17-Dec-2002
Breakdown: An Alternate Universe Weiss Kreutz Fanfic
by Nixerchan and bonnejeanne
Contact: nixerchan@aol.com and bonnejeanne@yahoo.com
Category: AU
Pairings: Various, or to put it another way, most of them ^__^;;
Warnings: LEMON this section. Weird premise, weird psychic powers, probably confusing plot, um, possibly some OOC, some violence, probably gratuitous use of pointless Japanese and German, what else... oh yeah, LEMON from time to time... poor Nixers, I'm such a corrupting influence... ^__~
Rating: NC-17
SUMMARY/PREMISE: What if the Weiss boys actually possessed psychic powers similar to Schwartz, which had been suppressed or erased from their memories?
AU TIMELINE: Picks up *almost* at the end of the OAV, just after the death of Gen. Norman Powell.
/something/ - may indicate thoughts, telepathy or other psychic contact.
'something' - indicates just thoughts.
Chapter 16: Slip
Schuldig woke gradually to a feeling of a presence in his room but one that did not cause any alarm, in fact it had the effect of being reassuring in an odd, cool way.
He made a half-aware noncommittal noise, before pushing himself the rest of the way towards awake. Not moving at all, he sent a lazy touch out towards the presence. /Took you a while./
The mental touch was acknowledged and a physical one replied, slender, surprisingly strong hands threading through his hair to find his temples and apply a slow massage to the area. "Someone has to make arrangements for the guests."
The telepath seemed to melt under the attention, his fingers curling restlessly into the bedsheets as the rest of his muscles went slack. "So the russet kitten found you eh?"
The massage continued for a while and then moved through his scalp and neck and down his back. "There's an interesting note in your voice around him all of a sudden."
A hiss and sigh followed each other as the fingers found and worked a particularly tense knot free. "Mmm," he commented. "He's a little more.. interesting like this. Don't you agree?"
"He damn near killed me today," the growl was a little less than neutral. "So you find him interesting... tell me about that."
"I was ready to drop him," Schuldig replied, "I was deep enough in that I'd have known the second he got a good grip." He sank a little further, the re-descent towards sleep didn't drain the confidence or promise in his voice. "Hmm, you should have felt what he DID do though... very satisfying.. a little too quick, but satisfying. Told her to die, and actually had enough power to force her to do it. Mentally clawed herself to death."
The massage continued for a little while without any answer. Finally it came, seasoned with caution but perhaps a touch of possessive pride. /Yes, you're right. Interesting./
The German's amusement and anticipation tingled along Crawford's senses, spreading up from his fingers. /He figured out how to close down to some degree, by himself and by request./ "Out of all of them, he may be our best investment."
Crawford's amusement in return was typically cool. "Then I'll let you nurture him. Siberian has some promise as well." He held a mental image of the encounter at the park and the flaming psychics.
"I plan on it," Schuldig replied. The German turned over, with only a bit of remorse for the end of the treatment. His eyes narrowed up at Crawford with a returned interest. He slid an arm up, intending to draw the other man down. /Had some fun with the pyro as well then?/ "Seems like Abyssinian has too."
A soft snort was the answer. /I am not you./ "We were discussing value." A pause, "... however, yes. Enough to justify what we went and will go through?" A shrug. "Impossible to tell yet. But... we've past at least one dissolution point."
/A good thing too, I'm territorial./ "Damned lucky too," Schuldig said with a slight look of interest. "That was almost too much." He shrugged. "Whatever. I don't particularly want to see them on the other side, particularly one that doesn't have their head up their ass about what they've got."
"I'm not satisfied with what is known about that," Crawford mentioned. /Territorial? I thought you said you shared?/ "How difficult was the plant?"
"Cake. She's good but she doesn't have the first clue how outmatched she is. She's planning on ambushing them after the other queen sent one of them an invitation. Amateur at best," he said. /I do, just not with my kind. Besides, Siberian had a very vivid imagination and a lot of frustration. I was saving it up just for him./
The strong fingers turned Schuldig back over and moved further down the German and began massaging his curved hips. /Since when? Five, no, six-thirty this morning?/ "I want you to keep tabs on her. Close."
"Mm, that's when it happened?" Schuldig gave the impression of a satisfied smirk, running alongside a response to the invitation the fingers seemed to be offering. "I wonder if that look was *pure* business." /Nah, that was just them finally getting on with it. It was a tough choice, but it'd have gone against my nature to hurry them up when they were so fun like that./ "As well as I can, she's been keeping close to the specialist."
The hands continued the massage down each of the German's long legs, lingering along the strong thighs and adjusting them apart. "Understood."
Schuldig felt the movement and let it happen, knowing the mischievous expression was well hidden from the other. /Not that easy,/ the thought was a caress, a fraction of a second before he established something of a feedback, letting Crawford know *exactly* how the hands on him felt.
The hands barely paused. In fact if anything they became more lingering and persistent. One slid around Schuldig's waist under him, fingers snagging the fastening and zipper of his fly.
At that, the German pushed up and twisted to lay face up, fully intending to help the American along. His hands roamed up, both in a caress and to keep the contact steady. /The two of them must have been good to keep your attention. Saa, leichben, how long did you linger there./
Crawford's hands continued with their work, disrobing the German from the waist down quickly and efficiently. Since the young man was face up now instead of down, one of the hands continued the massage in a very specific area, the other returning to coax his legs apart again and entertain itself further down the cleft. /I told you, I'm not you./ The American's thoughts were beginning to take on the extra dimension of heat that seemed to appear most frequently after situations of extreme danger. /Tell me what you enjoyed./
Schuldig arched slightly, his thoughts blurring even as he pushed the sensation back on Crawford almost ruthlessly, determined to take the other man with him. "I think.. you wait until.. I'm too tired to fight back," the telepath managed breathlessly, having to resort to speech while the rest of him tried to restore some control. /Like what? Her terror? Your panic? His anger and ecstasy? All of it./
/Like that...yes../ The thoughts were rich with the heat Crawford never showed or perhaps even felt at other times. The telepath's feedback was certainly having an effect but the effect only pushed his hands to more ruthless actions, forcing the redhead to arch even further as he reached for the exact spot, caressed in the exact perfect way, at the exact moment while his other hand worked over the rest of the young German. His glasses had been placed on a small table before he'd begun the massage, which was the clue the telepath had been too sleepy to notice. /Give it to me through your own feelings.../
The young man didn't hold out long didn't even try, at this point it was too late, too easy for the American to force the pace to be whatever suited him. Unable to form a coherent reply, hardly able to remember to breathe, what came back was pure images and sensations, sharpened, rather than fragmented by the heat. //A division of attention at a screamed order, one part ready to slice into the mind he had wrapped around at the first sign that the threat was to be carried out, the other reaching, to find a more satisfying kill. A contact and a rush of panic nearly to match Crawford's and an attempt to retreat behind the cover of a null. The pain/threat/excitement as Abyssinian's mind took a hold of his, forcing a response. His consciousness blending involuntarily, almost willingly with Aya's as it used him to reach her... the feeling of power, control and intoxication. The angry/cold 'shine' and the insanity of the woman it caused.//
Oracle drank it all, submerged in it with Mastermind, pushing his body over an edge that had no single focus point, but seemed to ripple, the orgasm re-experienced before/during/after... Schuldig didn't know which of them, both of them, when it was happening, he just felt the movement and knew somehow the American's hands had been replaced by something else as the redhead's legs were lifted and parted wider, body impacting against body. The next internal explosion was just as multiplied, faceted through Brad's indescribable time experience.
Untangling was, slow, hesitant, and made more difficult by wracking pulses of pleasure that no longer had anything to do with the physical - just echoes of a release that had been fragmented, received, fed and pushed back in an almost self sustaining cycle. Hands that Schuldig couldn't remember finding a grip with uncurled stiffly, falling back at his side with a sort of sated contentment.
The body entangled with his shifted just as slowly, the mind withdrawing but not without a lingering pulse, a brief flash of an unexpected brush of lips to lips even though his face was resting against Schuldig's stomach. /Not too tired at all.../
Then the American began to pull... not exactly back, but together, reconstituting, almost seeming to flatten. A discarded blanket was pulled across the redhead as Crawford began refastening his clothes, tucking in his shirt.
"Am now, dammit." There was every indication that this sort of exhaustion was welcome, mumbled protest aside.
A cooling hand brushed his face. "You get an hour. Then I want you out of bed." Adjusting his tie, picking up his jacket, Crawford lifted his glasses from the table and put them back on.
"Mmph." Still a little too close, the sound was accompanied by an agreement, and a distinct sensation of something a little above emotion re-centering, or more like solidifying further around Crawford before the German's consciousness fuzzed and disappeared entirely into unconsciousness.
Once his eyes closed, the American allowed himself an indulgent smile, and the brief brush of lips against lips he'd felt before it happened. Stopping to run a comb from a jacket pocket through his hair, he left the room with almost no visible sign of the activity just concluded.
/This.../ Nagi's hand clenched a little too hard on the stems of a small floral arrangement. He was currently occupied at leveling his best glare at Omi and Youji, who in his opinion seemed to take way too much pleasure in picking this out and talking him into it. /Is incredibly stupid./
Omi smiled, appreciating the visual picture quite a bit. /It is not. When Manx was captured by General Powell, she had no way of tipping us off that the missions she was giving us were false... except by mentioning an allergy to black lilies./ "She'll get the message. And no one else will. Birman never bothered to learn."
Nagi looked down at the flowers surrounding the white rose, only two stems created quite a mass of smaller blossoms. "They're... pink."
"They'll let her know you aren't an enemy," Youji said, feeling rather accomplished that none of the laughter got through to his voice. He never thought he'd ever seen Prodigy pout before.
"Come on, we have to go," Omi said, hoisting the backpack. He moved in front of Nagi, ostensibly adjusting the small bouquet, but with Youji's view blocked, he dropped something small, flat, and with many points into the bundle of flowers, carefully, so that it was caught and held without severing the stems. /Good luck charm./
Omi received an echo with a mental and audible sigh from the younger boy, though something of acceptance and a vague understanding followed it.
The change in locations had ironically put them far closer to the meeting place than Youji had originally intended, making the drive there rather quick, if silent. There hadn't been much of any support for Balinese's plan, but when he wasn't moving on it, there was little choice but to have an escort to it, especially with Schuldig's information added to the arguments. And with half of the attention now focused on checking on Aya-chan at nearly the same time... it limited the options even further.
Which, besides Omi's interest, was why Nagi had opted to go. There was the odd possibility that Schwartz being there in any regard might stay Kritiker, for at least enough time to prepare. It seemed all the more unlikely now, walking up to the restaurant a pace behind Weiss and with only a couple of flowers supposed to explain everything.
Inside, the atmosphere was nothing but high class and romantic, the overhead lights were dimmed, the muted conversation that opulence always seemed to produce and a wide distance and privacy to the spacing of the tables. The maitre'd engaged in a short conversation with Youji, giving an odd, reserved glance back at Nagi and Omi, before charging a waiter to escort them to their table.
The young woman at the table looked up and her eyes widened, as she half-stood before she could stop herself. Then Nagi felt something that seemed to drain his power away, but before it could do more than begin, Omi sent a burst of warning, tempered with long familiarity and even some affection, but directed at the young woman far more crisply and strongly that anything she'd felt from the boy before. It stopped her, and the sensation faded leaving Nagi clear, but the tension was palpable.
Only seconds behind that, her eyes fastened on the bouquet and she looked at Youji.
"Couldn't persuade the sitter?" she said, her voice managing to sound only a tiny bit edgy, as could be attributed to a woman finding her date bringing along a couple of kids unexpectedly.
"The one I had in mind already made other plans," Youji complained, carefully keeping his demeanor easy. "Though I was told monkshood might be better than roses. It's a fad I guess, everyone's breaking away from the traditionals."
Manx settled back in her seat even further. "I guess it can't be helped," she said, her characteristic serenity asserting itself a bit. Then she turned to Nagi and smiled. "Is that for me?"
With the star already palmed long ago, a simple arrangement was handed over with an awkward nod and a quick glance back to Omi. "Douzo yoroshiku," Nagi said falling back onto formality. "I don't think we've met."
Youji slid around behind Manx to take the seat on the other side of her. "Saa, I know it's not the most romantic, but you know how things are," he sighed and set an elbow on the table to lean on it. "One indiscression and suddenly you're saddled down."
Her eyebrows rose at that. "Please, sit down," she said graciously, acknowledging Nagi's greeting. Her eyes turned to Omi very briefly, questioning, and he simply looked back steadily. His eyes fell on the bunch of tiny purple flowerettes pinned to her lapel. The color matched her outfit perfectly.
/Purple hyacinth, she's asking for... forgiveness./ The younger assassin's emotions were complex. There was almost a mother-feeling associated with her, but at the same time, a knowledge of manipulation and, to him, betrayal that went back through their entire association.
Nagi took the invitation with a brief glance at the subject of Omi's turmoil, but without the same recognition. /For what she's done or what she's going to do?/
/I don't know. I could never get anything from her./ Omi took his chair, shifting it ever so slightly closer to Nagi's seat.
The waiter appeared to place menus and a wine list and disappeared with a rather unusual efficiency and unobtrusiveness.
"Whatever the indescression," she said, returning to Youji, "I'm sure it will be forgiven soon. But sometimes a disagreement, though it might be made up, is really a warning that a relationship should be... ended."
"That's the real question isn't it," Youji sighed, hardly glancing over the sheet. "I think I might have stayed a little too long this time... I just worry about how a breakup will affect other friendships."
"Sometimes one has to make the decision that is best for one's own needs. If friends don't understand, perhaps they will need to be left behind," she answered calmly. Then her eyes flickered to Nagi and Omi. "New relationships will arise to take their place...."
"You're counsel has eased my mind already," Youji said, a bit of a truer smile beneath the smoother expression. "Yours was the only opinion left that I needed for a clear conscience."
/I get the feeling they've done this before../ Nagi's thought came with a mix of amusement and caution.
There was a sense of agreement from Omi, as well as a feeling of sharp observation, not just of the red-haired woman but of their surroundings.
"I'm glad I could help, although I feel I should warn you, my opinion usually seems to be in the minority, these days," Manx said, favoring Youji with a look that conveyed a more serious kind of warning.
"A point given, but you already know my feelings towards the majority," Youji replied, a faint shrug along with it. The divisions she was implying were clear enough. "But enough about me, I simply wonder why such a radiant woman allows herself to be so tied down, especially after the spark's gone in the relationship."
The comment seemed to catch her by surprise. She laughed. "I'm afraid... you know that I devoted my life to a certain relationship. Once that was no longer possible, it seemed like a good idea to concentrate on a career but the truth is I seem to be lacking the motivation that takes, in the competitive world business has become these days. However, I was never prudent enough to make the proper preparations for an early retirement. Still, it really doesn't matter so much. As long as things are taken care of, I won't be discontent with any outcome."
"That's the trouble with married women, so boring." Behind them Omi could start to make out a pattern, a movement here, someone stopping to speak at another table there, a little bit too coincidental, and becoming a little too close. Before the empath could warn the older blond, Youji slid a little closer to Manx, a half lidded expression and voice dropping to a smoother range. "Let's do something a little crazy..." He smirked and glanced around. "Say.. skipping the bill..."
She looked sharply at him and then started to speak, stopped herself and simply nodded. "The back exit?"
"I knew you had a reckless side," Youji said, a bit more of a grin, and a glance towards Omi and Nagi. "Two ways?"
Omi nodded immediately, the same thought on his mind. He stood up. "Come on," he said to the dark haired boy. "Adults are dull, let's go have a bit of fun."
Nagi followed suit, a bit of a stir of air around him as some of those who'd simply been observing before changed course at Omi's departure from the table. Obviously to intercept. /Five maybe, the rest are waiting./ It wasn't so much of new information as a confirmation.
Still at the table Youji stood and lifted Manx's hand from the tabletop with a smile. As he gave it a gentle tug, there was a loud crash and clatter from across the room as a waiter's foot found a sudden and untimely lump in the carpet and went down with a table's worth of orders, and drawing, even momentarily, the attention of most of the room.
Manx went with Youji, knowing that any delay would be dangerous to the others.
Omi grabbed Nagi's hand and bounced towards the front entrance, his external demeanor adolescent-nonchalant. The crash of dishes brought a slight grin to his face.
As they reached the front doors, two men moved to stand in front of them, the headwaiter at his podium looking pale as he was talked to by another agent. One of them stepped forward, opening up a wallet with a rather official looking badge. "Tsukiyono Omi. We'd ask that you accompany us, and not involve anyone else in this matter further." The credentials were only of Japan's police force, but there was no doubt that any check made would only lead to a thin fabrication planted in the database. As official sounding as it was delivered the threat was made apparent by the noted glance around the room.
/Gonna try something./ Omi focused on the two agents. "Can't we do it later? You have no idea how long it took me to get him to say yes to a date!" Then he opened his perceptions towards the two and sent euphoria. Amplified, giddy, rollercoaster/first kiss/birthday surprise/survived a near miss at close range/thankgod I'm alive joy.
In one, the reaction was almost immediate, the face going slack and eyes unfocusing as however the man interpreted the flow of emotions triggered up it's own memories and caught the man there, watching them play out so powerfully to the sensations that they were related with, that the rest of the world seemed to fade behind it. The second was not so quick, a sort of realization lending to a visible struggle.
Omi didn't wait for the second agent to throw off the emotional submersion, he was already moving towards the door, fingers leaving Nagi's to free both of them up for whatever might be needed.
The second Youji hit the back doors to the kitchen, he broke into a run, only slow enough to consider Manx's high heels. Too fast for the stunned chefs to react in time to stop them, they managed to make it all the way into the parking lot unaccosted, where more than half a dozen armed agents were waiting.
Manx gasped, hand darting into her purse even as she attempted to push a damper radius outward, excluding her companion. It was probably a pointless effort, but she feared the presence of hostile talent more than the admittedly formidable armed opposition.
Manx found herself yanked forward and in front of the assassin, one arm across her chest and the wire, glittering an inch from skin. Youji's face was nearly covered by the flowing red locks, so even if there had been some who were proficient in reading lips, the whispered message only carried to Manx. "Gomen, but this might get us both out." Then louder, to carry to those surrounding them. "Tell them to drop the weapons."
Her hand moved away from her purse and she cleared her throat. "Put down your weapons!" she called, letting her voice sound frightened. "There's a wire at my neck!"
The weapons trained on them wavered, but didn't drop. One of the men directly across from them, unarmed, stepped forward, watching the two carefully. "Any more moves Balinese, you'll be taken down from the side," he said watching Manx closely. "This meeting was unauthorized."
"The purse down a bit," Youji mumbled, leaving the wire hanging out of sight, and cautiously shifted a now freed hand. And louder, "You're not doing any better of a job than her, convincing me to go back like this."
The purse dropped obligingly, as Manx, her voice distorted by anger mingling with the apparent fear. "Like hell it wasn't!" she snapped. "Your interference is what is unauthorized! My mandate was to recover my agents! If you cost me that with your tactics..." the threat was left hanging but no less impressive for that. "Balinese... if these agents comply, you'll come with me...?"
A hard pull back covered the dip of a gloved hand into Manx's purse and the retrieval of the gun. Youji seemed to pause at the renewed focus of all of the gunman at the action.
"Our orders come from above you, Agent Manx," the man said, mildly. "Are you implying that there's a contradiction?" He raise a hand, a prequel to some signal. "If he agrees, we will escort both of you back."
"If I agree, I'll go with her alone," Youji said, a tense snarl to his voice. He forced another step to the side. In a quick move he had released the wire and grabbed Manx's free hand, as if twisting it back. Her fingers encountered the cool metal of the handle.
As her fingers curled around the grip, something caught the corner of Youji's eye. In the darkness just beyond but very close to the ring of agents, a momentary hint of a pale figure. It darted in and out around the parked cars, disappearing as it made a semicircle.
"Damn," Youji muttered, though not entirely unhappy. He reached out mentally, pushing aside an almost immediate throb of an oncoming headache, to apply the same kind of resistance on the triggers as he had Aya's katana... It was spreading it thin, but it might be enough for enough of a start. "We may or may not have a distraction on the way... ... no one here you like I hope?"
"I'm afraid that wouldn't be wise Balinese, after all, you've already overpowered her once." The man said. "A rather suspicious thing on its own. We have authorization to take whatever action is deemed necessary for success. With that in mind, you have ten seconds to step out from behind Agent Manx."
"No one," Manx muttered, her hand tightening on the gun.
A high pitched laugh cut across the tension in the parking lot as a bizarre figure jumped onto the hood of a convertible at the side of the area. White hair and an eyepatch identified him to anyone who had the background. One hand clutched a spike, the other, a lighter. Flicking it to life, he tossed it towards another car two spaces away. A large rag hanging out of the gas tank caught instantly. The explosion followed seconds later. As did the next. And the next.
To a man, every one of the agents flattened instinctively, trying to avoid the sudden gouts of flame and raining debris. The few that had their wits about them or hadn't dropped their weapons to cover their ears, found their guns locked. The brief second taken to check the safety gave the running couple enough time to get out of the ring and through a veil of thicker black smoke that was beginning to choke the air as the interiors of the vehicles were rapidly engulfed as well.
Even over the commotion of the panicked diners and distant shouts, the order to follow and a radioed report of their escape was clearly audible. Running for the car parked in the front lot, Youji glanced back, both to assure that Manx was right behind and to try to find the white haired figure amidst the confusion.
As Omi moved, the agent jerked hard, as if struck, and fell a little farther than was natural, clearing the way for the two of them. The violent motion seemed to snap the second out of it, but by the time he had focused and turned, the two had already passed the threshold.
The front of the building seemed absolutely clear, only a couple walking back to their car could even be seen in the lit parking lot. Nagi closed the doors hard behind them, weighting them shut for the time they'd need. Nearly to the car Youji had borrowed, the telekinetic stumbled, a sudden feeling of exhaustion overtaking him, running immediately down the shared connection before the feeling took Omi as well, pushing towards unconsciousness.
The blond stumbled as well, then grabbed Nagi's arm. Shaking his head, he yanked the driver's door open, pushing the other boy inside. Reaching for his deep reserves, he sent what he could to Nagi. Jumping in behind him, he groped for the ignition. /Don't conk out on me!/
The other boy seemed only to be aware by will and mostly, Omi's aid. /Trying../
The explosion from the back of the restaurant certainly got their attention. It also got the attention of the two agents who had forced the doors against Nagi's waning strength. The agents jumped to conclusions and began running around the side of the building.
The sound of sprinting feet across the lot was the only warning before a pale face appeared like an apparition in the window. With a grin, Farfarello jerked his thumb at the back seat and Omi managed to push Nagi and then himself over the seat and into the back. The Irishman started the car and backed out, using lots of energy and no skill, and scraping the cars beside them with a series of ear-hurting screeches. Slamming on the gas, he wheeled around the end of the row, stomping the brakes as the headlights caught a pair of running figures, tall blond man, red-haired woman.
Youji whipped around at the lights in his peripheral vision, holding his hand up in front of his eyes as he turned. It took a second to vaguely identify the car, but with the pursuit, that was more than enough. He ran along the passenger side and forced the dented door open in the back for Manx before climbing into the front passenger side himself.
The agents from the front who had started running around towards the back took notice of the car as it stopped, one moving faster than the other. A gun appeared in the man's hand and he began firing at the car.
Manx ducked and stumbled, but fell into the back seat as Youji closed his door, ducking behind it. Farfarello grinned and shifted into reverse, hitting the gas. The agent who had been slower with his gun was faster to jump. The other disappeared as the wheels of the vehicle ran upon a substantial obstacle.
Shifting back to drive, the Irishman took off out of the parking lot, giggling as they careened into medium evening traffic.
"Manx!" Youji turned and knelt on his seat, precariously balanced as the car maneuvered. The back door had been shut, either by the sudden momentum of the car, or by a half conscious Prodigy, it didn't matter. He'd caught the ungraceful entrance in the side mirror as he'd ducked, and scanned over her for injuries quickly.
She looked up, as Omi tried to pull her into a more comfortable position and then lifted his hand, red smears on it.
"I have so much to tell you," she said, her voice fading. "So much..."
TBC