Schuldig tossed and in his bed. He clutched the sweat soaked sheets in both fists and wringed them. His face contorted as he was thrown about in the grips of his nightmare.
(The stock market was terrible-)
( Our father who art in heaven hallo-)
(I wish I could drive-)
Schuldig's hands went to his head. It felt too full. Too many voices, thoughts, emotions. And on top of that, his leg started to throb. Tiny needles of flame shot through it. He sat up right, and fumbled for the bottle of morphine he kept in the drawer. He wrenched of the cap with his teeth, and popped five pills in his mouth and washed them down with a glass of water. The water sopped over most of his chest and the already sweat-drenched sheets. He flopped back down on his bed. The voices were fading now, as was the pain. There was a dull humming now, and it sounded soothing. . .
(. . .uldig. . .)
The voice. . .so far away. So transient.
(Schu. . .)
Now it was louder, more insistent more. . .external, even. It was ringing in his head as well as his ears now.
"Schuldig!"
Throbbing sound and voice rattled its way through Schuldig's brain, mind, and headspace. He cringed and buried himself deeper in his sheets.
"Coming!" His own shouts sounded overkill and out of place. Schuldig cringed at his own voice. He swung his legs over the bedside and sat, with his face in his hands.
(Damn, my head aches.)
Schuldig opened his bedside drawer for the bottle. He popped three pills, swallowed them dry and sighed. He put what he hoped looked like an uncaring smile on his lips, and headed downstairs.
The other three members of Schwarz were sitting at the kitchen table, each at various stages of eating breakfast. Nagi looked up as Schuldig came into the kitchen.
"Good morning! Do you want me to make anything for you for breakfast?"
Schuldig shook his head. "No. Just bring me a cup of coffee, eh?"
Nagi nodded. The pot of coffee in the maker slid out on it's own accord and poured some of it's contents into a cup that jumped out of the cabinet. The cup floated to Schuldig who took it out of the air. "Thanks."
"No problem." The young boy got up from his chair. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to get to school." He finished his toast, and hefted his shoulder bag full of books over his shoulder. "I'll see you when I get back."
Crawford looked over the newspaper he was reading. "Come straight home, Nagi."
Nagi nodded, and floated to the door, opened it, and drifted out.
Crawford watched the door after the boy had closed it. Then he shifted his gaze to Schuldig, who was still standing with the untouched cup of coffee in his hands. He seemed to be staring off into space.
"Schuldig. . .Are you alright?"
Schuldig turned to Crawford. "Hmmmm?"
Crawford put the newspaper down and peered closely at Schuldig's face. "Did you hear a word I just said to you?"
The German shrugged. "Na. I'm not feeling to well. I'm going to go back to bed. Besides, my knee's killing me. See ya!" And with that, Schuldig put the now cold cup of coffee on the table, and walked back up with the stairs without so much as a backwards glance.
Crawford's eyebrows knitted in a combination of anger and worry.
(That was strange, even for Schuldig. I hope he gets better soon, I really need him for the team.)
Schuldig kept climbing rapidly until he reached the top of the stairs. Then he slowed, grasping his head with both hands. The throbbing wouldn't stop, it had to stop. He fell to his knees and crawled the remainder of the way to his bedroom. He opened the door of his bedroom and crawled in. He made his way to the bed, and crawled in between the sheets and curled into a fetal position. Silent tears rolled down his face, burning in his throat. The pain in his head started to diminish as the drugs finally started to kick in. His sobs subsided to small whimpers, and he fell into a deep sleep.