Fanfic Archive: Redemption, 11
May. 28th, 2009 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchan(Written: 2004)
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence. Shounen-ai (implied)
Summary: Yohji and a critically injured Aya find themselves drummed out of Weiss and on the run from Kritiker. Against this backdrop, they must locate and retrieve something very precious to the man who betrayed Aya ... a man Aya still calls his friend, despite all that has passed between them. When their options run out, the boys have no choice but to undertake a foolhardy mission that will end up putting Aya at Schuldich's mercy. Will our kittens be able to extract themselves from this mess and return to Weiss? Or will Schuldich get his revenge, after all?
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #3 in the "Nowhere Man" trilogy. Story #1: Nowhere Man. Story #2: Betrayal
Redemption
Chapter 11
'Damn, I feel like shit,' Aya thought as he came awake. He groaned and forced his eyes open, groaning again, in frustration this time, when all he saw was hard, cold, concrete floor that seemed to stretch out into eternity, punctuated only by towering, metal posts spaced every ten feet or so, pretty much as far as his eye could see. Aya twisted his head slightly, changing his point of view, and saw, in the distance, gray metal walls --- three of them --- which told him he must be lying close to the fourth one. He had been dumped, half on his side and half on his stomach, and he could feel the wall's cold metal cutting into his back. After a couple of moments, the concrete chilling his cheek started to make his headache worse, and Aya decided sitting up was probably preferable to his current position.
His hands were tied behind his back, but he managed to scoot closer to it and used it as leverage to push himself into a sitting position. As he moved, his metal and concrete world seemed to tilt and twist crazily, and he shut his eyes in an attempt to keep the dizziness under control. When he finally managed to sit up, leaning against the cold, metal wall, the view wasn't any better, but, at least he felt less dizzy. He found that the act of sitting up had taken way more effort than it should have, and it had cost him, in terms of energy. He rested for a few moments, head hung down against his chest and using all his strength to breathe, as he tried to recover from the effort.
From his new vantage point, Aya realized, for the first time, that he was in some kind of warehouse. He could see three of the building's metal walls, the iron posts supporting the roof, and the same, seemingly endless, concrete floor he'd already seen. There was a door in the wall directly in front of him, although some distance away, across most of the stretch of concrete floor. The door was small, in comparison to the rest of the room, and it was the only direct way in or out of the warehouse, as far as he could tell. He dismissed it almost immediately. He was certain it was locked from the outside, and dragging himself across the room to prove that theory would be nothing more than a futile effort and a waste of strength and energy he couldn't spare at the moment. The room was large and cavernous, and the smallest noises he made as he scraped against the cold metal of the wall behind him seemed to echo through the space, bouncing from wall to wall, until they seemed much louder than they actually were. It was fairly dark, although his eyes had adjusted quickly to the decreased lighting. He could see a few small windows high on the walls, close to the place where wall and ceiling met, and weak daylight slanted through them, making stripes of light in various places along the floor. Aya twisted around and squinted up at the window directly above him. Light came through it, too, falling in a beam in front of his face, but he wasn't able to tell what time of day it might be. He didn't have a clue as to how long he might have been here, but, after a few moments, he finally gave up trying to figure it out, dismissing the exercise as a futile waste of effort, much as trying the door would be. Sighing, he completed his quick survey of the room. There were, maybe, fifty or sixty large, wooden crates stacked along two walls of the warehouse, and, about halfway in between his current position and the door, there was a metal table with four straight-backed, metal chairs gathered around it. Otherwise, the cavernous room was empty.
Aya sighed and leaned back against the wall. He shivered slightly, and ruefully wished his captor had had the good grace to grab his coat at the same time he'd grabbed him. The room was cold, and he was wearing only a pair of jeans, boots, and a sweater he'd borrowed from Yohji. He'd lost quite a bit of weight during the past few months, so the sweater was a bit too big for him. It hung loosely off his body, but it did little to ward off the warehouse's damp chill, and he couldn't wrap his arms around himself for warmth, since they were tightly bound behind his back. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the shoulder of his sweater.
'Shit,' he thought, 'Why the fuck can't I ever wake up someplace nice?'
He halfway expected to hear the German's snide, sneering voice answering him, although he'd only thought the question. Schuldich's powers had gone completely bonkers --- terrifyingly strong one moment and nonexistent the next. Aya hadn't had enough strength to keep his mental barriers up for very long during the times the crazy Schwarz's telepathy was at its strongest, and, in the end, it had been easier to just let the German bastard have access to his thoughts. Aya hated the invasive feeling of the other man's presence in his mind, but, in a way, allowing Schuldich in had seemed smarter, too, since it had allowed him to conserve energy he would desperately need if he had any hope of surviving long enough to find a way out of this mess. He didn't have any idea how long he might be at the German's mercy, and he wanted to save all the strength he possibly could. Since he didn't hear Schuldich whispering in his mind, Aya figured he was probably alone here, and he was glad of it. He still had no idea how long he'd been with Schuldich, but he did know he'd been sick of the German's presence about a minute into their coffee shop meeting.
Aya closed his eyes and tried to piece together broken snatches of memory that seemed to float, disconnected, through his mind. He wasn't positive, but it felt like he'd been out of it for a while. He vaguely recalled meeting Schuldich in the coffee shop and then passing out from the drug with which the German had dosed him. After that, he didn't remember much of anything. He had a fuzzy recollection of briefly waking in a place he'd recognized as a Kritiker safe house, and he remembered seeing the little girl, Keiko, there. He recalled fighting briefly with Schuldich over the German's decision to keep the girl instead of returning her, Schuldich choking him unconscious again, and then, nothing else. Aya hoped Schuldich had kept his word and returned the girl. If so, he thought Keiko was probably safely with Hank by now, which made him glad. He knew Yohji would make sure Hank and Keiko got out of Japan safely. Even if that was all they accomplished with this stupid, little scheme, Aya knew it'd be enough. He would face his death happily, just as long as he knew Keiko and the rest of his team were safe.
The door opened with the loud, screeching noise of metal scraping against concrete. It echoed off the walls around him. Aya didn't bother looking up. The smooth, silky, sneering voice that immediately entered his mind, probing his thoughts, told him Schuldich had arrived. Aya stared at the ground directly in front of him, listening to the German's footsteps echoing across the concrete floor and Schuldich's maddened whispers echoing through his mind. Somehow, the hollow noise of the echoing footsteps seemed to magnify the chill in the warehouse, and it seemed to seep into Aya's very soul, filling him with a hopelessness he felt in the very depths of his being and draining him of the will to live. He struggled to erase the helplessness, hopelessness, and despair from his mind. There wasn't any point in giving Schuldich ammunition so easily. Schuldich might very well destroy him, but, if that was the case, the asshole was damn well going to have to work for it. As far as rebellions go, it was a pretty small, pathetic one, but it was all Aya had at the moment.
Aya continued to stare at the floor as Schuldich approached him and pulled one of the chairs away from the table. The sound of metal grating against concrete ran up Aya's spine and started chewing through his already-frazzled nerves, and the invasive mental probing, which grew stronger as Schuldich approached, intensified the feeling. He finally looked up from the floor, rolling his head slightly from side-to-side in an effort to ease cold-numbed, cramped neck muscles. As he watched, a pair of dirty, white canvas loafers came into view, followed by the bottoms and, then, the legs of the stained, grimy khaki pants Schuldich had been wearing at their meeting. Aya dully wondered if he had met with the German only that day, although the aches and pains screaming at him from every cold-stiffened joint in his body certainly argued against a short captivity. Aya continued to stare straight ahead as Schuldich settled himself comfortably in the little, metal chair. Eventually, the greasy, grime-encrusted, blue linen shirt came into view, followed shortly by Schuldich's face and those exhausted, lost, crazy eyes with the dark circles surrounding them.
As their gazes finally met and then locked, Schuldich's mouth curled into a delighted, predatory grin that seemed to curve from one ear to the other, but, yet, never quite reached his eyes. Brown-gold eyes, dazed from lack of sleep and glittering with a myriad of nasty emotions, bore into exhausted blue-violet ones, until Aya finally broke the deadlock by looking away, back to the floor.
Schuldich laughed, a crazed, brittle sound that seemed to hit the metal walls around them and shatter like breaking glass. The German took out a package of cigarettes, and Aya heard the cellophane wrapping on the little box rattling as he pulled out one of the sticks. Rattling cellophane was followed, almost immediately, by the sound of a lighter clicking to life, and, then, a gratified sigh as Schuldich took a long drag, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then let it out in one long, sighing breath.
"So?" Schuldich commented, in a soft, slightly lilting, slightly teasing voice, while nudging Aya, none too gently, with his foot, "Awake, Precious?"
Schuldich paused, as if he was waiting for Aya to respond. But, when the redhead remained silent, he continued, in the same, condescending, sneering tone of voice, "So, now that you're here, I'm having a hard time deciding exactly what to do with you. What kind of game would you like to play, Precious? We have all the time in the world, you know. They're never coming for you. Kritiker's turned against you. You're out of Weiss. You don't have anywhere left to go, and no one left to care what happens to you. You're all alone, Precious. Just like me --- destroyed, humiliated, beaten down, a shell of a man … just the way you left me, Precious."
Schuldich's condescending tone and smug words picked and pulled at Aya's already-frayed nerves. Worse yet, the redhead could feel an air of contentment and satisfaction radiating off of the man. It practically rolled off of the German in waves, making Aya want to throw up, although he didn't have anything in his stomach to release. He fought back the feelings of hatred he felt welling up inside him at Schuldich's words, and desperately choked down thoughts of lunging to his feet to deliver a well-placed head butt that would wipe the smug grin off of the German's face. Aya carefully gathered control of his emotions, and, instead of attacking physically, which would have been pointless, considering he was bound and not in the best of health, decided to play along with Schuldich's little game.
Aya cleared his throat and asked, his voice hoarse and choked, "So, Schu? Who was he?"
"I … I don't know what you mean," Schuldich stammered, frowning at the nickname Aya used. He was caught off guard by the question, but he quickly recovered his composure and snarled, "I don't have any idea who you're talking about."
Aya was still looking at the floor, and his face was hidden by the hair that fell across it, which meant Schuldich couldn't see the little smile that crossed his lips. Schuldich had been inside his head from the moment he'd walked through the door, and he should have known what Aya was thinking almost before the redhead did. But, Aya was startled to realize he didn't feel any hint of the German's hated presence inside his mind; he hadn't heard Schuldich's maddened whispers for several minutes now. He had seen how strong rage had made Schuldich's powers; he had witnessed it first-hand during their meeting in the coffee shop. But, it seemed that rage's gift of razor-sharp mental powers carried a corresponding price tag in terms of reliability and control. From what Aya had seen, Schuldich currently didn't have any control over his powers. In every encounter he'd ever had with Schuldich, the German had been self-possessed, smug, and totally in control, but, this time, he'd managed to break that smug veneer, even if it was only for a second. When he added that to the fact that Schuldich's powers seemed to be warping in and out of control, freakishly strong one moment, almost non-existent the next, Aya started to think, for the first time, that he just might be able to work his way out of this mess.
Aya carefully collected his thoughts and reined in his emotions, forcing his mind and expression completely blank, before he looked up again to face Schuldich's eyes.
"Come on, Schu," he purred, adopting the German's favored tone of voice --- silky-smooth, sickly sweet, condescending, "We don't have any secrets between us … not you and me, now do we? I've let you in my head; you've shared your thoughts and feelings … your rage, your despair, your loneliness … with me. We both know who I'm talking about. I saw him. When you attacked me in the flower shop … I saw him in your thoughts, and I remember him. That blonde son-of-a-bitch died on my blade, not even six months ago. So, who was he?"
Schuldich lost any semblance of self-control at Aya's words. His face contorted with rage, and he leapt from his chair, crossing the small space separating them in an instant. He grabbed a handful of Aya's hair and yanked the redhead forward, smiling at the pained hiss that escaped Aya's lips.
He continued to pull the redhead forward, until his lips just brushed Aya's ear, and whispered, his voice shaking with uncontrolled rage, "He … Sergei … was my lover, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"
Aya caught a brief glimpse of hard, glittering, more-than-slightly-crazy brown-gold eyes, which told him he'd scored a direct hit against the German, before he felt Schuldich's fist smash painfully against the side of his head, snapping it sharply to one side. It felt like the whole world exploded into small, little pinpoints of light that hung in front of his eyes and then morphed into huge, colorful bursts. It was so bright that he wanted to crawl into a dark place to hide, except there wasn't anywhere he could go to escape them. He couldn't get away from the lights, colors, and pain, because they were in his head. Aya slumped back slightly, dazed from the force of the blow. Schuldich still had one hand entwined in the redhead's hair, and Aya hung limply in the German's grip.
Schuldich angrily tossed Aya aside. With his hands tied behind his back, Aya wasn't able to do anything to break his fall, and he slammed heavily into the wall behind him, making a dull, thudding sound, before he slid limply to the floor. Schuldich glared at his captive.
The German held his shaking hands out in front of him and stared at them, as if he couldn't figure out whose they were. Schuldich finally clenched his hands into fists, pressing his fingers into his palms hard enough to make them bleed, only to unclench them and, then, repeat the entire process. After a few moments, he managed to bring his emotions under control enough to still his shaking hands. Once he had regained his composure, he fished out another cigarette and lit it. His little act would have been completely successful, if he hadn't had to try three times before he got the lighter to start. He laughed giddily, a crazy, unnerving sound that echoed and reverberated off the hard, cold walls and floor, as he puffed at the cigarette. It finally flamed to life, and he snapped the lighter shut with a decisive click. He leaned back, tipping his chair up on its two back legs, and slammed the lighter down onto the table.
Schuldich took three long drags from the cigarette, tilting his head upward and blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. It hung in the cold, damp air like a cloud of smog for a few moments, finally dissipating as the German once again fixed his eyes on Aya. The swordsman hadn't moved since being released from Schuldich's grip. He laid, partially on his side, his back against the cold, metal wall behind him, panting. It took all his energy to simply breathe. Schuldich kicked Aya in the ribs, hard enough that he heard bone cracking, eliciting a groan of pain from the redhead. The German laughed softly and kicked Aya once more, before leaning back in his chair. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and flicked ashes onto the floor. Some of them landed on Aya and immediately began to singe through his sweater. Schuldich watched in fascination as little streams of smoke floated into the air from the holes burning into the sweater's material, and, then, into Aya's skin. Despite the obvious pain, the redhead didn't make a move to unsettle the burning embers.
Schuldich laughed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as he whispered, "You know, Precious, I had been thinking of what to do with you, of how I'd make you suffer, of how I'd break you --- mind, body, and soul. I dreamed of getting my hands on you, wringing the life out of you slowly, watching it bleed away, drop by precious drop. But, now, I don't know. I think that would leave me feeling somehow … unfulfilled." He paused and flicked more ashes toward Aya's body before continuing, "Besides, killing you … in the condition you're in now … it would be too easy. No pleasure in it, you know?"
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, and took a few drags off his cigarette before dropping it to the floor. He stood, quickly crushing the smoldering ember under the heel of his shoe, and walked the two steps needed to stand next to Aya. He nudged the swordsman's head up using the toe of his shoe, and smiled down at his half-conscious enemy.
"Now, I've decided, Precious. I'll make you suffer like I did … by watching the rest of the kitties die when they come to get you. I think that's the fairest thing to do. I lost what I cared for … you'll lose … everything … you care for."
Aya tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug his head away from Schuldich's foot, as he muttered, "I'm not Weiss anymore. They won't come. Even you said it."
Schuldich dropped Aya's head roughly to the floor. Aya didn't even try to hold it up, and Schuldich smiled as his captive's head bounced off of the concrete floor. As he turned to walk out of the warehouse, he said, in a voice that was just loud enough to carry to Aya, "Oh, they'll come. Kritiker doesn't decide who is Weiss. Weiss decides who is Weiss, and you know it. I feel your fear for them. That tells me they will come."
Without another word, Schuldich walked away. Aya lay still, breathing heavily, and counting the new aches and pains exploding all over his body, as he listened to the German's footsteps echoing away from him. The hollow, empty sound receded across the cold, hard floor, until, finally, he heard the protesting screech of metal against concrete as the warehouse door slammed closed.
'They won't come,' Aya thought, struggling to breathe through the spasms of pain wracking his body.
He briefly attempted to turn over onto his back, but, finally gave up and remained, lying face-down on the cold floor. He didn't want them to come. He didn't want his friends to be in danger because of him, but Schuldich had touched a fear that lay so deeply within him Aya hadn't even realized it was there. And, the crazy German bastard was right. That deep-seated fear told him, unmistakably, that they would come. At the very least, Yohji would come, and, perhaps, that was the worst possibility of all. He hadn't realized just how much Yohji meant to him, how much he had come to rely on the older man, but the thought of the tall blonde at Schuldich's mercy was enough to turn Aya's stomach.
'Yohji, you'd better not come,' he thought, briefly, before he gave in and let darkness overtake him.
Warnings: Bad Language. Violence. Shounen-ai (implied)
Summary: Yohji and a critically injured Aya find themselves drummed out of Weiss and on the run from Kritiker. Against this backdrop, they must locate and retrieve something very precious to the man who betrayed Aya ... a man Aya still calls his friend, despite all that has passed between them. When their options run out, the boys have no choice but to undertake a foolhardy mission that will end up putting Aya at Schuldich's mercy. Will our kittens be able to extract themselves from this mess and return to Weiss? Or will Schuldich get his revenge, after all?
Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.
Author's Note: Story #3 in the "Nowhere Man" trilogy. Story #1: Nowhere Man. Story #2: Betrayal
Chapter 11
'Damn, I feel like shit,' Aya thought as he came awake. He groaned and forced his eyes open, groaning again, in frustration this time, when all he saw was hard, cold, concrete floor that seemed to stretch out into eternity, punctuated only by towering, metal posts spaced every ten feet or so, pretty much as far as his eye could see. Aya twisted his head slightly, changing his point of view, and saw, in the distance, gray metal walls --- three of them --- which told him he must be lying close to the fourth one. He had been dumped, half on his side and half on his stomach, and he could feel the wall's cold metal cutting into his back. After a couple of moments, the concrete chilling his cheek started to make his headache worse, and Aya decided sitting up was probably preferable to his current position.
His hands were tied behind his back, but he managed to scoot closer to it and used it as leverage to push himself into a sitting position. As he moved, his metal and concrete world seemed to tilt and twist crazily, and he shut his eyes in an attempt to keep the dizziness under control. When he finally managed to sit up, leaning against the cold, metal wall, the view wasn't any better, but, at least he felt less dizzy. He found that the act of sitting up had taken way more effort than it should have, and it had cost him, in terms of energy. He rested for a few moments, head hung down against his chest and using all his strength to breathe, as he tried to recover from the effort.
From his new vantage point, Aya realized, for the first time, that he was in some kind of warehouse. He could see three of the building's metal walls, the iron posts supporting the roof, and the same, seemingly endless, concrete floor he'd already seen. There was a door in the wall directly in front of him, although some distance away, across most of the stretch of concrete floor. The door was small, in comparison to the rest of the room, and it was the only direct way in or out of the warehouse, as far as he could tell. He dismissed it almost immediately. He was certain it was locked from the outside, and dragging himself across the room to prove that theory would be nothing more than a futile effort and a waste of strength and energy he couldn't spare at the moment. The room was large and cavernous, and the smallest noises he made as he scraped against the cold metal of the wall behind him seemed to echo through the space, bouncing from wall to wall, until they seemed much louder than they actually were. It was fairly dark, although his eyes had adjusted quickly to the decreased lighting. He could see a few small windows high on the walls, close to the place where wall and ceiling met, and weak daylight slanted through them, making stripes of light in various places along the floor. Aya twisted around and squinted up at the window directly above him. Light came through it, too, falling in a beam in front of his face, but he wasn't able to tell what time of day it might be. He didn't have a clue as to how long he might have been here, but, after a few moments, he finally gave up trying to figure it out, dismissing the exercise as a futile waste of effort, much as trying the door would be. Sighing, he completed his quick survey of the room. There were, maybe, fifty or sixty large, wooden crates stacked along two walls of the warehouse, and, about halfway in between his current position and the door, there was a metal table with four straight-backed, metal chairs gathered around it. Otherwise, the cavernous room was empty.
Aya sighed and leaned back against the wall. He shivered slightly, and ruefully wished his captor had had the good grace to grab his coat at the same time he'd grabbed him. The room was cold, and he was wearing only a pair of jeans, boots, and a sweater he'd borrowed from Yohji. He'd lost quite a bit of weight during the past few months, so the sweater was a bit too big for him. It hung loosely off his body, but it did little to ward off the warehouse's damp chill, and he couldn't wrap his arms around himself for warmth, since they were tightly bound behind his back. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the shoulder of his sweater.
'Shit,' he thought, 'Why the fuck can't I ever wake up someplace nice?'
He halfway expected to hear the German's snide, sneering voice answering him, although he'd only thought the question. Schuldich's powers had gone completely bonkers --- terrifyingly strong one moment and nonexistent the next. Aya hadn't had enough strength to keep his mental barriers up for very long during the times the crazy Schwarz's telepathy was at its strongest, and, in the end, it had been easier to just let the German bastard have access to his thoughts. Aya hated the invasive feeling of the other man's presence in his mind, but, in a way, allowing Schuldich in had seemed smarter, too, since it had allowed him to conserve energy he would desperately need if he had any hope of surviving long enough to find a way out of this mess. He didn't have any idea how long he might be at the German's mercy, and he wanted to save all the strength he possibly could. Since he didn't hear Schuldich whispering in his mind, Aya figured he was probably alone here, and he was glad of it. He still had no idea how long he'd been with Schuldich, but he did know he'd been sick of the German's presence about a minute into their coffee shop meeting.
Aya closed his eyes and tried to piece together broken snatches of memory that seemed to float, disconnected, through his mind. He wasn't positive, but it felt like he'd been out of it for a while. He vaguely recalled meeting Schuldich in the coffee shop and then passing out from the drug with which the German had dosed him. After that, he didn't remember much of anything. He had a fuzzy recollection of briefly waking in a place he'd recognized as a Kritiker safe house, and he remembered seeing the little girl, Keiko, there. He recalled fighting briefly with Schuldich over the German's decision to keep the girl instead of returning her, Schuldich choking him unconscious again, and then, nothing else. Aya hoped Schuldich had kept his word and returned the girl. If so, he thought Keiko was probably safely with Hank by now, which made him glad. He knew Yohji would make sure Hank and Keiko got out of Japan safely. Even if that was all they accomplished with this stupid, little scheme, Aya knew it'd be enough. He would face his death happily, just as long as he knew Keiko and the rest of his team were safe.
The door opened with the loud, screeching noise of metal scraping against concrete. It echoed off the walls around him. Aya didn't bother looking up. The smooth, silky, sneering voice that immediately entered his mind, probing his thoughts, told him Schuldich had arrived. Aya stared at the ground directly in front of him, listening to the German's footsteps echoing across the concrete floor and Schuldich's maddened whispers echoing through his mind. Somehow, the hollow noise of the echoing footsteps seemed to magnify the chill in the warehouse, and it seemed to seep into Aya's very soul, filling him with a hopelessness he felt in the very depths of his being and draining him of the will to live. He struggled to erase the helplessness, hopelessness, and despair from his mind. There wasn't any point in giving Schuldich ammunition so easily. Schuldich might very well destroy him, but, if that was the case, the asshole was damn well going to have to work for it. As far as rebellions go, it was a pretty small, pathetic one, but it was all Aya had at the moment.
Aya continued to stare at the floor as Schuldich approached him and pulled one of the chairs away from the table. The sound of metal grating against concrete ran up Aya's spine and started chewing through his already-frazzled nerves, and the invasive mental probing, which grew stronger as Schuldich approached, intensified the feeling. He finally looked up from the floor, rolling his head slightly from side-to-side in an effort to ease cold-numbed, cramped neck muscles. As he watched, a pair of dirty, white canvas loafers came into view, followed by the bottoms and, then, the legs of the stained, grimy khaki pants Schuldich had been wearing at their meeting. Aya dully wondered if he had met with the German only that day, although the aches and pains screaming at him from every cold-stiffened joint in his body certainly argued against a short captivity. Aya continued to stare straight ahead as Schuldich settled himself comfortably in the little, metal chair. Eventually, the greasy, grime-encrusted, blue linen shirt came into view, followed shortly by Schuldich's face and those exhausted, lost, crazy eyes with the dark circles surrounding them.
As their gazes finally met and then locked, Schuldich's mouth curled into a delighted, predatory grin that seemed to curve from one ear to the other, but, yet, never quite reached his eyes. Brown-gold eyes, dazed from lack of sleep and glittering with a myriad of nasty emotions, bore into exhausted blue-violet ones, until Aya finally broke the deadlock by looking away, back to the floor.
Schuldich laughed, a crazed, brittle sound that seemed to hit the metal walls around them and shatter like breaking glass. The German took out a package of cigarettes, and Aya heard the cellophane wrapping on the little box rattling as he pulled out one of the sticks. Rattling cellophane was followed, almost immediately, by the sound of a lighter clicking to life, and, then, a gratified sigh as Schuldich took a long drag, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then let it out in one long, sighing breath.
"So?" Schuldich commented, in a soft, slightly lilting, slightly teasing voice, while nudging Aya, none too gently, with his foot, "Awake, Precious?"
Schuldich paused, as if he was waiting for Aya to respond. But, when the redhead remained silent, he continued, in the same, condescending, sneering tone of voice, "So, now that you're here, I'm having a hard time deciding exactly what to do with you. What kind of game would you like to play, Precious? We have all the time in the world, you know. They're never coming for you. Kritiker's turned against you. You're out of Weiss. You don't have anywhere left to go, and no one left to care what happens to you. You're all alone, Precious. Just like me --- destroyed, humiliated, beaten down, a shell of a man … just the way you left me, Precious."
Schuldich's condescending tone and smug words picked and pulled at Aya's already-frayed nerves. Worse yet, the redhead could feel an air of contentment and satisfaction radiating off of the man. It practically rolled off of the German in waves, making Aya want to throw up, although he didn't have anything in his stomach to release. He fought back the feelings of hatred he felt welling up inside him at Schuldich's words, and desperately choked down thoughts of lunging to his feet to deliver a well-placed head butt that would wipe the smug grin off of the German's face. Aya carefully gathered control of his emotions, and, instead of attacking physically, which would have been pointless, considering he was bound and not in the best of health, decided to play along with Schuldich's little game.
Aya cleared his throat and asked, his voice hoarse and choked, "So, Schu? Who was he?"
"I … I don't know what you mean," Schuldich stammered, frowning at the nickname Aya used. He was caught off guard by the question, but he quickly recovered his composure and snarled, "I don't have any idea who you're talking about."
Aya was still looking at the floor, and his face was hidden by the hair that fell across it, which meant Schuldich couldn't see the little smile that crossed his lips. Schuldich had been inside his head from the moment he'd walked through the door, and he should have known what Aya was thinking almost before the redhead did. But, Aya was startled to realize he didn't feel any hint of the German's hated presence inside his mind; he hadn't heard Schuldich's maddened whispers for several minutes now. He had seen how strong rage had made Schuldich's powers; he had witnessed it first-hand during their meeting in the coffee shop. But, it seemed that rage's gift of razor-sharp mental powers carried a corresponding price tag in terms of reliability and control. From what Aya had seen, Schuldich currently didn't have any control over his powers. In every encounter he'd ever had with Schuldich, the German had been self-possessed, smug, and totally in control, but, this time, he'd managed to break that smug veneer, even if it was only for a second. When he added that to the fact that Schuldich's powers seemed to be warping in and out of control, freakishly strong one moment, almost non-existent the next, Aya started to think, for the first time, that he just might be able to work his way out of this mess.
Aya carefully collected his thoughts and reined in his emotions, forcing his mind and expression completely blank, before he looked up again to face Schuldich's eyes.
"Come on, Schu," he purred, adopting the German's favored tone of voice --- silky-smooth, sickly sweet, condescending, "We don't have any secrets between us … not you and me, now do we? I've let you in my head; you've shared your thoughts and feelings … your rage, your despair, your loneliness … with me. We both know who I'm talking about. I saw him. When you attacked me in the flower shop … I saw him in your thoughts, and I remember him. That blonde son-of-a-bitch died on my blade, not even six months ago. So, who was he?"
Schuldich lost any semblance of self-control at Aya's words. His face contorted with rage, and he leapt from his chair, crossing the small space separating them in an instant. He grabbed a handful of Aya's hair and yanked the redhead forward, smiling at the pained hiss that escaped Aya's lips.
He continued to pull the redhead forward, until his lips just brushed Aya's ear, and whispered, his voice shaking with uncontrolled rage, "He … Sergei … was my lover, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"
Aya caught a brief glimpse of hard, glittering, more-than-slightly-crazy brown-gold eyes, which told him he'd scored a direct hit against the German, before he felt Schuldich's fist smash painfully against the side of his head, snapping it sharply to one side. It felt like the whole world exploded into small, little pinpoints of light that hung in front of his eyes and then morphed into huge, colorful bursts. It was so bright that he wanted to crawl into a dark place to hide, except there wasn't anywhere he could go to escape them. He couldn't get away from the lights, colors, and pain, because they were in his head. Aya slumped back slightly, dazed from the force of the blow. Schuldich still had one hand entwined in the redhead's hair, and Aya hung limply in the German's grip.
Schuldich angrily tossed Aya aside. With his hands tied behind his back, Aya wasn't able to do anything to break his fall, and he slammed heavily into the wall behind him, making a dull, thudding sound, before he slid limply to the floor. Schuldich glared at his captive.
The German held his shaking hands out in front of him and stared at them, as if he couldn't figure out whose they were. Schuldich finally clenched his hands into fists, pressing his fingers into his palms hard enough to make them bleed, only to unclench them and, then, repeat the entire process. After a few moments, he managed to bring his emotions under control enough to still his shaking hands. Once he had regained his composure, he fished out another cigarette and lit it. His little act would have been completely successful, if he hadn't had to try three times before he got the lighter to start. He laughed giddily, a crazy, unnerving sound that echoed and reverberated off the hard, cold walls and floor, as he puffed at the cigarette. It finally flamed to life, and he snapped the lighter shut with a decisive click. He leaned back, tipping his chair up on its two back legs, and slammed the lighter down onto the table.
Schuldich took three long drags from the cigarette, tilting his head upward and blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. It hung in the cold, damp air like a cloud of smog for a few moments, finally dissipating as the German once again fixed his eyes on Aya. The swordsman hadn't moved since being released from Schuldich's grip. He laid, partially on his side, his back against the cold, metal wall behind him, panting. It took all his energy to simply breathe. Schuldich kicked Aya in the ribs, hard enough that he heard bone cracking, eliciting a groan of pain from the redhead. The German laughed softly and kicked Aya once more, before leaning back in his chair. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and flicked ashes onto the floor. Some of them landed on Aya and immediately began to singe through his sweater. Schuldich watched in fascination as little streams of smoke floated into the air from the holes burning into the sweater's material, and, then, into Aya's skin. Despite the obvious pain, the redhead didn't make a move to unsettle the burning embers.
Schuldich laughed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as he whispered, "You know, Precious, I had been thinking of what to do with you, of how I'd make you suffer, of how I'd break you --- mind, body, and soul. I dreamed of getting my hands on you, wringing the life out of you slowly, watching it bleed away, drop by precious drop. But, now, I don't know. I think that would leave me feeling somehow … unfulfilled." He paused and flicked more ashes toward Aya's body before continuing, "Besides, killing you … in the condition you're in now … it would be too easy. No pleasure in it, you know?"
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, and took a few drags off his cigarette before dropping it to the floor. He stood, quickly crushing the smoldering ember under the heel of his shoe, and walked the two steps needed to stand next to Aya. He nudged the swordsman's head up using the toe of his shoe, and smiled down at his half-conscious enemy.
"Now, I've decided, Precious. I'll make you suffer like I did … by watching the rest of the kitties die when they come to get you. I think that's the fairest thing to do. I lost what I cared for … you'll lose … everything … you care for."
Aya tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug his head away from Schuldich's foot, as he muttered, "I'm not Weiss anymore. They won't come. Even you said it."
Schuldich dropped Aya's head roughly to the floor. Aya didn't even try to hold it up, and Schuldich smiled as his captive's head bounced off of the concrete floor. As he turned to walk out of the warehouse, he said, in a voice that was just loud enough to carry to Aya, "Oh, they'll come. Kritiker doesn't decide who is Weiss. Weiss decides who is Weiss, and you know it. I feel your fear for them. That tells me they will come."
Without another word, Schuldich walked away. Aya lay still, breathing heavily, and counting the new aches and pains exploding all over his body, as he listened to the German's footsteps echoing away from him. The hollow, empty sound receded across the cold, hard floor, until, finally, he heard the protesting screech of metal against concrete as the warehouse door slammed closed.
'They won't come,' Aya thought, struggling to breathe through the spasms of pain wracking his body.
He briefly attempted to turn over onto his back, but, finally gave up and remained, lying face-down on the cold floor. He didn't want them to come. He didn't want his friends to be in danger because of him, but Schuldich had touched a fear that lay so deeply within him Aya hadn't even realized it was there. And, the crazy German bastard was right. That deep-seated fear told him, unmistakably, that they would come. At the very least, Yohji would come, and, perhaps, that was the worst possibility of all. He hadn't realized just how much Yohji meant to him, how much he had come to rely on the older man, but the thought of the tall blonde at Schuldich's mercy was enough to turn Aya's stomach.
'Yohji, you'd better not come,' he thought, briefly, before he gave in and let darkness overtake him.