The Happy Family

-A Weiss Kreuz Fanfiction-

Author's Notes: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the last person, phsyko who reviewed this fic. It's been months since I last updated this story and pretty much gave up on it because it was getting hard to type on a bloody slow computer with no spell check. Yes, I do not have Microsoft word. Instead, the home XP version has some crappy text programme with NO SPELLCHECK.

Oh. The HORRORs!

Instead, too embarrassed to get my sister to edit, I tried to edit by myself. Hence the numerous grammar mistakes in the last few chapters. Bleah. Really spoils the reading material. So, I give full rein to anyone, underscore that, ANYONE, to flame me according to the extent of grammar damage unto this fic. Now, back to that lovely, looooovely person. He/she made me feel happy. I have not gotten any reviews for the last thousand years since I began my languish in the isolation of 10kbps dial-up internet access. The light of my life!

Once again I will repeat: Thank you so much for that review!!!

======Chapter Five: Schu Bosa Nova========================

All my bags are packed, it's early morn

The taxi's waitin', he's blowing his horn

I'd hate to wake you up to say goodbye

'Cause I'm leaving on the Jetplane,

Don't know when I'll be back again

Oh, baby, I hate to go.

==========================================================

"No." Said Brad Crawford.

"Please?" Asked Nagi.

"No." Said Brad Crawford again. With a flat tone of voice and the finality of Armageddon to it.

" Why not?" Asked Nagi, unaware that Armageddon might come a little earlier for him if he asked again.

"It's too heavy." Replied Crawford. Flatly. With a touch of strain.

" Why?"

"LOOK, IF YOU--"

Whywhywhywhywhy did yooooooooooouu leave me, leeeeeeeet meee goooo the German telepath sang from the bathroom above. Showering.

"--nevermind." Brad turned away from the massive box on the coffee table. Nagi followed him.

" So, can I bring it?"

Orrrrr I wiiiilll neeever looooove yooou ANIII-mOOOOreeeee--

"No." Brad mentally gritted his teeth and swore.

"But w-h-y?"

Farfello watched the duo from the corner of a very yellow eye, spooning milk and cereal into his mouth. Nagi was really stretching it. He decided to join in. The madman tapped his glistening spoon on the side of his bowl. It gave a delicate ringing, something along the lines of tink.

-tinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktinktink-

Pleeeeeeeeeeease forgiiiiiiiive meeeeee, leeeeeeet meeeee gooooo

"Why!?"

Most men have their limits, and Brad Crawford was a man with a particularly short fuse. His succinct pronouncement reached the realms of even the mental--

"SHUUUUUUT UP!!!"



Schuldich winced. What's up with him? He/she toweled the bright flame-coloured mop of hair as he regarded himself in the mirror. His mind felt two gleeful thoughts and one blazingly stormy one about the house. She stuck out a lower lip petulantly. Fancy Braddy getting all worked up over a stack of J-rock CDs... Wait. Correct that. Nagi's CD collection was not simply a stack, but a more accurate description of it would be a cargo crate of every song that every existed. Quite literally.

Schuuuuuu, Brad won't let me bring my cds... Nagi's voice intruded into the redhead's thoughts. The telepath sighed.

Darling boy, if you bothered to take your CDs out of their covers, maybe the crate holding your collection need not be ridiculously massive.

But I DID! Schuldich paused. Nagi ought to be restricted from CD stores from now on...

And how big is that crate again?

It's not that big! I can still carry it! Nagi whined.

Not with your scrawny arms, Nagikins. Nagi huffed. And puffed. And went to his room to sulk.

Schu hummed a merry tune as she wrapped the towel around her waist, exiting the bathroom. Laid out earlier on the bed was the outfit she picked out for the journey. The tank top was a rich velvety brown, with a deep cream-coloured pinstripe skirt with pleats. Pretty decent, not to mention that the outfit will expose to the onlooker the tanned and lithe expanse of her arms and legs. And, with regard to coquettish fashion, a black lace butterfly with loose leather straps masqueraded as a casual choker.

The room was devoid of any decoration now, most of it thrown out the day before. The once cluttered room was empty, cast with a twilight pall. The wardrobe, too, was empty, its contents packed into two modest suitcases parallel on the bedcovers. Ladies' travel bags, it seemed, seemed distinctively female as well.

All their weapons have been discarded too. A peaceful life did not need those. No more killing, no more fighting, the dark underworld that they have known all their lives will be replaced with one filled with sunlight. Schuldich had no idea what to expect.

Maybe there'll be a beach... She slipped into her clothes and strapped on her heels. A last pose at the mirror ensured her that the impact she wanted to have was fully and truly conveyed. She smirked, the redhead in the mirror gave a Cheshire cat grin in return.

Everybody, the Supermodel is in da building.



Everyone was packing.

Farfello was already downstairs, finishing a last meal before setting off. His bags were already packed and placed in the living room. Well, more correctly, it was one small suitcase. All that he had in the world. The small case contained several suits of clothes, minus knife collection, minus self-torture instruments, minus gory memorabilia.

Sigh.

A pity, really, the knives took him years to collect, stealing and smuggling. A horrible rule, that knives weren't allowed through customs... what if he needed to dismember someone? He sighed again as he finished up the last portion of his breakfast. He paused. And stared at his gleaming metal spoon.

A spoon...

A spoon! A spoon, if sharpened correctly( as only Farfie knew how), could easily double up as ...as.... He didn't waste any more thought as he rummaged through the kitchen drawers.

Author's notes: Oh great. There go all the eating implements.

Brad slid into a stiff pair of denim jeans. He decided to forgo his normal attire, Armani, Gucci and all, and decided on casual wear. He felt a little strange.

In eighteen hours, he'll see his family again. After so many years. He wondered whether he would have any siblings. He wondered whether his parents had changed. He wondered whether the house they lived in was still there.

His luggage lay open on the bed, containing papers, casual clothes, and only one Armani suit. He just couldn't resist bringing one along. After so many years on the job, the suits seemed like a second skin to him. Heck, even the sensation of casual wear was an alien feeling.

The accounts were all ready, set up personally by the Schwarz leader himself. Enough funds to guarantee the four members a comfortable life in their new country. He had already registered Schwarz as American citizens, posing as foreigners with glowing records of successes and intelligence. Well, for the most of them anyway... Farfello was labeled as a chef.

A new life in a new country. No more running and skulking in the dark. No more hiding. No more watching of backs, others' and his own. A place where he could relax. And forget. A place called home.

Brad Crawford wanted to go home.

He checked his immaculate image in the mirror then sealed his luggage, hoisting his bag out of the doorway when he caught sight of the telepath emerging from his room.

His jaw dropped.



The German shut the door behind her and looked up. And saw the sight that was guaranteed to cure all the sore eyes of the world.

Brad Crawford in tight pants.

Brad Crawford in rugged attire and tight pants. Tight denim pants. Tight blue jeans.

Oh my... Look at him...

Well, well...Nice butt Braddy baby...

Brad could not believe his eyes.

Schwarz's redhead resident telepath has turned into a ...a... tall, alluring, svelte woman. The shock of flaming hair cradled a grinning face.

Well, well... Nice butt Braddy baby...

That comment shocked him back into reality. He tried to drill it into his shell-shocked mind. THIS was the ingratiating MALE German he had worked with, not some feminine...thing...

He tore his eyes from the vision of beauty, and headed down the stairs, his expression stony. And couldn't shake the feeling that the telepath's eyes stayed glued to his bottom all the way down.



Nagi was overseeing a couple of deliverymen who were shifting the crate out the front door. Brad came down the staircase and looked at him without surprise. If Nagi was determined to bring his collection, he was damn sure resourceful enough to call DHL.

Nagi blinked and said. "What?"

Brad sighed.



The trip to the airport was uneventful enough. If one overlooked the fact that Nagi had to go back into the house twice to pick up his laptop then his PDA. The trunk was packed to the brim, stuffed with miscellaneous luggage. Schuldich sat up front with Brad as he drove, while Farfie and Nagi bickered in the back seats about a game on the latter's laptop.

"How do I get past the green wall? I managed to get all the green tiles except for five of them." Nagi grumbled. Farfello snorted.

" You're supposed to have four left, not five. Then you rearrange them."

"I've been trying to get it down to four--oh wait. I got it..."

"Stupid."

"Hey!"

They reached the airport with plenty of time to spare and leisurely checked in the luggage at the airline counter. Nagi held on stubbornly to his laptop and continued his game once the group was inside the departure hall. Farfello looked over his shoulder. Brad decided to settle on the seat beside them, with a convenient stack of newspaper.

And that left Schu all alone to wander off by himself/herself. Muttering something about finding the Ladies' room. (Yes, in this story, people need to use the bathroom once in a while...) The redhead wandered past rows upon rows of duty-free shops that displayed anything and everything from chocolate to jewelry, looking for the bladder-saving sign. When she found one, she hurried inside.

And paused.

She quickly backed out, accompanied by sounds of suddenly indrawn breaths of men caught unawares. The German cursed under her breath as she stepped through the correct door this time. Dammit. I forgot...

Looking at all the ladies inside the toilet, Schu faced a moment of disorientation. He was far too used to the male toilet, this being the first time in the females in a long while. She shook her head as she resisted the urge to back out the door again.

Man, gotta get used to this.



Brad was getting a little impatient. The German was supposed to have returned ten minutes ago. He tapped his foot, irritated, as the intercom announced the boarding of their flight. He sent out a thought. Schuldich, you're late!

A thought returned with an irksome feeling. I'm coming, I'm coming! It's not my fault that all the boarding areas look identical!

Schu gritted her teeth as she hurried along as fast as he could on high heels. One day I'm going to break my legs when I fall from this height... She scanned the halls, attempting to trace the source of the leader's thoughts--

--and came upon something rather peculiar.

Brad, we have com-pany

Brad Crawford raised his guard instantly. The others, seeing the shift in their leader's posture, followed suit.

Who is it? Brad scanned the hall, gesturing to Nagi and Farfello to board first. The hall was crowded with people milling around, a general hum of conversation was in the air. His eyes darted from side to side as he tried to discern any suspicious face.

An Esset agent. The thought paused. Well, now, agents.

Nagi and Farfello were almost at the head of the queue, their faces expressionless as they got ready to hand their tickets to the stewardess.

Have they spotted us?

No, not yet. The voice went quiet, as if thinking. I think you better board without me. Brad was shocked at the suggestion, but didn't ask why.

Trust me, I won't let myself get left behind. Unfortunately for me, my hair colour attracts way too much attention, and I'll end up leading them to you guys. So go first, I'll catch up later. Brad turned around and joined the queue, his eyes still trying to pick out enemies, hopelessly looking out for the familiar figure.

Don't attract attention when you dispatch them. Brad sent out the thought by way of command.

No, siree. A comforting smirk.

The telepath had to improvise. She strode into one of the duty-free shops and quickly an item she needed: a woolen cap. Once outside the shop, she swept up her mass of flame-coloured hair, twisted it, then slipped the cap onto her head, effectively hiding her hair colour from view. The dark-coloured cap gave the impression that she had dark hair.

Her mind sought out the nearest Esset agent.

The ordinary-looking man had his back facing the telepath. She swept up behind him and looped her arm around his. The man bit back a startled oath, then relaxed when telepath gave him a quizzical look with her clear green eyes. She spoke with a lilting Irish accent. "Could you show me the way to the departure hall eighteen? Please?"

The man hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to protest, intending to stay at his post, but with a slight nudge from the telepath, started in the right direction, looking at the lost lovely lady on his arm. Surely guiding such a beautiful foreigner to safety was a gentleman's duty!

Schu piled flattery on him all the way to the hall, praising the kindness of the Japanese, their courtesy and thoughtfulness. The man blushed and told her not to worry about it. The telepath rigidly maintained her cooing facade as the man guided her past the other agents. This minds indicated no signs of acknowledgement of their comrade, nor registration of her identity on their minds.

It was the last call for boarding, and with a sense of urgency, the telepath smiled a winsome smile and blew a kiss to the agent when she released his arm. " Thank you so much for leading me here in time!" She slid her ticket to the awaiting stewardess, heaving a mental sigh of relief when she finally checked through.

The man grinned stupidly, waving.

Once in and past the stewardess, she turned at the entrance of the boarding tube and smirked. Once again, kind sir, I thank you for guiding me to safety.

The man's hand froze in mid-wave, and his expression grew horrified.

Schuldich laughed.



Brad was worried. Not that he would admit to being worried, but...Heck. He was worried. He didn't trust the German enough, and did not trust him enough to take care of himself. Especially in that attire. He watched Farfello push Nagi's laptop into the overhead compartment and checked his watch. Maybe he got into trouble... He made a noise of disgust and looked out the small airplane window. The seat beside him was empty, waiting for its occupant. An airline stewardess strode past.

A female Irish voice sounded in his ear, perfectly modulated. "Excuse me sir, is this seat being occupied?" Brad turned around, about to snap the word 'yes' when he realised who he was speaking to. The telepath smirked as she tugged off her woolen cap, allowing her bright shock of hair to cascade down her shoulders once more.

Brad muttered under his breath. "I am in charge of a team of ventriloquists."

Farfello turned in his seat to look over at the both of them. He grinned, showing all his teeth, his voice thick with a French accent once more, " Hey, she sounds just like me!"

Brad looked at the both of them wearily. " You are doing this just to spite me, aren't you?"

A voice sounded right beside his ear, which made him jump. " No, we aren't." And it sounded suspiciously like Nagi.

Brad kicked the other seat in front of him. "Are you joining in on their fun?" He demanded.

The voice beside his ear sounded an innocuous "Uh...No?"

Brad covered his eyes.



Two hours after takeoff.

It was fast approaching nightfall as the commercial aircraft sped across the Pacific. The interior of the plane was growing dark and many passengers had activated the small lamp above their seats, giving the cabin a warm, pleasant glow.

Nagi was busy playing Nintendo, tirelessly defeating opponent after opponent, finishing game after game. The Irishman, perhaps a little more French than ever, had started a movie marathon on his own, staring wide-eyed at familiar movies in various languages.

Behind the content pair, Schu had already flipped his light and snuggled under a blanket, leaving Brad in the spotlight of his own. The American looked out the porthole at the rapidly setting sun.

Fifteen more hours... and thirty minutes if they were to collect their baggage. Ten minutes to check out...Fifteen hours and forty minutes...and counting. Brad's internal clock went rampant as he willed the plane to fly faster, the time to turn speedily. He chaffed, nervous and excited, though calm on the exterior.

A sleepy voice intruded his musings. Brad, go to sleep. You're too noisy. Brad realised that his hands had been tapping impatiently on the windowsill and stopped. He looked beside at the sleeping form. Schu was curled up in his seat, his back facing the window.

Strange thing is, he looked exactly like a content cat, its purring almost audible.

Brad almost envied the telepath, almost at home in any surrounding, self-assured and calm.

The telepath was right. Sooner or later he will feel sick to his stomach with anticipation and excitement. He closed his eyes willed himself to be calm. A few moments later, the painfully nervous feeling subside, replaced with a decidedly more relaxed tone.

He was beginning to enjoy himself as a calmness spread to his limbs, he felt tired... And darkness drew over his thoughts, lulling him to sleep--

--that is, until the telepath's hand suddenly swung over and hit him in the mouth.



Author's notes: winces oooch.



Schuldich snuggled deeper into the seat, drawing his blanket tighter over himself and drifted away. The warm glow of the cabin faded away, like the earth being left behind as one is drawn into the sky, a rising feeling. The warmth was replaced by a chill wind and the blue tinge of snow.

A child was led past the buildings. The darkened, dead Victorian structures of a bygone age, blackened by war. The inhabitants are long gone, the edifices' windowpanes empty, letting the wind and the snow invade the empty halls and rooms. The streets were filled packed with snow. Snow careened from the sky, blown about by a harsh master. The child struggled through the snow, dragged on mercilessly, causing her to stumble many times. The two dark shapes trudged through the white, a man and the child, bundled in overcoats of black.

The child was clutching with one hand, the extra folds of the overlarge coat, her breath coming out in small puffs from the depths of the clothing, only her small mouth visible.

The unlikely pair made their way to the entrance of a seemingly empty, suspicious because of a warm light gleaming through intact windows on the second floor, speaking of life within.

The man led the child into the house, out of the storm. Another man came down the stairs to greet them, a man with a pointed goatee, giving the impression of craftiness. He smiled a serpent's grin.

"Oh ho, so this is our new addition!" The crafty man bent over to speak to the child, pulling off the heavy overcoat. Brilliantly red hair cascaded from the child's head, its soft wispiness framing a delicate little face like a doll's. The man whistled a note of deep appreciation. " She is as beautiful as you describe, Rathenau."

The man called Rathenau grinned. " I appropriated her from a woman who could not pay up her loan. A good trade. eh?"

"There will be a great many men who will appreciate this child, especially with such a deep shade of red hair." The yet-to-be named man looked keenly at the shivering child. "My little leibe, do you know what you will be doing from now on?

The child shook her head almost imperceptibly. The man smiled even wider, if it were possible, and looked far more threatening than before. The child shrank back. "Don't be afraid, I'll show you what you will do."

The man beckoned her up the staircase. The child stepped forward to follow, but turned to look at Rathenau. Strangely, though his features had not changed, the man had become uglier, as if by some indefinable force. He leered at her, and she hurried up the staircase, frightened.

The staircase was of carved golden wood that shone in the warm yellow light. The steps were large and the child had some difficulty in following the unnamed man. He led her down a hallway to a door.

He looked down at her. "Peep inside, child. Then tell me what you see."

The little girl placed her face to a crack in the door, trying to see. Her small voice spoke hesitatingly. " I see... a man playing with a little girl."

The unnamed man laughed. "Playing? Yes indeed! That is what you will be doing !" He dragged her by the arm and handled her harshly into an empty room. "That is what you will be doing in this house from now on!" The child was on the verge of crying; her arm hurt, she did not want to play with anybody and she wanted to go home.

Seeing the tears in her eyes, the man stopped. " I suppose you are hungry?' The child's eyes widened at the thought of food, now hopeful.

The man growled. "The you will not start work tonight. Tonight, you will be fed and clothed. Tomorrow, you'll start work."

The he shut her in the cold, lighted room.

After eating, the man left her again in the empty room. The child was tired and she lay on the cold floor to sleep, like she did in at home. After dozing for a while, she heard the man exclaim. "What are you doing?!" He dragged her from the floor to her feet. Disorientated, the child was led to another room, this time lined with beds filled with other children. The children looked at her. "You will be sharing a bed with Matthias for now." He shut the door behind her.

There was a silence.

Then a small boy raised his hand. He had brown hair and blue eyes that watered. "I'm Matthias." The child went quickly to him, quickly slipping into the bed. The bed was warm. The boy didn't speak, accepting this intrusion. There was nothing to speak about.

The child went to sleep.

The next morning, the child was already awake when the man came in again. The other children had awoken earlier and stayed in the room. The man looked at her and made a beckoning motion. She followed him.

This time he led her to another door. He looked at her gravely. " This man is a very important customer of mine. I want you to do exactly what he tells you. If you are obedient, you will be rewarded ." She nodded her head, but was shoved into the room before she could ask what the reward was.

She saw a grossly fat man.



Brad shot awake with a start. The hand had hit him hard enough to cause his mouth to bleed. Tasting the sharp bitter tang of his own blood, he sat upright, glaring at the sleeping form of the telepath.

The figure had rolled over, the blanket thrown off the sleeping form. One hand lay to rest on Brad's seat. Brad glared and thought rather snappishly. Why did you do that for?!

The redhead gave a short whimper. His face was screwed up with...what was that emotion? Pain? Horror? Forgetting his own pain, Brad reached over to shake the figure awake. Are you alright, Schuldich? In the darkness of the cabin, the telepath shied away from his touch.

The figure struggled in the tangle of the blanket, muscles clenching and unclenching. A fist missed Brad's nose by millimeters. He grabbed the flailing arm and pinned it to his seat. Schuldich! What's wrong with you?!  The redhead's face showed fear and terror, its eyes tightly shut against some unseen horror. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

The other hand reached over to claw at Brad's arm, its fingers leaving painful gouges in the flesh. Brad grabbed the other arm brusquely and pinned it with the other.

SCHU!

This time a reply flowed through the touch. It was not words, but a deep, despairing, nightmare rush of emotions, encompassing the cabin in Brad's eyes. It darkened as though he was blacking out. The feelings of gut-deep revulsion scoured his mind blank, fear tautened his muscles. Deep black, mindless fear. Brad bent in the storm--

-- Then there was only rage. White-hot anger. All that was.

Brad ripped his hands away from the telepath's arm. Feeling as though a knife was stabbed into his gut and twisted. Cold and deadened. His eyes widened in shock, in the peacefulness of the cabin.

Oh my god...Schu... The telepath continued to thrash, but slower now, less furious that before. He must wake the German up, but how?

The he rapped the redhead, well, on the head.

Schuldich sat bolt upright. OW!

Several other passengers turned around to shush him.

Oops. Sorry.

Then he looked at Brad. Who was looking strangely at him. Oops.

I forgot I wasn't supposed to use telepathy in public...

Brad continued to stare at him. It was only then that Schu realised that Brad was bleeding.

Oh my crap. What happened to you?!

The reply was unusually grave. Why not you tell me? There was nothing of the furious temper she expected.

Schu looked puzzled  and instead made motions to get a better look at the cuts, but Brad waved him away. Nevermind, I'm fine.

The telepath looked at him dubiously. If you say so… Don't tell me. You got attacked by some passengers cat, eh? Brad stared at him until the telepath grew uncomfortable and flipped over in his chair, pulling his covers over him.

Brad was puzzled. How could the telepath be so calm after extruding such excruciating emotions? How could he be so seemingly oblivious to what had just happened? The redhead seemed truly unaware of what Brad had just witnessed, and his reaction was no mere foist to throw wool over the situation.

He really didn't know?

Brad's experience threw doubts over his own conclusion. Every member of Schwarz was a incredibly complicated character by himself. If Schuldich felt reason enough to hide such from his team, he would. Brad relinquished his questions about the occurrence.

When he was ready, Schu would tell the others. In time.



It was near midnight in Japan when Nagi finally turned in for sleep. The cabin was almost completely dark except for his own light. Farfello had drawn his blanket over his face as he slept, his face outlined in the fabric. Nagi turned in his seat as he replaced the remote in his chair. Through the space between the seats, he caught a glimpse of the German slumbering, his head against the shoulder of the taller leader. Strangely, the older man did not shoo him off. Instead, Brad's expression was one between alertness and delicacy, as though the former was a fragile creature who might break.



Nagi's sleep-besotted mind convinced him that it was an illusion.



Farfello awoke to the sounds of birds singing.

Then he realised the in-flight movie was running. Again. Which completely and utterly destroys the romantic notion of waking up to birds singing in real life.

He soon became aware of voices in the air above his head.

"What time are we landing?"

"In an hour's time, I think."

Well, it was time to wake up. To a bright, new day. In a lovely new country. In a bright new future. He was still himself, but there was a deliciously exciting feel of change in the air. He peeled the blanket off his face. The piercing sunlight flooded the porthole and caused him to squint. Nagi was already awake, and was tapping away on his laptop.

The Irishman's voice was gruff and cracked with disuse. "Hey. What are you doing?"

"Research on where we'll be living." Nagi's eyes did not divert from the screen.

There was a thoughtful pause. "You're going to crash the plane with that thing on."

" At least I'll die with the knowledge on where we'll be living."

That was reasonable. " So what about where we're living?" The berserker sat up in his seat and surveyed the cabin. Most of the passengers were already awake and hauling coats and accessories from the overhead compartments, in preparation of landing. He looked to the seats behind him. The telepath's seat was empty, though Brad was looking unconcernedly out the window.

" Well, we'll be living in one of the better-off districts in Washington for one."

" A tad close to the seat of the government, eh?"

"Take a look at this. I looked up Brad's dad on the FBI network. They don't have a photo, but they have a general description. A little too general, to me."

Farfello's eyes scanned the generic bio. Age, height, etcetera, etcetera...Profession, 'Civil Servant'? His eyes narrowed. " Well. That's a little suspicious. But take a look here, his bio also states that he's retired. Bah. Don't worry. He's probably some senior number cruncher or something."

Nagi turned the screen back to himself. " Even so, it'll do well for us to be careful."

"Any new relatives?"

"One uncle and aunt for me, and a pair of grandparents. A whole new set of in-laws for you. Lovely, ain't it? I'm not gonna check them up."

" Aw, why?"

" Best to leave the nasty surprises for later."



David Crawford undid his tie. No, the image in the mirror was not one that his wife wanted him to convey. On the contrary, he thought that the image was perfectly fine. If this person has such mettle to pose as his son, what better impression to convey, than that of a steely old man, with refined features and a deadly deposition? He had seen many, many people quail under his gaze over the years.

He bristled. His wife said he looked like a stuffy old fogey.

Well, EXCUSE me.

Stuffing the tie in his jacket pocket, he exited the airport toilet to rejoin his family.

The flight would be arriving in half an hour. His nimble mind did somersaults. As the family entered the arrival hall, his eyes scanned the place for the proverbial FBI agent nosing around. It was a strange thing that this 'son' of his would be coming in on the same flights as the four criminals brought to his attention. Still, stranger things have been known to happen.

Talking about the four criminals. He requested repeatedly for confirmation from the Japanese government, still the information was still the same. Four assassins with paranormal abilities. Ridiculous! He had heard of people being able to see the future, but most of them were charlatans. This he personally attributed the keen foresight of the assassins. The Japanese, steeped in superstition, must have made up the labels of precognition and etcetera. The only one vaguely believable, was that berserker person. Men can be trained to ignore pain during battle, even history gave evidence of Norsemen fearsome in impossible battles.

Still. Good assassins were good assassins. And good assassins meant that they would be able to provide a powerful range of services aimed specifically at the jugular of politicians.

His keen old eyes spotted two agents awaiting the four. His wife jabbed him in the ribs. " Stop thinking about your job." He rubbed his ribs mock-painfully, hurt.

"But I'm not thinking about work!" Janice Crawford was a small, elderly woman with long white hair, her pale green eyes still bright amongst the wrinkles of her face.

"You get that glazed look everytime you think about it." She grinned as the family settled down into a couple of empty seats. She took his hand in hers. "I can't wait to see Brad again."

He sighed. "Don't get your hopes up, you--"

""--Don't know whether this person is really Brad or not." I know, I know. But what if he really is?"

"Then, Mom, he really is." Her second son smoothly interjected. The son, Matthias, was a grinning young man, sleek in build, though fairly tall. And in accordance with family tradition, also an agent. But not for today. Today was his day off, today was the day he met his fabled elder brother.

The only thing they had in common was parents. Even then, his brother was adopted, he was not. Still, that didn't stop his mother from lamenting the childhood stories of this figure long gone from the household. He didn't hold any expectations for the reunion. If the person was a fake, too bad.

His younger sister had white blond hair like their mother in her youth. Her long thin eyebrows arced high above her steel-blue,oval eyes, giving her a distinctively angular, prideful look just like her father. She was silent as the others spoke, her arms crossed at her chest. Preferring to contemplate upon the upcoming reunion.

Matthias put his arm around his mother's waist. "Since we have so much time left, Mom, why not tell us how you think this stranger will look." His father looked interested.

His mother smiled and spoke slowly, pondering. "I think... he will still have that brown hair just like your dad's... Bangs over his eyes, neatly cut, though... Sharp reddish-brown eyes.."

"Tall, I think he will be tall." The older man cut in.

" Yes. He was growing quite quickly when he left...Um....elegant facial features...I think he might be quite handsome!" She ended with a girlish giggle.

"Yes Mom, we all know that he was such an handsome little devil when he was young." The young man grinned roguely. " I, on the other hand, would like to contemplate on how my adorable little nephew will look like." He posed thoughtfully with his finger on his chin, much to his parent's amusement. " Well....Weeell... a small, leeettle boy... He's adopted too, isn't he? No fair! I can't guess what he'll look like."

Tuning out the boisterous banter of mother and son, David Crawford tried to picture Brad in his mind. If he had stayed, he would be in the government business, maybe even going so far as to be in the FBI business with himself, just like Matthias.

He wondered what this fully-grown man will say to him? How he will prove to him that he was truly Brad? And himself, will he be able to maintain the feral facade to test him?

Will this stranger be his son?



Brad's heart was in his mouth. The plane had landed fifteen minutes ago, and Schwarz was filing out the aircraft's airlock along with other passengers. Every step he took, his heart raced hard, his thoughts raced harder. The carpeted floor of the passageway thudded, painfully real against his feet.

The telepath looked at his leader. The normally composed man was cracking. The redhead's eyes picked out the tell-tale signs as they walked. The widening step, the darting eyes. Nagi and Farfello were behind them, already aware of the change in their leader. They knew solemnly that there was no shame, no dishonour in showing emotions this time, unlike before. Times were going to change, and their leader was going to lead the way.

Farfello had changed his clothes earlier. Now, he was dressed in a deep grey turtleneck and couderoy pants that contrasted sharply with his pale features. His spiked white hair gave an aura of individuality and his black eyepatch was swapped for a white medical tape and bandage.

Nagi looked younger than ever, in a brown shirt and blue jeans, his laptop slung across his shoulders. His eyes were serious as the four made their way past the check out counters.

This was far different from killing. The cold acquaintance of employers and masters will be replaced by the warmth of a family. None of them had any experience of the sort. The tenseness of their leader did not help.

The tension mounted even furthers as they collected their bags from the luggage strip. Brad's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts Would they recognise him? What if they didn't accept him back? What--

His thoughts were interrupted when a hand slipped into his. A calm thought appeared in his mind. Calm down. You're thinking too much. Well, at least you're making too much noise.He looked at Schu, who grinned. I'm your 'wife' now, whether you like it or not. Well, most probably not, but I can't let you lose your composure in front of the others. It'll ruin our reputation, O great leader.

Brad gave him a quick, almost unperceptible smile of gratefulness. He took a deep breath and walked on.



The passengers of the flight were filing into the arrival hall. David Crawford tried not to look concerned, but his insides were doing the twist. He could see the FBI agents scanning the hall for suspects. His family pressed against the glass, trying to get a better view of the passengers. He, on the other hand, preferred to linger at the back of the crowd of onlookers. He could see people carting away luggage, met by others. People were chatting, smiling, laughing. He wondered whether he would join them.

He watched several agents leading passengers away, most probably for questioning. They seemed to have a easy time picking out men from the crowd.

They targeted singular individuals, as travelling in a group made people conspicuous. The ball in his stomach tightened. He hoped that the assassins would not burst out in violence. He would not be able to protect--

"Oh my god OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!" He heard Janice scream. He rushed foward, and pushed his way through the crowd to get to his wife's side. She was banging against the glass, much to the shock of her son and daughter. "OH MY GOD!!! LOOK!!!"

He glanced in the direction she was pointing. And saw it immediately. Oh my god. It couldn't be true.

He saw Brad.



Schuldich knew before they walked into the arrival hall. The sudden turmoil of emotion erupted as they approached the exit, the kind of strong emotion that only happens during war, death and reunion. She squeezed Brad's hand instinctively. Brad paused, halfway out the door, his eyes quizzical.

Then a small whirlwind of an old lady launched herslf at Brad, her thin arms wrapped around his neck. Brad staggered back in in shock. The redhead did not react. The other two relaxed.

Brad heard the words through the sobs of the woman, " My baby boy!!! We thought you were dead!" She cried harder, her grip on him tightening, desperate. His heart rushed to his mouth as his entire being surged. Tears stung his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her in reply, lifting her off the floor. His voice almost cracked with emotion and the words struggled from his lips.

"Hey Mom... I'm back."

And for the first time in their life, Schwarz watched their leader break down and cry.



David Crawford lingered behind as the rest of his family rushed foward. His steely self-control prevented him from doing the same. Wait, he told himself, you don't know if he's really Brad. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop himself from taking a step forward.

His expression grew hard. He must test him. He saw the man put his wife down, then shake hands with his son and daughter. The man moved straight through the crowd, straight at him.

His blood pounded in his ears. He really did look like Brad, if he had grown up. He shouted in his mind. This man is not Brad, this man is not Brad! The old man's eyes hardened to steel-blue orbs, his countenance became hard and challenging.

The man stopped right in front of him, towering. The clear, red-scarlet eyes looked straight past his own and pierced his soul. The same eyes that drew him years before. In that moment, there was no longer need for proof, nor testing. This was his boy, his little boy.

The man spoke simply. "Hi, Dad."

And he knew and believed that his little boy had come home.



Schu stiffened for a moment when the smiling old lady gave her a hug. The lady drew back and looked her up and down. She smiled showing her pearly whites. " My, what a beautiful young lady you are! You must be Brad's wife, aren't you?"

The young man behind her thrust his hand foward, " Hello there, I'm Matthias, your husband's brother. This fiesty old thing her is our Mom, if she forgot to introduce herself." He gave a knowing grin, before his mother jabbed him in the stomach with a bony elbow. He oofed.

"Now you don't mind him. What is your name, dear?"

Schu smiled, " I'm Schully, but you can call me Schu."

Janice Crawford noted the strange timbre in her voice, giving it a rich, lilting tone. She decided that she liked her daughter-in-law. She looked past the beautiful girl. "Hello, who are those strangers?"

Schu beackoned Nagi forward. She place her hands on his shoulders. " This is our son Neil. He's twelve this year." Nagi sulked mentally.

Janice Crawford was immediately smitten by the darling boy. His pale skin and huge brown eyes appealed to her enormously. " Oh my, what a lovely little boy you have! Matt! Take a look at your nephew!"

" I'm looking, I'm looking!" The taller man bent slightly. "Hey there little guy!"

Nagi's tone immediately turned frosty. "Little?" He raised an eyebrow. "Little?"

The man laughed. "Oh my, he's fiesty just like you Mom!"

Schu drew Nagi away, with the boy muttering under his breath. She beckoned Farfello foward. The Irishman strode foward and grasped the old lady's hand. pressing it to his lips. " Charmed to meet you, Madame!" Janice Crawford thought he looked intimidating at first, but the moment he did that, he became suave and debonair. Oh my...

Matt thought he was downright...well, to put it nicely, freaky. At first sight, he thought the man was an albino, but the golden eye that glanced at him cleared him of the thought. He shook the man's cold hand and experienced a chill when the white-haired man smiled at him. My god, he thought, what happened to him?

"This is my brother, Fabien. Though we're not really related, he's still part of the family." Farfello's eyes were drawn to the silent girl beside the taller man. Their eyes met, and surprisingly, she smiled at him. Matt introduced them.

"Uh, this is my sister, Kreisten. Uh...yeah." Matt repressed the desire to shield his younger sister. This man had a frightening feel to him. With introductions out of the way, his normally silent sibling struck up a conversation with the strangely quiet man. Looking at both of them, with their pale hair, eyes and skin, this Fabien person looked more of a brother to her than Matt ever did. The young man thought. I suppose like attracts like... And shrugged.

Farfello was strangely drawn to the girl the second he met her. He grasped her hand and pressed it to his lips. The girl looked at him approvingly. "Madamoseille, I am Fabien."

"And I am Kreisten." Her face was coldly elegant."What do you work as?"

"I am but a lowly chef. You?"

"I am merely a businesswoman."

Both of them smiled at each other, a genuine smile. She spoke, " I suppose you will be living with us for a bit?"

"Yes, and I will gladly volunteer my services to the family. Would you like to try my dishes?"

"Oh really? Do you cook French of Japanese?"

"Japanese, but I learn quickly. What do you do, Madame businesswoman?"

"I simply help out with my father's business."

Matt shook his head. This man managed to get more out of her than he ever heard in three days. The turned away from the pair. My goodness, I never thought anyone could hit off with a female FBI agent, especially one with the surname Crawford.

End Chapter Five

Author's notes: Luv y'all!!! It's fun to be back writing fics again!

P.s.: Sorry, never noticed that lines, asterisks and punctuation disappear when you upload a text file. Hey! Some just (tell/diss/sendhatemail ) me! I'll keep a mind out for that in the future. Amazingly, I still get lovely reviews from lovely people who give lovely comments which just goes to show that there are really some lovely people out there.

How lovely…