AN: Peek-a-boo

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz belongs not to me. Rated R for everything. AU and not.

I believe…there are monkeys in your pants.

The Peace Before The Rage of God

The little boy sat on the table in the emergency room, staring vacantly at the wall as the doctors muttered about him in the next room. The wound on his ankle had been cleaned and wrapped and a bottle of antibiotic pills sat beside him. They wouldn't have to take his leg, they said, so long as he took the pills and stayed off his leg. Of course, that would be impossible. If he couldn't walk then he couldn't eat, but he didn't say anything to them about that.

"…a shelter might…"

"…all full, talked to the social worker…"

He wrapped his arms around himself at the words that drifted to him through the doorway. In the few years that he'd been on the street he'd had his fill of shelters and social workers. Shelters meant he would get a beating from someone older and stronger who wanted a bed for the night. Social workers were completely ineffectual, pitying him for his situation but unable to do anything for him. If this was the best that they could do he might as well leave now.

"…foster home…"

"…know a good woman who can…"

"…just for a few days…"

"…let his leg heal up before we find a new place for him…"

He stopped trying to get up, his attention sharpening as he strained to listen to the conversation. If he could let his leg heal it wouldn't matter what they tried to do afterwards; he could easily escape and go back to his safe little corner of the alleyway behind the restaurant on Eighth.

The doctor who had treated his ankle came back into the room then, smiling in a friendly way that made him nervous.

"Do you have any family we can contact to pick you up?" The man inquired gently.

"Iie." The boy lowered his gaze. It wasn't really a lie. His parents wouldn't come and get him, that much he knew.

"I was talking to some of the other doctors." The man said, kneeling in front of the boy. "We know a nice woman you could stay with for a few days, at least until your ankle feels better. Then well…we'll see after that. What do you say?"

The boy shrugged. It was best not to become too excited about anything; he knew it would only lead to his own disappointment later on.

"All right then it's settled. I'll call Tanaka-san and have her come to pick you up as soon as she can." The doctor stood, moving toward the door. "By the way, what's your name little guy?"

For a moment the boy was silent, staring resolutely at his bandaged foot. Then, so slowly it almost seemed not to be happening at all, he lifted his head to glance up at the doctor. It was a quick look, up and then down once again but it happened, and the doctor felt strangely as if he'd just witnessed something miraculous.

"Nagi." The boy said softly.

"All right then Nagi, you just wait here for a few minutes. I'll be right back with a nurse who will take you down to the cafeteria for some dinner. How does that sound?"

Nagi didn't say anything as the doctor left but his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms were sweaty. He was afraid, as he always was. Afraid of the doctor, afraid of the noises and the smells of the hospital, afraid of the nurse who was going to come in, afraid of what was going to happen when Tanaka-san came to get him. But for the first time Nagi didn't run away. He sat and waited as he'd been told and wondered if, for the first time in his life, he would find a warm bed and a kind person who would take care of him as his parents had not.

He didn't really believe it of course but…well, he wondered just the same.

He wouldn't speak. They had been trying to get him to talk for weeks now but the only words he said were spoken in the midst of his dreams and he only ever said one word, over and over again. After a while they'd taken to calling him by that word, the only word that he ever said. He had become Schuldig to them, Guilty, and as the days went by he sat in his room in the psychiatric ward and thought about what he had done to his mother.

Most of his memories from that night when he lost her were very vague and dim, mixed with the odd dreams that he had in the night. He could clearly remember being in the hallway, scrabbling at the door as he tried to get inside. There had been something wrong, something that he couldn't see and his stepfather wouldn't let him inside. Then someone had been screaming at him, telling him it was his fault and…

That was when the memory twisted with the dream. Sometimes his mother was standing there smiling and there was nothing wrong. It was all just some big mistake and they were going to laugh about it once everyone stopped screaming. Other times she was dead, blood trickling from her nose and ears and even her eyes. Voices blurred together until they whispered the same thing to him, guilty, you're guilty, you did it.

He'd stopped speaking because he didn't know what words were lies and what words were truths.

"Hey Erik, you talking today?"

It was one of the orderlies, a man called Jan. He was the only one who did not torment the strange, silent boy in room one-thirty-two. He was also the only one who still called the teenager by his true name.

"Well, you take your time with it my friend. No reason to say a damn word 'til you're good and ready."

Jan was wheeling a cart into the room. Lunch, Erik guessed by the look of it. Not that he could remember what time it was or how long it had been since he'd eaten. Those weren't the kinds of things he thought about in here.

"They say your mom's doing all right." Jan said conversationally. "I don't reckon you did anything to her like the guy's claim. The doctors say she had a severe stroke but she's beginning to recover. Maybe they'll let you go see her."

Erik shook his head.

No. He thought firmly. No. I am guilty. I did it. They said I did it and I can't remember, so I must've done it.

Now don't get all riled up boy. Your mother worked hard and she was under a great deal of stress. Your step dad probably didn't help much either, from what I know of him. I figure her body just couldn't take it anymore that's all. It was nothing you did, on purpose or by accident.

But I'm guilty. Erik reminded himself. Guilty.

Jan shook his head a little sadly, setting Erik's tray in front of him.

"Yeah well, it'd be a shame to let this food go to waste. Your mother would be appalled if she saw how skinny you're getting because you won't eat enough."

For a moment Erik hesitated. After a few moments however he drew away from the window and turned his attention to the food before him.

"That's better. You eat and get your strength up and we'll see what you say when you're feeling a little healthier. All right?" Jan began to move toward the door. "Eat all of that meat now you hear? All of it. Drink the milk too, you need the calcium."

Erik smiled a little wryly and wondered if Jan had any children that he liked to boss around. Then he lifted the fork and, slowly, he began to pick through his food. He missed the approving look that Jan gave him, too busy enjoying the taste of roast beef sliding between his teeth and over his tongue. It tasted good.

Jan locked the door behind him, pushing his cart further down the hall. His next stop always gave him more trouble than he was worth. With a weary sigh he unlocked the door and stepped into the room. He found the patient curled up under his bed, hands over his ears, muttering incoherently to himself.

"Good afternoon Martel. Mad as a hatter as usual I see."

"Little son of a bitch. That stupid little son of a bitch. Should've killed him when I had the chance. Little shit. Knew he was trouble. Tried to beat it out of him but it didn't work. Should've killed him long time ago, before he got big, before he could use it…"

"Yeah, yeah Martel I know. Too bad for you he's doing just fine. His mom's getting better too. I'd imagine as soon as she's well she'll take him out of here and leave your crazy ass here alone." Jan slapped the food down on the table. "Now I'm supposed to watch you eat this to make sure you don't try to kill yourself so get off the floor and eat your lunch."

"Stupid little shit." The man muttered, climbing to his feet. "Should've killed him…saved his mother from him and his witchery…" He ate mechanically and when he was done he went back under his bed, quiet now as he curled up and put his hands over his ears. Then he began to talk again, and Jan rolled his eyes as he left the room.

His last stop was upstairs, in a recovery wing of the hospital. He left his food cart downstairs, took the elevator, and found the room three doors down from the main office.

"Good afternoon Frau Andler." He said politely, seating himself in a chair next to the bed. The woman lying there had her eyes wide open, but she didn't blink or move at the sound of his voice. "I have been down to see your son, Erik. I told him he should eat, to get his strength up for when you recover. Your husband though…I am afraid he is quite crazy."

She remained still, but he thought he saw a flicker of understanding in the depths of her eyes.

"Your son is very talented. He is also arrogant, he things that your stroke is his fault." He took the woman's hand. "I will try to convince him otherwise, don't worry about that. People will not call him Schuldig for much longer."

He squeezed her hand and glanced at the clock.

"I must go now. I will come again tomorrow."

With that he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He went back down the hall, took the elevator downstairs, picked his cart back up, and resumed his walk through the placid green halls of the psych ward.

Gunner Valhendt was kneeling in a mess of boxes, trying to ignore the lump in his throat as he thumbed through one of Jess Moraven's notebooks. Every vision she'd ever had, large and small, was recorded within the pages of one of her hard-backed books. There were hundreds of them, all boxed up and labeled in chronological order. He'd been reading them for hours now, staring at the spidery handwriting and wondering how Jess had managed to be so normal.

Management skills babe. That's the only way to do it.

He shook his head. Jess had been dead for almost a month now but the knowledge of the time that had passed didn't make it any easier to bear. To him it was just as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

August 31, 1995 3:04 p.m.

I saw Valhendt's mistake. The one that's going to cost him his life one day. The mistake's name is Bradley Crawford, a precog with a mind like a steel trap. Valhendt will take him in, train him and one day…Crawford will betray him. Of course, I know that the old coot won't listen to a damned word I say. He never does. Serves him right that he's going to end up in a ditch somewhere with half his parts missing.

The businessman smiled, imagining the expression on Jess's face as she wrote the entry. He dug through the most recent book then and found the entry that he was looking for, the one that he had somehow known would be there.

November 6, 2004 5:36 a.m.

Blood. Mine, I think. The view from the picture window is of high summer when the birds are all crowded around the feeder. Cooling tea and a plate of cakes, untouched save the splashes of crimson. Then there is darkness and such a sweet feeling of peace that I cannot be afraid of it.

People assume that we precogs cannot see our own future, because if we could then we would meet with no harm until nature ran its course. They do not understand. Once we have seen it we are ready for it, we wait for it because there is nothing better than the gentle darkness that waits for us all.

That was it. She had known that she was going to die. They all knew when they were going to die.

Valhendt sighed, putting the notebook back in the box. He would send all of the books to headquarters for analysis. All of the pertinent entries would be put into collective data files for future reference and the rest…

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"Hey, Karlo? I'm going to be sending you the Moraven files and I was wondering if you could do me a favor." He paused. "Yeah, I was hoping that after you entered all of the info that we need you could send me what's left rather than torching it." Another pause. "Thanks Karlo, I owe you one."

He put the phone away and finished boxing things up, closing the lids with masking tape when they were full. He'd already sent the last of her art work to the gallery. They were putting it together for a final showing, a kind of memorial service. Although he didn't plan on attending he had the date marked on his calendar, just in case.

His secretary had seen the circled date and smiled knowingly but said nothing, her expression saying it all. She knew, probably better than anyone, that Gunner was soft at heart. Especially when it came to Jesselyn Moraven.

"I will miss you." He said softly as he closed up the last box. Then he smiled. "Even if you did drive me up the wall more often than not."

Just doing my job babe.

He shook his head and wondered if it would be like that forever, if he would always hear her voice whispering to him. It would become rather annoying after a while if it didn't stop but, at the same time, Valhendt rather hoped it wouldn't stop. Then he would always have her there, nagging him and telling him all the things that he didn't want to hear. She could be the voice in his head, and no one would ever have to know that she had become his conscience.

"See you Moraven." He said softly. Then he called over his shoulder to the moving crew. "All right, get this stuff out of here. I'm putting the house on the market this afternoon and I want to be able to show it by tomorrow morning."

"You got it boss."

And that, he thought to himself as he walked to his car, was that.

"We won!" Brad scooped Yume up in his arms, twirling her around with a shout of pure glee. "We won Yume, we won!"

Yumemiru gave a shriek, wrapping her arms around his neck and laughing as they spun in a continuous circle. When he let her down he hugged her, kissing her cheek and her mouth as he laughed.

Mac stood off to one side, concern apparent on his face. His fighter had a split lip, a bad lump forming on his cheek and possible broken ribs and he was lifting his girlfriend full up into the air as if she weighed nothing.

"Brad, take it easy. You need to go the hospital and get some of those wounds checked out before you start celebrating."

"Forget it Mac, I feel fine." Brad replied, still grinning down at Yume. "We're going out for some chow and then we're going home where I am going to make love to my girlfriend." He slid an arm around Yume's waist. "Maybe I'll see you in a few months Mac, but for now I'm done."

"Brad…" Mac sighed. "Just get your ribs checked out okay? If they're broken…"

"Yeah yeah." The boxer waved a dismissive hand.

"I'll make sure he goes to the hospital Mac." Yume assured the trainer. "No worries okay?"

He nodded.

"Take care of him Yume."

"I will."

Walter stepped in then, reaching for Brad's hand in an attempt to draw him away from Yumemiru and the rest of the crowd.

"Listen Brad I've got a whole new contract to talk to you about and I thought we should get a head start on it just in case…" The taller man shouldered him off, casting him back into the crowd with a careless hand.

"Not tonight Walter. No business deals, endorsements or tours for me tonight." he smiled down at Yume. "Tonight is just for celebrating."

They dodged the screaming crowd and disappeared into the locker room, giggling like children.

"Let's eat dinner at Mary Jo's." Brad suggested. "They've got a great peach cobbler and their fries are absolutely to die for." He stopped in the main area of the locker room. "I've got to take a shower. I'll only be a minute."

"Take your time." She replied. "Mary Jo's is open all night."

"Ah, but everyone knows that peach cobbler is better before midnight." He winked and disappeared into the shower, leaving her to sit on one of the long, narrow benches.

Over the past few weeks Bradley had been fighting and winning every match that Walter had scheduled. His excitement at being with Yume, his eagerness to learn to control his gift, and his joy at having survived a brush with death had set him on fire. He was, as the tabloids were saying, unbeatable. As he'd told Yume when she'd pointed out how well his career was going, it was always best to end on a high note.

It had been one among many efforts on Yumemiru's part to discourage Brad from attending Valhendt's school. More and more she wanted him to change his mind, to refuse to go, to find some reason not to become one of the gifted puppets that the school created. Unfortunately she had done her job too well. There was no discouraging Bradley Crawford once he'd gotten his mind set on something.

They're going to destroy him… She thought, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. They would too. They would kill his smile, they would cloud the clearness of his eyes and the purity of his heart until he was just as twisted as everyone who walked through Rosenkreuz's halls. She closed her eyes, put her head in her hands, and waited for him to get out of the shower.

It was two in the morning. Yume was standing in nothing but a thin silk robe, staring in silence out the window of Brad's bedroom. Brad was fast asleep in bed, the covers pulled up around his waist. He was snoring softly and it was a strangely comforting sound, something that she had become accustomed to hearing every night when she fell asleep.

Somewhere in the depths of the jeans she'd left lying on the floor she heard the faint humming of her beeper. Giving an inaudible curse she hurried across the room and took the beeper into the bathroom, bending it into the light to examine the number flashing across the panel.

Valhendt.

She took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom for her phone. She dialed the number in silence as she walked out into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the cabinets. It ran twice before Valhendt picked it up.

"Yume." He sounded slightly annoyed and she had a sinking feeling deep in her gut. This wasn't going to be a good conversation. "I've been expecting you to show up for a few weeks now. What's going on?"

"Look, he had a couple of matches all right? I had to wait until those were over before I could do anything."

"And?"

"We're leaving for Germany in two days."

"Ah. I knew you wouldn't let me down." He sounded terribly pleased with himself now.

Gods how I hate you. Yume thought viciously, knuckles white where she gripped the phone.

"I'll be expecting you to come up to the school on Saturday then." There was a brief pause. "If you don't show up I'm going to assume that you have gone back on our deal so I won't be forwarding that check to the school. Not to mention I'll have to send someone out to collect you…"

"I understand." She said through clenched teeth.

"Then show up on time. And no funny business either, or I'll make sure a certain organization has reason to hunt you down like a dog."

Yume shivered at the thought accompanying those words. He would hand her over to Kritiker. Or, worse, he would toss her between Kritiker and Rosenkreuz and sit back to see who caught her first.

"Believe me." She whispered. "You have nothing to worry about. Just make sure you're ready for us."

"I will be." He purred.

She hung up and set the phone on the counter beside her, glaring at it as though her gaze alone could set it on fire. As the day neared she found that it was more and more difficult for her to accept that Bradley would belong to Rosenkreuz. Some part of her could not acknowledge that he would work for them, that he would become one of their dogs and lose all the sparkle and innocence that he possessed. It hurt her to think about it.

I can't just give him to them.

But what could she do? If she told him now he might not believe her, or he might be angry enough that he wouldn't care. Even if he accepted what she said he wouldn't understand just how dangerous Rosenkreuz was and he'd be caught within days. There had to be a way to get them both out of this mess…

The thought came suddenly, and with it came a whirl of chaos. If she could pull it off, if she could force their hand…She swallowed.

I'll make sure a certain organization has a reason to hunt you down like a dog.

She went back into the bedroom, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly she felt very cold, very vulnerable. Without a sound she climbed back into bed beside her boyfriend, clinging to him so tightly her arms shook.

He murmured something unintelligible and rolled over, pulling her closer and offering soothing words, running a hand up and down her back.

"Ai shiteru." She whispered, pressing her face against the bend of his neck. "Ai shiteru Bradley."

He sighed, cuddling her.

"I love you too Yume."

He slept on, unaware of the hot tears that were moistening his neck and the fact that Yume's heart was breaking silently as she cried in his arms.

Quiet. It was so blessedly quiet. All the sounds had stopped, the visions had gone and he was lying still in the darkness. Even the heartbeat of the guard had retreated somewhere into the distance, beyond the edge of his hearing. It was like a tomb and he felt at peace, at home among the dead. He closed his good eye and sighed wearily, wondering if he could finally sleep without dreaming.

Then he heard the footsteps, the heartbeat moving slowly, inexorably toward his quiet place.

Someone was coming.

"Go away." He growled, directing the fierce light of one golden eye on the door of the cell. "GO AWAY!"

The footsteps grew louder, the heartbeat ever closer. Snarling angrily he rolled to his feet and threw himself at the door, tugging on the bars until they groaned under his hands. He rocked back and forth, heel to toe to heel to toe, anger smoldering in his golden gaze.

"You must not come here. Go back. Go back!"

He beat on the wall until his fists were bloody and still the heartbeat and the footsteps grew louder, came closer, drowned out the silence until he was being deafened.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified died and was buried…

He could hear them coming closer, could smell the blood and the hot stench of gunpowder.

…He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father almight, from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead…

He sobbed, rocking back and forth as the sounds grew louder, and louder, until they were almost painful. Then the heartbeat was there, standing outside the door with all that blood and the smell and the heartbeat pounding in his ears until he wanted to scream.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.

He screamed. He would show the man, this man who stank of bullets and blood and whose heart pounded like a hammer in his ears. With a low snarl he reached up to the ruin of his left eye. His eyelids separated from each other with a tearing sound, dried blood scattering like powder onto the ground. The tips of his fingers lid into warmth, met with something solid and curved around it. When he pulled and it came free he gave a triumphant howl before throwing it through the bars of his cell.

Valhendt was standing in front of the madman's prison, listening to the frantic, terrified sounds coming from within. Then something small and round and wet came sailing through the bars of the cage and he caught it reflexively, staring down without comprehending what he held in his hands. When he understood he dropped it hurriedly, staring at it with a sickened expression on his face.

It was an eyeball. The iris was badly scarred, the surface split and cracked and filled with blood.

Oh my god.

The laughter began inside the cell. It was low at first, a rough, husky chuckle that made him back away from the door. As it went on it rose in volume and in pitch until it was a bale of shrieking, hysterical laughter that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and made him shiver uncontrollably. It was terrifying, blood-chilling, the most frightening thing he had ever heard in his life.

It was the laughter of a madman.

Next Chapter: Paving the Way With Good Intentions

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