Realizations

“That,” Herr Stein said as his face swelled, “was the most pathetic excuse,” the rest of him was growing, “for a shielded attack,” he reached one impossibly arm, “I have ever seen.” Schuldig jumped back, but the giant was faster. “Little Schu-Schu,” the bastard said, lifting Schu to that hideous face, “what will I do–“

”This,” Schuldig growled, “is not real.” He didn’t struggle, it was not real. Not real, it was not real, someone was messing with him. He was–

Alone. In the dark.

::Very good,:: said a voice he almost, but didn’t quite recognize. ::Try this one.::

Not real, it was not real, it was–

Scheisse! Pay attention, Farf was–Farfarello slammed Schuldig against the wall in a forearm choke. Over Farf’s shoulder Brad smirked.

“Didn’t you say,” the American asked, “that you could handle him?”

“Naughty naughty Schu-Schu,” Farf sang, a thousand voices shouting in his brain. “You did a boo-boo.” Schuldig tried a psychic shout, but he didn’t have the strength to make himself heard. Since when–

“Shame, shame, everybody knows your name,” Farfarello sang, his blade whispering from the crescent hilt. “Bye bye, little birdie!”

“Brad!” Schu called as the blade swung. Brad couldn’t–

Not real. It was not real. When Brad’s patience finally ran out, he would kill Schu himself. Both of them had always known it.

“Fuck you!” Schuldig shouted, not at the phantasms but at the puppetmaster. Whoever the voice was, he could almost–

Alone. In the dark. And cold. Schu could feel the heat bleeding from him, the chill creeping in, numbing his body and, far more dangerous, his mind.

::Oh, marvelous!:: came the voice. ::Really, I begin to see why you enjoy this so. Alas, I’m out of time. Until later, Liebchen.::

“Fuck off…” Schu muttered, curling into a ball. Endure, figure it out, no one could hold him, no one…

*******

Aya sat. He didn’t know what else to do, so he sat. Azumi grumbled in her sleep, her head fell back over his arm. Just as Aya-chan used to do, before he learned to tuck her in, then read to her. How had he forgotten that?

That was what he’d been waiting for, he realized, now old habits were coming back. She was deeply asleep, he could move without waking her. Aya stood to carry the girl upstairs. To Aya-chan’s room, since moving her into his was no longer an option.

“Kawaii!” Aya-chan whispered when she saw him. “Ran-niisan, you’re making me jealous!” She jumped up from her desk to peel back the covers. “Why don’t you read me to sleep anymore, ne?”

Aya laid the girl in the bed, but let Aya-chan fuss over making her comfortable. When his imouto straightened, he hugged her and kissed her forehead.

“You too.”

“Mou, Ran, it’s not even–“

”Tomorrow is a school day,” Aya reminded, and left her.

Habit took him to the wrong door, he hesitated before going in.

Yohji’s room was as he’d left it, almost. Aya had cleaned up a little that night, before he went looking for the blonde. When he realized Yohji had left, he had gone back to his own room. He hadn’t yet convinced himself to move all his things, though. He needed to get that done, before Yohji came home.

It had been two days. Surely Yohji would come soon. Aya wasn’t sure if that would make things better, or worse. He missed Yohji. But having him home, but not his–

Worse. Definitely worse. Aya didn’t really believe the world worked to hurt him, he didn’t think anyone or anything cared enough about him for that. It only seemed like everything in his life combined to make his every moment an agony. Even when a respite happened, it was only so he wouldn’t build up a tolerance to the pain. Or to set him up for worse.

Not caring had seemed the answer, but he was too weak. They always found a way in. Weiss, Botan, Yohji, now Azumi–and seppuku was no longer an option. It never had been. He’d been deluding himself, his responsibilities would never end. He would go on, until he was too weak to take anymore, and he would pray to any god who listened that when he snapped, he had enemies before him.

Without thinking Aya threw himself on the bed. A cloud of Yohji rose from it, surrounded him. He closed his eyes and breathed.

No kidnapping this time, he reminded himself, trying to talk his body out of reacting. Omi had cameras outside the garage, Yohji had walked out alone. Muttering, it looked like, but not chasing anyone, and certainly not forced. He had changed out of his mission coat and taken his keys, cell phone–Omi had tried, it was not on–wallet, everything he’d left last time, and gone. Omi and Ken had asked around, and found someone who saw Kudou Yohji getting in a car with a well-dressed blonde man.

Smoking, and getting in a car with another man.

Aya didn’t bother to swear, he’d thought it all before. He’d known there was something wrong that night. When Yohji was upset he could feel it, the blonde’s pain tangled him up like the man’s wire, and cut if he moved wrong, too. But it had barely registered, he’d been so focused on Azumi.

Botan’s daughter. Three years the man had searched for her, he’d joined Kritiker for her, chased after and annoyed Aya to make him re-join Weiss to help make the world safe for her–then rather than protecting himself and his search for her, Botan had made that stupid sacrifice. Leaving his burden to Aya. Knowing Aya would never let it go.

Finally, Aya had thought when Birman explained the mission. The last responsibility. He had found a way out, made his preparations, and here was the last thing he needed to do. The end was in sight, one last mission and he could make things right.

Yohji, he’d thought, could wait.

Wrong again, Fujimiya.

Someone knocked on the door. Before Aya could tell them to go away, Aya-chan came in. His eyes narrowed.

“It is late–“

”Oh, give it a rest.” She flopped to sit beside him. “Ran-niisan, why haven’t you gone after him?”

“He made his choice, Aya-chan.”

“Yohji-kun would not make that choice.”

Aya didn’t answer. She had seen the security tape, she knew the facts as well as he did.

“Ran,” she leaned to stare into his face, “I don’t care what it looks like. Yohji-kun would not do this.”

“You thought–“

”I was stupid! I forgot everything I knew about Kudou Yohji, when I let myself think for one second he would hurt you on purpose.” She bounced off the bed, to grab his katana.

“Don’t touch that–!”

“Don’t make me hit you.” She pulled the blade from its saya. “It is a piece of metal, Ran. A work of art, a masterpiece, but a beautifully-crafted thing.”

“It has killed–I have killed–“

”How many lives have you saved with this sword, Ran?”

Saved?

“If you must draw it,” Shion had said, “only draw it to let others live.”

“I take it back, this is more than a thing.” She balanced it by the hilt, light danced down the blade. “It is a symbol of you. Remember Camelot?”

“Vaguely.” He’d only read her the stories fifty times or more. She ignored his sarcasm.

“What makes you different from a Knight of the Round Table?”

“I don’t have a horse?”

“Baka,” she growled. “Be serious. No one calls them murderers.”

“They didn’t take money–“

”Sure they did. And a night with the damsel in distress too, if they could manage it. Why do you think they made such a deal of Galahad being pure? None of the rest of them were.”

“Aya-chan!”

“You’re not pure either, Fujimiya-kun.” She grinned at him and sheathed the sword. “But you do fight evil, defend the innocent, and avenge the wronged. So you’ll do. Fujimiya Ran, will you be my champion?” she asked, holding the sword out by the ends.

Even when she was being silly, Aya couldn’t deny her. “That has always been my honor,” he said, going to one knee in proper knight style, and putting his hand to the middle of the sword. She gave him the Look, the one she’d been practicing since wrapping him around her finger at two days old.

“Then take my quest. I want my Yohji-kun. Go get him.”

“Aya–“

”A proper knight would be gone already.”

Naturally, she was in that mood. Aya sighed and took the sword and stood.

“What if he’s happy where he is?” he asked her. “Do I drag him home for you anyway?”

“You’re not there,” Aya-chan said, spinning to the door. “He’s not happy.” She stopped with her hand on the knob, her face turned away. “You wouldn’t let me die,” she said quietly. “I won’t let you.” She darted through the door before he could ask what she meant.

Aya sighed and tried to remember which closet his mission coat was in. He ought to start with seeking intelligence, but the idea of going out and finding someone needing stabbing had a lot more appeal. He moved to set the sword back on its rack, but froze instead, his hand still on it as he stared into the mirror.

Yohji, standing behind him to tell him exactly how and why he was beautiful. Stroking him off, just to watch him come.

“I’m yours,” he had said at the waterfall. “Mine,” he’d whispered as he touched one night, slipping into bed hours after Aya had given up waiting for him.

“You’re wrong,” Aya told himself, his reflection, that nasty suspicious voice that had been laughing at his pain for two days. “Yohji didn’t leave me.”

Why not? Everyone else does. Even Aya-chan, when she feels like it.

Even to defend Aya-chan, Aya refused to be distracted. “Not Yohji.”

It’s what he does. Vision of the parade of meaningless fucks.

“That was grieving. Asuka is what he’s capable of.”

So you think he loves you like he loved her?

Aya remembered. A thousand touches, looks, words half-spoken, quelled by either Yohji or Aya himself– “Yes. Yohji loves me.” And stood firm against the sudden whirlwind inside him. Joy and hope and terror and guilt and remorse and–oh, Kami help him, he didn’t know how to handle these things anymore.

Yohji would help him. Just as soon as he got him back. Aya hefted his sword and went looking for his mission coat.

******

The Oracle didn’t know what to do.

That had never happened to Crawford before.

Nagi didn’t have a problem, he was doing his homework as he always did. Farfarello was busy too, working on a new model. The guymelef Oreides, whatever that was. Schu was–

Gone.

Bickley had left, after giving the German his last treatment while he was still sedated. Then he had asked Crawford to take him to the airport, saying he’d seen Schuldig’s intention to kill him often enough, he wasn’t waiting for him to wake up. Crawford had left Nagi watching Schu, stopped on the way back to get more commercially-produced pixie sticks, and come home to find Schuldig–gone.

He had slipped out the window, apparently, taking nothing but the clothes he–maybe–was wearing. So Schuldig, that. Ownership didn’t matter to him, his own any more than anyone else’s. If he wanted something, he simply took it. If he didn’t, he left it, knowing he could acquire it again if he cared to.

“If you love somebody,” Sting sang in his head yet again, “set them free.” Crawford had to snort. Again. Love? Such a word could never apply to Schuldig, let alone Crawford. He didn’t love Schuldig, any more than he loved his Talent or his right arm.

Vision or not, he’d been right. Schuldig had destroyed him. Crawford didn’t know what to do next.

Now, when he was sure that it was all over, that all his plans lay in ruins, now was the time for chaos incarnate, for his pixie to stroll into the room, embarrass Nagi with a filthy comment, incite Farfarello to sniff his modeling glue, and wrap himself around Crawford with an obscene suggestion or at least, “is that a leek in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

The doorway remained obstinately empty.

“If you want to keep something precious,” Sting said later in that same song, “You got to lock it up and throw away the key.”

Crawford couldn’t lock Schuldig up. He’d learned that much, at least.

But damn it, he could talk to the man. At least he wanted to know why Schuldig was so angry at him. He’d done everything he knew to make the wild child happy, everything that used to please the man. Crawford didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. And he needed to.

For once, damn it, the pixie was going to explain.

And maybe, while he was explaining, Crawford could…touch him. His hair, or that elfin face, or–

“Nagi,” Crawford said, checking his gun on reflex as he stood, he hadn’t put it away since coming home, “is Schuldig still dressed?”

The boy looked up from his laptop. “You’re going after him?” Wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Well–

Vision–a blood-covered modeling knife. Crawford spun away before he analyzed.

The Irishman grinned and left the knife stuck in the couch, to pull his crescent-hilt blade.

Crawford jumped to the side, pulled his gun and fired at Nagi.

As he’d been trained, the boy shoved. Farfarello hit the wall. Crawford flew out the window. Up, run, Farfarello was fast, and a bullet wouldn’t slow him…Crawford darted into the street, knocked the rider off the motorcycle he’d known would be there. Farfarello came out the window, too late. Crawford revved the engine and shot away.

Bickley. Crawford had decided to go after Schu, and his team had turned on him. That bastard had managed to tamper with Nagi, to unite Farfarello behind one goal.

That meant Schuldig wasn’t gone.

*********

The sun was shining in his eyes. Yohji groaned and burrowed under Aya. Damn, it was bright. Why–

Oh no. Oh hell no. Not again.

“Aya” cursed in German. Yohji threw himself away, and didn’t fall off the bed.

He wasn’t lying on a bed. He was on a goddamned beach again. With Schuldig. Again.

And he didn’t even remember drinking.

Fuck. Aya was not going to understand.

Not that Yohji did. He jumped to his feet, praying for a taxi, a boat, anything, had to get home to beg Aya’s forgiveness, he didn’t have a clue what he’d done but he sure hadn’t meant to–

Nothing. There was nothing man-made in sight. Ocean, sand, sun, barren rocky ground inland, palm trees. That was it. Yohji gulped down panic and kicked the German. Gently, he was sort of a friend. Kind of.

“Schu! Schuldig! Wake up! Where the fuck are we?”

“Kudou,” the German growled, “kick me again and you’ll never get it up again without a sheep within reach.”

Yohji jumped back and took a deep breath as the German sat up. “Schu,” he said politely, clenching his fingers and not reaching for that skinny little neck, “where are we?”

“How the hell would I know?” The telepath scratched at his hair, pulled a piece of seaweed from it and stared for a moment before he shrugged and tossed it. “Was there a mermaid?”

“Schu,” the German had sat up facing the ocean, “look behind you.”

Finally some of Yohji’s panic must have sank through Schu’s hangover, he leaped and spun in one too-fast movement.

“Gott in der Hölle,” he breathed. “Where are the hotels? The beach bars?”

“Forget the booze!” Yohji said, and blinked at that coming from him. Aya had–Aya! He grabbed Schuldig’s collar. “Where are the cars? Where’s the airport? I’ve got to get home!”

“Maa maa, Kudou, you’re such a spaz.” Schuldig freed himself and lit a bent cigarette with unsteady hands. “Think back. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Botan. Schuldig smirked.

“Aww, Kudou’s kitty got a new love?”

“Fuck you.” Yohji lit his own bent cigarette.

“Shit, you’re worried about a dead man? Obsess on your own time, Kudou. Fast forward, where did we meet?”

Umm…obsess, obsess, rescue the kid, obsess, go grumbling off to buy cigarettes, meet–Schu? No. Yes?

“I don’t remember,” he said. The German swore a lot of words Yohji didn’t know, and whipped out his cell phone.

“No service. You?”

“Same.” Damn it, this time he’d brought it!

He’d brought his watch, too, fat lot of good it did him.

“Scheisse, will you shut it down?” Yohji got that damn sinus headache again, like his head was in a vice. Schuldig shook his head.

“Nobody,” he said softly. “I can’t read one single person besides you.”

“What–“ Yohji cleared his throat, “–what’s your range?”

“How the fuck would I know? Farther than I’ve ever been from everybody.”

“Are you sure–“

”Yes, my damned power is working, why the fuck do you think I shielded you?” Schuldig stalked off along the beach. Yohji ran after him.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a drink.”

“How do you know–“

”I don’t!” the German shouted, and waved at the ocean. “I don’t have a fucking snorkel!” He waved at the palm trees. “I don’t have a goddamned machete!” He waved down the beach behind them. “The sun would be in my eyes! So I’m going this way, you go wherever the fuck you want!” He stomped on.

Yohji reviewed the German’s logic, and made a considered decision to follow him.

They hadn’t been walking ten minutes when they came over a rocky outcrop and spotted a tiki hut, complete with two lounge chairs and a cooler between them. That, Yohji decided, was scary. Schuldig sighed relief and lowered himself to lounging before he investigated the cooler.

“Ha!” he crowed, pulling out a bottle. “Schön! Ron Zacapa Centenario, someone likes me!”

“Are you going to…drink that?”

“What do you think?”

“You don’t know–“

”And I don’t care.” Schuldig opened the bottle, cooing lovingly at the pop! as he broke the seal. He looked around, possibly for a glass, but no such thing had been provided. He sipped rather than gulped. “Ah. The good stuff.”

Yohji gave up and sat down. “Give me some of that.”

“You quit drinking.” Schuldig hung onto the bottle.

“I’ll make an exception.”

“Drink the American beer. This stuff would be wasted on you.”

“Weren’t you ever taught to share?”

“Hello? Villain!” Schuldig held the bottle out of reach, but groped in the cooler with the other hand, and shoved a fifth of Stolichnaya at Yohji. “There. Happy?”

“No.” Yohji opened the bottle and tipped it back. “You’re not Aya, I like Absolut better, and one of these days I’d like to be asked before I’m whisked away for an exotic vacation.”

“Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch.” Schuldig crowed again and tossed a cigar in Yohji’s lap. “Good stuff,” he said again, biting the end off his own. “I could get used to this.”

“Until you want to get laid. Schu, what the fuck are we doing here? Did you have another fight with Crawford?”

“Relax, Kudou. You have booze, beach, and beautiful companion. What more do you want?”

“Aya,” Yohji said. “Choices. My new CD. Breakfast.” To know that at least Schu knew what the hell was going on. Because he was becoming increasingly sure the German didn’t. Just as he was becoming sure he hadn’t been drunk. Yohji knew hangovers. Normally he could identify what he’d been drinking the night before from the morning after. This time there was that damn headache, but that was it. That didn’t fit with anything he’d ever drank before–and Yohji knew quite well he’d tried pretty much everything.

Schuldig leaned to grab the waist of Yohji’s pants and look down them.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Checking,” the German answered, going back to slouching in his chair. “You whine like a woman, I wanted to make sure you had balls.”

“Bastard.”

“You know it.” Schu took a long drink, then set the bottle down to pat himself. “I got a pack and a half of cigarettes, three lighters, and four pixie sticks.”

“A pack of cigarettes,” Yohji contributed, “pack of matches, and…breath spray.”

“Bring on the native girls,” Schu muttered, and drank. Yohji thought that was a damn good idea.

The drinking, not the girls. Aya would cut him into little pieces then never talk to him again.

Not that Aya was ever likely to speak to him again, even if he behaved. When/if he ever saw Aya again, as soon as he confessed that he’d somehow run off with Schuldig again…

Yohji drank.

“Verdammte, it’s quiet,” Schu muttered. Yohji’s headache eased, maybe at the reminder that there weren’t any screaming fangirls, or something.

He’d take the fangirls, as long as he got Aya too. Just give him Aya, and Kami, he’d give those fangirls a show–

::Kudou, you are an endless source of amusement. Are you sure you bend that way?::

“Get out of my head!”

::Make me.::

Yohji pulled out his secret weapon, and hoped it worked.

“This is the song that never ends,” he thought as loud as he could,

“It just goes on and on my friends.

Some people started singing it not knowing what it was–“

”Gah!! All right, already, stop it!”

Finally. Score one for Kudou Yohji.

“So,” he said when the bottle was a third gone. His head was pleasantly spinning, it didn’t take much anymore. “Did you have a fight with Crawford?”

“Ja.”

“And?”

“I tried to kill him.”

“Why?”

Schuldig cocked his head, thinking. “I’m not really sure.”

“But you didn’t kill him?”

“I’m…not really sure.”

Lovely.

“So,” Schu said sometime later, “somebody else got to Fujimiya first?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wanna?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Drink more.”

Good plan. Yohji drank. What else did he have to do?

******

Farf is working on Dilandau’s guymelef, from Escaflowne. I figure Dilandau would be Farf’s kind of guy.

The song is Sting’s, “If You Love Somebody.”

“The Song that Never Ends” is apparently a camp song. Thank God I never had to sing it. It also seems to be the theme song of Lambchop, to whom I was accidentally exposed and from whom I hope someday to recover.