Kiss me Kill me
Disclaimer: Why yes, yes I do own Schwarz and there IS a man in the moon that talks to me at night and tells me I am a pretty little pony with blue and green hair
Warnings: New charas, AU, violence, blood
Rated: PG-13 Just to be on the safe side
Archive: Here and at F.F.net that's about it. If any one wants to, they can put my story up on their site, as long as you e-mail and tell me, so I can visit and check it out.
*Notes* An AU that takes place after the series
Feedback: Most definitely welcome, flames will be looked at, laughed at, and kept for those long cold winter nights with Farfie (Gets that far away look) *Giggles*
'blah blah' - indicating thought
~^~ * ~^~ - indicating a memory or dream
The pale form stumbled hard into the wall, his balance astray from the drugs that were forced into his veins. His golden eye swiveled up in its socket at the German man that was standing next to him. The famed sneer was directed at him, trying to install fear with little success.
The man gathered himself to his feet, smirking inwardly at the fresh bright red blood that trickled down the other man's face. He licked his lips, tasting the coppery flavor of his own blood. The orange haired German growled and shoved the man again.
"Keep going Farfarello." He rubbed at the gash on his cheek, cursing the fact he didn't check the crazy Irishman thoroughly enough, missing the small butterfly knife tucked into one of his bandages. That mistake had been costly; Crawford had gotten in the way and was laying in his room, trying not to bleed to death.
'I wonder why he didn't see that coming,' the man thought to himself. 'Some Oracle he is.'
"Schuldig?" a deep voice whispered.
'What?" the man growled again.
"You're bleeding all over your suit," the voice held a tint of perverse satisfaction.
Schuldig narrowed his dark blue eyes. "Keep moving madman. Your cell awaits you."
Farfarello grinned. His short silver hair was matted with blood; some his own, the rest from his team. It dripped down the back of his neck and into the straight jacket, causing it to stain the white material. He planted his feet and didn't move. Even as his mind grew fuzzy and his legs threatened to give out he wouldn't budge.
The drugs, the Japanese Prodigy had injected him with, was doing something to his body but the Irishman couldn't feel a thing. He couldn't help but laugh to himself, remembering how the teen had gotten him. 'Damn telekinetic. Too chicken to do it by himself, had to do it from afar.'
Schuldig glanced at the laughing Irishman and mentally shook his head. "Move Farfarello." He reached out to push the man when he twisted to the side, turning his piercing golden eye on him. "Do you want Nagi to move you." The words more of a threat then a question. The berserker never forgot the last time the teen had tried to move him. He finally had gotten him in his cell, with three broken ribs and a punctured lung. He did managed to scare the crap out of the boy that time, although he never showed it.
As if hearing his name, Nagi stood at the doorway of his room; a blank stare was all that was given to the two men standing in the hallway. His hand was bandaged and Farfarello could see the faintest stain of red through the white material. The silver haired man titled his head and snapped his teeth at the boy who didn't react. Instead he raised a hand and Farfarello was in the air upside down.
"Please Farfarello, don't fight me. I don't like hurting people unnecessarily."
"You can't hurt me Prodigy," came the reply. "But I can hurt you."
The German smiled. "Put him in his room, Nagi and lock the door. We don't want him escaping again."
"Yes we don't a repeat of tonight," Farfarello said mocking the mind reader. His smile still in place even as the Japanese boy tossed him into the padded cell he called his room. His head hit the ground hard, leaving a small smear of blood from his tainted hair. He sat up in time to see his door slam shut, a few clicks telling him he was locked in.
Bringing his feet together, he pulled himself up and walked over to one of the walls. Leaning against it, he slid down, twisting a little. He felt the back buckle of the straight jacket catch on the nail he had placed there. Leaning forward he pulled the leather strap free and it dangled freely between his legs. Next in line was to dislocate his shoulder and pull an arm free.
Pausing before he did so, the drugs finally took full affect and his muscles spasmed, buckling his legs, his head slamming against the wall as he fell. His golden eye rolled up and closed. He felt the warm liquid coming from the small wound where the nail had gouged him; it flowed down his pale cheek and into the crease of his lips filling his mouth with the sweet bitterness.
'Damn them to hell,' he thought to himself, rolling to his back. Unable to move any further he wondered just what the hell Nagi give him. 'No, hell is too good for them. When I get out of here I'll . . . I'll." The tranquilizer hit full force and he suddenly felt tired, unable to speak or care, he slid into darkness.
+~+~+~+
"That must have been one heck of a tranq to do that to you."
Farfarello heard the voice next to him and he opened his eye, fully awake. He didn't recognize the soft feminine tone and he felt himself unconsciously reaching for a weapon. When he couldn't move his arms he twisted himself to the side, to see where the words had come from.
Poison green eyes stared back at him. The Irishman saw little flecks of gold mixed with the green that could only be described as poison. Sweet and bitter, innocent and guilty, dead but alive. The silky looking ebony hair flowed gently around the thin pale face of a girl. Scratch that, a child.
'What kind of drugs did that kid give me.' Farfarello didn't say anything as he let his eye travel over the body that was sitting next to him. The girl wore a long black dress that looked as though it had been through hell and back; torn and ripped in several places, faded along the collar and hem, and what looked like blood stains splattered the upper front. The long sleeves hid her hands and her feet looked as though they were tucked under the small body of the girl.
The poison eyes never strayed from his golden one; they held no fear of his looks or the fact that he was in a straight jacket. The girl's gaze did however hold a somewhat innocent look to them and the Irishman didn't fight the urge to get rid of them.
He gathered his feet under him and towered over the girl who didn't move from her spot on the floor. "Who the hell are you," he demanded as he twisted his body in the white jacket. He heard the sound of his shoulder dislocating and knew there would be no pain, there never was.
The girl said nothing as she looked down, tracing a stain of old blood on the ground with a hidden hand. She started humming and looked back up, watching him struggle. She then folded her covered hands in her lap and waited.
"I said, who the hell are you kid," Farfarello yelled as he managed to wiggle his arm free from the restraints. Pulling it through the collar he reached behind him and tugged loose the leather straps that bound him. The entire jacket loosened and the Irishman leaned forward, pulling the straight jacket over his head and discarded it as if he was taking off a shirt.
"There is no need to yell, I can hear you just fine," the girl answered, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. Standing, she barely came to the middle of the man's chest. The girl tilted her head back to lock her gaze once again with the Irishman's.
Farfarello lips turned up into a sadistic smile. "Why are you here little one?"
The girl reacted indifferently to the man's smirk. "Because I was sent here from someone very powerful and important," she replied in a matter of fact tone.
"Why would someone important send a child like you to me?"
"I don't ask questions," the child replied.
"You should little one," the man continued, "Or else you would have known what kind of a sinner you are with."
"You may be a sinner but what am I to you? A helpless child that you can use to hurt God with?" the girl's voice took on an icy tone and the room dropped ten degrees. Farfarello felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he almost startled when he saw his breath come out in little puffs of white air. The child narrowed her poison eyes ever so slightly but whatever darkness lay hidden behind them were now gone and the room felt warmer.
"I thought so, but are you sure that killing me will hurt God or only make him happy," she said and stuck out a gloved hand. "My name is Kimiko."
Farfarello stared at the hand for a moment then brought his gaze back up. He raised his own but in the blink of an eye had the girl pinned against the wall, his hands wrapped around her throat. With one hand he picked her off the ground and squeezed, delighted to hear the strangled gasp.
Kimiko's eyes widened and she opened her mouth, letting out a strange garbled sound as the Irishman crushed her windpipe. She kicked her feet at the man but couldn't seem to connect. She raised her hands to claw at the mans that held her but instead stretched them out to her side as she was a cross.
Her eyes rolled back into her head and she gasped again, trying to form words past the vice like grip on her throat. "Kill . . . kill me . . . It will . . . make God . . . happy!" Kimiko spat the words, her body suddenly going limp.
Farfarello dropped the girl. The child sank to her knees bringing a hand to her throat as she coughed violently, forcing air through her damaged windpipe. The long ebony hair floated around her settling like a veil over her face.
The Irishman felt nothing as the child forced herself to her feet and turned her eyes to his. He almost smiled when he saw the angry bruising beginning to form along the ivory skin where his hand had been.
"Why didn't you kill me." The words were mere whispers.
"Your words intrigue me," Farfarello said, his tone deep and haunting. "I doubt you understand the full meaning of them."
"Because I am merely a child. What makes a grownup think that a child cannot do wrong. What makes them think that we are always innocent."
Farfarello's eye never left the poison ones of the child; they seemed to glow ever so slightly like a jaded jewel glinting in the sunlight. "How old are you little one?"
Kimiko paused before answering, "Twelve. How old are you?"
"I'm twenty." The Irishman didn't know why he answered the child but he felt compelled to. There was something about her that drew him to her, although she did have an innocent look to her that he didn't like. There was something else buried behind the poison eyes, perhaps something evil.
"You're only a boy yourself," Kimiko said, the injuries he caused seemed to have faded into the background and still she showed no fear of him.
"Why are you not afraid of me?" the berserker demanded.
"Should I?" the girl answered, raising her eyes. "Are you sure you shouldn't be afraid of me."
"Is that a threat little one." A bemused smirk appeared. "Do you want to kill me for what I did to you." Farfarello went to one knee and presented the side of his neck to the child. "If you hit hard enough at the base of my throat you can cause severe damage. Go ahead."
Kimiko closed the gap between them, raising a hand she placed it gently against the Irishman's cheek. "I don't want to kill you."
The berserker grabbed the child's hand and pushed her away roughly. "Don't do that," he growled.
"Do what? Tell you I don't want to kill you? But it is the truth, I do not want to kill you," the child replied in an innocent tone. "Unless, you want me to." The poison eyes darkened.
Farfarello felt something warm trickle down his temple and reached a hand up. Crimson liquid stained his fingertips; the injury the nail had caused was bleeding profusely where seconds ago it wasn't. He causally wiped the blood on his shirt.
Kimiko's gaze strayed to the tiny wound and the flowing scarlet. She bite her bottom lip, her eyes becoming wider by the second. She wrung her hands in a nervous state.
"You don't like the sight of blood," the Irishman said, wiping again at the trickle of red, smearing it across his cheek. "Do you little one?" He felt the blood in his hair had dried and didn't bother with it.
The child said nothing as she bent slightly and took the hem of her dress in hand. With a bit of force from her thin arms, she ripped two small strips from it and straightened. She took a step towards the man and pressed the cloth of material to the cut. Leaning forward she reached around and tied the other strip of black around Farfarello's temples, resembling something Schuldig would wear.
"I don't mind blood," Kimiko answered, "I don't like seeing the innocent injured."
"Innocent?" Farfarello's voice dripped with sarcasm.
The child placed both her hands on her hips. "Don't make fun of the way I think. Don't you think the innocent shouldn't suffer?"
The Irish beserker's grin never faded. "Who is innocent? You say that a child cannot be innocent, then who is?"
Kimiko's brow scrunched up as she pondered the silver haired man's words. "I never said all children cannot do wrong. There is still innocence in this rotting world."
"Are you sure?" the Irishman whispered, bending down to the child's eye level. "Are you sure this world isn't already dead."
The girl lowered her head and stared at her gloved hands with interest. "You're still alive," she said defiantly.
"But for how long," Farfarello said, titling his head at the sounds coming from outside his locked door. He heard the two voices of his fellow teammates talking quietly and turned his complete attention to them.
"What are you going to do Schuldig?" Nagi asked in a dull tone. His dark eyes carried little emotion behind his words.
The German sighed softly and leaned against the wall of the hallway. "They took him and we don't know when they're bringing him back." He crossed his arms. "Guess we'll just have to wait."
"I received a message telling us we will be expecting a replacement until-," the teen was cut off by a wave of Schuldig's hand. The orange haired man turned his head to the closed door of the beserker's cell.
"He's listening," he said quietly. "Would you like to come out Farfarello," he said raising his voice. He grinned when he heard the silent answer as he reached his mind out to the Irishman. A very large and cold wall met him. Spikes slid from the wall's textured surface and the German moved back and away before the shining metal could hit him.
'Defensive aren't we?' he whispered in his mind, knowing the silver haired devil was listening to him. Silence greeted him and he smirked, unlocking the door.
Farfarello closed his golden eye, raising a wall around himself armed with psychic weapons. He felt the German pull away, amused with his defense. The familiar click of locks told him, he was being freed from his white prison and took a step back to allow room for the padded door to open.
Schuldig shoved the door open and crossed his arms, dark eyes sweeping across the room. "What the hell?"
The Irishman turned his head but gave no reaction when he saw the walls of his padded cell were slashed open, the soft stuffing was spilled out onto the floor. His straight jacket was ripped in half and thrown into opposite corners. The goth looking Kimiko was no where to be seen.
"You've been busy," the orange haired man said, the amusement clear in his tone.
Farfarello brushed past Schuldig and leered at the brown haired teenager. "What has happened?"
"Why are you asking, when we know that you don't care," Nagi stated, ignoring the Irishman's staring. He closed his eyes briefly. "Crawford was taken away."
"Is he dead?"
'You wish,' Schuldig whispered in Farfarello's mind. "He should have been after what you did to him. It seems someone took him away and we will be getting a replacement soon."
"It can't be Esset," Nagi said. "They're gone, unless they were able to move into hiding, but I doubt that. Weiss took care of them." He watched carefully of the expressions of his teammates.
"Perhaps it is someone much more powerful then Esset," Farfarello said bringing his golden eye up towards his room.
"What makes you say that?" Schuldig said, curious. "Do you know something Farfarello?" The Irishman shifted his golden gaze to the German. "No, you don't. I can see that you're just as stumped as we are. Oh well," the man crossed his arms and strolled back towards the living room. "Guess we'll just have to wait."
'And wait we shall . . .' Farfarello thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the door followed by silence.
*Looks around nervously* This is my first attempt at a Schwarz fic never mind my Farfie fics. Sooooo tell me whatcha think, leave a review and tell me if I got the charas down right.