Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I make no income, from this or otherwise

A/N: Hoo, boy. Let me see if I can remember the author's notes I'd meant to include. Hmm… Well one of them is regarding Chapter 9. Several people wrote to correct me about the “only use 2%/3%/10%” myth, regarding the functionality of the human brain. I know it's not accurate. I thought it was amusing to put that in for a couple of reasons: one, that myth is perpetuated by the psychic community. Another reason is that, as I've mentioned before, Schu doesn't like explaining what he understands intuitively. He'll take expediency over accuracy any day, and he knows what he can get away with telling Yohji. But, even if it wasn't necessary in this case, if you think I'm ig'nant or misinformed, don't hesitate to let me know! Er, in a nice way I hope. But you've all been nice so far. :D

Hm. I'd had more to say…there's going to be a bit of food-talk and so forth now, that I hope will not be too boring. I am not in the restaurant biz so I hope that I have done enough research to suspend disbelief.

 

Addendum: Remember when Farf was talking to Aya about the guy who improperly stored scallops? I meant mussels - I was thinking of them for the dish `moules marinières'…sorry for the mistake

 

 

Chapter 10

 

“Aya, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about,” Yohji began. He sounded a little nervous.

 

It was 9:00 A.M. and Yohji and Aya were sitting on a couch in the sunroom, which was on the east side of the house near the back. It was oblong and rounded at one end, and the round end consisted entirely of one-way Lucite windows. It was Yohji's favorite room, one he often used to sketch or paint in, but all the light made Aya squirm.

 

Schuldig was out getting breakfast, and he and Yohji were, ostensibly, waiting for Farfarello to show up with “study materials,” whatever that meant. When Schu had burst in the door the night before and announced that Aya was going to work with Farfarello at Thibodeaux, he'd had no response to give other than a disinterested shrug. Schu had grabbed his hand and squeezed it, asking him to please give it a chance, and Aya had nodded. He wasn't averse to working; after all, he'd worked construction faithfully after Aya-chan had left him. He had no pride left either, so whether his job was washing dishes or hauling dripping bags of garbage, he'd accept it. He had no reason to look forward to anything better.

 

“Aya?” Yohji nudged him.

 

“Mm?” Aya responded, looking at him.

 

“I…I want to ask you about something your…sister said to me.” His words were rushed; Aya almost didn't understand them. Yohji was obviously wary of causing him pain. Aya smiled inwardly. He was dust inside. No one could hurt him anymore.

 

“Ask,” Aya said flatly.

 

“Okay…” Yohji fidgeted. Aya sighed silently. He hoped this wasn't going to take long. He was tired, and focusing his attention was hard…

 

“Your sister mentioned,” Yohji started after a long pause, “that you might have been interested in her in a…interested in her sexually.” Yohji exhaled hard, rubbing his forehead with his left hand. “I wanted to know what you think of that.”

 

“You want to know if I want to have sex with my sister?” Aya asked, almost amused.

 

Yohji's skin flushed, and Aya thought he actually looked a little green for a few seconds. He watched Yohji steel himself and say, “Yeah.”

 

“If I say yes, will you think less of me?”

 

The tension level in the room rose palpably. Yohji looked suitably appalled for a brief moment before he shook it off and replaced the look with a smiling mask. “No! Of course not, Aya. We've all…that is, we, um…” The mask faltered and Yohji looked totally lost. It was cute.

 

Aya decided to stop toying with him. “No,” he murmured.

 

“What?” Yohji was still groping for something to say to reassure him with.

 

“No, I didn't want Aya-chan in that way. I never thought of her like that. Although I guess I'm not surprised she thought so,” Aya mused.

 

“I…Aya, you're such a brat,” Yohji hollered, smacking him playfully on the leg. “Don't freak me out like that! I'm really glad you can joke about it, though,” he added, looking delighted. He slid his arm around Aya's waist and pulled him close. “I hope it means you're feeling better.”

 

Hardly, Aya thought, but remained silent.

 

“So, the spooning at night and wanting her to move into your bedroom was part of - “

 

“There were rumors of Esszet agents in the Kyoto area, agents that wanted to attempt the summoning ceremony again. Their presence in Japan never diminished, in fact there was even information to suggest they were on the increase even after three and a half years. They were looking for Aya-chan. Some of them were - are, according to Mamoru - still hunting Weiß, as well, and could have used her as bait. They still could, if they find her.” Aya recited this in flat monotone, feeling nothing. He saw Yohji's hands clenching into fists; obviously he felt something. “I told her this. She's a strong girl and I didn't want to keep her in the dark. But she never believed me; she thought I was completely paranoid. I probably was, too.”

 

Yohji wrapped his other arm around Aya, loosely embracing him. “We had to be paranoid, damn it. If I hadn't had Schuldig with me, I don't know how I would have survived. Telepaths are extremely useful in that capacity.”

 

Aya nodded thoughtfully. “Certainly, but I didn't have one. Mamoru and Nagi looked out for us, sent some of their agents to guard us, but even so…they weren't Talents. There was no way to know exactly who or what kind of Talent they were up against. Though Mamoru was in touch with Crawford regularly, so that might have been one reason why they never found us. But Mamoru kept me in the dark most of the time. After all, I was just a peon, not worthy of being in his inner circle anymore.”

 

“I'm sure that's not why he didn't tell you,” Yohji said, though he sounded uncertain.

 

“Nevertheless, it fed my paranoia. It just got worse and worse until I couldn't stand to have her out of my sight, to not be touching her or holding her. I became convinced that she would disappear the moment I lost sight of her. I made her withdraw from school; I wanted to move somewhere that no one could find us, no one would bother us. She was all I had left, and I'd done so much to keep her with me.” He smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. “In the end, I was the one who made her disappear. All by myself. Just me.”

 

Yohji turned Aya's face toward his and cupped Aya's head in his hands, brushing wetness off the pale cheeks with his thumbs. He was crying? Aya hadn't even noticed. He hadn't felt anything. Still felt nothing.

 

“Aya,” Yohji choked, his voice tight and strained, his eyes fairly swirling with emotions. Aya wondered what his own eyes looked like. `There was no more life in them than a crab's eye on the end of a stalk,' he remembered reading somewhere. William Burroughs, wasn't it?

 

Yohji was kissing him. Gently, chastely, then harder. Aya felt the familiar gentle push of tongue against his lips, asking permission to enter like knocking on a door. Aya opened his mouth automatically. His eyes were open and he was staring at the wall, not really paying much attention. But when Yohji pushed the seeking muscle into his mouth, and that familiar tongue with its familiar taste slid over his own, and all of his senses were abruptly suffused with the mellow, golden sunlight that was Yohji, Aya was suddenly filled with despair. He kissed back helplessly while remembering, This isn't mine anymore. I had this and I gave it up. He clawed at Yohji desperately, barely aware of himself. Yohji groaned into his mouth, hauling Aya into his lap. Aya could feel Yohji's hard-on. Why is he doing this to me? Why is he throwing it in my face? I didn't ask for this. One of Yohji's hands slid down the back of Aya's pants, squeezing his ass, and the other hand slid up the back of his shirt, tracing his spine, while his tongue plundered Aya's mouth, and Aya liked it and wanted it and melted and thought, He's being deliberately cruel to me. I thought he was my friend and he's betraying me, teasing me and giving me something he's going to take away. How could he? How could he do this to me?

 

“OW! Fuck!!” Yohji tore away from him, blood dripping from his mouth

Aya tasted blood in his own mouth, and realized he must have bitten Yohji. Pretty hard, too, by the look of things. He supposed he should have been sorry, but the taste of blood washed away nostalgia, chased off the bitter flavor of despair, allowed the numbness back. Blood, he could deal with.

 

“Idiot! I told you to stop; it's your own damn fault,” Schuldig said, plopping what Aya guessed must be breakfast down on the table. He couldn't remember hearing the German return. “Go look in the bathroom mirror and tell me if you need stitches, you dumb bastard. And don't drip blood all over the house.”

 

Yohji, unable to retort out loud - though possibly he was responding telepathically - got up and slunk out of the room, looking sort of like a whipped puppy.

 

Schuldig sat down next to Aya and took his hand. Schu did that a lot; Aya supposed it was to make it more difficult to ignore him. Also to that end, Schu had a link set up with Aya through Yohji, and he could communicate directly with Aya if he needed to, but he seemed to prefer not to. Aya guessed it was because he was really boring. Schu didn't like to be bored.

 

It occurred to him that he ought to apologize for kissing and biting Schuldig's boyfriend. “Um, sorry about…” He trailed off. He couldn't think of a way to phrase the apology that sounded sincere and not silly. Besides, he wasn't really sorry about it. He didn't feel much of anything about it now.

 

Schuldig waved his hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it.”

 

“I won't,” Aya answered. There was a pause. “Why aren't you upset with me?”

 

“I told him to kiss you,” Schu said nonchalantly, releasing Aya's hand and grabbing a huge, steaming paper cup from the cardboard cup-holder he'd set on the table. “Café au lait? It's really good. I had a bit on the way home.”

 

“No, thank you,” Aya said, and Schuldig looked disappointed. “I don't like coffee; I don't care how much milk is in it. Why did you tell your boyfriend to kiss me?”

 

Schu sighed, sipping his own coffee. “I was looking at you through his eyes, feeling what he felt on top of my own emotions, and we both wanted to kiss you, so I told him to go ahead. But just before I would have been completely blissed out, I realized that it was a selfish move on our part. With anyone else, I wouldn't have given a shit, but…” He drank some more, and smirked. “Sometimes I miss the days when I didn't care, you know? Anyway, I decided I should check on you to see how you were handling it. When I realized what you were feeling, I told Yohji to stop, but he wasn't hearing me. So, I just ran home.”

 

“You were both kissing me.”

 

“Yes. I'm sorry, Aya. I'm supposed to be looking out for you, and…I'm sorry.” Schu fiddled nervously with his cup, looking lost. Aya didn't suppose he was too used to apologizing.

 

“I'm glad it wasn't just Yohji. It feels a lot less like betrayal that way.”

 

“It wasn't a betrayal at all, Aya. Believe me. It was just desire and…affection,” Schu finished, staring at his cup like it was a fascinating archaeological find.

 

The awkward silence that followed was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, at the sound of which Schuldig jumped up and sprinted out of the room.

 

Aya found himself dimly amused for the second time that morning, which was unusual. It was a morning full of unusual events thus far, and now, presumably, Farfarello was visiting. Also out of the ordinary. He hoped nothing else would trigger that weird despair again.

 

Farfarello followed Schu's showy swagger with a quiet, confident stride, if a bit heavy. It was thrown off a little by the handcart he was pushing, whish was overloaded with books and binders and folders. Aya peered at the stack curiously as Farf pushed the cart carefully so the books and files were mostly sandwiched between the couch and the cart, presumably so they wouldn't fall over. Farf let the cart go, stood and stretched.

 

He was wearing a faded black t-shirt sporting the name of some band Aya had never heard of - Henrietta Collins and the Wife-Beating Child-Haters - and it was a bit small on him. As Farf stretched and his spine crackled, Aya's eyes were drawn to his arms. He didn't remember Farfarello's arms being that thick. Or his shoulders so broad. He was still as cut as ever, but he seemed light years away from the whipcord-thin lunatic of Schwarz. Farfarello's hair draped over his shoulder a little, reminding Aya that it was long now. He resisted the sudden urge to ask Farf to turn around so he could see how long it was. He wondered if it would be coarse, like a horse's mane, or soft like his own red tresses. He wondered -

 

Farfarello looked down at him and he was pierced by that eagle eye once again. All thought ceased. Aya imagined his retinas burning from staring into that eye too long. He wondered if Farfarello had torn out his other eye because he saw too much with two of those eyes. Maybe the other eye had shown him the secrets of the universe, and that was what drove him mad in the first place…

 

Aya realized that Yohji had come back in the room, and Schuldig was examining his tongue. “It's not as bad as it seemed,” Yohji said. His words slurred a little.

 

“So, yer gonna be helping me out now, red kitty?” That deep, almost gravelly voice brought his attention back to the white-haired enigma standing before him.

 

“That is my goal,” Aya said, wondering if Farf was being condescending or not.

 

“Hm.” Farf turned to Schuldig, who was still fussing over Yohji. “Do I smell beignets, Schu?”

 

“Oh!” Schuldig exclaimed, leaping over the back of the couch to the coffee table where he'd set his purchases. “Yeah,” he said, unrolling the top of the bag and inhaling the fragrant steam the puffed out. “Get some plates and napkins, would you, Yohji?”

 

Yohji, who'd been about to sit down, grumbled a little as he went to do Schuldig's bidding.

 

“I found this little pastry shop just a couple of blocks away that makes much better ones than that tourist pit, Café du Monde,” he went on, as Farf nodded and sat in one of the chairs across from Aya. “They're enormous! I don't know what they do to them, but they're really tasty.” He started doling the fried pastries out onto plates as Yohji arrived with them, trying and failing to keep powdered sugar from going everywhere.

 

“Thank ye,” Farf said, accepting his plate.

 

“Aya, you really don't want this?” Schu said, waving the coffee at him.

 

“No.”

 

“Want some café au lait, Farf?”

 

“Wouldn't mind it.”

 

There was no talking for a while as everyone munched on breakfast. Aya hadn't felt hungry, but Schuldig was right about the beignets - they were very tasty.

 

Yohji was the only one who didn't finish his. “My jaw is hurting,” he complained.

 

“It's because of your tongue. You shouldn't do any chewing for the rest of the day, or your tongue will swell up,” Schu instructed, snatching up Yohji's leftovers. There was a pause, during which Schu obviously continued communicating with Yohji, because the latter crossed his arms and pouted.

 

“Aya.” Farf's voice drew him like a magnet. He looked over, but avoided looking directly into his eye.

 

It helped a little, but not much.

 

“Yes?” he replied.

 

“Are ye ready to commit yerself to learning what it will take to work in my kitchen?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Farfarello nodded his head in approval. “Right then,” he said, getting up and pulling the handcart of files and books away from the couch. “To start,” he began, pulling a worn leatherette roll-up from the top of the stack, “this is a knife roll. In here are the basic knives you'll be using. I've labeled them, but it's up to you to learn how and when to use them, and when not to use them. You can keep these, but they're not very good. I can hook you up with better knives when you start.”

 

Aya nodded assent, and Farf set the roll on the table. “Now these,” he said, pulling a few books off the stack, “are sort of textbooks. `The Professional Chef,'” he cited, tossing it on the table, “'Larousse Gastronomique,' aaaand, `The Way to Cook' by Julia Child. When in doubt, always go back to Julia,” he instructed. “Here's also her book `Mastering the Art of French Cooking,' and `Creole, Gumbo and all that Jazz' by Howard Mitcham - if ye don't know these names, ye should learn to revere them. Jacques Pépin's `La Technique' - that'll really help ye with the knives - and then here are some cookbooks that I often refer to,” he finished, stacking them on the table next to the others. Aya read a couple of names - Anthony Bourdain, Paul Prudhomme - before Farfarello started speaking again.

 

“These,” he said, stacking up three two-inch binders stuffed to bursting with looseleaf, “are my notebooks from Lavienne. That's the academy I went to in Paris, so most of the notes are in French. Get Schu to give it to ye if ye need it. My penmanship isn't bad, so it shouldn't be hard to read. This is a copy of our menu and wine list.” He showed them briefly to Aya before tossing them on the rapidly filling table. Schuldig started clearing stuff off and moving the stacks to make room, looking bemused. “You don't necessarily have to become an expert on which wine goes with what - that's for the wait staff. Just be familiar.

 

“Our regular menu has been consistently successful, so it doesn't change very often. What takes up most of my time and effort, as far as the menu goes, are the specials. Nevertheless,” he said, pulling a huge stack of folders and binders off the cart, “ye need to know every item on our menu backwards and forwards. Ye need to know how every ingredient is prepared, how long prep takes, who's supposed to do what, what short-cuts I'll allow ye to take if we're slammed and understaffed - and there are not many of those,” he warned. “Ye also need to study what specials we've made and how successful or unsuccessful they were, how to make them, what we might be expected to make that isn't on our regular menu - vegetarian things, certain special dishes that certain special people come in asking for - friends of the staff or the owner and the like. I've also written notes on every adjustment made to any menu item. All of that information is in here.” He patted the stack and set it aside.

 

Next, he picked up a fat, five inch binder. “These are our official purveyors, vendors and whatnot. Everyone we officially pay for goods or services, from garbage pick-up to fish purveyor, is in here. Study it. Do not lose it, spill anything on it, or accidentally set it on fire - “ he sent a meaningful glance at Schuldig, who muttered, “that was years ago, can't you forget it already?” - “or I will have to deliver unto ye a most wretched death. The same goes for this,” he said, setting the enormous binder aside and picking up one that was considerably smaller, but still thick enough, “and this is what, Aya?” he asked, waving the binder at him.

 

Caught off guard, Aya stumbled around in his mind for the answer for a second. “Um, unofficial purveyors?”

 

Farf smiled. Smiling with his lips closed like that, he looked almost beatific. “Very good, red kitty. Ye have to be careful with some of these, because they're more unpredictable than the official purveyors. But all of them will try to stiff ye or give ye inferior product - I've made notes of those instances; study them so ye know how to handle them. Neither of these get shown to auditors. This,” he said, holding up another enormous binder, the last item on the cart, “gets shown to auditors, if they should ever choose to investigate us for any reason.”

 

“Why would you think they'd want to investigate you?” Yohji asked.

 

Farf shrugged. “The owner is part of a family.”

 

“A family?” Aya said blankly.

 

“La Casa Nostra.”

 

“Wait, your restaurant is owned by the mafia?” Yohji cried, jumping up. “No way is Aya getting involved in this! I thought this all was a little extreme,” Yohji swept his arm at the mess of the coffee table, “but there's -“

 

Schuldig was talking silently to him, and Yohji sat down, still steaming and glaring at Farfarello, but quiet.

 

Farf looked at Aya. “Should I continue, or should we forget this whole thing.?”

 

“Continue,” Aya said. “Please.” He couldn't remember the last time his interest had been piqued like this. He wanted to read those books and pore over those folders. He wanted to know what secrets they contained, even though it was unlikely they'd be anything other than very mundane.

 

Farf nodded. “This isn't really necessary for ye to go over, but it would be a useful exercise for ye to add up the accounts. Ye'll notice that the end result for these two binders and the IRS binder come out exactly the same. There's no embezzling as long as I have any say in the matter. Anyway, ye might find this good practice; I may need ye to do a little bookkeeping from time to time. And that,” said Farf, putting the binder on the overburdened table, “is about all ye can learn without hands-on experience. Ye'll need to have all of that read and memorized by the time ye start, which'll be a week from today.”

 

“Memorized? Farf…” Schuldig gave his former teammate an admonishing glare.

 

Farf raised an eyebrow and looked back at Aya. “Ye think you're up to this, red kitty? Wanna give it a go, or not?”

 

Aya hardly had to think about it; he'd already latched on to the idea. It was much like a mission - read, memorize, implement - and he was intrigued. All this would definitely distract him from the floating, foggy nothing-world of pain his mind had become. “I'll do it.”

 

Farfarello's eye narrowed, but he only nodded.

 

“We're going to have to talk this over before we decide anything,” Yohji snapped.

 

“I'm not hiring ye, so ye don't have anything to decide,” Farf pointed out.

 

“Listen, you - “

 

“Yohji, don't - “

 

“I'd like to speak to the red kitty alone, then, if ye don't mind,” Farf said, his dark voice somehow quieting Schu and Yohji. “And no listening in, Mastermind. I'll know if ye are; don't think I've forgotten how to tell.”

 

Schuldig rolled his eyes. “Yes, Berserker-sama.” ::You're alright with us leaving, Aya?::

 

::Fine with it.::

 

Schuldig stood up. “Come on, Yohji.”

 

“I'm not leaving Aya with him.”

 

Aya decided he'd had enough mothering, and turned a potent glare on Yohji. Farf just sat looking bored and amused by turns. “I'll send to ye, Schu, when ye can come back.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Yohji grumbled inarticulately as Schuldig grabbed his hand and led him out of the room.

 

*****

 

Farfarello waited a minute or so after the couple had left the room, and then clapped his hands. “Right. So, all of this nonsense,” he waved at the table full of stuff, “ye can read or not read as ye like, just bring it all back Monday. Mainly I brought it for the benefit of yer caretakers, since there's no bloody way I'm having an amateur in my galley. It's rough enough with newbie cooks who've actually gone to school for it, much less someone who's only had wait staff experience.” He sounded scornful.

 

All of Aya's interest in this new `position' vanished instantly. He should have known better.

 

“However, I would like to hire ye in a professional capacity for a little while. See, my last sous was also an assassin - no coincidence, of course - and we'd scared up quite a bit of business around here.”

 

He really should have known better. “Mafia?” he asked.

 

“Some. Not always. Anyway, Sean developed a bit of an amphetamine habit, ended up getting careless and getting himself killed. Now, I can handle all our clients, but…” He sighed. “This is my first gig as head chef, and I've only had it half a year. Now I've got no sous-chef and no one I particularly want to elevate from my own staff. Not only that, but the saucier, who normally I would leave in charge if both the sous and I were unavailable, is going on her first vacation in ten years at the start of next week. She's going to be gone a month. I have to be on hand in the kitchen.”

 

“I see.”

 

“The jobs are easy enough for someone of yer caliber. Probably beneath ye, really, for the most part, since ye won't be going after anyone particularly powerful.” The Irishman grinned. “No prime ministers, no international paranormal terrorists, none of that. Pretty boring stuff.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Ye still labor under the delusion that ye only dole out vigilante justice?”

 

Aya's heart gave a funny beat, like a knife scraping against his ribs. “Of course not.”

 

“Grand. I'll keep 20% commission. I also recommend ye keep a firearm handy - everyone and their gramma carries at least a semi-automatic in the States. I can provide - “

 

“I have an automatic.”

 

Farf looked vaguely surprised. “I thought ye Weiß didn't believe in guns, or something.”

 

“Didn't believe in using them, or didn't believe they existed?” Aya sniped.

 

Farf chuckled softly. “Who knew ye had a sense of humor?”

 

“I don't. It's cleverly disguised vitriol.”

 

Farf grinned, then looked almost startled. He narrowed his eye, as if to better penetrate the most secret parts of Aya's soul. Aya couldn't meet that gaze.

 

“You're disappointed.” Farf sounded amazed. “I've disappointed ye, just wanting ye to take on some crackerjack assassination jobs for me.”

 

Aya shrugged. “I had no expectations. How could I be disappointed?”

 

Farf tsked. “You're not as opaque as ye think. Not that I thought ye'd be overjoyed to be knocking off two-bit hustlers and low-level wiseguys for yer old enemy, but ye actually wanted me to give ye a shot at the sous-chef thing.” He shook his head. “Honestly. Just reading this crap isn't going to do ye any good - well, better than nothing, but that's just it. It'll be better than nothing, which is the amount of chef experience ye have. Ye must understand that.”

 

“Of course.” Aya wished he would drop it. “What's the first assignment?”

 

Farf said nothing, scrutinizing. Aya wished Farf would get a patch for the other eye as well. The Irishman looked startled again, and then burst out laughing. Aya realized he'd spoken aloud.

 

“Vitriol, eh,” Farf remarked, still chortling. Then he let out a long sigh, and paused a while in thought. “Shit. Look, red kitty - “

 

“Don't call me that anymore.”

 

“Alright, Aya. If ye want, I'll give ye a shot at the kitchen. If ye don't fuck up too often, if the staff and I can work with ye and if ye like working there, I'll keep ye on after the saucier gets back. Not as the sous, but probably as a floater. I know Dean, for one, wants fewer shifts…” He seemed to be calculating something in his head. “Plus it'll be easier to keep yer caretakers from finding out you're back in the old biz; I get the feeling they wouldn't be very happy about that. The hits take priority for ye, though. Okay?”

 

“Why are you changing your mind?” Aya asked, pulling at a loose thread on the sofa. “You don't owe me anything.”

 

“True enough.” Farf paused, considering. “The average person, I wouldn't change my mind about on this no matter who asked me to, much less a pain in the ass telepath. But it occurs to me, you're not average. You're well above average in brains, skills, guts, determination, looks, sheer force of will and probably a lot of other things. Most people with those kinds of advantages are insufferable about them, but ye've quite a measure of modesty and humility, and none of it false that I can see. If ye decide ye want to put yer energy and the force of yer personality into doing something for me, even if it seems ludicrous to me, I think I'd be an idiot not to take ye up on it. I feel that way even though you're obviously not at your very best these days. Whatever comes of it, it's bound to work to my advantage. See? I'm doing ye no favors.”

 

Aya did the staring this time, perplexed as he was by what he'd just heard, not to mention who he was hearing it from. “Where are you getting all this from, about me being…” He shook his head. “Where are you getting this from?”

 

Farf shrugged. “Observation.”

 

“You've not seen me in five years, and before that…we've never had that much to do with one another. How much could you possibly observe?”

 

A brief sigh. “A fair sight more than you have, obviously.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“So I'll take ye on as temporary sous - by the way, don't let the crew know you're temporary, or they'll make yer life hell - and in the meantime ye'll engage in a bit of murder and mayhem on my behalf. Agreed?”

 

It seemed more reasonable a proposition than Aya thought he had a right to expect, even if he wasn't sure it was wise to trust Farf. “Acceptable.”

 

“And my name here is officially John Farlane. I have everyone call me Far. Lot easier to remember to answer to that than John.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Farf stood up. “Alright.” He held out his hand to Aya, who had to think for a second before realizing he was supposed to shake it.

 

He stood up and clasped Farfarello's hand, accidentally letting his gaze fall directly onto bird-of-prey yellow. This close up, the eye looked even less human than usual, and Aya couldn't stop the tremors that ran up and down his spine. When Farf opened his mouth to speak, Aya could have sworn he heard the screeching of a hawk.

 

“Ye can let go now.” Rife with amusement.

 

Aya snatched his hand back, cheeks burning. Embarrassed, he fell back onto the couch in silent glare mode.

 

“I can trust ye'll be able to get through all this by Monday?” Farf asked, hand sweeping over the table.

 

“Yes. It's not a problem.”

 

Farf's smile was as warm as Aya had ever seen it. “Of course not. I'll take my leave of ye then.”

 

“Farfarello.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Aya hesitated, knowing it was probably stupid to ask, but ever since he'd been re-introduced to the man he'd been wondering… “What happened to your grudge against God?”

 

Farf stiffened noticeably. “What makes ye ask?” he inquired.

 

“I've just wondered.”

 

“Red flag in front of the bull, eh? Want to prove something? Are ye hoping I'll suddenly come unraveled in front of ye?” His voice was harsh; he sounded bitter.

 

“No, I'm not.”

 

Farf rounded on Aya, his hair flying out around him. He had Aya by the throat in a flash - no, not the throat. The chin, holding his face in place, angry eagle eye boring into empty violets. Aya focused on the scar that slashed across Farf's nose. “What happened to yer little sister?” Farf hissed. “What happened to yer lovers? If ye can tell me, I'll answer ye.” His grin was familiar; he'd often shown that face to Weiß just before an attack.

 

Stung, Aya decided Farf had made his point, and he remained silent.

 

Farf remained clutching Aya's face for a moment, then he seemed to come back to himself. He let go of Aya, and dropped back on his heels, looking ashamed - which was definitely not a familiar expression on him. “Shit, I'm sorry. Ye didn't deserve that.”

 

“Maybe I did. It's none of my business.”

 

“No, no ye didn't.” Farfarello climbed onto the couch next to Aya. “Ye barely knew anything of me except that I wanted to destroy God. Only natural ye'd be curious.”

 

“You no longer have that ambition?”

 

“Hey, if I get a shot, I'll take it and no mistake,” Farf said, lips curled gently with amusement. “However, having long since accepted that I killed my family with my own two hands, I can't see myself as God's victim any longer, and have no desire to. I was a legitimate enough victim of Esszet's and Crawford's manipulations for too many years, all centered on my denial. Don't get me wrong; I still enjoy theosophical debates, especially with the clergy and preferably just prior to ripping their hypocritical little hearts out with my bare hands, but I'm my own lunatic now. Not just someone's pet lunatic.”

 

Aya stared at Farf, trying to decide how much of this was meant facetiously. “Is there anything, er…ecumenical on your menu?”

 

“You're very vitriolic today, Aya,” the white-haired man of questionable sanity replied. “Nah, we do get inspected by the Department of Health from time to time. Too risky.”

 

“Good that they know to check for that sort of thing.”

 

“I don't know about that, but they do check the walk-ins and the reach-ins, and human meat really would take too much time and overhead to disguise as something else, especially on a regular basis. Also, criminal bunch though they are, some of the kitchen staff might frown on the practice of cannibalism, even though most of `em have been taking communion since they were about six years old.” He tsked. “Catholics and their transubstantiation nonsense, aye?”

 

Aya raised an eyebrow at him. “You've seriously thought about this?”

 

Farf chuckled. “Mostly with regard to certain of my co-workers, when they're being particularly obnoxious. I used to ponder the consequences of killing Schuldig on a daily basis, when I first joined Schwarz.”

 

“You stab your other co-workers with forks, too?” Aya was surprised to find himself smiling.

 

“Not tableware. I did stab a line cook in the arm with a meat fork for storing the mussels improperly, but that was after repeated warnings.”

 

Aya's eyes widened. “Really.”

 

“Yes, really. I can't stand to see mussels wallowing in their own piss in the bottom of a tub.” Farf made a face. “It doesn't take that long to pick them over and pop a draining rack in the tub to keep them off the bottom.” He shook his head, rolling his eye. “I don't like food short-cuts, but seafood short-cuts I absolutely won't tolerate. Period.” He grinned, looking over at Aya. “Still want to be my sous?”

 

Aya nodded, feeling like he must have fallen down a rabbit-hole at some point during the conversation. “The guy didn't sue you or have you arrested?”

 

Farf looked at Aya like he'd suggested that Farf keep the mussels in little diapers and give them all names. “Arrested? Yeah. Um, that's not gonna happen. And whatever ye've heard about this being the most litigious country, it's not at all likely I'd be sued by kitchen staff. No, what happened was that he went to a walk-in clinic, and then an hour and a half later he was back at his station.” He gave a nod of satisfaction. “Which is as it should be. I run a very tight ship, Aya, and I expect a lot of my people. They know they can expect the same of me, and disciplinary measures like that are very, very rare. I don't dish out more than someone can take, unless I have to, and then I'll make up for it. It's hardly all wine and roses, but my staff's loyal to me. It… I like that, having someone's loyalty, however it's defined.” He smiled one of his pleasant, beatific smiles at Aya, who suddenly wished that Farfarello would take his hand and squeeze it the way Schuldig did.

 

As Aya pondered telling Farf about that absurd notion to see if the strange albino would laugh, Farf glanced down at his watch, and stood up. “It's time for me to get going. I've got a lot of supply trucks coming in today that I've got to oversee. Want me to alert the happy couple that I'm taking off now?”

 

Aya shook his head. “I'm going to start on this,” he replied, gesturing at the towering stacks of books and folders.

 

Farf cocked his head. “Ye know, even though I'm certain you're going to cause me a lot of headaches just because you're such a rookie, I'm looking forward to seeing what you're capable of.”

 

Aya let his hair swing forward, shielding his eyes. “Thanks. I will do my best to not let you down.”

 

“I know, red ki - Aya. Ye always do yer best. It's one of the weirdest and most valuable things about ye.“

 

Aya shook his head, pulling at the loose string on the sofa again. “One more question?”

 

“Just the one, then I'm leaving whether ye like it or not.”

 

“You used to want to kill Schuldig, and then hadn't seen him for five years - what do you think of him now? I'm having a really hard time understanding the dynamic between the two of you.”

 

Farf sighed. “Ye don't ask easy questions.”

 

“Sorry. Never mind.”

 

“I never liked Brad Crawford. Respected him, yes, was loyal to him, even looked up to him a little, but I didn't like him and he didn't like me. Nagi I liked, I would have even called us friends, though we didn't go out of our way to hang around together much. Schuldig… “ Farf worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, choosing words. “Schuldig and I are brothers in every sense of the word except the literal. I consider him my only real family.”

 

Aya looked up at Farf again, startled. “I don't understand. You didn't seem happy to see him when we showed up at your restaurant the first night. I thought you didn't like him very much.”

 

“One doesn't always like one's family,” Farf commented. “But on the contrary; I was very pleased to see him.”

 

“Then why - “

 

“I said I'd answer one question.”

 

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

 

“I'm leaving.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Farf took a couple of steps toward the door, and then sighed loudly in exasperation and stomped over to sit on the arm of the couch. “You're a pain in the ass, Fujimiya.”

 

Aya raised an eyebrow. “Eh?”

 

“Now it's going to bug me if I don't explain this.”

 

Staring up at Farf in confusion, Aya shrugged. “Um…”

 

“Why it'll bug me, I can't figure out, since you're basically nothing to me.”

 

“There's no need to - “

 

“Schwarz had to separate because of a series of visions Crawford and some other psychics had, showing the consequences if we stayed together, but we would have separated regardless, I'm sure,” Farf began, as though Aya hadn't spoken. “I had to go back to Ireland to straighten some things out in my mind, Nagi'd fallen in with Persia and Kritiker, Crawford was still on a mission to wipe out Esszet. Schuldig was the only one of us without any real agenda, beyond staying with Puss-in-Boots.” Farf leaned against the back of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. “And Schu found Puss a lot more difficult to predict than most people, even though he could get into his mind quite easily, so he was not at all sure Yohji would stick by him. Especially since he was still in love with ye,” Farf added, giving Aya a sidelong glance. “Do ye know, Crawford offered more than once to feed Persia some misinformation that would lead to ye and yer sister being killed?”

 

Aya stared. “What?” he whispered.

 

Farf waved dismissively. “It's just the Crawford mentality, to eliminate all obstacles. He and Schuldig were always friends, and I know he hated having to send Schuldig off into hiding alone. Schu doesn't do well alone. Anyway, it was a pretty big surprise to all of us when Schuldig refused to let Crawford have ye killed, especially since it was on the grounds that it would hurt Yohji. He wouldn't even let Crawford blackmail Yohji into accompanying Schu on the run. I suppose that meant it was love, or some shit like that, but it was inconceivable for Schuldig to be that unselfish. We were afraid he was coming unglued. Nagi was even talking about leaving Persia and Kritiker to watch over Schu, but Crawford's visions suggested that wouldn't be good for either of them. Crawford was going into the heart of Esszet territory, and since Schu was being so aggressively hunted there was no way they could stick together.

 

“But I was in the clear. Sure I knocked off one of the Elders, but I was just a Berserker - an attack dog, at best - so none of the factions gave much of a crap about me. No one was going to waste any resources hunting me down if I was on my own, that was certain. Once I left Schwarz, I didn't have to even keep in contact with Crawford. I didn't need to ever see any of them again, and really, that was the plan the four of us had worked out.”

 

“But obviously you didn't stick with that plan.” Aya had turned to face Farf, hugging his knees to his chest, feet shoved against the armrest under Farf's leg. He didn't know why the man was telling him all this, but he was finding it pretty interesting to hear about the interpersonal dynamics of Schwarz.

 

“No. I couldn't, because Schuldig is my brother. To leave him entirely to his own devices, especially if he would have to be on the run by himself, seemed too much like either contributing to the murder of yet another family member, or leaving his life in the hands of God. I still don't know which idea is worse. So before I left for Ireland I made it clear that if Yohji opted not to go with Schuldig, he was to come to Ireland and find me. I also made it clear that even if Yohji stayed with him, he was to find me when he needed me, whether it was in a month or fifty years. For his sake alone, I've made sure Crawford could locate me relatively easily. Not instantly, but easily.”

 

Aya nodded, remembering that it had taken several days for Crawford to locate Farfarello's exact whereabouts.

 

“I'm really glad,” Farf said, his voice soft, “that he felt he could still come to me when he needed me.”

 

“Why does he need you now?” Aya asked, forgetting that he'd already exceeded the amount of questions Farf had agreed to answer.

 

Farf merely shrugged, pinning Aya in his yellow gaze. “Because of you, naturally. Yohji still loves ye, and you're now all living together. Schuldig is very conflicted about ye - he's come to like ye a lot, and wants to help ye, but at the same time he's terrified of losing Yohji to ye. He needs me to help him keep things in perspective. It might seem odd, but I can actually do that for him.”

 

Aya felt a wave of despair poised to crash down on him. “I should move out of here.”

 

“No, ye shouldn't. You're not ready to be on yer own, and ye know it. Neither of them want ye to move out, anyway. Just let things continue as they are for now. Study, come work for me, and we'll take it from there. Alright?” Farf's hand dropped on Aya's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

 

Aya smiled up at him and opened his mouth to say thank you, but Farf covered his own ears. “No! Whatever you're going to say, don't say it! I've really got to go now.” He dropped his hands and stood up. “I'll see ye next week. Get to work.”

 

Aya watched Farf leave the room, nearly waist-length white locks swaying. “Thanks,” he called.

 

Farf looked back, tipped him a salute and left the room.