Edited to fix some mistakes. All I can say is - it was seven am when I posted this. Thanks to everyone who helped for being so nice. I think I've fixed the mistakes now, but I could very easily be wrong...nevertheless, no more editing on this chap.
Here it is: the much anticipated first chapter of the final installment of the Bridges Arc. If you haven't read Bridges and Inferno, you might be lost reading this.
Now, I'm not trying to be rude, but I do have a few requests before I begin this. 1. Yohji will be back, but not for a while. Please don't pester me demanding to have him back. Things will happen when they're supposed to. 2. As promised, there will be a happy ending this time. That doesn't mean this entire fic is going to be sunshine and rainbows. It will, however, be considerably lighter than Inferno was. 3. Spoilers will occasionally be posted in my LJ, but I will not give them out in reviews. Don't be offended if your questions don't get answered.
I'm really excited about this one; it's my favorite out of all of them. Please enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is Yaoi. Strong language and eventual fun stuff to follow.
Night always seemed darker when it rained.
The clouds that blocked out all trace of moon or stars seemed also to have the ability to make the bright fluorescent street lights seem dimmer.
Perhaps it wasn't the clouds at all. Perhaps it was just the street's personal atmosphere.
"A dark and stormy night."
Yes, the image appealed to him. Rain at night was the perfect disguise for all kinds of nefarious deeds. He'd had enough experience using it for that very thing to know.
Generous lips twisted into a wicked smile at the thought, but the young man only allowed himself the pleasure of entertaining those memories for a few moments.
He had enjoyed those days of darkness and blood. Everything inside him that had ever been hurt had reveled in the destruction and suffering. His ravaged and broken soul had loved knowing that it did not suffer alone.
But he wasn't allowed to return to that life. The only reason he was even still alive was his agreement to "turn over a new leaf." The smallest hint of rebellion from him would be the end.
Everything had been so much more simple in the old days. He had followed orders because those orders led to delicious destruction and death. When the opportunity had arisen to strike at those who had employed him, he had leapt at the chance for such a dangerous challenge.
For a while, he had enjoyed being free of his employers and their micromanaging of his life. He'd enjoyed the freedom of making his own decisions, and had even separated himself from his former team despite the fact he had known very little about being on his own.
It had been a very big surprise indeed, then, when Weiss' Bombay had found him. Bombay and six other Krittiker operatives, all armed to the teeth. He had thought himself dead for sure until the younger assassin had made it clear that he had come to hire him, not kill him.
Krittiker had discovered Esset's schools and was planning a strike. If they succeeded, it would cripple the organization more than he had ever imagined possible.
It had been the most interesting thing to come along in a long while.
When it was all over, the only reason Bombay – Persia, now – had been willing to let him go had been a solemn vow that Krittiker would never see or hear from him again.
"If you ever kill another person," Persia had told him, "My agents will have you dead within the hour. I'll be watching you, Schuldig."
The German man snorted softly to himself at the memory. A very large part of him rebelled at the threat; however, he believed that Krittiker had more than enough resources to take him out, and Esset – what remained of Esset – would not protect a traitor like him.
Schuldig told himself that he could always go back on his agreement if and when he grew bored of being free and safe.
And despite the occasional bouts of boredom and the long, nostalgic nights, Schuldig was enjoying his freedom. Never before in memory had his life not been governed by the all-consuming hand of his Esset masters.
Schuldig had been an assassin because that was what he had been trained to do, and because he had enjoyed it. It had never been about money. He liked to buy expensive clothing, and lots of it, but even then he had still earned more than he could spend.
So even if he was bored now, at least he was comfortable.
And as long as he was subtle about it, and didn't kill anyone, there was no reason he couldn't have a little fun every once in a while.
Which was why the flame haired German had gotten into the habit of walking dangerous streets after nightfall.
His smirk grew and he took the time to stop and light a cigarette as he heard the sounds of a scuffle coming from the blind alley up ahead.
The area he had chosen for this night was a particularly bad one. Bars and dingy clubs lined both sides with light and blaring noise. Arrests were made every night.
Schuldig took the time to finish his cigarette, the sounds of the scuffle like music to his ears.
A quick mental search assured him that there were no Krittiker agents nearby. They were rarely around anymore. A few months of being a good boy and the eyes that watched him had slowly begun to disappear. Still, it was always better not to take any chances.
Drawing his gun, Schuldig stepped into the alley, forming his plans in his mind as he scanned the sight of violence.
It was a large group ganged up against one individual. They were drunk and horny and had their victim pinned to the ground as the ringleader straddled his hips, taunting him with a knife. By the remains of the clothing on the victim's body, he was an employee at one of the nearby clubs.
The telepath gave himself a moment to decide what to do. He didn't care about helping or doing good deeds; he was just bored.
Watching what the group of drunkards had planned could be entertaining, and if their creativity failed to impress, their fuddled minds would be so very easy to influence.
But then again, men so foolish and drunk would be just as much fun to frighten as to manipulate.
He didn't have the time to make a decision. While he watched, the victim managed to free one arm and send the heel of his palm crashing upwards into the nose of the man who sat on his hips.
As the man reeled back, crying out, the victim managed to wrestle the knife from his hand, swinging his arm to lash at the other men.
When they saw that their greater number was not going to make their sport any easier, a few began to back off.
At the sight of the foreign man with a gun watching them from the mouth of the alley, the rest of the men lost their courage.
The victim managed to gain his feet as the last of them fled, but he only managed two steps before he stumbled.
The victim's fight had impressed him, but Schuldig wasn't as entertained as he'd hoped he would be. Somehow, the other man's defiant display made him feel a flash of shame.
He caught sight of the victim's face, and all thought flew from his mind.
It was now clear that the tight clothing the thugs' chosen victim had been wearing had been cut from his body. In places, his skin had been cut as well. A few slashes were deep enough to have caused enough blood loss to make the small man so unstable.
Using the wall for support, the almost-victim managed to pull himself to his feet. He wildly swung the knife still gripped tightly in his hand at Schuldig as the telepath began to walk toward him.
Schuldig avoided the blow easily and managed to invade the small man's personal space, catching tight hold of his arms.
The victim looked at him with eyes that had lost all sensibilities other than fury. There was no recognition in those eyes – he was too far gone.
There was nothing but murder in those eyes. This was a man who would do whatever it took to survive, even if he didn't understand why he continued to do so. Even weakened by blood loss, the small man was plotting his own survival.
"I won't hurt you, meine veilchen."
A flash of recognition finally filled those lovely eyes at the sound of the flame haired man's voice. He could literally watch the calculation run through the other man's eyes as he attempted to discern the wisdom of continuing to fight, as well as the chance of success if he did so.
Then those beautiful eyes slid to the back of his head and the small man slumped – though whether the surrender was due to blood loss or some insane sense of trust, Schuldig didn't take the time to consider.
He couldn't remember ever being so close to one of the men of Weiss before – not when he wasn't trying to hurt someone, anyway.
Up close he could see just how pale and smooth his former enemy's skin was, how dark in contrast the thick lashes that fluttered against white cheeks. His face was that of a sleeping angel, his lips perfectly formed.
The body slumped in his arms seemed so very small and fragile, despite the strength he knew it had to hold.
Despite himself, Schuldig reached to brush fine, silky strands of hair out of the former Weiss' face.
He made his decision.
He had never expected to see one of the Weiss again, save, perhaps, Persia. He certainly never expected to be so close to one – while the Weiss was alive, anyway. It would be interesting to see what the man could be like under…other circumstances.
The man was so very strong, so deserving of respect.
So…interesting.
Decision made, Schuldig lifted the redhead into his arms.
He opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the bright sunlight, and tried to throw an arm up to cover his eyes.
He was halted in his movements by a stab of pain.
"Did you know you scrunch up your nose right before you wake?"
Eyes shooting open the rest of the way, Aya Fujimiya tried to sit up, only to find himself restrained by a pair of strong hands on his shoulders.
There was a movement, a shifting of the mattress, and suddenly there was a body sitting on his hips.
A face filled his vision, jade green eyes and an impudent smirk. Fiery red hair fell down around him in a thick curtain.
"Schuldig!" he spat.
The hands on his shoulders tightened their grip as the smirk on those generous lips grew.
"Don't struggle, Veilchen," the German purred wickedly. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself after I went to all the trouble of stitching you up."
"You - ?"
"Don't waste my time with useless questions!" the man ordered petulantly, drawing back a little. "The only reason I brought you home was because I hoped you would prove interesting for a little while. So far I'm afraid to say that you've been terribly disappointing."
"Mastermind…"
Fingers massaged Aya's shoulders as a slow smirk spread across the telepath's sharply-featured face.
"You had better start to be more amusing soon, or I will find some…other means to entertain myself."
"Touch me and I'll fucking kill you."
Chuckling darkly, the flame haired man leaned in closer and Aya wrenched away. He felt lips graze his cheek.
"I'm only trying to be friendly," the German murmured, letting his full weight rest atop Aya. "If I was going to press my advantage, we wouldn't be talking right now."
"Then get. The hell. Off me."
"Can't."
"Why the fuck not?"
Schuldig pulled back with a small, ironic smile.
"I have a problem with foresight."
Aya glared, uncomprehending, and the German laughed.
"I realize that it is time to leave you alone, Veilchen; however, I also realize that the moment I do so, you will attempt to do me bodily harm."
Aya's glare intensified and the telepath laughed again, throwing his head back. Fiery hair spilled down his back and Aya found himself staring at the long, exposed column of his neck and imagining a blade cutting into that perfect jugular.
"Even now you're thinking about my blood!" the man chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "And as much as I really dislike the idea of dying, neither do I enjoy the idea of you injuring yourself after I went to all the trouble of patching you up."
"You can't sit on me forever."
"No, of course not," the German agreed. "In a moment, you're going to go back to sleep. Then I'll get up. Eh…don't be surprised if you're tied to the bed when you next wake. If I were to die, I would certainly want my reaper to be as pretty as you; however, I'm not ready to die yet."
He felt it, the careful, delicate intrusion into his mind, the slight, subtle pressure urging him into sleep.
Aya began to fight, bucking and struggling, cursing violently. Schuldig's hands closed tightly around his wrists, pinning him securely to the bed.
"You're going to hurt yourself!" the flame haired man warned through gritted teeth.
Aya could feel his muscles straining, wounds reopening, but he fought anyway. Finally he succeeded in knocking Schuildig off.
He scrambled up and was halfway to the door when something hit him.
Aya fell to the ground, Schuldig riding him.
"You are one stubborn son of a bitch!" the German panted, head on Aya's shoulder blade. "Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?"
"Bastard!" Aya cried.
He had no physical strength left to fight when he felt the telepath's presence enter his mind once more. Stubbornly, Aya closed his mind as tightly as he could.
"Cute, Veilchen," Schuldig chuckled, breaking easily through the barrier.
The darkness encased Aya's mind.
Aya groaned as consciousness slowly returned to him. His limbs were heavy, his injuries a mass of burning pain all over his body.
That pain didn't begin to compare, however, with the pounding in his head.
"You are one vicious kitty, Veilchen," a weary voice said from a corner of the room. "I almost did permanent damage putting you under."
"Still claim to be helping me?" Aya demanded coldly, voice a rasp.
"Of course."
Aya tried to move, only to find his arms and legs bound to the bed.
He wasn't really surprised.
"Bastard."
"Can you blame me?" the German asked cheerfully. "I did warn you, after all. Fair is fair."
Aya glared furiously as the telepath approached.
"Sit on me again and I vow to find some way to kill you."
Schuldig held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, shrugging lightly.
"Fine. Play hard to get."
Aya began to growl and the flame haired man laughed. Schuldig sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on the other redhead's knee. Aya jerked, but couldn't get away.
"I'm sorry I had to hurt you, Veilchen. Surely you can concede that this is a difficult situation we find ourselves in."
"Get. Your hand. Off me."
"I really am trying to help you. You know I had to put twenty more stitches in you after that stunt you pulled?"
Aya glared, refusing to comment.
Schuldig sighed.
"What were you doing in that area of town, anyway?" the German asked.
"Work." Aya answered grudgingly.
"A mark?"
"No."
Schuldig stared at him. Slowly the bastard's lips began to twitch.
"Mein Gott. That uniform! Please don't tell me you actually work at the club!"
"Shut the hell up!" he snarled.
"The great leader of Weiss, working in a place like that? For real? Dancing?"
"I don't dance, you bastard, I tend the bar!" Despite himself, Aya felt his face inflame.
The German laughed, sliding his hand slowly up Aya's thigh.
"I'm glad I brought you home with me, veilchen kitty," he said warmly. "You're so entertaining!"
"Get your hand off me, you fucking bastard!"
Schuldig only laughed harder.
To be Continued
I have a confession. Schu took over and wrote most of this chapter. Naughty German.
Because of the quick updates, I haven't been able to finish all the review response. Please don't get upset at me; I've decided not to write responses for the last two chapters of Inferno (there isn't all that much to say anyway.) Since I know you'll all be reviewing this (hint hint) then we'll talk then, okay? Love you all.
Kit