hadn't been enough time for the drugs to kick in, but I really didn't want to consider the alternative. Telepaths had been known to die from overwork.

 

“You're not dying,” Brad said softly as he unbuckled my seatbelt. “You're too stubborn. Come on, let's get you upstairs.”

 

Between Brad and Far - literally - they managed to get me into the hotel and then into the elevator. As the elevator began to rise, I felt like I was floating up out of myself, away from the pain. I knew this feeling, but damned if I could put a name to it.

 

“Codeine,” Brad stated. “I didn't think you'd need it this soon, though.”

 

Lovely. I'd probably be a mess later, but at least for now I didn't feel as though blood was about to spurt through my eye sockets.

 

Brad led the way to a large suite with way too much sunlight streaming in the windows. The room seemed absurdly comfortable, lived-in; after all the time spent traveling light and leaving no traces behind, a hotel room with rumpled beds and open suitcases didn't quite parse. It all seemed too normal.

 

Then I saw Nagi. He was staring at me in a mix of shock and relief; the shock was winning. “Crawford? What's wrong with Schuldig?”

 

“It's all right, Nagi. He's going to need some recovery time from a very nasty headache, but he'll be fine in the morning…” Brad's voice faded out, and he frowned slightly before shaking it off and setting me down on the bed. “We'll talk later. Get some rest.”

 

Everything was beginning to feel distant, wrapped in cotton. I could either fight it and try to stay functional, or give in and pass out.

 

Brad tugged off my shoes and draped a blanket over me. His fingertips brushed my cheek, tangled in my hair a moment. “Sleep, you stubborn bastard,” he whispered, or I imagined him whispering. Either way, it made me smile as reality turned to dreams.

 

Voices…spoken voices…

 

“I think he's waking up.”

 

Strong hands on my shoulders, holding me down. “Take it easy, Schuldig. No sudden moves. How are you feeling?”

 

I thought about this, recognized the hands and the voice as Brad's, and relaxed. That's right, I'd had the mother of all headaches, and codeine. How the hell did I feel? “Thirsty. And kind of funky. I think I want a shower.”

 

Brad helped me sit up, moving me slowly so as not to invite a relapse.

 

Far handed me a glass of water that smelled vaguely like moss.

 

Nagi just watched.

 

I drained the glass and leaned back against the wall. “Shit, Brad. How long was I out?”

 

“Is the headache gone?”

 

I considered carefully before answering that - one could never be too sure with migraines. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

“Then you were out long enough.” Brad eyed me critically. “Is that the only problem you had, the exertion headache?”

 

“Yeah. Hit fast, too.”

 

Brad nodded. “Farfarello told me all about it. You really pushed yourself.”

 

“I kind of had to, Brad.” I swallowed against a nasty taste. “Was I bleeding?”

 

Farfarello showed me the pile of stained tissues in the trash can. “It stopped after about half an hour.”

 

I closed my eyes with a grimace. “Great. Now you've got a broken-ass telepath to worry about.”

 

“You're not broken, Schuldig. Just sore. We've got some time to recuperate here, I expect you to use it well.”

 

I looked up at Brad and frowned. “Time? How much?”

 

“At least three more days. Decent food, decent rest, hot showers - and I've arranged for in-house security.” At my quizzical look, Brad smirked. “I called in some old favors.”

 

“You're kidding, right?”

 

“Not at all. The Don's been quite generous.”

 

“Whatever.” I levered myself up off the bed and reached for my pack. The motion nearly toppled me to the floor. “Whoo, codeine! Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

 

Brad shook his head. “Farfarello, why don't you make sure he doesn't drown himself.”

 

Far grabbed our packs and guided me toward the shower. While the water warmed up, he dug out some of the more wearable clothes and set them aside. “Haven't done this in a while,” he observed casually.

 

The prospect of showering with Far didn't appeal to me nearly as much as showering with Brad, or with Yohji. Still, I agreed that I probably needed the help, and Far definitely needed a shower.

 

I managed to strip, and thanked whatever gods there be for the handrails. Far climbed in behind me, his presence calm and strong.

 

We bathed in turns, neither speaking. I let the water wash away the pain-sweat and travel funk, and tried not to think about the likelihood that showers would once again be few and far between. For the next three days, I could wash as often as I damn well pleased, and that should make up for some of it.

 

“You've lost weight.”

 

I wiped water out of my eyes, fighting with strands of hair that stuck to my skin. “Not surprising,” I muttered. “Not like we're running for our lives or anything.”

 

Farfarello finished rinsing and turned off the water. “Just saying. How's your head?”

 

“Attached, I think. Doesn't hurt, just feels a little bit missing.”

 

“You probably shouldn't try that much again. For a while, anyway.” Through the steam and without his eyepatch, Far looked like he was winking.

 

“Hopefully I'll have that option.” I ignored the clothes he'd set aside, pulling on only a pair of briefs before opening the door and letting cooler air in. The contrast of air conditioning and near-sauna steam gave me chills.

 

“How are you feeling now?” Brad asked, offering me another glass of water.

 

“Almost human.” I drank half the glass down, then finally took a good look at Brad. His jaw was dark with two day's worth of stubble; his eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them bruised. I frowned at him. “How are you feeling, Brad? You look rough.”

 

“I'll be fine.” Brad sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back as though trying to drop a weight from his shoulders. “We've had some times, though, I won't lie to you. When your head's back together, we'll talk. For now, just focus on getting better.”

 

With the codeine humming through my body, I couldn't really argue with him. I gave a half-hearted nod and let the medicine drag me under.

 

The dreams that came were weird, disjointed things, though not precisely nightmares. Dimly I recalled the first time I'd taken codeine, and the tender care with which Yohji had bandaged my wounds. The hotel room faded in and out of my awareness, replaced every now and then by a simple apartment with an orchid in the window.

 

 

 

 

A/N:

Do you fear what lies in store?
Do you cry like you did before?
Is there trust left anymore?
Or shall we spend forever unaware?

 

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

 

Of all human ailments, perhaps none is more wretched than the migraine. It robs one of the ability to think coherently - much less move without nausea - and turns ordinary conversation into a half-remembered hash. For a man on the run it steals valuable time, both during its reign and again after, when he tries to make sense of what he's just missed.

 

The Great Sage George Carlin once commented on this, by observing that, no matter how bad the condition, it can always be made worse by adding a headache.

 

At this point, Schuldig would probably shoot him.

 

[For the curious and highly observant, last chapter's ominous ::Welcome to Sicily, gentlemen:: does indeed recall an earlier Brad Crawford moment. From the notorious chapter 42: “Gentlemen,” Brad addressed us in Japanese, “welcome to Shanghai.” Cyber-donuts for all who noticed that.]