Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Rain Doesn't Grieve ❯ 25 ( Chapter 25 )

25

 

You make me feel brand new…

 

Yohji ~ Secret

 

As I parked the Seven and juggled my groceries and takeout, I thought about the air conditioner running in my apartment and the chilled beer in the refrigerator. On a hot day like this, the lure of cool comfort pulled me onward. I might go out later in the evening, once the temperature started to dive, but until then I intended to barricade myself at home and maybe even organize my music collection. I grinned at myself as I climbed the stairs. Every few months I swore I'd put the piles of CDs into some kind of order. It hadn't happened yet.

 

I reached my door and paused, the hand holding the key slowly returning it to the security of my pocket. Someone had been here: the tiny scrap of paper I'd balanced between the door and the frame had fallen to the hallway floor, and the doorknob looked like it had been wiped clean.

 

Casually, as though I'd heard something vaguely interesting in the distance, I looked around, checking the hallway and the stairs for any movement or shadows. If my visitor were inside waiting for me, I didn't want any innocent bystanders getting caught up in things. And you never knew when trouble might have backup. Only after convincing myself that I was indeed alone did I turn my attention back to the door. I set my bags down and put my ear to the wood.

 

Silence.

 

Moving slowly, I took hold of the doorknob. If they'd left the door open, then they were probably thieves or looking for something, and no longer present. But, if it's locked -

 

The knob didn't turn.

 

I tested the release on my watch, grimacing at the thought of using the wire without gloves. Hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. There was always the chance that one of my former teammates or street contacts had stopped by and helped themselves to my hospitality.

 

But then, why clean the doorknob?

 

Schuldig.

 

It made sense. Of all the people I knew who might be waiting inside, only he would have bothered to wipe away his fingerprints. And he had reason to stay quiet, whereas Ken would have turned on the television while waiting for me to get back.

 

For a moment I thought about Omi's visit, and Esset. Then I told myself that, if I did have an Esset agent in my apartment, they already knew I was out here. Fine, then. If this was an invitation to talk they had my attention.

 

I really didn't think that was the case: my money was on Schuldig. Still, I proceeded with extreme caution. I slid the key into the lock while holding the doorknob still to prevent any unnecessary sound. As I turned the key, I listened closely for any reaction from inside the apartment. Then, bracing myself for a fight, I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

 

No one jumped me as I entered my home, and at first glance nothing seemed out of place. I pulled my bags in after me, not wanting them to sit out in the hallway and attract attention. Stepping carefully to keep from making noise, I readied a loop of wire and moved to where I could survey my living room.

 

My heart skipped when I saw the figure on the sofa: that was no redhead, and it wasn't one of my former teammates!

 

Just as quickly, recognition kicked in and my reaction faded away. It was indeed Schuldig: he'd dyed his hair brown.

 

Letting out the breath I'd been holding, I released the wire back into my watch and took off my shoes. I felt a little like one of the three bears coming home to find someone in their bed. I also felt angry that he'd managed to unnerve me, I was overheated, and my dinner was probably soggy by now. More abruptly than strictly necessary, I pushed the door shut with a loud click.

 

Schuldig nearly jumped off the couch at the sound, looking around wild-eyed and reflexively reaching for a pistol. He stopped with a wince and pulled his right arm close to his side, feigning casualness.

 

“That wasn't very nice,” Asuka chided, though she, too, had been a little scared. We hadn't had a break-in in a long time, but we knew how dangerous those could be. And ever since I joined Weiß I'd realized that burglary against a Kritiker agent was usually a cover for darker things.

 

I ignored her and hauled my bags to the kitchen; hopefully she'd take the hint and drop the subject. To Schuldig I asked, “What brings you here, more trouble with the missus?”

 

My guest gave a nervous little laugh as he followed me. Clearly I'd scared the crap out of him too - at least we were even on that count. “No, not today,” he said. “Team needed to be sans telepath for a little while, so I took a walk.”

 

I put away my groceries, then set about serving dinner. Basically this meant sticking a pair of chopsticks into one of the take-out boxes before hauling everything back out to the table in the living room. I offered a second pair of chopsticks to Schuldig and said, “It's Chinese take-out, if you want some. I always get doubles.” For a moment I wondered if I'd somehow known he'd be here, but I knew it was only force of habit that had made me buy extra.

 

Schuldig didn't seem put off by the coincidence of a ready meal - hell, he was probably used to Crawford doing the same crap on a daily basis. He grinned and grabbed the nearest box, not even asking what it was. “Thanks, I'm starving!”

 

Up close, his glaring sunburn caught my attention: Schuldig looked downright baked. Fair-skinned folks did tend to burn, but damn! Even the underside of his forearm looked red. What the hell? “What's that, your tracking number?” I asked, pointing at the black ink scrawled across his skin. It wasn't a phone number: not the right amount of digits.

 

Schuldig glanced down, then grumbled, “Oh, that. It's nothing, not anymore. Cleared out an account today.”

 

Ah, so he didn't want to talk about it. Fair enough. I'd written my share of notes across my body over the years; thank God my schoolteachers had never caught me at it. Remembering a promise I'd made to myself on the way home today, I snagged a couple of cold beers and handed one to Schuldig. “Okay, Schwarz, what's on your mind?” I asked, leading him back to the living room.

 

“I'm supposed to stay away for a few hours or so, spend a little cash, keep myself distracted.” Schuldig frowned slightly as he seated himself on the sofa. “But he's not expecting me back for two days. I want to know why, what he Saw, but of course he wouldn't tell me.”

 

A few hours to two days? My internal alarms flashed a warning. “Does he know you're here?” I asked, concern making my voice tighter than I liked.

 

The German shook his head, lank brown strands dancing around his shoulders. “I don't know.”

 

I sipped my beer, seeking wisdom in its cool bite. “Weird that he wouldn't tell you,” I mused. “Aren't you sort of his right hand man?”

 

“It's not that simple,” Schuldig mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. “When Crawford has a vision, it's only something that might come true. It's always just a possibility, not a certainty, until it actually happens. Then you figure that acting on the knowledge of a vision can change the end result. So, unless it's immediate or extremely critical, Brad doesn't discuss his visions with anyone. Not even me.”

 

His last comment sounded painful. My dislike for Crawford grew another notch. Trying not to sound bitchy, I said, “It's got to be hard, living with someone like that. Then you add in the kid with his restrictions, and the psychopath, and damn, Schuldig! I thought living with Weiß was hard.”

 

Schuldig laughed and said, “Yeah, it's a circus, some days. Compared to us, you guys seem pretty damn normal.” Turning mock-sinister, he added, “Unless you have some secrets lying about that I haven't found yet.”

 

Secrets… Perched on the sofa-back, Asuka raised a slim, short-nailed finger to her lips.

 

To Schuldig, I said, “Everyone has secrets, my friend. For example, I didn't know you were left-handed.”

 

My one-time enemy blinked. “Beg pardon?”

 

“Your gun. It's in a left-hander's rig.” I watched him casually for any indication I was wrong.

 

Instead, in the classic interrogation faux pas, he blurted out, “How the hell did you pick up on that?”

 

I grinned at him. Whatever Esset taught these guys, they'd left out the part about how clever and dangerous an observant detective can be. I filed that away with all the other tidbits I'd learned from him, just in case. To be sporting, I went ahead and explained how I'd figured him out: “That vest isn't hanging quite symmetrically, indicating there's something underneath it on one side but not on the other. And you just confirmed that it's a gun.”

 

“Shit.” He shook his head, conceding the point. “You should have been working in Interpol or something, Kudou. I think your skills were wasted here.”

 

“I stayed where I was needed.” I lit up a cigarette, then regarded my guest coolly. “Oh, and before you ask, yeah, I knew it was you. Obviously someone was in my apartment, and the only other people it might have been wouldn't have wiped off the doorknob.”

 

“Man, I'm glad we're not enemies, Kudou!” Schuldig put his take-out box down on the table, then seemed to notice something I'd been trying to ignore for the last twenty minutes. Anyone who claims that all sweat smells alike has never experienced a stressed-out, nicotine-addicted, sunburned German on a muggy summer afternoon in Japan. “Damn,” he said, taking the word right out of my mouth. “I don't suppose I could borrow your shower and a shirt, could I? I didn't bring a spare, and I'm offending myself, here.”

 

“No problem,” I told him, grateful that he'd decided to do something about it. “You know where the shower is, help yourself. I'll find you another shirt. Do I get to have that one back, now that you've stunk it up?”

 

“If you still want it,” he replied, heading for the bathroom.

 

“There you go again, saving strays,” Asuka murmured, standing next to the sofa now. “Try the button-down shirt. I think it'd be cute.”

 

I got up, trying to convince myself that I'd planned on giving him that shirt all along. As I neared the bathroom, Schuldig peeked out and asked, “Do you have a laundry here?”

 

“Nah, I use a drop-off service,” I told him. “Don't worry about it, I can lend you some socks and stuff too, if you need it.”

 

He looked disappointed as he shut the door with a muffled, “Thanks, man.”

 

Poor guy, going from the high life to this in only a few months. Then again, falling never took very long compared to the climb. And only itsy bitsy spiders seemed to make it back up with any kind of grace.

 

The button-down shirt looked a little big for him, but he could always roll the sleeves. It looked like the best option, since his shoulder was obviously still bothering him. Just in case he disagreed with Asuka, I pulled out a couple of other shirts for him to choose from.

 

While waiting for him to finish, I checked on my orchid and turned it for tomorrow's sunrise. As a living affirmation to my thoughts, a tiny spider scurried from the dish to hide in the window frame.

 

The bathroom door opened, and a towel-clad Schuldig padded toward me. I tried not to react: he looked a wreck. His body seemed painted from within by a motion-sick impressionist: ivory, lobster red, and the distinctive palette of a fading bruise. I gave up on my smoke and ambled over to him. “How's the shoulder?” I asked, hoping I didn't sound as worried as I felt.

 

“It's getting better, just not there yet,” he said. “That's why I'm going left-handed for a while.”

 

I examined the bruise, touching gently at the darkened skin and cautiously probing the shoulder blade. He flinched. “Man, this does not look good. You seen a doctor for it?” Though I hadn't seen many injuries like this, I had the feeling that it should have shown some visible signs of healing by now. Aside from the cuts, the bruising still looked fresh, and the gashes in the skin seemed only barely on the mend.

 

Schuldig offered me an embarrassed little smile and said, “It's okay, really. It's only been a week, right? You know how long this shit takes.”

 

Yeah, right. I still didn't like it. “How about the hands?” I took hold of them, turned them and studied the palms. The cuts were healing well enough, though they, too, seemed to be taking their sweet time. I traced one wound with my fingertips, wondering for a moment how he'd managed to function without stitches.

 

He glanced at my face, ginger eyelashes at odds with the nut-brown mane. I realized he hadn't been embarrassed just now - he'd been scared. I wanted to ask, but something in his gaze warned me away from that. In a soft voice Schuldig said, “My hands are fine. Thanks for the antibiotics, by the way.”

 

I held onto his hands a moment longer, then released them before things could get awkward. He was standing there in only a towel, after all, an unaccustomed vulnerability in his eyes. Changing the subject, I said, “There's some shirts for you to pick from. I set them out on my bed.” Remembering something he'd mentioned earlier, I asked him, “You said you had money to spend, do you want to do some shopping? I don't know what kind of stuff you have, but I'm guessing it's not up to your standard.”

 

“You'd be right,” Schuldig acknowledged, heading for the bedroom. “We had to leave all the good stuff behind. My favorite god damned coat, too.”

 

I started after him, then stopped in the hallway. Why was I following him? My guest could dress himself just fine. I heard him trying on a couple of shirts, then the soft whuff of a towel falling to the floor. Schuldig came out of my bedroom wearing the button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled partway up his forearms. With the ink washed away, that number fairly glowed in cool ivory against a professional-grade sunburn.

 

I tried not to stare: the shirt was just barely long enough to cover him in the front.

 

“See? I told you he'd like that one,” Asuka giggled, poking at my ribs.

 

“Do you want to borrow some shorts?” I asked as he passed me in the hallway. I couldn't help smiling as he walked on toward the bathroom: the rear view was even better. For a moment I hoped he'd say no to the underwear…

 

Schuldig blushed, a richer color under the ash-red sunburn. “Yes, please.”

 

I grinned to myself. Something about his reactions really got to me. Here was this tough guy, this trained killer, getting flustered over some borrowed underpants. I nabbed the promised briefs and headed back to the bathroom.

 

Schuldig called softly, “Hey, is there someplace we could hang this to dry?”

 

“No problem,” I said, not sure what he was talking about but I figured I could improvise something. He turned toward the door and I tossed the undies at him with a smile. “Here, these should work.”

 

They fit him well enough, which didn't surprise me; I've always had a pretty good eye for sizes. He finished dressing and started fussing with his hair.

 

I watched him in the mirror. The brown mane did seem odd for him, but flattering in a soft way. It surprised me he'd waited this long to color it; I'd have thought that Crawford would have ordered it long before now. Though it was a perfectly logical move, it still bothered me that this might not have been Schuldig's own choice. Before I could start tallying up any lingering “Brad the Bastard” points, I asked, “What do you need dried?”

 

“Oh, right.” Schuldig grabbed the soggy vest and dangled it over the tub; it was still dripping. “Um, I don't want to make a mess all over the place.”

 

I joined him by the tub and took hold of the vest; the bulky fabric had soaked up a ton of water. Schuldig hadn't been able to get much of it out - with that weakened shoulder of his he wouldn't have a strong enough grip. I began methodically wringing water out of the canvas, putting a good deal of strength into it. While I worked, I decided that my idea of shopping had been a damn good one. “You know, I think we should go shopping tonight. It's bound to be cooler by now. We can get you some good travel clothes, spend that money and maybe even have some fun,” I suggested. “I know a place that has European-style fashion, in tall sizes. Very nice stuff. And as a bonus, there's a bakery not far from there. But you probably shouldn't take your gun. I can make sure you don't need it - after all, you've fought me, you know what I can do. There's a safe in my bedroom, we can lock it up in there.”

 

When Schuldig didn't say anything, I looked up to see if I'd offended him. But he just stared at me, his expression almost dreamy as though he were the one seeing the future.

 

The vest was as dry as I could get it. I draped it over the curtain rod, then regarded Schuldig with a curious look. He seemed to be asleep on his feet. I snapped my fingers in front of his nose. “Did you doze off on me, Schuldig? I said, do you want me to stash the piece for you while we're out?”

 

“Oh, right,” he murmured. “Probably should, huh?”

 

I blinked. For a moment it wasn't Schuldig standing there, but Asuka. We barely had money for food, yet she could never resist browsing for clothes. She'd teased me once that, with our knowledge of criminal ways, we could just knock over a fashion shop and call it a day, and she had laughed that cuckoo laugh of hers… “Uh, yeah,” I said, shaking myself back to the present, “unless you're planning to rob the place. Come on. I'll show you.” I led him back to my bedroom, then opened the closet. Inside stood the safe, a relic from those lean and hungry detective days. “I'll lock it in here until we're back for the night, if that's okay with you.”

 

“Fair enough.” Schuldig handed me the gun, holster and all.

 

He seemed unhappy to be parting with it, but willing to trust me this far. And that trust came from strength: I knew he'd be just as dangerous without the thing. Hell, most of our worst encounters had come when he seemed to be unarmed. Then again, I had no idea how he'd fare against his own kind. As I secured his pistol, I palmed the tiny .38 that had belonged to Asuka, five bullets still in the clip. It would fit in my own pocket neatly enough, a reminder of the seriousness of things. I'd lost one person I cared about because I didn't know how dangerous the situation really was; I did not intend to lose Schuldig.

 

When had I started to care so much?

 

To cover my momentary lapse, as I shut the door and spun the lock I asked if he had cash for this little outing.

 

“Oh, hey, wait a minute,” Schuldig grumbled, running a hand through his hair and pacing. “Brad said something weird earlier today, he told me not to buy anything. But then he told me to go blow some cash. Sometimes the visions he gets are opposite, or they change from moment to moment.” He wandered back to the kitchen, looking for all the world like he was aggravated enough to tear his hair out over this. “I usually just go with the last one stated, but I don't know if I should go buying stuff today. Damn it, it's never simple! That man is driving me fucking crazy.”

 

Chalk up another “BB” point. Trying to lighten things, I lit a cigarette and said, “I'm presuming it's small, unmarked bills.”

 

“Yeah, got it fair and square from an auto-teller.” Schuldig let go of his hair and shook his head. “As far as I can tell, he's worried that object readers might figure out where we are. If I buy something, and they get hold of the money I touched, they'd know I'd been there. But there might not actually be any psychometrists within a thousand kilometers. That's the problem. I just don't know. And I don't think he does, either.”

 

Funny thing about this guy, part of the time you ask him a question and you get a perfectly normal answer. The rest of the time, you get something like this. I decided to go for it. What could he do to me for asking? I was confused enough already. “Okay, I can follow about half of that. Mind explaining in layman's terms?”

 

“Give me a cigarette,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly. “I don't talk without a bribe, Weiß,” he added with a smirk.

 

I grinned around my own cigarette. “I thought you hated this brand.”

 

“I do, but I'm getting desperate,” he confessed.

 

Shaking my head, I chuckled and tossed him the pack and a lighter. “How did Schwarz manage to be so much trouble if you can't even keep track of your smokes?”

 

Schuldig lit up and took a grateful puff, then grimaced. He might be desperate, but he still couldn't get past the taste. For some reason I found this hilarious.

 

Around a lingering sneer, he confided, “Actually, it's only been bad since the tower. I forget shit.”

 

“Like numbers?” I asked, thinking about his arm.

 

He regarded me sharply. “Yeah. Like numbers.”

 

“You said you hit your head when the tower broke apart,” I observed, still quite curious about my unusual friend. “What does that do to a telepath?”

 

Schuldig replied with unexpected candor. “I don't know. I'm still in the process of finding out. The telepathy is fixing itself, bit by bit. The memory problem doesn't seem to be getting any better. Not yet, anyway.”

 

I glanced at my watch, then stubbed out my cigarette and changed the subject. I didn't want to linger on the aftermath of the tower any longer than I had to. “Come on, let's do our shopping and get some snacks. We can talk more later.”

 

“So do I spend money or not?” he asked, caught in a contradictory set of orders.

 

The answer came to me, simple and profound. “How about this. I'll pay, and you give me the cash. Technically, you're blowing the cash without using it to pay for stuff, right? So either way, you win.”

 

Half an hour later, we pulled up to one of my favorite shops. It was one of the few in the area that catered to taller men, with a distinct continental flair. I pointed Schuldig toward the goods and settled down for a chat with the owner. I hoped that my guest would find something to his liking; I'd noticed long before that he was a rather vain man, with unique fashion sense and the attitude to make it work for him. Yet in spite of his vanity and his looks, Schuldig didn't have that annoying air about him that so many handsome men seemed to need. Instead, he had a sort of boyish charm that I found totally captivating: at once worldly and amazingly innocent. I wondered if he'd ever been appreciated just for who he is, rather than what he'd been trained to do. And again I wondered just when I'd begun to care.

 

Schuldig browsed more quickly than I'd expected, until I realized he must be feeling time pressure like any nervous fugitive - that sensation of, no matter how fast one moved, it was always just too slow. After a few minutes, he cruised by with an armload of clothes and locked himself inside a changing room. We could hear him shedding and replacing the articles in record speed.

 

“Your friend is impatient with shopping,” the owner commented. He was used to me trying things on in a much more leisurely fashion.

 

I grinned and said, “He's moving like a one-man Noh production in there, all right.”

 

About the time Schuldig emerged, I remembered something that he probably hadn't thought of: underwear. Finding my own size, I noticed a package of black briefs and smiled. White for Weiß, black for Schwarz, then.

 

Schuldig was already at the counter. I took aim and threw the briefs at him with a grin. His reflexes were still fantastic: he caught the package before he could have even seen it. When he realized what he was holding, he laughed a little and added them to his purchase.

 

I strolled back toward him, reaching for my wallet. “You done?”

 

He looked like his answer got stuck on his tongue. For a second he stood there, staring past me.

 

My hand slipped into my pocket and braced across the pistol. If I had to, I could shoot from the hip without even drawing it. But then I noticed Schuldig's expression: he wasn't concerned, he was smiling in a distracted sort of way. “Just a sec,” he mumbled, hurrying away from the counter.

 

Finding my sense of calm yet again, I watched him zero in on whatever had caught his eye. Schuldig paused at a clothing display that seemed to have leftovers and end-of-line items. He reached for a brown leather blazer, his attitude one of mingled reverence and hope. Moving slowly, he tried it on. It looked fantastic on him, much more flattering than that weird green coat had ever been. He wore it back to the checkout counter, grinning all the way, then took it off so the tag could be scanned.

 

Something about seeing him so buoyant over a simple jacket made me smile. It made sense that he had a thing about coats - he'd always been wearing one, usually that green thing.

 

With Asuka it had been hats…

 

Rather than the bakery, we ended up at a café to fulfill his urge for coffee. I loaded up on sweets and a bag of fresh coffee beans, feeling more and more the way I used to feel so very long ago, before Weiß.

 

I felt young, and hopeful. I felt happy, and needed, and wise.

 

I felt real.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N:

You make me feel brand new…

“Sweet Vanilla” - Hyde 666

 

Yohji ~ Secret

Again, note the differences between these next chapters and chapters 36-39 of “Coming Home”. Yohji will always notice things that Schuldig misses, and both men presume things that may or may not be accurate.

 

But Schuldig will never notice Asuka.