The Oracle's Golden Kitten
They'd been lovers for months. It had started at the lowest point in Youji's life. Depression, a mistake, or two, and he'd been captured by Farfarello and Schuldig. Humiliation like he'd never known had soaked into him as he'd sat there, waiting for whatever fate had for him, black ribbon around his throat. Fate had been Crawford though, and fit together the way the ocean and sky settle together to make the horizon, so distant, and yet, really no distance between the air and water. It had been Youji's secret, Brad's secret.
The temple was falling into the water. It was the end of the world. Youji did not know where Aya, Ken, Omi were. Schuldig knew where he was though. The red head hated him; this was something Youji didn't have much doubt about. The red head was fast too. He struck, his punch taking Youji in the side, sending him staggering back. That was when the world fell into the water with the temple.
Brad, black hair laying so perfect and still around his face, fired his pistol. The trajectory was. off. It made Youji pause and think. He knew his teammates were, very likely not, on the other end of that trajectory. A dozen things that Crawford had whispered to him in their stolen moments clicked, and though Youji didn't really believe it, he understood that Crawford had fired at Weiss' enemy. It was the end of the world, and broken temple tilted, throwing Crawford up, back, glasses, pistol flying, as the end of the world sent the Oracle towards the wet hungry ocean.
Youji ran in that direction, surprising the red head he fought against, perhaps, but he didn't care about pursuit. In that moment, all he cared about was seeing Crawford safely out of the water. In his mind, he had the layout of the temple, knew where to expect Aya, Ken, Omi, and he wished them well, wished he could reach out and make them safe, as he leapt from the solid floor of temple to the part that was twisting, tilting like a marble ice berg. Graceful as a cat, he ran along the edge of the broken side. Ocean, dark like one liquid night sky, endless, stretched out before Youji. Crawford in his white had not reached the surface of the angry roiling fury that the ocean had become. Youji's arms reached over his head fingers touching, even as his feet no longer touched the broken temple. If Crawford had gone into the swallowing ocean, Youji would go in after him.
Cold, and rough, water hit Youji's neat dive with a roll of power that spun him, plunged him into the darkness. Arms out wide, he rolled like a rag doll. His spirit pulled back, floating comfortably in the ocean, watching himself sink uselessly in the black, even though living eyes would never see the dark dressed assassin body in the lightless ocean. It wasn't disturbing to him, to watch his body sink, rolled by the under current of ocean. Peaceful. But Then There Was A White flash. Brad Crawford. Youji zapped back into his body, air still held in burning lungs and stretched, arms pushing against the ocean, legs kicking, moving him. Fists grabbed onto white suit, pulled on white linen as if it were the only life line the world had ever had. Youji didn't have the air or the mental strength to scream, even mentally, that Brad couldn't leave him, couldn't leave him alone, that Youji couldn't bare it. That if Brad were dead, Youji wanted to go with him.
It as fury at being left behind that gave him the strength, the luck to push them both up to the surface. Air rushed into his lungs, with water and salt. He got one arm around Brad's back, clutching the soggy, heavy, unconscious man to him, and they both dropped back under the water.
It was a good twenty minutes later when Youji got them both onto the beach, rocky and hard. Lifting Crawford, getting to the top of the beach, to a phone, was harder. Distantly, Youji knew he had a broken rib. Academically he knew what disassociation was. Disassociation, it was what made it possible to move an unconscious Crawford into a cab and ignore broken ribs. Youji was a blank nothing until Crawford would wake, just in case the dark haired, gentle lover when no one was looking, didn't wake up at all.
They'd been lovers for months. It had started at the lowest point in Youji's life. Depression, a mistake, or two, and he'd been captured by Farfarello and Schuldig. Humiliation like he'd never known had soaked into him as he'd sat there, waiting for whatever fate had for him, black ribbon around his throat. Fate had been Crawford though, and fit together the way the ocean and sky settle together to make the horizon, so distant, and yet, really no distance between the air and water. It had been Youji's secret, Brad's secret.
The temple was falling into the water. It was the end of the world. Youji did not know where Aya, Ken, Omi were. Schuldig knew where he was though. The red head hated him; this was something Youji didn't have much doubt about. The red head was fast too. He struck, his punch taking Youji in the side, sending him staggering back. That was when the world fell into the water with the temple.
Brad, black hair laying so perfect and still around his face, fired his pistol. The trajectory was. off. It made Youji pause and think. He knew his teammates were, very likely not, on the other end of that trajectory. A dozen things that Crawford had whispered to him in their stolen moments clicked, and though Youji didn't really believe it, he understood that Crawford had fired at Weiss' enemy. It was the end of the world, and broken temple tilted, throwing Crawford up, back, glasses, pistol flying, as the end of the world sent the Oracle towards the wet hungry ocean.
Youji ran in that direction, surprising the red head he fought against, perhaps, but he didn't care about pursuit. In that moment, all he cared about was seeing Crawford safely out of the water. In his mind, he had the layout of the temple, knew where to expect Aya, Ken, Omi, and he wished them well, wished he could reach out and make them safe, as he leapt from the solid floor of temple to the part that was twisting, tilting like a marble ice berg. Graceful as a cat, he ran along the edge of the broken side. Ocean, dark like one liquid night sky, endless, stretched out before Youji. Crawford in his white had not reached the surface of the angry roiling fury that the ocean had become. Youji's arms reached over his head fingers touching, even as his feet no longer touched the broken temple. If Crawford had gone into the swallowing ocean, Youji would go in after him.
Cold, and rough, water hit Youji's neat dive with a roll of power that spun him, plunged him into the darkness. Arms out wide, he rolled like a rag doll. His spirit pulled back, floating comfortably in the ocean, watching himself sink uselessly in the black, even though living eyes would never see the dark dressed assassin body in the lightless ocean. It wasn't disturbing to him, to watch his body sink, rolled by the under current of ocean. Peaceful. But Then There Was A White flash. Brad Crawford. Youji zapped back into his body, air still held in burning lungs and stretched, arms pushing against the ocean, legs kicking, moving him. Fists grabbed onto white suit, pulled on white linen as if it were the only life line the world had ever had. Youji didn't have the air or the mental strength to scream, even mentally, that Brad couldn't leave him, couldn't leave him alone, that Youji couldn't bare it. That if Brad were dead, Youji wanted to go with him.
It as fury at being left behind that gave him the strength, the luck to push them both up to the surface. Air rushed into his lungs, with water and salt. He got one arm around Brad's back, clutching the soggy, heavy, unconscious man to him, and they both dropped back under the water.
It was a good twenty minutes later when Youji got them both onto the beach, rocky and hard. Lifting Crawford, getting to the top of the beach, to a phone, was harder. Distantly, Youji knew he had a broken rib. Academically he knew what disassociation was. Disassociation, it was what made it possible to move an unconscious Crawford into a cab and ignore broken ribs. Youji was a blank nothing until Crawford would wake, just in case the dark haired, gentle lover when no one was looking, didn't wake up at all.