Yohji gave Schuldig a sideways glance. The redhead was staring over the sea, strands of his long hair that was gathered in a loose ponytail playing about his face in the cool breeze of the rising morning. A surprisingly soft face when it was free of his usual unpleasant smirk, with a few freckles about his nose and scattered over his cheekbones that made him look very young. Schuldig was still a mystery to him, something a night of reluctant talking had not changed, and he was veering between wary surprise and deeply ingrained mistrust. The men of Schwarz were the enemy after all, weren't they?

So he had tried to close off his mind, but Schuldig had not tried to pry. He wore no weapon as far as Yohji could tell, his entire stance had been... open. Welcoming. Inviting even.

How Yohji wished for Aya to be here with him, just like this, like Schuldig was now...

He realised the fraction of a second too late that the pale face turned towards him, clear blue eyes pinning him sharply for a moment, before he could shutter his gaze and focus on the cigarette in his hands. His fingers trembled just so slightly. He could not fool Schuldig, of course, who suddenly reached out and touched his wrist. "Wish he were here?"

Damn him, he was way too lucid for Yohji's liking.

"I know the feeling."

Rubbish. How could he ever begin to understand when Aya did not...
Unless he was pining – oh, where was this going, no way he would begin to sympathise, but who could Schuldig be hankering for? Somehow he did not seem the type to go after little boys like Nagi. But then, perhaps Nagi was not all that he seemed either, and Crawford, well – a formidable enemy as they had been made to feel to their cost. It might pay to find an arrangement that kept them out of each other's hair while neither Kritiker nor Esset seemed interested in coming to blows.

That warm, firm hand trailed up Yohji's arm, and he had to fight the sudden urge to lean into the touch – he was courting the enemy, after all; this would not do, Aya would kill him if he knew, and then perhaps that was what he wanted now – for Aya to slice his throat and let him drop into silence.

"Wonder how your youngest kitten is coping." Schuldig let his hand fall away and crossed his arms, gaze drifting into the distance again. A sliver of grey light gleamed on the horizon where the sky sank into the sea, and began to broaden, wash into the darkness of the passing night with the relentless rhythm of eternity.

Yohji wiped his eyes. Omi had been pleading with him, the boy had appeared to be cracking up but just when Yohji thought he would break, Omi had surprised him with a determination that seemed too much, too cold, too hard for someone so young. Omi would be fine.

"Who d'you think they'll get to do it?"

"Will you shut up already?" Yohji burst out before he could bite the words back.

"Someone from within," Schuldig mused, lighting another cigarette for himself, "would be easiest. A test of loyalty, to boot. Really handy. Perhaps they'd pick the most levelheaded guy, to make sure."

Yohji felt himself grow cold. Ken?

"Though, if I had to decide, I'd try something else." Schuldig slid down into the sand and leaned back against the stem of driftwood they had been perched on for most of the time. He wriggled and stretched taut muscles, raised his arms over his head and arched his back, bones crackling as tense tendons eased up, before he slumped back into a comfortable pose, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, one hand in his lap, the other one fiddling with the cigarette.

Something else? There were few options, then.

"Only one other option. Test the group leader. Push him to the limit. The team's unstable, it's the leader's fault and responsibility, ne? Sort him out, make him clear up the mess."

Yohji felt dizzy one of a sudden. Someone caught him and dragged him down to the sand. He felt Schuldig's arm slip round his waist and tug him close. "Man, Balinese, when d'you eat last time?" Schuldig slapped his brow. "This won't do, huh?"

Yohji stiffened and drew back, untangling Schuldig's arm from where it sat, snug and comforting. "Shut up. What were you getting at?"

"C'mon, you know. They'll get your chibi to do the dirty work. And that looney will either play along or fight back. They'll only need to watch to complete their assessment. I'd call it catch twenty two."

Yohji made to get up but Schuldig caught his wrist once again and held on fast. "Stay put. I told you we'll know when. We'll be in time, and I'll do my damnedst to help."

Cool eyes regarded Yohji who closed his to stop this strange, searching gaze to rummage around in his soul. He did not feel up to facing Schuldig now, he could not place him anymore, and it confused him no end. Schwarz were the enemy. They had done unspeakable things to Aya, and now they were the only hope he had to get help? A twisted smile crossed his face. Schuldig was playing a game, surely, and Yohji had not the faintest idea where this was going, but he had to admit that for now, just now, during those desperate hours between truth, betrayal and loss, his warm touch felt like the only anchor he had.

No. Aya, Omi, Ken. They were his anchors. Aya who would either die at Omi's hands or kill the boy. Ken who managed to stay himself in all this by taking as much care of the chibi as the boy would allow.

"I wanna go back now," Yohji broke his own reverie, tugged loose and rose to his feet. Schuldig got up too, moving with the poised elegance of a great cat. So very much like Aya. He followed Yohji who strode towards the car and climbed into the driver's seat even as the first finger of sunlight touched the choppy waves, painting a street of gold towards the beach.

Into the revving engine, Schuldig said, "You gotta harden up a bit more, Yotan." A mournful expression passed over his face before he replaced it with his usual smug grin. "Shoot off, man. Let's get some food."

Traffic was picking up fast the closer they came to the city. Slouching in his seat, Schuldig had crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, his head lolling slightly. Asleep, Yohji thought with a touch of relief, but when he had to hit the brakes because he found himself at the tail end of a queue at the exit he needed to take, Schuldig's soft voice floated into the humming of the engine and the noise of the traffic around them. "You remember your first kill?"

Yohji nearly crashed into the car in front.

"There aren't many ways you can go afterwards," Schuldig continued, posture unchanged, almost sleepy. "If you're made that way, you'll find nothing wrong. Carry on, or enjoy it. Your general prison populace, yanno." He paused, shifted a little, eyes still closed. The queue moved on. Yohji shivered and tried to keep concentrated on the traffic. "I can't say I regret... 'cos I can't remember whether I do. But if we were like that, we'd not think about it either, right? So we're trying to... I mean, find out what we were like before all this... I know Nagi did for some time, but he's given up now."

No, Yohji did not like this one bit. He refused to listen, but started when Schuldig pressed a hand over his eyes, a brief, harsh gesture, before sitting up straight and blinking out at the bustle of cars and traffic lights, the slightly pinched, distracted expression on his face quickly plastered over by his usual smug mask. "Move, Bali, there – that turn, and then the next left."

"That's not the right way to-" Yohji broke off when he caught the cool glance and did as asked.

They saw Nagi loiter at a corner of a derelict apartment building. This was a bad area, Yohji knew, and he had not known they would be coming here, but he had an idea that set his heart racing and shortened his breath. Without a word, he pulled up and let the boy slip into the rear seat. Nagi settled just as silently, not even exchanging a look with either of the two men. He seemed absorbed playing a handheld computer game, but his face betrayed neither thought nor emotion, his eyes were as blank as those of a corpse.

Yohji felt a shiver run down his spine. What had he let himself in for? He could not read those people at all, those masters of deception, mindscramblers, psychos who called themselves Schwarz. How fitting, for they were as dark as the night.

And he felt... comfortable. Schuldig had behaved himself. They boy was no match for Weiss, for all Yohji could tell, and they seemed just a little strange – well, odder than Weiss at least, which did mean nothing in their trade, really. Those things Schuldig had told him made Yohji curious, but right now, he tried to keep all of this out of his mind, and it was blown right out of his thoughts when Schuldig laid a hand on Yohji's thigh and murmured, "Pull in." Gesturing at the mouth of a basement parking lot of a high rise that looked as though it was about to crumble into a heap at any moment.

Nagi pocketed his game and looked up for the first time.
His face was still. In his eyes pooled darkness.
And Yohji knew he did not want Omi to become like this.

"Damn, Aya, I don't think I can keep it in any longer," Omi hissed with urgency through clenched teeth as he fidgeted on the passenger seat and pressed his hands between his thighs. The satchel with his tattered school books lay on the cluttered backseat, among empty drinks bottles, junk food wrappers and forgotten crisp packets. The gun rested hard and warm against his ribcage. He had caught glimpses of himself in the smudged passenger mirror – a pale pace with a sheen of sweat, eyes sunk deep into shadowy sockets, dry discoloured lips.

Like a damn corpse. He batted the thought down angrily, yet when he caught Aya's glance in the rear mirror, he nearly burst into tears. Aya's strange purplish blue eyes held no emotion bar a flicker of concern deep within, and Omi broke away hastily and reached for the crumpled packet of cigarettes he had flung onto the dashboard earlier on, only to toss it back with a breathless curse. Empty, now of all times.

"Yohji always checks his supply as though it were ammo," Aya remarked dryly and brought out a fresh, unopened packet from his denim jacket. "Here." He wrinkled his nose with the faintest hint of disgust. "Dependencies make you weak, chibi."

Was that why he was acting so odd? Had something scraped over a soft spot? But Aya had no soft spots, as far as Omi could see...

Aya focused on the road again. "Addictions, friends, weakness," he lectured, his tone subtly becoming more bitter, "they all drag you down, make you vulnerable. Bad for anyone, but for people like us, it's usually lethal." He pulled up by the gaping mouth of a basement garage, the same Schuldig, Nagi and Yohji had entered. "Here, take your piss. I'll watch your back, ne?"

He brought the car to a halt but did not cut the engine. Omi expected him to reach for the katana that also lay on the backseat, but Aya just sat there, waiting for something. "You," Omi began and had to break off to clear his throat that suddenly was thick with unspoken emotions – they threatened to swamp him when he looked at Aya's sharp profile in the vague shadows of the car just inside the entrance to the garage.

Calmly Aya rested his hands in his lap. "Hurry. We haven't all day, have we?"

Omi bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he reached for the door handle. "You tagging along?"

"Hai." Aya shifted, opened his door and slipped out of the car smoothly.

Omi did feel a certain urge now and edged behind a concrete pillar to relieve himself. Aya, so composed – it would not have been as hard had he shouted, or fought, or done something, anything to stop this from happening. Omi leaned his hot face against the cold, clammy pillar and felt his eyes burn. He could not help a small dry sob when he tucked himself back in and fumbled for the gun. Damn Yohji who had abandoned him when he most needed someone. But perhaps this was the truth of it all, stark and hopeless. They killed for money, a well-oiled little machine, and if a part wore out, it had to be replaced. If this piece happened to be a chip with lots of memory and precious data stored on it, it had to be wiped thoroughly. Everything else had just been a trick of his imagination. Hope was such a stupid thing.

A bullet was quick and cheap.
Painless for its target.

Why did it have to be Aya? Cold, remote Aya who never seemed to be shaken by anything? What had Schwarz done to him?

Aya turned his back when Omi stepped back into the dark garage.
He did not stir when the security catch of the gun snapped.
Instead, he let out a long, soft breath. There would be silence.

Next chapter: Headache