Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Guilty Pleasures ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Guilty Pleasures (2/?)

Author: Phaedra

Email: pkabyssinian@yahoo.com

Rating: ?? Warning for language, but that's it for now.

Pairings: Schu x Aya. Maybe, eventually, Schu x Aya x Yohji?

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I own shoes, but not Schu…. does that count? If you sue me for misrepresenting the characters I'll give you my shoes. =)

Comments are loved and cherished and help me to write. OK, the last part is a lie, but I still greatly appreciate any and all feedback.

~*~

[Aya, 8 days before]

I stare at Birman waiting for the punchline to her joke. I do my best to keep my features calm but I'm nervous that some of my agitation is slipping through. Why this sudden turn around in Kritiker's orders? Normally we are warned to stay away from Schwartz, why should we be hunting them?

"Uh, why are we doing this?" Ken asks, saving me from having to.

"Certain anomalies have come to attention about that team, we want to discover what is fact and what is fiction about them," Birman gives her non-answer hoping that none of us will probe too deeply. I still my thoughts and step forward.

"I accept," I tell her as I hold out my hand for the folder that is clasped in her arms. I catch Yohji's disbelieving look and Omi's frank stare. There is only right and wrong. I have already accepted that Schwartz is wrong, so Kritiker must want them to make something right. I have a deep dislike for the men of that team anyway, this will allow me to vent my frustrations on them and still do my job. I like it when things merge neatly like that.

Ken accepts a heartbeat after Omi, just as I expected he would. I know that Yohji won't let me go alone, he'll follow wherever I lead. It's cruel to him but I honestly don't care at times. There are things greater than ourselves that we must yield to at times, Kudou simply hasn't learned that yet. I wait for the day that he understands that, I both fear and long for it.

Finally, Kudou bows his head and murmurs his capitulation. I nod, knowing as I did that he could not refuse. Birman smiles at us all and launches into the real reasoning behind why we are to capture a member of Schwartz. The vague rumor that she hinted at before was that the team has special extrasensory powers. Kritiker wishes to investigate this matter, we are to apprehend a test subject. Any member of the team will do, they simply want to observe them and see if they can determine where their suggested power comes from.

I suspect that Kritiker is only offering a portion of the facts to us, I believe that they wish to confirm or deny the rumor and if it's true recruit their own team. I suppress the need to shudder at the idea of working along side those men some day. I reflexively look to each member of my team to see if they share my ideas or distaste. All I notice is Yohji watching me, his deep green eyes windows to his soul. He is worried about me; he has been since the whole incident with Aya-chan and Schwartz. I assume that he is falsely thinking that I am doing this out of revenge for that, but I'm not.

As we all absorb what knowledge we can from Birman's briefing another constraint is laid upon us, we have to complete our mission within seventy-two hours. Kritiker received verifiable and accurate information on a target where Schwartz can be found. However, we have a very small window of opportunity. They are at a small residential townhouse; wide yards surround the quiet building. The four men are considered strange, but good, tenets. The landlord doesn't want any trouble, only to help his country, although he doesn't believe that the four men that occasionally rent from him could be involved in anything illegal.

I grit my teeth and stare at a point on the wall. Liars. Liars. I know what they are; yet they can still hide themselves in plain sight and people believe that they are not what they are. I force myself to meet Ken's gaze as he touches my arm to get my attention.

"Yo, Aya, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks in an undertone, not wanting to undermine my authority in front of Birman. I give a slight nod and he accepts is as if I had offered a full discourse on why the pros outweighed the cons on this mission.

Birman's cool gaze sweeps through the room one last time. Her parting shot is a simple reminder to contact Kritiker as soon as our mission is successful. As if we could forget. My personality lends itself to harboring grudges and Birman abides on my list. I am no one's 'dog', least of all hers.

Within moments of her departure Ken is rolling out the area maps and blueprints and making tiny notations on them. Yohji has the dossier and approximate schedules, and Omi is happily crunching numbers and information. I force back a smile; pride fills me at how efficiently my team does their job.

The days pass effortlessly and as the night of our assignment approaches I become more and more uncomfortable. We have waited until the last possible moment to strike; none of us enjoy the idea of walking into a blind situation. Not against Schwartz. And if what the Kritiker files say is true then Oracle will most likely know that we are coming. If, by some stretch of fate and luck, Oracle is unaware then Mastermind will be able to hear our thoughts as we approach.

Omi has been shaking with contained violence since the sun set. He has a deep burning in him to somehow harm or violate these men. Especially the white haired berserker and his cruel companion Schuldich. Those two stole Ouka from him and he has never forgiven such trespass. I can only hope that he will still function adequately on the mission, it would be too cruel to force him to sit out when he has a chance to revenge his sister's death. I can empathize.

It is the night, the hour, and very nearly moment. We are closing in on the small townhouse, with its closed shutters and perfectly manicured lawn. We creep in like cats; silent, lithe, deadly. Balinese is a blond smear next to me and I can hear Bombay's ragged breathing over my com unit. My stomach twists in anticipation as the four men exit the house; the tallest man makes a furtive glance around to see if we are waiting. We are.

I attack when Oracle turns his back to me, in a move that I don't even have to think about I bring the hilt of my sword to his temple. He crumples like a doll that has been dropped from a child's hand. The youngest member of Schwartz uses his telekinesis to freeze my blade and hold it immobile. Siberian distracts the child and I am free to wield my weapon as I please.

Berserker has Bombay cornered, but the young blond is reaching for his darts and I know that my teammate will be furious if I interfere. I shoot a glance at Balinese who understands and goes to 'rescue' Bombay. I return my attention to Oracle who is trying to rise; my sword hilt replays it earlier motion, only harder. I sheathe the blade, knowing I cannot kill any of my opponents, no matter what I wish.

Mastermind is busy with Siberian now; he turns to leave, like he is a guest. His suit is slightly rumpled and his eyes show no fear. I dampen my thoughts, at least, I think I do. He never hears me as I come up behind him and smash the lacquered wood of my sheath into his skull. Bombay gives the white haired Irishman a final kick before I sling the tall German over my shoulder. I should have chosen Oracle. I should take the head and leave the body helpless. I can't seem to make the right decision, I briefly wonder if telepathy still works when one is unconscious or if this is what the hand of fate feels like.

I signal that it is time to go and I switch the way I am carrying Mastermind from a fireman's carry to the way he carried away Aya-chan. I am not doing it because of her, I know I'm not. My peace was made with that the moment she woke up. What strange hold does this sister killer have over me? I banish such thoughts; they aren't worth pursuing as once I deliver this package my hands are washed free of him.

Kritiker accepts the merchandise with an eagerness that makes me sick. Schuldich should be punished, not treated as if he holds the keys to their playground. The technicians offer to dress any wounds that we may have incurred during the fight, but each of my men are whole. We are the best team Kritiker has; there is only one Weiss.

We return to our flower shop routine, Omi seems to have found some peace in venting his grief on the men who stole the last of his family from him. I hope that he comes to an understanding within himself that he can only do so much for Ouka without suppressing who he is for her. I learned that the hard way. Some days I'm still not sure that I've got it right.

The days pass in a haze of practiced routine. I have been sharper than usual with the girls who crowd our small shop, I feel restless. I do my best to not think about what we have done on missions - it is not my place to judge. However, I can't help but give in to the nagging intuition in my head that says we shouldn't have captured Mastermind. He is too dangerous, even separated from his comrades.

In the past three days I have driven Yohji from me with my silence. Normally it takes more than my passive muteness to send him fleeing to the sights and sounds of his clubs. Something disturbed him as much as me during that last mission. Ken, thankfully, is blissfully unaware of any change in us. Perhaps he is reticent to broach any subject with us that isn't playful inanity or mission related. Whatever the reason is I am grateful.

I have learned to live my life in small moments, taking only what I need with me. I never know when this farce that I call living will overturn everything that I believe. I count the minutes until I am allowed to become a white hunter; I crave the mindlessness that comes when I swing my sword. It is a delicate dance, one that I am sure all men in my position have learned to anticipate and dread. I almost sigh audibly in relief when Birman appears as we close shop. They need us again. I will be useful.

Once again I sit in numbed silence. Birman wants to hire my services alone, she requests that I come and help deal with their fractious patient. It is almost as if she believes I will break him as one breaks a horse. I feel ice sliding through my veins at the very thought of working in close confines with Schuldich. Images of him walking away with Aya-chan limp in his arms assaults me and won't leave my mind's eye. I clench my fists in an attempt to stop my hands from shaking.

"We need someone who seems to be… immune to parts of his personality. In all of the limited tests we have run so far I think that you would be best suited to it. I believe we may have to re-evaluate our ideas and he may actually have some telepathic ability," Birman continues with her rehearsed speech. She actually looks nervous, the first time I can remember her being anything other than perfectly collected.

"What makes you think that I am your best option," I ask in a low voice, refusing to meet her eyes. It is meant to piss her off but it has the opposite effect, she thinks she's winning. I can tell by the fact that she sits up straighter and her voice takes on what I think of as 'mission briefing' quality.

"Because you have had the most success against him. When he isn't drugged to the gills he is rather dangerous, even against some our best men and women. So far our doctors and scientists haven't been able to find anything conclusive other than a higher than normal brain activity. That and the fact that several people in our employ have experienced anomalies that are unexplainable through more rational methods," Birman tells me, breaking Kritiker's need for silence until we have accepted the mission.

I grunt noncommittally at her while thinking furiously as to what this might mean. Her normally shuttered eyes hold pleading in them and I realize how desperate they must be to be offering me this contract. Unfortunately, my masters have learned that there is precious little they can offer me when I am set against something. Aya is awake, she is free, and far away where they can not reach her. I am able to set boundaries to what they ask.

"No," I say the word and it is like I have dropped a black stone into a glass of water. Birman clenches her fists on the table and I can see the knuckles as white protrusions through the tight skin. I don't feel I owe her an explanation, my reasons are my own and are generally sound.

"There are provisions I am allowed to make if you accept. If there is anything you want we can work to accommodate it," she tells me from between her teeth. Her eyes have taken on a feral quality, which causes a thread of fear to worm through my stomach. What can possibly have gone wrong for her to be like this? How badly did they underestimate Schuldich?

"I doubt that you have anything to offer, I am sorry," I tell her, standing my ground. Birman looks like she wants to shake me like a child would shake a doll. Without backup I know she can't harm me.

"I am allowed to say that Kritiker would be pleased to foot the bill for Aya-chan's schooling in France. Also they will make sure that she isn't transferred to the equally prestigious school in Germany that she has been making inquires into," Birman tells me, her voice deadpan.

The thread of fear snaking through me bursts into bloom and I have to control my body from shivering. I should have expected the obvious threat, however thinly veiled. The school in Germany is either a Kritiker recruiting ground or Rosen Kreuz, two places I refuse to see my sister in. I almost like the way Birman makes it sound like they are protecting her, it makes me want to do something slower and more intimate than strangling the bitch. Moments pass into minutes and I remain silent, I think it might be scaring her.

"Are you considering my proposal?" Birman finally asks, her voice low. She is scared. Good.

"I hope for your sake that the card you have played against my sister is not of your devising. However, since you have chosen to threaten her well being I suppose I am forced to do as you wish," I begin slowly and watch Birman transform into the smug bitch I know so well.

"I thought you would change your mind," she interrupts smoothly while dusting imaginary lint from her skirt. She lowers her head slightly in hopes that I won't notice how she smiles at manipulating me.

"However, that doesn't mean that I will accept. Did you ever stop and consider that your empty threat might cause me to take Aya and disappear? You might want to reconsider how you choose to twist your web in the future in order to assure my assistance," I tell her, wiping the smile from her face. Of all of Kritiker's specialty teams, we of Weiss have the ability to hide from our masters. We are too well trained, too close knit; a mistake Kritiker has made sure to eliminate from other teams.

"I am sure you understand I meant no harm to your sister, I am simply thinking of her welfare," Birman backtracks, she is again speaking through clenched teeth. Although I don't show it, I am more curious than before as to what has gone wrong that they are this desperate for my assistance.

Gently, I tap the surface of the table between us with my finger. Immediately, her vision snaps to the slight click-click noise, curious as to what I am doing. I continue the idle motion for a second for no real reason. I draw out the silence once again, hoping to make the woman across from me uncomfortable.

"If I agree, do I get full access to your information so far? And I would want to review your methods and change them as I feel necessary," I tell her. Her coffee-dark eyes catch and hold my own, hope swims in them and my curiosity is piqued again.

"There may be limits to how far you can change what Kritiker hopes to find from this subject," she warns. How like them - offer with one hand while withdrawing with the other.

"Any changes I make will be to further benefit their research," I tell her smoothly and it's clear that she didn't think that I would be able to contribute in that area.

"Then I must approve your conditions, when can you start?" she asks, triumphant yet defeated. It pleases me to know I have won the upper hand.

"The evening after I receive all the data that corresponds to this mission. I want to have time to read it and make a few requests before I actually engage the subject," I inform her casually. To my surprise she slides a thick manila folder towards me, it bulges with papers and graphs. "Tomorrow night then. Where can I reach you to make any necessary arraignments before then?"

"I will be in touch in the morning and then again around midday. The address of the facility is clearly marked in several of the transcripts; you will be expected to arrive there before midnight. I will endeavor to have any changes you request implemented before you take possession of the subject," she tells me, all business.

I nod once, curtly and as Birman stands to leave suddenly she seems vulnerable and unsure of herself. She stretches out one hand towards me to capture my attention and I meet her eyes.

"It's not in the reports, but it looks like he really may have telepathic abilities. He knew my name and he spoke fluently in a dialect he couldn't have heard, not since they're based in Tokyo. Be extra careful," she warns. I can tell that this information is something she didn't want to admit, Schuldich must be tying them in knots for her to offer unorthodox information like this.

"I will do what I can to insure his co-operation. You have planned for the contingency that he will prove useless to your research?" I ask as nonchalantly as I can. It isn't like Kritiker to be obtuse to such possibilities but since the last fight with Estet the organization I belong to has become more rigid than it used to be.

"We have, but too much is riding on what we might find to allow it all to slip away easily," Birman admits slowly before leaving me in the semi-darkness of the briefing room. I allow a soft sigh only after I hear the sweet chiming bells of the Koneko and I know she has left the building.

I waste no time and begin reading the dossier on Schuldich immediately. It is full of inconsistencies and half-truths. It's late and I'm still waiting for the good parts to show up in these dry and boring reports when I notice a curious breath at my elbow. Omi, playing his part of resident mother hen, places a mug of steaming tea and a box of take-out next to me before disappearing again. He isn't a bad kid, I wish that he had a shot at a normal life. I never quite know how to treat him anymore; he is both a Takatori and being groomed to be the next in-the-flesh Persia. Makes it hard to treat him like a child when you know he'll be your boss one day. I push all of that aside and take a sip of the tea while flipping through the convoluted doctors charts.

My limited knowledge on the subject tells me less than nothing, but I am suddenly sure of one thing. They won't get what they want by tying Schuldich to a bed. They will have to work out an agreement where they don't ask about Schwartz and he tells them what really goes on in his head. It will be a fight but if they can find someone whom he will trust, or at least an agent that can work with him until Schuldich does trust them.

I rub my hand over my gritty eyes as I hear the heavy clank of Yohji descending the stairs. He is probably coming down to finish the job Omi started, he'll yell at me to eat and then try to get me to open up about this latest mission. I'm surprised when he simply sits across from me and engages in a silent staring contest.

I lift one eyebrow at him, unsure what to make of this behavior. He lifts a mirroring eyebrow in response and I squash the smile that threatens to break through. Of all my teammates only Yohji gets to me like this. I wish I knew why.

"So, when do you leave?" he asks in a quiet and conspiratorial tone.

"Tomorrow evening. Birman said to be there before midnight," I answer in the same low tones.

"I take it that means that you'll show up at the door at 11:59 then?" Yohji chuckles, his verdant eyes twinkling at me from over his standard sunglasses. He really does know me too well; I wonder when that happened.

"Can you tell me anything about it?" he asks after a moment of silence. I run my fingers through my hair, surprised at how long it has become. It reaches slightly past my shoulders now and I still have no intention of cutting it. Trivialities.

"I'm not sure yet. You'll be the first to know," I acquiesce, and dip my head to him in acknowledgment.

"Well, I do know one thing - you have no back up and I doubt Kritiker will be pleased if I ghost you on this one," Yohji tells me as he captures my eyes. He has that intense glare that means I need to take him seriously for this one moment, as if I would do anything else.

"Go on," I prompt, offering him my full attention. Since I am focused on Yohji's earnest face I am surprised to feel him press something heavy and warm into my palm. I almost jerk my hand away but force it to remain steady as he continues to push the watch into my hand with his own, almost as if he is transferring his strength and dexterity with this weapon to me.

"I may not be able to be with you, but at least part of me will still be helping to keep you safe," he tells me in a hushed voice before retreating from what must be a perplexed gaze of mine. I feel that he is trying to convey more than what those words actually intend to me, but I am not able to fathom what he truly means. There are times when I wish I were better at reading people.

I let my head fall backward until it softly thumps against the headrest of the chair. I pull my weary body upward and follow Yohji up the steps. I pause momentarily outside his room, feeling as if I was on the pivot of some great turning in my life. All I would have to do is knock or enter his room and my destiny would be forever altered. My hand actually reaches for the door before I bring my recaltricent body under control and continue on to my own room.

I sleep, lightly, as always and wake early in morning. Instead of opening the shop as usual I pack a small black duffel back with several days worth of clothing and appropriate toiletries. I know how to gauge time well, in three or four days I will have a decent approximation of how long I will be stuck at the scientific facility. I can pack accordingly then.

I avoid my teammates for a good portion of the day, instead concentrating on learning to wear and move with Yohji's watch and not make it obvious that it is a weapon. Although the monofiliment wire contained within the watch is thin and lightweight the watch is still bulkier and heavier than a normal timepiece. I don't want to tip any one off, Kritiker or Schuldich, that I may be carrying a weapon. I also practice using the deadly wire; I have very little dexterity in that area. However, it will make an effective garrote and I'm fairly certain that I can almost competently protect myself with it. Almost.

I join the team for dinner; Omi is subdued, Ken is absorbed, and Yohji simply watches me. I offer no explanations; I simply eat in silence, enjoying these moments. We are well honed, they do not need me to tell them anything, they will do their jobs and do them well. At the end of our quiet supper Omi offers me ideas for safeguarding whatever room I choose and Ken nods enthusiastically. Yohji, for once, is silent. His eyes flash hidden messages at me that I am unable to interpret. Or perhaps I simply chose not to.

I leave close to eleven; the night is chill and windy. I drive my Porsche most of the way to the facility. I park it several blocks away and I hide the key so that if Schuldich does pry it's location from my mind he will be forced to find the keys, a waste of time that will only help us to re-acquire him sooner. It's probably a useless precaution but one that should frustrate him.

I take a slow and rather leisurely pace in the general direction of the building where I'm headed. I map out the lay of the land and mark out any possible hiding spots that Mastermind might go to ground in. How does one out-think a telepath? The same way one moves faster than a pre-cog can predict. I hope that I really do have some measure of protection that blinds me from their abilities.

Well within my allotted time frame I reach the blank white door that should allow me access to the stark building. I am about twenty yards away when the door hinges open and a ragged figure bursts forth. Almost as if I have a sixth sense myself I suddenly know that this is Schuldich. His bright green eyes seem to pick my figure out of the darkness as if his telepathy has already honed in on me.

He lurches toward me in the dim light of moon and stars, and I open my arms to let him know I am unarmed. We take the steps that are necessary to close the distance between us and as he gets closer I can see his lips moving. He is trying to speak but no sounds are escaping his parched lips. I wonder, briefly, what he is trying to say to me.

Without warning he collapses against me. The strange, twisting feeling that I felt when we captured him is back and dances over my nervous system in a peripheral hum. I suddenly feel strangely tender toward the limp form against me and I left him as gently as possible and carry him into the building.

I am suddenly grateful that earlier I had insisted that he be transferred to a different room with different security measures. I enter the building as if I own it, several guards and doctors give me disgusted looks. I walk past them all, carrying my suddenly precious burden to his new room. Precious only because I think I am beginning to understand this German's importance.

I kick open the door to his new home and place him on the wide hospital bed. He turns toward me, his eyes glassy and glazed, I think he might be drugged. I murmur something to him in my most comforting voice. His eyes roll into the back of his head and he passes out. I allow myself to smile at the thought of a murderer like myself being comforting to anyone.

Suddenly I find I am tired. With an economy of motion I lock the door leading from this room and turn to face the room's unwilling occupant. Overwhelmed by the uncomfortable sensations that play over my skin I sink onto the bed behind Schuldich and tumble into sleep. I think I feel my body curling around the heat source in front of it before I can no longer tell reality from my abstract dreams.