Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Prodigal Child ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

The Prodigal Child
Lady Dragon


Chapter 1

Sometimes I can't help but wonder if his ability to see the future robs him of some basic common sense. Luckily Crawford is not a telepath and cannot hear these thoughts. If he could I wouldn't be holed up in a hospital glaring at some bubbly nurse trying to shove pills down my throat. No, instead I'd have been lying on the floor in a puddle of my own blood, a bullet implanted between my eyes. Not a pretty picture. I have no past, but I certainly enjoy living enough that I wish to have a future.

Sighing pitifully, the nurse finally throws in the towel. I have managed to stoically thwart her vain attempts of trying to force medicine down my throat. Anemia is nothing major yet she, this stupid onna, stands fussing over me in a manner that could almost be considered maternal.

"Well, I suppose you must enjoy the hospital food well enough! Else you'd have the sense, little boy to take your medicine, and leave."

With a huff she turns and stomps out of the room, leaving behind a cloud of sweet smelling perfume in her wake. I half expect her to return immediately but after fifteen minutes pass and the nurse still hasn't come back, I allow a small smirk to play across my lips, briefly. I've won this round. In the Schwartz household I'd have never been allowed to act so childish. It's refreshing in a way, to be treated as a child. To be fussed over, to for once have someone show concern over my welfare. It's a wonderful feeling. Here in this white room, surrounded by beeping machines, the sounds from the busy hallway drift in. Here I am treated as a human being. I am not some assassin with a unique talent. I am not Prodigy of Schwartz; here I am merely Naoe Nagi the fifteen-year-old boy brought in by his guardian Farfarello due to a rather serious case of anemia.

A glance around the room informs me that my 'guardian' is nowhere to be found though. This of course stands to reason. Crawford, being over confident in his powers of intimidation, left myself in the care of Farfarello while he and Schuldich hurried to Takatori's side in America. Their expertise was required, and Takatori had made it abundantly clear that he wished to keep a somewhat low profile, something hard to do when accompanied by a small boy and an Irish loony.

Shunned again, the story of my life, nothing new there. Crawford had merely shrugged and informed us that although he and Schuldig would be gone, there was still work to be done here in Japan. Crawford had been right. Not even an hour had passed after Crawford and Schuldig's departure when headquarters had called in with an objective to meet. In short our services were required, Farfarello's and mine that is.

The mission was fairly simple and straightforward. A group of radicals had somehow acquired some rather incriminating evidence against Takatori-san and were planning on using handing it over to the authorities, well, the authorities not controlled by Takatori. We did not require Crawford to tell us what had to be done. Years of following in Crawford's shadow, and learning the procedures he, himself would wish to take, told me how to run this simple mission. Time was of essence and the matter could not wait till Crawford himself could return and I had sadly been unable to establish contact with the two gaijin assassins. Not that I tried very hard.

That night Farfarello and I had left to accomplish what we had both believed to be a fairly simple ordeal. The fools were stationed in a small basement, all their files saved to only one hard drive, unnervingly easy to retrieve and destroy. Perhaps my over confidence in the mission should have been a clue that I was not thinking everything through. How was I to realize that such a group of amateurs would be well-trained assassins in disguise? They were not in the league of most assassin groups of Kritiker, but they were more than I had bargained for.

All that was required was to retrieve the stolen data, eliminate any traces of the knowledge and destroy the infidels. Instead what happened was a catastrophe. Midway through the mission Farfarello went into one of his crazed moments, hungry for blood and unable to recognize ally from foe. The targets were eliminated, data was retrieved and all traces destroyed and then Berserker decided I would be fun to play with.

What ensued after that is still a blur, even now nearly forty-eight hours after the incident. All I can recall is the sight of Farfarello covered in blood, some of it his own but the majority of it his victim's. I'd thrown up shields to protect myself from his attacks, while trying to use my power to subdue and get him back under control. The ceiling started caving in on us as the bombs we had set earlier went off, then blissful darkness. I had woken up in the Schwartz apartments barely able to move, my head a throbbing and pounding thing.

Farfarello looking down over me brushing my dark bangs from my eyes as he gently cradled me.

"I will not let God take the dark child, I will not."

He mumbled this repeatedly as he rocked me back and forth in his arms. I tried to sit up, to inquire as to what had put that gleam of worry in his golden eye when I realized I couldn't move. My limbs felt like lead, and my energy was completely depleted. I could not even call my gift to raise myself. That's when blissful numbness finally over took me, dulled the pain in my head and allowed me to fall asleep at last.

That had occurred the same night of that fateful incident. Farfarello knew how to mend cuts and how to patch up bullet wounds; the man did after all gain an impressive amount of them every mission. But my injuries were not external, but rather internal, and he was at a loss as to what to do for me. In a rare moment of brilliance he had brought me to Magic Bus Hospital, claiming to be my guardian who had returned late at night to find me in this condition. Though why the doctors believed him is truly beyond me.

I have not seen much of the blonde man during my time here. No doubt, he has been in contact with Crawford, that much he told me anyway, and for certain Crawford is deeply angered. I shudder to think what Crawford will say. I managed to bungle a single, simple mission, objective completed or not. Valuable tools cannot be damaged, and that's all that I am to them, just a useful tool that will have to be replaced when it looses its value or usefulness.

I'm in deep trouble now; nothing will save me from a beating or two at Takatori's hands. Crawford usually keeps him from taking any anger out on me, but I somehow doubt I'll be spared this time. After all I'm quite sure Crawford will want a piece at me as well, and lets not forget Schuldig's mocking comments and snide laughter. It's not a wonder why, with teammates such as mine, I prefer to company of my computer and a good book? I didn't think so.

But Crawford is not god, so there is no way he can return before the week is up. My punishment is prolonged then, possibly giving the American more time to concoct even more painful means of torturing me. I should cooperate with the nurse, swallow my medicine and then all the doctor's can deem me 'healthy' so that I can leave and go back to the apartment in a day or so. Instead I snuggled down into the bed, pulling the sheets up to my chin and curled up. Rolling over so as to face the hallway and watch the noisy people walk by I allow my mind to drift. Farfarello won't return till later this evening, if at all today, leaving me in peace. It's rare to have someone fussing over me, let alone several people, so I think I'll take advantage of it. For once I feel a measure of safety and comfort that isn't derived from weapons and the intimidating presences of my teammates surrounding me.

Just as my mind is shutting down, and sleep begins to come I feel an unfamiliar presence enter the room. Before my eyes even have a chance to open my subconscious had registered the fact that this is no doctor or nurse I have met to date, nor is it Farfarello. Standing in the door, almost hesitantly, is the strangest and most beautiful man I've ever seen.

The man's eyes automatically draw my attention; they're a beautiful shining amethyst color set in a pale porcelain complexion that manages to look regal and not sickly like Farfarello's. Crimson eyebrows frame those sparkling jewels, a single brow arching in question at me. What the man would want with me, I have no clue. Long ear tails frame his face and from his left ear dangles a single earring, just as elegant in appearance as it's owner. Remarkable, utterly remarkable. His hair is short and a glorious shade of red, like freshly spilled blood, or the rich and heady stuff served in high class restaurants in downtown Paris. Utterly unique, and seemingly unimaginable. Immediately I wish to inquire if it's natural.

He sweeps a casual glance over my figure lying huddled in the large hospital bed he moves into the room and seemingly ignores my presence. Behind him I spy the nurse from earlier beating a hasty retreat. The man comes to stand at the foot of my bed and glances once more over me, his gaze holding mine before I am forced to look away. Eyes shining, so beautiful yet so utterly cold, like the lifeless stones they resemble.

Frowning I sit up in the bed and fix the man with my usual indifferent gaze, contempt written across my face. I do not understand why, but I do not wish to appear weak in this man's eyes. I wish only to gain his respect and keep it, which is ludicrous since I just met him.

Not even sparing me another glance for my efforts, he moves to the bedside table and picks up the small paper cup sitting there. I do not need to look to see that three insanely large pills lie at the bottom of the cup. I abhor appearing weak, and taking medicine is weak. Glancing back to the now empty doorway the man frowns slightly before turning that bejeweled gaze to me.

"I can see now why you did not wish to take these."

I blink, confused at first to what the man has said and then it's significance. Did the nurse retrieve him to bully me into submission? He does't look like a nurse, nor a candy stripper, not clad as he is in jeans and an orange sweater that clashes horribly with his hair. I tell him this and he just frowns at me before nodding his head in agreement.

"I am neither nurse, nor doctor."

He says this as if that answers everything, yet it answers nothing. I point this out to him and he just shrugs, picking up the pitcher of water and pouring a cupful before handing me the water and medication.

"If the nurse could not get me to take this, junk, what makes you think you can?"

"I am merely trying to assist a distraught woman, who has been trying unsuccessfully for the past half hour or so attempting to aid an ailing child."

The voice would be music to my ears if not for the thick layer of ice clinging to the words.

"I am not a child." I say, not quite sure what to make of the man.

"Then do not waste my time acting like one."

Frowning up at the man has no effect, and I will not lower myself to make childish pleas and fake tears in an attempt to sway the man. Instead I take the proffered medication and swallow it down, with great difficulties. The pills really are too large to swallow normally, and within seconds I am choking like the pitiful child I am.

In a show of compassion I would have previously thought the man incapable of, he pulls me close and begins to pat me gently on the back till the coughing fit has passed. Seating himself calmly on the bed beside me, he watches as I finish the last of the water. Taking the now empty cup from my hands and placing them on the table, all without leaving my side. I find myself taking comfort in his presence, hoping that he can stay with me just a little longer, but already I feel my eyes watering and my lids sliding closed. Whatever it was the nurse was trying to shove down my throat earlier really does work fast.

Rising, he gently pushes me back onto the pillows and pulls the covers up around me. After fluffing my pillows he then moves to draw the shades on the window before turning back to face me. Nodding in way of a 'goodbye' he turns to leave.

"Wait," I call out desperation leaking into my voice despite my valiant attempt to keep a hold of my usual indifferent tone. "A-arigatou."

"Hn."

Is his only response as he once again moves to leave. For a reason I can not yet begin to fathom I do not wish him to leave, not yet. Desperate for company, especially his I try again, this time I am more successful in voicing what I really want.

"Wait, please. Can you stay with me, at least until the medicine fully kicks in?"

The words leave my mouth in a rush, yet he somehow manages to make sense of them. I wonder does the man deal with fanboys on a daily basis, or at least fangirls? With those glorious looks, he must.

"I should be going, I am here to visit someone." His reply is so monotone, so distant.

'Of course, stupid Naoe,' I mentally curse myself. 'He doesn't care about you, and for that matter why do you care? The man is a nobody,' yet I still find the thought of him leaving a sad and bitter thing. 'He's here to see someone else' I tell myself his words from a moment ago cutting me deeper than any weapon has ever been able to do to me. 'Stop your whimpering Naoe. Get over it and grow up.' I chide myself, but still I feel the threatening presence of tears welling in my eyes.

"If it will help, I will stay."

And with that he takes a seat in the chair by the window, facing my bed. Words fail me and I smile in gratitude. The man's presence is soothing to me, perhaps with the combination of medication and his proximity I will have a restful sleep at least, void of the nightmares that normally plague me. As I begin to drift off a stray thought occurs to me, one that I voice.

"I don't know your name."

"I am unimportant."

I wonder briefly if this is how I appear to people who bother to speak to me. Undaunted I continue, the man is an enigma to me; I will understand everything there is to know about him, starting with his name.

"So am I, but I have a name."

"Hn."

He is caught, unable to back out of that statement. The look on his face though is something I have never seen on a person's face before, at least not when directed at me. I have no name for it, this confuses me even more.

"You are not unimportant. Whoever has told you that is worthless."

His response makes me smile. What I wouldn't give to really believe that. Silence falls and I realize he's still trying to evade my attempts at befriending him. Strange twist of events, me trying to befriend someone? Weird.

"You havn't answered my question."

"Will you go to sleep if I tell you?"

"Hai."

"Hn, namae wa Fujimiya Ran desu. Now go to sleep."

He seems shocked that he's told me his name. Odd. Could he be as anti-social as I am? I'm curious now to know the reason why such a beautiful person such as Ran would feel the need to hide from society. Someone with his looks could easily be some sort of movie star. In his eyes however, lurks an intelligence that makes me consider placing him as some sort of high-powered executive. Those eyes, so beautiful and yet so jaded. What hand has fate dealt him that he has turned out like this? I will know someday.

"I am Naoe, Naoe Nagi."

'And I will know all there is to know about you Ran,' I add silently. 'I will know everything about your life and you will be mine. I am Schwartz, and I will take what I want.'

TBC

---