Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Strategic Retreats ❯ Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Huzzah and kerfrabulous day! WK is now officially one of my fandoms: I have obtained, at no great cost or effort, the DVD set of Gluhen. Oh yes, life is good. Aside from personal issues, that is. Those of you following my existence will be pleased to know that, contrary to the usual experience, college life gives me *more* time to write. Much more. And, fed by annoyance and this new treasure, I am called to write WK. Love me, please. PS: Oop! I included the lyrics credit in last section, but they're used in this one! Baka ne! Shitsuree shimashita! So, once again, lyrics included are from Gackt's Death Wish, off the Moon album. The version I have was translated into English by a lovely lady, Mina-P, whose website I have forgotten. As usual, Weiss Kreuz belong to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiss, and so on.

Warnings: Swearing, general mature themes, yaoi eventually

Strategic Retreats, cont.
A Weiss Kreuz Fic by Kitsuneko

Nagi was just walking out the door when Schuldig, looking exhausted but marginally less dead, called to him from the top of the stairs.

"Hey, kid, Farfie and I are going out. We won't be back for a while." Nagi gave him a disbelieving look.

"Does Crawford know?"

"More or less. We'll be fine. Go to school."

"Okay... Be careful?" Schuldig nodded almost cheerfully and watched Nagi leave.

"Well, the coast is clear, Farfie. Shall we?" He turned halfway back to his room, which Farfarello was leaving, and shook his car keys. Farfarello snatched them out of his hand and started down the stairs.

"I'm driving."

"Not my car, you're not! Give those back," Schuldig followed after him, dragging his duffle bad down the stairs.

"You can't be trusted to stay functional long enough to get us there."

"And you can?!" Farfarello turned quickly and stared at him, eyes narrowed.

"Do not make the mistake of others in thinking that by being a berserker, I lose control permanently. I can be the sane one, if that's what has to happen. It just hurts like hell to put my mind in working order. At least I can do it on command." An intense, silent moment passed between them. Then Schuldig broke into a warm chuckle, tipping his head back.

"Fuck, you can be creepy, Farfie. Okay, you get to drive. Since when are you so bossy?"

"Since you came unglued." Schuldig pouted in silence, tossing his bag into the car and flopping down in the passenger seat without a word.

They drove in silence for a time, before Schuldig's own noise became too great and he switched on the stereo to counteract it.

soba ni mieru death wish no tobira sae mo

atatakai nukumori o kanjiteiru

kimi no na o sotto kuchizusaminagara

ano hi no you ni zutto aishiteageru

None of Schuldig's CDs were in the car, so he had to contend with listening to Japanese radio, something he normally avoided. He nestled himself back into the seat, resting his head against the cool glass of the window. Soon, he fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by memories and terrors that were not his own.

Farfarello drove on in silence, having switched the stereo off after Schuldig fell asleep. His Japanese was not refined enough to let him understand the music much and he tended to resent things which he could not grasp. Resentment turned into violence easily and he could not afford to slip now. He knew that Schuldig was suffering one of the more dramatic side effects of his power, but he wasn't sure what all it included or the remedy for it. But he knew that Schuldig needed silence, like he often did, and the mountains were his version of Farfarello's churches. He stole a look at Schuldig's sleeping form.

Angel of God, my guardian dear... Schuldig treated him kindly, with a sort of respect that he had never handed to anyone else. He respected Crawford, for his control, his power, his intelligence. He respected Nagi for the fact that he could move buildings and raise the dead. He respected himself for being smarter, prettier, and generally better than everyone else, because he was everyone else. But Farfarello hadn't decided what reason Schuldig had for respecting him. Schuldig made a small noise of protest next to him, starting to wake up.

"I an ainm de an Athair, an Mac, agus an Spiorad Naomh..." Schuldig whispered the words, still half asleep, before something shocked him awake with a scream. He was sweating heavily again, his fever seeming to have returned, and he had slight muscle shakes. He took a long moment to regain his breath and clear his head, coming back to himself.

"Since when do you know Irish Gaelic?"

"Since I woke up as you," Schuldig said weakly, fear thick in his voice. "Don't think so loudly next time." Farfarello didn't respond, but continued driving while he thought about the idea of waking up as someone else.

"It's the third time in the past week I've done that."

"So that's how long ago it started?"

"Yeah, about. I think it started during our last run in with the Weiss kittens. Wouldn't it have been sad if little Bombay had managed to kill me because I had lost my mind?"

"I wouldn't have let it happen." They both knew that such declarations of whatever emotion lay between them had to be dropped like bombs at this stage of the game. And neither one was really willing to ever pick them up after that. But Schuldig, for one, was getting close. He recognized the temptation to respond in kind, to name what he felt. But his mind was already getting blown to bits, so he held back one more time.

"How much longer before we get there?"

"You sound like a whiny child. We'll be there soon."

"Nein, I'm no where close to whining. Want me to try?" Farfarello shot him a look that promised a gory death in a car crash. Schuldig chuckled and leaned back in his seat. He managed to stay awake for that final hour of the drive, arriving at their destination groggy but functional. Farfarello grabbed both their bags on his own and Schuldig shuffled after him, casually nursing a rising headache. But they were out of the city. It was not too far out, but the peacefulness of the surrounding wilderness acted as an extra buffer and Schuldig could feel the others fading out slowly.

"We could have food sent up for dinner." Only now did Schuldig notice that he was lying across the length of the couch, with Farfarello standing at the end by his feet, looking down at him. He wondered how he had gotten there. He shook his head and winced at the raw, crisp feeling that caused. I just thought of my brain in terms better fit to a celery stick. Okay, so I'm not quite back yet.

"No outsiders." Schuldig idly noted that it would have been a romantic line if the situation was a bit different. Disappointing. He knew Farfarello had brought a small ice chest, though he half expected there to be body parts on ice in that, rather than anything fit for consumption. Moreover...

"Can you cook? You never do at home."

"Yes. I was taught," he commented, trailing off. This meant he had been taught to cook by the same people that taught him the Mass in Latin and the best way to fillet a nun. This should be interesting to watch, if Schuldig could get up the energy to get off the couch and follow him into the kitchen. Once he was up, he wished he had the energy to be sexy. The familiarity of that act would have made him feel better, but it just wasn't happening. Padding across the cold tile floor of the kitchen, he saw Farfarello standing at the counter and he wondered what would happen if he came up behind him and just held him. Considering the likelihood of Farfarello having a knife handy, both out of habit and current task, he decided against it, but did press his forehead against Farfarello's shoulder, leaning hard against him at that one point. The surprised muscle twitch was expected, but the low, hoarse chuckle wasn't.

"Is SchuSchu sleepy?" Okay, humor also wasn't expected. It had seemed more likely that, regardless of whatever good intentions had prompted Farfarello to bring him here, he would quickly become annoyed with Schuldig. Of course, they had only just arrived. Curious, Schuldig let his mind graze lightly over Farfarello's, careful to not go too deep, since that made him feel out of it on a good day. Well, wasn't that interesting. Farfarello wasn't thinking much of anything at all; his mind was a comfortable blank, only small flashes about the task of cooking interrupting the quiet. Schuldig let out something that fell between a purr and a moan, mentally sinking into that blissful silence. He could feel the smooth muscles of Farfarello's back bunch up, knotting under him, but he made no move to remove Schuldig, so he remained plugged into his mind.

"T-bone steaks and boiled potatoes. Not the richest cuisine in the world, but good?" Schuldig lifted his head to peek over Farfarello's shoulder, looking at the skillet of steaks and a covered pot which he could hear bubbling briskly.

"Just like Mutti used to make. Or close enough. Smells good. We got butter here?" Farfarello nodded, his hair brushing against Schuldig's ear. He turned towards the tickling sensation and whispered.

"Thanks, Farfie." With more bounce to his step than he'd had in days, Schuldig flounced over to the kitchen table and plopped down in a chair. He rested his head on his folded arms, turning so he could watch Farfarello continue preparing dinner. He actually seemed good at it. They might have been missing out by never letting him feed them. But it was possible that this ability was only available when he was feeling sane and allowing him near cutlery was still a bad idea any other night of the week.

But exterior damage and murderous nature aside, Schuldig could hardly understand why people disliked Farfarello. His mind was always either comfy to be around or amusing to watch. Well, that database of visceral horrors might be what turned people off, but Schuldig... Is turned on by it? Hell yeah. But Farf has never shown too much interest in that use for flesh. And he isn't much of a catch if I'm looking for a long term... something. Hm, since when am I looking for that? Schuldig sighed. When I'm normal again, I'm going to need to do some serious self-evaluation.

Schuldig was startled out of his thoughts when a plate clinked down on the table in front of him.

"Utensils?" Farfarello grimaced. "You forgot them, huh? So where'd the cooking knife come from?"

"That was one of my own. I used it without thinking."

"Ew, Farfie, I can handle a lot, but that's just icky." Farfarello rolled his good eye.

"I washed it first, so calm down. Besides, you can't get all the meat off a t-bone with a knife anyway." Having said this, he calmly picked up his steak and gnawed on it. Schuldig shrugged and fetched the knife from the sink, using it to add a liberal amount of butter to his potatoes. They ate in amiable silence, cicadas chirping outside, their calls wafting in through the open windows. When finished, Schuldig leaned back in his chair, as if to stretch out his belly to better accommodate the food.

"That was damn good, Farf. I haven't had food like that in a long time." Farfarello smiled in a way that seemed to indicate satisfaction at a job well done. He glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen. It was still early, but...

"You should go to bed. You need rest." Schuldig looked like he would protest, then shrugged and took his plate to the sink.

"Will you tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?" He asked with a little smirk. Farfarello frowned and ushered him out of the room. The rest of the house was still dark and Farfarello neglected to turn on any lights, knowing they could both navigate with ease. The master bedroom was upstairs and at the end of a long hall. After the stairs, Farfarello continued walking, but he could feel Schuldig's pace vary between lagging behind and rushing to catch up. His breathing had also quickened. But only when a clearly audible whimper came from him did Farfarello stop and turn to face him. He found Schuldig looking several inches shorter, but only because his body language had collapsed in on itself.

"Schuldig?" No response. Tentatively, he placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure what reaction that might get. The last thing he expected was to end up with an armful of German, which was what he now had."I'm afraid of the dark. There might be monsters." Schuldig's voice was small and pitiful. Farfarello was utterly baffled. He mouthed the word 'why' a few times before his voice would work.

"Mommy says that if I'm bad, monsters will eat me in the night." Finally it dawned on Farfarello: Schuldig was, through some quirk in his power, either hearing currently or remembering having been a young child. One with a slightly cruel mother, it seemed. Though his models for parental behavior and the management of children were shaky at best, Farfarello instinctively wrapped an arm around Schuldig's back, guiding him forward.

"Come on, let's go to bed. It'll be... okay."

"Are there monsters?" Schuldig almost stopped walking again.

"I don't know, but if there are, I'll protect you," he reassured him, drawing a knife as proof. Most normal children would have been anything but comforted by the presence of a scarred, one-eyed, knife wielding man, but it seemed that some of Schuldig was still in there somewhere and his body relaxed into Farfarello's. He got them to the bed and made Schuldig lie down, but the child gripped his hand in a panic. The strength in Schuldig's body far exceeded that of the child he was thinking through, so the grip was unnaturally tight.

"Will you stay with me?" Farfarello hesitated, then climbed into bed along side him. Schuldig snuggled back against him and Farfarello, with no small amount of uncertainty, draped an arm over his slender waist, holding on to him. In that embrace, Schuldig relaxed and fell into sleep, but even then, Farfarello forgot to remove his arm.

Author's Post Notes: Translations to the lyrics:

Even the door to the death wish that I see close by

I can feel the mild warmth

As I softly sing your name to myself

Just like that day, I'll always give you my love

Random? Not totally.