Ch. 12

    When Ran cut himself from Kritiker after my awakening, he moved out of his tiny one-bedroom apartment over the shop and found a bigger one twenty-five minutes away. It's a two-bedroom, so we each have our own room. The apartment is small and homely, but cozy. Decor is practically nonexistant. He's a bachelor, and whatever girly urges I might have once felt to "pretty the place up" seem to have shriveled up and died in that hospital bed, along with a lot of other things.
    There's a family portrait on the coffee table of happier times before the accident, framed calligraphy on the wall he got at some small corner shop (it reads "Honor"), and a cheap but nicely-patterned rug in front of the TV.
    And of course, there's the katana.
    As a symbol of the end of his quest for vengeance and a start of our new life, he took the weapon that had caused so much bloodshed and hung it on a display case above his bed, never to be used again. Now it only serves as a constant reminder to himself to atone for the past and to be grateful for what he has now. I haven't given it much thought since, having glimpsed in his mind already the lives he's taken with that sword.
    But tonight Ran enters his room to find me standing at the foot of his bed, gazing up pensively at the polished blade.
    He hesitates, looking from me to the katana with a carefully neutral face. He's wondering if I'm about to start asking questions he doesn't want to answer. And he's afraid that if I knew how often he'd used the sword to kill in his line of work, I would hate him.
    What would he think, if he knew that as of today, we are both guilty of murder?
    I speak without removing my gaze from the sword. "I want you to teach me how to use it."
    His initial surprise is quickly swamped by anger and guilt. He grips my shoulder and turns me around to face him, expression stern. "What are you talking about?" he demands sharply. "It isn't a toy, Aya."
    I stare back at him, undaunted. "I know it's not a toy, Ran," I say patiently. "That's why I asked you to teach me."
    "No." His refusal has not a shred of hesitance behind it. "No. It's only for display, Aya. I never want to take it down again."
    I cock my head at him. "It's the only weapon we have in the house," I point out.
    He pauses, eyes narrowing in question, wondering where I'm going with this.
    "What if someone breaks in?" I ask, still calm. "What if someone comes to rob the house and one of us wakes up and sees him? What if he attacks one of us? Are you telling me your first instinct won't be to grab that sword and defend our home?"
    He sways back a bit, expression hard to define. "What made you think like this?" he demands a bit harshly. "Is everything all right? Did something happen?"
    Lying to him, sadly, is easier than I thought my conscience would allow it to be. "No. Everything's fine. Supposedly."
    "Supposedly?"
    "The way you and the boys have been acting the last few days makes me think otherwise. Or did you think I hadn't noticed how paranoid you're all being?"
    He flinches, averting his gaze for a moment.
    I glance back over my shoulder at the deadly katana. "You've told me a little bit about what you've been through while I was asleep. So the fact that you're acting all jumpy now only makes me wonder if things are dangerous again. You don't work for Kritiker anymore, but the others do. If they have enemies that know you're connected to them in any way, that puts me at risk as well, right?"
    His guilty flinch is more violent this time.
    I bull on mercilessly. "Despite your poorly-disguised attempts to keep a watchful eye on me, it's impossible for you to be with me every second of every day. Especially with me starting school soon."
    His burning eyes swing back to me. He's angry; angry that I have to go through this, angry that I'm questioning him, angry because he knows I'm right.
    "I need to know how to defend myself," I state firmly, staring back stubbornly. Because telepathy is all well and good, but it does have its down sides. The blow I delivered to those thugs was strong enough to cause quite a painful backlash; my head was pounding for hours afterwards. And what if I run across someone with shields strong enough to withstand my attacks? Things are going to get ugly soon, I can sense that much. And I would feel much better if I had another way of defending myself.
    "That sword will never be used to draw blood again," Ran growls. "Especially not in your hands."
    "But--"
    "This isn't up for debate, Aya," he snaps, eyes flashing. He's in Absynnian mode, I realize. This is the man Weiß is accustomed to dealing with.
    Too bad we share the same stubborn streak. I glare hotly back. "I have to learn self-defense!" I cry. "It could end up meaning the difference between life and death!"
    "I won't let you become that," he snarls, swiping his hand in a short chop of finality. "I won't let you become--"
    He cuts himself off, but I finish for him. "You?"
    He rocks back on his heels, taking in a quick breath. Behind his dark glare, I sense the sudden sharp pain that caused him. I might as well have spit in his face.
    Guilt dissolves some of my anger, and I soften my voice, choosing my words with more care. "I know you regret the things you've done, and you're just trying to protect me from that kind of life, but you don't need to be so worried," I assure him. "I'm not asking you to teach me how to be an assassin. I'm not even asking you to teach me how to kill someone. I just want to know basic self defense." I struggle for a happy medium, something he'll agree with. "Can't you at least teach me something simple? Something that may keep an attacker at arm's length and give you or one of the others enough time to jump in and help me?"
    The words almost choke me, but I already know that this is the only way to get even some form of cooperation from him. In the end, everything comes down to one hard cold fact: I'm just a girl. Ran and the others may respect me as a person, but they are still men. When it comes down to violence, I become just another girl, one who needs to be sheltered and protected from harm. The thought of a woman being forced to defend herself rails against every protective instinct they have. I can blame it on culture, on testosterone, or whatever, but it doesn't change the fact that any one of them would rather throw themselves in harm's way than put me in a situation where I would have to fight back. They wouldn't want me to have to do that, and they won't expect me to be very successful at it.
    I struggle to keep the indignant anger off my face, at the same time wondering in disgust why this has never bothered me before. Before the accident, this never would have occurred to me. Has our culture really beaten this idea into our heads so firmly -- this broad, uncrossable line between the sexes? With a wince, I recall the shoujo manga I used to read.
    Well... that was then, this is now. A lot has changed since then. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I'm even "me" any more.
    Other times I wonder if I am more myself than I have ever allowed myself to be.
    Ran is frowning, but the anger is almost gone. He's seriously considering my words; a quick peek at his thoughts reassures me. He's reluctant, but he's also thinking that teaching me a simple trick, like how to donkey kick or elbow an attacker in the throat, might not be such a bad idea after all. If it will give me a few seconds to get out of harm's way so he can deal with the assailant, he'll be able to relax at least a small bit.
    "...All right," he relents at last, voice gruff. He doesn't like backing down from an argument. "You have a point. But," his eyes narrow sternly, "I'm not teaching you how to use that sword."
    "But--"
    "I'll talk to Yohji," he cuts me off. "Of the four of us, he's best trained in basic self defense."
    Ah. Of course. He must have been taught in his days as a PI. I should have asked him first.
    "Thank you," I say with forced cheeriness, rising on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. He relaxes a bit and ruffles my hair fondly.
    "Go to bed, Aya-chan," he says quietly. "And please stop thinking about things like this. You have nothing to worry about. We'll protect you. I promise."
    Of course you will. "I know. Oyasumi, 'niisan."
    I head back to my room, frowning. Yohji will probably be more than willing to show me some useful self-defense tricks, but they won't be enough. Knowing how to slip away from a man's grab or deal a punishing blow to the balls is all well and good, but that doesn't save me from everything. I would still feel a lot better if I could handle some sort of weapon. Just in case.
    But the boys are out of the question. Trying to convince them would have the same affect as yelling down a hole.
    After they relax somewhat, when I finally have time by myself, I'll see if I can enroll in some sort of judo or karate class. Until then, I'll have to rely on my telepathy and hope to god I don't run into any trouble I can't handle on the mental battlefield.

~*~

    It is two days before Farfarello contacts me again.
    I sense his approach like a shadow on the outer boundaries of my mind as I help Omi get the shop ready to open the next morning, and reach out on the link to let him know I'm listening.
    He speaks the moment he feels the touch of my mind against his, short and to the point. There's a cafe a block away from the shop. Be there at twelve.
    Some of my tension eases. A public place; that's a relief. It's unlikely he'll be willing to cause a scene there. Does this mean Crawford's willing to talk peacefully?
    He'll talk.
    And you didn't tell Schuldich, right?
    A mental shrug. I didn't, he grunts. I didn't bother to ask what the Oracle said to him.
    OK, good... wait, WHAT?
    Farfarello's voice is completely dispassionate as he passes along the message. The Oracle says this concerns all of Schwarz. He'll hear what you have to say; he ordered Schuldich to stay out of your head for now. There's no guarantee Schuldich will actually listen to him.
    I feel my heart skip a beat. You're ALL going to be there?? I demand incredulously. Forget it!
    A touch of impatience tinges his thoughts. I'm not 'suggesting', he points out warningly.
    You KNOW the boys won't let me go anywhere by myself! I snap. It's going to be hard enough to convince them to let me go out for lunch, and even then, at least one of them is going to be with me! The second they clap eyes on you three imbeciles, that cafe will turn into a warzone.
    Farfarello's voice is bored again. Let Crawford worry about that.
    But--
    Stop chittering like a monkey, he cuts me off. You got your answer. Now go away.
    Oh, very mature, I retort snidely. But he's already drawing away.
    "Aya-chan?"
    So much for chasing him back down the link and finishing the argument. Uncooperative emotionless TWIT.
    I force a bright smile. "Yes?"
    Omi holds out the keys over his shoulder, attention on the flowers he's fussing with as he tidies up the arrangement. "Could you unlock the front door?"
    I take the keys and head for the door, already building up my argument.
    I'll have to bring up the idea of the cafe as soon as possible.
    Lord knows it will take all morning just to beg my brother into submission.

~*~

    It does take all morning. In fact, it gets dangerously close to noon before Ran finally grudgingly relents.
    "I still don't see why you're so adamant about this," he grumbles as we head off down the sidewalk.
    "I've heard a lot about this cafe from some of the customers," I lie quickly, glancing at my watch and picking up the pace a bit. "Besides, I'm tired of ordering out all the time."
    He frowns at my lengthened stride. "What's the big rush? You'll only tire yourself out, Aya-chan; slow down a little."
    "Um... I don't want to miss the lunch special."
    He gives a little huff, but a small smile of affection twitches at his mouth despite himself.
    At least the place isn't hard to find. Farfarello didn't provide a name, but he did say it was only a block away, and it's the only cafe on this street. I slow down as we approach, gazing anxiously through the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of red or white hair.
    The bell above the door jingles, and the waitresses call out their welcomes as we pause in the threshold, Ran glancing about for a place to sit. I am too busy nervously checking out the customers to really appreciate the quaint little cafe, though I make a mental note to visit some other time when I am less distracted.
    No sign of Schwarz. I check my watch again. 11:55. We're only a little early. I follow Ran towards a small table near the back, prudently away from the windows. How are they going to do this without sending Ran into a violent rage? There's no way I'll be able to think of some excuse to get him to leave me alone, even for fifteen minutes. It was hard enough just convincing him to eat out. His thoughts are still milling furiously around the memory of Schuldich's taunting smirk on the train.
    I don't notice I'm drumming my fingers nervously on the table until I catch Ran staring at them pointedly.
    I cough and slip my hands into my lap. "Um, sorry."
    He frowns over his menu at me in concern. "Are you all right, Aya- chan? You seem jumpy. We can go back to the shop."
    "No, no, I'm fine," I babble, still stealing glances towards the door every now and then. "I just.. um..."
    He's about to insist we go back to the shop.
    "I have to pee," I blurt, a bit louder than I intended. A few heads turn to stare, and I blush.
    Ran blinks, then hides behind his menu again uncomfortably. "Oh. Well, go ahead. I'll order your drink. What do you want?"
    "Surprise me," I send absently over my shoulder, already heading for the bathroom.
    Once there I lock myself in a stall and reach out across the link. Farfarello, this isn't going to work. Ran's here, and he isn't going anywhere.
    Leave that to me, toots.
    I groan, thumping my head against the stall door. Farfarello, could you maybe warn me from now on when a certain gap-toothed Jerk is crouching in your head? Belatedly I strengthen my shields, keeping him from my inner thoughts and the memory of Tot in the park.
    Bite me, princess. Jesus, how long do you plan on hiding in there? You must be taking one hell of a shit.
    I AM NO-- I jerk my head up quickly. You-- how did you know I was in the--
    We were waiting down the street for the 'opportune moment', he drawls. Get your ass back to your table.
    I hesitate, then unlock the stall door, wash my hands out of habit, and make my way back out into the cafe.
    There they are, brazenly sitting right at our table as if they belong there.
    Ran is slumped over a bit, head resting on Schuldich's shoulder.
    My heart turns to ice in my chest.
    Don't you dare scream, Schuldich hisses, his mental warning like a papercut to the brain. He's just taking a little nap; I knocked him out.
    You didn't hurt him, did you? I demand, slowly taking the seat on my brother's other side, studying his relaxed face anxiously. I can see his chest moving; he really does look like he's asleep.
    He's permanently brain damaged, Schuldich sneers with biting sarcasm. I note the harsh irritation riding under his thoughts and glance at him warily. He's angry that Crawford forbade him from digging around in my head, and he's not too happy at Farfarello for keeping this whole thing a secret from him.
    I glance at Farfarello, gauging his mood.
    His single eye is roving around the shop, but his expression is bored and the bloodlust is on low boil. He seems fairly relaxed for now, so I force myself to loosen up a bit as well.
    Where's this Crawford guy?
    Schuldich speaks out loud, completely ignoring the glances our table earns. "He'll be a couple minutes late; he stopped to run some errand or other." He puts a finger to Ran's head and pushes him off in distaste; I catch my brother's limp form and arrange him against my side so it looks like he dozed off on my shoulder. "This better be good, princess."
    I make a face at him. "Why do you have to be such an ass all the time?"
    "Why do you have to be such a stuck-up bitch all the time?" he retorts.
    I draw myself up indignantly. "I am NOT stuck-up!"
    A slow, wicked smile stretches his lips, and he props his chin on his palm, watching me with hooded eyes.
    Let the games begin.
    "You're right, it's your brother that got the lion's share of those particular genes. If that stick up his ass was crammed up there any tighter, it'd be blocking his nasal passages."
    I am furious and-- to my horror --amused at the same time. I disguise my surprised snort of laughter with a sniff of disdain. "You know, maybe if you actually got laid once in awhile, you wouldn't have so much time at night to lie there thinking of stupid insults."
    Farfarello's eye slowly drifts our way as he listens to the verbal war with vague interest. I skim his thoughts briefly-- evidently it is rare that someone actually bothers to argue with Schuldich in this manner, and if nothing else, it promises to be somewhat amusing to witness.
    "O-ho, bold words from Princess Purity," Schuldich leers, leaning across the table to grin suggestively at me. His eyes wander south, and I have to fight the instinctive urge to cross my arms protectively over my chest. "Is that an offer? You're an annoying nosey little cunt, but I gotta admit, with a body like that--"
    I know he's deliberately baiting me, but that doesn't keep my face from flushing to the roots of my hair. "Wha-- You--" I sputter helplessly. I jerk away from the image in his mind. He's just given 'mentally undressing her' a whole new meaning that I never wanted to know about. "You pervert!!" But I can sense something under his heartless teasing; some other agenda, hidden carefully.
    He reaches out and snatches my wrist; I realize belatedly that my hand was already raising for a slap. His grin is all teeth. "Tell you what, after this little pow-wow is over, we'll go back to my place. You don't have to be conscious for it, if you don't want to. I'll just take a little--"
    The only warning is a sudden dark flare from the link.
    Farfarello's hand flashes out like a snake, latching around Schuldich's exposed throat and practically dragging him across the table. Silverware scatters loudly, and the other customers give little exclamations of fright.
    Schuldich is rigid but unmoving as he stares wide-eyed into Farfarello's face inches from his own. I sit frozen, gaping at them both.
    The Berserker's face and tone are blank as a white canvas, but I can sense something ugly boiling in his mind. "We didn't come here so you could play your stupid games, Mastermind. Just sit there and shut up until Crawford gets here."
    Schuldich opens his mouth automatically to argue, then thinks better of it.
    Then I realize that the surprise loosened his shields. Trying to shake off my own shock, I take advantage of the situation. As stealthily as I can, I slip deeper into his mind and take a peek at what he was hiding so carefully during his teasing. I'm not prepared for the answer I find. It seems my remark about him getting laid brought someone to mind. And it wasn't me.
    I withdraw hastily as his shields start cropping swiftly back up, and he doesn't seem to notice; all his attention is focused on the murderer still holding him tightly by the throat. "Fine, fine, jesus, no need to make a scene," he protests, voice a bit strained from the unyielding grip. "Leggo, will ya? I gotta do damage control." His eyes flicker towards the manager, who is coming out from behind the counter.
    Farfarello releases him with a little push and returns to his bored contemplation of the room. I stare at him, nonplussed.
    "What the hell was that all about?" I demand, a bit shaken by the abrupt violence. I might as well be a fly on the wall for all the attention he spares me, so I turn my stare on Schuldich. "And you-- You're a sick bastard, you know that? Don't talk to me like that."
    Schuldich finishes mentally coaxing the manager back into his office, and straightens his hideous green trenchcoat huffily. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, honey," he sneers. "I don't swing that way."
    The announcement would have been quite a surprise if I hadn't already glimpsed as much behind his shields a moment ago.
    "Besides..." his eyes slant towards Farfarello pensively, a frown tugging at his mouth, "I was just testing something." Farfarello seems not to hear.
    I am too eager to get my revenge to wonder what he means by that. It is my turn to lean my chin in my palm and send a wicked smile his way. Schuldich eyes me suspiciously.
    "Well, you know," I drawl, "you wouldn't be so grumpy about not getting any if you'd just go out and get some instead of waiting for a certain American to catch the subtle hints you've been throwing his way for years."
    Schuldich goes white as a sheet.
    I have one moment of gloating victory before I realize he isn't even looking at me. At my taunt, his eyes snapped over my shoulder, and now he might as well be carved from stone. I stare in mild confusion at his expression, wondering at the horror and panic streaking across his mind. Then, shifting carefully so as not to dislodge my brother, I turn my head to see what the hell he's looking at.
    There is a man standing not three feet behind me, obviously on his way over from the entrance. A foreigner, with dark hair and cool amber eyes behind a pair of glasses. He's dressed in a suit, carrying a briefcase in one hand. He looks handsome, but kind of snobby; as if he thinks he's better than everyone else in the room.
    And he's looking at Schuldich with both eyebrows somewhere up by his hairline.
    "Crawford," Farfarello greets absently, not even looking his way, his dark attention on a screaming baby across the cafe.
    "Crawford?" I repeat blankly.
    The man's face clears quickly, and he turns his eyes on me, giving a slight nod.
    "The Oracle?" I ask tentatively, eyes shifting quickly towards Schuldich. I have the sudden urge to flee.
    Schuldich pins me to my seat with a blood-curdling glare, murder singing along every thread of his mind.
    "The American?" I squeak, inching down a bit. Maybe I can get under the table before he flies across it and strangles me.
    "Fujimiya-san," Crawford greets calmly.
    "That'sme, 'scuse me berightback--" I manage to shift Ran's weight against the back of the chair, then I'm scrambling to my feet and dashing across the cafe, Schuldich's snatching hands missing me by a hair.
    YOU ARE DEAD FUCKING MEAT YOU GODDAMN CUNT!!
    I don't look back. I just run for my fucking life.

~*~

    It takes almost ten minutes of Farfarello's relentless banging on the bathroom stall-- and finally a growled promise to break down the door by force --before I unlock the door and return to the table, taking care to keep the tolerant Berserker between me and the humiliated telepath slouched in his seat. The few customers who were brave enough to stick around are carefully not looking at any of us. Schuldich's mental suggestions are probably the only thing keeping us from getting kicked out.
    Crawford frowns at me, displeased at the wait, but says nothing. I take my seat gingerly, still eyeing Schuldich warily. He makes no more threatening moves, but his eyes are hot with hate.
    How was I supposed to know? I demand weakly. I didn't even sense him!
    His voice is a mental snarl and it hurts my head. He's a precog, you insufferable TWAT. His shields are stronger than any telepath's. He's dead air. You'll just slide off his mind like oil. Don't think this is over. Not by a long shot. You'd better be looking over your shoulder every step you take for the next FIVE YEARS.
    I wince and turn my attention on Crawford, trying to pretend Schuldich's dark anger doesn't freak me out as much as it does. "Um... So, you're the Oracle."
    "And you're stalling." He folds his fingers on top of the table, staring back at me coolly. "You know where our Prodigy is."
    "Not... exactly," I admit, doing some quick mental readjustments. Schuldich's right; I can't touch his mind at all. It's like there's nothing there. It's kind of unnerving. It also makes me more wary of him; there's no way of telling what's going on behind that poker face. I have no idea what he's capable of, but since he's the leader of this pack of lunatics, he's obviously not one to be taken lightly. My first impression wasn't the greatest; I'll have to watch my steps carefully if I hope to get myself and my brother out of this place alive. "How much did Farfarello tell you?"
    He ignores the question. "Tell us everything you know."
    It isn't a request. I clear my throat and repeat everything I told Farfarello. I don't bother to hold anything back. If Crawford even suspects I'm hiding something-- and he strikes me as the kind of man who can read a person's face like an open book --he'll probably order Schuldich to dig out the information. Which, considering Schuldich's current mood, would not go well for me. He might just "accidentally" give me a brain tumor.
    Once I'm finished, I sip nervously at my coke, watching the American out of the corner of my eye. His eyes shift to Schuldich and he is silent for a long while. Schuldich must have a link with all his teammates. I wait for the silent conversation to be over, and my gaze drifts to Farfarello.
    He is staring off into space with a bored expression on his face as if none of this has anything to do with him. Why did he get so violent with Schuldich earlier? I had been too busy arguing with the German to keep tabs on him, so I have no idea what was going through his head before the sudden attack. Was he just sick of listening to us argue?
    I feel Crawford's eyes on me again, cutting off my train of thought.
    "You've been looking for Nagi."
    It's not exactly a question. I frown slightly. "Not really," I admit. "But it's not like I have anything better to do lately. After seeing Schuldich the other day, my brother's been keeping me indoors. So I said I'd let Farfarello know if I ran across his mind."
    Crawford's eyebrow lifts slightly. Oops. Evidently he didn't know about Schuldich's little pissing contest on the train. I carefully avoid the telepath's glare.
    You just keep digging your own grave, don't you? he sends me acidly.
    Great. I'm beginning to wish I'd never convinced Ran to bring me here.
    "You have a link with Farfarello."
    I blink. What the hell brought that up? "Yes..." I shoot a quick look towards Farfarello, but he's staring lazily at a nervous waiter. "It wasn't on purpose. The first time, I was just trying to pull myself out with Schuldich and Farfarello. The second time, I didn't know what I was messing with in his head until I'd already reconnected it."
    Crawford studies me for a long moment, expressionless, before glancing Farfarello's way. "Our Berserker seems to have some plan in mind for you," he remarks. "I feel obligated to inform you that those who get a certain amount of attention from Farfarello tend to die soon thereafter. Hence this meeting; if he's going kill you, I'd like to get what information you have while I can."
    "Gee, thanks," I grumble.
    He acts as if I haven't spoken. "He reacts rather violently to any of Schuldich's attempts to bring down the link. Do you use it often?"
    This, at last, seems to get Farfarello's attention. He turns his single hooded eye on Crawford, voice inflectionless. "What does this have to do with the Prodigy?"
    Crawford studies him in silence, then leans back abruptly, hands still clasped on the table. He makes me think of a businessman about to deliver an ultimatum in a board meeting.
    "For the time being, at least, I can guarantee that your death won't be at Schwarz's hands," he informs me briskly. Schuldich and I both stare at him in disbelief. Crawford's eyes flicker his way, a silent command. With visible difficulty, Schuldich holds his tongue, though his angry scowl speaks volumes.
    I can make it look like an accident, he assures me, making sure the words scrape painfully against my mind.
    I hide my wince, keeping my attention firmly on Crawford. "What about Nagi and Tot?"
    "Naoe is not your concern, he is ours," Crawford cuts me off firmly, eyes narrowing just slightly. I get the unspoken threat-- this is Schwarz business, and I am to keep myself well clear of it. I nod slowly.
    Apparently satisfied, he rises to his feet with a curt nod and heads for the door. Sending me a withering look over his shoulder, Schuldich stalks after him. Farfarello sits where he is for a moment as if he hasn't noticed their departure, eyeing the screaming child almost hungrily. Finally he, too, scrapes his chair back and gets up languidly. Without a backwards look, he trails after his fellow demons.
    I sit staring numbly straight ahead until Ran stirs and sits up groggily several minutes later, looking around in weary confusion.


-------------
Back to WK fics
Back
Next
Review