Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ New Rules, New Ruler ❯ Chapter 19

Part Nineteen

<Long part. Ah well. >

He was angry at Crawford, angry that Brad clearly still like this Tanya woman, maybe more than he liked Schuldig, angry that Brad was willing to put her before Schuldig. So Brad didn't want him any more. Hell, there were plenty of others who did! Schuldig stared at his reflection in a shop window. His hair was sexily mussed, his body relaxed in its most alluring pose, his grin curving towards a smirk, but his eyes betrayed the look. He wondered what it was coming to when your own eyes haunted you.

He turned away from the window and stared down the street. And thousand people doing a thousand things in a thousand ways, and each one thinking a thousand splintered thoughts. His head shuddered under the weight of it all, but he couldn't let go. No, literally, couldn't.

He tried to remember the last time he'd had an `episode', the last time it had all been too much. Before Tanya arrived. Well, that had been bad. But surely, that would have left him even more vulnerable? And didn't he usually have to take something at least once a week to shut out the voices long enough to merely sleep?

But he hadn't. He could hear it all, of course, but he couldn't submerge himself in it, he couldn't lose himself. And he really, really wanted to get lost right now.

He kicked at a stone, watching it skitter into the gutter. Gott, his head hurt. Like a pressure, building up inside. Like they say birth isn't pain, it's just pressure. Schuldig knew what birth felt like; he'd been there. Something no man should have to go through. Damn he was glad to be male. His head throbbed, like a thunderstorm was brewing on the inside. When he closed his eyes he could see the lightning, when he covered his ears he could hear the thunder.

He caught a brief flash of curiosity from someone nearby, wondering what was wrong with the poor gweilo, that he closed his eyes and covered his ears. Claustrophobia? Agrophobia(sp)? He blinked and lowered his arms. Something else caught his attention. Is that man mad, is he hurt, is he sick, is he safe… Damn them! It's another one of them, I wonder why they let people like that out, should be in an asylum- No! Poor man, needs help. Did he really look so insane to them? I wonder if he's like the man in the bus station? Thinks he's Mussolini…

Schuldig froze, his eyes open in shock. Suddenly everything was blown back into proportion, suddenly life hit him like a wet fish. (Wet fish? What the fuck is up with my subconscious? Wet bloody fish! Like hell.) His fingers grasped at a lamp post, using it for balance. He was attracting even more attention, if that was possible. He'd gone from `possibly-mentally-subnormal-but-probably-harmless,-just-like-a-little-kid- really-probably-feeling-lost-and-alone…' to `oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit-he's-dangerous-and-he-seems-toe-having-some-sort-o f-episode-and-I-bet-he's-on-drugs-and-oh-god-I've-got-to-get-the-kids-out-o f-here…'. He felt almost flattered.

Schuldig sank to the pavement, legs finally giving out. Leaning against the filthy shop front, he closed his eyes and tucked his head between his knees. We seem to be experiencing some minor technical difficulties, please assume crash position. Schuldig didn't bother work out whether it was his head or someone else's. The wry humour seemed a little unsympathetic for a stranger.

A whimper escaped his throat. Schuldig's mind seemed to shatter; one piece for past, one piece for future, one piece for him, one piece for them… he clutched his head, trying to draw himself in, trying to cling to what he knew was real, what he knew was now, what he knew was him. Poor, poor Schuldig, a voice whispered, crying like a baby, lost in a strange city. It was so cruel, it felt it must be him. Who else could turn that trick for mind games, who else could hurt people like him? Damn, he'd never realised how much it hurt to be treated like that.

Day faded into night, and Schuldig didn't move. The crowds wandered aimlessly around him, searching for a better book, better dishwasher, better house, better family, better person to be. Schuldig despised them all. Despised their petty wants. Despised their petty needs. Despised their petty lives. Despised the jealousy they inspired in him. Despicable!

Slowly, the streets began to empty. It occurred to Schuldig that they would soon fill again. If he wanted any piece he had to get back to the flat. Even there, it would be noisy, and Brad didn't want him, but his drugs were there. He could knock himself out for days, if he wanted to. Knock himself out for good. Brad could deal with a corpse, right? He dealt with enough.

He struggled to his feet, legs unwilling to co-operate. He muscles screamed blue murder as he propped himself against the window. Trembling fingers sought desperately for a cigarette, aching hands clasped the unreliable lighter in sweaty palms. He became more and more frantic as it failed to light. His frustration almost sent him into tears as he got it lit only to drop the dog-eared cigarette.

Schuldig stared at the stub on the pavement, willing himself not to bend and pick it up His back tortured him with every inch he lent over. He had to stop at less than twenty degrees, his body unable to do as his nicotine-starved mind bid it.

Schuldig closed his eyes and prepared to collapse back to the pavement. Maybe, maybe if he left his wallet somewhere obvious someone would knife him to take it? Red and white danced on the inside of his eyelids, like someone was shining a torch in his eyes. It was pretty, like fire.

Schuldig cracked his eyes open and stared at the tiny flame. Gentle hands inserted a cigarette between his lips and lit it for him. Not his normal sort. Expensive. Very much so. Better tasting, too, and better health wise. Schuldig could visualise the packet it must have come from, an understated English brand, lying on a leather-inlaid desk in a simple white office…

"Danke," he croaked.

"How long have you been here?" a `concerned-but-trying-to-hide-it' Bradley asked.

Schuldig tried to shrug, flinched, and said "Too long."

"So I gathered. Were you intending to come back?"

"You told me to go." Schuldig's eyes slid listlessly around, trying not to meet Brad's eyes. It hurt, goddamnit!

"I told you to go if you could never work with Weiss. And I didn't say you couldn't come back," Brad told him sincerely.

"You didn't want me to come back. You meant `don't come back'. You thought `don't come back'," Schuldig accused. "I was going to be difficult, you weren't willing to put up with that. Do I get to keep the car?"

"Schuldig, come back. Don't be an idiot about this. You have to read what Nagi's found, you need to take some of your drugs, and you need to take a bath. Really, really need a bath."

Schuldig raised his eyes to meet Brad's, and spotted a glimpse of humour lurking in the depths. Schuldig would never say it to his boss's face, but Brad was developing laughter lines around the corner's of his eyes, little crow's-feet that gave a softness to the otherwise harsh lines of his face. Schuldig grinned, and Brad smiled back.

But that didn't mean it was all going to be okay, not by a long shot.

* * *

Schuldig stretched out in the bathtub. Brad had run the bath for him, laid out some medication and made him a hot cup of tea before he even left. The tea was stone cold, but Schuldig wasn't complaining. He was, however suspicious.

"Why, Braddikins?"

Brad raised his head to glower at him, but it turned into more of a squint. The steam in the bathroom had fogged up his glasses, now lying on the cold porcelain sink, and Brad had refused to leave until they had spoken. He was sitting on a sagging wicker linen basket, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Why what, Schuldig? Why are we being told to work with Weiss? Why did I come out to find you? Why is-"

"Why did they chop off a bunch of my mind?" Schuldig interrupted. "Plus those other ones."

"I don't follow."

"They resurrected my shields. My SS shields. You know, the ones I tore down as soon as we reached Japan the first time? The one I replaced with my own, patchy shielding."

"And you've been cut off again? I don't know."

"It's a hell of a lot worse than SS shields, Bradley." Schuldig's tone caused Brad to raise his head sharply. Schuldig never used his full name. "Before, I missed emotions. The ones that would hinder me. Now, it's memories. Big ones. I had no idea how deep it went until today, Brad. I knew… I knew there were gaps, but I've always had gaps. I didn't know I didn't know, if you know what I mean."

"Oddly, enough, I think I do. Emotions, you said? Do you suppose they did that to everyone?"

"How the fuck should I know? I mean, Nagi's always been a bit unemotional, and you, too. But the only shields in your head, at least, the only ones I've ever encountered, are your own. And I'd say Nagi is just emotionally traumatised. Easier not to feel.

"Now can we get back to talking about me? This is me time, you know."

Brad permitted himself a private smile, unseen through the mist. Schuldig knew what and when he wanted something. He would have to tell him about the files later though. Everything was adding up in a very worrying manner.

"So, I've got this splitting headache, right, and people are looking at me funny. And this one person thinks `wonder if he's like that guy who thinks he's' that Italian dictator, you know, oh yes `Mussolini'. And suddenly I freak. This memory grabs me and I realise that I didn't even know I'd forgotten it. Brad, it was one of my defining memories. You know how people have defining moments in their lives, life decisions, events, whatever? This was one of mine, in a way. And I'd forgotten it ever happened."

Brad's lips thinned. He wouldn't admit it, but the curiosity was killing him. Mussolini? How on earth could Mussolini bring on a flashback. Unless Schuldig was talking about previous lives.

"Don't be an idiot, you know I don't believe in that reincarnation crap. And if you're so damn curious, just ask."

*You want to tell me, * Brad prompted.

*And what if I do? I'm still going to make you beg, you know. I like it when you beg… * Schuldig leered from the bath, the effect rather being lost on Brad, who saw little more than a fuzzy pale blob, surrounded by a fuzzy orange halo of what might be hair, or fire, or for all Brad knew, oranges.

*I'm not going to beg. I'm not that desperate… * Well, maybe he was a little desperate. And they both knew this had nothing to do with Schuldig's memories. *Curiosity killed the cat. Speaking of which, that thing- *

*And satisfaction brought it back. *

*Has to be… What? *

*Second part of that saying. And you look like you could do with some `satisfaction'. * Schuldig didn't bother with a leer this time; he just projected the attitude into Brad's mind. "I can't get no satisfaction…" Schuldig began warbling.

"After you're little `shock' you've recovered remarkably quickly," Brad observed.

"Well, if anyone knows about my recovery time, it's you."

"I walked into that one."

"Uh-huh. Enough flirting?" Schuldig began to lift himself out of the bath.

"Quite." Schuldig grinned as he walked past Brad into the bedroom. He sprawled out on the bed, and blinked in surprise as a towel hit him.

"Tell me what happened," Brad commanded. "There's a lot at stake. As soon as we figure out why they shut off parts of your mind the better. We're going to the Koneko tomorrow."

What the fuck!?! No, what the lack of fuck? Schuldig stared at Br- Crawford. So it was all work and no play now? He supposed… He didn't know what he supposed. What the fuck had he done to get Brad angry with him? Again?

"Fine," Schuldig growled. "Let's see. When I was a kid, there was this guy who hung around near my school. Old guy. Used to ramble a lot. He thought he was Hitler."

"That's it?"

"No. I remembered that. It's not actual events I'm missing, Crawford, it's things associated with the events.

"I used to believe, utterly, that he was Hitler. He did, so I assumed he must be. I didn't understand much about the human mind's love of self-deception then, though it wasn't long before I did. It wasn't until a few years into Rosenkruez I remembered him, you see. And I suddenly wondered if he actually was Hitler, or whether he was just nuts. And I've always wanted to go back and find out. That was what I forgot. That I didn't know, and never will, whether the guy was actually Hitler or not. That I always wondered, that I always wanted to know. Tat that was what made me accept my talent."

"That made you accept your talent? The urge to find out whether an old man used to be a dictator?"

"Ja. As they say, it takes all sorts."

"Quite."

Brad sat on the bed, his back to Schuldig. Schuldig was sprawled across the coverlet, legs spread and towel trailed between them. He was doing his damndest to look alluring, and it was working. Suddenly, Brad felt the white towel being draped across his shoulders. It took all the strength of will he possessed not to turn around. There was something about Schuldig dressing, and undressing, that Brad loved to watch. Perhaps it was the vulnerability Schuldig exuded as he balanced on one leg, shirt half on, jeans around one ankle, one sock on his hand and the other dangling off his foot and he tried to tie his shoelaces. Brad had never understood why Schuldig tried to put on, or take off, everything at once.

"So, what's this I don't know?" Schuldig asked, flopping back down on the bed, sending a wave through the mattress to bob Brad up and down. Brad gestured to the bedside table. "Scheisse. I don't have to read that, do I?"

"I already have. Now, we have to go and meet Weiss."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I believe I already gave you that ultimatum."

There was stunned silence. Schuldig sat still, one leg extended above his head as he froze in the middle of pulling his sock on. Wasn't that over? Hadn't they already made up? Hell, he'd thought they had. He'd thought Brad coming to find him was both an apology and a show of forgiveness. He hadn't actually meant… Had he?

"I have to leave?"

"If we are to work with them and you are unable to accept that, yes. I will not have you jeopardising this team."

"Working with Weiss will jeopardise the team. Surely you can see that?"

"It won't." The words were final.

Schuldig finally lowered his leg. Brad wanted he to leave. He could feel it, hanging over the words like a cloud. Brad thought he was jeopardising the team and wished he would leave. "I don't want to go," Schuldig said to himself in a small voice. Brad chose not to hear him. Schuldig pulled his knees up under his chin. Leave Schwarz? Never going to happen. Couldn't. He was Schwarz. He was Schuldig Schwarz. Said so on his passport. Schwarz. Schwarz were forever, right? Schwarz were the team Brad was always going on about his priority, his responsibility, his team.

So, he was going to go? He was going to be Weiss as well? "I'm not sure I want to be Grau."

"What?" Brad was standing by the door, Schuldig realised.

"Grau. Both Schwarz and Weiss."

"I see. Are you going to come?"

"Ja," Schuldig sighed. "I guess I don't have a choice in the matter." He clambered off of the bed.

"There's always a choice."

Yes, Schuldig thought miserably. Shall I live another day or quit now? Now seems so much more appealing at the moment.