Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. This. Series.
Midnight Garden
Chapter Three
By Kye
He was still there. When I woke up, the next time. He was there. My waking mind had called it a dream, but I knew I was wrong when my eyes opened and they saw him, sleeping in my bed. On the plus side, he wasn't on top of me this time. He leaned against the wall, legs crossed, head bowed. His hands lay loose and open in his lap as though he were offering something. He looked gentler in his sleep- gentler, but just as hyper- aware. And he was in my bed.
Very soon, I thought about escape. He'd already caught me once. I didn't want it happening again. I wriggled to the edge of the bed, looking like a very large and deficient chipmunk, intent on leaving quickly and quietly. Unfortunately, I over-threw the distance and rolled all the way off, landing shoulder first. Stars clouded my vision. When I could see again, Farfarello stood over me, eye flickering over my body. I fought the urge to hide from his inspection; after a long moment he looked more or less satisfied. He pulled me up as carefully as he could, his sinewy arms wound through my limp ones, and set me back in bed.
"Are you all right?" he asked, perching on the edge of the mattress.
"No," I said frankly. My shoulder wasn't the only thing that hurt. That little Weiss must have been a masochist, to know how to hurt people as thoroughly as he had me. Besides that, there was an insistent fuzzy feeling in my brain that had been growing since I'd woken. Despite all of that, I felt a hell of a lot better.
"You aren't lying," noted Farfarello approvingly.
"No." I wondered what had made him say that. Not enough to find out on my own, though.
"Weiss would be acting tragic," he explained, as though he were the telepath. "They would lie. And then they'd pity themselves for their pain. Even though it would be their own fault." He was right. Weiss was just the kind of bunch that would delve into self-pity in an instant, if they had the right audience. It was one of the things that normally kept me from thinking of them as more than pests.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Can I get some aspirin?" Farfarello didn't wait to answer. He simply stood and left. I strained my ears, and soon heard water running, and the plastic-y rattle of pills being shaken from a bottle. Farfarello reappeared a moment later, and for a moment I was dazed by the surreal sight. Here he was, the blade-happy, God-hating psycho, bringing medicine to his co-worker like a mother to her child. It was as though someone had jammed together a DaVinci and a Picasso.
I reached out for the glass when he drew near, although I wasn't sure how I'd hold it; young Mr Tsukiyono hadn't left many fingers unbroken. Both hands were bound too tightly to bend. As it turned out, though, that wasn't an issue. Farfarello sat down, and before I could react, he stuck an aspirin in my mouth, and held up the glass until I pulled away with a gasp. He gave me two more pills, then set down the remaining water with a thump.
"Can't I have more?" I asked with a hopeful grin.
"No."
"Damn. You're strict for a nutcase." I hoped saying that wouldn't piss him off too much. It would suck to get rescued from a bunch of pansy- ass good guys only to get mauled by the rescuer. But apparently he didn't take offense, because he looked back at me with perfect calm.
"Crawford wanted to tell you something," he said, changing the subject.
"Really? And why couldn't he tell me himself?"
"He was being cautious."
"Of what?" I asked, guessing the answer without a sneak peak at his labyrinthine brain.
"Of me," answered Farfarello casually.
"You wouldn't let him in, would you?" I sighed.
"He'd have woken you up. I didn't want that."
"Yeah, okay. What about Nagi?"
"He's smart enough to know better. He hasn't come near here." There was something in the phrasing that distracted me from the words.
"How long have I been out, Farfarello?" He looked at me as if to say, 'It took you that long to think of it?'.
"Three days," he said.
"Three days?"
"Yes."
"Shit, no wonder I feel better. Say, Farf?" I thought suddenly.
"Yes?"
"Have you been in here the whole time?"
"Yes."
"Did you eat anything?"
"I was waiting for you to wake up." I groaned.
"Farfarello. You have to eat."
"I will. You're awake now."
"That's not what I mean."
"You're the one who let a cat scratch him."
"Which means you should starve yourself. Of course."
"I can take it."
"Farfarello! Don't be an idiot. For God's sake--" His yellow eye flashed. "-I mean, for the love of all things dead, why don't you think about yourself for once?"
"I always thing about myself. I just don't do anything about it sometimes. I'm fine. Shut up." Score. Farfie wins the match. And infuriates me. I hated losing, and even more being made angry.
"Idiot," I said testily.
"I'm not stupid, I'm crazy." Which was true.
"Fine," I said. "I'll drop it. Just as long as I don't have to try to argue with you any more. It gives me a headache." He edged closer to me, setting a white hand against my forehead that must have looked stark against my skin. His fingertips drew along my temple, pushing away the throbbing pain in my head.
"Does that help?" he asked softly, eye on his hand.
"What are you doing?" I asked tiredly. I didn't try to pull away.
"Helping," he said. "Helping you. Get rid of the pain."
"What do you know about pain?" I mumbled at him.
"I don't know it. Except in other people. It can be so pretty sometimes. But I don't want you to hurt. You don't look like Schuldich when you hurt." His fingers kneaded tightly into the back of my skull and I leaned into it like a cat.
"I don't get you at all," I murmured.
"No one does," he answered. I didn't reply, only let myself fall into the gentle pleasure of Farfarello's hand. I didn't care how odd it must have looked, as long as it chased away the pain. With the help of too much aspirin, that is.
"What did Crawford want?" I mumbled, eyes closed.
"A hunt."
"For who?"
"Your favorite little kitties." I grinned and sat up, my eyes opening.
"A chance to turn the tables, hm?"
"Until it squashes them flat." He looked back at me, dead serious as always.
"How flat?"
"Dead flat." I grinned again.
"Guess Bradley's had enough of their kitten bravado," I mused.
"Maybe he doesn't like you to be hurt, either," suggested Farfarello softly. His hand slid through my hair, and he watched it as if it were doing the most important thing in the world.
-------------------------------
AN: yay yay, chappie three! Still no plot in sight, but I think I'm doing an okay job in the fan service department. ^^ I'm sorry about the long delay. There was this whole thing with the file that meant I could only work on it at my mom's comp at work...and the first time I've had a chance in weeks was right now. The fourth chapter is done. Depending on reviews, I'll choose when to post it. (hint) Later, gators!! ^^
Midnight Garden
Chapter Three
By Kye
He was still there. When I woke up, the next time. He was there. My waking mind had called it a dream, but I knew I was wrong when my eyes opened and they saw him, sleeping in my bed. On the plus side, he wasn't on top of me this time. He leaned against the wall, legs crossed, head bowed. His hands lay loose and open in his lap as though he were offering something. He looked gentler in his sleep- gentler, but just as hyper- aware. And he was in my bed.
Very soon, I thought about escape. He'd already caught me once. I didn't want it happening again. I wriggled to the edge of the bed, looking like a very large and deficient chipmunk, intent on leaving quickly and quietly. Unfortunately, I over-threw the distance and rolled all the way off, landing shoulder first. Stars clouded my vision. When I could see again, Farfarello stood over me, eye flickering over my body. I fought the urge to hide from his inspection; after a long moment he looked more or less satisfied. He pulled me up as carefully as he could, his sinewy arms wound through my limp ones, and set me back in bed.
"Are you all right?" he asked, perching on the edge of the mattress.
"No," I said frankly. My shoulder wasn't the only thing that hurt. That little Weiss must have been a masochist, to know how to hurt people as thoroughly as he had me. Besides that, there was an insistent fuzzy feeling in my brain that had been growing since I'd woken. Despite all of that, I felt a hell of a lot better.
"You aren't lying," noted Farfarello approvingly.
"No." I wondered what had made him say that. Not enough to find out on my own, though.
"Weiss would be acting tragic," he explained, as though he were the telepath. "They would lie. And then they'd pity themselves for their pain. Even though it would be their own fault." He was right. Weiss was just the kind of bunch that would delve into self-pity in an instant, if they had the right audience. It was one of the things that normally kept me from thinking of them as more than pests.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Can I get some aspirin?" Farfarello didn't wait to answer. He simply stood and left. I strained my ears, and soon heard water running, and the plastic-y rattle of pills being shaken from a bottle. Farfarello reappeared a moment later, and for a moment I was dazed by the surreal sight. Here he was, the blade-happy, God-hating psycho, bringing medicine to his co-worker like a mother to her child. It was as though someone had jammed together a DaVinci and a Picasso.
I reached out for the glass when he drew near, although I wasn't sure how I'd hold it; young Mr Tsukiyono hadn't left many fingers unbroken. Both hands were bound too tightly to bend. As it turned out, though, that wasn't an issue. Farfarello sat down, and before I could react, he stuck an aspirin in my mouth, and held up the glass until I pulled away with a gasp. He gave me two more pills, then set down the remaining water with a thump.
"Can't I have more?" I asked with a hopeful grin.
"No."
"Damn. You're strict for a nutcase." I hoped saying that wouldn't piss him off too much. It would suck to get rescued from a bunch of pansy- ass good guys only to get mauled by the rescuer. But apparently he didn't take offense, because he looked back at me with perfect calm.
"Crawford wanted to tell you something," he said, changing the subject.
"Really? And why couldn't he tell me himself?"
"He was being cautious."
"Of what?" I asked, guessing the answer without a sneak peak at his labyrinthine brain.
"Of me," answered Farfarello casually.
"You wouldn't let him in, would you?" I sighed.
"He'd have woken you up. I didn't want that."
"Yeah, okay. What about Nagi?"
"He's smart enough to know better. He hasn't come near here." There was something in the phrasing that distracted me from the words.
"How long have I been out, Farfarello?" He looked at me as if to say, 'It took you that long to think of it?'.
"Three days," he said.
"Three days?"
"Yes."
"Shit, no wonder I feel better. Say, Farf?" I thought suddenly.
"Yes?"
"Have you been in here the whole time?"
"Yes."
"Did you eat anything?"
"I was waiting for you to wake up." I groaned.
"Farfarello. You have to eat."
"I will. You're awake now."
"That's not what I mean."
"You're the one who let a cat scratch him."
"Which means you should starve yourself. Of course."
"I can take it."
"Farfarello! Don't be an idiot. For God's sake--" His yellow eye flashed. "-I mean, for the love of all things dead, why don't you think about yourself for once?"
"I always thing about myself. I just don't do anything about it sometimes. I'm fine. Shut up." Score. Farfie wins the match. And infuriates me. I hated losing, and even more being made angry.
"Idiot," I said testily.
"I'm not stupid, I'm crazy." Which was true.
"Fine," I said. "I'll drop it. Just as long as I don't have to try to argue with you any more. It gives me a headache." He edged closer to me, setting a white hand against my forehead that must have looked stark against my skin. His fingertips drew along my temple, pushing away the throbbing pain in my head.
"Does that help?" he asked softly, eye on his hand.
"What are you doing?" I asked tiredly. I didn't try to pull away.
"Helping," he said. "Helping you. Get rid of the pain."
"What do you know about pain?" I mumbled at him.
"I don't know it. Except in other people. It can be so pretty sometimes. But I don't want you to hurt. You don't look like Schuldich when you hurt." His fingers kneaded tightly into the back of my skull and I leaned into it like a cat.
"I don't get you at all," I murmured.
"No one does," he answered. I didn't reply, only let myself fall into the gentle pleasure of Farfarello's hand. I didn't care how odd it must have looked, as long as it chased away the pain. With the help of too much aspirin, that is.
"What did Crawford want?" I mumbled, eyes closed.
"A hunt."
"For who?"
"Your favorite little kitties." I grinned and sat up, my eyes opening.
"A chance to turn the tables, hm?"
"Until it squashes them flat." He looked back at me, dead serious as always.
"How flat?"
"Dead flat." I grinned again.
"Guess Bradley's had enough of their kitten bravado," I mused.
"Maybe he doesn't like you to be hurt, either," suggested Farfarello softly. His hand slid through my hair, and he watched it as if it were doing the most important thing in the world.
-------------------------------
AN: yay yay, chappie three! Still no plot in sight, but I think I'm doing an okay job in the fan service department. ^^ I'm sorry about the long delay. There was this whole thing with the file that meant I could only work on it at my mom's comp at work...and the first time I've had a chance in weeks was right now. The fourth chapter is done. Depending on reviews, I'll choose when to post it. (hint) Later, gators!! ^^