A/N: Well, here's a little plot thread that will keep me entertained for the next few fics. It's nice to have something tying this series together a bit, give it a bit of forward drive. I keep finding myself writing one chapter, then starting the next, but stopping after a few paragraphs. Then I'll come back to it, finished that chapter, and write the first few chapters of the next. So, really, all in all I'm barely ahead of you guys, in terms of knowing what's going to happen!
The arguments were getting slowly more frequent. They tired to stay calm while Michael was around, which was most of the time now, but recently he seemed more willing to take Brad's side. Nagi didn't know what had happened while he was running around the city, but Michael seemed to know a bit more about their past with Weiss, in a vague kind of way. Nagi resented that.
Nagi would stay up into the early morning, just to chat to Omi. The time difference was killing him, and that day he had fallen asleep at work. Their boss hadn't noticed, but Brad had. Nagi switched to emailing Omi regularly, but the damage had been done. Even Michael had joined in when Brad told him what had happened. With a yell, Nagi had stormed out, laptop safely tucked under his arm, using his power to slam the door shut as hard as he could.
He didn't know quite what he planned to do. Part of him, a furiously hot part of him, wanted to run away. He could go and live with Omi in Japan, or Schuldig in Germany, or simply find his own place somewhere in America. He could create the documents easily enough, and he had no qualms about transferring money into his bank account from pretty much anywhere.
Instead, he found himself at the station, purchasing a ticket. He realised that he didn't want to go far, not really, just enough to annoy Brad and hopefully make him worry a bit. He'd find a cheap motel and look around the North of the state, and then meander back to the apartment again in a few days. Brad would hardly welcome him back with open arms, but Nagi felt if he proved he could survive on his own then perhaps Brad wouldn't take his presence so much for granted. On the other hand, now that Brad had Michael perhaps he didn't even need Nagi, the thought of which left him with a nervous sickness in his stomach as the train pulled into the station.
He took a carriage at the back of the train, which was empty when he sat down. He switched on his laptop and found an email from Omi waiting for him. His anger slipped away and a smile stretched his face. Leaning back in the seat, which emitted a puff of mildew smelling air, he started to read. He smiled, feeling the tension lift from his shoulders. Everything was better when Omi was there. Even if he wasn't, you know, there.
"Oi, chink," a voice called.
Nagi sighed, closing the laptop. "Well," he said to himself, "I suppose it's better than 'nigger'."
"What did you say?" the towering African-American growled.
Nagi blinked. "Last guy who decided to throw racial slurs at me," he said hurriedly, "didn't know the difference."
The guy frowned. "You know," he said softly, "it's your people that cause all the trouble for me and my bros."
Nagi's mind was doing cartwheels. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to surreptitiously slip his laptop back into his bag. Some other guys had wandered into the carriage too, some black, some white.
"Yakuza," the guy grunted simply.
Nagi was impressed, despite himself. "Most people don't know the difference between Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai… even Indian, sometimes."
"Look, chink," one of the other guys said, letting Nagi realise that he'd been the first to talk, "just give us the laptop."
"Um, no," Nagi said firmly. "And please don't call me that."
"Oh give it a break," the guy laughed. "Chink, chink, chink, chink, chink!"
"So mature," the African-American said dryly. He and Nagi exchanged a look and Nagi smiled. It was a mistake. "You laughing at something, chink?"
"N-no," Nagi stuttered.
"Look, chink, we're going to beat your head in," one of the guys said, leaning over him threateningly. "It don't matter what the reason is, whether we want your money, whether we hate your race, or whether we're just bored. You just gonna have to lie down and take it like a man."
Nagi felt his temper snap. "Oh, really?" he snarled, standing up. "Well then, perhaps I ought to give you a few more reasons, so everyone in your little gang can pick one. Don't want anyone to feel left out. Maybe you could draw them from a hat? Let's see… I'm not American, I'm not white, I'm gay, I'm a techno-geek, I have no parents, my guardian has a boyfriend, I'm short for my age, I'm-"
It occurred to Nagi that perhaps he had pushed them too far. He might have had a chance to run, otherwise, but he couldn't fight. Crawford had drilled that into his head too many times. Even as he felt his power boiling up inside of him, he forced it down again, and took the punches without a sound.
* * *
"Nagi's been gone for several hours now," Michael worried.
"Of course he has," Brad dismissed him. They were in the bath together, on Michael's urging. Michael had persuaded him to buy the large scallop shaped tub. Brad had since wondered if it had been the wisest decision, as he saw Nagi looking at it with loathing every time he passed it. Nagi would claim it was excessively frivolous, but Brad worried he was jealous that Michael seemed to be integrating himself into their lives more and more.
"Yes, but…"
"Each time he goes off in a tantrum, he has to stay out just a bit longer than the time before, just to make us worry," Brad explained. "He won't come back until he's certain we're worried."
"So if he doesn't come back 'til tomorrow, you won't so much as blink?" Michael said sceptically. "This is New York, not Tokyo."
"Nagi can take care of himself," Brad reassured him. "Remember?"
"If I were his father I'd be having kittens by now," Michael shook his head. Brad reached over and pulled him through the water to rest against his chest. Michael propped himself up on the side of the bath, almost slipping in the hot water. Brad sighed when he saw his love was frowning.
"I'm not Nagi's father," Brad reminded him. Michael's frown deepened. Damn. "Look, I know Nagi. Trust me. He can look after himself. He walks out to spite me. He's done the same before, back in Japan, especially in the weeks following his girlfriend's committal, as he blamed us. Actually, I think he learnt the tactic from Schuldig, who would disappear for days at a time, occasionally even weeks, until someone went out and dragged him out of whatever ditch he'd collapsed drunkenly into."
"So you're not going to worry for, oh, a week?" Michael snapped. "Bradley, he's your ward. He's your responsibility. If he's gone for more than a twenty-four hours, I'm filing a missing person's report, even if won't."
"Nagi won't thank you," Brad told him. "He hates the police. I don't know, maybe he suffered at their hands back in Japan."
"I'm sure if he's about to be killed, he'll thank me later," Michael said coldly.
"No, he really won't," Brad said, slipping under water for a moment to get his hair properly wet. When he emerged Michael began to rub shampoo into his hair. The massage was a little rough, but Brad didn't object. "He would rather die than undergo the questioning he would have to put up with afterwards. Nagi has, in the past, been somewhat suicidal."
Michael dug his fingers tightly into Brad's head, and he yelped.
"Suicidal??" he spluttered. "And you let him just wander off?"
"He's not suicidal any more," Brad said, uncertainty clutching at his gut. "He's just angry, right now. He's angry because he's knows our anger was justified, not his. He knows he was in the wrong, and worse, he knows he was caught out. His pride has bee stung. Sending the police after him is hardly going mollify that stung pride."
"How, exactly, did you end up with guardianship of him?" Michael asked quietly.
"He chose me," Brad said.
"Funny, I don't seem to recall most legal system accepting that as an acceptable method of adoption."
"Nothing about Schwarz was legal, Michael," Brad sighed. "Most of us don't even exist to the bureaucracy. Nagi built our identities from the ground up in each country we visited, passports, birth certificates, visas… Everything we needed. I couldn't even tell you if he was born Nagi Naoe, or whether his birthday is when he says it is. Which is another good reason not to go to the police, though I have more faith in his abilities than that."
"His abilities," Michael sighed. "It wouldn't be ridiculous to assume they extend beyond hacking, would it?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. He moved around, pulling Brad to face him, hooking one leg over Brad's. Their proximity had a marked effect on his boyfriend, which served to increase the intensity of the situation.
Brad stared at him. Even though he trusted Michael implicitly, enough to even reveal his own power, something in his still rebelled at the idea of telling him about Nagi, or any other member of Schwarz. He wouldn't just be trusting Michael with his life, he'd be trusting him with theirs. Michael had no idea how heavy that responsibility might get. And then there was the fear, as irrational and as irrepressible as any conditioned phobia, that Michael might hate Nagi for his power. Brad wanted to deny that offhand, and it would make sense to since Michael hadn't treated Brad any differently after his revelation in the elevator, but he found he couldn't.
"Bradley?" Michael reached up to touch his face, but at the last moment changed his mid, and his hand hung there between them, hovering mere centimetres from Brad's cheek, dripping foam.
"Yes," Brad said eventually. "I mean… no, it wouldn't be ridiculous."
"And this ability is why you expect him to be able to look after himself," Michael stated.
"Yes."
"But you won't tell me precisely what it is."
"I can't," Brad said in a strangled voice. "It's… it's Nagi's. When he comes back, ask him. I can't tell you on his behalf."
Michael smiled. "I understand," he nodded. He let his hovering hand reach around Brad and pull him into a light embrace, kissing him sweetly. "I'll do as you ask, and give it a few days, but I'm still going to worry, you know."
Brad smiled into Michael's neck. "I understand."
* * *
Nagi's brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing and hearing. There were loud bangs, and lots of voices, but the words escaped him. Something above him - or was it below him? – was moving very quickly. There was lots of white. Nice, blurry, soothing white. Like the white inside his head, in the place where he'd gone when the pain got too much.
* * *
"A week."
"I know."
"One week."
"I know."
"Seven -"
"I know, okay?" Brad rounded on his boyfriend suddenly. He regretted it instantly. Michael stared up at him, face carefully blank. He was getting very worried about Nagi. So was Brad, and it showed in everything he did. He was surprised that Michael hadn't gone back to his own flat by now, the amount of times Brad had started yelling at him for any small thing. He was surprised, and glad. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he was left alone, but he was certain it would hardly be to take the productive measures Michael was forcing on him.
"Sit down," Michael tugged on his arm. "Come on, just for a moment."
"He's not going to walk through that door again," Brad said with absolute certainty. "Michael, he's not coming back."
"Yes, he will. Maybe just not under his own steam, but he will," Michael kept tugging, and eventually Brad relented. Michael let him keep his personal space once he was sitting, but didn't let go of his arm.
Brad stared into the middle distance. "I can't see it," he said. "I can't see him walking through that door for as far as my powers extend. They're short term, but no matter how hard I push he just isn't going to be here. Months, Michael."
"That's not the same as forever."
Brad shot him a laser-edged look. "Michael, be realistic. If he's not dead, he's going to die. You were right. Why can't you just say that? Just say 'I told you so' and get it over with."
Michael grimaced. "I've phoned the police. They're treating this as a runaway. They still expect him to turn up fine and healthy, probably somewhere upstate. Apparently it's not unusual. They're checking some of the more common motels and youth hostels for evidence he's been there."
"You phoned the police like you wanted to all along," Brad snarled.
"Yes, Brad, like I wanted to all along. They're trained to deal with this kind of thing. I can understand why you distrust them, but I did what I thought was right."
"You're right, I'm wrong," Brad growled.
"No. We were both wrong. You were wrong to assume he'd reappear safe and sound, I was wrong to assume something drastic would happen to him. He took his laptop; maybe he has just run away and is too proud to come back. Maybe you can't see him returning because he's set up house somewhere else. He was threatening to, remember?"
Brad stared at the polished wood floor. "Yes," he sighed. "I remember. But… no. Nagi wouldn't do that. It was an idle threat. I was so certain of it."
"Don't start planning the funeral until you have his body," Michael said softly, sliding closer to Brad and putting an arm across his shoulders.
Brad shot him a sideways look. "Is that a rather more morbid version of 'don't count your chickens until they've hatched'?" he asked.
"Yes, I suppose it is," Michael smiled at him. "I believe you when you say Nagi can look after himself. He's told me as much before. He may have gone to visit one of your other old friends."
Brad stared at him. "Why didn't I think of that?" he gasped, leaping up from the sofa. Michael followed him dutifully to the telephone, and watched as he extracted a small card from an overclutered pin board.
Brad drummed his fingers impatiently as the phone rang. "Farfa-" he began. "Sorry, Sally, if Farfarello there? … I see. No, wait, please. It's about Nagi. … Well, he ran away a few days ago, and I just wanted to make certain he wasn't intruding on you. … Well, maybe a little. … Yes, I'm sure he'll surface sooner or later as well, but I thought it worthwhile making certain… I don't suppose I could speak to him? … No, okay. I'll wait while you ask." Brad glanced up at Michael, but there was no hope on his face. "Thank you, Sally. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'm afraid I have no idea what time it is in Ireland. … Really? Well, that's better than what I thought. Again, so sorry to wake you. If Nagi does turn up, can I rely on you to call? … Of course. Well, thank you again, good night."
Brad stared at the wall for a second, slipping into an apathetic state Michael was becoming worryingly used to seeing. He slipped an arm around Brad, and the older man jumped. Brad turned and offered Michael a weak smile, obviously steeling himself for the next call.
"Schuldig? …Oh. Well, danke."
Michael pulled Brad into a full hug this time, and Brad didn't resist. "It was a good idea," Brad offered. "If I wasn't so certain he isn't going to walk through that door for as far as I can foresee, I wouldn't be so worried. Schuldig picked up on it even before I called. I didn't even have to ask."
Did he? Michael thought. I think I'm ready to take a guess at what your ex's ability might be. I wonder…I'll wait until you're asleep. You've been through enough for one day.
"I love you," Michael told Brad. "Which is why you're going to do as I say, since I therefore have your best interests in mind, and go to bed. You haven't slept for days now."
"It's not the first time I've suffered from insomnia," Brad objected petulantly. He still worried that he hadn't worked up the nerve to say 'I love you' back. He couldn't believe that he still wasn't certain. The guilt was keeping him up almost as much as the fear for Nagi.
"I know, but the eight cups of coffee a day can hardly be helping," Michael pointed at the rack of drying mugs. "So much caffeine, so much sugar… No more, okay?"
"Great, so I get to go through withdrawal as well?" Brad asked sardonically. "My life just gets better and better."
"Come on," Michael wheedled. "Just try and get some sleep. I'll go out and buy sleeping pills, if you want."
"You know what I think will help me sleep?" Brad leered, in a lightning-fast mood change. He was telling the truth too – as Nagi had pointed out, several months ago now, he slept best with another body in the bed. And he desperately needed to relieve some of the tension that had been building ever since Michael had first voiced his worries over Nagi's disappearance.
Michael returned the look, and licked his lips. "You only had to ask," he told Brad, and began to lead him towards the master bedroom.
* * *
Nagi mind struggled to relate his current situation to something, anything. His eyes were open, and although everything was very blurred, there were definitely people there. Green people, with flashing things. No, wait, knives. Yes, knives. Nagi knew about knives. Farfarello liked knives. Therefore… therefore these green people must be Farfarello? Nagi struggled, knowing there was something wrong with that line of reasoning. Oh right, there were several green people. Farfarello must have summoned some of his demon friends. Farfarello was a demon, he'd read that somewhere. The green people were waving the flashing things – knives, he reminded himself – near his head. Funny, that.
* * *
Michael was exhausted. He'd known Brad could be demanding, but he'd never been anything like tonight before. Finally, though, he was asleep. Michael looked down at him, and almost succumbed to the temptation to curl up beside him, warm and comfortable, and sleep off this physical exhaustion. God knows he wanted to.
But instead he slithered out of the bed, winching and flinching and wondering if Brad would have as much trouble walking when he woke. Still, if this was all he had to suffer for a night like that? He'd do it every night.
He stumbled in the doorway. Okay, maybe not every night. Possibly just the weekends, so he could sleep in. And on holidays. Of course, they'd have to be careful not to keep Nagi awake. Maybe they should get soundproofing? Michael had no doubt that Nagi would turn up, sooner or later. Honest.
These thoughts let him stay distracted from the task at hand, but eventually, standing in front of the phone, he had to face what he was going to do. Plucking the card from where it had been left beside the phone, he let himself collapse against the wall and sink to the floor. He squinted at the numbers in the dark, not wanting to switch the lights on. Praying he'd remembered the international codes correctly, he dialled.
"What do you want, Brad's boyfriend?" a nasal voice startled him.
"I want to know what your ability is," Michael said firmly.
"On a scale of one to ten? At least fifty," the voice said smugly. "No matter what Brad says to you, I'll always be the best he ever had."
"If you're trying to make me self-conscious, bully for you, but this is rather more important than my sex life."
"Nothing's more important than your sex life. Take it from me."
"From what I hear, most of Germany already has."
"Ooh, feisty. I like you. Hey, if you ever come to the homeland, I'm sure Brad would be up for a threesome. I already am."
"I'll put it on my to-do list," Michael said impatiently. "Can you read minds?"
There was silence.
"It's a simple enough question."
"What has Brad told you?" Schuldig asked cautiously.
"That he can see the future short term, and that Nagi has an ability, but he won't tell me what. I'm assuming it's something physical, since he seems confident about being able to take care of himself despite his size."
"Yeah, that'd be about right," Schuldig sounded distracted, as though he was thinking very hard. "Want to tell me why you called again?"
"I think you can read minds, or emotions, or something."
"Ja, well, fine, I can. What did you have in mind?"
"You tell me," Michael smirked. It wasn't some snide goad; he wanted to test the extent of Schuldig's powers. Because if he could read Michael's mind, then there really was a chance…
* There's more than just a chance, pet. * Michael jumped. * There's a link between Schwarz so deep I couldn't lose the others if I tried. We even dram the same, sometimes. Perhaps it's a good thing we're in different time zones now… * the thought was suggestive and traced patterns of fire through Michael, making him respond despite his exhaustion.
"Is Nagi alive?" he asked, ignoring his body's demands.
"Yes," Schuldig said without missing a beat. "Even Brad knows that. We'd all feel it, if any one of us died. He's not scared that Nagi is dead, but there are other ways to lose a person." He paused. "Okay, he said differently, but he's a very black and white person like that. If he really thought about it, he'd know Nagi wasn't dead. Though that little revelation of his makes what I'm going to say next maybe even more disturbing."
"What?" Michael said, heart in throat.
"Nagi's alive, but he isn't conscious. And hasn't been for over a week. Well, he's heard things, maybe even seen things, but it's too different from normal. He's not conscious."
"Coma?" Michael asked.
"I don't know," Schuldig said, voice betraying that he wasn't comfortable with that at all. And then, "why do you care?"
"What?"
"Why do you care? Nagi's nothing to do with you."
"He's my friend. I care about him. Brad cares about him."
"But this isn't about Brad. I don't understand. Why isn't this about Brad? He's the one you're sleeping with."
"Even if I wasn't, I'd still be worried about Nagi. I'd probably still have called."
"I know. I wonder if I would."
"Do you have any friends you haven't slept with?"
Pause. "Well, no. What's that like?"
"Pleasant. You should try it."
"Maybe I will. Anyway, I have to get to work. Busy day sleeping with my colleagues. I hope you find Nagi soon. I'd keep an eye on the news, if I was you." And he hung up, before Michael could respond to any of that.
Brad was still sleep when he crawled back into the bed. It occurred to him that he'd brought so much of his stuff over since Nagi went missing that he was practically living there. Certainly his flat was bordering on uninhabitable now. He wondered if Brad had noticed. Burying his nose in the older man's hair and wrapping his arm over Brad's well-muscled body, he pressed himself close and tried not to think about comas and how much like sleeping they were, in a way.
* * *
Nagi knew he'd been slipping in and out of consciousness for days. He clung to that knowledge. Right now a lot of things were blurry and uncertain, but that was empirical knowledge he could clutch at when all else was mere conjecture.
He opened his eyes, and found the room blessedly dark. He was thirsty. He knew that this consciousness wouldn't last for long, the most he'd lasted before was a minute, but this thirst was driving him crazy.
Focusing was hard. It involved concentrating. Concentrating wore him out even more quickly. But he managed to move his head slightly, until the cup of water came into view. He remembered that cup of water from before, when a nurse had brought it in. He'd been thirsty then, too.
Moving his head wore him out physically, much to his concern. Well, there didn't seem to be anyone around. Reaching out mentally, he started to draw the cup towards him.
At first he thought he simply wasn't focusing right. Maybe he was at the wrong angle? No, the cup definitely wasn't moving. Okay, perhaps he was doing something wrong. Maybe his accuracy was off? What if he was moving the bed instead?
So he tried again, refocusing and concentrating as hard as he could. Nothing. Adrenaline began to wake him further as fear gripped him. He forced himself a little more upright in the bed. He could see the cup clearly now. He could reach it by hand, even, but that wasn't the point. He gritted his teeth.
Nothing.
Okay, maybe something else? The light switch?
Nothing.
The pillows?
Nothing.
Himself?
Nothing.
"Oh, you poor thing!" a nurse cooed. "Did someone put that out of your reach? Here, let me help." She held the cup to his lips for him, and despite himself he drank thirstily. "Oh honey, it's okay. Oh, you poor thing, don't cry. You're okay. You're going to be fine."
But no amount of soothing could make Nagi stop crying.
He wasn't going to be fine ever again.