Disclaimer: not mine, not making any money
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Squick warning in general.
Keywords: CHARACTER DEATH! FarfarelloxSchu and vice versa.
Notes: I can hear you scream, "No! I won't read it anymore if she does that!" Don't worry. Without giving the plot away here, I can assure you all is not as it seems. ^__^
Thankees: To the feedbackers. To cigarettes.
Soundtrack for this installment: Lorreena McKennitt's "Book of Secrets"
On with Insanity...
"Come burrow through my ruins, shed not a tear."
Baudelaire
The sun filtered in through the polished windows, flecking the floor with gold, one of those rare days in Tokyo when the smog did not turn every single beam of light into a dull gloom. Families gathered in the parks, children by the hand, to celebrate the long sought-for coming of sunnier days. Laughter, clear as crystal bells, shot through with birdsong and the soft whispering of leaves in the gentle breeze, and it was as beautiful a day as one might wish for.
It was so sickeningly sweet, it made her want to puke.
High on the rooftop of the Taketori Towers, where the laughter from the city below didn't reach, Dee Moriate stood next to the sepulchral statue of a gargoyle, one pale, fragile hand on the black, rough stone. The Taketori Towers, looking out over this part of the Whore like a guard, were eerily silent; only the wind kept the stones company, stroking them, smoothing their edges over the years. She liked this place and had come here often ever since she had arrived, sometimes to think, sometimes to be alone.
A mighty gust of wind pulled at her, playing through her hair like a thousand unruly fingers. She stepped away from the gargoyle, and started swaying slightly, finally dancing to an unheard melody...tribal drums, birdcalls and echoing choirs, so oddly out of line in this stone-cold place. Wilder and wilder her movements became, until finally, she lifted her arms and let herself fall backwards, over the rim of the roof, the darkness calling, the abyss urging, the voices beckoning.
Her mind descended over the city like a harpy, burning into souls and dreams and feeble wishes, sweeping aside these bare essentials of life to search for the identity of the person they belonged to, casting aside what she did not need to know. People stored so many useless things in their heads; it made her wonder how they could think straight at all.
Then again, maybe they didn't.
Below her, children, mothers and fathers looked up from their happy lives in bewilderment, staring as though they had never seen each other before. For one single moment, they were overcome by a feeling of vertigo, that sickening plummeting descend the stomach takes to remind one of gravity's burden. It was barely a flicker in time, but enough to leave many of them rattled enough to pack up their gaudy blankets, their sweet-smelling lunches, and retreat into the relative safety of their shelters.
Travelling faster than light, the mindreader's consciousness skittered through subway stations, falling into the deep pits where the rats and the hopeless dwelt, rising them from their day-sleep. Through dark tunnels she went, past underground canals that stretched under the city like arteries, pulsing with the flotsam and the jetsam of the night. Down here, where hope and future played no part in every day's tragedy, where friend shied away from friend, she stopped, listening, waiting. She was good at that. She had seen the dirt, revelled in the clouded minds of alcoholics and junkies, tasted their hunger for addiction. It was nothing new to her.
One mind in particular, interested her. It hid directly below a drain cover, staring up at the beams of light sinking down through the holes in the metal, following the particles of dust that danced to the mud-covered floor like snowflakes. Shivering, the child sat there, listening to the sounds of life it could never enjoy again. Birdsong. Laughter. Love.
Love is a beast, little one She whispered into the child's mind, smiling as his head shot around, eyes searching to discern shadow from shadow in the never-ending darkness. Did your mommy never tell you that some monsters are real?
His mouth opened in a wail; on all fours he scuttled away, skinning hands and knees, mixing his blood with the rot that clung to every surface below. She let him.
She could always find him again, now that she knew what he tasted like.
Tot suppressed an annoyed sigh as she watched Taketori stare at the picture that stood before him on his desk. Who would have known that the death of one useless offspring could shake the man so much? He had others to worry about, business to worry about. Ouka had been just one of many tiny seeds floating in his loins; he could always produce another Ouka, another child.
Taking her mind off of him for a moment, Tot thought about the mindreader currently standing on the roof above their heads, searching the city. Eszet had not asked twice why she wanted Dee Moriate; all it had taken was the mentioning of a possible revolt against the organisation. They did not like rebels. They did not like their clientele to become suspicious of the gifted they sent them; and Taketori had become very suspicious of Schwarz over the last seven weeks. Seven weeks since Ouka had died so uselessly, seven weeks and still no clue to the whereabouts of Omi Tsukiyono, the boy who had supposedly killed her. Tot had her doubts, though. One does not kill the woman he loves; one does not set her on fire and then vanish into the many folds and cracks of Tokyo.
They had found hairs in Ouka's apartment that should not have been there unless the girl had managed to drag a certain orange-haired Schwarz member to her bed, which Tot doubted. She gave Schuldig enough taste not to lower himself that deep into the pits of depravity. Besides, if the redhead's mooning over the scarred idiot was any indication to his preferences, Ouka Taketori would have been the last person on earth to grace Schuldig's list of acquisitions.
Orange hair on the carpet in Ouka's apartment.
How?
She could have picked it up during the dinner party seven weeks ago. Tot had seen her passing by the telepath and his pale lover, had seen her talk to Nagi and even touch him. Those hairs could have come from Naoe's jacket. They could even have come from her father's office; Schwarz spent enough time in here for Schuldig to leave some hair behind.
So many possibilities.
Another possibility: Schuldig had killed Ouka, for reasons as of yet unknown. She knew enough about the telepath to mark him as one who does not need reasons, who does not even need an excuse for doing what he did.
Tot sighed, crossed her legs, sinking deeper into the cushions of the couch. Eszet had not been thrilled about her report of their client's daughter's death. Technically, Schwarz were supposed to watch only over Taketori, they were his bodyguards and personal dogs. He paid them, and in extent Eszet, millions to do his dirty work.
In reality, though, the client's words weighted more than words on a sheet of paper. Ouka had been present during the dinner party; she, being Taketori's daughter, should have been just as well guarded as her father. True, she had left the dinner party to go to a disco - but something had happened on the way between the party and the city. Something that had cost Ouka her life.
Taketori looked up sharply as the door to his office opened without his secretary announcing someone; however, he deflated quickly as the mindreader stepped inside noiselessly. The girl worried him. She seemed to carry an unnatural silence with her, silencing everyone around. He had been less than happy when Tot had announced she would bring in another of those creeps. His only reason for allowing it had been the fact that his personal creeps were stuck in the investigation of his daughter's death.
Dee Moriate had been his guest for three days now, each day making her presence close to him a less desirable one. If someone had asked Taketori to give one word to describe her, 'colourless' would have come to his mind. She was one of those people who melted into the background and stabbed you in the back when you least expected it, masking her appearance with the frightening ability to vanish. It gave him the feeling of giving up a piece of himself every time he spoke to her, of surrendering all his secrets. Schuldig, in comparison, at least made his presence known in one's mind, most of the time.
This girl just came in, stayed, and vanished when she had gathered enough knowledge.
"I found him," Dee Moriate announced in English, standing by the door with her hands clasped before her belly. "He hides in the canalisation."
"Tsukiyono?"
Flat, dead eyes the colour of palest blue fastened on him, accompanied by the slow rising of one corner of her mouth in an annoyed sneer.
"Who else?"
"What?"
Surprise in that voice, paired with the unmistakeable hint at worry, and Farfarello looked up from his book, watching Schuldig rise from his chair and stride to the window to light yet another cigarette. On the couch, Crawford folded his newspaper, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Nagi, fingers stationary above they keyboard of his laptop, whistled softly.
"Tot is pulling out the big guns," the youth muttered.
"Who is this Moriate?" Farfarello closed the book, sitting up on the floor. He had been listening to them with half an ear, absorbed in the latest Stephen King. The author amused him to no extent, each new book being a variation of the last, all playing with man's deepest fears. The name had registered with him when Crawford had spoken it, yet since he did not connect anyone with it he had paid no further attention.
"A mindreader, just like Schu." Crawford reached for his coffee cup, watching the oily surface reflect the sunlight. "She's a creep."
"If she's just a creep, then why do you worry about her?"
"Because she's a powerful creep," Schuldig remarked from the window, blowing out smoke with more force than necessary. "Eszet claims she's the second most powerful telepath on earth in her line of work."
"What is she doing here, then?"
"My guess would be that Tot brought her in." Crawford sighed. "Great. Just what we needed now, in this situation."
No one answered his last remark. Things had not exactly been 'peachy' in the apartment ever since the Ouka-incident. They spent the days looking for Tsukiyono, yet the search had been fruitless so far. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed the surviving kitten, each day of his absence on the end of one of Farfarello's blades making Taketori angrier with them, letting the old man forget Schwarz were currently strung tight between searching the kitten and taking out a ring of smugglers who threatened to overtake Taketori's own business at the waterfront. There was rarely a night when they did not come home covered in blood or mentally strained, their strength and powers taxed from too much killing. Farfarello would not have thought it possible to ever tire of murder, but as it was now, the possibility had become reality, the only light on the horizon being the growing relationship with Schuldig.
"I'll go vision-walk in a few hours," Crawford sounded even more tired than Farfarello felt. "Tonight, the waterfront again. Perhaps by then, I'll have learned enough to tell you if her being here has any consequences for us."
"As if it wouldn't," Schuldig scoffed.
"And whose fault would that be?" Crawford shot back, voice rising. "I still have trouble believing you could be that stupid!"
The redhead turned back to the window and did not answer.
"Perhaps...Moriate is here for something else entirely?" Nagi asked tentatively, fingers dancing with keys again.
"Moriate only gets called in by representatives, Nagi," Crawford turned to the youth, "No one can hire her, no matter how much money they're willing to pay. No. She's here because of us. I can smell it."
Farfarello cocked his head. Through the now constantly open connection he had with Schuldig, he could feel the other's annoyance and worry. He waited until Crawford and Nagi had left the room, then stood and walked over to the telepath, leaning against the wall next to him. For a minute, neither of them spoke a word. The Irishman fished a palm-long knife out of a belt sheath and cut into his right index finger, as always fascinated by how easily the metal parted skin and flesh. A ruby drop of blood welled up at the cut, smearing the metal of the blade. Schuldig glanced at him, eyes resting on the blood. Without a further word, the telepath stepped closer to his lover, resting his head on Farfarello's shoulder, smiling as the Irishman's arm came around his waist. A warm shiver went through him as Schuldig's teeth grazed the skin between his neck and shoulder, slowly sucking a dapple of blood to the surface, worrying at the supple flesh under his lips. His fingers dug into Schuldig's waist.
"Tell me about her."
Schuldig sighed, mouth resting, tongue laving the flesh his teeth had irritated.
"She gets called in when other gifted are under suspicion of breaching contract. Tot must have gotten some of her still functioning brain cells to work; she probably thinks we have something to do with Ouka's death."
"We do."
"That's not the point. Moriate has 'specialized' on others of her kind."
"In short, she mindrapes the mindrapers?"
"Yeah. Imagine what will happen when she finds out what we did. Imagine what Eszet will do to us!"
Farfarello frowned. Eszet again. If only -
"Don't." Schuldig shook his head. "We have no chance of standing up to them."
"How come, with all those mindreaders, oracles, telekinetics and fuck knows who's still out there, nobody has yet tried to revolt against the mainframe? Are you all scared of them?"
"Eszet is powerful. More powerful than you can imagine. You've never been to the Switzerland base, you don't know what it's like to be in their hands."
"Show me."
The trickle of images began steadily, rising to a current. Farfarello closed his eyes and let Schuldig's mind wash over him, accepting the information the other was pouring into him.
Snow. Snow was the first thing he saw. Snow, and the pristine cold of the mountains that surrounded them, high mountains, rising up into a cutting-clear sky of cloudless blue. Amid all the whiteness, hidden between two steep mountain chains, cradled in a softly sloping landscape of blue-green fir trees, a long, low-roofed building blended in with the brightness around, walls painted white. It was a vast complex, stretched flat against the ground like a woodlouse, surrounded by high electric voltage fences.
The image changed, he stood inside the complex now, smelling...absolutely nothing. He frowned. No disinfectants, no blood, no nothing. Strange.
A soft footfall made him turn; a young woman, a girl rather, was walking down the hallway towards him, hands clasped before her belly. She was small, inconspicuous, chin-long, mousy hair parted down the middle doing nothing to ease the hardness of her features. As he looked at her, she stopped before a door that lead off the hallway. She opened it and slipped inside. A moment later, Farfarello stood inside the same room. There was no furniture except a long, low metallic table, upon which lay another young girl, roughly the same age as the first. Farfarello noticed three other people in the room, standing in a corner, talking. Two old people, grey-haired, one of them leaning on a walking cane. The third person was Schuldig. Younger, hair only to his shoulders and just as ruffled, a nervous expression on his face.
The girl on the table was breathing hard, thin, bony wrists fighting against the bounds that held them down on the metal table, feet kicking uselessly. Her eyes were pleading as she looked at the old people, at Schuldig, and finally, at the first girl that now stood next to her.
"Please, I - I did not do anything!" Voice so small, so utterly helpless.
He heard the cracking sounds of her bones as she convulsed, muscles contracting hard enough to break the fragile bones of her meagre frame, fingers scratching over the table surface. It lasted only for a moment, and yet it seemed to go on for hours. The girl on the table began to twist, shaking with cramps, garbled noises escaping her clenching throat.
And next to her, peacefully watching with her head cocked, stood Dee Moriate.
The connection was ripped apart, leaving him hanging in mid-air for a moment, reeling from the intensity of the images until he felt the floor of their apartment beneath his feet, and the warm solidity of Schuldig's arms around his waist, holding him up. No matter how often they did it, being inside the other's mind instead of allowing the telepath into his own, still left him shaken, out of place.
"Are you all right?" Concern mixed with Schuldig's voice, muffled into his shoulder. Farfarello nodded, taking a deep breath. He let himself be led to the couch and sat down, Schuldig next to him.
"The girl on the table died that day," Schuldig said, his fingers in Farfarello's hair. "She had committed no other crime than to refuse her client's 'advances', whereupon he accused her of breach of contract, whereupon she ruined a few businesses of his. She got sent back to Eszet, and Moriate interrogated her."
"What happened to her?"
"She didn't survive the interrogation."
"If it was the client who fucked things up in the first place, how come the girl got punished?"
"Eszet law. Blame the telepath, and keep the clientele happy. I can understand some of their motives, though. Eszet wouldn't survive without the money the clients pay them. In a way, they're just as bound to the clients as we are bound to Eszet. Sort of a no-win situation."
"Still, if Eszet wouldn't be there..."
An angry sigh, followed by a sharp bite to his earlobe. It made Farfarello purr happily. A thought occurred to him.
"Who was the client?"
"Guess."
"So, does Taketori pay you enough for you to accept his 'advances'?"
Tot cringed, forcing her hands to stay calm on the steering wheel. Next to her, staring straight ahead, Dee Moriate played with a loose thread of her sweater, eyes resting on the street before them. They were on the way to Tot's personal apartment.
"Well?"
"Enough for me to close my eyes and pretend I'm happy."
A small smile appeared on the mindreader's lips. Personally, she did not care who Tot was fucking, or for what. She did not particularly like the Eszet representative; tagging her as one of the most useless minds she had ever come into contact with. Yet, it did not matter. She was here for a job, and she had every intention to wrap things up as fast as possible, so she could leave Tokyo again. The Asian metropolis was too crowded for her taste, too large, too dirty, too loud.
"When are you going down to find that boy?"
"As soon as your lover gets me a few men I can take with me. I have no intention to crawl through the dirt all by myself."
"Aww, scared of rats?"
Moriate did not answer.
"Taketori is herding some people together, rest assured. Tomorrow night, at the latest, you'll have your men."
No answer, again.
They stopped at a red light, people swarming over the street before and around them like ants. Moriate looked out of the side window, studying shop displays and neon signs that glowed even in the light of this sunny day.
"God, I hate this city."
Tot glanced at the mindreader, nearly missing the light switch to green. Swearing at the honking cars behind her, she drove on.
"So...when are you going to Schwarz and interrogate Schuldig?"
"The anticipation in your voice speaks volumes, Tot."
"You didn't answer my question."
"When it is time." Moriate picked an envelope out of an inner pocket of her jacket and took a photo out. It showed four people; Schwarz, sitting together in an expensive Tokyo restaurant, so out of place with all the dark-haired, slanted-eyed people around them. Not even Nagi Naoe, despite being of Japanese blood, fit into the surroundings. "I guess they won't be happy to see me."
"Are people ever happy to see you?"
"No." Her fingers traced Schuldig's face, coming to rest on that of the white-haired's. "Who is this Farfarello? The mainframe could not give me much information about him other than that he's Irish and insane."
"He's, ah, Schuldig's newest toy. Feels no pain, has a serious god complex, and is an excellent killer. We saw no reason so far to keep closer tabs on him...until now." Tot pulled into a driveway, bringing the car to a halt in front of the entrance to the apartment building she lived in when she was not spending time with Taketori. "Why?"
"Just curious."
The girl's calmness made Tot nervous. She had worked with Moriate before, once, when she had come to work with Taketori. Actually, that had not been real work. Tot had brought Taketori's former mindreader to the airport, where a plane had been waiting for her. All she had seen of her back then had been a glimpse of her face through one of the plane's windows, eyes fastened on the crying girl on the stretcher the men with Tot were carrying. Back then, she'd only heard of her, stories that made one lift an eyebrow and ask whether these stories were true. Supposedly, Moriate had been bred and trained in Switzerland; she had specialized on mindreaders instead of on the people the gifted were supposed to work with or for. Eszet kept Moriate's heritage a secret. All Tot knew for sure was that she was European. Not even her age was known. She could have been fifteen, she could have been twenty-five, or thirty.
"I'm twenty-one."
"Gah! Stay out of my mind!"
"No."
They got out of the car. On the steps leading to the entrance, Moriate stopped, turning her face towards the street, frozen for a moment, as if she was listening to something only she could hear. Tot, key already in the lock, turned also.
"What?"
"Where are Schwarz scheduled tonight?"
"The waterfront." Tot frowned. "Why didn't you take that out of my mind?"
"Because you told me." Moriate walked back down the steps, heading towards the street. "I'll be back later. Don't wait for me. If Taketori finally manages to get his hands on a few men out of the hundreds he has, give me a call."
"Where are you going?"
"Sightseeing." She vanished around the next corner.
"Fucking creeps!" Tot shouted, stomping her foot. Sometimes, all these mindreaders, oracles, and whatnots were too much for her.
From the Tokyo Tower to the Happoen Gardens he walked, his usual route. Passing shops and street vendors, trailing his fingers along brick walls and shop windows, the mannequins staring at him with sightless eyes, beauty forever preserved in plastic, mankind's offering to the altar of immortality. Perhaps, seeing that immortality was not within reach, man tried to at least leave copies of him behind, so the coming races would never forget who had ruled earth at one time. The thought greatly amused Crawford. Coming races, if they were smart, would try and let everything that once belonged to humanity vanish. Humanity.funny how one used the word as something that was supposedly good and meant good for others, all the while forgetting the crimes man was capable of. Murder. Rape. World Wars, dragging entire countries down to decay and death. Humanity certainly left its mark on the face of the earth. Perhaps, by doing so, they had already achieved immortality, their deeds forever carved into the soil, into the air, into the very soul of the blue planet.
He bought a Hot Dog from a street vendor and continued his walk, abandoning his mind's ramblings for visions. They came steadily, softly, like a lover coming to a loved one's bed. Flashes about the immediate future, stringed together in no apparent order, and yet there was order, beneath the chaos, beneath the swirling images. It had taken the American years to master the ability to part 'important' from 'useless', making mental stacks through which he would then go, sorting things out.
He did not like what he saw this time.
Blood and mayhem, down at the waterfront. Their assignment? Probably. Then again, blood and mayhem were constant side products of Schwarz's very existence, clinging to them like bad omens. As far as he could tell, all would go well where it concerned Nagi and Schuldig, though there was a dark cloud hanging over the red-haired telepath, not yet swooping down to envelope him. He did not know if it was imminent, or something coming from a future not yet in the making.
People always thought being an oracle meant seeing exactly what the future brought. They were so wrong. He'd never heard of a single precognition - gifted who could tell exactly what would happen; if that were possible then the world would be a different place entirely. What he saw in his mind's eye went beyond pictures; feelings, more, hinting at happenings, giving rise to possibilities. He felt more than he saw. He had 'seen' Ouka die, true, felt her ripped out of life in an instant. The feeling had been precise enough for him to even tell the exact time she would leave the dinner party.
If everything Crawford saw could have been easily interpreted, then he'd sure as hell have foreseen Schuldig having his joke of an idea.
Crawford finished his Hot Dog, licking mustard off of his lips. As usual, the feeling dwindled when he focused on Farfarello, the impression more cloudy than anything else, imprecise. He had gotten used to it over the last months, but in the light of the current situation, he wished he'd have a clearer impression to know what they were heading into.
A quick flash, his inner eye turning in a perfect circle, and he was at the waterfront, crumbling warehouses in his back. Staring out at the oily waters of the Tokyo bay, he clearly felt another presence, masked beneath the sounds of the night and the gently rolling waters. He turned, trying to keep the current vision, and yet it became weaker and weaker as he searched the darkness for that other presence.
With a snap, he came back to reality, finding himself sitting on a park bench, crumbled Hot Dog wrappings in one hand, doves at his feet. They fluttered away as he moved, bringing one hand up to his face to readjust his glasses. Well, it did not matter. Even without his abilities, he could have told Dee Moriate would pay them a visit tonight.
He resumed his walk, picking the lesser-crowded streets and alleys for his way back home. People did not pay him much attention. He was one of a thousand tourists, one of a thousand businessmen who walked Japanese streets. Often, before or after his vision-walks, Crawford contemplated how his life would be if he hadn't been born gifted. Would he be one of those businessmen, or would he be a married man, tucking his children into bed at night, telling them stories? And if so, what stories would he have told them?
Eszet pretty much limited one's personal life. Attachments between the gifted and the normal people were strongly discouraged; at times, when the gifted did not cooperate, Eszet sent in people to take care of a loved one. More often than not, that was all that kept some of the gifted in their line of work: a mother, a brother, a wife, held hostage somewhere, used to keep the gifted in check. It was cruel, and yet so effective. Even Schuldig would play along willingly now, had he been one of those rebels. The telepath's transformation from slut to loving partner, no matter how twisted the relationship between him and Farfarello might be, amazed Crawford. He'd never thought the redhead able of such a change...then again, nothing had really changed. Schuldig was still as cruel, still as jaded, as he had been before, the only difference being that he did not hop from bed to bed anymore, did not fuck faceless strangers anymore.
In a way, if Crawford hadn't known better, he'd almost say Schuldig had...settled down.
Yeah, right Crawford thought with a smirk The day Schu settles down will be the day I find myself a silent little wife and father three screaming brats
His smirk faded as he turned a corner. He was in the street where the flower shop had stood; where now, after seven weeks, only a charred ruin told of the drama that had unfolded here. As of yet, no one had wanted to buy the site; people were suspicious of places that had witnessed such cruelty as the burning of three people, all three of them murdered before the fourth occupant of the house, barely out of his teens, had set them and the flower shop on fire.
They had to find Tsukiyono before Moriate did. There was no telling if Schuldig had fucked up the young man's mind enough not to leave any hints to his and Farfarello's involvement in Ouka's death; perhaps even the fact that someone had muddled the youth's mind would be enough for Moriate to tell what had happened. If she found out, Schwarz would have to make a fast getaway. And then? Crawford did not like the idea of being on the run for the rest of his life, hiding from the mainframe, hiding from the world. So far, every gifted who had tried to escape from Eszet had been caught; either by another gifted or one of Eszet's damned bounty hunters. Representatives all over the world would know their faces. The idea of having to spend the rest of his days somewhere in the jungle, or under Africa's burning sun, did not appeal to Crawford, either.
Nagi ground his teeth, clasping his hands over his ears. How was he supposed to study for school if Schuldig and Farfarello were making such a noise next to his room? He considered yelling at them, but that had never worked so far; if anything, it had caused the telepath to send him detailed images of what exactly they were doing, and Nagi could live without those. He tried to concentrate on his books again, but failed miserably.
Maybe it would be quieter on the roof.
Schuldig drew back slowly, one hand gripping the base of his lover's cock tightly, his other hand rubbing maddeningly gentle circles over the head of Farfarello's erection. He slid back into the heat of his lover's ass, pulling out to watch with fascination how the ring of muscle gripped him, refusing to let him go, sucking him back in. There were streaks of blood on the telepath's cock, mixed with all the secret fluids of Farfarello's body; the Irishman refused to let Schuldig use any kind of lubrication, claiming to feel closer to his lover without the slick glide of baby oil or gel.
Farfarello's insensitivity to pain seemed to further his body's ability to feel other physical stimulation. He was amazingly receptive to caresses of any kind, fairly purring when touched in the right places. With Schuldig, he did not seem to care which those places were.
Another slow stroke, and Schuldig pulled his lover's cock away from his body, stretching him taut. Farfarello hissed, throwing his head back. He was holding himself up off of the floor with his hands clamped around a metal bar set into the wall in a corner of his room, normally used for pull-ups. With his legs clamped around Schuldig's waist, he could control his own moves as much as Schuldig, and he used that control now to push himself down, onto his lover's cock, growling under his breath.
Stop daydreaming already and fuck me
Schuldig chuckled and complied, sending them both into orgasm with a few, hard strokes that nearly took some skin off his cock. Spent, huffing for breath, they rode the aftershocks of release. Farfarello let go of the metal bar, causing Schuldig to stagger under his considerable weight. A few wobbly steps brought them to the safety of Farfarello's bed; with a satisfied sigh they fell down, their bodies coming apart at last to be tangled together again a second later as the Irishman wound himself around his sweaty lover, playfully attacking an already sore nipple. Schuldig groaned, arching his back, giving in to teeth and lips and tongue, and Farfarello did not ease up on him until Schuldig let out a pained moan paired with ecstasy, writhing in earnest now under the onslaught.
"You wimp," Farfarello teased, laying his head down on Schuldig's chest, flicking the pebbled nipple with one finger, grinning as he felt the tremor course through the body beneath him once again. Schuldig batted at his hand.
"I'll tell you when I stop feeling pain, then you can slash me up all you want," Drowsily, Schuldig snuggled deeper into the pillows. "What time is it?"
"Around six. Tired?"
"Fucked."
"In the truest sense of the word." Farfarello grinned, pulling himself up so he could lie next to his lover, one arm around his waist. "I wonder if Crawford is going to give in to Nagi."
"Hm?"
"Soundproof walls."
Schuldig laughed, fingers ruffling through the other's short hair. "The kid needs a sex life."
"Or two busted eardrums. It would be cheaper, anyway."
They heard the front door open and close. A moment later, a soft knock on the door to Farfarello's room announced Crawford's return to the apartment. The Schwarz leader did not wait for an invitation to come in, he simply did: it was not as if either Schuldig or the Irishman cared, anyway. Raising an eyebrow at their state, Crawford leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
"Moriate will show up tonight if she doesn't change her plans."
"Mh, great." Schuldig sighed. "And?"
"I did not foresee her causing any problems. As far as I know, she wants to pay us a visit."
"Can we kill her?" Farfarello asked.
"No, I fear not. It would only get us into more trouble."
"Well, are we in trouble?"
"Yes. Schu, where is Tsukiyono?"
The telepath sat up, shrugging his shoulders. Crawford snorted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"If Schu can't, how do you expect this Moriate to find him?"
"I don't know if she can," Crawford admitted, "But the possibility alone gives me a bad feeling."
Farfarello pursed his lips, pondering. He was content with his life as it was at the moment, leaving aside his ever-present hatred for god. The option of changing anything, even so much as location, did not appeal to him one bit. The option of someone other than him getting their hands on Schuldig made him angry.
"Calm down," Schuldig stroked the side of his lover's face, smiling. "Let's find out what she wants first. I've met her only once, maybe she has changed, maybe she can be negotiated with."
"Negotiated?" Crawford echoed, disbelieving. "Are you mad? What can you possibly offer her that would interest her? Do you know anything about her I don't?"
A small, evil smile danced over the telepath's face, causing Farfarello's blood to run quicker and Crawford to groan quietly.
"Not yet," Schuldig said.
She listened. Shuffling feet, the miniscule pattering of rat paws, the groaning of old wood and metal, coming from the warehouses and the ships on the water of Tokyo's bay, paired with the cheese-yellow lights of the city, and again she wondered how any criminal could pick a place such as this for conducting business of any kind. Had she been a cop, places like the waterfront would be the first on her list of suspicious locations. They were practically screaming 'gangster hideout!'.
The row of warehouses that faced the water was dark and silent. Yet, she knew there were people, she could hear them, hear their thoughts. All of her was open to the outside world, picking up even the most unimportant flick of a thought. If she concentrated really hard, she could even hear the rats.
She had brought no weapon. It was pointless; Moriate was someone who relied on her mind's power alone, leaving it to others to spill blood. If it came to any kind of confrontation tonight, a weapon would do her no good, anyway. She was no match for trained assassins when it came to guns and muscles.
Tot had given her a call two hours ago, interrupting her 'sightseeing' at the waterfront. Apparently, Taketori had managed to round a few of his men together to accompany her into the canalisation of Tokyo tomorrow. It was not something she was looking forward to. Wading through murky waters mixed with shit and urine was not what she considered a favourite hobby of hers; and yet, she would do it for the job.
Briefly, Moriate thought about her last job. She had been sent to Washington D.C., where an oracle had deliberately given false information to his client, causing the politician to lose several million dollars in stocks. The oracle had been an old man, close to seventy years old, and nearly broken. She had felt sorry for him, in a way. Never before, a mindreader had touched his mind, raided the dusty shelves of his memory, and she had come in and blown the dust away. To her, it did not matter that the politician the old oracle had worked for would later reinstate the death penalty and send ten innocent people to fry on the electric chair to win his election campaign. The old oracle's aborted try at preventing it had moved her far more. It baffled her how one of the gifted could still feel so much for humankind to care for the people. Most of the gifted she had met hated the ordinary Homo sapiens, or did not think twice about killing one. They had learned their lessons.
The current job would be interesting, to say the least. She had heard about Schwarz; they were unique. Four gifted, all of them working for a Japanese businessman.
Who was the second-most hated person for a gifted, next to an ordinary human?
"Another gifted," she whispered. The faraway sound of a car engine interrupted her internal meanderings; she slipped deeper between the crates she was hiding among, and kept absolutely silent. It could just have been a tourist. Only tourists drove their cars through the Tokyo waterfront at night.
A tourist, or someone whose job was similar to that of the people meeting in the warehouse a hundred feet away from her.
Footsteps. She slowed her breath to a minimum, and waited. Slowly, time trickled by.
Four shadows slipped through an opening in a fence supposed to keep people out of the warehouses at night. One of them, the tallest, pointed to the building that housed the gathering gangsters, the others spread, the smallest one taking to the roofs without using a ladder or other means upwards. A telekinetic. Nagi Naoe. The tall one had to be Crawford. The other two, faces inscrutable in the darkness, were Schuldig and Farfarello. She saw the other telepath's red hair as he passed beneath a floodlight; saw the white glimmer of Farfarello's hair as he slipped by a moment later.
She waited until the three remaining members of Schwarz had disappeared into the warehouse where she knew the gangsters were hiding. Out of curiosity, Moriate cast her mind into one of the unsuspecting men -
- and stumbled back, gasping. Noise. Such noise! She tumbled against a crate and nearly sent it flying into the water, gaining her balance at the last moment. Gunshots rang through the night, cutting short screams. With an effort, she pulled her mind free, straightening herself up. In lightning flashes, she had seen the men in the warehouse die, seen them fall with cut throats and slashed stomachs, entrails spilling onto the floor, glistening ropes that moved like big, brown worms as the bodies staggered and fell, hands grasping uselessly at the trailing cords, trying to pull them back into the cavities that housed them.
"Whoa." muttering to herself, she rubbed a hand over her face, walking out from between the crates. They had told her Farfarello was blood-crazy, yet she had not anticipated such violence. Whereas the others killed cleanly, the Irishman enjoyed drawing the act out, prolonging it to see the pain and the slow awareness of imminent death in his victims' eyes.almost like an artist. Every stroke of the brush perfect, and yet it might change the entire picture from beautiful to horrible in a second.
Well.
It was time.
Schuldig was the first to feel the other mindreader approaching. Knowing she would come, he had kept his mind open during the time, listening to any other presence knocking on the gates to his soul. He knew, had Moriate chosen to remain hidden, he would have had no chance of finding her. The first thing mindreaders learned from Eszet was to cloak themselves, cutting off their awareness to others of their kind, a task no ordinary human could manage. Something always remained outside, and even if it was just the tell-tale white wall, the first thing Schuldig always looked for whenever Schwarz got send on an assignment where he knew the others expected a mindreader, him, to be there. Mindreaders, though, learned to cast their self out of their bodies, hiding it in other people's minds, sometimes even in animals.
He had been aware of the overabundance of rats when they arrived at the waterfront. Too many instinct-ruled minds, thinking of tasty meat and warm burrows and the safety of the breed, to assume they were just rats. Too loud, these tiny minds, to account for rats. Someone had been there, reflecting their thoughts with her own, magnifying the echoes in which she hid herself.
He snorted. Oldest trick in the book.
Those echoes were gone now.
"Farfarello!" Schuldig shouted, turning to the door, which was still closed. In a corner, Crawford looked up from a table littered with guns and plans, expression questioning. At Schuldig's nod, he drew his gun, taking up position behind the telepath.
Where is -
"Ssh!" Schuldig made an abrupt motion with his hand. "Speak. Don't think. She can hear everything you think."
Farfarello moved to Schuldig's side, absent-mindedly wiping blood off his cheeks. A look around confirmed they were the only living beings inside the warehouse, the gangster lying around them with twisted limbs and great bleeding wounds or smoking holes in their bodies. Carnage was beautiful.
The slide door opened, creaking. A small, young...girl stepped in, nearly drowning in the large pants and sweater she wore. Farfarello recognized her as the girl he had seen in the images Schuldig had shown him. She did not make much of an impression. Weak, fragile-limbed. Anything else but what someone would expect a mindreader to be, knowing Schuldig.
She stopped a few feet into the warehouse after closing the door behind her again, hands clasped before her belly, face serene and waiting.
"Dee Moriate, I assume," Crawford said, stepping forward. "Nice to meet you."
"I doubt that." Nevertheless, she shook his hand. "I am here to investigate accusations made by Eszet representative Tot against you, concerning the death of the daughter of your client."
"You're very straightforward," He retreated again, pointing out the two men still poised ready to fight behind him. "These are Schuldig and Farfarello."
Moriate nodded. "I know. Hello."
"Hello," Schuldig said, cocking his head. "And so we meet again."
"Yes." A small smile. "So we meet again." Her gaze fell on the Irishman. "Farfarello."
He inclined his head. Dee Moriate stood nearly two feet smaller than he, and she seemed to carry no weapons. Was she brave, or was she stupid?
"Neither, I assure you."
"Stay out of his mind," Schuldig said silkily, "Or have you forgotten common courtesy?"
"Gentlemen, I am here to do my job. Where is the fourth member of your group?"
"I don't know," Crawford said, glad he really did not know. He knew from experience that the things one does not want to think about are the first to pop into one's mind; not knowing where the telekinetic was gave Moriate no chance to find it out. He could see she was a little irritated by that, and her irritation became a deep frown as he thought that it served her right.
"Tell me," he said, "On what grounds are those accusations based?"
"Ouka Taketori vanished seven weeks ago to turn up dead and a little crispy in a local flower shop the next day, or shall I rather say, in that night, seeing that an anonymous call was made to the police at 3:30 in the night. Along with her the bodies of two young men were found, both, as Taketori told me, men very well known to you and your men, Mr. Crawford."
"They were a rival assassin group..."
"Of which your Irishman here killed the leader the day he arrived in Tokyo. Aya Fujimiya." Moriate sighed. "Shall I go on? Ouka Taketori had, let me put it lightly, an interest in the third surviving occupant of that flower shop, Omi Tsukiyono, who, to this day, remains vanished, being her suspected murderer, as well as the murderer of Ken Hidaka and Yohji Kudou. A young, loving youth who suddenly goes ballistic one night, kills his girlfriend and the two people he has been living with for more than two years prior to the death of Aya Fujimiya. That is what the police think."
"And I gather you suspect otherwise?" Schuldig asked, smiling. She looked at him, barely, and then to Crawford again, pointing one small hand at Schuldig.
"Orange hair was found on the carpet and the couch of Ouka Taketori's apartment in the Taketori Towers. Mr. Crawford, to your best knowledge, did your associate have an affair with the girl?"
Schuldig burst out laughing, cringing as Crawford's glare cut into him, the Schwarz leader's annoyed expression doing nothing to ease his mirth. Moriate's face remained blank.
"Sorry," Schuldig wheezed, holding down another gale of laughter, "But with something like this at my side, do you really think I'd even have touched that girl?" Demonstratively, he slung an arm around Farfarello's waist. "If that's what you're thinking, then you're way off."
"Really." Moriate cocked her head. "Those hairs could have been picked up, or even planted. I doubt it. Not even Taketori's gorillas are that stupid to try something like this."
"Perhaps...you'd like to tell us what you think?" Crawford offered. He was a little overwhelmed by the facts Moriate knew, and he would trash Schuldig for being -
"For being so stupid? Why was he stupid?" Moriate's voice became hard. "Was he stupid because he had sex in Ouka Taketori's apartment, or was he stupid because he forgot he has hair?"
"Shit," Farfarello muttered, snarling. "Listen, you - "
A blinding light rammed into his conscience, paralysing him. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Crawford, blood running out of his nose in a thin trickle, tipping over and landing on one of the corpses.
Nagi cursed under his breath, asking himself why he always got the job of going in over the roofs. It wasn't fair! Just because he could levitate didn't mean he liked crawling around in dwindling heights, and besides, what if a stray shot hit him up here? He'd fall over with a stupid expression forever carved into his face, one of those stupid expressions that made people die a second time of embarrassment. He had been up here for nearly fifteen minutes now, listening to she shots and shouts become less and lesser and finally stop entirely. If things were going as Crawford had predicted them, Dee Moriate, the mindreader sent by Eszet, would be in the warehouse with them now.
"C'mon, guys, don't let me hanging."
He waited another two minutes and decided to check out the situation. For all he knew, all he had heard about Moriate, his teammates could have been dead by now, their brain spattered around them, Moriate already on the way back to wherever she had come from. Pressing close to the surface of the roof, Nagi crept forward, aiming to make as little noise as possible. An over-light opening in the warehouse roof - yes, he could take a quick peek inside, and then either go back to waiting until his ass froze off, or help his partners. He reached the hole in the roof and glanced over the rim. Dead people, the gangsters who had tried to infiltrate Taketori's waterfront business of smuggling. It was entirely too silent for his taste down there.
He slipped inside and floated down to an overhead walkway, crouching low, keeping to the shadows. No movement, no nothing.
Then, he saw Crawford. The leader of Schwarz lay on his back, his eyes wide open, glasses shattered next to him, the shards catching the light. Blood flowed out of his nose, pooling beneath his head. Next to him, curled up in a foetal position, his arms flung out to the side, lay Farfarello. They were both out cold.
"Shit!" Blowing all precaution to the wind, the Japanese youth jumped down from the walkway, catching his fall before he hit the ground. "Schu!"
No answer. But he needed none.
They were crouched by the door, arms slung around each other, locked in an intimate embrace shared between siblings, between mother and child. For a moment, Nagi only saw the orange shock of Schuldig's hair, but then, as he ran closer, he saw two hands tangled into that hair, gripping it so hard the knuckles were white. Schuldig's arms clasped a body too small for Nagi to see behind the telepath's broad back.
"Schu!"
He stopped at the frozen telepath's side, unsure what to do. Schuldig's eyes were open, unseeing, his mouth working but no sound coming out. The person he held had her face buried in Schuldig's shirt. Without thinking twice, Nagi started to pry the girl's fingers from Schuldig's hair, breaking two in the process. The girl's skin was cold, clammy, tiny droplets of sweat beading on the alabaster.
He realized that that was how a body in rigor mortis must feel.
"Schu. Schuldig!"
He swore as her arms refused to budge. She was like a leech, sucked onto the redhead, refusing to let go. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked, coming away with a fistful of mouse-brown strands, and still he could not get her away from Schuldig.
But he was not a telekinetic for nothing, was he?
A sliver of air slipped between their bodies, working like a wedge. Millimetre by millimetre, he pried the locked bodies apart, slinging his own arms around Schuldig's neck, keeping him rooted as much as possible. The cheek pressing against his hand was cold and clammy, too.
"You!"
Baffled, shocked, frozen himself now, staring into watery blue eyes, and with it came the realization that she would kill him if he let her. She fell backwards, stopping her fall with outstretched arms, mouth open in a scream.
He blasted her against the door without a second thought, ignoring the shattering of more bones. The girl slid to the ground with a small moan and fell to her side to remain motionless.
Frantic, Nagi pulled Schuldig around, slapping the telepath as hard as he could. Schuldig's green eyes rolled around in his head, the whites showing. Another slap, and those eyes fastened on Nagi, distant still, but definitely *there*.
"N-Nagi?"
"Schu! Wake up!" Another slap that never reached its destination, his hand caught midair in the telepath's grip. Nearly sobbing with relief, Nagi shook him. "Are you all right? What was that? What's with Crawford and Farfarello? Schu?"
Groaning, the redhead shook his head, hand going to his brow. He glanced over Nagi's shoulder and looked at Moriate, crumbled by the door, unconscious.
"We have to get out of here," Schuldig mumbled and got to unsteady feet, leaning on the telekinetic. "Farfarello?"
"Out cold, like Crawford. What was going on in here?"
He ignored Nagi and wobbled over to the Irishman, knelt down at his side, and turned him onto his back. Farfarello's mouth was bloody, but he saw the single eye move behind its lid, and a careful dip into his mind confirmed his slow return to the world of the living. The eye snapped open.
Schu...
"Get up. Quick. We must get out of here, now!"
The Irishman rose, picking up the knife that had slipped from his hand. He looked a bit disoriented, but seemed all right as far as Schuldig could tell. Moriate had just knocked him out mentally.
They turned to Crawford. Bending at the waist, Schuldig shook the leader of Schwarz. No reaction. Frowning, Schuldig went into the man's mind.
And found none.
He checked for a pulse.
"He's dead."
"What?" Nagi shouted. "No!"
"Let's leave." He did not look at the oracle's ears, where he knew a clear liquid would be seeping out, mingling with the blood that ran from his nose, coagulating blood, black almost in the dull light of the warehouse. "Nagi, take care of the body."
The youth shook his head, disbelief written over his face. "But-but he can't be dead!"
"Nagi!" Schuldig shouted. "Get a grip on yourself and do it!"
Nagi's face distorted in pain and anger. "Get away from him," he ordered tonelessly. The back wall of the warehouse was made of stone. He hoped it was solid enough.
Schuldig turned his head away.
Crawford's body was levitated off of the ground, hanging in the air for a moment. A second later, he collided with the back wall. Every bone in his body broke, skin erupting, tearing, skull pressed flat, eyes, dully staring, popping out of their sockets, floating for a breath, only to join the body again in a communion of blood and fluid. They heard the slow cracking of stone; but stone is harder than the human body, so much harder. Nagi spread Brad Crawford's body over twelve square metres of stone, a great, dripping, insane tapestry of muscles, bone, and flesh.
What once had been the leader of Schwarz did not fall off of the wall when Nagi eased off.
"Let's go," Nagi said. His eyes remained fastened on the far wall until he turned around. "It's done."
Farfarello stared at the painting on the wall. It was hard to believe it once had been human, once had been a man. Now, it had spread its wings, only to be captured like a spiked butterfly.
They stumbled to the door. Moriate moaned, moving feebly. Schuldig knelt and drove his fist into her face, then picked her up by the neck like a rag doll.
"Want me to take care of her too?" Nagi stared at the girl with unfathomable hate. "C'mon. Let me do it."
"We're taking her with us," Schuldig said.
"Why? So she can kill us too when she wakes up?" Nagi's voice rose. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Schuldig backhanded him. "We can use her."
"How?" Farfarello asked, voice just as deadly cold as Nagi's. "By letting her play god with our minds again?"
Impatiently, Schuldig turned to his lover. "You want to get back at Eszet?"
Farfarello did not answer.
"I thought so. We're wasting time. Let's move."
They left the warehouse, and a part of themselves, behind.
Doctor Kobayashi worked as quickly as he could. He tried to ignore the looming presence of the telepath behind, tried to ignore the fact that Nagi and the nutcase were leaned against the wall, both their faces bearing expressions he would have nightmares about in the years to come.
The girl on the kitchen table was a mess. Two broken fingers and five shattered ribs, a cracked nose and one missing front tooth left him with a lot of work to do. The gun in Schuldig's hand answered all his questions for him, even the ones he never had wanted to ask. He did not even inquire about Crawford's absence.
After setting the broken ribs and setting the fingers in a cast, he fumbled about her bleeding gum. There was nothing he could do about the broken nose except to set it straight again, hoping it would not become crooked.
"As long as she can breathe, I don't care if her nose is crooked," Schuldig said acidly. "Sedate her."
"But she's already out cold!"
"Sedate her! With the strongest sedative you have." Schuldig watched him do it. "Leave the stuff here. Do you have more at your clinic?"
"Uh, yes, of course."
"Good. Nagi, go with him." A moment of silence.
The Japanese youth nodded grimly and pushed away from the wall. He waited until Kobayashi had packed his things back into his doctor's bag and followed the man out of the apartment, taking the gun from Schuldig as he walked past him.
The front door closed.
Schuldig picked the little glass vials the doctor had left on the table up and put them into a kitchen drawer, carelessly throwing injection needles in with them. Then, the telepath leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, and took a deep, shaky breath. Farfarello did not move from his place at the wall.
"So," he said. It was all he said.
"So," Schuldig answered. He leaned his head against a cupboard. After a minute, he moved, making coffee, not turning when he heard the Irishman move. Farfarello filled water from the tap into the coffee maker, taking the plastic bag from Schuldig to spoon coffee into the filter. He looked up as he heard a clattering noise followed by the breaking of glass on the floor. Schuldig stood before the open cupboard, one hand clasped over his mouth, eyes screwed tightly shut. At his feet, the shards of a mug were scattered. Farfarello did not move as Schuldig sank to the floor, only watched him. There were questions he wanted to ask, but he did not know where to start. He wanted to know what had happened between Schuldig and the girl, and yet he knew, in a way, that he did not really want to know. He felt left out, shut out, stepping on ground that was unknown to him.
"I can feel her," Schuldig whispered, monotone, "I can hear her moving behind my eyes."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Of course not." An angry snort, and Schuldig clamped his arms around himself. "You're not a telepath."
A minute passed. Farfarello felt helpless, for the first time since he could not remember. He could not take a knife and make that feeling go away. The connection he had shared with Schuldig since their coming together was closed off to him, snapped. It left him with a feeling of isolation. He tried to make sense of what had happened, and found that he could not. Love for Schuldig mingled with hate for the girl, love for Schuldig mingled with irritation at Schuldig's decision to let her live, to take her with them. They could have killed her. Nagi could have made a painting of her like he had of Crawford. He looked at the kitchen table.
Schuldig looked up. He picked up a shard from the shattered mug and brought it to the palm of his left hand, making sure Farfarello was watching. With a deliberate slowness, he drew the shard across his palm.
On the table, Dee Moriate moaned softly.
Farfarello blinked.
Schuldig dug the shard deeper into the wound, gritting his teeth.
On the table, Dee Moriate moved, despite the heavy sedation, curling the fingers of her right hand.
"I am the mirror, cracked inside the frame," Schuldig said and let the shard drop to tie a kitchen tissue around his bleeding palm.
Nagi came back to the apartment on foot, a plastic bag under one arm. He looked into the kitchen and found it empty, only bloodstains on the table giving evidence to what had been lying on it.
"Schu? Farfarello?"
"In here," came the Irishman's voice down the corridor. Nagi saw the open door to Farfarello's room. Inside, Farfarello and Schuldig were sitting on the couch, the telepath's head in his lover's lap. His eyes were open, resting on the still figure on the bed. Nagi deposited the plastic bag on a chair and went over to them, sitting down beside Farfarello.
"Is Kobayashi dead?" Schuldig asked.
"Head-on 'collision' with a streetlight. I got the sedatives. They'll think it was an accident. So."
"So?"
"So, what now?"
Before Schuldig could answer, the ringing of a cell phone startled them. It came from the pile of clothes at the foot of Farfarello's bed. Nagi got up, searching for the phone.
"What should I do?"
"Answer it," Schuldig said. "I bet my ass it's Tot."
The youth hit the button and held the phone to his ear, only to hold it away at arm's length a moment later. They could hear the Eszet representative's voice across the entire room. Schuldig held his arm out. He took the phone from Nagi; he did not raise his head out of his lover's lap as he listened to the woman on the other side. Then he threw the phone across the room so hard it shattered on the opposite wall.
Nagi stood, turning to the still figure on the bed. Her face was swollen, lips split. Beneath the thin covers, he could see the slow rising and sinking of her chest. The urge to just barge into her with every ounce of his power was overwhelming, but he held it back. He wanted her to be awake, wanted her to see her death coming.
"We won't kill her," Schuldig said, sitting up at last. "We can't."
"Why not?"
"Do you want to kill me, too? Go ahead."
The youth turned, mouth open. "What?"
"In the warehouse - we merged." He stood and joined Nagi at the bed. "She knocked Crawford and Farfarello out and locked her mind with mine. It has happened before, it's not an uncommon phenomenon. I don't think she realized the danger."
"What, like a steady connection?" Nagi frowned. "You have that with Farfarello."
"It's different. It only happens between telepaths." Schuldig untied the tissue and showed his palm to Nagi. "Watch."
Nagi could scarcely believe what he saw. Schuldig dug his finger into the palm of his left hand; at the exact same time, Dee Moriate's right hand twitched on top of the covers.
"It's an unexpected benefit," the telepath covered the wound again. "Now, she can't rat us out to Eszet, at least not if she values her own life. Everything that happens to me happens to her."
"Then why aren't you in pain?" Farfarello asked from the couch, "Her ribs are broken."
"Because," and he sighed, "Because I initiated the merge."
"What?" both Farfarello and Nagi shouted as one. Farfarello got up from the couch; he was at his lover's side in two strides. Taking the telepath by the shoulders, he shook him hard.
"Are you nuts?"
"I don't think you should question that," Schuldig said, eyes narrowed. He felt a stab of pain as the Irishman let go of him as though he had burned himself, as though Schuldig was dirty. But he had no time to deal with that problem, not now. "It was the only thing I could do. I don't ask you to understand that. She wanted to find out about Ouka, I stopped her. If I hadn't, she'd have fried my mind, and you'd most likely be on the way to Switzerland now. Would you prefer that?"
"No, but - but was there no other way? Couldn't you have fried her instead?" Nagi asked.
"No. A mindlock between telepaths is different from a mindlock between a telepath and a normal person. Normally, we meet and part again. Moriate wanted to rape my mind. She would not have left before she found out everything. We are pretty even, power wise. If I had drawn back first, which I guess she was expecting me to do, she would have wiped me out. Likewise, I would have wiped her out."
"No-win situation," Nagi said.
"Yes. The lines between where I begin and the world ends are thin, Nagi. I took a part of her into me, and gave her a part of me."
"Can it be undone?" Farfarello asked.
"I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm tired." Schuldig rubbed his temples. "Her mind is strange."
"Your own fault." The Irishman turned on his heel and stalked out, banging the door shut behind him. Schuldig flinched.
He sat on the roof for hours, until the rosy-grey fingers of sunrise began to creep over the horizon and the noises of the night began to make way for the noises of the day.
All his life, ever since he had seen through the lies, had been focused on causing god pain. That focus had tipped and changed as he had met Schuldig. The redhead had awakened a hunger in him he had not thought possible; he had not been supposed to feel anything for anyone besides his hatred for god.
And in had come Schuldig, with that gambler smile of his, and turned his world upside down. Farfarello had merely taken the next step, deciding to make a little space for the telepath in his lonely little world of whispered bible verses and bleeding angels.
Schuldig had not replaced god in his mind - if he had, Farfarello would have killed him by now. He had wondered at times what made Schuldig different from god. The redhead played with minds and lives just like god did. The answer had been simple enough to understand: Schuldig did not lie about it. Schuldig was blatantly open about what he did, what he was capable of. Schuldig admitted to being the snake, the liar, the word behind the words.
Schuldig had become equal to god, in a way. Farfarello did not entirely understand the difference, guessing love was the difference but not sure about that, either. Love had died a long time ago in Farfarello's world, seeping into a confession booth, into the cracks of the wooden floor of a kitchen in Ireland.
As it was, Farfarello had taken what he felt for the telepath for granted. He did not question it. If it was love, and he used the word in lack of better one, then so be it. It was there, and he knew it, and that was all he needed to know. Just like, at times, his hatred was all he needed to know. There had been no need to make any further space in his world.
Until now.
He searched for the connection to the telepath and found it open again, inviting. As angry as he was at Schuldig, he was also ridiculously thankful for that small gesture.
When had he become so dependant?
And why did dependency feel so right when it was the thing some people feared the most while others invited it; giving up a part of yourself to give it to another, together with a blade: here, cut at will, I do not care. I give a piece of me for a sliver of you.
The same words, nearly, Schuldig had said about Moriate. Where was the difference?
"I love you," Schuldig's arms slid around his neck, the telepath's face burrowing into the crook of his shoulder. "That's the difference."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
Farfarello turned around, taking the arms from around his neck. Schuldig stood behind him on the roof, so insubstantial all of a sudden. Transparent.
"Do you hate me now?"
"I'm just confused about something I thought I understood," Farfarello said, gripping the telepath's hands in his. "What is going to happen? What will change?"
"Nothing will change. Nothing ever changes."
"Just like nothing ever ends?" He stood and drew him into his arms. "I'm sorry. I thought that I was doing...something special when I let you in. I was angry that you did it for her so easily."
"Not willingly."
"Another difference?"
"Yes. One that matters. Moriate is of use to us. You are not."
"What am I, then?"
"Mine," Schuldig said softly. "Mine, mine, mine."
Farfarello knew it was all he would ever get as an answer to all his questions. He knew it would have to be enough.
And it was.
She woke up to blinding pain and a strange feeling of dizziness. Her mind seemed not her own, stretched thin between several plains of awareness. The last thing she remembered seeing was a palm, and behind that, a face, young, dark blue eyes filled with hate and despair. Then, darkness. Her head hurt. Come to think if it, all of her body hurt.
There was a ceiling above her, painted white. She was not in the warehouse anymore. She was not dead, either, and that surprised her.
"Good morning, sunshine."
The deep, sarcastic voice was too loud. She attempted to lift her head, but there was pain again, and she left it where it was, eyes fixed on the ceiling. After a moment, a face appeared in her line of vision. She knew that face. Why was she so confused?
"Aww, having a headache?" The man above her - Schuldig, her mind finally supplied her with a name - grinned without humour. A hand slipped beneath her neck, pulling her up with enough roughness to let her know there was something broken inside her body. Numbly, she watched her hand slither across the covers of the bed she was in. There was a cast on two of her fingers, the digits swollen, the beds of her fingernails blue and black. She was propped against the headboard of the bed, a glass shoved into her face, water spilling down her chin. She coughed.
"E-enough." The water had a bitter undertone; some sort of drug? The insides of her mouth felt stuffed with cotton.
"Come into the kitchen when you think you can walk. Or stay here, I do not care."
She watched his retreating back, mind registering the orange of his hair. Kitchen? She stared at the open door, staring still as a tall, white-haired man walked by, glaring at her for a moment before he was out of sight.
She did not like that glare.
Dee Moriate brought a hand up to her face and touched her lips, gingerly. She was missing a tooth. Drawing the covers away, she found she had been undressed, her torso wrapped tightly in white bandages. At the foot of the bed lay a bundle of clothes. Not her own.
She concentrated, drawing inward. Her mind was in turmoil, but that was nothing she had not dealt with before. Rearranging her memory, the happenings of last night slowly came back to her. Had it been last night? Her sense of time was as mess. The warehouse. Crawford and that Irishman falling over after she had knocked them out with a blast of her own mind. Schuldig. Orange hair. Her face pressed into a shirt, fingers clamped into something soft.
And then nothing but the screeching, unbearable loud noise of two minds colliding in silent battle, two wills fighting to gain the upper hand.
A tiny, hurting knot made her stop. She touched it with a tip of awareness, curios despite it all. That was new. That had not been there before.
The knot unfolded.
In the kitchen, Schuldig, Farfarello and Nagi looked up as they heard the scream of anguish followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Nagi sent an uncomfortable look at the telepath; yet Schuldig's face remained expressionless except for a cruel smile. What was happening here and now was beyond the youth's understanding. Farfarello at Schuldig's side looked no less uncomfortable.
"I think she just found out what happened," Schuldig said, smile grim. Another scream, this time with anger. His smile became a grin.
They turned as they heard her coming down the corridor and stop in the doorway, dressed in some of Nagi's old sweatpants and sweater.
"Coffee? Or tea?" Schuldig held up a cup. "Make up your mind or I will do it for you."
"Coffee..."
"Sit down."
"Why didn't you kill me? As far as I can tell, I killed your leader."
"Sit down."
Farfarello pulled out a chair. Moriate sat down carefully, looking as though she suspected the Irishman would rise up and slay her any moment. From the look on his face, Nagi thought, it was very much possible.
"I hate you," Farfarello informed her as soon as she was sitting, handing her the cup. "Make one false move, try one funny mindthing, and you are history." Then he continued his breakfast.
"I assume you know what I did, "Schuldig said conversationally, "And I also assume you know what that means."
"You merged with me."
"No," and he stabbed a finger at her, "You merged with me."
She stared at the cup before her. "I was careless."
"You were stupid, to say the least. But that's not the point. What were you doing here? Who sent you?"
"Eszet. Tot requested me. I said as much in the warehouse...yesterday?" At his nod, she continued. "You killed Ouka."
"Yes. And I don't see why I should lose my life over a waste of breath like she was."
"They're going to send others if they don't hear back from me. Breach of contract." Moriate looked at him. "You won over me. Fine. Can you win over an armada of mindreaders?"
Schuldig chuckled. Farfarello looked up. The nearly breaking, insubstantial being from yesterday night had been replaced with what they were used to was Schuldig. Plotting, planning, and not in the least concerned about the consequences as far as they concerned anything not Schwarz.
"You find that amusing?"
"Who says I am going to wait here for them?"
She frowned. "You cannot go against Eszet. Nobody can."
"Just like you believed nobody could go against you, my dear?" Schuldig leaned back in his chair, regarding her over the rim of his cup. "I was in your mind. I am in your mind. You hold no love for them."
"Does anyone?" Nagi asked. "All I ever hear about the mainframe is how everybody hates them."
"They have enough people working for them willingly," Schuldig said, "Enough idiots who fall for the stupid idea of the gifted one day taking over the world. Were you one of those idiots, Dee Moriate? Or were you scared? Scared of being back in that institute? Scared of being pumped full of drugs again? You know, we have a drawer full of those drugs right here behind me."
"Is it just me or do Eszet people spend a lot of time in the loony bins all over the world?" Farfarello asked quietly, sneering at his lover's chuckle. "Is that where they get their people? Finding them hidden among the insane?"
"Man likes to restrain what he doesn't understand," Schuldig said gently, his words a parody of what the Irishman had said to him when they had met for the first time. "Just like god seeks to restrain those who are uncomfortable to him."
They kissed over the table.
Dee Moriate felt like she had entered the Twilight Zone.
"I gotta go to school," Nagi announced and stood. He sent a scathing glare at the second telepath but was pretty much ignored, her eyes distant, unfocused. He could not decide, for the moment, if he should hate her, feel sorry for her, or not care at all. Schuldig had told them about her past, or about what he knew thereof, before they had all gone to bed the night before. He had been too angry about Crawford's death yesterday to really think about it, think about her, her motives. Crawford, despite all his seriousness, had been like an older brother for Nagi. His death hurt.
He left the kitchen without another word and picked up his schoolbooks. Yes, Crawford's death hurt. He had, if not loved, then cared more for the American than he had ever admitted to himself, too used to people using him and fucking him over. The life with Schwarz had given him stability, in a way. It had made him a killer, true, but that was just a job like any other. He did what he had to do and got paid. Innocence? Regret? He had left those behind in the subway stations and canals he had lived in before Crawford and Schuldig had picked him up. They had become his family. Nothing else mattered. He knew he should feel ashamed for being so cold-hearted, so uncaring towards the rest of the world; but what had the world ever given to him except for a parody of a childhood and scars on his soul? Was he supposed to thank them for it, and let them slash him up further?
If the only way to not get hurt was to make the first cut, then, by all gods, he would do that. It was a fact, just like Farfarello's love for Schuldig was a fact. Crawford's death was yet another cut, but that would heal in time. He would, he guessed, even forget his hate towards Moriate in time, him being what the world had made of him. Was it cowardly to blame the world? Yes, perhaps. But even that did not matter. Schuldig mattered. Farfarello mattered. In extension, even that whacked second telepath mattered, maybe not in terms of feeling but in terms of usefulness. She was a tool of Eszet, had been a tool of Eszet; if she now became a tool of Schwarz, then so be it.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. Before him, the street was filled with people of all ages and races, going after their daily lives. They did not pay him any attention as he stood there, just a youth heading off to school, daydreaming. A swarming mass of faceless strangers, living their little lies, caring as little about the others outside their circle of cared-for ones as he did.
Why should he be any different from them? He was only human, after all. Taking what he wanted. Giving only to those he cared for. His scars held.
He would make sure they held forever.