Right, another update. Let me know what you think, folks - it's a lot of writing with no feedback.

Cheers
LoveyouHateyou

xxx

Decisions, Decisions – Crawford and Schuldig, Schuldig and Nagi, Yohji and Schuldig

"So?" Crawford pressed both hands against his temples, then remembered Schuldig who stood in the doorway to the office. Smoking, of course – he had not stopped those last few days. "You'll give yourself lung cancer."

A vague smile played over the pale face as Schuldig regarded Crawford with as much softness as his eyes were capable of. "Your headache no better?"

"I have no headache..." Crawford snapped, then sighed and turned to face Schuldig. Eyes hidden behind the sparkle of eyeglasses, face carefully blanked, mind safely shielded. He had always been closed up, safe and firm as a rock. "I have a damn splitting migraine, so you better spit out what's up, or I can't guarantee I won't be screaming at you in a moment."

"He's taken the bait," Schuldig shrugged. "Had no choice, I suppose. Fine plan, Craw, I'll hand you that."

"Where did you take him?"

"To the beach. Just walking, listening to the waves, that sorta thing." A faint blush tainted Schuldig's pale face, followed by an angry frown.

"Ah. All night long?"

"Well, no. Coupla hours, then I drove him back. He was awfully quiet."

"Upset. Out of his mind. Did he understand what you asked? Schuldig, talk, or I'll rip it right out of your brains."

Schuldig threw up his hands. "Hey, gimme time! He did, he's bright, and you made it nice 'n easy for him. No betrayal, no hardship... We only want him to get those Kritiker files for us. They're about us, after all."

"He'll be useless after this," Crawford observed dryly. He pressed the tips of his fingers against his forehead and allowed a small sigh of discomfort to slip his lips. "He knows."

Schuldig shrugged and raked absentmindedly through his bright hair. "Figures. So what?"

Crawford let his fingers wander and began to rub his temples in slow motion circles, the light on the glasses sliding, revealing half-closed dark eyes, misted over with a faraway expression that did not match his set features. "Hm?"

"We're not so different, huh?"

Crawford did not answer.

Schuldig bit his lip. "How long now, Craw?"

"I don't know," Crawford stated quietly, words clipped, not inviting debate. "But we'll be ready to fly when the time comes."

Ready for the flight of their lives...

Craw... crow... fly, Schuldig mused lazily. Crawford really had this thing... those sharp, dark looks; knowing eyes that seemed to pierce right through everything they choose to scrutinise, the silent sweep of a hard, cold mind that right now prodded at him, probing, warning. I'm fine, he reassured, just so...

Nagi's small shape appeared behind Schuldig; his large eyes straying from one to the other, but he did not ask anything. "I can't stare at those books any longer," he stated flatly, "I'm getting dizzy. Schu, I'd like to walk in the park for a while?"

xxx

Nagi and his walks, Schuldig thought while he strolled along the busy street. Rushhour was a good time to go about iffy business; in the throng of people, all absorbed in their own small worlds, few would bat an eyelid at the lanky redhead with the longnosed face. He had spent most of the day following the boy around, watching him for any signs of emotion, or perhaps a slight shade of it.

He got nothing. Nagi was still, his frosty little face closed, his eyes looking inward, his mind firmly closed to Schuldig's cautious touch. Schuldig had watched the boy on many such walks: he would stuff his thin white hands into the pockets of his coat and just pace along evenly, his breathing no faster than usual, eyes unblinking. Like a walking corpse. Schuldig shuddered and almost sighed with relief when he reached the apartment block where after that drive into the night Yohji had agreed to meet him.

Ah, yes, that drive...

xxx

Yohji had expected a lot of things from Schuldig when he agreed to the deal. Some cruel little psycho play, perhaps, or some bodily torture, involving Farfarello's skilled hands. He had also registered how the redhead regarded him with curious, calculating glances, and had sensed the wish to touch.

Red. Touch, warm, longing, firm. Aya.

Schuldig had not bothered to check him over for weapons. Perhaps he was sure of himself, or of the strange exchange of favours they had brokered. Yohji had assumed his body would be the price for Schuldig's help, whichever form this help would take. He did not know, Schuldig did not explain, and Yohji did not want to ask. Images of Omi and Ken kept invading his thoughts, unbidden and painful, and pictures of Aya.

Always Aya.

He had tried to talk to him in the run-up to the evaluation. Gods, he had tried. He leaned back in the seat of the car and closed his eyes, heedless of Schuldig's observant eyes that kept flicking between the road and him.

He could hear and smell the sea long before the car rolled over firmed sand and the engine cut out. He refused to open his eyes, but a cigarette was pushed between his lips and something warm and moist touched his cheek. "Hey," Schuldig murmured, "you're not fooling me."

Yohji opened his eyes even as he pulled a deep breath of smoke into his lungs. Schuldig's face was close, noses almost touching, cool eyes glittering in the vague darkness. They were still within the dusky orange smog bowl of the city, but the waves that kept rolling out on the sandy beach shimmered silver and black. A soft, cool breeze played with their hair, weaving a few wildly red strands into burnished gold. Unthinkingly, Yohji lifted his hand to wipe them away.

Schuldig had soft hair, fine and pliant, unlike Aya's thick, wiry mane. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and coffee.

Touch. How long had Aya starved him of it? In spite of himself, Yohji felt something inside of him give. He loathed it. He hated Schuldig just sitting so close, as though he was expecting something, and wrapping him into his seething cold-warmth without as much as laying a hand on him. "Foreplay?" Yohji asked bluntly, to break the odd mood.

Schuldig plopped back into his own seat, lit a cigarette for himself and crossed his arms behind his head. Smoking calmly, he stared up at the sky. "You ever seen a star up there?"

And Yohji thought he was surely going mad.

xxx

Schuldig did not want anything from him that night, and it confused Yohji no end. Talk, or don't, the redhead had told him, I'll listen. I'll tell you some things too. About us, Schwarz. We want you to understand...

He had heard about pain of the mind, but he had never thought it could be cast in flesh. Schuldig's sparse words, without pathos or self-pity, taught him otherwise. Schwarz were the mould into which this kind of pain had been poured by Eszet. To see what could be formed out of agony, of the mind without barriers, suspended in life while longing to die.

And when Schuldig had driven him home, in silence, Yohji had lost his sense of time and place.

He longed to find his anchor. He longed for Aya as he had been before Schwarz.

xxx

"Aya?" In the stark dawn of the room, Yohji – kneeling by the futon – hovered over the restful form under the sheets. "Aya, let me join you..."

"If you must," came the calm reply.

The scent of pine needles and fresh linen washed over Yohji as he shed his clothes bar his shorts and slipped beneath the covers. Aya lay on his stomach, face turned away, hands lightly curled, legs apart. A relaxed, peaceful pose, Yohji mused when he fidgeted to wrap some of the bedding around himself, and turned onto his side. He touched his cheek to Aya's shoulder to soak up the aroma of the pale skin, and realised it was cool and damp. He longed to infuse it with some of his own warmth, but Aya radiated forbidding resentment. "Why don't you talk to me?"

"Because there's nothing to talk about, Kudoh."

"What about this re-evaluation," Yohji prodded stubbornly. "Omi hasn't had the results back yet, perhaps... I mean..." He faltered. What could he say now, that he believed Aya would not make it, that it had been an awful long time for their evaluation reports to be filched through by the shrinks and strategists at Kritiker, he felt as though he was disintegrating, utterly uncapable to form coherent thoughts, and he was hearing voices in his head. He swallowed the urge to light a cigarette. "Perhaps you're just a bit off-balance."

"You mean iffy, mad, something like that?" Aya's dark voice did not waver. "Schuldig is mad. I am normal. I have no problems, and I don't need all this shit about soul searching and listening."

"Then what were you doing while Schwarz had you?" Yohji bit out.

Silence fell. It grew deep and thick, drifting over them like snowfall in winter, in cold, fluffy flakes, a blanket for a corpse, a splash of crimson jarring on pure white-

Eyes flying open, Yohji sat bolt upright with a rattling gasp for air.

"Quit smoking, Kudoh," Aya commented without stirring. "And let me the hell sleep now."

Yohji could not sleep. He watched Aya drop off, listened to his deepening breathing, and finally was not able to bear it any longer. He rose and got dressed, slipped out of the building unseen and unheard, his hand in his pocket with the harigane. The shadow by the door was still and swift, stifling any sound with a firm hand across Yohji's mouth, and quicker than reflex, Yohji heard a whisper, "Hey, it's me."

Schuldig and his uncanny speed. Tense and pained, Yohji stilled for a moment. Red hair drifted across his throat, tickled his cheek, and then he felt a soft, moist touch to his neck. The same kind of touch as on the beach. A kiss?

"Couldn't sleep," Schuldig said flatly, releasing Yohji from his grip. "Hardly ever can. Thought you might fancy a walk."

It was a hot night, the city restless and flooded with too much light, too much bustle even at this hour. Yohji heard his own voice before his brain could kick in to stop him. "You got your car?"

Schuldig smiled and dangled a set of keys from a bony finger. "Your turn this time."

The car was parked around the corner. Yohji waited for Schuldig to settle on the passenger seat. Before he could reach for his own cigarettes, Schuldig shoved one – lit – between his lips and took another one for himself.

The filter tasted of coffee and mint. The smile on Schuldig's face startled Yohji for it had nothing of his usual smirk; instead, it seemed strangely open and a bit wistful. He concentrated on turning the key in the ignition, moving the car into the sparser night hour traffic, and only then realised he was heading into the same direction Schuldig had taken before. "Beach?" he murmured over the hum of the engine.

Schuldig wound back his seat, propped his booted feet onto the dashboard, and let his eyes slide shut. "You must be reading my mind."

And while Yohji headed for the periphery, he thought it extremely weird that Schuldig did not sound as though he was joking.

xxx

Omi slowly dissected the gun. He arrayed the parts neatly on the cloth that he had spread onto the table. His eyes were dark, his teeth buried in his lower lip, his hands unwavering. Words echoed faintly in his mind – Aya, I need someone to give me a lift, yeah, one of the guys gonna help me cramming for that exam – you really should be more careful, chibi, that's a shitty place, how do you know he's ok, I'll drive, wanna have a look by myself.

Sorted. They would drive to one of the worst areas of the city, pass the semi-ruined place that still had so-called apartments in it, a dirty heap of concrete boxes stacked in an untidy hive, he would ask for a stop to pee, of course Aya would not let him go out on his own. Bang.

Omi jumped, then realised the door had fallen shut with a soft click. He spread a newspaper over the parts of the gun and turned slightly to see Ken shrugging out of his jacket and kicking off his shoes. "Hey, Omichi," he said softly, padding across. He had a bag of crisps in his hand and proffered it to Omi while reaching for the paper.

Omi clamped his fingers round Ken's wrist, met hazel eyes going round and managed something he hoped would look like a smile. "For me?" He nodded at the crisps, rising to his feet and dragging Ken along into the kitchen. "Cool. Let's make some coffee... I think I need to unwind a bit more, you startled the hell outta me just now."

"Oh." Ken looked relieved as he set about pouring some ground coffee into the machine. "Any news from the big K? Feedback on how fucked up they think we are?"

Omi bent to retrieve two mugs. "No." An easy lie. Easier than the truth.

"Man, they're taking their sweet time." Ken set the machine going and turned, the wry smile on his face falling away as he scooted down to Omi who sat in front of the open cupboard. He had drawn his legs up and hugged his knees with one arm, his face buried in the other hand. "Omi?" Ken knelt and reached out to gather him up.

"Don't."

Ken stilled mid motion, hands close but not touching.

"I'll be fine. Just need a moment." Omi's voice was small and hollow. It did not waver, it did not crack, and its stillness touched Ken coldly. "I'm just tired, that's all." He shifted a little, slivers of blue gleaming from beneath tousled blond. "Seen Yohji?"

Ken let his hands drop to his thighs. "No. Gone on one of his forays, I'd say."

Omi let out a slow, shallow breath and scrambled to his feet. "I wanna go to bed. Care to come with me?"

xxx

The wind streaked through Yohji's hair as Schuldig and he sat down on a piece of driftwood by the beach. "I don't understand what you want, Schwarz."

"Talk. Can't you imagine that? Wanna rattle your neat facade a bit and see how long it takes me to crack it for good."

"You won't."

Schuldig smiled. "So sure of yourself, Bali? Yet the only reason you're willing to listen now is this knife-wielding fool... a bit like our very own Farfarello, don't you think? They had some sort of understanding, those two..."

"Is that all? If I remember this right, you had plans with me."

"I don't want you like this. I have-" He broke off, drew a harsh breath, and lit a cigarette. Yohji watched, professional interest and something unidentifiable in his cool, knowing eyes, even now that he was on edge like never before. Schuldig could see it, sense it, though Yohji held himself rather well. "We got better things to do than zapping you off. Wonder what happened back then? Why he ran right into us?"

Yohji felt cold. He could see that Schuldig was shivering slightly, too. "Why?"

"Because he was sent. On his own, without backup, orders by someone at your end. Someone shoved him right into our arms to lever you outta hiding and back to where you belong. We were paid to do a job, and we did it. Bring you home, Kudoh. Whoever did it was longing for you too much to leave you well enough alone."

"Bonkers." Kritiker did not work like this. Kritiker agents could be discharged if they applied for it and had a clean record. Right? He had applied and been set free, leaving Weiss one man short.

And another one shaken.

Suddenly, Yohji felt cold. What if… had they been this obvious? Had Aya been right all along, saying they needed to be discreet, to not allow themselves to become such easy prey? If Schuldig was right – and surely he was lying, playing one of his weird games – but if he was right, who would do such a thing? Why not simply replace him, as had happened in other teams when someone left or died?

Because it would not have put Aya right. Hey, set that thought aside for a moment before it sends you into overdrive. But they could have replaced Aya, too, Yohji's ingrained instinct for spinning a yarn of possible permutations rambled on. Something was off about Aya. Something that prompted Kritiker to take extreme measures.

"You realise your team was down while you were gone?" Schuldig talked into the wind, to the waves that rolled out on the sand, into some timeless void. "Low key missions only, nothing to rock the planet, until you came back. We could not help but wonder and do a bit of our own research. Had a sneek-peek into some rather messed-up heads." He snorted in wry amusement. "Man, I thought we were fucked up but I think Farfarello's more sane than the four of you put together."

"What would you know," Yohji murmured. Right, Kudoh, have a careful look now: Aya's sore points, his wants, in order of importance were his sister, his revenge… or maybe the other way round. And for the looks of it, Yohji. Perhaps. Include it just in case, better than to miss out a possibility, right? Kritiker's point was apparently to keep him on board no matter what. Why? They did not kick up a fuss when Yohji applied to leave, so when exactly – ah, right, when Aya had become unstable. Aya, just in case Schuldig had a point, had been sent onto a solo mission. This was not normal procedure. Persia was the one to work out the missions, Manx came through Omi for the briefings, and the chibi decided…

Yohji sucked in a startled breath of smoke as it hit him. Omi suggested whom to include on the mission team. Omi co-ordinated their work, their payments, their supplies, and to some extent, their staffing.

No, Schuldig was telling a pack of lies. Kritiker could easily find another sword-wielding killer for their team, someone with a grudge against Takatori and a thirst for revenge – he had trodden enough sensitive toes to make the pool of potential candidates a large one. Just why would they go to such lengths about Aya? They even took care of his sister.

They had his sister. They had Yohji. They so had Aya.

Schuldig laughed, a soft, quick rasp. "You're right; I know nothing. Can I lean against you? Just for a moment?"

Too shocked to answer, Yohji sat still as Schuldig shifted closer, touching leg to leg, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder. A light, warm contact, unlike Aya's unyielding grasp.

In the East, the sky grew paler.

Yohji did not know anymore where to go in the morning.

xxx

Next chapter:Judgement Day – Omi and Aya