Chapter Forty-Three – Unreality
Nagi wrapped his arms tightly around himself and let Schuldig guide him through the complex. The German didn't look any happier than Nagi felt, but Nagi figured that Schuldig must have it even worse, being a telepath, and the fact he wasn't curled up in a ball sobbing was testament to his ability. The grim smile that cropped up occasionally kept making Nagi want to pull away.
"I think he misses you," Schuldig remarked casually as they approached the end of a corridor.
"Jei? Really?" Nagi's eyes widened and his heart thumped.
The grim smile reappeared again, and Nagi shivered despite himself. "He likes you," Schudig said.
"Oh! I'm… glad." Nagi wondered if he was blushing.
"Do you want to see him alone?" Schuldig asked, eyes bright. Nagi wondered how much Schuldig had worked out. He nodded mutely, feeling very young and inexperienced.
Schuldig opened the heavy iron door for him and beckoned the technicians out of the room. Nagi stumbled in and jumped as the door clanged shut behind him.
"Jei?" he called softly.
"It is Farfarello now," a voice came from the corner of the room. Nagi trotted over and found Farfarello strapped to a narrow bed. It didn't look particularly comfortable, and Nagi tugged mentally on the thick leather straps. They didn't give at all.
"Sorry, I forgot," Nagi lied. "How are you?" He asked helplessly.
"Schuldig didn't ask," Farfarello sighed. "I'm lonely, that's what I am." Nagi couldn't find a hand to squeeze, so he settled for a shoulder. "Did he make you come?"
Nagi frowned. "He suggested it, but once I knew that I could come, I wanted to. Does that make sense?"
"Aye," Farfarello smiled. "Your English is getting really good, you know."
"Oh, that's because of Rammi," Nagi smiled at the compliment, but couldn't understand why Farfarello's face soured so quickly. "Has Schuldig… has he told you what he thinks we ought to do?"
"Aye," Farfarello tried to nod, but the cone and collar around his neck made it impossible. "I'm looking forwards to it. Some of this just doesn't make sense, though."
Nagi fidgeted. "I know," he sighed. "But at least it will all be over, one way or another."
Farfarello frowned.
"I started, last night," Nagi went on. "To put the plan into action. But Rammi changed his mind suddenly. I mean, I trust him, well, I don't, but I expect him to do as he says he will. It's just, I'd rather have you or Schuldig there to help out, just in case."
Farfarello looked baffled, but Nagi didn't seem to notice. Whatever plan Schuldig had told Nagi, it wasn't the same as the one he'd detailed to Farfarello. But he probably knew more than Nagi about what was going on, Farfarello told himself.
"I miss you," Nagi said suddenly, interrupting Farfarello's deepening suspicions. "I like you. I don't really like anyone else. I mean, Schuldig's okay, and so is Rammi, but I can't trust either of them, and I know they're both just using me."
"Yeah. Schuldig does that," Farfarello agreed bitterly.
"Are they ever going to let you out?" Nagi asked softly.
"No. They keep telling me they will, if I'm good, but then they place bets on which treatment is most likely to kill me within my hearing. They forget I'm real."
It was a funny way of putting it, Nagi mused, but it was true. Farfarello was just a plastic doll to them. They were all plastic dolls to the corporation. Action Model #664 with opposable legs. Action model #763 with light up eyes and realistic plastic flames. Action model #409 with genuine straitjacket and other restraints. You weren't real here. But then, Nagi thought, he'd never felt real 'outside', either. He belonged in a comic book full of supervillains and plot holes you could drive the good guy's torpedo-laden Jaguar through. At least here he was among people like him.
The problem with that, Nagi realised suddenly, was that now it was the rest of the world who didn't seem real. That was how the Lab technicians thought, too. Only other technicians were real. Farfarello wasn't.
"I'll get you out," Nagi promised.
"How?"
"I'll kill them all," Nagi shrugged. Hey, if they weren't real to the technicians, it could go both ways, right?
Farfarello grinned. "Fun. Can I help?"
"You think I'd hog all the fun?" Nagi smiled back.
"You're an odd bairn," Farfarello looked at him through the single eye. Nagi had no idea what 'bairn' meant, but he knew what 'odd' did. "I guess we all are. You'll really get me out of here?"
"Of course! If I'm still around to," Nagi added as an afterthought.
"Come and visit, anyway," Farfarello told him.
"Definitely." They stared at each other. "Schuldig's nagging me to go," Nagi said awkwardly.
"He can wait," Farfarello said firmly. "He'll only come back later to get out of me everything you've said."
"Should I just tell him?" Nagi asked, leaning back.
"No," Farfarello sighed. "I'll appreciate the visit."
Nagi blinked at him. He reached out and tentatively brushed Farfarello's cheek, fingers tracing the scaring around his eye. He knew Farfarello couldn't feel anything in the puckered socket. It looked weird, but not repulsive. He lingered, there, leaning over the body bound to the bed. He could feel the heat radiating off of the older teen. It took strength of will to keep from just climbing on the bed and lying down beside him. Nagi looked down to find himself level with Farfarello's head. The tawny eye held his gaze steadily, despite the obvious flush on Nagi's cheeks and the way his breathing was hitching in his throat.
"How old are you?" Farfarello asked quietly.
"Twelve," Nagi managed. God, that sounded young. He wasn't that young, not really. "You?" he asked lightly.
"Sixteen, I suppose," Farfarello smiled. "Not so old."
"No," Nagi breathed
*Oh, just kiss him already! * a voice exploded in Nagi's consciousness. He cried out and stumbled away from the bed, collapsing back onto the floor.
"Nagi?" Farfarello strained on the bed. "What happened?"
"I'm okay," Nagi panted. His eyes and nose burned, but he swallowed back the tears. Only little kids cried when they fell over.
Farfarello continued to fight the restraints. "I can't see you!"
"I'm still here," Nagi said softly. He couldn't quite summon the desire to get up just yet. "I'm okay."
Farfarello collapsed back to the bed, breathing heavily. "I want to see you," he gasped.
Nagi struggled to his feet and forced himself back over to the bed. "I'm here," he said again. Sweat was running down Farfarello's face. It must sting, Nagi thought vaguely. But then, if he can't feel pain, would he feel that? He didn't dare brush it away though. Farfarello blinked impatiently.
"Schuldig?" Farfarello asked.
"Yeah. He surprised me," Nagi shrugged. He glanced down at the belts "Hey," he said suddenly, "this one's almost off. How hard did you struggle?" he asked incredulously.
Farfarello grinned ferally. "As hard as I felt necessary," he purred.
"Oh!" Nagi glanced away, pleased.
The door opened. "Look," Schuldig said, sticking his head around it, "this is all very sweet and such, but I'm bored now. If you don't want to get lost, come now."
Nagi sighed "I'll come back," he promised, brushing Farfarello's face again.
"Aye," Farfarello smiled. "You do that." And as the slim fingers passed over his lips he kissed them, quickly. Nagi jumped slightly at the sensation, and ducked his head in pleased embarrassment at Schuldig's leer. He pressed the blessed fingers to his own lips and stood for a second letting the sensation linger as long as he could.
"Goodbye," he murmured, glancing down at Farfarello one last time, and trotted across the room to follow Schuldig away.
For reasons he couldn't divine, Schuldig seemed upset. Nagi walked beside him, not really listening or caring, but occasionally words like "damn adolescent" and "bastard hormones" and "didn't even mention God once" penetrated.
Farfarello had kissed him. Wasn't that just amazing?
* * *
Schuldig gave up, and went to see Brad. Officially, he was going to see if the older man could spot any obvious flaws in his plan. Unofficially, he wanted to see if Brad really was getting as drunk as rumour would have it, and whether he'd be up for a quick shag because of it.
And only the completely insane would believe that he was going to check if Brad was okay.
He knocked and cursed himself. Though it turned out the door was locked anyway, so he could just pretend he'd tried it before knocking. After what seemed like eternity the door opened.
Well, he was definitely drinking again.
Schuldig tried to pry the drunken older man off him, but the hug was tighter than most torture devices. He gave up and returned it instead, closing his mind to any subconscious suggestions.
Slowly he manoeuvred Brad back into the apartment. Still obsessively clean, Schuldig noticed, slightly relieved. Brad swayed slightly in his arms. Schuldig managed to deposit him against the kitchen side, propping him against the cupboard so he could stand back and get a proper look at his former mentor.
"You're not dealing with this, are you?" he sighed.
Brad shook his head. "Not dealing," he echoed.
Schuldig shrugged. "Well, I guess if booze works for you…" it was all the advice he could offer. He wasn't a psychiatrist; his method of dealing had been Class A drugs and prostitution. In comparison Brad seemed to be holding up pretty well.
"Want some?" Brad offered unsteadily. Schuldig took the bottle off him and drank straight from it. Brad frowned. "You can't ap-pre-ci-ate it like that."
"It's not about the taste," Schuldig said scathingly.
"Huh. True," Brad nodded. "Why ar'ou here?" he asked, words running together.
Schuldig stared at the ceiling, trying to think. "A plan," he said eventually, falling back on officially. "I wanted to run it by you, to see if you could spot any flaws I hadn't."
"D'you still respect my judgement?" Brad asked curiously.
"It looks like it," Schuldig gestured aimlessly. "I may hate you, but that doesn't mean you're not smart. I respect you."
"I don't," Brad declared. "Respectable p'ple don'get drunk e'ery night."
"You'd be surprised," Schuldig said dryly.
Brad seemed to consider this for a moment. "I think I'm sick," he declared eventually.
"I know how that feels," Schuldig told him. "You're not, though."
"Sick in the head?" Brad frowned at him.
"Not at all," Schuldig said gently. "But if you convince yourself you are, you will be."
The logic of that was a bit much for Brad to follow after a bottle and a half of wine. More than usual, but he'd foreseen Schuldig's arrival halfway through the first bottle, by which point he was too drunk to realise that the last thing he wanted was to be drunk in front of Schuldig. Again.
"What do I do?" Brad asked helplessly.
"I don't think anyone knows the answer to that," Schuldig told him.
Brad sank down against the cupboard. "You dealt," he said dully.
Schuldig grimaced. "Did I?" he asked softly.
Brad looked up at him. "Sit," he commanded. "'splain."
"Is it rape if you say yes? Are you really saying yes if the alternatives are worse? Does it count as enjoying it if you're stealing their feelings?" Schuldig asked rhetorically, sitting next to Brad and slinging arm around the older man's waist more out of habit than any conscious compulsion.
Brad looked him up and down. "You're not dealing," he said slowly, "because you made yourself think there wasn't anything to deal with?"
"I don't know," Schuldig sighed, letting his head fall back against the cupboard with a soft thunk. "I stopped caring. It's just a body. It's not me."
"When it gets worn out both it and you will be gone," Brad pointed out.
"I know," Schuldig squeezed his eyes shut. "But really, when I think about it, worse things have happened to me. Except, at the time, I rationalised those with the same answer. Everything is the worse thing that's ever happened to me, and nothing is the worst thing."
"You're very, uh…" Brad trailed off. "Eloquent," he eventually recovered.
"You've never told me that before," Schuldig said, smiling slightly.
"Come back to class," Brad said. "You're never there. How are you going to learn anything?"
"I don't know. Experience?" Schuldig suggested. "You want me in your lessons?"
Brad nodded. "I like you better as a pupil."
"I quite liked you as a teacher," Schuldig admitted.
Brad leant over and planted a slightly wet kiss on Schuldig's cheek. Schuldig's stomach clenched, and he remembered why he'd come. He pulled away gently and stood up. He offered a hand up to Brad, but the older man waved it away.
"As my teacher, I respect your judgment," Schuldig reminded him. "I need your opinion on our plan. I don't know when it goes into effect. Tonight, possibly."
"I'll try," Brad sighed. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it.
"You want some water first?" Schuldig offered. "Coffee?"
"Something to eat," Brad said firmly. "And water."
The water was easy, but Schuldig struggled to find anything edible. Eventually he unearthed some dried porridge oats at the back of a cupboard. He scowled at them. Plain porridge was bland enough, but made with water instead of milk? But then, Brad was pretty drunk. He probably wouldn't notice how bad it tasted.
"Explain it once, now," Brad commanded. "And then again."
Sometimes sober was more a matter of will than alcohol, Schuldig decided. He sketched the rough outline to Brad as he finished making the porridge. He tried a bit, shuddered, stuck a spoon in the saucepan and handed it straight to Brad.
"I think," Brad said around spoonfuls, "Nagi's going to be upset."
"There's not much help for that," Schuldig admitted.
"Why did you come to ask me if you've already started it all?" Brad asked.
"Because I can still call a halt to this," Schuldig sighed. "I didn't mean it to start at all, but Rammi is working to his own schedule. I can't influence him."
"Nagi still trusts him," Brad sighed.
"He says he doesn't," Schuldig pointed out.
"He also says he doesn't trust you, but he followed you into the Labs," Crawford retaliated. To Schuldig's relief he seemed almost back to normal. Well, until he tried to pour wine into the porridge.
"Hey! We're sobering you up here," Schuldig intervened.
"Have you tried this?" Crawford pulled a face.
Schuldig snorted. "I was hoping you were too drunk to notice," he admitted. "You need to go shopping."
"I do, regularly," Crawford said stiffly.
"Somewhere other than the off-licence," Schuldig said dryly.
Crawford sighed. "Help me," he pleaded quietly.
"Help yourself," Schuldig said bluntly. "Do you see any other problems with my plan?"
"No," Crawford sighed, pushing the saucepan away. "I mean, Nagi's never going to talk to you again, and Farfarello will probably follow suit for different reasons, but I'm sure you'll be able to live with that," he said bitterly. "Oh, and you might have to kill Rammi."
"I don't know if I can do that," Schuldig said quietly. "I've never killed anyone before."
Brad's head snapped up. "I'm sure you…" he frowned. "Bravado?" he guessed.
Schuldig shrugged awkwardly. "What if I go down with them?" he asked. "I heard it can happen. When someone dies if there's a telepath in their dead the telepath's mind dies too, and you're left with a vegetable."
"Leave it to Farfarello," Brad suggested tiredly. He didn't need to see Schuldig vulnerable right now. He was already regretting the impulsive kiss, and he was still more than half drunk.
"I guess it all depends on how involved Rammi is," Schuldig sighed. "I'm suspicious, but I hope that Nagi's right for his sake. The kid's gone through enough betrayal."
Brad didn't ask.
"I suppose I should go," Schuldig said awkwardly.
Brad watched his retreating back with odd detachment. This must be what it was like for divorced couples, or any split couple forced into contact. That residue of sexual tension, the constant bitterness, the desperation to heal your own wounds however you could, be it through restarting the relationship or inflicting your wounds on your ex.
The wine tasted sour, so Brad went to bed.
I absolutely love Nagi in this chapter. It's nice he's got something to be happy about, because the next few chapters are complete hell for him.
