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The Sous-Chef	By : redqueen Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 7545 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
A/N: I didn’t get many reviews on the last chapter; I
hope it’s not because my readership has dropped off. Ah, well. C’est la vie. In
this chapter there’s a bit more silliness than I usually attempt, I hope it’s
not off-putting. I didn’t make up the Lolliwinks; I still have that record
somewhere. Even though I haven’t listened to it in over fifteen years, I can
still remember the choruses – and many of the lyrics – to all the songs. It’s
scary. There’s also a lot of food mentioned, which I hope will not make
tiresome reading. This chapter’s also two or three times the length of the
other chapters. But, I’ve gone from really hating this chapter to kinda loving
it, so I hope you all will enjoy it.

Chapter 11

The antique iron bed frame knocked a little plaster dust off
the walls with each rhythmic thump. Yohji held on to the frame, white-knuckled,
as Schuldig took him hard from behind, like a fiery orange stallion. Yohji
tended to forget, most of the time, that Schuldig was a bit superhuman in
strength as well as speed. He certainly didn’t mind being reminded in this
manner.

Schuldig yanked Yohji’s head back by the hair and bent
forward to bite and suckle his neck, softening his thrusts. He ran his hands
along Yohji’s arms to close over his hands around the bars. “You all right,
baby?” he asked breathlessly.

“I’m much better than ‘all right,’ you dope,” Yohji said,
turning his head and kissing Schu fiercely.

Schuldig pulled back and grinned. “Dope? I call you baby and
you call me a dope? That’s it, you asked for it!” Schuldig pulled out of Yohji
abruptly.

“Hey!” Yohji cried, not taking his eyes from the wall. “Do
that a little more slowly next time, wouldya?”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands, my
darling.” Schu’s voice was a little muffled. “Ah, there we are.” He pushed back
into Yohji much more gently than he’d withdrawn, and Yohji grinned at the tacit
apology.

“We’ll see who’s the dope,” Schuldig muttered, not without
amusement. He pulled most of the way out and thrust back in hard, at the same
time bringing something down hard on Yohji’s back – WHAP!!!

Yohji cried out, nerve-endings sizzling with sensations.
Schu had gotten out a long, slender, semi-rigid strip of leather, suede on one
side, that curled back on itself at one end to make a handle. He was a little
relieved; he’d been worried that Schu was going to get the cane or the riding
crop, and he was rarely in the mood for either of those. He preferred the slow
burn of slapping to stinging any day.

Schuldig picked up his earlier frenzied rhythm, bringing the
strap down at seemingly random intervals, all over Yohji’s back and his ass,
never hitting the same spot in the same way twice. It was like suddenly being
picked up and tossed to the heavens by a tornado, a vortex of controlled chaos
that was impossible to stand against.

Yohji had no body anymore, no corporeal self. He was nerves
and consciousness floating in a sea of red and black stars, guided and steered
by the force of nature behind him. He could dimly hear his own cries as the
pleasure Schuldig was giving him became acute, and the stars began to go white
and purple. Then he didn’t have a thought in his head as he rode wave after
wave of bright, nirvana-seeking ecstasy.

He came around to find he was still lying on his stomach.
Schu had pried his hands off the bed frame and laid his arms at his sides, and
was now rubbing him gently with a swatch of bunny fur, which felt lovely. He
hummed with pleasure.

“Yohji? You back?” Schu inquired, kissing his shoulderblade.

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, feeling too sated, too boneless and
disembodied to speak.

::Disembodied, eh? Damn, I’m good,:: the smug voice
in his head commented.

::Yeah,:: Yohji thought dreamily, not bothering to try and
rein in that enormous ego.

There was silence for a while as Schu rubbed him down with a
soothing mint oil concoction that made his skin tingle, but didn’t aggravate or
burn. Suddenly, Schuldig rolled him over onto his back, and lay down
full-length on him, sliding his arms under Yohji’s torso and hugging him
tightly. “I love you so much, Yotan,” he declared. His voice seemed a little
strained.

“I love you too, baby,” Yohji said, hugging back as well as
he could. “Something wrong?”

Schuldig sighed, and rolled off him, leaving an arm around
his waist. “Not really. I’m…I just worry that with Aya here, living with us,
our relationship will eventually change and…we won’t be so close together
anymore.”

Yohji abruptly remembered that they’d left Aya alone with
Farfarello who knew how long ago.

::Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, Yohji.
Farf left a while ago, and Aya’s studying all that crap he left here for him.::

Relieved, Yohji addressed Schu’s worries, stroking a hand
idly through his orange mane. “Aya will do whatever he can to make sure his
presence here is unobtrusive and to see that he doesn’t get between us, you
know that.”

Schuldig sat up. “I know that, but the problem with that is,
we can’t allow him to be that unobtrusive. Someone as depressed as he is, we
can’t leave to his own devices.”

“I know that, I just meant that – “

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Schuldig grumbled, waving a hand at
him. He rolled off the bed and began dressing. “I worry about times like this
morning, when suddenly we both want him, or times when I’m talking to him and I
find myself thinking, I’m really starting to like this guy. I don’t want
to like him.” Schu scowled, pulling on a short-sleeved, button-down shirt of
clingy dark blue silk.

Yohji felt a stirring in the region of his loins, though he
was far too sated to be truly aroused. His boyfriend was definitely one of the
hottest men on the planet. “It’s okay for you to like Aya, though,” Yohji said,
eyeing the way the silk outlined each of Schuldig’s pectorals. “If you two
become friends, things would be even easier and less tense, don’t you think?
I’ve noticed that he’s really warmed to you a lot since Japan. Isn’t that a
good thing?”

Schuldig sat on the bed with his back to Yohji. “I don’t
know,” he murmured. “I find myself thinking of him when…when I shouldn’t,” he
finished reluctantly.

Yohji was about to ask him to elaborate, but decided he
didn’t really need to know more. He scooted behind Schuldig and wrapped his
arms around him. “Maybe it’s the novelty of having him around,” he suggested. “You
shouldn’t worry about it before it becomes an actual problem. Let’s give it a
few weeks and see what develops, if anything. At any rate, I’m not planning on
being any less close to you than usual.” He hugged Schu harder, burying his
face in silky orange tresses.

“I know. Me neither,” Schu stated, squeezing Yohji’s arms
with his hands. “And now,” he sighed, “I think I should get over myself so we
can go and see how Aya’s….um…encounter with Farf went. Make sure he’s not
mentally scarred – more mentally scarred, “ he corrected with an impish grin.
He threw some pants at Yohji. “I hate for you to cover up that pretty ass,
especially when it’s nice and red like that, but I think I might have issues
with you prancing around naked in front of Aya.”

“You think?” Yohji laughed, pulling on the pants, wincing a
little as the rough denim slid over his tender skin.

*******

“I’m worried about – “

“Scheiße, if you say one more time that you’re worried about
Aya, I’m going to skin you alive with those knives Farfie gave him. Can’t you
think about anything else?” Schuldig griped, rapping the back of Yohji’s head
smartly with his knuckles.

“Ow!” Yohji rubbed his head, affronted. “That wasn’t even
exactly what I was going to say, but it’s not like you’re not worried about him
too.” He leaned over the stir-fry, dumping in thin strips of steak and some
shitake mushrooms.

“I don’t go around whining about it, do I?” Schuldig pulled
a bottle of soda out of the fridge and slammed it shut so hard that Yohji was
sure the next time it was opened, everything would fall out and smash on the
floor. “Maybe the little shit doesn’t deserve to have everyone so fucking
concerned about him every moment of the day; did you ever consider that
possibility?”

It had been four days since Farfarello had come by with his
cartload of reading materials, and since then they had barely seen Aya. He
ventured out once in a while for food or drink – he had his own bathroom –
looking tired and wan, with black circles under his eyes. Even so, Schuldig and
Yohji were loath to try and deter him from the task he had been set. Aya had
made it clear that this was something he was going to do regardless of anyone’s
opinions on the subject, and Yohji knew better than to argue with Aya when he
was that determined.

Schuldig knew better as well, but that morning he had still
tried to convince Aya to take the day off, or at least part of the day. Yohji
hadn’t been privy to that mental exchange, but after he’d talked to Aya, Schu
had been irritable all day. Far too irritable for Yohji to want to try and get
any information out of him, and the angry German wasn’t being forthcoming.

Yohji rubbed the back of his head absently as he took the
wok off the fire and poured ginger sauce over the food, inhaling the fragrant
hissing steam. Stirring it, he looked over at his boyfriend, who was still
banging around the kitchen, getting out plates and setting the little kitchen
table, sucking down soda straight from the bottle – something he knew Yohji
hated for him to do, but Yohji gritted his teeth and let it go. No sense making
dinner any more tense.

He scraped the stir-fry into a serving dish, turned to bring
that and the dish of fried rice to the table, and nearly dropped them when he
saw Aya hovering in the doorway. He had never come out of his room at
mealtimes, only at odd hours to grab leftovers from the fridge. “Aya? You
hungry?” he asked, recovering and bringing the dishes to the table, where
Schuldig sat staring at his plate as though it had just called his mother a five-dollar
hooker. If, that was, Schuldig had been able to remember his mother.

“I…” Aya looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one
foot to the other. “Yes.”

Yohji waited for more, but Aya remained silent. “Um…should I
make you a tray?” Yohji asked hesitantly. Schuldig snorted derisively, but he
also said nothing. Sighing inwardly, Yohji went to the cabinet to get Aya a
plate. He hated being in the middle of this. Especially since he didn’t even
know what it was about.

“Yohji…” Aya began, stepping into the room, “I…would like to
eat with you two, if…” His voice dropped off, and he shot an unsure glance at
Schuldig, who was glaring at him venomously.

“Oh, really?” Schuldig rose from the table and folded his
arms. Uh-oh, Yohji thought. “The two of us? Are you sure? Because as you
know, I don’t BELONG here with you, since I’m just the shitty, manipulative
Esszet son-of-a-whore who makes everybody do and say whatever the fuck I want
them to, while abducting their beloved family members for demonic experiments,”
Schuldig spat, looking very close to hurling everything on the table, and
possibly the rest of the kitchen as well, at Aya.

Ah. So that’s what this mess was about. Schuldig was
surprisingly sensitive about the conflicts between Schwarz and Weiß, especially
after Farfarello had shot Ouka. Yohji didn’t really understand why, especially
considering how much time had passed, and the relationships between the former
members of Weiß and Schwarz had changed so much. But it sounded like Aya hadn’t
grown out of his tendency to bring up old shit to protect himself from the
present, especially when he felt backed into a corner. Schuldig excelled at
making one feel backed into a corner, and Aya excelled at making one feel like
complete shit about things that had happened days, weeks, months, years ago.

Aya was staring at his feet, his hair – brushed and
gleaming, much healthier than it had looked in Kyoto – hiding his face. Yohji
set the plate on the counter and waited. He could tell from Schuldig’s eyes
that there was no mental conversation going on, and the silence worried him.

Just as it looked like Schuldig was going to start lashing
out with a vengeance, Aya suddenly strode forward and threw his arms around
Schuldig’s shoulders, hugging him hard. Yohji was glad he wasn’t holding any
dishes, as they would most certainly be in pieces at his feet. Schuldig’s eyes
looked like they were going to float right out of his head and hover like
little weather balloons.

“I’m sorry, Schu,” Aya said at last. “I didn’t mean it. Not
any of it. I’m sorry. I understand if you hate me.”

::Yohji?::

It was the first thing that Schu had said to him
telepathically since that morning, and Yohji felt relieved. He’d missed that
mental voice. ::Yes, dear?::

::This isn’t normal for him, is it?:: Aya was still hugging
him, laying his head on Schuldig’s shoulder, eyes tightly shut, tensed as
though he expected at any moment to be shoved off and pummeled.

::I’ve never seen anything like it,:: Yohji answered
truthfully.

::Ah. I thought so.:: Schuldig put his arms around Aya,
laying his cheek on the back of the red head. He chuckled. “I forgive you, you
frustrating little bastard.” He had to hold Aya tighter after he said this, as
it looked to Yohji like Aya’s knees nearly buckled in relief. The tension
drained out of the room, and Yohji felt immensely cheered as he began setting a
place for Aya at the table. Though he was a bit surprised at how quickly
Schuldig had forgiven Aya, considering how mad he’d been, his boyfriend’s moods
were known to change faster than one could say ‘bi-polar,’ so it wasn’t unheard
of.

::It’s amazing,:: Schu remarked to him. ::Aya is so rarely
sorry for something he’s done, but when he is, it radiates from his entire
being. I don’t even have to read him to feel it resonating with my telepathy.
I’ve never experienced that from anyone. How could I stay mad at him?::

::I see what you mean,:: Yohji sent, grinning.

When Yohji had finished setting the table, Schuldig and Aya
were still hugging. He raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend. ::We gonna eat
sometime tonight, or are you just going to feel up Aya for the rest of the
evening?:: He couldn’t keep a note of envy out of his thoughts as he eyed Aya’s
beautiful body – Aya hadn’t really hugged him since the day they’d arrived in
Kyoto.

::Hey, we’re having a moment, here. A sweet, emotional,
platonic, totally non-sexual moment.:: Schu lowered his hand so that it rested
at the waistband of Aya’s thin, tight sweatpants, where there was a slight gap that exposed a
line of pale flesh. ::Though I must admit, having this delectable feast of a
body wrapped around me goes a long way towards him getting in my good books.::
He motioned to Yohji with one hand. ::Come on, Yohji, make an Aya sandwich with
me. He’s exhausted, he feels like a total fuck-up, and he’s way too
touch-deprived.:: Schu chuckled lightly in his mind. ::I think he’s actually
falling asleep, here.::

Yohji wanted to. He would have liked to provide Aya some comfort
in whatever way he could. There were just too many memories of embracing Aya
from behind kicking around in his mind. And now, with all that sleek new muscle
and long, gorgeous hair spilling everywhere…his cock already needed adjusting,
and he hadn’t even moved. ::I can’t, Schuldig,:: he sent, sitting down and
beginning to serve himself.

“Alright, Aya,” Schu said, giving the redhead a little
shake. “Let’s eat before you start snoring and drooling down my shirt.”

Aya came fully awake with a sharp intake of breath, and
said, “I don’t snore and I don’t drool in my sleep. I just hog the covers, and
people say I sleep-talk but I don’t believe them,” as he pulled back slightly
from Schuldig, sending a fleeting, pointed glare at Yohji.

“It’s all true,” Yohji felt compelled to add as he shoveled
fried rice and meat into his face.

Schuldig didn’t let Aya go, but looked into his eyes in a
way that Yohji recognized as his This-Is-Important-Information look. There was
silent communication for a few seconds. Yohji chewed slowly, watching them.
Then Schuldig smiled and laughed a little, pulled Aya back to him and kissed
him.

At first this didn’t bother Yohji – Schuldig had kissed Aya
before. Little more than lingering pecks, really. But this went on. And on. And
when Aya shifted he saw his boyfriend’s tongue in Aya’s mouth. Aya wasn’t
biting him, either. Yohji’s throat closed up.

::What the hell are you doing, Schuldig?:: he demanded,
setting his chopsticks down.

Schu pulled gently away from Aya and smiled at him, brushing
his blood-red hair back from his face and cupping it in both hands. ::Don’t
worry, he’s alright.:: They separated – finally – and sat down, and Schu began
serving himself a small mountain of rice.

::He’s alright? Does that have anything to do with the
question I asked you?:: Yohji sent, trying to figure out if he was mad,
jealous, turned on, pleased, hurt or
what.

“Yohji?” Aya was looking at him curiously. “Did…are you…?”

“How come you didn’t bite him?” Yohji asked before he could
stop himself. It came out sounding bewildered, which he supposed was as good a
description as any for how he felt.

Aya looked taken aback, then mortified, and Yohji saw him
start shutting down. Son-of-a-bitching-crap, he thought wearily, as Aya began
getting up from the table. He reached over and grabbed Aya’s wrist. “Sit, Aya,
come on. I was just surprised, that’s all. You came out here to eat with us,
right? So, eat, already, before it gets cold. Colder,” he amended wryly.

Aya was eyeing him dubiously, and the familiarity of Aya’s
suspicious nature made Yohji smile. This apparently decided Aya, who sank down
into his chair. Yohji patted his wrist and handed him the bowl of fried rice.
“You’d better take some fast, before the Schu-cochon inhales it all.”

“I like Schu-pig better,” Schuldig said blithely, swirling a
forkful of daikon and mushrooms in the sauce – he didn’t often use chopsticks
outside of Japan. He was looking at Yohji a little worriedly. ::I upset you. I
didn’t mean to; I didn’t think it would upset you. I thought -- ::

::We’ll talk about it later,:: Yohji interrupted. “How about
Schu-cho?” he asked aloud, by way of distraction.

Aya actually giggled. “Schu-chu from Schu-cho,” he murmured,
when the other two looked at him inquisitively.

Schuldig laughed. “Feurig, you’re in a weird mood tonight.
It’s nice.”

“I’m delirious. I haven’t slept in four days.”

“Damn, Aya,” Yohji said, concerned. “I know you want to show
Farfarello that you’re competent, but how are you going to do that if you start
hallucinating giant blue toads hopping all over the kitchen because you didn’t
sleep all week?”

“It’s okay,” Aya said as he chewed. He was eating much
faster than usual; he only did that when he was near-starving, Yohji
remembered. He heaped more of his nondescript stir-fry on Aya’s plate. Aya
didn’t even seem to notice, just kept eating and talking. “I’m done reading
now; I’ll sleep tonight.”

“You finished reading all that shit Farf brought over here
already?” Schuldig asked, incredulous.

Aya shrugged. “Most of it twice. When I was eight and Aya
was six, Mother decided we should take lessons in speed-reading. I can’t
remember her reasons…” He took another huge bite, and barely even chewed before
he swallowed. “I’ve gotten fairly good at it over the years.”

“Aya has a photographic memory, too,” Yohji piped in,
remembering how Aya barely needed a glance at a blueprint to know every facet
of a building from ventilation shafts to sewer access points.

“And they called Nagi Prodigy,” Schuldig teased, grinning.

The other redhead rolled his eyes. “It’s just memory
strategies. I didn’t have any friends as a kid other than my imouto, so I had a
lot of time on my hands to do nerdy stuff like that.”

“Why didn’t you have any friends?” Schuldig asked, glancing
at Yohji. ::Is it okay to ask that, do you think? I don’t want to set him off
or anything.::

Before Yohji could respond, Aya said, “I was a redheaded,
purple-eyed, tall, gangly mutant in a sea of properly short Japanese children
with black eyes and brown or black hair. What’s more, I wasn’t even a gaijin,
which might have rendered my mutations almost tolerable.” Another huge bite of
stir-fry. “But even the few foreign kids at my school thought I was freakish.
And then, after I started perfecting my glare – “ he flashed a smile at Yohji,
who grinned back, “and especially after I broke a kid’s arm when he tried to
bully me into giving him my bento, I was a scary mutant. Teachers would
barely speak to me, even. So I didn’t have any friends. It was okay, though,
because I had…” Aya trailed off.

“You know you’re not a mutant, don’t you, Aya?” Schuldig
said softly. “You’re a product of recessive genes. Us Psis, we’re the real
mutants, the real freaks. You’re not a mutant, you’re just an extraordinary
man.”

“Hear, hear,” Yohji said, raising his glass of soda to Aya.

He expected Aya to grumble about not being extraordinary at
all, but instead Aya got a sad, misty-eyed look on his face. “It doesn’t matter
whether I’m a mutant or not,” he said softly, “if I’m perceived as one.”

“Aya – “ Yohji began, but was interrupted by the jingling of
Schuldig’s cell phone.

Schu yanked it out of his pocket and checked the number.
“It’s Farfie,” he said, pushing a button and lifting the phone to his ear.
“Darling! How are you?” He grinned and snickered, and then held the
phone out to Aya. “He wants to talk to you, Feurig.”

“Oh.” Aya took the phone and mumbled a greeting into it.
“Hello, Farfarello. I just got finished. Yes. I’m going to practice with the
knives tomorrow after I get some sleep. No, not since Monday.’” He laughed.
“No, I don’t do coke.” He raised his eyebrows. “Really. Widespread practice in
the industry, is it? Do you?” Snicker. “Didn’t think so. What – “ His eyes got
big. “Um…I guess so. I mean, yes, I can do that. I don’t know. Let me ask.” Aya
looked up. “Are you two free for dinner on Sunday?”

Yohji and Schuldig glanced at each other. Yohji gave a tiny
shrug. “Of course,” he said. “Something going on at the restaurant?”

“No, he wants me to come to his place and make dinner for
us. A trial run, I’m guessing.” His attention went back to the phone. “One of those
things? Alright. Alright, I’ll be there at seven Sunday morning.” Aya grabbed a
piece of paper and a pen from the phone table and began scribbling directions
on it.

“Seven in the morning to make dinner?” Yohji asked no one in
particular.

“I guess whatever it is that we’re going to eat is
complicated to make. Or just has a really long cooking time. Or both,” Schuldig
mused.

Aya hung up the phone and handed it back to Schuldig. “Both.
He wants me to make a Turducken.”

“What in the nine hells is a Turducken? It sounds nasty,”
Yohji said, nose wrinkling.

“It’s one of Thibodeaux’s specialties,” Schuldig answered.
“I’ve seen it on the menu, but never felt compelled to order it. They sell them
by the halves and quarters, but it still seems like too much food for one
person. Though after tonight I can certainly see Aya scarfing one down.”

Aya paused in the act of scraping the remainder of the fried
rice from the serving bowl to his mouth. Putting the empty bowl down, he raised
his middle finger to Schu as he chewed.

“Okay, but what IS it?” Yohji asked again.

“It’s a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken,”
Schu answered, after making a face at Aya.

“What? A chicken in a duck? Aren’t ducks smaller than
chickens?”

“No. That’s your first question? I think mine was, who the
hell thought this up and why? Because apparently it’s sort of a Louisiana
‘folk’ dish, not something the restaurant came up with. Apparently the ‘folks’
eat squirrel, as well,” Schuldig said with a shudder of disgust. “I’m glad the
restaurant didn’t decide to put those on the menu.”

Aya finally swallowed. “Germans eat raw pork,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Yohji’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that dangerous? Aren’t pigs
filled with disease or something?”

Schuldig snorted. “In this country, yes. In Germany, no. We
feed our pigs properly; we don’t give them garbage and breed sickness by
feeding them with whatever’s left over from the slaughter of their brethren.
And look who’s talking, raw fish-eater,” Schuldig said, turning back to Aya.
“That’s not even the most disgusting thing you people eat. ‘Mountain potato,’
for example – ugh, don’t get me started on this when I just ate!”

Aya shrugged. “You’re the one that started it. And I don’t
like yamaimo either.”

Schuldig shook his head. “Let’s change the subject. I got an
interesting phone call today, from Nagi.”

“What?” Yohji knew Schu had been upset, but not with him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, offended.

“Don’t get huffy. I was too mad to discuss it – Aya wasn’t
the only reason I was upset today. Don’t start apologizing again, Aya,”
Schuldig warned as Aya’s mouth opened. He closed it reluctantly. “That’s over
and done with. Anyway, Nagi informed me that Brad is going even further
underground than he is already. Apparently they’re getting ready for the
take-down.”

“I thought that wasn’t going to happen for another six
months or so,” Yohji said, eyes narrowing. “Why would they go in early?”

“There have been disturbing reports that the factions
controlling Rosenkreuz have been relocating, unbeknownst to Brad and his
factions. Their precogs and telepaths have been making a concerted effort to mask
their activities – which isn’t unusual, but their level of success at it is
disturbing.”

“But somebody slipped up?” Aya asked.

“Yes. Either that or they wanted to give the appearance of
having slipped up, but Brad thinks it’s more likely that one or two Esszet Psis
gave themselves brain hemorrhaging from pushing their talents too hard.” He
glanced at Yohji. “It’s not uncommon in precogs and telepaths, especially if
they’re fighting the talents of other precogs and telepaths. Esszet’s used to
crushing the opposition easily through sheer numbers, so I’m guessing
Rosenkreuz didn’t have their Psis on rotation like Crawford’s faction. Too
confident of their assured success,” Schuldig sneered, then looked somber. “So
before the attack, there’s going to be even greater secrecy. Nagi said Brad’s
made him his sole contact on the outside. Which means I won’t be able to check
in with him every week anymore.” Schu looked lost.

“Schuldig,” Yohji said, putting a hand on his lover’s arm,
“it was a pain in the ass having to call him anyway, right? Haven’t you said
that enough times?” He knew Schu didn’t always mean it, that he still
considered Crawford his friend and leader, but…

Schuldig shook his head slowly, looking up at Yohji. “You
don’t understand,” he said softly. “Brad Crawford is the reason I can be the
way I am today, instead of how I was ten years ago. He’s the reason Nagi can
laugh sometimes – rarely enough, I know – and isn’t a destructive, emotionless
robot. He’s the reason Farfarello can hold down a demanding job, instead of
having to live from semi-lucid moment to semi-lucid moment for the rest of his
life. First he got us away from Rosenkreuz before our souls were completely
destroyed, then he gave us the hope of freedom, and then he delivered. He
needed our help, but it was all his plan, Yohji. And that’s not even it. He was
the first friend I can remember having. As obnoxious and cruel as I tried to be
to him, he still became my friend. I haven’t gone a week without talking to him
since the day I was assigned to him in the field thirteen years ago. Now I
honestly don’t know if he’ll ever even let me speak to him again,” he finished,
his eyes beginning to shine too brightly.

“I didn’t know he meant that much to you,” Yohji said
softly. Schuldig had never talked about Crawford very much, aside from
reporting the week’s news, if there was any.

“Why did he choose Nagi? Why didn’t he choose me? I was with
him longest,” Schu complained, starting to sound angry.

“That’s a silly question,” Aya snapped, and Yohji glared at
him. He paid no heed. “You know perfectly well why. Who’ve you been on the run
from for five years?”

Schuldig looked like he was going to get hostile, but
instead he deflated. “Yeah, I know.”

“Did he tell Nagi when the attack will be?” Yohji asked.

“If he did, Nagi didn’t tell me, but I doubt it. Crawford
loves to be secretive.”

“Was there any other news?” Aya asked, yawning gigantically.

“No. Go to bed, Aya. Unless you want me to see if there’s a
side of beef in the fridge.”

“’M full,” Aya mumbled. He was fading fast now that he’d
eaten. Yohji thought he might just fall forward onto the table, but he managed
to push his chair back and stand up. “Night.”

“Sleep well, Aya.”

“Night, Aya.”

Aya turned and walked briskly out of the room. Or would
have, if his aim hadn’t been off. Yohji winced, getting out of his chair. “That
had to hurt.”

Schuldig was nearly giving himself convulsions trying not to
laugh.

Yohji stuck a hand out to help Aya up off the floor, where
he was lying flat on his back, dazed. His eye was already starting to blacken
from being slammed into the doorframe. “Come on, I’ll help you to your room.”

“’S okay. I’ll stay here.”

Yohji looked over at Schu, who was still choking and
snorting and gasping, looking as though at any moment he’d fall out of his
chair. Tears streamed from his eyes.

Yohji shook his head in amusement, and knelt down to haul
one of Aya’s arms over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Aya.” He strained against the
redhead’s deadweight. “Help me out a little, would you?”

“Oh, sorry,” Aya said muzzily, and didn’t move. Yohji looked
over and saw that he’d already fallen asleep.

Schuldig did fall out of his chair at that point, and began
laughing out loud, hysterically. ::Oh. My. GOD. The great Abyssinian walks
straight into a doorframe and almost knocks himself out, and then goes to sleep
where he fell. This has got to be one of the funniest fucking things I’ve ever
seen!::

Yohji, who’d given up trying to pick up Aya, said, “You need
to get out more, then. It’s not funny.” But his lips were trembling in an
effort not to smile.

“Is too,” sleeping Aya mumbled, which set Schuldig off
again.

Yohji decided there was no way he could win this argument,
so he sat on the kitchen floor and waited for Schuldig to calm down enough to
help him carry Aya to his room.

He glanced down at Aya and snorted involuntarily at the
sight of the shiner he was developing. It was sort of funny…

::That’s the spirit!:: Schu said, erupting into a fresh wave
of giggles.

Yohji shook his head again, smiling. ::At least get him an
ice pack, would you? Since you’re collapsed in front of the fridge?::

Schuldig kept bursting into fresh bouts of giggles, so
finally Yohji had to get the ice pack himself, “accidentally” treading on
Schuldig’s hand. Which, while making him slightly sulky, at least sobered him
up enough that he could help Yohji get Aya squared away.

******

“So what was that all about, frenching Aya in front of me
and not even letting me in on it?” Yohji asked a few hours later, sliding into
bed next to Schuldig, who was actually reading a book – a rare occurrence for
someone who found entertainment in so many other ‘less boring’ ways.

“Let me finish this chapter before we get into all that,”
Schu said distractedly, turning a page.

Yohji stared at him.

Schuldig looked up. “What?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Schuldig closed the book around
his finger and whapped Yohji with it. “Ow!”

“I’m not completely illiterate, you know,” Schu huffed.

“What book are you finding so fascinating?” Yohji said,
glancing over at the cover. He stared at Schuldig again. “You must be joking.”

Giving up on reading, Schu marked his place in the book,
closing it. “Awfully judgmental for someone who actually has a ‘favorite’
Danielle Steele novel.”

“Doesn’t Stephen King write those crap horror books?”

“Have you ever actually read one?”

Yohji shrugged. “I saw some of the movies. Enough to know I
wouldn’t like the books.”

“Oh, right, because movies always portray the books they’re
based on with perfect accuracy.”

“I’ve seen enough real gore in my life without having to
spend hours and hours reading made-up gore.”

“Now that makes a bit more sense.” He threw a glance at the
book. “I overheard some lady thinking about this book, and it sounded
interesting, so I bought it.”

Yohji found the title of the book in smallish print under
the enormous author’s name. “’Cell.’ What, it’s about a possessed cell phone?”

Schuldig put the book on his night table crossed his arms.
“No, it’s not, actually. It’s pretty creepy. Or, at least it would be if this
King knew jack shit about telepathy.” He gave the book a considering look.
“Actually, it’s still creepy. Half the time I want to laugh myself silly at his
stupid ignorance, and half the time I want to throw my cell phone under a
passing semi.”

“Telepathy?”

Schuldig waved dismissively. “It delves into the idea of the
telepathic hive mind, only it likens the brain too much to a computer – if the
brain was that much like a computer, I’d be able to read everything on a hard
drive just by switching the thing on. But I’m not about to sit here and give
you a blow-by-blow account of this book.”

“Then how about answering my first question? You know, the
one about Aya?”

“Ah. That.” Schuldig looked a bit uncomfortable. “It seemed
like a good idea at the time.”

Yohji raised an eyebrow. “You can do better than that.”

“Really! He was so contrite and exhausted and hungry and
pretty, and I thought you might like to watch – “

Yohji’s eyes hardened. “If you’d been thinking of me at all,
I think you would have asked me what I’d like.”

Schu ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose you’re probably
right,” he said after a minute.

“You just wanted to, so you did it without any thought of
how I might perceive it. Or Aya, for that matter.”

Schuldig snorted. “Aya won’t even remember it.”

“That’s not the point, Sch – did you erase it?” Yohji asked,
alarmed. Schuldig had promised he wouldn’t ever just erase things he didn’t
want to have to deal with, but as evidenced by him kissing Aya, he still had
something of an impulse control problem.

Schu was starting to get angry. “No. I promised you I
wouldn’t, and I’ve never broken a promise I’ve made to you, have I? Besides,
what would be the point of erasing it from his memory, but not from yours? I
don’t care if he remembers it or not!”

“Alright, alright. Sorry. Look, I don’t really have an issue
with the actual kissing – though if you do it again without asking or including
me, I will – but I don’t want you treating Aya like some kind of pretty doll.
Aside from the fact that he deserves more respect than that, no matter how
passive he seems these days, I guarantee that will come back to bite you on the
ass eventually. And not in the good way,” Yohji added, rolling his eyes at
Schuldig’s smirk. “In the katana-in-your-guts-as-you-sleep way.”

“I did ask him first,” Schu said.

Yohji was surprised. “Oh? He actually said yes?”

“He asked if you would be kissing him too.” Schu looked
really sheepish now.

Yohji slapped a hand over his eyes. “And you lied to him.”

“I just wanted to see what it was like!”

“Don’t lie to him, Schuldig.”

“Okay, Yohji.”

“Promise me.”

Schuldig looked at him. “I don’t lie to you, isn’t that
enough?”

Yohji wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. Better
yet, to tear Schuldig’s hair out. “You know perfectly well that it isn’t.”

“But I might need to lie to Aya about something,”
Schu protested.

“You – if Aya needs to be lied to, I’ll do it, how about
that,” Yohji tried.

Schuldig considered. “Okay. I promise that if Aya needs to
be lied to, you can do it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Yohji grabbed Schuldig’s pillow from behind him and started
whacking him with it.

“Hey! Stop!” Schuldig grabbed the pillow back from him.
“Alright, fine. I promise I won’t lie to Aya anymore.”

“Aya meaning Ran, and not Aya-chan.”

Schuldig sighed and held up his right hand. “I swear to you
by all that is evil and unholy that I will never lie to Aya, meaning Ran, the
guy with the red hair, who’s near six feet tall and was born on July 4^th
– “

“Right, right. Shut up now and turn out your light.”

Schuldig complied, and Yohji turned on his side, facing away
from him.

“Yohji?” Schu asked quietly after a minute.

“Hm?”

“Are you upset with me?”

Yohji rubbed his forehead hard with the heel of his hand.
::Go to sleep, Schu.::

::I won’t be able to sleep if I think you’re upset with me.::

Lord, have mercy… ::No, I’m not upset. Now sleep.::

::You’re lying to me, now.::

::So don’t ask if you know the answer. I’ll be fine
tomorrow.::

::Would it help if I gave you the experience of kissing
Aya?::

Yohji sighed, and turned over to face Schuldig. ::No. You
wanted it for yourself, so you should keep it. Honestly, I’ll have completely
gotten over all this nonsense by morning, but only if you let me get some
sleep!::

::Can I hold you? It’s been kind of a rough day.::

::I guess.:: Yohji inched over to Schuldig and put his head
on his lover’s chest, feeling Schu’s arms close around him.

::I love you, Yohji. More than anything or anyone.::

::Love you too. Now shut the hell up.::

******

“You know, we really should have had Aya bring stuff from
our house over here. All that food he was chopping and filleting and dicing and
whatever is going to go bad,” Yohji said as they rode the elevator to Farf’s
apartment early Sunday evening. Farf’s place took up the entire top floor of
the small nine-storey building.

“Yohji, he must have mutilated 400 cucumbers and 200 pounds
of meat and fish. At least. Some of it’s going to go to waste, I’m sorry to
tell you.”

Schuldig shifted so he could slip an arm around Yohji’s
waist.

The elevator opened onto a short entrance hallway that led
to elegant double-doors. As they approached, Yohji heard the sound of a violin.
“Uh-oh, Aya’s making him listen to classical music?”

Schuldig looked puzzled. “Aya’s the only person in the world
who likes violins?”

“I didn’t have Farf pegged as a concerto kind of guy.”

“Ch’! Since when do you have anything about Farf ‘pegged’,
Yohji?”

The music abruptly stopped, and a couple of seconds later
the front door opened. “See, this is how it works,” Farfarello said, grabbing
Yohji’s hand. Yohji tried not to panic.

::Good thinking. He can smell fear.::

::Shut up, Schu!::

Farfarello was curling Yohji’s fingers into a fist. “Ye do
yer hand up like this, and…” He knocked on the door with Yohji’s hand, and
released him. “That’s called knocking on the door. It’s often useful for
getting people’s attention if ye want them to let ye in their house. There’s
also this thing called a doorbell – “

“Ha, ha, Farf. Jeez, we were only here two seconds – “

“ – which is even lit up for yer convenience – “

“So, um, now that we’re here and you’ve answered the door,
can we come in?” Yohji asked brightly. He couldn’t see Aya anywhere behind Farf
and wanted to make sure he was okay.

Farfarello eyed him shrewdly. “Certainly. Aya’ll just be a
few more minutes in the oven – oops, I mean in the kitchen,” he mock-corrected
as Yohji’s heart stuttered.

“It’s not nice to give your guests infarctions, Farf,”
Schuldig said, breezing by them into the apartment.

“I’m not a nice guy,” Farf said, smiling at Yohji with more
teeth than necessary.

Yohji gulped. “I’ll just wait in the car, then, shall I?” he
said. His nerves weren’t up to this.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Farf said, swinging him around and
fairly tossing him into the apartment, closing the door and locking it. “Let me
show ye my knife collection. I just sharpened them all.”

Schuldig stuck his head around the corner. “Hey, there’s a
really nice view from back here, Yotan!”

“Oh, really?” Yohji said, trying to sound casual and walk
sedately, though his ass seemed to be trying to get ahead of him. He heard
Farfarello snickering behind him, and tried hard not to be embarrassed.

::You make it way too easy for him, you know,:: Schuldig
commented as Yohji joined him on the balcony.

::I can’t help it. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to
him.::

Schuldig tsked. “Isn’t this nice?” he asked, indicating the
view.

Yohji looked around. It was very nice, really. A rambling
garden stretched near to the shores of a lake, which on their side was lined
with weeping willows. Sprawling around the rest of the lake were enormous old
oaks hung with beards of Spanish moss. The air smelled sweet, and as it was
only early December it wasn’t very cold. “Yeah, it’s pretty.” The sound of the
violin started up again, reminding Yohji why they were here. He turned around.
“I’m going to check on Aya.”

“Yes, and we’re being awfully rude to Farf. He didn’t have
to invite us, you know.”

“He’s probably used to it,” Yohji said without thinking, and
cringed at how it sounded.

Schuldig said, “Yeah, he is used to it, but not from me. You
want to be a jerk, you’re on your own.” He opened the balcony door and nearly
shut it in Yohji’s face.

Resigned to an unpleasant, scary evening during which he
would have to be on his best behavior or risk being – as Schu liked to say –
‘cut off’, two words which Yohji fervently believed should never be associated
with sex in any way, Yohji re-entered the living area he had nearly sprinted through
on his way to the balcony.

Three things struck him as he looked around the room. One,
aside from some medieval paraphernalia and some odd-looking swords mounted on
the walls, it was really quite tasteful. Almost normal, one might say. Vaulted
ceiling, wooden floors oiled so that they almost glowed, a carved stone
fireplace, lots of custom shelving and bookcases, warm wooden furniture with
black leather upholstery that was all almost certainly designer, but nothing
too flashy or esoteric…it was almost cozy.

The second thing that struck him, to his relief, was that
Aya was sitting on the couch, swirling a small snifter of something, looking
perfectly at ease. His eye was only swollen half-closed, and didn’t seem to be
paining him, though the bruising was still nasty-looking.

The third thing was that Farfarello was leaning against the
wall facing Aya, playing the violin. And though he was no one to judge, really,
it seemed to Yohji that he played brilliantly.

Rather than interrupt with some incredulous comment only to
be embarrassed yet again, Yohji quietly walked over to a chair next to
Schuldig’s, and sat down.

As soon as his butt hit the seat, Farfarello stopped playing
and leaned the instrument against the wall. “Cognac, Yohji?” he asked.

“Sure,” Yohji said, trying to relax. As Farfarello crossed
the room to the cut glass decanter – his hair was in a high ponytail that swung
almost cutely – Yohji asked Schu, ::Could he always do that – play like that?::

::Of course,:: Schuldig sent. ::All Irishmen come straight
out of their ma’s womb fiddlin’ ‘The Blarney Pilgrim’, you know.::

::I’m going to spend most of my time tonight sighing in
defeat, aren’t I? And that was Irish fold music, that was Paganini, if I’m not
mistaken – Aya loves Paganini.::

There was a buzzing sound from what Yohji presumed was the
kitchen, and Aya stood up and made his way out of the room in that
slightly-more-careful-than-normal way he had when he was somewhat drunk. Yohji
noticed his hair was in a braid, and wondered if he’d done that himself. He
found it hard to imagine Farfarello braiding someone’s hair, but as Schu had
mentioned, he was mostly mystified by the albino and couldn’t figure out much
about him, ex-detective though he was.

As Farf handed him his glass, Yohji decided to try a
compliment. “You play really well,” he said, and tensed in case that was the
wrong thing to say.

Farf smiled at him – thankfully without teeth – and said,
“Thanks. Drink. Relax.”

As Farf handed Schuldig a glass as well – presumably he’d
wanted to wait for Yohji – the German grinned evilly and said, “Thanks, Mr.
Fiddlefast.”

Farfarello froze, then crossed his arms and glared.
“Schuldig, no. No. I’m tossing ye off the balcony if ye do, I swear.”

“Just the chorus!”

“No, ye son of a goat!”

Schuldig sprang up, raced forward and vaulted over the couch
so it was between him and Farfarello, cackling.

“Schu – “

Schuldig began caterwauling at the top of his lungs, in
complete defiance of tone and melody.

“Faaarfiiiie Fiddlefast,

The fastest fiddler in the foooorest!

Farfie will last and last

As the fastest fiddler in the fooooorest!”

“What in the name of all that is good and sacred on this
earth is that abominable racket?” Aya hollered, bursting out of the kitchen.

Farfarello took advantage of the distraction to dive over
the couch and tackle Schuldig. Alarmed, Yohji flew across the room to find Farf
attempting to gag Schuldig with his own hair. He leaped on top of Farfarello,
attempting – quite unsuccessfully – to put him in a half-nelson.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Aya roared, almost as loudly as he used to
scream at Takatori, startling everybody. He glared at the two and a half pairs
of eyes staring at him. “How do you expect me to concentrate with all this
noise? Schuldig, stop singing.“ He seemed about to go on, but paused, looking
thoughtful. “Actually, if you don’t
sing, everything will probably be all right. I’ll help Farfarello gag you if
you start again.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Schuldig tried to holler around his hair. He ended up
inhaling a bunch of it and choking.

Apparently deciding that was enough punishment, Farf slid
out from under Yohji and turned to him. “Ye really need better hand to hand
skills if you’re going to defend him from me.”

“You could always stop attacking him!” Yohji snapped,
pounding Schuldig on the back as he coughed.

“I really don’t think I can, no,” Farf said, shaking his
head regretfully.

Eventually the three of them settled back in the living
room, only to have Aya call Farf for a hand bringing everything out to the
table. As the Irishman left the room, Schuldig clapped his hands together
gleefully. “Did you see the look on his face? Oh, that was so priceless!”

“Huh? On whose face?” Yohji muttered distractedly. His pride
was still injured from how obvious it was that Farf could wipe the floor with
him. Possibly Schuldig as well, but at least his boyfriend had been holding his
own before inhaling his hair.

“Farfarello’s, who do you think?”

“Oh, that. I was a little distracted by the…um…singing,”
Yohji said diplomatically.

“He hates that song,” Schuldig informed him happily.

“I gathered that. Did you make that up?”

Schuldig looked at Yohji like he’d suggested that he put a
live octopus in his pants for luck. “No. God, no. It’s from a children’s record
I discovered at a garage sale when Schwarz was in the States once.”

“Since when do you go to garage sales?”

“Hey, it was rural Massachusettes. I had nothing better to
do.” He took the last sip of his cognac as Farf and Aya came into the dining
area, which was a comfortable nook set next to the kitchen and was open to the
living room, setting platters of food on the large square table.

“Food’s done,” Farf said. “Get over here now or we’re not
leaving ye any.”

“Aww, it’s like being back in Schwarz,” Schuldig said,
getting up and walking with Yohji to the table.

The food was very nicely presented, but it all looked rather
scary to Yohji. That, and there was far too much of it, he thought grimly,
looking over the partially sliced poultry abomination that was the Turducken.

Though, he had to admit, everything smelled really, really
good.

Farf and Aya made short work of serving everyone and
relegating the dishes to a sideboard, then started spooning what seemed a
bewildering array of gravies over everything on their plates. Yohji glanced at
Schuldig, who shrugged. ::Just do what they’re doing.::

Once everything on his plate was swimming, Yohji cut a piece
of turkey, which came off accompanied by a vile-looking brown sludge. Trying
not to wince or squeeze his eyes shut, he popped the mess on his fork into his
mouth and chewed.

His eyes snapped open.

“Hey, this is really good!” he cried. “Delicious, Aya!”

Farf chuckled and Aya rolled his eyes. “Thanks for sounding
so surprised, Yohji.”

“No, I mean – “ he paused to take another bite, continuing
around his chewing, “ – it looks really horrible, though. What the hell is this
brown sludge? It’s fantastic!”

“It’s stuffing made
with a turkey liver and truffle oil pâté, and I suggest to ye that it’s really
bad form to insult the chef at the dinner table,” warned Farfarello.

“I just can’t get over this,” Yohji marveled, barely hearing
him.

“I thought pâté had to be goose liver,” Schuldig said,
adjusting his silver bandanna to keep his hair out of his food more
effectively.

“Pâté de fois gras is goose liver. You can make pâté out of
anything; it just means paste,” Farf explained. “You can make it out of
strained peaches and bacon grease if you want. That’s not a recommendation.”

“What’s this stuff?” Yohji asked, forking out a
different-colored stuffing from between the duck and the chicken layers.

Aya sighed. “You want me to identify what’s on your plate
for you, Yohji?”

“Yes, please.”

“Fine.” He reached over with his knife and stabbed each
thing as he identified it. “Turkey. Brown sludge,” he intoned sarcastically,
but not without amusement. Yohji rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
“Duck,” Aya continued, “Eggplant, shrimp and oyster stuffing. Chicken.
Cornbread and chaurice – that’s Creole pork sausage – stuffing. Rosemary-prune
gravy.” He moved to another heap on Yohji’s plate. “Mirlitons stuffed with
boudin blanc.”

“Melly-taws?” Yohji asked.

“Also called a christophene, a chayote or a vegetable pear.
It’s a kind of squash. Boudin blanc is basically chicken sausage. Creamed
oyster sauce. Spicy crawfish confit with red tarragon gravy. Confit means
preserved in its own fat, but here you’d substitute ‘stewed’ for ‘preserved’
because crawfish don’t keep well.” He pointed at several toasted rounds of
baguette. “Bread,” he enunciated carefully.

“All right,” Yohji laughed, pushing Aya’s hand away from his
plate. “Lemme eat now.”

There was companionable silence as everyone stuffed their
faces, washing down the meal with dry white wine that complemented the
sweetness in the sauces.

Yohji noticed Aya glancing furtively at Farfarello from time
to time, obviously waiting for his verdict. Farf was chewing each dish very
slowly, wrinkles of concentration on his brow.

::Farf’s apt to make him wait a while. Just ignore them.::

::Easy for you to say.::

“What did you forget to do to the béchamel sauce
aux huîtres, Aya?” Farfarello said after a while, indicating what Aya had
called ‘creamed oyster sauce.’

Aya froze in the act of chewing, his eyes widening. Then he
swallowed and banged his head lightly on the back of his chair. “Damn it.”

“You remembered with the other sauces, though,” Farfarello
reassured him.

“What? What’s wrong with it?” Yohji asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just forgot to add some butter
at the end.”

“Always monter au buerre, Aya, always,” Farf
instructed sternly.

“What difference does it make whether you add butter at the
end or not?” Yohji asked, a little miffed that Farfarello was making such a big
deal out of it.

“It emulsifies the sauce, gives it a mellower, richer
flavor. It might not seem like much, but it’s mostly little things that
separate good food from great food.”

“Hai, sensei,” Aya said dejectedly, looking crushed.

Farfarello, who sat across from Yohji on Aya’s other side,
reached behind the swordsman and tugged on his braid. “Sheesh. Ye’d think I
stood up and pissed on my plate or something.” Aya looked horrified at the
thought, and Farf laughed. “Other than that I can’t find a single thing wrong
with any of this. Ye know I’ve got no reason to be soft on ye, either. Though I
don’t get as much enjoyment out of embarrassing people as some of us here – “
he glared at Schuldig, “ – I would have done it anyway if I’d found a reason
to.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I would never have believed it if I
hadn’t been watching ye all day. Don’t let it go to yer head, though. Cooking
one meal, even if it takes you twelve hours, is still nothing like functioning
professionally in a busy kitchen.”

“Hai, sensei,” Aya repeated, but much more brightly, and his
eyes sparkled.

“Speaking of embarrassing one’s friends, what’s this I hear
about someone writing a song about you for children?” Yohji asked when the
eating pace slowed a bit.

“Hm?” Aya said as Schu started cackling again.

Farf sighed. “Schuldig, because he is a sadistic little
prick, found this kid’s record from the ‘80s about these four moralizing little
elf-bastards called Lolliwinks, one of whose name happened to be Farfi
Fiddlefast, because as everyone knows God hates me. So when I was being
restraint-punished by Crawford for some mild infraction like slaughtering too
many people in messy and disgusting ways, Schuldig would put this record on and
play it over and over and over until Crawford couldn’t stand the singing
anymore.”

“Yeah, Farf would sing all the songs at the top of his
lungs,” Schuldig giggled.

“It was a case of ‘if ye can’t beat ‘em, try to break yer
own eardrums,’” Farf clarified, shrugging. “Though I suppose if I’d been about
seven I would have thought they had some catchy tunes.”

“Sing the Brad song, Farf!” Schuldig cried, positively
bouncing in his chair.

“No,” Farf said flatly.

“Oh, you’d rather I sung it?”

“NO,” Farf and Aya said adamantly, in unison.

Schuldig crossed his arms. “Well either you sing it or I’m
going to.”

“Please don’t let him sing,” Aya implored.

Farfarello looked like he would rather break all their
necks, toss them all over the balcony and have done with them, but he said,
“Fine. Ye’ve asked for it. But I’m only doing the chorus, and I’m not
screeching it like a castrated hyena.”

Schuldig laced his fingers together and rested his chin on
the backs of his hands. “What more could I ask for?”

To Yohji’s horror, Farfarello started to sing:

“Planning ahead is Blinky Thinkertinker’s plan,

A plan that’s written by his very own hand.

Planning ahead is good advice to follow

Here in Lolliwink land.

There. The Brad song chorus. Happy? No more fucking songs,
Schuldig, or I’ll have to stab ye again, in a more vital place.”

As Schuldig squealed with delight and leaped out of his
chair to hug Farf, who fought him valiantly, Yohji turned to Aya, who looked a
little stunned. “That was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard,” he
remarked.

Aya blinked, and shrugged. “It was better than Schuldig.
Farfarello can stay on key, at least. The song sounds like Crawford, though,
doesn’t it?”

“This reminds me – knock it off, ye fucking screwhead! –
which one of ye’s been beating on my sous-chef?” Farf asked, still fighting
Schu, who was attempting to kiss Farf’s cheek without getting clobbered.

Yohji sighed. He was getting a much clearer picture of what
life in Schwarz must have been like. Well, if Schu wanted so badly to tempt
fate, Yohji wasn’t going to get in fate’s way if it wanted to belt him one…

Schuldig paused abruptly, and then sat down. “I’ll show you
the culprit,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Schuldig,” Aya said warningly. “Stop being annoying.”

Farf looked at Aya. “Ask the grass to stop being green, why
don’t ye,” he said. Then his eyes unfocused for several seconds as, presumably,
Schuldig played the doorframe incident for him. He shook his head. “Oy,
Abyssinian, that was just sad.”

“Hey!” Aya threw his napkin into his mostly empty plate. “I
was half-asleep because somebody didn’t give me much time to study about
forty-thousand pages’ worth of crap!”

“And then he spent about twelve hours yesterday chopping up
enough food to feed Eurasia,” Schuldig supplied helpfully.

“I don’t know why you thought you needed that much practice,
Aya,” Yohji added. “You’ve always been good with a blade.”

Farfarello turned his eye to Yohji. “Oh, yes,” he said,
deadpan, “and so many cooks these days peel their potatoes with a three-foot
katana.”

Aya had just taken a drink of wine, and had to spit it on
the floor – and Yohji, though he didn’t notice it – so he wouldn’t choke on it
while laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” he managed after a minute. “I’ll get a mop.”

“This is a very weird night,” Yohji said, after Aya had gone
into the kitchen. “But it’s great to see Aya laughing, even if he did spit wine
all over my pants.”

“Yeah, I’ve kept him pretty well sauced all day,” Farf said.
“I’m surprised he had the presence of mind to spit it, instead of inhaling it
or snorting it out his nose.”

“He’s been drinking all day?” Yohji asked, not sure now if
this was such a good development.

“Well, when he got here he was really high-strung and
agonizing about every little detail, going over and over everything in his
mind. You can’t do that when you’re on the line. So, I mellowed him out in the
traditional way.”

“Sex?” asked Schuldig.

“Aren’t you ready to be put down for a nap yet?” Farf asked.

“How is he going to be ready to start working for you
tomorrow if he’s hung-over for half the day?” Yohji demanded.

“More than half the crew is hung-over on Monday. No big
deal.”

“And then what, they drink for the rest of the day as well?”

“Hey, I’d rather have a tanked chef who does what he’s
supposed to do than a sober chef who hesitates so much that the line grinds to
a halt. And it’s not as though I forcibly shot him up with heroin or something.
I just supplied the wine, he filled his own glass.”

“I know, but, I mean…last week we were lucky if he said one
word to us all day, or moved from in front of the TV for any reason at all. I’m
glad he seems to be coming back to himself again, but someone who’s that
depressed…I just don’t think he should be drinking that much, do you?”

Farfarello nodded. “I’ll know well before he does if it’s
becoming a problem. Honestly, though, I don’t think you have anything to worry
about. He’ll be more focused and less nervous when he’s actually on the job,
I’m sure, and I’m also sure he won’t let himself drink anyway. Did he ever
drink on or before missions?”

“No, but…things aren’t the same, now,” Yohji finished, not
sure how much he should say, what Farfarello already knew or guessed.

“Isn’t Aya taking kind of a long time with the mop?”
Schuldig wondered. He seemed much more subdued, for which Yohji couldn’t help
but be grateful.

“Yes, because he heard us talking about him and stopped to
listen at the door,” Farf informed them casually. “I’ll go see how upset he
is.”

“Wh – you could have said something!” Yohji sputtered.

“You were an assassin too. You shouldn’t let yourself get
that lazy.” Farfarello rose from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Damn it! Did you know he was there, too?” Yohji demanded,
irritated.

“Yes, but I wasn’t talking about him, so I don’t care.”
Schuldig yawned cutely. “Let’s move to the living room. I’m sleepy.”

“Of course you are. You’ve been bouncing around like a
hyperactive two-year-old.” Yohji took Schuldig’s hand and led him over to the
couch.

“Yeah,” Schu said dreamily. “It’s great being around the
Farf again. I kind of miss him losing it and trying to carve me up with
surgical instruments, though.”

“Well, just keep trying,” Yohji sighed, as he sat on the
couch and Schu laid his head down in his lap. “I’m sure you’ll drive him to it
again some day.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Schuldig mumbled.

Yohji shook his head, running his fingers through his
suicidal boyfriend’s orange mane.

Aya and Farfarello joined them a couple of minutes later.
Yohji peered at Aya, and was relieved to see that he didn’t look sullen or
resentful. He smiled, and Aya returned it.

“Aww, the kid’s asleep,” Farfarello observed. “They always
look so peaceful and innocent in their sleep. Then they wake up and ye wonder
why ye never bought a taser…”

“Yeah, I was hoping to get to the car before he conked out,”
Yohji said.

“I’ll carry him down, no worries.”

“Can I get a ride with you, Yohji? I’m not good to drive at
the moment,” Aya murmured.

“You’re welcome to stay over, Aya. You’re to come in when I
do this week, anyway,” Farf offered. “I have your whites here, too, so ye’ve
got a change of clothes already.”

Aya considered. “Okay, that would be easier.”

“Right, then.” Farf slapped his knees and stood up. “I’ll
take that, Yohji,” he said, hauling Schuldig off Yohji’s lap and slinging him
over one shoulder.

“Don’t be so rough with him!” Yohji admonished.

“Puss, do ye know how often I had to do this, when Nagi
wasn’t around or just didn’t feel like spending the energy to move his
knocked-out ass around? Schuldig isn’t the delicate flower ye seem to think he
is.”

Yohji couldn’t help laughing. “I know he’s tough, I just
don’t like him to be abused by anyone other than me.”

Farf raised an eyebrow. “Ye expect an awful lot of tolerance
from other people, then.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s unrealistic.”

“Doubtless. Let’s go, then.”

“Um…” Yohji glanced uncertainly at Aya, who was staring at
his fingernails.

“Don’t be long, I’m not carrying him all night,” Farf said,
and headed for the door.

Yohji knelt in front of Aya. “Are you sure you’ll be all
right here?” he asked softly, touching one pale cheek that was delicately
flushed with alcohol.

“I’ll be fine.” Aya didn’t look at him.

“Okay.” He hesitated. “You mad?”

Aya’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “No. It was my first reaction,
but then I remembered how you used to get falling-down drunk almost every
night…”

Yohji chuckled grimly. “I wouldn’t want to see you like
that. Not that I really thought you’d get that bad, but still…”

“I guess I’m glad you care enough to be concerned about it,”
Aya admitted.

“Of course I do. I always will.”

“Hn.”

“Dinner was really spectacular, Aya. The best meal I can
remember, quite honestly. You’ll make a fantastic chef.”

For some reason Aya looked a little sad when he said that,
but he said, “Thanks, Yotan. I’m glad you liked it.”

Yohji half-rose, leaned in and kissed Aya softly. “Night,
Aya. Good luck tomorrow.”

Aya grinned at him. “Thanks. Good night, Yotan.”

Feeling a pain in his chest that he didn’t want to think
about, Yohji turned and left Farfarello’s apartment.
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The Sous-Chef