Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 16 ( Chapter 16 )

16

 

totsuzen no deai e no kokoro kara no yorokobi to

"itsushika owaru kamoshirenai..." sonna kankaku ni obiete

 

Yohji ~ Reflections

 

Though I'd missed talking with Omi, I had to admit I hadn't much enjoyed our phone call. The next few hours saw me chain smoking and scowling at a blank television as I replayed our conversation over and over in my head. Omi needed my help, but Kritiker was a toxic job for me. The more I told myself I should stay safe and keep clear, the more my heart begged me to go back to Kritiker, to return home.

 

Twilight faded to night, and I was nowhere closer to a real decision.

 

“This is crazy,” I told the empty room. “I can't help him with this, I can only hurt myself if I go back.”

 

The room didn't answer.

 

Before I could sink any further into this quagmire, I pushed myself up from the couch and stormed into my bedroom. If peace and quiet wouldn't give me my answer, just maybe the wind and the highway would.

 

I hadn't taken the Seven out for a joyride in far too long. I only hoped she remembered how to run - slow was not an option this night. For a dilemma of this magnitude, I wasn't certain that legal would be an option, either.

 

With no particular destination in mind, I made my way through the neighborhood roads, aiming for the distant ribbon of highway. The Seven seemed to catch every traffic stop along the way, as though she were counseling me to patience. I resolved not to let it get to me. Sometimes there were answers in delay.

 

I studied the nearly empty street while I waited for the light to change. The midnight people who did brave the streets were all seeking something, whether forgetfulness or companionship or excitement; most would never find it. I'd learned long ago not to bother looking in the first place. For me, that way held only trouble.

 

A streak of red blazed through the night like a flare, flashing across the street right in front of me. I peered over my driving glasses to get a better look: an outrageous flaming mane of hair trailed behind a tall man who strode like fury incarnate. He crossed the street toward that tacky little bar and virtually flowed down the stairs in a blur of motion.

 

This could be interesting. It had to be him; there was no one else it could possibly be. But why was he moving like danger? Was he back to his old line of work? I angled the Seven toward the curb and parked, then followed him in. My fingers toyed with the monofilament line at my wrist, just in case, though I hated the idea of having to face him down. I'd almost thought we could become friends now.

 

I surveyed the bar patrons and found my mark immediately. It was Schuldig, all right. No mistaking that hair, or that bearing. He had parked himself at the bar like he owned the place and was at the moment tossing back a shot, most likely of Chivas.

 

As I made my way toward him, I decided to just play it cool. Before I could say anything he hit the floor and spun around, braced for an attack. My hands went up as I tried to calm him down. “Hey, didn't mean to startle you,” I said, talking slowly and hoping he wasn't too wasted to recognize me. “I saw you come in here, thought I'd say hello. You busy?”

 

He settled back onto the barstool and growled, “No, I'm not busy. Just needed a drink or twenty, if that makes sense.” He gave a half-hearted toast, then drank like he meant business.

 

I frowned. Even in this dim light I could see the fading handprint on his left cheek. No wonder he was so angry. I decided to take a chance. “You know, sometimes when I'm having a night like that, I go driving. The wind helps blow all the fog away. You want to try it?”

 

Schuldig seemed to be debating my offer. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his eyes narrowed, then he simply said, “I'd love to.” He drained his glass, reclaimed his change, and let me lead the way out of the bar and back to the Seven.

 

I had my hand on the driver's side door when I noticed he was just standing there, staring. He seemed less than impressed. I fought down a scowl and simply got in and put on my driving glasses. “You can hop the door if you like,” I told him, “but I'm not coming around to open it for you.”

 

Schuldig seemed to wake up and let himself in, settling into the seat with a surprised smile.

 

“Never been in a Caterham Seven before, have you?” I asked, starting her up and letting her purr.

 

“No, actually, I haven't,” he admitted, one eyebrow slightly raised.

 

“Some people like to buy these as kit cars, but this baby I bought whole, just like you see her.” I thought he might like to know the finer details, so I gave him the tour. “She's got the 1.8 litre engine, reaches cruising speed in 3.4 seconds. The chassis is designed to cut drag and nose lift. Basically, she's like a rocket on wheels. Add the 6-speed close ratio gear box and adjustable double-wishbone suspension, and you've got one sweet sex machine.”

 

Suddenly I realized he wasn't even listening to me. Oh, well, that's what I get for presuming. I turned onto a main road and asked, “You want to see what she can do?”

 

Schuldig flashed me a cocky grin. “Show me, Weiß.”

 

I grinned back. “Hang on to your ass, Schwarz.” I pulled onto the freeway and let her run.

 

From the corner of my eye I could see that my passenger was quite impressed now. He had this little surprised smile, the kind a guy gets when his date unexpectedly goes down. The only difference for me was, I knew she would.

 

And, to the best of my knowledge, there were no other cars on this island that could race her and win. Beauty and speed, what a combination!

 

Beside me, Schuldig seemed to relax into the moment. He shook his hair free to flow out behind him. It made for quite a sight, flying through the dark in a streak of fire. He seemed to lose himself in the blur of speed, a sensation I knew all too well.

 

Well, if he was wanting to lose himself either to booze or the lure of the highway, I knew the right place to go. I'd taken my fair share of dates up into those hills, and knew them as well as if I'd mapped them myself. I guided the Seven from the road and onto a little path, then coasted her to a stop near a stand of trees. In the soft night silence, I tilted my seat back and lit up a cigarette. The first puff came and went on a contented sigh.

 

Something about my passenger told me he needed privacy, so I looked up at the sky rather than directly at him as I invited him to vent. “So, talk.”

 

Schuldig seemed momentarily lost. He covered by lighting a cigarette himself and taking his time with it.

 

He looked sad, bereft almost. I wondered what his story truly was. “You sure seem like a guy who needs a good listener,” I offered. “It's okay, Schuldig. I'm unemployed, remember? Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either. Not anymore.”

 

He sighed, then laughed softly. It was not a happy sound. “I guess I just don't know where to start, that's all.”

 

“Okay, so let me start,” I ventured. “What are you running from?”

 

The red-head gasped, then tried to act casual, but his hand shook as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. “Who said I was running?”

 

I studied him over my driving glasses for a moment, then slipped them off and put them away. “You act like a guy who's fighting with his wife,” I told him, unable to stop playing detective now that he had my curiosity engaged. “I've seen enough of them to know. Someone at home is making your life hell right now, and all you want is to get away from it.” My eyes challenged him to deny it. “Come on, you were ready to buy the whole damn bar.”

 

Schuldig laughed again, a nervous, windy sound. “You're still a detective, aren't you. I guess it's not the sort of thing you can just stop doing, is it?”

 

“So tell me I'm wrong.”

 

He swallowed, but didn't look away. His eyes shone like rain-glazed turquoise. “You're not wrong, no. Not a wife, though. Obviously.”

 

I tried to lighten things up a little. “And here I was, all that time thinking you were a cold-hearted bastard.” Talk like this could get heavy real fast; caffeine might be a good bet, here. I always kept a stash behind my seat, and now I raided it for a couple of canned coffees. “So,” I asked as I offered him one, “who's got you so miserable?”

 

Schuldig took the can and debated a moment, then answered me, seeming to push the words out all in one breath. “Crawford. The man is driving me insane. He's calm and cool one minute, then duct taping the windows shut the next.”

 

“Duct tape? Hentai!” I grinned, trying to keep it a little light.

 

This must have caught him off guard. He laughed, a soft, pleasant sound, and bantered back, “I wish!” Then he turned serious again, the words flowing as though he had no choice in the matter. “No, but really, he says our lives are in danger, that we're kind of on a hit list. We've been living incognito since the tower, hiding out, moving from place to place. Crawford says that it's going to get worse, and soon. That the goon squad is on its way, so to speak. Thing is…”

 

I heard his unspoken doubt, and voiced it for him. “You think he's wrong.”

 

Schuldig nodded, his eyes sad. “Yeah, I do. We've all been through enough to drive anyone over the edge, and Brad's been having mood swings and shit.” His left hand rose to his face, fingertips tracing his bruised cheek. He looked like he was emotionally exhausted, and that this situation was really pushing him to the limits.

 

“That's his name? Brad?” I asked, more to cover my own reaction than out of curiosity. It had always bothered me when guys hit their girlfriends, but until now I'd never met an uke with that particular problem.

 

“Yeah, Brad Crawford. He was our team leader. Is our leader.” He covered the slip with guilty speed.

 

I pretended not to notice. “Oh, right. He's American, isn't he? I thought I'd heard that somewhere. So Crawford is his family name.” I paused for some nicotine and some coffee, then changed tangent. “So, Schuldig: is that your given name or your family name? I'd hate to be too familiar, you know.”

 

His reaction surprised me. He looked down, as though ashamed. “It's okay,” he whispered, “I said you could call me that.”

 

I regarded him curiously, then offered a reassuring nod. “Oh, it's your alias. That's cool. Back in the day, they called me Balinese. But you already knew that,” I added with a wink. Since names seemed to be a touchy subject too, I decided to take this back the direction it had been going, see where he went with it. “Sorry about the interruption. You were telling me how your leader is driving you to drink. I know how that can go.”

 

“Do you?” Schuldig murmured, barely looking at me.

 

“Long story. You said Crawford gets mood swings. So does Aya. Some days…” I shook my head; with Aya, words would not suffice. “He can be such a princess, sometimes.”

 

Schuldig laughed sharply and offered, “Well, in my case, I'd be the princess. Brad's more like the dark wizard or something. He's got us living under stricter rules than ever, telling me that the least little slip will invite disaster.”

 

Something about this seemed important. I kept my tone light as I prompted, “Will it?”

 

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Who knows? I can't see the future.”

 

The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I knew suddenly how Schwarz had managed to defy us for so damn long. It all made sense. Now if I could just get Schuldig to admit it.

 

“What,” I asked, “can you do?”

 

He turned toward me, his face a mask of surprise. “Beg pardon?”

 

“Look,” I said casually, “the kid throws things around without touching them. You've hinted that Crawford knows what's going to happen before it does, and from what I've seen of him fighting, it's true. So what can you do?”

 

Schuldig stared a moment. Then his eyes softened, and I felt like I was falling into them, like he was singing me into a dream while he searched through all my secrets. I heard my own panicked whisper: “Hey, what the hell is that? What are you doing to me?” And suddenly the remaining piece of the puzzle fell into place. My momentary panic vanished, the sensation of dream-falling vanished, and all that was left was a detective's finest sense. I relaxed and leaned back with a canary-eating grin. “Okay, I get it,” I announced. “That's what your edge was. How you kept us guessing. You read minds, don't you?”

 

Schuldig looked so comically startled I was hard put not to laugh out loud. He flinched and glared at his smoke, which had burned down low enough to singe the backs of his fingers. He moved as though to drop the cigarette in the dirt, changed his mind, glared at it again, then flung it with full force toward the foliage. Then he turned his attention back to me.

 

I tried even harder not to laugh, or even smirk. It wasn't easy.

 

“I'm impressed,” Schuldig said in that old familiar purr. He gave a mocking little bow and continued. “Three for three. Did the others figure us out too, or just you?”

 

And what, I wondered, would he do if they had? “Don't know. Don't care, really. I guess I just can't resist a good mystery.”

 

The momentary return to villain mode melted away from the red-head, perhaps for good this time. He got this silly little grin, then started laughing like he'd never stop. He hauled in lungfuls of fresh night air and howled them back out in one of the finest fits of hilarity I have ever had the privilege to witness. It almost reminded me of the aftermath of one of Omi's pranks, especially when the victim was Ken. Almost. But all things considered, Schuldig's laughing fit was certainly in the top ten.

 

As the mirth slowly subsided and Schuldig started to catch his breath again, his eyes sparkled with renewed life as though laughter had become his food. He wiped at his eyes and sniffled a little, took a few deep breaths, then sipped his coffee, all the while smiling like he knew a rare and precious secret.

 

“Feel better now?” I asked him, marveling at the unexpected beauty that seemed to shine through him. I had the feeling he didn't even know it was there.

 

He nodded, looking like he couldn't talk yet. So we just sat there a while, as the stars wheeled above us and the moon began to set.

 

After a few minutes Schuldig excused himself and made for the treeline. I continued staring at the night sky, almost lost in thought. A brilliant flash of greenish light cut a streak against the darkness, and I smiled around my cigarette. My wish made itself, without my knowledge, but that was all right. I didn't really believe in wishes, anyway.

 

When Schuldig came back, he put his hands on the car door and stretched like a cat. Then he looked up at me, through a curtain of red hair, and smiled. “Man, it is so good to have someone to just talk to, to vent to, you know? You were so right when you said I needed that. I did. I do. It's damn near impossible to talk like that with Brad, or the other two. I mean, Nagi just doesn't get it. And besides, he's pissed off at me anyway now. And Far isn't always coherent.”

 

That name caught me. I remembered our one unfinished assignment, and asked, “Far, as in Farfarello? That would be Jei, right?”

 

Schuldig got this odd worried look and said, “Yeah, but I wouldn't call him that to his face. He gets really sensitive about his past, treats it like a whole different person.” Then he shook his head at me and added, “Damn, if you're not the most observant bastard I've ever met, you're well in the top two! You're having way too much fun with this.”

 

I grinned, the cigarette clenched in my teeth at a rakish angle. “What can I say? Can't help it, really. I've been into crime all my life.” Oh, that didn't sound right! “I mean I read crime dramas and mysteries a lot. It's my passion. Well, not really, but it is a hobby.”

 

“Got any more coffee?”

 

I reached across the passenger seat and handed him another can. “That's why I became a detective. I like solving mysteries. My mind won't let it go, it'll just keep working at it until I have it figured out.” Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, “Is it like that with your mind reading, Schuldig? I mean, does it stay on all the time, or can you turn it off?”

 

He paused only a moment before saying, “It's like tuning in to different radio stations, and turning the volume up or down. Basically that's it. Things can affect it, like if I was sick or exhausted, I might have either extreme: too loud, or no sound at all. I got hit in the head when the tower broke apart. Still having some problems from that, but it'll mend. It always does, right?”

 

The tower. Ah, shit. I hated thinking about that when I was awake; the nightmares were bad enough. But now the memories washed over me like saltwater. I took a long drag on my cigarette, hoping it would cut through the moment. It didn't help. My body remembered its futile struggle against my wire, and the pressure in my chest.

 

Vaguely I heard Schuldig whisper, “God, Yohji.” I felt more than saw him slide back into his seat, his body warm next to mine. Still those awful seabound minutes played themselves out in my head, refusing to leave me in peace. Again I saw that greenish light, and Aya floating above me, sword still in his hands. And, right before I passed out, Asuka smiling at me, her arms open wide, against a backdrop of white.

 

Then I felt a petal-soft touch, as though someone was fumbling for the remote control to my inner movie. I shut my eyes and said, “You're doing it again, aren't you?”

 

He sounded chagrined as he said, “Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Your thoughts were really loud just then.”

 

“Thoughts can be loud?” I asked, glancing at him. “Even though I can't do what you do, I can still make you hear me?”

 

Schuldig managed a wan smile and said, “You don't have to be a telepath to shout at one, no.”

 

Interesting. I turned my attention to my cigarette, still trying to reconnect with the world of the living. I hated when those memories swarmed over me, covered me like ants. Somehow, Schuldig had made it stop. I wondered if he'd even known he was doing it.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Yeah?” I mumbled.

 

“You're alive, man. Don't forget that. No matter how close it was, you made it.”

 

I nodded and said, “I know.” I took a deep breath, then looked at my passenger. “I know, Schuldig. It's been a hard couple of months, though. Guess I'm still kind of in shock from it all.”

 

“I hear that,” he murmured, sipping his coffee.

 

“Hey, Schuldig?” Something had been bothering me ever since that day, and now it occurred to me to ask him about it. “Do you know how we survived that? Because we sure as hell couldn't figure it out.”

 

“You're right, we should probably be dead. Brad said the same thing.” He looked around, as though searching for ghosts. In a near whisper, he continued, “No, I don't know. But I believe it was Nagi. He didn't want us to die, so he found a way to get us all to shore, alive. He couldn't tell who was who, so he had to pull everyone.”

 

My thoughts drifted back to another assignment, a very bad assignment, but one with an intriguing landmark. I focused on that landmark. “So basically the same thing that made a crater of Masafumi's house could be used to pull us out of the water and land us on the beach?” At his slight nod I paused to light a fresh smoke, then murmured, “Damn. Is it just because I don't know anything about this kind of stuff, or is that kid, like, super powerful? Like something out of a halfway decent manga?”

 

The red-head pulled out his own cigarettes, only to find the pack empty. This was becoming a running joke, for him. I smiled and handed him the one I'd just lit, then fished out another for myself. I could tell he didn't care for my brand, but nicotine is nicotine, and he seemed a little desperate. I couldn't blame him. Our conversation had gone from deep to spooky to just plain weird. “Then again,” I observed, “I guess we all could be characters from manga, couldn't we? I mean, our lives have certainly been bizarre enough, no one would believe it was really true.”

 

Schuldig chuckled, a soft, throaty sound. “Good point. They do say truth is stranger than fiction, right?”

 

“Yeah, but we're strange to the point of being surreal!” I blurted, realizing the truth of it as I heard myself say it.

 

He grinned and toasted with his canned coffee. “To being surreal, then.”

 

“To being surreal,” I echoed, then drained half my remaining coffee in one swig.

 

His voice again soft and thoughtful, Schuldig said, “But, yeah, you could say Nagi's that powerful. To be honest, the kid's never been charted. They couldn't measure him.”

 

“`They'? Which `they'?” I asked, curious again. If he was willing to talk, I sure as hell wanted to hear it.

 

“Rosenkreuz.” Schuldig fairly spat the name. “Esset's own answer to a special school for psi talented kids.”

 

I couldn't resist. Maybe it would lighten the mood a little. “I take it they didn't have an ethical bald man in a wheelchair running the show.”

 

My comment had the desired effect. Schuldig laughed a little, the tension draining some. “No, they did not. As far as I know, the only psi-training facility in the world is Rosenkreuz, in the heart of der Vaterland. Or the bowels, more likely. But Nagi kind of baffled them. They couldn't measure his ability. In other words, they never found a limit to what he can do.”

 

It was stranger than I'd expected, discovering that yes, my life was definitely manga-fodder. A psi-training facility? In Europe? And they couldn't even figure out a little kid? I needed a few moments alone, so I excused myself to go piss.

 

I forgot that I'm never really alone.

 

Asuka sat on a low-hanging branch, the moonlight filling her while stealing all her color. “You're going to keep this to yourself, aren't you? Oh, Yohji…”

 

Funny, I meet a telepath who talks without words, and I already know how to do the same thing. I haven't needed to speak aloud with Asuka for a long time. “I've left Kritiker. I'm not Weiß anymore. They can't expect me to pump this guy for information, Asuka. It's not right, and I won't do it.”

 

She scowled at me, the little line crinkling between her eyebrows. Asuka always looked adorable when she was mad, though she was usually mad at me. “`They'? Who the hell is `they'? You know damn well who's in charge of Kritiker now, and he needs your help. You can't just turn your back on him.”

 

I sighed, finished my business, and concentrated on getting her to leave. “You're not real. You can't tell me what to do with my life. My life, Asuka!”

 

“Just, pay attention, Yohji. All right? Pay attention, and be careful.” With that, she faded back into the night, leaving behind a moonlight glow and a sense of foreboding.

 

I got back to the car and my mind got back on our earlier topic. Somehow it seemed very important to know more about Schwarz, though whether they were the reason for a ghost's warning or something else I couldn't figure. Not yet, anyway. “So, do you guys know what he can do? You probably know more about him than they did, right? You guys seem pretty tight.”

 

Schuldig looked down and murmured, “We are. But frankly, we don't know any more about his limits than they did. They gave him to Brad with a list of restrictions, things to keep his power constrained. They said he could lose control of it and hurt us if we didn't follow their orders about him.”

 

“You mean he's like one of those creepy weird animals from a back-alley pet store,” I teased, “the kind that can't get wet or eat after midnight, or all hell breaks loose?”

 

He frowned a little, and I felt that weird pressure in my head and knew that he was trying to figure out what the hell I'd meant. Then Schuldig gave a short laugh and said, “Actually, that's pretty damn close.” His tone turned bitter as he told me, “The hell of it is, he can't just be a kid. They've got him convinced that any strong emotion will send him into a power surge, that he'd end up killing us. He's been living like a prisoner, or like a monk, ever since Brad brought him to Germany. He's a kid, for Christ's sake! A kid who can't eat candy.”

 

I hadn't expected that. Schuldig was really upset; I needed to understand this. “I'm not sure I follow.”

 

Schuldig started talking faster, as if he were running out of time. “To keep Nagi safe, we had to keep him calm, keep him away from certain things. Things like sugar, caffeine, fast food, loud music, television, exciting movies… Oh, it gets worse,” he sneered, his eyes dark with anger. “He's a fucking teenager who's not even allowed to masturbate, for fear he'll blow up the damn building.”

 

God. What do you say to something like that? But my detective mind couldn't just back away slowly. “It's like they want to control him from a distance, keep him in line on their terms,” I murmured. “Like they didn't really trust Crawford to do it right. Or maybe they wanted an agent of their own within your team. Someone who believed he owed them his life.”

 

Schuldig looked like he'd just been punched. All the adrenalin seemed to leave him in one shaky breath. “God. They would, too. Just to prove they could.”

 

We sat there in silence for a while, watching smoke curl from our cigarettes. I could tell that Schuldig, and probably Crawford, was at the end of his wits about the situation, but they were the only ones who could change it. “What are you going to do for him?” I challenged, hoping it would make him thoughtful rather than angry.

 

“I want to prove to him and to Crawford that those restrictions were a pack of lies,” he stated, his voice strong and clear. “I want that kid to have a normal life. Or as normal as it gets, anyway, considering that our lives are pretty much manga fodder. We've already broken away from Esset. I won't make that kid live under their bullshit rules.”

 

I nodded to myself, thinking it the rest of the way through, then decided to take the plunge. “You did say he was pissed at you. Let me guess, you rushed him. You pushed the issue when he wasn't ready. If he believed what they said, which you told me he did, then those restrictions are the only safety net he has, and you probably just tried to yank it out from under him.” I glanced at him, then added, “Don't get mad at me, Schuldig. I know an impulsive hot-head when I see one, and that kid's situation gets your temper up.”

 

His jaw clenched, and I could tell I'd nearly sent him back into a right fury over this. I could also tell that I was right. He confirmed this with a single word: “Damn.”

 

Not looking directly at him, I added, “That's probably why Crawford hit you tonight, isn't it.” I watched his reaction from the corner of my eye.

 

Schuldig sighed and tossed another spent cigarette over the door.

 

I offered him a little smile. “I told you I was a detective.”

 

“I thought you said you were a crappy one.”

 

“I'm hurt.”

 

Schuldig gave a soft, unhappy laugh. “Right, so you got me. Yeah, I feel better, Weiß. Nothing like having your painful secrets guessed by a near stranger.”

 

“Look, it's obvious how much you care about that kid,” I told him. “You and Crawford both. From what you've told me, you're both ready to do whatever it takes to keep that kid alive and well, even if he's miserable. Even if he's in a cage. But on some level, you know that's wrong, and it's tearing you up. You've got this idea that he's either a prisoner or totally free, you can't find a middle ground for it.”

 

“How can there be middle ground?” he snarled. “Either we keep him on all the restrictions, or we show him they're not necessary.”

 

His single-mindedness surprised me. I'd thought he was more flexible than that. But maybe this training camp in Germany made people inflexible. It certainly made sense, in an ugly kind of way. “Schuldig, have you stopped to consider that, just maybe, you can take them off one at a time? Let the kid get used to the idea. Did you know, a lot of hostages and war prisoners get agoraphobia when they do get to go home? They're so used to living in captivity that the sudden rush of freedom scares the hell out of them. And, if strong emotions bring on these power surges, I don't think you should go scaring the hell out of him. Do you?”

 

He closed his eyes, as though trying to conceal his pain from my scrutiny. “So basically we should leave things as they are, and maybe start small, is that it?”

 

“Definitely,” I told him, cautiously optimistic. “Pick one thing that he won't fight too much.” Then it occurred to me that their circumstances weren't ideal for this kind of work; maybe they didn't have the option of going at this slowly. “Or pick one that's most likely to be broken by accident, if you have to go into hiding for real. Something you have the least control over. Get him used to the change slowly, if you have the time, or keep him distracted if you don't.”

 

Schuldig stared at me. He seemed rather surprised. “Damn, Yohji, that was good. Thanks. I was trying to pick one that would make him happy if it went away. Get him some real music in his life, for starters. Sweets and caffeine upset his stomach, anyway, and I'm not about to get into sex with him. Which one would you work on first?”

 

I thought about this, gazing up at the sky. Another shooting star flashed by, and this time I made a real wish before turning my attention back to my red-haired companion. “Well, if you're hiding out, I'd think that bland food would be a luxury. I mean, you'll have to eat what you can safely get, right? You might not have time to cook for yourselves.” I paused to sip some coffee and collect my thoughts a little more. This next comment might not be well received, but I had the feeling it would prove crucial for the kid's well-being. “You'll need to address the sex issue sometime, you know. It'll happen in his sleep if he's not doing anything awake. We're just built like that. If he's scared of it, it'll be that much worse.”

 

Schuldig sighed. “Yeah, I kind of figured we'd have to talk about that. I'm not looking forward to it.”

 

“Make Crawford do it,” I told him, totally serious.

 

He nearly choked on his coffee.

 

“No, really!” I said. “You talk like you're kind of his parent figures, right? Well, if one can't do it, the other has to. So make Crawford have `the talk' with Nagi. If nothing else, it should keep you entertained, na?”

 

Schuldig barked out a laugh, more of surprise than humor. “You're crazy! I can't tell Crawford to do a damn thing!”

 

“If he loves the kid as much as you do, he'll talk to him about it.”

 

“Damn, there you go being a detective again. Is it that obvious?”

 

“To me, yeah.”

 

Schuldig looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked me, “What about you? What about Weiß, Yohji?”

 

Another unexpected turn. “I told you. Weiß disbanded.”

 

His voice soft, he pressed onward. “But it hurts you, doesn't it? You wish it hadn't happened like that. You still care, too, Yohji. We both miss the way it was. I just have a little more at stake, that's all.”

 

I swallowed, trying to force down the lump in my throat. I hadn't wanted to look at it, to see the hole in my life that their absence had left me with. “Yeah, it hurts. But we can't go back. It can't ever be the same. Ken would be right there with me, but Omi… And Aya…” My voice faded like ghosts.

 

He touched my shoulder, and for a moment my grief intensified. Then I realized I was seeing his grief on top of my own, a pain we had each carried since crawling out of the ocean. We had all changed that day. It was as if the sea had taken a little bit from each of us in exchange for her mercy, leaving us a little less connected, a little less human.

 

I turned to look into his eyes. Deep, deep turquoise seemed to soak in the moonlight, becoming luminous and yet reflective, like trick mirrors. I wasn't supposed to be able to see through them, but I did. He is so much like me…

 

Then I realized that he'd wandered into my thoughts again, and I smiled. “Get out of my head, Schuldig.”

 

We were sort of leaning toward each other, closer than I'd thought. And he wasn't moving away.

 

I shifted a little closer.

 

His lips parted slightly; I could feel his breath upon my mouth.

 

We met over the stick shift, his lips pressing against mine, my tongue touching his. Schuldig draped his wrist over my shoulder as I pulled him closer. We breathed as one, and before his eyes closed I imagined I could see myself through them.

 

The silence after our kiss was deep and comfortable. I watched the stars fade as the first blush of dawn colored the horizon. I wished the night would never end. But I knew it must. “Are you going back?” I asked, trying not to sound concerned. Or disappointed in his necessary answer.

 

“Yeah.”

 

I had to give him something to take back with him, some kind of help. He seemed so damn lost all of a sudden, like he was dreading his answer himself.

 

“Be careful with the kid,” I told him. “Don't scare him. Go slow. He'll come around, and believe me, when he figures out they lied to him, he'll throw the shackles off himself. That is, if they lied.”

 

“I'd bet my life on it.”

 

“From the sound of things, that's exactly what you're doing,” I reminded him. “Just be careful, okay? I like talking with you. I'd hate to see you blown into confetti.”

 

“I'd hate that too!” he replied with a grin.

 

My belly reminded me that it had stayed up with me all night, and deserved some breakfast. “You hungry?” I asked him.

 

Schuldig's stomach let out a growl worthy of Monster Island.

 

“I'll take that as a `yes',” I laughed. “Let's find some breakfast, all right? Oh, I should ask you, can you eat in public, or will Crawford freak out?”

 

“Hmm.” He seemed to be thinking about it. “Well, they say it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, so let's eat! I'll deal with him later.”

 

I drove to a café I knew to be thinly populated at this early hour. God knows I've spent many a night here, hunched over a cup of coffee like a tourist or sipping miso while rain pounded the windows and ghosts visited the living.

 

“So, Schuldig,” I asked quietly, “what happens now?”

 

“Most likely Crawford will chew me a new one for leaving last night, or for Nagi, or for some other damn reason,” he grumbled, then paused to taste his soup. “Nagi will probably just glare.”

 

“Hmph. I'd offer to trade, but that probably wouldn't go over too well, would it.” I gazed out the window for a moment, then sighed. “I'll probably be dodging the telephone half the morning. I should just turn the ringer off. They're trying to talk me into coming back. I don't think I can deal with that today.”

 

“So why not go back, Yohji?” Schuldig asked, his eyes soft. “If there's a place for you, why not take it?”

 

“Would you?”

 

“It's not the same,” he whispered. “You know it. That was cheap, Kudou.”

 

“Gomen. You're right.” I drained my coffee and slouched in my seat. “I can't just go back, Schuldig. I've been through too much with my team. Just the thought of getting used to new members makes me want to gag. It was home, for a while. It's not anymore.”

 

“Can't we just run away together?” Schuldig blurted, a vague smile in his eyes. “Find some place away from all this shit and just watch the world spin?”

 

I laughed and lit a cigarette. “A place full of beautiful people, with pretty cars and good music, cheap booze and no telephones,” I offered, exhaling the words with the smoke. Had to admit, it sounded pretty good to me.

 

Grinning, Schuldig leaned back and looked out the window. He lingered in his daydream a few moments, then his mood collapsed. He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. “Damn, Yohji. We are so fucked.”

 

“Hey, look on the bright side,” I said, reaching out to touch his hand. “You still have my address, right?”

 

Schuldig blinked, then nodded. He seemed to brighten up from the inside. “That I do, Kudou. That I do.”

 

“You're welcome there anytime. And you can still look for me at that bar. I tend to go there a few times a week, just to catch up on the local street talk.” I wanted to tell him to come to my place the next time Crawford decided to get physical, but it seemed a little too personal. Besides, Schuldig was an adult; he knew the score, and he knew where I stood on the matter.

 

I drove him back to the bar and dropped him off. Damn, but it was getting harder to watch him walk away like that. He looked like he was bracing for a tempest, and I figured he probably was. “Good luck, Red,” I whispered to his retreating back, then turned my wheels for home.

 

 

 

A/N:

 

A special note - I've set up a new live journal just for my fictions (www.livejournal.com/users/guiltyred_fics< font color="black">), and I'm going to start moving my stories over there in the next couple of weeks. I have been posting at three different public sites and the scope of my projects is making this very difficult. It will be easier to review and get replies to your reviews through the live journal format, so I hope to see you there. Remember, it's free…you don't need to have a live journal account to reply to one. I apologize for any inconvenience.

 

 

totsuzen no deai e no kokoro kara no yorokobi to

"itsushika owaru kamoshirenai..." sonna kankaku ni obiete

 

The joy from my heart at our sudden meeting says

"Maybe it'll be over before I know it..." those forebodings scare me

“Emu (for my dear)” - Gackt Mars

 

This chapter is the counterpart to Schuldig's POV in “Coming Home”; there are things said and things heard that are unique to each.

 

Yohji ~ Reflections

Yohji sees himself reflected in Schuldig, for the two are alike in many ways. Though haunted by a painful past, each man holds his teammates dear, and would sacrifice much to see them happy.

 

Hentai! - Kinky!