*****************
"Never Let Me Down Again"
By Farfie no Miko
***************** Disclaimer: Sadly, Project Weiß owns the most beautiful men of Schwarz. . . Oh, if I owned Farfie. . .*evil laughter* I guess this is the next best thing. This and my Farf and Schu Bears. Life is good.
Note: The title is stolen from a Depeche Mode song that inspired this fic; it's my theme song for them. Yeah, no one ever said I made much sense.
Warning: Language, because cussing is a hard thing to drop. S+F shounen- ai. Just me trying my hand at a serious, sappy fic for a change, and I can't even promise it'll turn out that way. That is all.
*blah* = thoughts or telepathic speech
*****************
*****************
Part One
*****************
Farfarello sighed, giving into the restraints that bound him. He had "completely fucked up everything" as Crawford had put it. So, this was his punishment: being hung upside down in his straight jacket until Crawford felt that he'd had enough.
*It isn't fair,* Farfarello thought as he violently began to wiggle in his restraints again, *We've already been beaten by The Man's golf clubs. . .* But he knew well enough that this was one of Crawford's only means of punishing him.
Truthfully, he had enjoyed the beating, knowing that every blow to his face and back was only hurting God. This, on the other hand, wasn't enjoyable at all. Being strung up like this caused the blood to rush to his head, disorienting him and make it hard to think properly, and he hated it.
To make things worse, the American had laid his knives on the floor in front of him. They glinted invitingly in the minimal light of dusk that shown through the high barred window into Farfarello's otherwise darkened cell.
*God will weep rivers when I'm let out of this!* He glared at the teasing knives and let his mind play with the idea of shoving Crawford into his straight jacket and leaving him hanging in the dark for a few days. . . But he had been the one to get him out of the mental institution nearly two years ago. He let him live, if only for that.
The other two members of Schwarz had their own qualities that made them worth keeping alive. Nagi, as anti-social and boring as he appeared on the outside, was actually intriguing to Farfarello. Crawford had happened upon him one day in the subway systems of Japan, homeless and near starving, trying to telekinetically lift American's wallet out of his back pants pocket. The promise of a warm bed, regular meals, and a way to get back at the world was more than enough to convince the poor 13-year-old to join Schwarz.
The latest little soap opera going on in Nagi's life was a great source of amusement for him, as well. As much as the youth had tried to hide it, Schuldig found out about Nagi's crush on the blue-haired Schrient brat, and, of course, had to share it with Farfarello. Because of their leader's hate for the rival female assassin group, Bradley had forbidden Nagi to see her. However, the two had been going out for two weeks now, and Schuldig and Farfarello were eagerly watching and waiting for the bishounen to slip up and get caught by Crawford. Schuldig was planning on dropping little hints to get the drama started.
*Schu. . .* The thought of his other teammate brought a smirk to Farfarello's face. Ever since he'd been brought from the mental institution in Ireland, Crawford had put Schuldig in charge of him. He was the closest thing Farfarello had to a friend, being one of the few people to treat him as a human being, and not a babbling nutcase, as most tended to do. Because they had to spend so much time together, they had become close very quickly. Schuldig was the first constant in Farfarello's life, never using him or lying to him like so many had before.
They were often paired up on missions because they worked so well together, always looking out for and taking care of each other. And not just on missions, either. Schuldig would often slip Farfarello a kitchen knife or two when Bradly would take his own knives away as punishment, or let him out of his cell when no one else was around. In turn, Farfarello would take the blame for Schuldig on missions, occasionally. He had insanity as excuse to hide behind and could usually take the beating Takatori dished out much more easily.
This thought made him worry. . . Usually Schu would talk Bradley out of hanging him like this. Was he angry with him? He hadn't meant for Schuldig to be blamed as well. Schu had nothing to do with killing Takatori's simpering daughter! He had only killed her to make God hurt!
Anger welled up in Farfarello, and he resumed struggling against his bonds. He had told Takatori that Schuldig had nothing to do with it, but The Man was so angry, he didn't seem to care. Now he was hanging upside down in his now completely dark cell and his only friend was pissed off at him. His only friend had let him be put in the cell like this, leaving him alone in the dark. . .
He caught a glint of light reflecting off a knife. . . He wanted that knife, and he wanted it now!
*****************
A string of angry curses directed at God bombarded Schuldig's mind, waking him from his reverie. He shifted the icepack on his cheek and clicked off the late-nite television program he wasn't really watching.
Nagi and Brad had already gone off to bed an hour ago, but he had stayed up, too angry with Takatori and too sore to feel like sleeping. He set down the icepack on the coffee table got up from his sprawled position on the living room couch, stretching his lanky body as he did so.
*Sounds like Farfie's had enough,* he smirked as he padded down the hall to the madman's cell. Pulling the key off the wall, Schuldig undid the locks on the door and made his way into the small, padded room.
Light poured in from the hallway illuminating the dark room and the Irishman. Schu watched him in amusement as he thrashed uselessly in his straight jacket, only to stop when Schuldig spoke in his mind.
*You should know by now that that never works,* he leered down at Farfarello whose face had twisted into a snarl.
"Yeah? Well it seems that it got your attention, didn't it?" he growled back.
"Hmph," Schu shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Farfarello, expectantly.
Farfarello narrowed his eye at him and made a noise of exasperation, "Get me out of this damn thing already!"
Schuldig just grinned and gave him a push, which caused the Irishman to swing back and forth, "And why would I do that?"
"Just do it, you bastard!"
The German just watched as he swung, pathetically, left to right.
"You know, I was beaten with a golf club, a fucking golf club, today for something you did," he spat, "It really fucking hurts, still does. Unlike you, I felt it!" Schuldig backhanded Farfarello in the face to prove his point.
"I told you I was sorry before. . . What do you want me to do about it?" Farfarello growled, ignoring the drop of blood that ran up his cheek, disappearing beneath his eye patch, as his body swung a bit from the blow.
"I just want you to know what it feels like! To feel the consequences of you mindless actions for a change!" Schuldig screamed back.
Farfarello's eye narrowed, "You want me to feel pain?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"I just don't want you to miss out on the fun experience of getting beaten by a golf club and actually feeling it," Schuldig replied snidely, his poison green eyes narrowed dangerously.
Farfarello responded to this by turning his head away so that the eyeless side of his scarred visage was facing Schuldig, and said nothing.
"Hmph, so you're going to ignore me now, is that it? Stupid fuck! Why don't you take responsibility for your actions!? My nose is broken, and my ribs are bruised, and it hurts to move, and all you can do is ignore me?"
Farfarello's head snapped back to look Schuldig in the face, "I told Takatori that I was the one who killed his daughter, not you, but he beat us both anyway. What did you want me to do? Bear my throat and let him take my life in return? It doesn't matter, either way, to me."
"That's my point, right there," Schuldig said quietly.
He reached down and picked up one of the knives on the ground, regarding it for a second before slicing the pad of his index finger open with the blade. He allowed the blood to trickle down onto his palm as Farfarello watched him, hypnotized by the red line it made down his pale flesh. Schuldig slowly brought the finger to his mouth, sucking at the coppery liquid teasingly.
Farfarello stared and licked his lips hungrily, "How about," he started, much more calmly than before, "when this job with Takatori is over with, I let you have the job of finishing him off."
Schuldig removed the digit from his mouth, leaving behind a smudge of blood on his lips, and looked at Farfarello, eyes glinting in the minimal light, "Nice try, Irres," he sighed, "I'm tired. Goodnight, Farfarello."
Schuldig tossed the knife to the floor, directly in front of the madman's inverted, hanging form, which began to struggle as he turned to leave.
"Aren't you at least going to get me down?! My head's starting to feel funny. . ."
From his position in the doorway, Schuldig looked over his shoulder at the restrained man. To Farfarello's surprise, he looked much more worn out than he had a minute ago, the nasty bruise on his cheek showing up well in the hall light. He had almost a sad look on his face.
"No," is all the German said, before pulling the heavy door shut behind him.
Frantically, Farfarello tried to make one last plea to the mind reader telepathically, but Schuldig had already put up the barriers he used to keep the noisy minds of the world out.
*Schuldig!* he persisted, *Come on! I'm sorry!*
*Shit, he's really going to leave me like this. . . I can't spend the whole night hanging upside down. . .*
He gave a sob of frustration. How could Schuldig do this to him? Was he really that angry? He hadn't meant for the German to get in trouble too. . .
It was all too much, all too suddenly for the Irishman's tortured mind. He tried to curl in on himself, out of habit, but because of his hanging position, he couldn't.
***************** Oh Lord, looks like this one's going to have parts to it. What have I gotten myself into?? Have I mentioned that this is the first fan fic I've written in over 4 years?
Please drop a review, I've never gotten one before. Never had the chance to. Tell me if I'm way off base, if should I toss it in the trash, or, by some miracle, if I'm doing just fine.
Part 2 was finished a few days ago, so I'll post it as soon as I clean it up. Millions of thanks to my best friend, Maggie (aka: Erfaciel), for proofing this for me! ARIGATOU!!!
((reposted 3/3/03. . . T_# big problems fixed. . . I'm such a dummy.))
*****************
"Never Let Me Down Again"
By Farfie no Miko
***************** Disclaimer: Sadly, Project Weiß owns the most beautiful men of Schwarz. . . Oh, if I owned Farfie. . .*evil laughter* I guess this is the next best thing. This and my Farf and Schu Bears. Life is good.
Note: The title is stolen from a Depeche Mode song that inspired this fic; it's my theme song for them. Yeah, no one ever said I made much sense.
Warning: Language, because cussing is a hard thing to drop. S+F shounen- ai. Just me trying my hand at a serious, sappy fic for a change, and I can't even promise it'll turn out that way. That is all.
*blah* = thoughts or telepathic speech
*****************
*****************
Part One
*****************
Farfarello sighed, giving into the restraints that bound him. He had "completely fucked up everything" as Crawford had put it. So, this was his punishment: being hung upside down in his straight jacket until Crawford felt that he'd had enough.
*It isn't fair,* Farfarello thought as he violently began to wiggle in his restraints again, *We've already been beaten by The Man's golf clubs. . .* But he knew well enough that this was one of Crawford's only means of punishing him.
Truthfully, he had enjoyed the beating, knowing that every blow to his face and back was only hurting God. This, on the other hand, wasn't enjoyable at all. Being strung up like this caused the blood to rush to his head, disorienting him and make it hard to think properly, and he hated it.
To make things worse, the American had laid his knives on the floor in front of him. They glinted invitingly in the minimal light of dusk that shown through the high barred window into Farfarello's otherwise darkened cell.
*God will weep rivers when I'm let out of this!* He glared at the teasing knives and let his mind play with the idea of shoving Crawford into his straight jacket and leaving him hanging in the dark for a few days. . . But he had been the one to get him out of the mental institution nearly two years ago. He let him live, if only for that.
The other two members of Schwarz had their own qualities that made them worth keeping alive. Nagi, as anti-social and boring as he appeared on the outside, was actually intriguing to Farfarello. Crawford had happened upon him one day in the subway systems of Japan, homeless and near starving, trying to telekinetically lift American's wallet out of his back pants pocket. The promise of a warm bed, regular meals, and a way to get back at the world was more than enough to convince the poor 13-year-old to join Schwarz.
The latest little soap opera going on in Nagi's life was a great source of amusement for him, as well. As much as the youth had tried to hide it, Schuldig found out about Nagi's crush on the blue-haired Schrient brat, and, of course, had to share it with Farfarello. Because of their leader's hate for the rival female assassin group, Bradley had forbidden Nagi to see her. However, the two had been going out for two weeks now, and Schuldig and Farfarello were eagerly watching and waiting for the bishounen to slip up and get caught by Crawford. Schuldig was planning on dropping little hints to get the drama started.
*Schu. . .* The thought of his other teammate brought a smirk to Farfarello's face. Ever since he'd been brought from the mental institution in Ireland, Crawford had put Schuldig in charge of him. He was the closest thing Farfarello had to a friend, being one of the few people to treat him as a human being, and not a babbling nutcase, as most tended to do. Because they had to spend so much time together, they had become close very quickly. Schuldig was the first constant in Farfarello's life, never using him or lying to him like so many had before.
They were often paired up on missions because they worked so well together, always looking out for and taking care of each other. And not just on missions, either. Schuldig would often slip Farfarello a kitchen knife or two when Bradly would take his own knives away as punishment, or let him out of his cell when no one else was around. In turn, Farfarello would take the blame for Schuldig on missions, occasionally. He had insanity as excuse to hide behind and could usually take the beating Takatori dished out much more easily.
This thought made him worry. . . Usually Schu would talk Bradley out of hanging him like this. Was he angry with him? He hadn't meant for Schuldig to be blamed as well. Schu had nothing to do with killing Takatori's simpering daughter! He had only killed her to make God hurt!
Anger welled up in Farfarello, and he resumed struggling against his bonds. He had told Takatori that Schuldig had nothing to do with it, but The Man was so angry, he didn't seem to care. Now he was hanging upside down in his now completely dark cell and his only friend was pissed off at him. His only friend had let him be put in the cell like this, leaving him alone in the dark. . .
He caught a glint of light reflecting off a knife. . . He wanted that knife, and he wanted it now!
*****************
A string of angry curses directed at God bombarded Schuldig's mind, waking him from his reverie. He shifted the icepack on his cheek and clicked off the late-nite television program he wasn't really watching.
Nagi and Brad had already gone off to bed an hour ago, but he had stayed up, too angry with Takatori and too sore to feel like sleeping. He set down the icepack on the coffee table got up from his sprawled position on the living room couch, stretching his lanky body as he did so.
*Sounds like Farfie's had enough,* he smirked as he padded down the hall to the madman's cell. Pulling the key off the wall, Schuldig undid the locks on the door and made his way into the small, padded room.
Light poured in from the hallway illuminating the dark room and the Irishman. Schu watched him in amusement as he thrashed uselessly in his straight jacket, only to stop when Schuldig spoke in his mind.
*You should know by now that that never works,* he leered down at Farfarello whose face had twisted into a snarl.
"Yeah? Well it seems that it got your attention, didn't it?" he growled back.
"Hmph," Schu shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Farfarello, expectantly.
Farfarello narrowed his eye at him and made a noise of exasperation, "Get me out of this damn thing already!"
Schuldig just grinned and gave him a push, which caused the Irishman to swing back and forth, "And why would I do that?"
"Just do it, you bastard!"
The German just watched as he swung, pathetically, left to right.
"You know, I was beaten with a golf club, a fucking golf club, today for something you did," he spat, "It really fucking hurts, still does. Unlike you, I felt it!" Schuldig backhanded Farfarello in the face to prove his point.
"I told you I was sorry before. . . What do you want me to do about it?" Farfarello growled, ignoring the drop of blood that ran up his cheek, disappearing beneath his eye patch, as his body swung a bit from the blow.
"I just want you to know what it feels like! To feel the consequences of you mindless actions for a change!" Schuldig screamed back.
Farfarello's eye narrowed, "You want me to feel pain?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"I just don't want you to miss out on the fun experience of getting beaten by a golf club and actually feeling it," Schuldig replied snidely, his poison green eyes narrowed dangerously.
Farfarello responded to this by turning his head away so that the eyeless side of his scarred visage was facing Schuldig, and said nothing.
"Hmph, so you're going to ignore me now, is that it? Stupid fuck! Why don't you take responsibility for your actions!? My nose is broken, and my ribs are bruised, and it hurts to move, and all you can do is ignore me?"
Farfarello's head snapped back to look Schuldig in the face, "I told Takatori that I was the one who killed his daughter, not you, but he beat us both anyway. What did you want me to do? Bear my throat and let him take my life in return? It doesn't matter, either way, to me."
"That's my point, right there," Schuldig said quietly.
He reached down and picked up one of the knives on the ground, regarding it for a second before slicing the pad of his index finger open with the blade. He allowed the blood to trickle down onto his palm as Farfarello watched him, hypnotized by the red line it made down his pale flesh. Schuldig slowly brought the finger to his mouth, sucking at the coppery liquid teasingly.
Farfarello stared and licked his lips hungrily, "How about," he started, much more calmly than before, "when this job with Takatori is over with, I let you have the job of finishing him off."
Schuldig removed the digit from his mouth, leaving behind a smudge of blood on his lips, and looked at Farfarello, eyes glinting in the minimal light, "Nice try, Irres," he sighed, "I'm tired. Goodnight, Farfarello."
Schuldig tossed the knife to the floor, directly in front of the madman's inverted, hanging form, which began to struggle as he turned to leave.
"Aren't you at least going to get me down?! My head's starting to feel funny. . ."
From his position in the doorway, Schuldig looked over his shoulder at the restrained man. To Farfarello's surprise, he looked much more worn out than he had a minute ago, the nasty bruise on his cheek showing up well in the hall light. He had almost a sad look on his face.
"No," is all the German said, before pulling the heavy door shut behind him.
Frantically, Farfarello tried to make one last plea to the mind reader telepathically, but Schuldig had already put up the barriers he used to keep the noisy minds of the world out.
*Schuldig!* he persisted, *Come on! I'm sorry!*
*Shit, he's really going to leave me like this. . . I can't spend the whole night hanging upside down. . .*
He gave a sob of frustration. How could Schuldig do this to him? Was he really that angry? He hadn't meant for the German to get in trouble too. . .
It was all too much, all too suddenly for the Irishman's tortured mind. He tried to curl in on himself, out of habit, but because of his hanging position, he couldn't.
***************** Oh Lord, looks like this one's going to have parts to it. What have I gotten myself into?? Have I mentioned that this is the first fan fic I've written in over 4 years?
Please drop a review, I've never gotten one before. Never had the chance to. Tell me if I'm way off base, if should I toss it in the trash, or, by some miracle, if I'm doing just fine.
Part 2 was finished a few days ago, so I'll post it as soon as I clean it up. Millions of thanks to my best friend, Maggie (aka: Erfaciel), for proofing this for me! ARIGATOU!!!
((reposted 3/3/03. . . T_# big problems fixed. . . I'm such a dummy.))
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