Chapter 3: Alone

Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.
Albert Camus (1913 - 1960) (attributed)

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Nagi turned to his other side, wondering why he was so restless. He had school the next day, with a big test in calculus first thing in the morning. But he felt so. . . full, brimming with dark emotion. Full of what? Fear? In the dark, with only himself to talk to, he could admit that he did feel fearful about the new turn his life was taking. But he also felt loss. He'd lost Farfarello and Crawford. Well, not really Crawford. He knew that Crawford was still out there somewhere. It made him feel somewhat better. But Farf . . .

He sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Farfarello had been his teammate. He had also been a friend. A strange and unpredictable friend, but a friend. They had lived together, worked together, killed together. Farfarello had been Schwarz, just as he had. There was only four people in this world that knew what it was like to be a member of Schwarz. Now one of them was gone, permanently.

He shook it off. Farfarello had been a good teammate, but he'd never been fully in this world. He had been twisted up in his religion, which had wrapped like barbed wire around him, something that had cut deep and was irretrievably snarled around him, blocking off most of the rest of the world. Farfarello had been a man running on borrowed time. He lacked the caution for a long life. It was a mercy he went the way he did, instead of moldering away in an insane asylum somewhere.

A small trill made him look up. Jei had jumped onto the foot of his bed and was now making his way over the hilly terrain that was Nagi's bed. He got to Nagi's lap, then settled himself there, a small purring lump crowned with two pointed ears. Nagi petted the kitten. "Hello, Jei," he whispered. Jei swiveled his head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Nagi wiggled his fingers, making Jei perk up. Jei rolled over to try and capture those fingers and ended up rolling off of Nagi's lap.

Nagi laughed. Suddenly a ghost whispered in his ear. Clumsy? Tis a natural state in the young and uncertain.

"Farf." He looked up, almost expecting to see the Irishman. But it was just Jei and him. Jei settled back on his lap, his fur sticking up along the spine. Farfarello had made that statement while watching this very kitten learn to hunt. A drop of water dampened down some of the spiky fur. He lifted a hand to his cheek. Tears? He wiped them off hastily, then turned defiant. Why not? Schuldig wasn't here. Crawford wasn't either. Just Jei and him. He let his tears fall on his hands, his coverlet, Jei's white fur.

"You want to know something, Jei?" Nagi whispered. "I want to tell you about someone named Farfarello. He was considered crazy. You see, he had something happen to him as a child, something that he never got over." He sniffed, wiped off his cheek again. "Farf was a friend of mine, and I miss him." He broke down then. "I m-miss hi-him so m-much." Jei purred on, giving the crying boy warmth and comfort, but more importantly, an ear to listen to his grief.

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Schuldig stared at the ceiling. He could feel Nagi's grief-filled thoughts battering like storm waves against him. He didn't know if those feelings were only Nagi's or if some of them were his own. He picked up the bottle and drained the last of it. The glowing numbers on his DVD player told him it was three a.m. again. He was beginning to hate three a.m. Since Farf's death, it was nightmares. Tonight, Nagi's mourning over Farf. It was a bit delayed, in Schuldig's opinion, but he knew that Nagi had a tendency to hold everything in, even to himself.

He also knew that it would probably help them both if he went in there and shared his grief with Nagi. He still was mourning the crazy Irish bastard himself. There were many nights he woke up with tears on his face. Like tonight. Usually around three a.m. The nights he didn't waking up crying were the nights he woke up with Farf's name dammed up behind his clenched teeth, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat.

He didn't like the heaviness and pain he felt on the nights he remembered Farfarello. But he liked even less the nights he awoke wild-eyed and trembling, remembering red water spreading behind a boat. Gone. Just like that. The bastard hadn't even felt it, the propellers chopping into his flesh, severing limbs, maybe even his head—stop it, Schuldig, he told himself. Those nightmares were the worst, the ones where he imagined he was underwater, watching Farfarello get minced up by those propeller blades.

Let the boy cry. It would be good for him. Hell, let Schuldig cry, too. It would be good for him as well. "I guess we'll be seeing you in our dreams, Farf. 'Til then." He went to bar for another bottle. He selected an Irish single malt in Farf's memory and toasted his departed friend with the new bottle. He drank the potent liquor until he slipped into a drunken sleep.

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"Schuldig. Schuldig!"

Schuldig batted at the person that was shaking his shoulder. "Go 'way."

"No. You've got to go to work."

Schuldig curled a lip up into a sneer, never opening his eyes. "Hate work. Bunch of normals. Gonna drive me nuts with their inane shit."

"How do you know? Today's your first day. Besides, if you don't go, how are we going to pay the bills?"

Schuldig finally placed the voice. That flat tone was the giveaway. "Go away, Nagi. Call me in sick."

"No."

Schuldig cracked open an eye, then squeezed it shut again. The light was like a glass shard straight into his brain. "What do you mean, no? Who's the adult around here?"

"Unfortunately, you are." Now Nagi's voice was starting to show hints of resentment.

"Think you can do better, go ahead. If you aren't going to be useful and call, go away."

"I wish I could work," Nagi said. "I'm sure I can do a better job of it."

"You think I want to take care of a brat? Don't even know why I bother. I've never claimed to be one of the good guys," Schuldig sneered. He sat up and opened his eyes, ignoring the pain.

"Then leave," Nagi said in a dead voice.

"I caught that," Schuldig said, tapping his left temple. "You just thought, 'Leave like Farf did.' Throwing yourself a pity party, Nagi?"

"Shut up, Schu," Nagi said tightly. He wished he was a child again, so he could put his hands over his ears and block out Schuldig's words.

/Won't work with a telepath,/ Schuldig said in the boy's mind as he pulled on a jacket over his wrinkled shirt. He looked like death warmed over, but he had no choice. He had to go out to get something to kill this pain.

"Go to hell."

"I'm already there, thank you very much," Schuldig tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door.

"Well if you want to leave this hell so badly, let me help you." Nagi shoved Schuldig through the doorway with a powerful mental blast. Schuldig made a satisfyingly large dent in the opposite wall.

Shakily, the telepath pulled himself to his feet. "I don't need this shit," he snarled. "I'm out of here. Good luck on your own, boy." He staggered down the hall to the elevator.

Nagi came to the door and watched the numbers over the elevator tick down to the ground floor. Then he sank to the floor. "I'm all alone," he whispered. He wrapped his arms around his upraised knees and lowered his head. ----

Schuldig winced as he made his way to his car. He hurt like a bitch. He supposed he should consider himself lucky that Nagi hadn't put him through the wall, but he knew without a doubt that he was going to be black and blue tomorrow.

He rummaged in his pockets for his keys, then cursed. Of all the luck. He had left them upstairs. He had left his wallet, too. He stomped back to the elevator. No teenaged brat was going to prevent him from getting his stuff. He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for the elevator to rise to the top floor. If that kid thought he was going to stand in his way, he was mistaken. He stormed out of the elevator, then stopped dead in his tracks. "Nagi?"

Nagi hadn't heard him. He was crying for all he was worth, looking like a child. Hell. He was a child, one who had been abandoned by everyone that he ever had known: his parents, Tot, Farfarello, Crawford, and now Schuldig. For once in his life, Schuldig actually did feel guilty. He fidgeted. "Hey, no need for all that. I'm here, aren't I?"

"But you don't want to be," Nagi said, his voice small and lost, muffled by where he had his head buried in his arms.

"Feh." Schuldig sighed. He sat down next to Nagi and slung an arm casually over the boy's shoulders. "When have you ever seen me do something I didn't want to do?"

Nagi wiped the tears off his face and regained his composure. "I'm sorry, Schu," he finally said, once he got back under control. "But things have been so hard, with Farf gone, and now Crawford, and you—" Nagi's voice started to wobble, and he struggled with his tears again.

Schuldig looked alarmed. "Hey, none of that." Then he sighed. "Ah, hell. I'm sorry too, kid. Yeah, it's been hard. I miss Farf, too." He awkwardly gave Nagi a hug. "It'll be okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Nagi buried his face into Schuldig's jacket and smiled slightly past the drying tears. He had always suspected the telepath cared, under that devil- may-care exterior. It was nice to know for a fact that he did. You're right, Schuldig, he thought. I think it will be okay.

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A/N:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter—they usually don't come along this smoothly. Things are running well, so chapter 4, 'Revisiting the Past,' will be posted soon, barring any unforeseen distractions, difficulties, or disasters (too bad Crawford can't help out there).

Numerous thanks to eti, my favorite reviewer/beta reader/critic. Thanks to balinese for leaving me a review. Sorry I upset you about Farf! It all has a purpose, though. Thanks also to Hisoka—Schu IS evil. That is why we love him so. As for pairings, we'll see.

Leokitsune, Jun. 11-12, 2004—Revised 6/15/04.