Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 19 ( Chapter 19 )

19

 

nemurenai yoru mo, tameiki no asa mo
kimi no daisuki na tsuki no uta o

 

Omi ~ Landlord

 

One hand groped for the phone, the other fumbled at the lightswitch. I blinked as both hands found their marks. “Hai?”

 

“Takatori-san, forgive the interruption. I'm calling from Ty-so Security. There's been an attempted break-in at one of your properties.”

 

Properties? Oh, right, we were leasing out some of the old corporate buildings. “Which one?” I asked, trying to wake up enough to deal with this.

 

He told me the address, which didn't mean anything to me at all, and the name of the company leasing it, which didn't sound familiar either. I tried to think what a landlord was supposed to do, couldn't come up with an answer. I looked at the clock. Just after one in the morning.

 

“Was anything taken? Any damage?” I swallowed. “Was anybody hurt?”

 

“As far as we can tell, he didn't get into the main facility. He was trying to get in through the parking garage. Security patrol scared him off. We're pretty sure the guy was acting alone.”

 

“I see. Is there something I need to do about it right now?”

 

“No, sir, this is just a courtesy call. The leasing corporation has been notified, and there was no property damage.”

 

“Thank you,” I mumbled. On impulse I asked, “Any description of the suspect?”

 

“There's about two seconds of him on the camera. Gaijin, tall, red hair. Then it's as if he just vanished.”

 

Now I was awake. I glanced at the little box on my nightstand, picturing the fine gold chain within. “I see. I'll check with police in the morning, see if they know anything.” I hung up the phone, but my hand remained on the receiver.

 

This was unexpected, in so many ways.

 

Though the Schwarz agent was certainly not the only red-haired gaijin in Japan, I couldn't shake the belief that it was him. In all our dealings with him, he'd been fast, and slippery as hell. How could they have him on camera, unless he wanted to be seen? Or, unless he'd made a mistake.

 

And, if it was him, what could he have been doing there in the first place? The company renting that property made audio components - I'd finally recognized the name from their commercials - and besides, he'd never gotten into the building proper. Going in through the parking garage? How odd.

 

My mind kept chewing on the information until it went stale.

 

Security patrol scared him off…

 

If it was him, if my imagination wasn't just running amok with a report of some other red-haired gaijin, and if he still didn't want to be found…I knew enough to believe that an ordinary security patrol would never have fazed him at all.

 

Someone else had been there.

 

Someone who had already gotten to the security cameras before Ty-so ever saw the footage.

 

Was this a message to me, letting me know that someone else knew that he was alive?

 

Was it a warning to Kritiker? Or a challenge?

 

“Kono baka,” I grumbled at myself. Fatigue was making me strange, and I couldn't afford that. In the morning I would send for that video, if it still existed, and I would decide for myself what it meant.

 

 

Yohji ~ Haven

 

Only after making a pot of tea and scrounging for a box of cookies to offer my guest did I remember to toss a pillow on the sofa for him. The table was set, the impromptu bed made, and the finishing touch was just dropping onto the cushions as Schuldig wandered in from the bathroom. He walked slowly and deliberately, the codeine putting him a little off balance.

 

I watched him as he perched on the edge of the sofa and picked up a cup with his free hand. He sipped, then gulped, then went for the cookies.

 

“You want to tell me what happened?” I asked around a sip of tea.

 

Schuldig looked down at his hands. “He was right,” he whispered. Then his eyes went wide, and he blurted, “Oh, shit! Nagi! I have to go!” He struggled to get up.

 

I took the teacup from him before he could drop it. As though dealing with an hysteric, I carefully pinned him to the sofa. “You are not going anywhere tonight.” I sat down next to him, gripping his good wrist. “Tell me what happened, maybe I can help.”

 

He swallowed and took a deep breath. Then the words started tumbling from him, faster and faster as though he were racing to get it all out. “I took Nagi to a cyber café, to look up some things. All the way there, I had this feeling there was another telepath in the area. I should have turned back, but we needed the information. Nothing happened until we started back. The other `path made contact, they were watching me. I told Nagi to go straight back to Brad, and I took off running. I had to buy him time.”

 

Pausing only for some tea, Schuldig continued, nearly breathless in his haste. “I tried to lead them away from Nagi, there were three or four guys I think. I borrowed a car, they followed. I ended up in a Takatori parking garage, of all the damn places, and they were right behind me. I took off on foot, tried climbing down the outside of the building but the son of a bitch had this thing about thorny fucking plants growing up the side of his goddamn parking garages.” He gestured with his hand and growled, “Sturdy enough for climbing, but with a hell of a pricetag.”

 

I refilled his cup. He drank it down, followed it with another cookie. Fragile orange wafers left translucent crumbs on the bathrobe.

 

“So, yeah, I got in a fight with a tree. I led them around in circles, and I hope to hell I lost them because I can't run anymore tonight. I'm fucked up, and I'm tired, and I hurt in places I didn't know could hurt.” His voice dropped to a bare whisper as he finished his tale. “I don't know if Nagi made it back. If the kid had to use that phone call, I don't know if they're even in Japan anymore.”

 

While he polished off another cookie and the last of the tea, my mind replayed everything he'd just told me. I wondered if the pain had just made him careless; I asked, “Can't you do that mind thing, find out where he is?”

 

“No, not right now I can't,” he said. “I'm too messed up. Besides, pain pills throw me off.”

 

“Ah, hell,” I grumbled. Should've made certain he could take those without any problems. Regular folks have allergies; what the hell do telepaths have?

 

“No, no, it's okay,” Schuldig said, noticing my frown. “I'm exhausted and hurt anyway, I wouldn't be able to do anything without broadcasting. Besides, the good thing about painkillers, I can't use my gift, and no one else can either. I mean, it muffles my talent so I look like anyone else right now. If they're still looking for me, they can't find me.”

 

Interesting. Very interesting. “Does it turn the radio off?” I asked, quite curious now. I'd never been above quizzing a man under the influence. This was the most I'd heard from him about his peculiar gift; no telling when it might be useful.

 

“No, actually, it doesn't,” he said. “Some drugs make it worse, especially the stronger ones. This stuff doesn't seem that bad, though. But anything really strong throws it right out of control. I can't keep them out, and I start to lose me. That's fairly typical, really. You'll never find a telepath hooked on downers. Not a functional one, anyway.” Then Schuldig gave me a cockeyed look and a smile. “Shit, I just gave you a weapon, didn't I.”

 

My hackles went up. “Will I ever have to use it?” I asked, deadly serious.

 

“Not with me, you won't,” Schuldig murmured, his voice fading as the codeine started to pull him under in earnest. He yawned and sagged limply into the sofa even as he tried to fight the drug. “But, I have to go, I have to get back to Brad, and Nagi.”

 

I stood and guided Schuldig to lie back on the sofa. “Do you guys have any local contacts? Someone who brings you news or anything?”

 

Schuldig whispered, “Yakuza,” before slipping into unconsciousness.

 

I arranged the blanket over him and made certain he wasn't in any danger of rolling off the sofa, all the while thinking about what he'd told me this night. If whoever had been chasing him had followed him here…

 

With the quick precision of having done this many times, I went from outside door to balcony to windows, stringing neat lengths of razor wire across pegs set at neck height and knee height. No one was getting in without a rude surprise.

 

Once I felt my home was as secure as it could be, I sat in my chair beside the couch and regarded my sleeping guest.

 

Asuka perched on the coffee table and regarded both of us.

 

“What do you want, Asuka?” I asked, grateful that Schuldig was asleep. Mind-reading was one thing, but I had the distinct feeling that talking to ghosts would freak him right out.

 

“He's dangerous, Yohji,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He shouldn't be here.”

 

“He's got nowhere else to go,” I growled.

 

“That's not what I meant.” Translucent eyes bored into my soul. “Disaster follows him, Yohji, like a storm cloud. And you are in its path.”

 

“So what should I do, Asuka? Abandon him?”

 

“No. You've abandoned enough already.” With that, she faded out again, leaving me with that unsatisfied feeling I always got when she had the last word.

 

“Shit.” I tried to figure out what she meant, but my mind didn't want to cooperate. Fatigue rolled over me and I yawned. This wouldn't do; I had to keep watch tonight, it was as important as any mission.

 

Mission?

 

I looked at my cell phone.

 

Omi.

 

I'd just started to dial when I changed my mind. His phones weren't secure. I'd have to find a way to get around that, but right now I couldn't call him.

 

Scrolling through my list of contacts, I selected one by the name of Tika and pressed the call button.

 

A sleepy-sounding girl answered. “Hai?”

 

“Tika? Neko-yo. Is your oniichan there?”

 

The phone traded hands, and a very alert male voice came on the line. “Hai, Neko-yo, what you want?”

 

“Information. You owe me.” I hoped he remembered; it had been a very long time since I'd bailed him out of a very sticky situation with the police. I still considered that one of my brightest moments as a detective, and one that would pay off for a very long time.

 

“Hai, hai, you got friends forever here. Or until you touch my sister. I'm listening, what?”

 

“Interesting news, new faces, misplaced tourists, things like that?”

 

My contact spoke with someone at his end, then to me he said, “Might have. Try the Chin, they got eyes on the streets lately. I'll call you back.”

 

“Cool. Later.” I hung up, then dialed another number. The Chinese gangs were usually very well informed, but I was hesitant to call in too many favors from them. Their notion of fair play wasn't quite the same as mine, so I used them with a great deal of caution.

 

This situation warranted using one of those favors.

 

Once they were notified I was in the market for information, I settled back to wait, and to keep watch over my helpless guest.

 

On impulse I made one more call, to a newshound with a very keen nose. At his promise to call me back in the morning with any interesting tidbits, I plugged the phone in to recharge and then took up my vigil.

 

Schuldig slept the heavy sleep of the wounded, his bound arm tucked between his body and the back of the sofa. His face, relaxed in sleep, looked quite young. I revised my first estimate and put him at about twenty-one. A hard-worn twenty-one.

 

I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes, soaking in the sounds of the night. A distant car interrupted the crickets before fading into the distance. As if picking up a conductor's cue, the crickets' string section swelled once more, filling the early summer night with song.

 

Long distant summer nights drifted up in memory, nights of pleasure and uncertainty, and I smiled around my cigarette. I wondered if Schuldig had such memories, unbound by pain. Here, asleep on my sofa, he was just a man, a young man like me, who had fallen in with a very dangerous crowd. Surely his dreams couldn't be so different from my own.

 

Time spun away in that satisfying way time well-spent tends to do. Schuldig slept, I waited, and the world rolled on. In anticipation of sunrise, I turned the orchid toward the window and set the dish inside the curtain to catch the first rays. At the top of the window, a small spider busied itself with a fresh web. I wished it luck; I had the feeling it wouldn't catch much there, but to each its own.

 

I started gathering things in the kitchen, intent on some pan-fried noodles for breakfast and not wanting to make a lot of noise at it. As I chopped vegetables and set the noodles to soak, I heard a moan from the sofa. The codeine should have worn off not too long ago; I hoped he wasn't in too much discomfort. Concerned, I looked over at my guest.

 

Worry evaporated as I watched Schuldig, all tangled up in the bedding, roll onto his belly and start humping the sofa cushions.

 

I grinned and found myself a good vantage point. The noodles could cook on their own for a while, they didn't need a babysitter.

 

Schuldig had wrapped his good arm around his pillow and held it beneath him like a lover as his hips drove him against the cushions. His hair fell across his face, but every now and then I could see his parted lips through the fiery strands. His eyes were tight shut, leading me to believe he wasn't totally asleep anymore. My own breath quickened as I watched him take his pleasure at an increasing pace. He moaned from deep in his chest, and I gasped softly, caught in the erotic dance in spite of myself. My hand crept downward, and I found myself wondering if I had time to do anything about my delightfully unexpected hard-on. I had never witnessed something this erotic before: a former enemy, helpless and writhing on my sofa, filling the air with his groans.

 

When he came, my breath caught in my throat. He just seemed to stop, to hang suspended in time, hair a sensual tangle obscuring his face, a face I knew to be drawn in ecstasy at that very moment.

 

Before I could take my own need in hand, Schuldig seemed to shake himself free from his sensual dream. I didn't want him to know I'd been watching, not like this, anyway; I gave one apologetic squeeze and set about composing myself.

 

It wasn't easy. I wanted him, more than I'd ever wanted any man before him. Schuldig was beautiful, and sensual, and dangerously erotic, and he had captured my imagination too thoroughly to simply say goodbye. In order to get my body to behave, I promised it that I would not let this delicious man out of my life before tasting him, in every possible way.

 

I did not allow my thoughts to linger on why.

 

 

 

 

 

A/N

nemurenai yoru mo, tameiki no asa mo
kimi no daisuki na tsuki no uta o

 

On sleepless nights, and on mornings when you have to sigh
There's your beloved song of the moon

 

“Tsuki no Uta (The Song of the Moon)” - Gackt Crescent

 

Omi ~ Landlord

 

Kono baka - You idiot (grumbled at himself for letting his sleepy imagination run away with him)

 

Yohji ~ Haven

 

Yakuza - Japanese Mafia; organized crime

Neko-yo - Yohji's alias with this particular contact. Kitty-yo.

the Chin - fictional Chinese gang active in Japan

 

 

A LAST Special Note from GuiltyRed -

 

This is the final chapter of “The Rain Doesn't Grieve” to be posted on the public fanfiction sites.

 

The rest of the story will be posted through my livejournal and on my website - addresses for both are in my profile (or should be). Let me see if I can get away with writing them out…

Please come to “livejournal dot com”, use the Search box to find the username “guiltyred underscore fics”. It's all neatly set up through the “memories” function (the little red heart icon).

 

For the website, go to “hopeforlorn dot net” and into the “Fan Works” section. I'm in there, it links straight to my own site.

 

Again, the reasons for this move have to do with the policies of fanfiction sites and my refusal to self-censor, or to play with groups who would even ask me to do so. I am also tired of having my formatting removed by said fanfiction sites.

 

If you have any questions, concerns, or need a better map, please feel free to email me - “wersofthegrieve at aol dot com”.

 

Thank you!

 

GuiltyRed