Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 19

A/N: May I present to you, the nineteenth installment of The Sous-Chef. I'd expected the story to be pretty long, but still…It's like a Dickens serial or something. I'm a bit worried that my brain isn't on par with this plot I'm attempting to wrestle into submission, but I am plowing on nevertheless. Hopefully I'm not doing too bad a job so far, and it won't read like a contrived bunch of crapola. Thanks for sticking with me this far!

 

Beta'd by Skyrat and Omni-sama.

 

 

Chapter 19

 

Aya scrubbed at his stubbling cheeks, staring at the laptop screen. Light was just beginning to creep in through the window shades. He turned to his companion, who was looking at him expectantly.

 

He chuckled.

 

“So in essence what you are saying, Chloé,” he began, “is that you have no evidence, know nothing, can confirm or deny nothing, and have no information.”

 

Chloé looked highly affronted for several seconds, and then let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I wouldn't say that. Just because we have so much vague and contradictory information doesn't mean there's nothing there. Based on the history of Esszet and Schwarz—”

 

“Which you are also pretty sketchy on,” Aya interjected, causing Chloé to glare at him.

 

“Well, what conclusions would you draw from all this?” the blond snapped.

 

Aya thought for a few moments. “I conclude that Farfarello is a hell of a lot smarter than Kryptonbrand and Kritiker combined. Either that, or he's utterly mad, and thus his motivations are unable to be understood by minds that work more conventionally. Or both. There's also the slight possibility that he's not the head of Inferno at all, but only who you're supposed to think is the head. There's even the possibility that every single scrap of your information is wrong, and there is no Inferno. But even assuming there is this faction, and that Farfarello is the head of it, I believe Inferno's goals are not the same as the original Esszet's.”

 

“Why do you say that, when there is a lot of evidence pointing to Inferno plotting to recapture your sister and make another attempt to raise the old leader?”

 

“Actually,” Aya said, crossing his legs and resting his chin on the steeple of his index fingers, “it was that information that sparked my suspicion that every piece of evidence you have, real or false, has been carefully hand-fed to you.”

 

“A lot of people died getting that information. Good people, not just errand-runners.”

 

Aya nodded. “Of course. Information that's easy to get is worthless. As it is, in this morass of information you've shown me, there's no way you could determine what would be useful and what wouldn't.”

 

Chloé sighed heavily. “We're not unaware of this. I was hoping that putting some scholars of Dante's Divine Comedy on the case might help us to divine some kind of pattern, but no one could come up with anything. I was so sure, in the beginning, that literature would show us the way. But after months of teams scouring all the religious and symbolic literature we could think of looking for clues, we kept hitting walls.”

 

“'Inferno' is probably a red herring, prompting you to react just that way. Smarter to go with the Bible, I think, but it could take years before you could figure out how he was applying it. And let's say you did figure something out. It would inevitably lead to a dead end and you'd never even know you were on to something. You know why, don't you?”

 

“Yes, bloody telepaths and pre-cogs and who knows what else. We've been trying to get some for our teams for quite some time, but Takatori and Inferno seem to have cornered the market on them somehow, at least the ones who worked for Esszet. Those are the most powerful because they went through Rosenkreuz. Without psychics of that level there's no way we could break or block the link of an Inferno telepath.” Chloé sighed heavily into his hand. “This is never going to get us anywhere. I want to go back to something you said a little while ago. You said that what made you suspect our intel is false was the information about your sister.”

 

“Well, according to your info, at face value, Nagi of Schwarz—now turned rogue—has made hunting her his top priority in order to stop the machinations of Inferno.”

 

Chloé waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes. So what?”

 

“He'd stop at nothing to see her dead.”

 

“That much we know is true.”

 

Aya laughed, and Chloé stared at him. Still chuckling, he sifted through the files on the computer again, bringing up a slightly blurry head-shot of a man with curly black hair wearing coke-bottle lenses. “Tell me who this is.”

 

“What are you playing at, Fujimiya? You know perfectly well who that is.”

 

“I've never seen this person before in my life.”

 

All the color abruptly drained out of Chloé's handsome face. “Are you telling me…are you saying that person is not Prodigy of Schwarz?”

 

“That's what I'm saying. I'll let you in on another little tidbit, since you've been so generous with your information.” He shuffled through files again, as Chloé leaned in close beside him, his jaw grimly set. Aya stopped on a crystal clear news photograph of Mamoru Takatori shaking hands with the U. S. Secretary of Defense. He pointed to a slim, dark figure in a quasi-military uniform, standing slightly off to the side and staring straight ahead. “Know who this is?”

 

“Takatori's bodyguard.” His eyes were saucer-wide. “That…that's Nagi? What the fuck is Takatori trying to pull?”

 

Aya raised an eyebrow. He didn't think he'd heard Chloé swear before then. “Know what else?”

 

“I…” Chloé sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples with his hands. “I don't know if I can believe all this.”

 

“Nagi knows exactly where my sister is. He has known for…I don't really know how long, but certainly far more than long enough to kill her if he wanted to.” He debated telling Chloé that Nagi was also a telekinetic, and not a—he searched his brain for the word the reports had used—not a `stormbringer' or `stormcrow' or whatever they'd listed his talent as. Though he supposed a telekinetic with really fine control could make storms and control weather if he wanted to—the ménage-à-trois on that cloud that Nagi had made possible was proof enough of that—it was definitely not his only ability.

 

He decided he'd keep his own counsel about that for now.

 

“This is such a wretched business,” Chloé was saying. “I have no idea what to think of all this. How am I supposed to report this? Damn it!” The blond slammed his fist on the table, making the laptop jump backward. “How are we supposed to be able to tell what's real from what isn't? I can't even begin to swim through all these layers of smokescreen and deception. How am I supposed to—”

 

“Chloé,” Aya murmured. “Can you burn some information for me?”

 

“Eh?” Chloé stopped his rant. “What information?”

 

Aya shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Things I can print out easily.”

 

Chloé scrubbed at his face with both hands. He was looking considerably distraught and far less immaculate, and Aya felt rather bad for him.

 

“What use will that be?” Chloé was saying.

 

“I just want to show it to someone, get their opinion on it,” Aya shrugged. He was starting to crash from his rage-high, and his mind was becoming sluggish. He felt no closer to understanding exactly who had betrayed him and how, and if it was something he could even forgive or understand, or if he should plan on slipping out of the country alone until he could formulate his revenge.

 

Chloé`s voice was soothing, even though he was obviously agitated. “I don't understand the false information about Prodigy. Why—”

 

“I think that might be for their mutual protection,” Aya said, not even realizing the idea had popped in his head before he'd said it. God, he was tired. “Kritiker and Esszet were enemies, after all, and Nagi and Mamoru have been lovers for years. It makes sense to hide Nagi's identity if possible. Hardly anyone, even within Esszet, knew who he was or what he looked like, from what I understand. Not like the other members of Schwarz. But for all I know, the stormcrow that you thought was Nagi might have claimed the identity on his own and for his own reasons. It might not have anything to do with Takatori, but if they know about it I'm sure they're using it to their advantage. I can at least alert Mamoru to the situation if he's not aware of it already, in case this guy really is after Aya-chan.”

 

Chloé's mouth had started gaping at the news that Nagi and Mamoru were lovers, but he recovered himself swiftly. He shook his head. “I have so many more questions now that I don't even know what to ask. I feel so…I've never failed on a mission before,” the blond admitted. “And now not only have I failed tonight, but it seems that everything we've done up until now was a complete waste of time.”

 

“Don't think like that. If you push yourself into a corner with that kind of attitude, you'll never be able to function.” Aya smirked. He knew this all too well from personal experience.

 

Chloé's eyes were haunted. “Then what do you think I should do, Aya?”

 

“Burn me some information. Go home and continue operating as you have, and keep in touch with me frequently.” Aya sighed. “You've been very helpful and generous, Chloé. I will tell you another thing you don't seem to be aware of.”

 

“It seems that despite our best efforts we are still hooded and blind,” Chloé lamented. He had pulled a blank CD-RW from his laptop case, inserted it in the laptop and began copying information. “Go ahead and lay it on me,” he said as they waited.

 

“I haven't been under the employ of Kritiker for a couple of months.”

 

“I had suspected that, to tell you the truth.” Piercing Aya with his eyes, Chloé said, “Did you desert?”

 

“Retired.”

 

“Retired, yet you still wield a blade. Heads were rolling all over that building. I sincerely doubt you were there for the fun of it, and since you didn't know the target was Esszet, I can only conclude that you must be working for someone who's purposely withholding information from you. I know enough about you to know that if you'd done the research yourself, you would never have missed the small detail of his Esszet connections, unless telepaths messed with your head. It's far too much of a coincidence—I'm convinced your employer and mine have some kind of connection.” Chloé put his hands on Aya's knees, leaning forward. “If your employer is connected to KR, I am willing to pull whatever strings I have to in order to convince KR to put pressure on your employer with regard to giving you information. I—”

 

Aya shook his head, his gaze resting on Chloé's hands. “I can't tell you who my employer is, Chloé. There are questions that I need to find the answers to before I can even consider giving out that kind of information. Just keep in touch with me.”

 

Chloé's hands clenched on Aya's knees. “I don't feel good about leaving you here in the dark,” he murmured. Chloé had really lovely hands, soft and aristocratic on the backs but callus-hardened on the palms and fingers, most likely from wielding a weapon other than his roses.

 

Aya covered the lovely hands with his own thick-fingered ones. Aya-chan always used to tease him, saying he had the body of a dancer, a face like Helen of Troy (which he'd vehemently denied) but the hands of a bricklayer. Good enough for the sword and the knife, though, Aya mused, spirit dampened by the memories.

 

“Aya?” Chloé turned his hands over and clasped Aya's.

 

Shaking himself out of his reminiscing, Aya looked up at the blond. “Sorry. I was drifting a little. I guess I'm tired. When is your flight?”

 

Chloé glanced at the clock on the endtable. “I have about two hours before I have to leave. I'm considering contacting KR and having him set up a later flight, though.”

 

Aya frowned. “What for?”

 

“Aya…I know that a lot of things about this intel affect you on a personal level, but I still don't understand why your initial reaction was so severe. I believe you're keeping information from me that could potentially destroy you, and I don't want that to happen.”

 

“What the hell do you care?” Aya asked, incredulous. “Just because you have some weird notion of my aesthetic appeal—“

 

“It's not weird; you're the most beautiful person I've ever had the fortune to meet. But that's not why.” Chloé sighed. “I feel like I've known you a long time. You see, the first time I went to Japan for a conference with Kritiker, Takatori introduced me to someone he thought I'd have a lot in common with, an ex-lover of yours.”

 

Aya squeezed his eyes shut. This was turning into a soap opera. “Honjyou, I presume.”

 

Chloé smiled. It was a lovely smile. Everything about Chloé—at least on the surface—was lovely, Aya was finding. “Yes. Yuushi and I got along famously, and we get together a few times a year. He's had lovers since you, naturally, but you're the only one he ever talks about. Usually accompanied by a very un-Yuushi bout of drinking and cursing. He's never quite gotten over you, it seems.” Chloé was leaning closer to Aya. Aya didn't move or react. “Just being in your presence for these last few hours, I can understand why. Merely sitting there regarding me with your cold, violet eyes, you intoxicate me.”

 

Still not reacting, Aya said, “Yuushi and I only slept together a few times.

There was nothing for him to get over.”

 

Chloé emitted a soft chuckle, face hovering a few inches from his own. “Your eyes see so much, and your heart so little,” he whispered as he leaned forward to almost touch his lips to Aya's. His tongue flicked out to run across Aya's lower lip. “We both have acquired a lot of frustration tonight. Would you like to work some of that out with me?” he breathed, almost against Aya's mouth. Even Chloé's breath smelled like roses. Roses and fine brandy.

 

“Give me a double shot of that brandy, and I will,” Aya mumbled to the hovering blond. He'd been almost constantly horny for the past week, and unable to sate his cravings with any of his three lovers. No matter how many times he jerked off in the shower, or in the cramped staff bathroom at Thibodeaux's after watching Farfarello's incredible knife-work, or watching his arms bulging as he hauled crates and boxes around in storage, or heard his quiet, gravelly voice issuing commands in a tone that said he was not to be trifled with…no matter how many times, it was not enough and left Aya aching instead of relieved. And now, he was angry at possible betrayal by all three of his lovers—though he honestly didn't believe Yohji had anything to do with Inferno, he had to keep the possibility in mind—so he might have to go even longer without sex. He'd never been so ravenous for erotic pleasure before. It must have been the way Farfarello—

 

No. If he was certain of anything after tonight, it was that Farfarello had deceived him. He didn't want to think about that lying bastard anymore.

 

Chloé had immediately stood and poured him two fingers of the amber drink, and was holding out the tumbler with a hand that trembled slightly. Aya raised an eyebrow as he took the glass. “You're nervous? You can retract the invitation, if you like. I won't be offended.”

 

“I'm not nervous at all,” Chloé replied. The throatiness in his voice conveyed his arousal, sending tingling sensations through Aya's body. “I'm hungry. And I wouldn't retract the invitation even if wild dogs were going to tear me apart directly afterward. Or even during.”

 

Aya smiled a little, sipping his brandy. It was good stuff, he had to admit. Not nearly as good as the brandy Farfarello h—but he wasn't thinking of that asshole anymore.

 

Chloé was eyeing him like a cat stalking an oblivious bird. “It really is supposed to be sipped, that brandy,” the blond said, “but under the circumstances I certainly wouldn't mind if you should happen to decide to shoot it instead.”

 

Chuckling, Aya tossed back the remaining brandy in one go, and set the crystal on the table. He smirked as the blond fussily picked it up and dropped it on a coaster. Then Chloé stood up in front of Aya, and--in a not-so-fussy manner--grabbed Aya's arms and hauled him out of the chair to rest tightly against his body. Wasting no time, Aya crushed his mouth aggressively against the blond's. There was a short duel for dominance, which was almost disappointingly easy for Aya to win, but he liked the way Chloé suddenly melted in his arms, opening himself up like one of his roses.

 

Chloé's mouth was hot and pleasant and slick, and Aya lost himself in the exploration of it, his body automatically guiding them to the plush hotel bed and falling with the blond onto the mattress with a grunt. Chloé was sweet; his flavor, his scent, his hands running over Aya's skin so lightly and gently fluttering, his mouth passionate but gentle, reverent, his gaze admiring. Aya pulled back to look into those clear eyes.

 

“Yuushi said you liked to lie back and be adored and worshipped, like a feline,” Chloé gasped. Aya could feel him trembling with excitement, could feel the hard rod of Chloé's cock against his thigh. “You are different now, I see.” The difference didn't seem to be daunting him, if the voracity Aya was reading in his expression was anything to go by.

 

No, Aya didn't want to be worshipped. He didn't want to lie back, and he didn't want Chloé to, either. He snarled, flicking open the buttons of Chloé's waistcoat one-handed while the other hand grabbled the hair on the back of Chloé's head, fisting hard, and tilting the blond's head back so he could nibble and suck on the elegant throat. He wanted to rip the clothes off Chloé, but the blond seemed like the sort of person to make a fuss about that, and he didn't want to waste that much time. He amused himself with sucking on Chloé's collarbones as he unbuttoned the ruffly shirt, pushing cloth aside with his face and worrying a hard pink nipple with his teeth as Chloé gasped and dug his fingers into Aya's shoulders.

 

Aya quickly stripped Chloé of his belt, pants and boxers, sitting back on his heels as Chloé sat up to impatiently undo his cufflinks and tug off his shirt. Chloé's cock was pretty, slim and elegant with no bulging veins to mar its lines. Precome even dripped from it in an elegant way. Aya bent to taste it, but Chloé tugged at his shirt. “Please, undress,” he breathed raggedly. “I want to see you, all of you.”

 

Shrugging inwardly, Aya stepped off the bed and stripped efficiently. He watched Chloé out of the corner of his eye as the blond feasted on him with his eyes, lightly fisting that pretty prick. Scooting to the edge of the bed, Chloé murmured shakily, “Come closer, please, Aya. Turn around.”

 

Feeling like he was on display, but mostly amused by it, he did as Chloé requested, and felt his braid being undone. When it was completely unraveled, he turned back around, lifted Chloé's muscular frame easily and tossed him backwards onto the bed. Chloé's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't look displeased as Aya crawled onto the bed after him, over him, hovering above Chloé's waist. “Is that all? Any more requests?” Aya teased, then bent his head to the gently bobbing cock in its golden nest without waiting for an answer.

 

Chloé grabbed his head and let out a gasping wail as Aya sucked him deep into his mouth. Aya held his hips down so he could set the pace, languidly running his lips and tongue up and down every inch, scraping ever so lightly with teeth to elicit more gasps. He was working the cock deeply into his throat when Chloé tugged his head up hard, replacing Aya's mouth with a tight clasp of fingers around the base, his teeth bared and brow furrowed with his effort to contain himself. Aya waited patiently until Chloé's expression smoothed out, and he pulled the blond close to straddle his hips, cocks brushing and nuzzling each other, wrapping his arms around the blond so their lightly sweaty chests were tight against each other. He kissed Chloé fervently, running his hands along the blond's back, thinking, his skin is too smooth. Brow furrowing at that thought, he sucked hard on Chloé's sweet, slick tongue as Chloé's hands fluttered over his shoulder blades, thinking, He's far too gentle; I'm not made of glass. Or sugar…

 

Scowling, Aya abruptly fell forward on top of Chloé, kissing him hard enough to split their lips against their teeth, the faint taste of blood reminding him of—

 

He growled, irritated, reaching between them to fist their cocks together, drinking in Chloé's impassioned moans, collecting enough slickness in his hand to reach down further and slide fingers inside the eager blond.

 

Chloé cried out, his legs wrapping hard around Aya and impaling himself as much as he could on Aya's hand. Aya grinned, enjoying the sight of Chloé's flushed cheeks and wanton writhing.

 

“Aya,” Chloé panted, “My wallet—on the endtable—please hurry!”

 

Aya kissed his swollen lips, gently pulling his hand free. Opening the wallet, he found a strip of four lubricated condoms tucked in a compartment behind the money. Tearing one off, he faced Chloé, raising an eyebrow and tapping the packet against his lip.

 

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Chloé shrugged, leaning over and dragging Aya back on top of him. “Now fuck me. Hard.”

 

“Mmm. If you insist.” Tearing open the packet, Aya fetched out the slippery latex and sheathed himself in it, before hauling Chloé's legs up and slipping into him with relative ease. He sighed with relief at the welcoming heat and the grip of someone else's flesh.

 

Chloé gave a breathless scream and his body surged against Aya's. At the same instant, Aya felt something curling around his calves, pricking him. He paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Apparently Chloé's `affinity' was at work—thorny vines were wrapping themselves around Aya and Chloé, working their way up Aya's legs, curling around Chloé's feet. Chloé grabbed Aya's hips, urging him to thrust again. “Sorry,” he panted, “sometimes I get careless in situations like this—should I send them away?”

 

“No,” Aya murmured as he began a slow rhythm, testing how much slack the vines were giving him. Plenty enough to work with. “No, I like them. You can grow more, if you want.”

 

Chloé gave Aya a look that was pure adulation. The vines began to grow more rapidly, twining around Aya's chest and arms, tangling in his hair.. Aya's rhythm grew harder, faster, more violent. He felt the thorns moving of their own accord, gently at first, the vines tightening like a fist around his limbs and torso, and then harsher, painful, ripping his skin open in a thousand shallow scratches. Vines were snaking around Chloé as well, tearing the sheets as they squirmed underneath him. Aya felt a grin on his face that probably looked like a rictus, but he didn't care. Chloé was tight and he could smell blood and there were thorns scraping across his nipples, and he laughed as he nailed this strange Romanian. He leaned down and kissed welling droplets of blood from Chloé's chest and then kissed his mouth hard, thrusting brutally. Chloé clawed at him, fingers slipping in red and catching on thorns, and met each pounding stroke with equal fervor.

 

Aya forced his knees apart, finding that the vines would let him position himself how he liked, and continued at a better angle. Chloé was incoherent, moaning and screaming as Aya slammed into him. To his great delight and amusement, the vines began blooming all around them. Not tea roses, but wild, five-petaled purplish-pink flowers that smelled beautiful, like spring and running through the forest and moonlit pagan dances. And suddenly Aya wanted Farfarello, fiercely and intensely, because he knew Farfarello would love this, and Aya could hardly stand it that he was experiencing this with a pretty blond stranger instead. He increased the violence of his rhythm, hearing strange guttural noises from his own throat that he had never heard before. The scent of the flowers was pulling him in many different directions—delirium, delight, despair and desperation in equal measures—and all of them seemed to lead to a single golden eye. Aya screamed, only just retaining the presence of mind to keep the noise from becoming a name, his name, feeling Chloé shaking like an earthquake under him, clenching down on his cock.

 

Aya moaned and moaned with the aftershocks, hands clenching around vines and crushing petals, and all he wanted to do was cry. He longed for the Irishman so hard it was like a chain through his heart, leading off to wherever the madman was, pulling taut, hurting.

 

The vines were slipping away now, leaving Aya and Chloé with fragrant petals and patterns of shallow scratches, hardly any of which were even bleeding anymore. “No one's ever let me do that,” Aya heard the blond say from what seemed like worlds away. “I've always wanted to. One can't truly love roses without the thorns.”

 

Aya tried to make some sort of response, but couldn't. It was all he could do to focus on Chloé's face.

 

“Aya? Are you alright? You're crying again. Did I overdo it?” Hands caressed and gently held Aya's cheeks; supple lips kissed them and then sought his mouth. Aya kissed back, wrapping his arms tight around the blond, trying to ground himself with something.

 

Eventually Aya pulled back, smiling softly. “I'm fine. It was really lovely, Chloé. Really something special. I won't forget it.”

 

“Yes, well…” Chloé coughed nervously. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime, if you're in my neighborhood or I'm in yours again. If you like.”

 

Smiling a little more broadly, Aya replied, “Anything's possible.” Though he didn't think he'd be able to bear it again, if this…whatever it was with Farfarello went on any longer.

 

Aya's smile disappeared as reality invaded. Based on what he'd seen, though he'd disparaged the veracity of it, he was confident that Farfarello had been lying to him from the start. He didn't want to want someone who would do that, especially not about such grave matters.

 

But it seemed he no longer had a choice in the matter.

 

Chloé's clear blue eyes were concerned, and Aya chuckled lightly. He'd have plenty of time to brood about all that later. He should probably act somewhat content at least, if he didn't want Chloé calling for a later flight and spending the rest of the day mothering him. “I'm sorry I was so rough with you,” he murmured.

 

Chloé gave him a wry smile. “The plane ride is going to be a bitch, I'm sure. But it was more than worth it. I couldn't be happier that I met you, Aya.” His smile turned wistful as he toyed with a lock of Aya's hair. “I hope we'll meet again under better circumstances.”

 

Aya hugged the Romanian close, heaving as inconspicuous a sigh as he could manage. He felt slightly guilty that he couldn't express the same sentiments.

 

******

 

Chloé and Aya talked for another half an hour after cleaning up from the sex, mostly about Chloé's ability. Aya asked why he left evidence of himself all over a crime scene—it didn't seem smart—and Chloé raised a brow disdainfully. “You don't think I left all of that where it was, do you? Every rose in that building is long gone.” Aya didn't really understand, but he shrugged and let it be. Chloé seemed to know what he was doing. Questions about where the vines grew from and how he kept the roses from turning brown while traveling with them proved likewise cryptic and unenlightening. Or maybe, Aya considered, it was that he was exhausted from work, a mission, unpleasant shock and torrid thorn-wrapped sex, thus rendering him too stupid to understand what Chloé was saying.

 

Chloé offered to get a later flight again—so he could assure himself of Aya's well-being, presumably—or maybe just for another round, who knew. But Aya firmly insisted that he stay on schedule, and not draw undue attention to himself by changing his plans, which Chloé reluctantly agreed was probably the best course of action. He then offered to pay for the hotel room for another night so that Aya could use it to sleep, which Aya also declined. Aya then took his leave of the blond, thanking him and kissing him until he felt Chloé tugging him back to the bed. Chloé walked him to the elevator, and Aya thought he probably would have accompanied him all the way back to his car if it wouldn't have taken too long. They smiled at each other as the doors slid closed, Aya wondering at the sadness in those clear blue eyes.

 

Not particularly wanting to go home, in case either of his housemates was awake, and definitely not wanting to go to Farfarello's apartment as he was supposed to—though he had been avoiding staying over there, Farf had convinced him that it was silly for him to risk going home after a mission—Aya drove out to a secluded place near the river and slept in his car. He woke around four in the afternoon, feeling pretty stiff and stinging slightly all over. He'd been expected at Thibodeaux's at eleven. He was probably fired, from both his jobs. It wasn't likely he'd stay on even if, for some reason, Farfarello decided to forgive him. The thought gave Aya a wry grin and an unpleasant sinking sensation in his gut.

 

He drove home, still not wanting to see either Schuldig or Yohji, but wanting a change of clothes. He also wanted to print out a few pages of the info Chloé had given him. It would be interesting to see Farfarello's reaction to what he showed him. He really hoped that Farf didn't pretend not to know what it was that he was being shown. Aya didn't know if he could refrain from physical violence in that case.

 

Luckily, no one was home. The answering machine was blinking, but after a moment's thought Aya left it alone. He didn't want to know who had called or why. After changing and printing out a few sheets, tucking the disk under a floorboard in his closet, and grabbing a jacket, the phone began to ring. Aya left the house before the machine picked up.

 

He turned the radio on as he drove, trying to distract himself from the coming confrontation. He really had no idea how this was going to go. Every time his disobedient mind tried to come up with a scenario he felt nauseous. Farfarello obviously didn't see him as anything more than a tool to be used and discarded at his leisure. And why should he? Aya had been a tool of Kritiker's for years. Kritiker put a spin on why its assassins should kill who they were ordered to kill, but that was just a means of ensuring loyalty. Most organizations weren't like that. Most of them were more like Farfarello—giving the grunts information on a strictly need-to-know basis. Wasn't it pure arrogance that Aya expected to be treated differently? Was it just because Aya had thrown himself at the boss and the boss happened to accept his advances that he felt entitled to an explanation?

 

Aya mashed the `up' arrow on the volume control until his ears started hurting. He was doing a piss-poor job of distracting himself.

 

He turned off the noise with some relief as he pulled into his usual parking spot behind the restaurant. When he got out of the car, he heard raised voices. Not necessarily unusual, but the voices sounded like they were arguing in German. Aya walked around Jarrod's truck to see Farfarello, Schuldig, and a sandy-haired man who appeared to be in his thirties. Aya figured Schuldig must be blocking all the shouting from people's minds, because they were making no attempt not to be overheard.

 

Suddenly Schuldig looked over at Aya, and elbowed Farf hard in the ribs. Farfarello spun around, gaze settling on him instantly. His eye was hard and blazing, like it was just on the brink of shooting flames. He crossed his arms over his chest. “And just where the fuck have ye been?” he growled, his voice so low and dangerous that Aya actually froze for an instant, like a rabbit in the sight of an eagle.

 

Cursing himself, Aya forced his feet to move. He walked up to the madman, whose displeasure radiated from him so heavily that it was a struggle not to simply turn and flee. But Aya Fujimiya didn't flee. Aya was an iceberg. He forced himself into that mindset and calmly held out a neatly folded sheaf of papers, staring squarely into that frightening eye, unblinking.

 

Farfarello looked at the papers for a second, raised an eyebrow at Aya, and then took them from his hand. Aya half-expected them to ignite upon contact with his skin, but they sat in his hand innocently. “What is this shit, Aya?”

 

Aya folded his arms and raised his own brow, still keeping his gaze steady, silent.

 

Schuldig shushed the unknown man, who was whispering at him urgently.

 

Farfarello slowly unfolded the papers and scanned each one in succession. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You've met Kryptonbrand, I see.”

 

Aya faltered slightly. He hadn't really expected Farfarello to know exactly where he'd gotten the information, or to admit it so easily. “Yes.”

 

Farf nodded, and reached in his belt. His eyes still on the papers, he pulled out a knife with a wicked six-inch blade. Without even glancing up, he struck out with it like a snake, and the sandy-haired man was gurgling and fumbling with the hilt protruding just above his Adam's apple. “Fucking useless bastard,” the madman mumbled, and Schuldig laughed.

 

“Crawford really spoiled us,” he chuckled.

 

Aya felt like he was drowning.

 

“But seriously, Farfie,” Schuldig went on, watching the dying man as he weakly thrashed and bled his last on the white gravel, “was that really wise? You don't have many precogs as it is.”

 

Farfarello's eye was on Aya as he answered. “I was going to have to do it sooner or later. He was too ambitious, and there were only so many bones I was willing to throw him. He also instigated too many pissing contests with the other precogs. The ones that are left are going to have to work together if they're going to be of any use whatsoever, and even so, we can't rely on them. The telepaths either,” he added, finally tearing his eye from Aya to give Schuldig a meaningful look.

 

Aya's legs abruptly lost the ability to hold him upright.

 

“Hey, hey,” Farf said, moving to help him back up, but Aya slapped his hands away viciously. “Aya?”

 

“It's true,” he gasped, realizing he was hyperventilating, and tried to pull his icy veneer out from wherever it was hiding. He couldn't even begin to find it; his mind was spinning. “It's true.”

 

“What's true?” Schuldig asked, crouching down in front of him.

 

“You and Farfarello are both still Esszet,” Aya spat. Schuldig reached toward him and Aya sprawled backwards in the shells and pebbles to get away from his touch.

 

Schuldig sighed, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. Yohji's brand, Aya noticed, feeling even sicker than before.

 

“Aya,” Farfarello said, also crouching down, “there is no more Esszet. Ye know there isn't; ye were there at the end. There's only a bunch of misguided psychics playing tug-of-war with each other to see who gets to be King of the World.”

 

“Or Queen,” Schuldig added, puffing languidly.

 

“Shut up,” Farf growled.

 

“Is Yohji a part of this?” Aya asked, before realizing there wasn't any way he could trust them to answer honestly.

 

Schuldig let out a bitter laugh and sat down. “Hell no, he isn't, and that's the way I wanted to fucking keep it,” he sighed. “To be perfectly honest, I wasn't too keen on involving you in this either, after getting to know you.” He sucked on his cigarette. “Shit. Yohji's already so pissed. Usually he gets over anything in two days or less, and it's already been a week. Now I'm going to have to tell him about…fuck. He's never going to speak to me again.” Schu looked so distraught that Aya had a hard time believing it was a performance put on for his benefit.

 

“Ye could always blame me,” Farfarello suggested. “He's never trusted me anyway.”

 

“Oh, believe me, if there was a plausible way to make this all your fault that Aya would go along with—”

 

“Like hell,” Aya snapped.

 

“—that didn't involve massive mind-alteration, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But, well, you heard the man,” he finished, waving his cigarette at Aya. “Plus Yohji'd never believe I didn't plan a lot of this anyway. He's smart like that.”

 

“Listen, we can have this conversation later,” Farf said, his attention on Aya again. “Would you do clean-up for me, Schu?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Schuldig said, grinding his spent butt in the gravel. “There's only so much longer I can stand suppressing the nicotine cravings of your entire staff. Shit, are you the only person in the kitchen who doesn't smoke?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Schu rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

 

“Aya,” Farfarello murmured as the telepath sauntered into the sausage shanty, presumably to get plastic to wrap the body in, “I'm sorry ye had a shock like this. I don't know how much ye heard from whoever ye talked to, or what exactly ye think is going on, but obviously ye feel betrayed.” He lowered his eye. “It was inevitable to some degree, but I…do ye remember saying ye didn't want to alienate me?”

 

Aya nodded slowly.

 

“I wanted to approach this in a way that would make sense to ye, that wouldn't alienate ye. That wouldn't make ye feel the way you're obviously feeling right now. I think once I've explained, you'll understand, but…shit.” He threw a dark glare at the dead form behind him. “I wish I could resurrect him so I could kill him again.”

 

“Why is this his fault?” Aya asked, relieved to hear his voice sounding normal again.

 

“Because he assured me that there was no doubt when Kryptonbrand would make their move—it was supposed to be tonight. That kind of assurance from him hasn't failed before now, so he'd either been tampered with or he lied. Either way, for this failure and other reasons, his usefulness was at an end.”

 

“And is that how I'll end up, when my usefulness to you is at an end?” Aya inquired.

 

Farfarello's eye widened. “Aya, ye…” He closed his eye briefly, shaking his head. “Two weeks ago, I'd have said `maybe.' You grow on a person awfully fucking fast, Fujimiya. Listen—will ye give me a chance to explain? I told ye I was going to tell ye everything, didn't I?”

 

Aya eyed him thoughtfully. “Yes, you did.”

 

“I hadn't meant to tell ye quite this soon, but it can't be helped now.” He stood up, tucking the papers Aya had given him inside his vest. He held a hand out to Aya. “Come home with me?”

 

“Why should I?” Aya asked, refusing Farf's hand and standing on his own.

 

Schuldig came out of the sausage shanty with a giant roll of heavy cellophane under one arm, whistling.

 

Ignoring the telepath, Farf said, “Ye really want to have this discussion in my office? Besides, there are things on my laptop that I want to show ye.”

 

“Don't you have a kitchen to run?”

 

“Heh…thanks to Schuldig, it's running itself today. He brought in a few chefs from La Fontaine to help out.” He grinned. “It's chaos over there now, apparently. And tomorrow no one will be the wiser.”

 

“I'm so talented,” Schuldig preened, wrapping plastic around the dead precog's head. Aya noticed the knife was no longer in his throat—he couldn't remember Farfarello ever retrieving it, though he must have at some point.

 

“So, will ye come with me?” Farf asked again, looking at him expectantly.

 

Aya stared at him for a few seconds, then began stomping away. “I'll take my own car,” he grumbled. He heard a few quick steps and felt a hand on his shoulder, and he whirled around, suddenly finding himself in Farfarello's arms.

 

“I'm glad you're okay,” Farf whispered near his ear. “I was worried.”

 

Aya was torn between shoving Farf away and throwing his arms around him. “You didn't seem worried when I got here,” he managed.

 

Farf chuckled. “You've never gotten mad at someone for making ye worry? I didn't know what had happened to ye—your car was in an alley and your target was dead, but there were all these corpses with stab wounds I couldn't identify, and you were gone…”

 

Aya pulled away, finally. “You're not familiar with Chloé's talent?”

 

“Chloé…” Farf's brows drew together in thought for a few seconds, and then he suddenly smacked his forehead in an almost comical manner. “Shit. Roses. I'm so fucking stupid. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've known exactly what happened from the moment they reported to me from the scene.” He sighed. “This is why I wanted the time to get my head together, Aya. I have a really hard time being reasonable and rational when it comes to ye, and I miss things. It's very, very dangerous for me to miss things.”

 

Aya felt his cheeks heat up. He turned away, continuing to his car. “That's not my problem.”

 

“It might be, Aya. That's not a threat,” he assured, as Aya tossed a murderous glare over his shoulder. “It's just that you're already in this whether ye will or no. And it wasn't me that gave ye no choice in the matter, though you're bound to be thinking it is.”

 

Aya sighed, reaching his car. “Let's just leave the conversation here for now. I'll meet you at your place in twenty minutes.”

 

Farf gave him one of his more penetrating glares, and nodded. “Twenty minutes.”

 

Aya turned and got into the driver's seat, unable to decide if he felt worse or better. “It better be a damn good explanation, you fucking psycho,” Aya muttered as he started the engine.

 

******

 

Reader Responses:

 

IzzyP: Can't have everything go too smoothly. ^_^

 

Nitelyfe: Oh, there's all kinds of misinformation. So much that any true information would look like lies. Yay, confusion!!!

 

Omni-sama: Ahhh, conflict. It keeps life interesting. When you're a boring old chef/assassin/ex-florist, you need something to keep the juices flowing. So to speak.

 

Hyuuga_Kirine: *blushes* You're far too kind. Thank you! I'm not quite sure how big a role Chloé is going to play from here on out, but there will be more of him.

 

mm-chan: Ooo, you're so verbose! :D

 

MikaSamu: Wow, that's a more in-depth character analysis than I have done, I think…I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter. Aya is finally finding his strength again, though it's still touch-and-go for now…at least he isn't right at the breaking point anymore.

 

Darkanger: Heehee! The Snoopy dance…what a cute image. Thanks, I'm happy you like the story!

 

Glinwulf: Heh, no, I wouldn't drop you there. Or here, for that matter. I will not drop you here or there; I will not drop you anywhere! … sorry, got my head slammed in a door as a child…

 

Ratso: Thanks for the beta, again! *kisses*