Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Painting You Gold ❯ 08 Anon ( Chapter 8 )

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Disclaimer: I don't own Schu and his friends; that's for Tsuchiya-sensei and Koyappi/Project Weiß/TV Tokyo to work out. Or not.

Warning: This fic in its entirety involves explicitly implicit yaoi (shounen ai) in conjunction with character death, feelings, nonconsensual sex, original characters, shota, soap operatic/supernatural-type twists, spoilers, unpardoned French, Weiß, and yakuza. Squick factor is probably obvious here. ;)

Post-it: As always, thanks for your time.

/…/ = communicative thoughts and the like
[…] = memories, stuff remembered, and the like

Painting You Gold

By Koyuki Aode

8 ~ Anon

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Security was in rare form as we descended upon our destination. There was not a puff of air among the strewn bodies; someone else had come to conduct their own business. Crawford warned us to stay sharp but we found no distractions as we carried out our mission.

Browsing through the computer files we were to obtain, I could only imagine what seamy trails Shinzui might leave for us to clean up. The good businessman Shinzui had more than enough connections to completely cover or screw his ass, and many other body parts, should he invoke the action. A number of faces - and some matching identifying tattoos - indicated a wide variety of yakuza, biker gangs, contract thieves, dirty civil servants, computer hackers, and even-

"Porn stars?!" I couldn't help blurting. "What the-"

I apused as another window opened on-screen, revealing a photograph of a young man unlike the other yakuza profiles we'd seen. His frosty blue eyes wore fear, despite the bored smirk on his lips. There was something familiar about him that I couldn't place. A glance at Crawford and Farf told me they thought the same.

But another thought kept fluttering in my mind. I tapped Crawford's shoulder lightly. "Could we see the porn stars again?" That cost me two elbows in the gut.

Crawford put on his "working" glare. "I'll take care of this," he said as I hunched over in pain. "We have company." His tone of voice made me cringe.

/The feline sort?/

Then the infamous glasses flash as he nodded.

I groaned and straightened up, stroking my weapon for luck. "The last thing we need is another run of the dramatic with these guys."

"Then we'll end this quickly," Farf stated ominously, giving the machete he brandished a look he sometimes gave to me.

"Keep it light," Crawford called out as we left the room.

And who else would Farf and I find with ease, other than the energetic Bombay clacking away at a computer? After juggling Shinzui, emotions, emotional problems, and Crawford's ominous dream, the sight of the boy suddenly made me feel very irritated. Farf looked as though he felt the very same magic.

"We really can't kill him?" he grumbled.

/You heard Crawford./

"Can't we pretend we didn't?"

Farf waited in the hallway as I advanced into the room, treading the edge of the glow illuminating Bombay's work area. I fought the urge to sneak up on him (we did have a time limit) before simply flicking the lights on.

Bombay gasped as his eyes registered my face. "Schwarz!" he shouted into his mic.

"Well, aren't you a long way from home?" I motioned with the gun for him to take the headset off.

He pulled it off, sputtering: "You're dead! You-Died!"

"So did you," I countered calmly, taking slow steps in his direction. "Too bad we can't relive that fantasy." His breath quickened and his eyes cast about, searching for an escape route. "Nice job with the guards. Tell me, what are you all tied up in?"

"Our business here is none of yours," he whispered almost threateningly.

I glanced at the computer screen. The open windows looked very familiar. "Oh, that I could believe it."

Bombay suddenly flicked his hand outward, nearly scraping my cheek with one of his darts, as I slid out of harm's way. This gave him the opening he needed to run out-

-And into Farf's territory. Bombay hit the floor with a cry, remedied by a hand over his mouth. The boy wriggled in Farf's grasp, fighting the good fight, but he knew he couldn't overpower us both and his muffled shouts died down to whimpers as I advanced, tucking my gun away and picking Farf's machete off the floor.

I held the blade up to the light as Farf hauled Bombay to his feet.

/Somebody please help me/ he wished desperately.

I frowned at the mental call. It just always seemed to work.

Out of nowhere, Siberian jumped at Farf's back, nearly plunging his claws into Bombay as Farf ducked to the floor.

I barely caught the sound of Balinese's wire and stepped back to let the machete be caught. It flew out of my hand, and a fist hurtled toward me as Balinese stepped forward. I pulled to the side and looked across the hallway. Farf was in the same predicament; Siberian had let loose his aggravated protective nature, and blade and claw contended.

Balinese tried a few more times to land a punch, to no avail. I caught his wrist after several dodges and wrenched his arm behind his back, muttering into his ear: "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

As Balinese caught his breath, he gave a bitter chuckle. "Too bad we can't relive that fantasy!" He hurled himself backwards, crushing me between his back and the wall behind us. It was a good move, to say the least. I hadn't made that sound in a long time. He raised his fist once more.-

At that moment, I was suddenly glad I hadn't completely given up smoking, though I nearly coughed a lung up, curling over my abused ribs.

-As soon as he launched the blow, I slid downward, his knuckles pounding into the wall above my head just as I thrust my elbow into his gut.

"Bastard!" he cursed as I straightened up. There was a satisfying thump as his knees hit the ground.

"Likewise," I grit out as I left him.

Siberian looked a little worn as he backed away from Farf's menacing smile. He stole a glance at his fallen teammate and brought his arm up to mop up the sweat on his forehead.

I smiled casually at him. Farf had yet to break a sweat. I wanted to go home and soak in a tub of iced tea.

Then - wouldn't you know it? - a hail of darts came at me, which I barely evaded. Last straw. I withdrew my gun from its place, and with the comforting click of the safety off, aimed right for Bombay's forehead as I turned to smirk at him.

My hair was still settling as Siberian's temper flared, but he didn't dare move.

/Aren't you done yet?/ I nagged Crawford.

/Yes,/ came the reply. Yes. That's all he gave me. What was I doing there with Farf, holding hands and walking through a fucking garden?!

Did I mention I hate fighting? All that useless physical exertion. I had better ways to work in my cardiovascular workout.

"Finally," I grunted. "Luck's your bishounen tonight." I winked at Bombay. With a quick nod to Farf, we made our exit. Weiß made no move to stop us.

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Some time before we reached the library, the rain picked up again. Cloudy curtains were drawn in the sky and the moon's appearance would be missed that evening, leaving only the occasional tents of streetlight along the road to illuminate our path.

But we had no trouble spotting Nagi on the library corner. He was a lone shadow, gazing up into the raindrops as they fell around him and taking in the sky's darkness as an art critic would scrutinize a painting.

"What's he doing?" Farf asked.

Crawford answered in his straightforward manner: "He's getting wet." Nagi was holding the closed umbrella behind his back.

"He looks happy," I proposed. When we finally pulled up to the corner, I lowered my window and stuck my head out. "Hey pretty boy, you look lonely." Nagi turned around, his face showing a small trace of alarm, but more annoyance.

"How 'bout a ride?" I grinned. He snorted and chucked the umbrella through my window. "Ah, no more abuse! I already nearly broke my ribs!"

Farf leaned back with me, pulling his hand through my hair. We watched as Nagi settled in beside Crawford.

"Weiß was there?" Nagi guessed, looking to Crawford for an answer.

Crawford motioned for Nagi to turn around and put his seatbelt on. "If you…" Nagi stammered, keeping his gaze down as Crawford began to brush water from his cheek. The belt buckle clicked. "If I can help--" Nagi risked looking up, but the man's attention was now on his hair. Nagi closed his eyes and aimed to try again.

"It's all right," Crawford said, his hand sliding down to rest on Nagi's cheek, where a pink glow was beginning to spread. "We can handle it."

"I want to-"

"It's fine." Crawford gazed into Nagi's curious eyes, fighting the vision he'd had of those eyes devoid of life, the faded warmth of the skin beneath his fingers, and the blood, rather than rain, decorating his clothes.

Crawford nearly panicked, holding his breath so as not to alert Nagi. /I still see it./

/It will go away./ I assured him. /It was just a dream./

"Ok," Nagi relented, unsure of Crawford's attention. He turned away to watch the rain.

Crawford closed his hand into a fist as he pulled it back.

tbc

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