Agoraphobia Far 1

Author's Notes: This is not a songfic. I just put that in there to show what inspired the next set of Farfarello chapters. This is a sequel to 'Birth of a Monster'.

Disclaimer: I deny any and all claims of ownership of Weiss Kreuze, the characters of the Weiss Kreuze, Swartz, and the lot. After saying that, I may now say this: MINE! (Grabs for Farfarello)

Warnings: Fruitatiously tasty with a chaser of Bloody Mary, Heroine and a shot of Vodka. (Translation: Yaoi/Shonen-ai, violence, substance abuse, and a Russian).

Two people touching lips
Hands on each other's hips
Nothing else in the world but one another

The 42nd floor
On a distant shore
I wonder how we've strayed so far from this

Remember when we were
Just flesh and bone
You sir may have forgotten how good your world can be

So, put down your hollow tips
And kiss your lovers lips
And know that fate is what we make of it

Please end this, please end this
Before this ends us, ends us, end us

I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
For good, for good, for good, for good , for good, for good, for good

I read the news today
And everything they say
Just makes me want to stay inside and wait

But the better part of me knows
That waiting in the throws
Is on par with reading with my eyes closed

"What Can I do?", You say
"It's just another day
In the life of Apes with ego trips"

Put down your hollow tips
And kiss your lover's lips
And know that fate is what we make of it

Please end this, please end this
Before this ends us, ends us, end us

I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
For good, For good

ohh, ohhh, ohhhh oooo
ohhh oooo, oh
ahhhh

I'm gonna stay inside
I'm gonna stay inside for good
I'm gonna stay inside
For good, for good

I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
Don't want to stay inside for good
Don't wanna stay inside, for good, for good, for good, for good, for good, for good, fuck off, for good, for good, for good, for good

Agoraphobia

-Incubus, 'A Crow Left For Murder'

Against all orders, I'm reading psychology books. I can't help it, they interest me. Especially Freud…some days I think he was sexually obsessed, with the theories he came up with…

Unreal…

I'd diagnosed everyone in the house with a different psychological disorder. Crawford possesses a psychosis rather like apathy, according to that constant emotionless face he puts up. The book calls it 'flat affect'. The thing is, I think Nagi would fit the bill much better than Crawford. Brad, after all, still has his emotions.

Days like these I wonder if they sent back the tin man instead of our boy…his reaction to school wasn't horrified or enthusiastic…nothing. He came home and went to do his homework without talking to us. When Crawford asked, he said that he was assigned to do it, compelled by law, so he really had no feelings about it. He finished up his peanut butter sandwich and went back to finish a research report.

Even Schuldig's afraid of him.

Back to the mentally disabled…

Schuldig is the classic case of mood disorder, mania/ narcissm. He can't help but smile and mock-preen when I think about it, which makes me smile back and feel quite sure he'd mad. He's been spending more time with me during the day to avoid what he likes to call 'The Nagi-bot'. He figures if he's with me, he doesn't have to talk to the boy. I haven't suggested that he could just ignore him like I do, but not for the joy of his company. To be perfectly honest, he's annoying me with all his talking. His shields aren't always on 100, so sometimes the voices come without his realizing it.

One time I caught him muttering to himself in Japanese about his 'cheating, no good, whore-wife' as he tried to hard boil two dozen eggs in a pot of water that barely held six on a good day. He hates eggs. It was hilarious, especially when he realized he'd briefly lost control and nearly had a panic attack with the idea that his shields were gone. Nagi and I ate the eggs while he was screaming at Crawford to do something.

As much of a nuisance he is on a regular social basis, he's improved the control of his psychokinesis. It seems to have grown stronger too, because he's never picked up cars and swung them at people before, or simply crushed a human being in a huge invisible fist. He doesn't talk much, shows no interest in normal, everyday things, but he doesn't ask me stupid questions or complain about my cooking, so we get on fine.

I haven't had a meltdown in weeks now, even though I sometimes hear things no one else does, but that can't be helped. Takatori's using the full team with a zest we all know he shouldn't if he wants to stay looking like a clean-cut politician, but Crawford rarely (if ever) says so. He likes the money rolling into a bank accounts, likes saving it for something, whatever it is, planned for the future. He doesn't discuss it with us now that Nagi's here, since we still can't be sure he isn't reporting as a spy to Esset yet, but he suggested something once, long ago. I think I was sixteen then; the time before Nagi, B.N.

Schuldig saunters in and flops down on the couch, the same hideous green leather couch we've had for what seems like a decade. It looks a little worn, a little old, a couple of tears and cigarette-burned holes. I hate this couch.

I put my legs over Schuldig's lap, demanding payment for allowing him to hang around this time, and he surprisingly obliges with a foot rub, taking brief breaks to bite down on a tough apple and suck out the tart meat. I raise an eyebrow, wondering at the sudden change in taste (he doesn't like fruit either) and he just shrugs, sets the apple aside and goes back to rubbing my foot.

"Diagnosing us again?" he asks, smirking at my book.

"Decided that a man cannot survive on coffee and cigarettes alone?" I reply in much the same tone. I shakes his head at me.

"Of course he can't! He needs booze too."

"Of course," I murmur softly and go back to my book, or try to.

"I'm thinking about taking a look into the kid's head. He's creepy and I want to know why."

I sigh and set the book aside. If Schuldig didn't get the hint the first time, he won't get it for the rest of the conversation.

He's dense on purpose.

"Of course, if he is a spy he'll tell Esset we know and who knows what that might start."

"Or he could crush you for trying," I suggested with more glee than I intended. I enjoyed the thought of Schuldig dying right now. He won't let me read in peace.

Every martyr must suffer, I suppose. Schuldig snorts.

"Then you get Crawford to shoot him or something."

I think about it, shake my head.

"You realize he's got enough power to kill us all with a thought."

"So have I," Schuldig replies a little snarkily. I sigh and shrug. I'm not interested in this topic anymore.

"Talk to Brad about it. He might be able to give you a positive or negative on the idea, much better than I."

"Way to displace the blame, Far."

"Hey, just think of me as the family dog. I get blamed for everything, including, but not limited to gas. You should take some for once," I laugh.

He frowns at me and shoves my feet off, gets up, stretches so his designer shirt with sixties psychedelic swirls that clash with his hair rides up his stomach. I hate that shirt and vow to burn it later. He glares at me for the mere thought and meanders off, angry in a way that I know I'm sleeping alone tonight, unless he forgets later.

See what I mean? Narcissistic little bastard. He's exactly like a cat.

Maybe we should start thinking of him as the house pet.

NS

I've finished the book and I'm very pleasantly catatonic on the couch, Nagi on the very far end from me, switching channels on the television without interest. I think the only emotion he has is boredom...

I waggle my toes at him.

He looks over at me and his eyes flicker for a second. My heart flips and I give my little toe-wave again. His eyes flash again and I recognize it was humor. I cross my eyes, puff out my cheeks and pretend I'm a fish. This rewards me with the barest hint of a smile.

My chest swells and I can't help but laugh in triumph. I've just done what we've all been wondering about for the past month since Nagi's return. I made him smile. I made Nagi smile!

He looks a little frightened of my laughter, the sheer noise of it probably making him think he's done something wrong, but I smile up at him as nicely as I can.

"No, its okay, Nagi-kun," I whisper so Schuldig and Crawford can't hear. They're in the next room and probably curious as to what I laughed at, but not enough to give up their quiet debate about looking into the boy's head. They've been talking about it all afternoon, hoping against all hope the kid doesn't understand French, because they'd been speaking in it the whole time.

"You can smile; we're not going to get mad about it. We'd rather you would."

His voice is so small I can barely hear it, so tender I wonder where it's been hiding all these weeks. I remember that voice, from before Esset training schools…

"They said it was inappropriate for operatives to…"

I sit up, which silences him. My face is twisted in disgust at the mention of the trainers (sorry, 'teachers') of the schools…They tried to feed me the exact same bullshit before they realized I'd just throw it right back at them.

"Trust me, if you hold it in, it'll just make you crack. Even Crawford…you've seen him in the morning. It's like something escaped from the zoo," I whisper back. He smiles at the joke and I am almost entirely positive that he isn't a spy. He's like us, he can still think right, he's just young and shy and impressionable.

"They'd been talking about it, Schuldig and Crawford, they're worried about me," he says, and I can't hide the mix of amusement and fear on my face.

I can't help it.

The only think I can think to say is, "When did you learn French?"

"I'm not a spy, Farfarello," he whispers conspiratorially at me, ignoring my non sequitor, quite possibly used to them by now.

"But if you tell them, they won't listen, is that it?"

He nods and I sigh.

"And if I tell them, they'll just think I'm being over protective…"

He nods again and flips the television again, just to keep up appearances. If anyone looks, it'll appear as if we're discussing what to watch.

"Maybe you should offer to let Schuldig have a look around, just to be sure. He and Crawford probably won't feel comfortable about it until he does."

"But…Does it hurt?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not really the one to ask," I sigh, "Most of it's probably nothing at all. If he hurts you, just tell him, but I doubt he would."

Nagi did not look reassured, his eyes going back to the anime on screen.

Dragon Ball Z, of course, he's still a boy after all, but even he should be bored of the three and a half episodes of powering-up…

"Are you really indifferent about school, or was that just the façade?"

"Façade?"

Of yeah…twelve year olds don't often know the entirety of the English language, especially if it's their second language. I grope for a similar word.

"Mask."

"Oh. Yes," he mumbles, "I don't really like it. It's too noisy. No one really likes me. They think I'm weird."

Not entirely unfounded.

"If Crawford says I have to go, I'll go. He likes the good grades I get."

I smile and nod.

"High marks will open a lot of doors to you in the future."

"Crawford says the same thing."

Of course he does…

"Well, don't worry so much about those kids. They might come around. Then again, they might not. Either way, you'll figure out how to be happy there. And even if you don't, high school isn't too far off. A lot of things are supposed to change in high school."

"Supposed to? Didn't you go?"

"Not really, no. I was in the asylum before that."

He visibly shrinks at the mention of the asylum. I suppose he'd rather not think of me as unbalanced. That's fine. It doesn't bother me. I ruffle his hair and sit back to watch television.

Its several minute of silent watching, but Nagi speaks again, very softly.

"I'll let Schuldig look."

I smile and pat his hair again.

Fin chapter one

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Author's Notes: My hair has faded into a lovely shade of orange. A lot of people are saying the orange is better than the red was. They ask me if I did it over (bleached my hair and dyed it again on purpose) and are surprised when I say no. My roots (black, of course) are nearly two inches long now, but my hair is so damaged and fluffy they barely show.

In other words, yes, I submitted to the mourning masses of my last fic 'Birth of a Monster'. You got it, I'm writing this shit again, against all better judgment. School starts in less than two weeks, job training in but five days, and I have no idea when I'll actually get around to writing around all the work, classes, homework, studying, report-writing, actually having a life and the possibilities of clubs.

The only concession to Community College? They have an anime club.

My life is so strange. I adore being such a geek. I've also discovered liquid eyeliner. It never really comes off and it makes me look like a drug addict when it smears, but I can't help making such pretty designs around my eyes. So I stab myself, I look pretty doing it.

I'm excited about school, but not my math class. Math needs to die.

To My Readers: REVIEW! NOW!