Author's Notes: Still come at the end of the chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß Kreuz. Rated R for everything. AU and not

Who eats pickle cake?

A Conspiracy, and Other Games

The kitchen timer let out a piercing ring, proudly announcing to all within hearing that the coffee cake in the oven was now done. Jess Moraven appeared a few seconds later, wiping ink from her hands with a towel. She quickly removed the cake from the heating rack and put it on top of the stove, humming softly to herself. After spending most of the day working on her latest artistic creation she was ready for a slice of cake and a cup of tea.

In her spare time Jess made ink prints on paper, on silk screens, on hard wood, on any kind of surface she could get her hands on. She had her own show at a gallery downtown and she was currently working on the last installment of the collection. In fact, she had just finished the last piece.

"There we are."

She cut a slice of cake and put it on a small plate on the table before moving to boil some water for tea. Just as she was turning on the stove the phone rang and, with a slightly annoyed look on her face, she went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Jess, It's Valhendt."

"What's wrong now? Got another emergency reading you need done?"

"Jess…ou…ne…ow…"

"Hey, you're breaking up."

"Jess…ut…no…"

"Sorry babe, you'll have to call back when you get a better signal. Sounds like Greek to me." She hung up the phone, flipping her braid over one shoulder as she removed a fork from the drawer.

She was crossing the kitchen to open the screen door for some fresh air when the phone rang again. Rolling her eyes, she moved back to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Jess you need…o…ne…ow…un…"

"Hey, babe, give it up." Jess shouldered the phone, retrieving a teacup and saucer from the cabinet. "You're obviously in a bad signal area. If it's that important get your ass to the top of a hill, wait for a clear signal, and try again."

This time when she put the phone down it was with an air of finality, as if she knew she would not pick it up again. A few minutes later she had the screen door propped open and she had scattered some bird seed on the deck. On nice days she liked to sit at the kitchen table and watch the birds flock to the rails for food. It was a simple pleasure, something that never failed to amuse her.

When the phone rang again she ignored it, reacting instead to the shrill shriek of the teapot as the water came to a boil. She made her tea with a practiced flourish, making it dark and strong with just a squeeze of lemon before taking her seat at the table. After twelve rings the phone was silent and she smiled in satisfaction as she took a bite of her cake. It was better than she'd hoped it would be. She'd have to use the recipe again.

A sparrow had just landed on the deck and begun to feed when the phone rang one more time. The bird did not seem disturbed by the sound, hopping along the wooden rail and scooping a beak full of seeds. Jess smiled a little, sipping her tea. She pretended that she didn't hear the phone; that it wasn't even ringing.

She was so focused on ignoring the phone that she didn't hear the front door open and close. It was never locked; she always saw who was coming to visit before they arrived so there was no point in drawing bolts and chains across it. Valhendt always berated her for being foolish. You don't always see everything. He would remind her sternly. She always smiled and left it wide open when he walked out.

If she hadn't been so fascinated by the birds gathering outside, it was entirely possible that she would have noticed the shadow moving across the kitchen floor toward her. Surely she would have noticed the glint on the edge of the gun out of the corner of her eye as it aimed towards her head. But she had always loved watching the birds and she was completely enthralled by their cheerful antics out on the deck.

Perhaps if the phone hadn't been ringing so insistently she would have heard the click of the safety being pulled. After all, she'd been trained to listen for that sound in visions and reality alike. Unfortunately Valhendt was nothing if not persistent and the ringing continued on and on in a rather irritating roundelay. So she did not hear the safety, or the squeak of shoes on the clean tile floor.

But in the last instant she heard the gunshot explode above the sound of the phone, so loud that she was deafened instantly by the report. And then the birds disappeared, and her hands slipped from the table as she slumped lifelessly into her chair, blood dripping to pool around her chair.

The gunman left more quietly than he had come, though there was no one now to hear him. Maybe it was out of nerves; the phone was making him a little jumpy. Or it could have been that he was afraid of alerting the neighbors by making any sudden movements or loud sounds. But in his heart of hearts it was out of respect for the dead, respect for the woman still sitting at the kitchen table, her sightless eyes staring out at the lush green yard, and the place where the birds had been, before the gunshot scared them away.

"How many times did I tell her to lock her front door?" Valhendt snarled, slamming his fist down on his desk. It made his secretary jump and she looked a little guilty as she dropped the files she'd been holding.

"I'm very sorry sir. I know how much you liked her."

"Yes well, nothing can be done about it now."

The German slumped into his chair, putting his head between his hands. He'd received word less than an hour ago that Jesselyn Moraven had been found slain in her home. A single gunshot to the back of the head and…He shivered. He hadn't wanted to see what that single shot had done to that face, hadn't wanted to have to look into a ruin of flesh and bone and see something familiar in the wreckage. So when they'd asked if he wanted to view the body, protocol when dealing with an agent of Rosenkreuz, he had politely declined.

It made him feel cheap somehow, not viewing her body. As if he didn't care enough to be able to see what had been done to her, how she'd been torn apart by that bullet. But he couldn't afford to think of it that way. She was just an employee, another agent, one among many and though not really expendable, still, replaceable.

"Florence, would you please call the clean-up crew dealing with Agent Moraven's death and tell them to have her cremated?"

"Of course sir. Where should I have the ashes taken?"

"Her parents live in California." He moved to his file cabinet and, after rifling through the papers, retrieved one of them. "Send the ashes there, along with a letter expressing our condolences to the family for their loss."

"Yes sir. What would you like them to do about the house?"

Valhendt paused, considering. It was a nice house, newly built and well-kept. Someone else would probably end up living there, once the media lost interest in it and the bloodstains were washed away. But her things were still there…

"I'll take care of that." He said finally. He could do that for her at least. Take the last of her art collection to the gallery for the showing, gather a few of her prized possessions to put in the care of her friends and the rest…well, he would see about the rest as well.

"Very well then sir, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No that will be all for now Florence. When you've finished you may go home, I think I'm going to leave early myself today."

"Thank you sir. And please, do know that I am sorry about what happened."

"I am grateful for your sympathies." Valhendt offered his secretary a pale smile. "Now, go along. I'm going to finish a few things in here before I go."

"Yes sir." The woman walked out of his office, closing the door behind her as she went off to do his bidding. When she was gone the German gave a tiny groan and put his head down on the desk.

"Oh Jess, how could you have been so stupid…"

He could still hear her voice on the other end of the phone, unconcerned, jovial even as she called him 'babe' and went about her business. They'd said she was found sitting at the kitchen table, so ordinary, a piece of cake and a cup of cold tea sitting in front of her. The only difference between that and her usual routine was the fact that she was dead.

Valhendt didn't realize he was crying until he saw the wet spots blurring the ink on the reports covering his desk. Then his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, feeling the lump rising up into his mouth. The bitter taste made him choke and gasp and then he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief.

For a man who did his best not to cry, Gunner Valhendt shed an awful lot of tears.

"What do you mean?" Yumemiru demanded. For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line and then…

"She was found yesterday in her home with a bullet through the brain."

The Japanese woman sank back into her chair, black eyes wide with shock as she took in the information. She'd known Jesselyn Moraven for years, almost since she first joined Rosenkreuz. They had been good friends in that time, and the clairvoyant had taught her a great deal about surviving within the organization. Jess had always been good with politics, with intrigues and the like. So how was it that she could be dead?

"Do you know who did it?" She asked finally.

"There are currently no real leads. The best we can guess, it was a lone gunman, probably hired either by an old enemy or a rival organization."

Yumemiru shook her head, denial in her eyes. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't…

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Just watch your back. For all we know, they're targeting all of Rosenkreuz. Step lightly, and keep that precog of yours close by."

With that the other person hung up, and she was left with the knowledge that one of her best friends, a woman she had considered to be completely invincible, had been murdered in cold blood in the middle of the day.

"Yume?"

She turned, still feeling a little shell-shocked, to see Brad Crawford regarding her with uncertainty in his amber eyes.

"Are you all right?" He inquired tentatively.

In that instant she remembered where she was, and why. She offered her new boyfriend a shaky smile, pocketing her phone and glancing around for a moment before returning her attention to him.

"Just a little bad news, that's all." She said softly.

"Bad news? What happened?"

"My friend, someone I've known for a very long time, died yesterday. She ah…she was murdered."

Brad's eyes widened and he reached over to take her hand gently.

"Oh Yume, I'm sorry." He looked at the meal that the waiter had just delivered, then at his girlfriend. After a moment he signaled to the waiter. "Can you wrap all of this up for us?" He asked. "I'm afraid we have to leave now."

"Certainly sir." The waiter disappeared with their plates, moving with an air of efficiency about him that was somewhat impressive.

"Where are we going?" Yume asked, a little dazed.

"Back to your place." Brad replied. "You probably want to be alone for a while…"

"No."

"What?"

Yume cringed inwardly. There she went again, speaking before she thought about it first. Ever since she'd started 'dating' Bradley Crawford it seemed that she couldn't do her job the way she wanted to. Somehow being around him messed with her head, made it hard to focus on her goal, stopped her from performing the way that she should have.

"I mean…" She drew in a deep breath. "I don't want to be alone. Do you…would you mind staying with me for a while?"

He smiled reassuringly, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Of course I'll stay, if you want me to. We can finish our meal there if you like."

Then the waiter was back with two large cartons, both plainly marked. Yume couldn't help but smile at her companion then as he wrote a check for the meal and tipped the waiter a hefty sum.

He was so good to her all of the time, like a real boyfriend should be. Always thinking of her, always so kind-hearted and easy-going with the people around him…She shook her head. It had been a mistake to work the mission this way. They'd barely been together for a week and she was already falling head over heels. If she didn't finish this up soon she was going to be looking at a very awkward and mutually painful break-up when the time came for them to part ways.

"Yume, here, let me get your coat…"

She gave him a pleasant smile as he helped her into her coat and hefted the cartons in one hand, draping the other across her shoulders. He kissed her cheek as they walked out of the restaurant, making their way to where his car was parked.

I'm not falling head over heels, Yume thought as she climbed into the car. I've already hit the bottom.

"I take it your mission was successful?"

He looked up from his meal of cold ramen and gave his companion a look that said; quite clearly 'you're joking, right?'

"Jeeze, I was just asking. I haven't heard anything over the radio waves yet so I just thought I would make sure."

"Rosenkreuz won't report the murder. They don't want the police sniffing around in their business any more than Kritiker does."

"Point taken."

They sat in silence for a few moments while one ate and the other contemplated. Then,

"There's one thing that I don't quite understand."

"There are a great many things that you don't understand. Which one are you talking about right now?"

Ignoring the comment, the first continued on.

"I was just wondering why she didn't see you coming, you know? I mean, she's supposed to be able to see the future and all that crap but she died just like anyone else would have."

"You haven't been paying attention lately have you?"

"I have too! Just…ah…not so much when everyone was talking about that."

"Precognition is like standing in front of one-way glass. If you're on one side you can see into the room beyond but you can't see your own reflections. On the other side, all you see is yourself. So those with clairvoyance can see what happens to other people, but not to themselves."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"That is also why, when we're planning these missions, we have to take the target out when they are completely alone. Otherwise they might see the reactions of those around them and deduce, from that, what is going to happen to them."

"Sounds complicated."

"Only for someone like you."

"Hey!"

"Suichi, Jin, keep it down in there would you? I'm trying to do my homework!"

"Gomen Kiro!"

"You see?" Suichi asked. "You're so loud you bothered Kiro."

"Well I wouldn't have been loud if you weren't sitting there insulting me!" Jin snapped, crossing his arms.

"Fighting again I see."

The two of them looked up to see a tall dark-haired woman walk into their kitchen, an amused smile on her face.

"Hey, Siamese! Long time no see. What've you got for us this time?" Jin asked cheerfully.

"Persia has a mission for you."

Suichi looked at her expectantly, waiting.

"Aren't you going to call Kiro and Tanake?" Jin inquired.

"No. I think Suichi is the one for this mission." The woman called Siamese offered the solemn young man a smile. "Rosenkreuz is in the process of recruiting another precog. This one is untrained so he should be even easier to kill than Moraven."

Suichi nodded his understanding, already standing up.

"Where?"

Siamese handed him a file, her purple nail polish gleaming with deep plum and indigo hues against the white paper.

Suichi opened the file, ignoring the fact that Jin was looking over his shoulder. The more excitable of the two gave a short laugh, clapping his companion on the back.

"Looks like you came all the way back for nothing Suichi." He said. "You've got to fly back to America first thing in the morning."

"Thank you for stating the obvious Jin." Suichi closed the file. "I haven't unpacked yet. I'll catch the first flight tomorrow."

"Very good." Siamese turned to go, but paused at the door. "Be careful with this one Suichi." She advised. "We think he has a Rosenkreuz agent with him already. Remember, you have to get him alone."

"I remember."

When she was gone he left Jin standing in the kitchen and went up the stairs to his room. His gun was still sitting where he'd left it on top of the dresser and he picked it up, checking the chamber before putting it down once again. With a heavy sigh he moved to lay down on his bed, pillowing his head on his arms.

He didn't want to go to sleep. Not yet. He kept having nightmares, watching blood splatter across the kitchen table, the way the birds had flown up, startled, from their feed at the sound of the gunshot. And the way she'd just slumped down in her chair, dead but still in a parody of life, tea and cake still in front of her as if waiting to be eaten…

Suichi Takatori had been a member of the group known as Weiß for three years now. He was the leader, the strongest person on the team, the fastest, the one who always took control in a crisis. But he was beginning to wear down, as all hunters wore down eventually under the strain of death and the weight of the blood on his hands. He was fourth generation, his own father had been a member of the first generation team and was the current Persia.

Sooner or later Suichi wasn't going to be able to kill anymore. It was all he'd done since the day he graduated from high school, it was the only thing he was really any good at now. So on that day when he found he couldn't pull the trigger, when he realized he was too damned and jaded and empty and it hurt too much to take out the next target, he wondered, as all hunters wondered,

What was he going to do?

Williams swallowed, visibly nervous as the doctor led him down the corridor. He could already hear the inhuman wails coming from the room at the end of the hallway and he had no desire to move any closer. In fact, if Valhendt hadn't asked him to do this he wouldn't even be in Ireland at all, much less moving toward the loud, high-pitched screeching sounds and hard thumps that were punctuated by those terrible howls of rage. But this would clear his debt with the German forever, and if all it took was transporting a crazy teenager overseas…

"You're sure you can get him under control?" He asked the doctor, for what was probably the fifth time since they'd begun their little journey.

The man smiled patiently and patted Williams' shoulder.

"Of course. We discovered a certain cocktail that works quite nicely to immobilize him. It's a muscle relaxant, causes almost complete paralysis within mere moments of being administered. We only use it when we absolutely have to though, as it can have some rather serious side effects."

Williams decided he didn't want to know what those side effects were. If they were bad enough that a doctor hesitated to use them on someone as crazy as the man they were off to see, he didn't want to know.

"There was a nun here a few days ago." The doctor said suddenly. "Seemed to know him quite well."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. When I told her there was nothing we could do for him she asked that I make him as comfortable as possible. She seemed surprised to discover that he was being moved from the hospital. Are you sure he doesn't have any family?"

"Positive. He killed them all himself. Mother, father, even his little sister, all murdered in a rage. There was blood everywhere, all over the house, pooling on the floor…it was a mess." Williams shivered a little at the memory. The boy had looked crazy when they found him, his golden eyes glazed, pale skin blood-streaked, hair stiff where he'd tugged at it.

"Yes, I remember." the doctor sighed. "It just seemed that she knew him somehow. She was almost, motherly."

"You know nuns." Williams gave a high, nervous laugh. "They're always trying to be someone's mother."

They were standing in front of the door now and he could see it move a little every time the boy inside threw himself against it. Four security guards were stationed around them, holding cattle prods, ready to move in.

"Now Mr. Williams, if you'll just step back so that we can work, you'll have your Irish boy wrapped up and ready to go in a matter of mere moments."

Williams obeyed, moving so that he was well out of the line of fire of whatever was about to come out of that room. He watched as the guards positioned themselves, two on either side of the door and two farther back, against the opposite wall. He knew for a fact that there were four more at the end of the hallway, just in case the madman managed to get past these ones. If that happened…

"Ready gentlemen?" the doctor inquired. When the guards nodded he motioned for the one to the right of the door to begin drawing back the numerous locks that held it firmly shut. Then the door was unlocked, with nothing holding it in place, and everyone was deathly silent as they waited, waited…

Sitting on the plane ride back to America Williams shuddered at the memory of what had come out of the room at the psychiatric ward. Wild ginger-colored hair, scarred, blood-streaked arms and legs, a naked body that was horribly maimed…

He bit his tongue to keep the images from overwhelming him. It had taken all four guards, plus another three from the hallway in order to subdue the madman. He'd bitten off the fingers of a couple of the guards, snagged a piece of an ear from one, a chunk of an arm from another. In the time it took to inject the muscle relaxant into his blood stream, and for it to take effect, he had collected enough body parts from his attackers to teach an anatomy class for a week.

And then, just before the Irishman had passed out he'd turned his eerie golden gaze on Williams. Recognition had burned in those strange eyes, and intelligence had appeared where madness had reigned only moments before.

"You." The boy growled. "It's YOU!"

He would have killed me then and there if he could have. Williams thought, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought. He would have ripped my throat out, splattered my blood across the walls and reveled in it.

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about the madman, or the fact that the killer was currently locked in the hold of a plane bound for Germany at that very moment. Because if he thought about that he would just remember the look in Jei's eyes as he prepared to lunge, that glittering, murderous look as his hands curled into fists and he had taken a half-step forward.

There was no doubt in William's mind that, if the drugs had not taken the opportunity to kick in at that point, he would be nothing but a pool of blood, a tangle of limbs, and a splatter of brains on the wall.

Mmmm, brains. I have to admit, Farfarello is my favorite character to write. He's just so….fun! Anyway, you know the drill so I'll leave things to you…

Next Chapter: Arrivals, Departures, Discoveries and Escapes

Look for the update starting on September 7th