Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 11

A/N: I didn't get many reviews on the last chapter; I hope it's not because my readership has dropped off. Ah, well. C'est la vie. In this chapter there's a bit more silliness than I usually attempt, I hope it's not off-putting. I didn't make up the Lolliwinks; I still have that record somewhere. Even though I haven't listened to it in over fifteen years, I can still remember the choruses - and many of the lyrics - to all the songs. It's scary. There's also a lot of food mentioned, which I hope will not make tiresome reading. This chapter's also two or three times the length of the other chapters. But, I've gone from really hating this chapter to kinda loving it, so I hope you all will enjoy it.

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

The antique iron bed frame knocked a little plaster dust off the walls with each rhythmic thump. Yohji held on to the frame, white-knuckled, as Schuldig took him hard from behind, like a fiery orange stallion. Yohji tended to forget, most of the time, that Schuldig was a bit superhuman in strength as well as speed. He certainly didn't mind being reminded in this manner.

 

Schuldig yanked Yohji's head back by the hair and bent forward to bite and suckle his neck, softening his thrusts. He ran his hands along Yohji's arms to close over his hands around the bars. “You all right, baby?” he asked breathlessly.

 

“I'm much better than `all right,' you dope,” Yohji said, turning his head and kissing Schu fiercely.

 

Schuldig pulled back and grinned. “Dope? I call you baby and you call me a dope? That's it, you asked for it!” Schuldig pulled out of Yohji abruptly.

 

“Hey!” Yohji cried, not taking his eyes from the wall. “Do that a little more slowly next time, wouldya?”

 

“I don't think you're in any position to make demands, my darling.” Schu's voice was a little muffled. “Ah, there we are.” He pushed back into Yohji much more gently than he'd withdrawn, and Yohji grinned at the tacit apology.

 

“We'll see who's the dope,” Schuldig muttered, not without amusement. He pulled most of the way out and thrust back in hard, at the same time bringing something down hard on Yohji's back - WHAP!!!

 

Yohji cried out, nerve-endings sizzling with sensations. Schu had gotten out a long, slender, semi-rigid strip of leather, suede on one side, that curled back on itself at one end to make a handle. He was a little relieved; he'd been worried that Schu was going to get the cane or the riding crop, and he was rarely in the mood for either of those. He preferred the slow burn of slapping to stinging any day.

 

Schuldig picked up his earlier frenzied rhythm, bringing the strap down at seemingly random intervals, all over Yohji's back and his ass, never hitting the same spot in the same way twice. It was like suddenly being picked up and tossed to the heavens by a tornado, a vortex of controlled chaos that was impossible to stand against.

 

Yohji had no body anymore, no corporeal self. He was nerves and consciousness floating in a sea of red and black stars, guided and steered by the force of nature behind him. He could dimly hear his own cries as the pleasure Schuldig was giving him became acute, and the stars began to go white and purple. Then he didn't have a thought in his head as he rode wave after wave of bright, nirvana-seeking ecstasy.

 

He came around to find he was still lying on his stomach. Schu had pried his hands off the bed frame and laid his arms at his sides, and was now rubbing him gently with a swatch of bunny fur, which felt lovely. He hummed with pleasure.

 

“Yohji? You back?” Schu inquired, kissing his shoulderblade.

 

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, feeling too sated, too boneless and disembodied to speak.

 

::Disembodied, eh? Damn, I'm good,:: the smug voice in his head commented.

 

::Yeah,:: Yohji thought dreamily, not bothering to try and rein in that enormous ego.

 

There was silence for a while as Schu rubbed him down with a soothing mint oil concoction that made his skin tingle, but didn't aggravate or burn. Suddenly, Schuldig rolled him over onto his back, and lay down full-length on him, sliding his arms under Yohji's torso and hugging him tightly. “I love you so much, Yotan,” he declared. His voice seemed a little strained.

 

“I love you too, baby,” Yohji said, hugging back as well as he could. “Something wrong?”

 

Schuldig sighed, and rolled off him, leaving an arm around his waist. “Not really. I'm…I just worry that with Aya here, living with us, our relationship will eventually change and…we won't be so close together anymore.”

 

Yohji abruptly remembered that they'd left Aya alone with Farfarello who knew how long ago.

 

::Don't worry your pretty little head about that, Yohji. Farf left a while ago, and Aya's studying all that crap he left here for him.::

 

Relieved, Yohji addressed Schu's worries, stroking a hand idly through his orange mane. “Aya will do whatever he can to make sure his presence here is unobtrusive and to see that he doesn't get between us, you know that.”

 

Schuldig sat up. “I know that, but the problem with that is, we can't allow him to be that unobtrusive. Someone as depressed as he is, we can't leave to his own devices.”

 

“I know that, I just meant that - “

 

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Schuldig grumbled, waving a hand at him. He rolled off the bed and began dressing. “I worry about times like this morning, when suddenly we both want him, or times when I'm talking to him and I find myself thinking, I'm really starting to like this guy. I don't want to like him.” Schu scowled, pulling on a short-sleeved, button-down shirt of clingy dark blue silk.

 

Yohji felt a stirring in the region of his loins, though he was far too sated to be truly aroused. His boyfriend was definitely one of the hottest men on the planet. “It's okay for you to like Aya, though,” Yohji said, eyeing the way the silk outlined each of Schuldig's pectorals. “If you two become friends, things would be even easier and less tense, don't you think? I've noticed that he's really warmed to you a lot since Japan. Isn't that a good thing?”

 

Schuldig sat on the bed with his back to Yohji. “I don't know,” he murmured. “I find myself thinking of him when…when I shouldn't,” he finished reluctantly.

 

Yohji was about to ask him to elaborate, but decided he didn't really need to know more. He scooted behind Schuldig and wrapped his arms around him. “Maybe it's the novelty of having him around,” he suggested. “You shouldn't worry about it before it becomes an actual problem. Let's give it a few weeks and see what develops, if anything. At any rate, I'm not planning on being any less close to you than usual.” He hugged Schu harder, burying his face in silky orange tresses.

 

“I know. Me neither,” Schu stated, squeezing Yohji's arms with his hands. “And now,” he sighed, “I think I should get over myself so we can go and see how Aya's….um…encounter with Farf went. Make sure he's not mentally scarred - more mentally scarred, “ he corrected with an impish grin. He threw some pants at Yohji. “I hate for you to cover up that pretty ass, especially when it's nice and red like that, but I think I might have issues with you prancing around naked in front of Aya.”

 

“You think?” Yohji laughed, pulling on the pants, wincing a little as the rough denim slid over his tender skin.

 

*******

 

 

“I'm worried about - “

 

“Scheiße, if you say one more time that you're worried about Aya, I'm going to skin you alive with those knives Farfie gave him. Can't you think about anything else?” Schuldig griped, rapping the back of Yohji's head smartly with his knuckles.

 

“Ow!” Yohji rubbed his head, affronted. “That wasn't even exactly what I was going to say, but it's not like you're not worried about him too.” He leaned over the stir-fry, dumping in thin strips of steak and some shitake mushrooms.

 

“I don't go around whining about it, do I?” Schuldig pulled a bottle of soda out of the fridge and slammed it shut so hard that Yohji was sure the next time it was opened, everything would fall out and smash on the floor. “Maybe the little shit doesn't deserve to have everyone so fucking concerned about him every moment of the day; did you ever consider that possibility?”

 

It had been four days since Farfarello had come by with his cartload of reading materials, and since then they had barely seen Aya. He ventured out once in a while for food or drink - he had his own bathroom - looking tired and wan, with black circles under his eyes. Even so, Schuldig and Yohji were loath to try and deter him from the task he had been set. Aya had made it clear that this was something he was going to do regardless of anyone's opinions on the subject, and Yohji knew better than to argue with Aya when he was that determined.

 

Schuldig knew better as well, but that morning he had still tried to convince Aya to take the day off, or at least part of the day. Yohji hadn't been privy to that mental exchange, but after he'd talked to Aya, Schu had been irritable all day. Far too irritable for Yohji to want to try and get any information out of him, and the angry German wasn't being forthcoming.

 

Yohji rubbed the back of his head absently as he took the wok off the fire and poured ginger sauce over the food, inhaling the fragrant hissing steam. Stirring it, he looked over at his boyfriend, who was still banging around the kitchen, getting out plates and setting the little kitchen table, sucking down soda straight from the bottle - something he knew Yohji hated for him to do, but Yohji gritted his teeth and let it go. No sense making dinner any more tense.

 

He scraped the stir-fry into a serving dish, turned to bring that and the dish of fried rice to the table, and nearly dropped them when he saw Aya hovering in the doorway. He had never come out of his room at mealtimes, only at odd hours to grab leftovers from the fridge. “Aya? You hungry?” he asked, recovering and bringing the dishes to the table, where Schuldig sat staring at his plate as though it had just called his mother a five-dollar hooker. If, that was, Schuldig had been able to remember his mother.

 

“I…” Aya looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Yes.”

 

Yohji waited for more, but Aya remained silent. “Um…should I make you a tray?” Yohji asked hesitantly. Schuldig snorted derisively, but he also said nothing. Sighing inwardly, Yohji went to the cabinet to get Aya a plate. He hated being in the middle of this. Especially since he didn't even know what it was about.

 

“Yohji…” Aya began, stepping into the room, “I…would like to eat with you two, if…” His voice dropped off, and he shot an unsure glance at Schuldig, who was glaring at him venomously.

 

“Oh, really?” Schuldig rose from the table and folded his arms. Uh-oh, Yohji thought. “The two of us? Are you sure? Because as you know, I don't BELONG here with you, since I'm just the shitty, manipulative Esszet son-of-a-whore who makes everybody do and say whatever the fuck I want them to, while abducting their beloved family members for demonic experiments,” Schuldig spat, looking very close to hurling everything on the table, and possibly the rest of the kitchen as well, at Aya.

 

Ah. So that's what this mess was about. Schuldig was surprisingly sensitive about the conflicts between Schwarz and Weiß, especially after Farfarello had shot Ouka. Yohji didn't really understand why, especially considering how much time had passed, and the relationships between the former members of Weiß and Schwarz had changed so much. But it sounded like Aya hadn't grown out of his tendency to bring up old shit to protect himself from the present, especially when he felt backed into a corner. Schuldig excelled at making one feel backed into a corner, and Aya excelled at making one feel like complete shit about things that had happened days, weeks, months, years ago.

 

Aya was staring at his feet, his hair - brushed and gleaming, much healthier than it had looked in Kyoto - hiding his face. Yohji set the plate on the counter and waited. He could tell from Schuldig's eyes that there was no mental conversation going on, and the silence worried him.

 

Just as it looked like Schuldig was going to start lashing out with a vengeance, Aya suddenly strode forward and threw his arms around Schuldig's shoulders, hugging him hard. Yohji was glad he wasn't holding any dishes, as they would most certainly be in pieces at his feet. Schuldig's eyes looked like they were going to float right out of his head and hover like little weather balloons.

 

“I'm sorry, Schu,” Aya said at last. “I didn't mean it. Not any of it. I'm sorry. I understand if you hate me.”

 

::Yohji?::

 

It was the first thing that Schu had said to him telepathically since that morning, and Yohji felt relieved. He'd missed that mental voice. ::Yes, dear?::

 

::This isn't normal for him, is it?:: Aya was still hugging him, laying his head on Schuldig's shoulder, eyes tightly shut, tensed as though he expected at any moment to be shoved off and pummeled.

 

::I've never seen anything like it,:: Yohji answered truthfully.

 

::Ah. I thought so.:: Schuldig put his arms around Aya, laying his cheek on the back of the red head. He chuckled. “I forgive you, you frustrating little bastard.” He had to hold Aya tighter after he said this, as it looked to Yohji like Aya's knees nearly buckled in relief. The tension drained out of the room, and Yohji felt immensely cheered as he began setting a place for Aya at the table. Though he was a bit surprised at how quickly Schuldig had forgiven Aya, considering how mad he'd been, his boyfriend's moods were known to change faster than one could say `bi-polar,' so it wasn't unheard of.

 

::It's amazing,:: Schu remarked to him. ::Aya is so rarely sorry for something he's done, but when he is, it radiates from his entire being. I don't even have to read him to feel it resonating with my telepathy. I've never experienced that from anyone. How could I stay mad at him?::

 

::I see what you mean,:: Yohji sent, grinning.

 

When Yohji had finished setting the table, Schuldig and Aya were still hugging. He raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend. ::We gonna eat sometime tonight, or are you just going to feel up Aya for the rest of the evening?:: He couldn't keep a note of envy out of his thoughts as he eyed Aya's beautiful body - Aya hadn't really hugged him since the day they'd arrived in Kyoto.

 

::Hey, we're having a moment, here. A sweet, emotional, platonic, totally non-sexual moment.:: Schu lowered his hand so that it rested at the waistband of Aya's thin, tight sweatpants, where there was a slight gap that exposed a line of pale flesh. ::Though I must admit, having this delectable feast of a body wrapped around me goes a long way towards him getting in my good books.:: He motioned to Yohji with one hand. ::Come on, Yohji, make an Aya sandwich with me. He's exhausted, he feels like a total fuck-up, and he's way too touch-deprived.:: Schu chuckled lightly in his mind. ::I think he's actually falling asleep, here.::

 

Yohji wanted to. He would have liked to provide Aya some comfort in whatever way he could. There were just too many memories of embracing Aya from behind kicking around in his mind. And now, with all that sleek new muscle and long, gorgeous hair spilling everywhere…his cock already needed adjusting, and he hadn't even moved. ::I can't, Schuldig,:: he sent, sitting down and beginning to serve himself.

 

“Alright, Aya,” Schu said, giving the redhead a little shake. “Let's eat before you start snoring and drooling down my shirt.”

 

Aya came fully awake with a sharp intake of breath, and said, “I don't snore and I don't drool in my sleep. I just hog the covers, and people say I sleep-talk but I don't believe them,” as he pulled back slightly from Schuldig, sending a fleeting, pointed glare at Yohji.

 

“It's all true,” Yohji felt compelled to add as he shoveled fried rice and meat into his face.

 

Schuldig didn't let Aya go, but looked into his eyes in a way that Yohji recognized as his This-Is-Important-Information look. There was silent communication for a few seconds. Yohji chewed slowly, watching them. Then Schuldig smiled and laughed a little, pulled Aya back to him and kissed him.

 

At first this didn't bother Yohji - Schuldig had kissed Aya before. Little more than lingering pecks, really. But this went on. And on. And when Aya shifted he saw his boyfriend's tongue in Aya's mouth. Aya wasn't biting him, either. Yohji's throat closed up.

 

::What the hell are you doing, Schuldig?:: he demanded, setting his chopsticks down.

 

Schu pulled gently away from Aya and smiled at him, brushing his blood-red hair back from his face and cupping it in both hands. ::Don't worry, he's alright.:: They separated - finally - and sat down, and Schu began serving himself a small mountain of rice.

 

::He's alright? Does that have anything to do with the question I asked you?:: Yohji sent, trying to figure out if he was mad, jealous, turned on, pleased, hurt or what.

 

“Yohji?” Aya was looking at him curiously. “Did…are you…?”

 

“How come you didn't bite him?” Yohji asked before he could stop himself. It came out sounding bewildered, which he supposed was as good a description as any for how he felt.

 

Aya looked taken aback, then mortified, and Yohji saw him start shutting down. Son-of-a-bitching-crap, he thought wearily, as Aya began getting up from the table. He reached over and grabbed Aya's wrist. “Sit, Aya, come on. I was just surprised, that's all. You came out here to eat with us, right? So, eat, already, before it gets cold. Colder,” he amended wryly.

 

Aya was eyeing him dubiously, and the familiarity of Aya's suspicious nature made Yohji smile. This apparently decided Aya, who sank down into his chair. Yohji patted his wrist and handed him the bowl of fried rice. “You'd better take some fast, before the Schu-cochon inhales it all.”

 

“I like Schu-pig better,” Schuldig said blithely, swirling a forkful of daikon and mushrooms in the sauce - he didn't often use chopsticks outside of Japan. He was looking at Yohji a little worriedly. ::I upset you. I didn't mean to; I didn't think it would upset you. I thought -- ::

 

::We'll talk about it later,:: Yohji interrupted. “How about Schu-cho?” he asked aloud, by way of distraction.

 

Aya actually giggled. “Schu-chu from Schu-cho,” he murmured, when the other two looked at him inquisitively.

 

Schuldig laughed. “Feurig, you're in a weird mood tonight. It's nice.”

 

“I'm delirious. I haven't slept in four days.”

 

“Damn, Aya,” Yohji said, concerned. “I know you want to show Farfarello that you're competent, but how are you going to do that if you start hallucinating giant blue toads hopping all over the kitchen because you didn't sleep all week?”

 

“It's okay,” Aya said as he chewed. He was eating much faster than usual; he only did that when he was near-starving, Yohji remembered. He heaped more of his nondescript stir-fry on Aya's plate. Aya didn't even seem to notice, just kept eating and talking. “I'm done reading now; I'll sleep tonight.”

 

“You finished reading all that shit Farf brought over here already?” Schuldig asked, incredulous.

 

Aya shrugged. “Most of it twice. When I was eight and Aya was six, Mother decided we should take lessons in speed-reading. I can't remember her reasons…” He took another huge bite, and barely even chewed before he swallowed. “I've gotten fairly good at it over the years.”

 

“Aya has a photographic memory, too,” Yohji piped in, remembering how Aya barely needed a glance at a blueprint to know every facet of a building from ventilation shafts to sewer access points.

 

“And they called Nagi Prodigy,” Schuldig teased, grinning.

 

The other redhead rolled his eyes. “It's just memory strategies. I didn't have any friends as a kid other than my imouto, so I had a lot of time on my hands to do nerdy stuff like that.”

 

“Why didn't you have any friends?” Schuldig asked, glancing at Yohji. ::Is it okay to ask that, do you think? I don't want to set him off or anything.::

 

Before Yohji could respond, Aya said, “I was a redheaded, purple-eyed, tall, gangly mutant in a sea of properly short Japanese children with black eyes and brown or black hair. What's more, I wasn't even a gaijin, which might have rendered my mutations almost tolerable.” Another huge bite of stir-fry. “But even the few foreign kids at my school thought I was freakish. And then, after I started perfecting my glare - “ he flashed a smile at Yohji, who grinned back, “and especially after I broke a kid's arm when he tried to bully me into giving him my bento, I was a scary mutant. Teachers would barely speak to me, even. So I didn't have any friends. It was okay, though, because I had…” Aya trailed off.

 

“You know you're not a mutant, don't you, Aya?” Schuldig said softly. “You're a product of recessive genes. Us Psis, we're the real mutants, the real freaks. You're not a mutant, you're just an extraordinary man.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Yohji said, raising his glass of soda to Aya.

 

He expected Aya to grumble about not being extraordinary at all, but instead Aya got a sad, misty-eyed look on his face. “It doesn't matter whether I'm a mutant or not,” he said softly, “if I'm perceived as one.”

 

“Aya - “ Yohji began, but was interrupted by the jingling of Schuldig's cell phone.

 

Schu yanked it out of his pocket and checked the number. “It's Farfie,” he said, pushing a button and lifting the phone to his ear. “Darling! How are you?” He grinned and snickered, and then held the phone out to Aya. “He wants to talk to you, Feurig.”

 

“Oh.” Aya took the phone and mumbled a greeting into it. “Hello, Farfarello. I just got finished. Yes. I'm going to practice with the knives tomorrow after I get some sleep. No, not since Monday.'” He laughed. “No, I don't do coke.” He raised his eyebrows. “Really. Widespread practice in the industry, is it? Do you?” Snicker. “Didn't think so. What - “ His eyes got big. “Um…I guess so. I mean, yes, I can do that. I don't know. Let me ask.” Aya looked up. “Are you two free for dinner on Sunday?”

 

Yohji and Schuldig glanced at each other. Yohji gave a tiny shrug. “Of course,” he said. “Something going on at the restaurant?”

 

“No, he wants me to come to his place and make dinner for us. A trial run, I'm guessing.” His attention went back to the phone. “One of those things? Alright. Alright, I'll be there at seven Sunday morning.” Aya grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the phone table and began scribbling directions on it.

 

“Seven in the morning to make dinner?” Yohji asked no one in particular.

 

“I guess whatever it is that we're going to eat is complicated to make. Or just has a really long cooking time. Or both,” Schuldig mused.

 

Aya hung up the phone and handed it back to Schuldig. “Both. He wants me to make a Turducken.”

 

“What in the nine hells is a Turducken? It sounds nasty,” Yohji said, nose wrinkling.

 

“It's one of Thibodeaux's specialties,” Schuldig answered. “I've seen it on the menu, but never felt compelled to order it. They sell them by the halves and quarters, but it still seems like too much food for one person. Though after tonight I can certainly see Aya scarfing one down.”

 

Aya paused in the act of scraping the remainder of the fried rice from the serving bowl to his mouth. Putting the empty bowl down, he raised his middle finger to Schu as he chewed.

 

“Okay, but what IS it?” Yohji asked again.

 

“It's a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken,” Schu answered, after making a face at Aya.

 

“What? A chicken in a duck? Aren't ducks smaller than chickens?”

 

“No. That's your first question? I think mine was, who the hell thought this up and why? Because apparently it's sort of a Louisiana `folk' dish, not something the restaurant came up with. Apparently the `folks' eat squirrel, as well,” Schuldig said with a shudder of disgust. “I'm glad the restaurant didn't decide to put those on the menu.”

 

Aya finally swallowed. “Germans eat raw pork,” he said, matter-of-factly.

 

Yohji's eyes widened. “Isn't that dangerous? Aren't pigs filled with disease or something?”

 

Schuldig snorted. “In this country, yes. In Germany, no. We feed our pigs properly; we don't give them garbage and breed sickness by feeding them with whatever's left over from the slaughter of their brethren. And look who's talking, raw fish-eater,” Schuldig said, turning back to Aya. “That's not even the most disgusting thing you people eat. `Mountain potato,' for example - ugh, don't get me started on this when I just ate!”

 

Aya shrugged. “You're the one that started it. And I don't like yamaimo either.”

 

Schuldig shook his head. “Let's change the subject. I got an interesting phone call today, from Nagi.”

 

“What?” Yohji knew Schu had been upset, but not with him. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked, offended.

 

“Don't get huffy. I was too mad to discuss it - Aya wasn't the only reason I was upset today. Don't start apologizing again, Aya,” Schuldig warned as Aya's mouth opened. He closed it reluctantly. “That's over and done with. Anyway, Nagi informed me that Brad is going even further underground than he is already. Apparently they're getting ready for the take-down.”

 

“I thought that wasn't going to happen for another six months or so,” Yohji said, eyes narrowing. “Why would they go in early?”

 

“There have been disturbing reports that the factions controlling Rosenkreuz have been relocating, unbeknownst to Brad and his factions. Their precogs and telepaths have been making a concerted effort to mask their activities - which isn't unusual, but their level of success at it is disturbing.”

 

“But somebody slipped up?” Aya asked.

 

“Yes. Either that or they wanted to give the appearance of having slipped up, but Brad thinks it's more likely that one or two Esszet Psis gave themselves brain hemorrhaging from pushing their talents too hard.” He glanced at Yohji. “It's not uncommon in precogs and telepaths, especially if they're fighting the talents of other precogs and telepaths. Esszet's used to crushing the opposition easily through sheer numbers, so I'm guessing Rosenkreuz didn't have their Psis on rotation like Crawford's faction. Too confident of their assured success,” Schuldig sneered, then looked somber. “So before the attack, there's going to be even greater secrecy. Nagi said Brad's made him his sole contact on the outside. Which means I won't be able to check in with him every week anymore.” Schu looked lost.

 

“Schuldig,” Yohji said, putting a hand on his lover's arm, “it was a pain in the ass having to call him anyway, right? Haven't you said that enough times?” He knew Schu didn't always mean it, that he still considered Crawford his friend and leader, but…

 

Schuldig shook his head slowly, looking up at Yohji. “You don't understand,” he said softly. “Brad Crawford is the reason I can be the way I am today, instead of how I was ten years ago. He's the reason Nagi can laugh sometimes - rarely enough, I know - and isn't a destructive, emotionless robot. He's the reason Farfarello can hold down a demanding job, instead of having to live from semi-lucid moment to semi-lucid moment for the rest of his life. First he got us away from Rosenkreuz before our souls were completely destroyed, then he gave us the hope of freedom, and then he delivered. He needed our help, but it was all his plan, Yohji. And that's not even it. He was the first friend I can remember having. As obnoxious and cruel as I tried to be to him, he still became my friend. I haven't gone a week without talking to him since the day I was assigned to him in the field thirteen years ago. Now I honestly don't know if he'll ever even let me speak to him again,” he finished, his eyes beginning to shine too brightly.

 

“I didn't know he meant that much to you,” Yohji said softly. Schuldig had never talked about Crawford very much, aside from reporting the week's news, if there was any.

 

“Why did he choose Nagi? Why didn't he choose me? I was with him longest,” Schu complained, starting to sound angry.

 

“That's a silly question,” Aya snapped, and Yohji glared at him. He paid no heed. “You know perfectly well why. Who've you been on the run from for five years?”

 

Schuldig looked like he was going to get hostile, but instead he deflated. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“Did he tell Nagi when the attack will be?” Yohji asked.

 

“If he did, Nagi didn't tell me, but I doubt it. Crawford loves to be secretive.”

 

“Was there any other news?” Aya asked, yawning gigantically.

 

“No. Go to bed, Aya. Unless you want me to see if there's a side of beef in the fridge.”

 

“'M full,” Aya mumbled. He was fading fast now that he'd eaten. Yohji thought he might just fall forward onto the table, but he managed to push his chair back and stand up. “Night.”

 

“Sleep well, Aya.”

 

“Night, Aya.”

 

Aya turned and walked briskly out of the room. Or would have, if his aim hadn't been off. Yohji winced, getting out of his chair. “That had to hurt.”

 

Schuldig was nearly giving himself convulsions trying not to laugh.

 

Yohji stuck a hand out to help Aya up off the floor, where he was lying flat on his back, dazed. His eye was already starting to blacken from being slammed into the doorframe. “Come on, I'll help you to your room.”

 

“'S okay. I'll stay here.”

 

Yohji looked over at Schu, who was still choking and snorting and gasping, looking as though at any moment he'd fall out of his chair. Tears streamed from his eyes.

 

Yohji shook his head in amusement, and knelt down to haul one of Aya's arms over his shoulder. “Let's go, Aya.” He strained against the redhead's deadweight. “Help me out a little, would you?”

 

“Oh, sorry,” Aya said muzzily, and didn't move. Yohji looked over and saw that he'd already fallen asleep.

 

Schuldig did fall out of his chair at that point, and began laughing out loud, hysterically. ::Oh. My. GOD. The great Abyssinian walks straight into a doorframe and almost knocks himself out, and then goes to sleep where he fell. This has got to be one of the funniest fucking things I've ever seen!::

 

Yohji, who'd given up trying to pick up Aya, said, “You need to get out more, then. It's not funny.” But his lips were trembling in an effort not to smile.

 

“Is too,” sleeping Aya mumbled, which set Schuldig off again.

 

Yohji decided there was no way he could win this argument, so he sat on the kitchen floor and waited for Schuldig to calm down enough to help him carry Aya to his room.

 

He glanced down at Aya and snorted involuntarily at the sight of the shiner he was developing. It was sort of funny…

 

::That's the spirit!:: Schu said, erupting into a fresh wave of giggles.

 

Yohji shook his head again, smiling. ::At least get him an ice pack, would you? Since you're collapsed in front of the fridge?::

 

Schuldig kept bursting into fresh bouts of giggles, so finally Yohji had to get the ice pack himself, “accidentally” treading on Schuldig's hand. Which, while making him slightly sulky, at least sobered him up enough that he could help Yohji get Aya squared away.

 

******

 

“So what was that all about, frenching Aya in front of me and not even letting me in on it?” Yohji asked a few hours later, sliding into bed next to Schuldig, who was actually reading a book - a rare occurrence for someone who found entertainment in so many other `less boring' ways.

 

“Let me finish this chapter before we get into all that,” Schu said distractedly, turning a page.

 

Yohji stared at him.

 

Schuldig looked up. “What?”

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Schuldig closed the book around his finger and whapped Yohji with it. “Ow!”

 

“I'm not completely illiterate, you know,” Schu huffed.

 

“What book are you finding so fascinating?” Yohji said, glancing over at the cover. He stared at Schuldig again. “You must be joking.”

 

Giving up on reading, Schu marked his place in the book, closing it. “Awfully judgmental for someone who actually has a `favorite' Danielle Steele novel.”

 

“Doesn't Stephen King write those crap horror books?”

 

“Have you ever actually read one?”

 

Yohji shrugged. “I saw some of the movies. Enough to know I wouldn't like the books.”

 

“Oh, right, because movies always portray the books they're based on with perfect accuracy.”

 

“I've seen enough real gore in my life without having to spend hours and hours reading made-up gore.”

 

“Now that makes a bit more sense.” He threw a glance at the book. “I overheard some lady thinking about this book, and it sounded interesting, so I bought it.”

 

Yohji found the title of the book in smallish print under the enormous author's name. “'Cell.' What, it's about a possessed cell phone?”

 

Schuldig put the book on his night table crossed his arms. “No, it's not, actually. It's pretty creepy. Or, at least it would be if this King knew jack shit about telepathy.” He gave the book a considering look. “Actually, it's still creepy. Half the time I want to laugh myself silly at his stupid ignorance, and half the time I want to throw my cell phone under a passing semi.”

 

“Telepathy?”

 

Schuldig waved dismissively. “It delves into the idea of the telepathic hive mind, only it likens the brain too much to a computer - if the brain was that much like a computer, I'd be able to read everything on a hard drive just by switching the thing on. But I'm not about to sit here and give you a blow-by-blow account of this book.”

 

“Then how about answering my first question? You know, the one about Aya?”

 

“Ah. That.” Schuldig looked a bit uncomfortable. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 

Yohji raised an eyebrow. “You can do better than that.”

 

“Really! He was so contrite and exhausted and hungry and pretty, and I thought you might like to watch - “

 

Yohji's eyes hardened. “If you'd been thinking of me at all, I think you would have asked me what I'd like.”

 

Schu ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose you're probably right,” he said after a minute.

 

“You just wanted to, so you did it without any thought of how I might perceive it. Or Aya, for that matter.”

 

Schuldig snorted. “Aya won't even remember it.”

 

“That's not the point, Sch - did you erase it?” Yohji asked, alarmed. Schuldig had promised he wouldn't ever just erase things he didn't want to have to deal with, but as evidenced by him kissing Aya, he still had something of an impulse control problem.

 

Schu was starting to get angry. “No. I promised you I wouldn't, and I've never broken a promise I've made to you, have I? Besides, what would be the point of erasing it from his memory, but not from yours? I don't care if he remembers it or not!”

 

“Alright, alright. Sorry. Look, I don't really have an issue with the actual kissing - though if you do it again without asking or including me, I will - but I don't want you treating Aya like some kind of pretty doll. Aside from the fact that he deserves more respect than that, no matter how passive he seems these days, I guarantee that will come back to bite you on the ass eventually. And not in the good way,” Yohji added, rolling his eyes at Schuldig's smirk. “In the katana-in-your-guts-as-you-sleep way.”

 

“I did ask him first,” Schu said.

 

Yohji was surprised. “Oh? He actually said yes?”

 

“He asked if you would be kissing him too.” Schu looked really sheepish now.

 

Yohji slapped a hand over his eyes. “And you lied to him.”

 

“I just wanted to see what it was like!”

 

“Don't lie to him, Schuldig.”

 

“Okay, Yohji.”

 

“Promise me.”

 

Schuldig looked at him. “I don't lie to you, isn't that enough?”

 

Yohji wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. Better yet, to tear Schuldig's hair out. “You know perfectly well that it isn't.”

 

“But I might need to lie to Aya about something,” Schu protested.

 

“You - if Aya needs to be lied to, I'll do it, how about that,” Yohji tried.

 

Schuldig considered. “Okay. I promise that if Aya needs to be lied to, you can do it.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

Yohji grabbed Schuldig's pillow from behind him and started whacking him with it.

 

“Hey! Stop!” Schuldig grabbed the pillow back from him. “Alright, fine. I promise I won't lie to Aya anymore.”

 

“Aya meaning Ran, and not Aya-chan.”

 

Schuldig sighed and held up his right hand. “I swear to you by all that is evil and unholy that I will never lie to Aya, meaning Ran, the guy with the red hair, who's near six feet tall and was born on July 4th - “

 

“Right, right. Shut up now and turn out your light.”

 

Schuldig complied, and Yohji turned on his side, facing away from him.

 

“Yohji?” Schu asked quietly after a minute.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Are you upset with me?”

 

Yohji rubbed his forehead hard with the heel of his hand. ::Go to sleep, Schu.::

 

::I won't be able to sleep if I think you're upset with me.::

 

Lord, have mercy… ::No, I'm not upset. Now sleep.::

 

::You're lying to me, now.::

 

::So don't ask if you know the answer. I'll be fine tomorrow.::

 

::Would it help if I gave you the experience of kissing Aya?::

 

Yohji sighed, and turned over to face Schuldig. ::No. You wanted it for yourself, so you should keep it. Honestly, I'll have completely gotten over all this nonsense by morning, but only if you let me get some sleep!::

 

::Can I hold you? It's been kind of a rough day.::

 

::I guess.:: Yohji inched over to Schuldig and put his head on his lover's chest, feeling Schu's arms close around him.

 

::I love you, Yohji. More than anything or anyone.::

 

::Love you too. Now shut the hell up.::

 

******

 

“You know, we really should have had Aya bring stuff from our house over here. All that food he was chopping and filleting and dicing and whatever is going to go bad,” Yohji said as they rode the elevator to Farf's apartment early Sunday evening. Farf's place took up the entire top floor of the small nine-storey building.

 

“Yohji, he must have mutilated 400 cucumbers and 200 pounds of meat and fish. At least. Some of it's going to go to waste, I'm sorry to tell you.”

Schuldig shifted so he could slip an arm around Yohji's waist.

 

The elevator opened onto a short entrance hallway that led to elegant double-doors. As they approached, Yohji heard the sound of a violin. “Uh-oh, Aya's making him listen to classical music?”

 

Schuldig looked puzzled. “Aya's the only person in the world who likes violins?”

 

“I didn't have Farf pegged as a concerto kind of guy.”

 

“Ch'! Since when do you have anything about Farf `pegged', Yohji?”

 

The music abruptly stopped, and a couple of seconds later the front door opened. “See, this is how it works,” Farfarello said, grabbing Yohji's hand. Yohji tried not to panic.

 

::Good thinking. He can smell fear.::

 

::Shut up, Schu!::

 

Farfarello was curling Yohji's fingers into a fist. “Ye do yer hand up like this, and…” He knocked on the door with Yohji's hand, and released him. “That's called knocking on the door. It's often useful for getting people's attention if ye want them to let ye in their house. There's also this thing called a doorbell - “

 

“Ha, ha, Farf. Jeez, we were only here two seconds - “

 

“ - which is even lit up for yer convenience - “

 

“So, um, now that we're here and you've answered the door, can we come in?” Yohji asked brightly. He couldn't see Aya anywhere behind Farf and wanted to make sure he was okay.

 

Farfarello eyed him shrewdly. “Certainly. Aya'll just be a few more minutes in the oven - oops, I mean in the kitchen,” he mock-corrected as Yohji's heart stuttered.

 

“It's not nice to give your guests infarctions, Farf,” Schuldig said, breezing by them into the apartment.

 

“I'm not a nice guy,” Farf said, smiling at Yohji with more teeth than necessary.

 

Yohji gulped. “I'll just wait in the car, then, shall I?” he said. His nerves weren't up to this.

 

“Oh, don't do that,” Farf said, swinging him around and fairly tossing him into the apartment, closing the door and locking it. “Let me show ye my knife collection. I just sharpened them all.”

 

Schuldig stuck his head around the corner. “Hey, there's a really nice view from back here, Yotan!”

 

“Oh, really?” Yohji said, trying to sound casual and walk sedately, though his ass seemed to be trying to get ahead of him. He heard Farfarello snickering behind him, and tried hard not to be embarrassed.

 

::You make it way too easy for him, you know,:: Schuldig commented as Yohji joined him on the balcony.

 

::I can't help it. I don't think I'll ever get used to him.::

 

Schuldig tsked. “Isn't this nice?” he asked, indicating the view.

 

Yohji looked around. It was very nice, really. A rambling garden stretched near to the shores of a lake, which on their side was lined with weeping willows. Sprawling around the rest of the lake were enormous old oaks hung with beards of Spanish moss. The air smelled sweet, and as it was only early December it wasn't very cold. “Yeah, it's pretty.” The sound of the violin started up again, reminding Yohji why they were here. He turned around. “I'm going to check on Aya.”

 

“Yes, and we're being awfully rude to Farf. He didn't have to invite us, you know.”

 

“He's probably used to it,” Yohji said without thinking, and cringed at how it sounded.

 

Schuldig said, “Yeah, he is used to it, but not from me. You want to be a jerk, you're on your own.” He opened the balcony door and nearly shut it in Yohji's face.

 

Resigned to an unpleasant, scary evening during which he would have to be on his best behavior or risk being - as Schu liked to say - `cut off', two words which Yohji fervently believed should never be associated with sex in any way, Yohji re-entered the living area he had nearly sprinted through on his way to the balcony.

 

Three things struck him as he looked around the room. One, aside from some medieval paraphernalia and some odd-looking swords mounted on the walls, it was really quite tasteful. Almost normal, one might say. Vaulted ceiling, wooden floors oiled so that they almost glowed, a carved stone fireplace, lots of custom shelving and bookcases, warm wooden furniture with black leather upholstery that was all almost certainly designer, but nothing too flashy or esoteric…it was almost cozy.

 

The second thing that struck him, to his relief, was that Aya was sitting on the couch, swirling a small snifter of something, looking perfectly at ease. His eye was only swollen half-closed, and didn't seem to be paining him, though the bruising was still nasty-looking.

 

The third thing was that Farfarello was leaning against the wall facing Aya, playing the violin. And though he was no one to judge, really, it seemed to Yohji that he played brilliantly.

 

Rather than interrupt with some incredulous comment only to be embarrassed yet again, Yohji quietly walked over to a chair next to Schuldig's, and sat down.

 

As soon as his butt hit the seat, Farfarello stopped playing and leaned the instrument against the wall. “Cognac, Yohji?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” Yohji said, trying to relax. As Farfarello crossed the room to the cut glass decanter - his hair was in a high ponytail that swung almost cutely - Yohji asked Schu, ::Could he always do that - play like that?::

 

::Of course,:: Schuldig sent. ::All Irishmen come straight out of their ma's womb fiddlin' `The Blarney Pilgrim', you know.::

 

::I'm going to spend most of my time tonight sighing in defeat, aren't I? And that was Irish fold music, that was Paganini, if I'm not mistaken - Aya loves Paganini.::

 

There was a buzzing sound from what Yohji presumed was the kitchen, and Aya stood up and made his way out of the room in that slightly-more-careful-than-normal way he had when he was somewhat drunk. Yohji noticed his hair was in a braid, and wondered if he'd done that himself. He found it hard to imagine Farfarello braiding someone's hair, but as Schu had mentioned, he was mostly mystified by the albino and couldn't figure out much about him, ex-detective though he was.

 

As Farf handed him his glass, Yohji decided to try a compliment. “You play really well,” he said, and tensed in case that was the wrong thing to say.

 

Farf smiled at him - thankfully without teeth - and said, “Thanks. Drink. Relax.”

 

As Farf handed Schuldig a glass as well - presumably he'd wanted to wait for Yohji - the German grinned evilly and said, “Thanks, Mr. Fiddlefast.”

 

Farfarello froze, then crossed his arms and glared. “Schuldig, no. No. I'm tossing ye off the balcony if ye do, I swear.”

 

“Just the chorus!”

 

“No, ye son of a goat!”

 

Schuldig sprang up, raced forward and vaulted over the couch so it was between him and Farfarello, cackling.

 

“Schu - “

 

Schuldig began caterwauling at the top of his lungs, in complete defiance of tone and melody.

 

“Faaarfiiiie Fiddlefast,

The fastest fiddler in the foooorest!

Farfie will last and last

As the fastest fiddler in the fooooorest!”

 

“What in the name of all that is good and sacred on this earth is that abominable racket?” Aya hollered, bursting out of the kitchen.

 

Farfarello took advantage of the distraction to dive over the couch and tackle Schuldig. Alarmed, Yohji flew across the room to find Farf attempting to gag Schuldig with his own hair. He leaped on top of Farfarello, attempting - quite unsuccessfully - to put him in a half-nelson.

 

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Aya roared, almost as loudly as he used to scream at Takatori, startling everybody. He glared at the two and a half pairs of eyes staring at him. “How do you expect me to concentrate with all this noise? Schuldig, stop singing.“ He seemed about to go on, but paused, looking thoughtful. “Actually, if you don't sing, everything will probably be all right. I'll help Farfarello gag you if you start again.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

“Hey!” Schuldig tried to holler around his hair. He ended up inhaling a bunch of it and choking.

 

Apparently deciding that was enough punishment, Farf slid out from under Yohji and turned to him. “Ye really need better hand to hand skills if you're going to defend him from me.”

 

“You could always stop attacking him!” Yohji snapped, pounding Schuldig on the back as he coughed.

 

“I really don't think I can, no,” Farf said, shaking his head regretfully.

 

Eventually the three of them settled back in the living room, only to have Aya call Farf for a hand bringing everything out to the table. As the Irishman left the room, Schuldig clapped his hands together gleefully. “Did you see the look on his face? Oh, that was so priceless!”

 

“Huh? On whose face?” Yohji muttered distractedly. His pride was still injured from how obvious it was that Farf could wipe the floor with him. Possibly Schuldig as well, but at least his boyfriend had been holding his own before inhaling his hair.

 

“Farfarello's, who do you think?”

 

“Oh, that. I was a little distracted by the…um…singing,” Yohji said diplomatically.

 

“He hates that song,” Schuldig informed him happily.

 

“I gathered that. Did you make that up?”

 

Schuldig looked at Yohji like he'd suggested that he put a live octopus in his pants for luck. “No. God, no. It's from a children's record I discovered at a garage sale when Schwarz was in the States once.”

 

“Since when do you go to garage sales?”

 

“Hey, it was rural Massachusettes. I had nothing better to do.” He took the last sip of his cognac as Farf and Aya came into the dining area, which was a comfortable nook set next to the kitchen and was open to the living room, setting platters of food on the large square table.

 

“Food's done,” Farf said. “Get over here now or we're not leaving ye any.”

 

“Aww, it's like being back in Schwarz,” Schuldig said, getting up and walking with Yohji to the table.

 

The food was very nicely presented, but it all looked rather scary to Yohji. That, and there was far too much of it, he thought grimly, looking over the partially sliced poultry abomination that was the Turducken.

 

Though, he had to admit, everything smelled really, really good.

 

Farf and Aya made short work of serving everyone and relegating the dishes to a sideboard, then started spooning what seemed a bewildering array of gravies over everything on their plates. Yohji glanced at Schuldig, who shrugged. ::Just do what they're doing.::

 

Once everything on his plate was swimming, Yohji cut a piece of turkey, which came off accompanied by a vile-looking brown sludge. Trying not to wince or squeeze his eyes shut, he popped the mess on his fork into his mouth and chewed.

 

His eyes snapped open.

 

“Hey, this is really good!” he cried. “Delicious, Aya!”

 

Farf chuckled and Aya rolled his eyes. “Thanks for sounding so surprised, Yohji.”

 

“No, I mean - “ he paused to take another bite, continuing around his chewing, “ - it looks really horrible, though. What the hell is this brown sludge? It's fantastic!”

 

“It's stuffing made with a turkey liver and truffle oil pâté, and I suggest to ye that it's really bad form to insult the chef at the dinner table,” warned Farfarello.

 

“I just can't get over this,” Yohji marveled, barely hearing him.

 

“I thought pâté had to be goose liver,” Schuldig said, adjusting his silver bandanna to keep his hair out of his food more effectively.

 

“Pâté de fois gras is goose liver. You can make pâté out of anything; it just means paste,” Farf explained. “You can make it out of strained peaches and bacon grease if you want. That's not a recommendation.”

 

“What's this stuff?” Yohji asked, forking out a different-colored stuffing from between the duck and the chicken layers.

 

Aya sighed. “You want me to identify what's on your plate for you, Yohji?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“Fine.” He reached over with his knife and stabbed each thing as he identified it. “Turkey. Brown sludge,” he intoned sarcastically, but not without amusement. Yohji rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Duck,” Aya continued, “Eggplant, shrimp and oyster stuffing. Chicken. Cornbread and chaurice - that's Creole pork sausage - stuffing. Rosemary-prune gravy.” He moved to another heap on Yohji's plate. “Mirlitons stuffed with boudin blanc.”

 

“Melly-taws?” Yohji asked.

 

“Also called a christophene, a chayote or a vegetable pear. It's a kind of squash. Boudin blanc is basically chicken sausage. Creamed oyster sauce. Spicy crawfish confit with red tarragon gravy. Confit means preserved in its own fat, but here you'd substitute `stewed' for `preserved' because crawfish don't keep well.” He pointed at several toasted rounds of baguette. “Bread,” he enunciated carefully.

 

“All right,” Yohji laughed, pushing Aya's hand away from his plate. “Lemme eat now.”

 

There was companionable silence as everyone stuffed their faces, washing down the meal with dry white wine that complemented the sweetness in the sauces.

 

Yohji noticed Aya glancing furtively at Farfarello from time to time, obviously waiting for his verdict. Farf was chewing each dish very slowly, wrinkles of concentration on his brow.

 

::Farf's apt to make him wait a while. Just ignore them.::

 

::Easy for you to say.::

 

“What did you forget to do to the béchamel sauce aux huîtres, Aya?” Farfarello said after a while, indicating what Aya had called `creamed oyster sauce.'

 

Aya froze in the act of chewing, his eyes widening. Then he swallowed and banged his head lightly on the back of his chair. “Damn it.”

 

“You remembered with the other sauces, though,” Farfarello reassured him.

 

“What? What's wrong with it?” Yohji asked.

 

“Nothing's wrong with it, I just forgot to add some butter at the end.”

 

“Always monter au buerre, Aya, always,” Farf instructed sternly.

 

“What difference does it make whether you add butter at the end or not?” Yohji asked, a little miffed that Farfarello was making such a big deal out of it.

 

“It emulsifies the sauce, gives it a mellower, richer flavor. It might not seem like much, but it's mostly little things that separate good food from great food.”

 

“Hai, sensei,” Aya said dejectedly, looking crushed.

 

Farfarello, who sat across from Yohji on Aya's other side, reached behind the swordsman and tugged on his braid. “Sheesh. Ye'd think I stood up and pissed on my plate or something.” Aya looked horrified at the thought, and Farf laughed. “Other than that I can't find a single thing wrong with any of this. Ye know I've got no reason to be soft on ye, either. Though I don't get as much enjoyment out of embarrassing people as some of us here - “ he glared at Schuldig, “ - I would have done it anyway if I'd found a reason to.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I would never have believed it if I hadn't been watching ye all day. Don't let it go to yer head, though. Cooking one meal, even if it takes you twelve hours, is still nothing like functioning professionally in a busy kitchen.”

 

“Hai, sensei,” Aya repeated, but much more brightly, and his eyes sparkled.

 

“Speaking of embarrassing one's friends, what's this I hear about someone writing a song about you for children?” Yohji asked when the eating pace slowed a bit.

 

“Hm?” Aya said as Schu started cackling again.

 

Farf sighed. “Schuldig, because he is a sadistic little prick, found this kid's record from the `80s about these four moralizing little elf-bastards called Lolliwinks, one of whose name happened to be Farfi Fiddlefast, because as everyone knows God hates me. So when I was being restraint-punished by Crawford for some mild infraction like slaughtering too many people in messy and disgusting ways, Schuldig would put this record on and play it over and over and over until Crawford couldn't stand the singing anymore.”

 

“Yeah, Farf would sing all the songs at the top of his lungs,” Schuldig giggled.

 

“It was a case of `if ye can't beat `em, try to break yer own eardrums,'” Farf clarified, shrugging. “Though I suppose if I'd been about seven I would have thought they had some catchy tunes.”

 

“Sing the Brad song, Farf!” Schuldig cried, positively bouncing in his chair.

 

“No,” Farf said flatly.

 

“Oh, you'd rather I sung it?”

 

“NO,” Farf and Aya said adamantly, in unison.

 

Schuldig crossed his arms. “Well either you sing it or I'm going to.”

 

“Please don't let him sing,” Aya implored.

 

Farfarello looked like he would rather break all their necks, toss them all over the balcony and have done with them, but he said, “Fine. Ye've asked for it. But I'm only doing the chorus, and I'm not screeching it like a castrated hyena.”

 

Schuldig laced his fingers together and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. “What more could I ask for?”

 

To Yohji's horror, Farfarello started to sing:

 

“Planning ahead is Blinky Thinkertinker's plan,

A plan that's written by his very own hand.

Planning ahead is good advice to follow

Here in Lolliwink land.

 

There. The Brad song chorus. Happy? No more fucking songs, Schuldig, or I'll have to stab ye again, in a more vital place.”

 

As Schuldig squealed with delight and leaped out of his chair to hug Farf, who fought him valiantly, Yohji turned to Aya, who looked a little stunned. “That was the most disturbing thing I've ever heard,” he remarked.

 

Aya blinked, and shrugged. “It was better than Schuldig. Farfarello can stay on key, at least. The song sounds like Crawford, though, doesn't it?”

 

“This reminds me - knock it off, ye fucking screwhead! - which one of ye's been beating on my sous-chef?” Farf asked, still fighting Schu, who was attempting to kiss Farf's cheek without getting clobbered.

 

Yohji sighed. He was getting a much clearer picture of what life in Schwarz must have been like. Well, if Schu wanted so badly to tempt fate, Yohji wasn't going to get in fate's way if it wanted to belt him one…

 

Schuldig paused abruptly, and then sat down. “I'll show you the culprit,” he whispered conspiratorially.

 

“Schuldig,” Aya said warningly. “Stop being annoying.”

 

Farf looked at Aya. “Ask the grass to stop being green, why don't ye,” he said. Then his eyes unfocused for several seconds as, presumably, Schuldig played the doorframe incident for him. He shook his head. “Oy, Abyssinian, that was just sad.”

 

“Hey!” Aya threw his napkin into his mostly empty plate. “I was half-asleep because somebody didn't give me much time to study about forty-thousand pages' worth of crap!”

 

“And then he spent about twelve hours yesterday chopping up enough food to feed Eurasia,” Schuldig supplied helpfully.

 

“I don't know why you thought you needed that much practice, Aya,” Yohji added. “You've always been good with a blade.”

 

Farfarello turned his eye to Yohji. “Oh, yes,” he said, deadpan, “and so many cooks these days peel their potatoes with a three-foot katana.”

 

Aya had just taken a drink of wine, and had to spit it on the floor - and Yohji, though he didn't notice it - so he wouldn't choke on it while laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” he managed after a minute. “I'll get a mop.”

 

“This is a very weird night,” Yohji said, after Aya had gone into the kitchen. “But it's great to see Aya laughing, even if he did spit wine all over my pants.”

 

“Yeah, I've kept him pretty well sauced all day,” Farf said. “I'm surprised he had the presence of mind to spit it, instead of inhaling it or snorting it out his nose.”

 

“He's been drinking all day?” Yohji asked, not sure now if this was such a good development.

 

“Well, when he got here he was really high-strung and agonizing about every little detail, going over and over everything in his mind. You can't do that when you're on the line. So, I mellowed him out in the traditional way.”

 

“Sex?” asked Schuldig.

 

“Aren't you ready to be put down for a nap yet?” Farf asked.

 

“How is he going to be ready to start working for you tomorrow if he's hung-over for half the day?” Yohji demanded.

 

“More than half the crew is hung-over on Monday. No big deal.”

 

“And then what, they drink for the rest of the day as well?”

 

“Hey, I'd rather have a tanked chef who does what he's supposed to do than a sober chef who hesitates so much that the line grinds to a halt. And it's not as though I forcibly shot him up with heroin or something. I just supplied the wine, he filled his own glass.”

 

“I know, but, I mean…last week we were lucky if he said one word to us all day, or moved from in front of the TV for any reason at all. I'm glad he seems to be coming back to himself again, but someone who's that depressed…I just don't think he should be drinking that much, do you?”

 

Farfarello nodded. “I'll know well before he does if it's becoming a problem. Honestly, though, I don't think you have anything to worry about. He'll be more focused and less nervous when he's actually on the job, I'm sure, and I'm also sure he won't let himself drink anyway. Did he ever drink on or before missions?”

 

“No, but…things aren't the same, now,” Yohji finished, not sure how much he should say, what Farfarello already knew or guessed.

 

“Isn't Aya taking kind of a long time with the mop?” Schuldig wondered. He seemed much more subdued, for which Yohji couldn't help but be grateful.

 

“Yes, because he heard us talking about him and stopped to listen at the door,” Farf informed them casually. “I'll go see how upset he is.”

 

“Wh - you could have said something!” Yohji sputtered.

 

“You were an assassin too. You shouldn't let yourself get that lazy.” Farfarello rose from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

“Damn it! Did you know he was there, too?” Yohji demanded, irritated.

 

“Yes, but I wasn't talking about him, so I don't care.” Schuldig yawned cutely. “Let's move to the living room. I'm sleepy.”

 

“Of course you are. You've been bouncing around like a hyperactive two-year-old.” Yohji took Schuldig's hand and led him over to the couch.

 

“Yeah,” Schu said dreamily. “It's great being around the Farf again. I kind of miss him losing it and trying to carve me up with surgical instruments, though.”

 

“Well, just keep trying,” Yohji sighed, as he sat on the couch and Schu laid his head down in his lap. “I'm sure you'll drive him to it again some day.”

 

“Aw, that's sweet,” Schuldig mumbled.

 

Yohji shook his head, running his fingers through his suicidal boyfriend's orange mane.

 

Aya and Farfarello joined them a couple of minutes later. Yohji peered at Aya, and was relieved to see that he didn't look sullen or resentful. He smiled, and Aya returned it.

 

“Aww, the kid's asleep,” Farfarello observed. “They always look so peaceful and innocent in their sleep. Then they wake up and ye wonder why ye never bought a taser…”

 

“Yeah, I was hoping to get to the car before he conked out,” Yohji said.

 

“I'll carry him down, no worries.”

 

“Can I get a ride with you, Yohji? I'm not good to drive at the moment,” Aya murmured.

 

“You're welcome to stay over, Aya. You're to come in when I do this week, anyway,” Farf offered. “I have your whites here, too, so ye've got a change of clothes already.”

 

Aya considered. “Okay, that would be easier.”

 

“Right, then.” Farf slapped his knees and stood up. “I'll take that, Yohji,” he said, hauling Schuldig off Yohji's lap and slinging him over one shoulder.

 

“Don't be so rough with him!” Yohji admonished.

 

“Puss, do ye know how often I had to do this, when Nagi wasn't around or just didn't feel like spending the energy to move his knocked-out ass around? Schuldig isn't the delicate flower ye seem to think he is.”

 

Yohji couldn't help laughing. “I know he's tough, I just don't like him to be abused by anyone other than me.”

 

Farf raised an eyebrow. “Ye expect an awful lot of tolerance from other people, then.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose it's unrealistic.”

 

“Doubtless. Let's go, then.”

 

“Um…” Yohji glanced uncertainly at Aya, who was staring at his fingernails.

 

“Don't be long, I'm not carrying him all night,” Farf said, and headed for the door.

 

Yohji knelt in front of Aya. “Are you sure you'll be all right here?” he asked softly, touching one pale cheek that was delicately flushed with alcohol.

 

“I'll be fine.” Aya didn't look at him.

 

“Okay.” He hesitated. “You mad?”

 

Aya's eyes flicked up to meet his. “No. It was my first reaction, but then I remembered how you used to get falling-down drunk almost every night…”

 

Yohji chuckled grimly. “I wouldn't want to see you like that. Not that I really thought you'd get that bad, but still…”

 

“I guess I'm glad you care enough to be concerned about it,” Aya admitted.

 

“Of course I do. I always will.”

 

“Hn.”

 

“Dinner was really spectacular, Aya. The best meal I can remember, quite honestly. You'll make a fantastic chef.”

 

For some reason Aya looked a little sad when he said that, but he said, “Thanks, Yotan. I'm glad you liked it.”

 

Yohji half-rose, leaned in and kissed Aya softly. “Night, Aya. Good luck tomorrow.”

 

Aya grinned at him. “Thanks. Good night, Yotan.”

 

Feeling a pain in his chest that he didn't want to think about, Yohji turned and left Farfarello's apartment.