Breathing

Nagi writhed and screamed. Rammi frowned at the television screen.

"Go to him," his mother suggested. "He'll appreciate it. He might even let you back in."

"I'd like that," Rammi said dazedly. "His power makes me twitch."

His mother laughed. "Go to him, then, and twitch."

So Nagi woke with Rammi's cool hand on his forehead, the Indian purring soft words in one of his native languages. Nagi had discovered that Rammi's parentage suggested several options for his first language, and his childhood in Rosenkreuz lent in German as well. Still, this was what Nagi took to be Hindi, a language he associated with grainy Bollywood films full of beautiful women singing their emotions and men in loose trousers doing acrobatics. Nagi couldn't even remember where he'd seen the films, just that he had.

"What are you doing here?" Nagi asked, forcing his relief down.

"I saw you on the screens," Rammi said smoothly. "You're not the only one with access to the security systems, you know."

"You're pulling strings of those a long way up the ladder," Nagi said suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"Someone who had the advantage of being born a long way up that ladder." Rammi nudged Nagi with his hip and stretched out along the bunk beside him. Nagi had gained the status of second year a few weeks ago, being an autumn candidate. He didn't know what year Rammi was in now, or during which quarter he had joined the system. That worried him.

Rammi stroked his hair and Nagi jerked away, baring his teeth.

"Oh hush," Rammi laughed. "I just wanted to get a feel for what was going on. That was far from being a normal nightmare."

"How would you know?" Nagi growled grumpily.

"Nothing shook. Nothing levitated. Nothing exploded." Rammi grimaced. "Someone was blocking your powers."

"Yes," Nagi said in a small voice.

"I can help," Rammi said softly.

"You said that before," Nagi remembered. "You just wanted my power."

"This isn't about taking your power," Rammi said, perfectly honestly. "This is about keeping you alive. You're not alone in there, are you?"

Nagi stared around the room, full of empty top bunks and already some empty first year bunks. Light sparked of a few open pairs of eyes, but no one paid a lot of attention to one small telekinetic and someone most were already assuming was his lover. Nagi bit his lip and tried to think. It was hard, with Rammi's warm body pressing against his.

"Schuldig can help me, more than you can," Nagi said.

"Can he?" Rammi said calmly. "Would you trust the man who so destroyed his lover's mind? Farfarello has had his memory wrecked, his pain receptors muddled and he has been so broken his soul can now wander free of his body."

"But isn't that what I want?" Nagi asked slyly. "So have this soul cut from my body?"

"But what if he cuts the wrong one?" Rammi murmured smoothly, seducing fear into Nagi's heart.

Nagi fell silent. His breathing slowly became more ragged, short little pants and hitches of breath, and his eyelashes fluttered in the darkness. He was trembling. Rammi wrapped an arm around him and Nagi clung to him involuntarily. Nagi yawned wildly, his shortness of breath and shudders in many ways more a result of suppressing yawns than from fear. But then, he feared the yawns, because he was falling asleep as he sat.

"I can't sleep," Nagi managed. "He'll come. . . he's so close." Rammi couldn't let Nagi's unasked request go unanswered.

"I'll stay," the Indian boy promised. "I can hold him off. I'll protect you."

Nagi lay down, curled against Rammi's broad chest. Rammi wrapped one arm around Nagi's waist. Nagi nosed Rammi's sparse chest hair and breathed in the musky scent of exotic spices, though perhaps his imagination was just supplying the smell he expected. India was far away and hot and exotic and full of adventurers and tigers and elephants and maharajahs. Rammi even wore a turban.

Rammi saw Nagi as a child. This act of sleeping together was to Rammi nothing more than the innocent words suggested. Nagi could have been a baby brother. But Nagi, as he'd already noticed, was growing older quickly. Pressed against Rammi's chest he felt a pang of guilt at the sensations flooding his body, guilt because he'd been so convinced those feelings were solely for beautiful, exquisite Farfarello. It was a sign of how cynical he was for such a small child, but also an indicator of healthy sense of humour, that Nagi could see the silver lining this presented in his current situation. If the worst were to happen and the illusionist took over his body, the old man would have to go through puberty a second time.

Rammi nuzzled Nagi's fine hair. "Sleep," he whispered. "I'll keep you safe."

"I shouldn't trust you," Nagi said sleepily. "You're not trustworthy."

"This is bigger than both of us. This is life after death," Rammi said. "If you can not believe I'm doing this out of altruistic reasons, or because I don't want to lose someone I once thought of as a friend and pray I will be able to use that label again, then believe I am doing it for glory, for power, and for knowledge. I can take all without hurting you. In fact, I receive them better if you emerge well, healthy, and mentally intact, complete with your power."

Nagi breathed.

* * *

Schuldig sat in front of Brad, poking him occasionally. Something he hadn't counted on with this particular form of torture was the fact he had to stay awake as well. Brad smiled wearily as Schuldig bit back a yawn. They shared a look.

"Speak?" Schuldig pleaded.

"Why are you so desperate to know?" Brad replied. It was a common exchange.

"I'll kiss you again," Schuldig suggested. "I'll fuck you. I'll blow you."

"It's a sign of weakness, trying to bribe me to talk," Brad told him. "You'd be better off threatening me again."

"Doesn't work," Schuldig dismissed it. "I either send you mad or I persuade you to talk."

"Or you read the file, like I did." Brad said sardonically. "Took me long enough. That's why I can resist torture. After putting myself through that I'm not willing to give it up so easily."

"Read it?" Schuldig barked. "I don't even have the sodding thing any more. Hertz demanded it back." He shot Brad a cruel look. "Didn't say anything about letting up on you though."

"Wouldn't have expected him to," Brad sighed. "Why don't you torture him? I'm sure you'd get a kick out of that, and he's got to know just as much as I do."

Schuldig shook his head. "Never hurt a physical," he said softly. "You never saw what happened to some of the guys who hurt Nagi."

"I heard things," Brad said quietly.

"Everyone hears things. I met the guys afterwards. That eleven-year-old commands more respect than any other phys. And most of the time he's scared shitless. What does that say about this place?"

"It says the system always wins," Brad said dully. "Ever read 'nineteen-eighty-four'?"

"Brad, Crawford, Bradley, I can barely read full stop. Remember when we met? Remember the intensive teaching? Remember how we continue to work on that?" Schuldig snapped off the scathing rhetorical questions like a Gatling gun.

Brad reached out unthinkingly, as he used to whenever Schuldig started ranting against himself. He knew the German's self respect was low. He needed the occasional boost in self-confidence and self-assurance that Brad had come to realise only he could offer. No, others could offer it, but Schuldig would only accept it from Brad. Somewhere along the line some kind of father-son template had slotted itself around them, as well as siblings, as well as lovers, as well as bitter enemies.

Schuldig held Brad's hand, as blind to what he was doing as Brad was. He shuffled closer, sitting next to Brad and pressing against his prisoner. He kissed Brad's cheek and pressed his face into the crook of Brad's neck.

"I won't make the offer again," Schuldig said quietly. "You had your chance. You refused the chance to go back to what we had."

"What did we have?" Brad asked softly. "You want to know why I didn't take up your offer? It wasn't just pride. It's because all my memories of the period you recall so fondly involve fights and arguments."

Schuldig stared at him. "Well, if that's how you feel about it," he said bitterly. "I hadn't realised you were so miserable."

Brad yawned. Schuldig poked him viciously in the ribs.

"Bring me the book," Brad said. "'Nineteen-eighty-four'. I'll read it aloud to you."

"What's it about?" Schuldig asked suspiciously.

"All of the world's countries divide into three socialist states. It's about one man resisting the state he lives in, recognising its propensity for brainwashing and propaganda. His resistance in small, his acts slowly growing more active until he joins an organised resistance." Brad grimaced. "Do you want me to give away the end?"

"Judging from what you said earlier, it's not a happy end," Schuldig sighed. "Go on then."

"He gets caught and the system breaks him through a series of interesting torture methods. It turns out the organised resistance was, well, organised, but by the state."

"The state wins," Schuldig sighed. "You know, I feel I ought to get you to read it, just to learn from the torture methods, but I don't want to be discouraged." He turned and looked Brad in the eye. "See, when I bring down the state, I will succeed." Schuldig grinned. "I will bring down every state."

Brad felt butterflies in his stomach. Schuldig's determination made him hard. Power always did.

"Not alone," Brad breathed in Schuldig's ear. "You can't do it alone."

"Is that a challenge?" Schuldig switched on his most feral smile.

"It's a promise. You won't do it alone," Brad returned the wild, sinister look.

The electricity between them was palpable. Schuldig was bare inches away from him, leaning to match the contours of Brad's lean body, but careful not to touch him. He hovered over Brad, lips so close to Brad's cheek the American could feel the moisture of Schuldig's breath. The tiredness slipped away, but Schuldig came neither closer nor moved away.

Brad fought to keep himself under control. He wanted to move, to touch, to buck and thrust and writhe. He wanted to rip off Schuldig's clothes, with his teeth if necessary, and lie skin to skin, sweat to sweat. He kept his jaw firmly shut, his throat carefully closed. He daren't let whimper or moan escape.

Schuldig moved his head, circling Brad's face without touching it, letting his warm breath tickle Brad's left cheek, then his left eye, then forehead, then between the eyes, then nose, then right eye, the right cheek, and finally his lips. Brad's mouth opened against his will, sucking in each breath that Schuldig let out. He didn't know how long they sat like that, Schuldig propped up on one arm and half straddling Brad's crossed legs, sharing each breath. It was more intimate than any physical act, except perhaps sharing blood. It was life. They were sharing life.

Schuldig blinked, and Brad felt the eyelashes brush his own. It was a strange sensation, making Brad blink and turn away automatically. The spell was broken, and Schuldig sat back. Then Brad whimpered.

"I love it when you're human," Schuldig said quietly. "I love it when your desires and hopes and fears and vulnerabilities remind me you have every flaw every other member of our species has." He stood up and walked a few steps across the room before spinning abruptly on his heel to face Brad again. "But I love it more when you're superhuman. Because we both are, and that binds us. Not in the sense everyone here is." Schuldig was catlike in his predatory stalking as he began to saunter his way back towards Brad. "We're extraordinary. Extraordinary. From the Latin, 'extra' meaning outside. Outside of the ordinary."

Schuldig stopped, standing over Brad, hands behind his back, head thrown back, hair backlit by the light seeping around the doorway.

"We are extrahuman, Bradley Crawford, and we're going to exercise our rights as such."