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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained	By : KDSarge Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6318 -:- 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
- 13
- 14
- 15
wow,
chapter fourteen already. Thanks so much to all still hanging in
there! Especially to those reviewing. Your kind words have helped
through a very rough week.

Restorations

“Yes,
yes, they went down the beach!” the old man said, waving to his
right. “Drunk as skunks, they were, and leaning into each other
to stay on their feet!”

Aya
took a deep breath. The woman Crawford was talking to was waving the
same way. He was close. Finally, he was close.

“Thank
you, grandfather.” He bowed to the man, who grumbled about not
being some Japanese whelp’s grandfather as he moved away. Aya
walked down the beach. Three-fourths of Schwarz did the same, farther
up the sand from the ocean. Nagi had apparently done as incredibly
well as Omi had, at pulling information from Schuldig’s short
taunt. Now if only someone at the identified hotel had seen them
since yesterday...

Trust
Kudou Yohji. Stuck in a foreign country with no money, ID, or weapon,
his only companion a sadistic, manipulative telepath–Kudou
Yohji went on a days-long bender.

Knowing
Yohji, he was probably having the time of his life. Aya would have
let him be, if Birman had answered him when he asked that Kritiker do
the same.

***

“It’s–I’m
sure it’s just–a glitch. Or something.”

“Kudou,
you’re a fucking idiot!”

“What
do you want me to say? I don’t know anything about it!”

Schuldig
closed his eyes, made fists and relaxed them a few times. “Nothing.
I don’t–“ His eyes sprang open, he stiffened,
shooting off the stool and falling backwards, his body taut. Yohji
barely caught him.

“Schuldig!”

“Aaaaa!!”
the German gasped out, then curled forward, Yohji almost dropped him
again as he wrapped around himself. “Zu viel...”

“Hey,
is he okay?” The bartender was leaning over to look at the
German curled on his deck.

“Is
he look okay?” Yohji demanded. Damn it, his English wasn’t
up to this–doctor, how did you say doctor in–

“Too
much...” Schu gasped in Japanese. First his power was gone, now
it was out of control? That made sense. Yohji put the German over his
shoulder and ran for the beach. There wasn’t anyone down there,
some sort of warning–

Schuldig
was cursing, that was an improvement, right? Yohji set him down.
“Schu, how do I help?”

“Crawford!!”
the German howled. “You son of a bitch! You knew!”

“What
did he know?” Yohji took the German’s hand as he writhed
in the sand. “What do I do, Schuldig?”

“Won’t...come
back! Fuck you...”

“He’s
hurting you somehow because you left Schwarz?”

“Cont–tingency...drugs...something.”
He threw his head back, those blue eyes blazed at Yohji. “I
win! I’ll go first...”

“Damn
it, Schuldig, don’t give up! Tell me what to do!”

“Nothing!”
he panted. “Fuck it!...Fuck them! Won’t...won’t be
forced...I am a prince, damn it!”

“Schu–“

”Call
Crawford,” the German gasped, then went limp. “Ahh...”

“Are
you all right?”

“Just
a....breather. Power’s gone, it’ll come back worse, I’ve
seen this before. Thought it was the damn pills...it’s going to
kill me, Yohji. Please–get my cell phone. Help me dial
Crawford, I want to tell him to meet me in fucking hel–aaieee!”

Yohji
groped for the phone. Roaming charges, though, how much would–shut
up, Kudou!

***

Aya
watched from the corner of his eye as Crawford answered his cell
phone. The American gestured at the other members of Schwarz, they
all walked up the beach towards the city. Aya debated following, but
it could have been anything. And he’d finally found someone who
had seen two tourists, one blonde, one with the damnedest orange
hair, staggering by today in search of a friendlier bartender.

***

“Is
he going to be all right?” Yohji asked as Crawford removed the
needle from Schuldig’s arm. The American glanced up, the light
glinted off his glasses. But he didn’t answer, just handed the
medical kit to Nagi before he lifted Schuldig. Yohji scratched the
back of his head.

“Um,
I don’t suppose you could...give me a ride home?” God, he
couldn’t believe he’d asked that! He’d rather swim
home than share a plane with–

“Go
back to the hotel,” Crawford said over his shoulder. “In
three hours your fate will meet you there.”

***

Ayeka-san
had hinted she was getting off in an hour, but Yohji had turned her
down as gently as he could. He’d decided wanting to die in bed
was pretty damn selfish. On the beach would have to do. And drunk, of
course. Drunk on a beach in Hawaii was not a bad way to go.

Yohji
sat drinking in a beach chair under a full-size umbrella, and
considered putting up a sign that said “Kudou Yohji, derelict
assassin,” but he didn’t. He was glad he didn’t
have his watch. He might have changed his mind, and hurt some
innocent young–

Okay,
laughing just wasn’t appropriate. Dignity, he was going to meet
his fate with dignity. He wished he had the energy to get up and move
the umbrella, the sun had changed angles and was now shining in–

A
shadow fell over him. Yohji growled.

“Some
assassin you are, you’re not supposed to let me see you
coming.”

“Why
not?” a deep voice asked.

“Aya!”
Yohji tried to jump up, but it was a long way up and he landed back
on his ass. “Ow!”

“Yohji,”
Aya asked, “how long has it been since you were sober?”

Was
he...smiling? That couldn’t be, Aya hated when he drank. It
must be the glare of the sun behind him. Yohji hung his head.
“However long it’s been since we went into that club.”

“That’s
impressive, Yohji. Even for you.”

“Really?
How long has it been?”

“That
was Friday night. It’s now–“ Aya looked at his
watch, “Tuesday afternoon, Tokyo time.”

Yohji
counted on his fingers, then shrugged. “I’ve done
better.” He peered up at Aya. “You’re not here to
kill me? I wouldn’t mind, you know, I just–“

”No,
Yohji, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to bring you
home.”

“Oh.”

***

Schuldig
was unconscious, and would stay that way for a while. It would be
hours before Crawford could assess the damage. So when Nagi asked if
Schu was going to be okay, Crawford answered honestly. Nagi stared at
him.

“What
do you mean, you don’t know?”

Crawford
ignored him as he stripped off Schuldig’s clothes. Nagi floated
the German into the bathroom, he and Crawford worked together to wash
the sand off their teammate. Crawford washed that fiery hair three
times, to be sure. When they came out with Schuldig wrapped in a
robe, Crawford was astonished to see Farfarello changing the bed.

“Sand,”
the Irishman said at Crawford’s raised eyebrow. “It gets
everywhere you wish it wouldn’t.”

Well,
that was true. Nagi floated Schu to the bed, but didn’t put him
down. Crawford was about to ask why when a fresh towel came floating
from the bathroom, to drape itself over the pillow. Gently Nagi
lowered his teammate to the bed. Then Schuldig’s hair started
moving.

“He
can take care of that,” Crawford snapped. It was disturbing,
somehow, seeing the other two gently care for the telepath who
delighted in torturing them.

“If
it dries like that, it will stand up even more than usual,”
Nagi said. “And he hates when he wakes up with tangles.”
The red-gold strands twisted around themselves, into a braid over
Schuldig’s shoulder. Farfarello cut a long strip from a towel,
Nagi took it to tie the braid. “I will watch over him,”
he said.

“That’s
not–“

”He
should wake up to a friend,” the boy said, giving Crawford
another of those accusing looks. He’d been getting good at
them, since Saturday morning. He should–

Later.
He would deal with Prodigy’s attitude later.

“Very
well.”

***

Yohji
let the shower run down over his head and wondered what he was
supposed to do now. Every time he thought he had things figured out,
they changed, and he just didn’t care to think any more. Worse,
he couldn’t just ask Aya. It was plain to see Aya...did not
want to talk about it.

He’d
been ready to die. He had. Damn Crawford anyway, he’d meant
Yohji to interpret his remark like that. That cold bastard didn’t
deserve Schu. He hoped the telepath would forgive him for telling
Crawford where he was, but he couldn’t just watch him die–

Worry
about that later, Kudou. Now come up with a way to tell Aya he didn’t
need to be so nice, everything could just go back to the miserable
way it was before.

Damn
it, he didn’t want it to! Yohji leaned against the wall and
sniffled, though apparently he wasn’t at the right stage of
drunkenness to get a real crying jag going.

As
expected, Aya had retreated. He wasn’t cold, but he was calm,
careful, gentle–he was Abyssinian taking care of a wounded
teammate. A badly wounded teammate. He hadn’t said a word about
Yohji letting Schu kidnap–well...hijack? Umm...abduct? Lead
astray? He’d definitely done that. Try as he might, Yohji could
not remember flying to Hawaii. He thought he remembered going to
drink at Narita–

Schu
had sworn Hawaii was Yohji’s idea, the telepath had just made
it happen.

Anyway.
Aya hadn’t said anything, he didn’t even make fun of how
drunk Yohji was. The mischievous little sneak was gone, maybe
forever. Aya hadn’t been angry at Ayeka-san cooing over Yohji’s
condition, either, or at Schuldig’s dry-cleaning hanging inside
the door. The trust was gone, the possessiveness was gone, and almost
the only thing he’d said besides what he had to was that he was
never going to drink again.

“Yohji,”
came that too-gentle voice, “get out before you drown.”
That was another thing. Aya hadn’t called him ‘Kudou’
once.

There
were four towels and a robe by the door, Aya hadn’t even come
in far enough to put them in reach of the shower. Four towels and a
robe was overkill, Aya’s subtle hint not to wander out in just
a towel, he didn’t want to see. Yohji sighed and wished he
weren’t so drunk. Maybe if he hadn’t spent the
last–Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday–four days drunk,
he could find a way to talk to Aya, here in Hawaii where they
wouldn’t be interrupted by missions or evil assassins or genki
chibis needing harassing or fangirls pretending to want flowers or–

Face
it, Kudou, he told himself. He and Aya had lived together for years,
worked together in not one but two jobs, and spent more time together
than most married couples did. If they hadn’t found a way yet,
a way was not going to be found.

Okay,
now he was in the mood to cry. But Aya would come to check on him
again, and he didn’t want to upset Aya. Not anymore. He’d
thought teasing Aya brought out the real person, but that was only
one aspect of him. Yohji wanted all of Aya, his anger wasn’t
enough.

Forget
it. Just forget it. He wasn’t going to get all of Aya, and he
didn’t deserve him anyway. Aya needed someone...better. Someone
who could talk books with him, books and traditions and...and
loyalty, and integrity...Aya had come for him. Aya had dropped
everything to come to Hawaii to search for his drunken idiot of a
teammate, to save his life because he was too foolish to do it
himself.

Aya
deserved better than this. Aya deserved it, and with that miracle
worker he had for a sister, he would get it. Yohji just needed
to...stay out of the way. He could do that. They were still friends,
at least, Aya was still in his life. Aya hadn’t tried to kill
him, as that bastard Crawford had done to Schu.

“Get
him, Schu,” Yohji muttered as he pulled the robe on. “Don’t
let him get away with that.” Like there was a chance he would.
Schu was as vindictive as Aya, and needed even less reason.

Maybe
it was a redhead thing.

The
redhead he cared most about was at the huge window when he came out.
Aya stared off into the ocean view, his arms wrapped around himself.
Yohji admired his profile, and wished it could be his arms around
that sexy body. He remembered–

He
remembered he better not remember, if he didn’t want to cry in
front of Aya. He lit a cigarette instead of going over there.

“I’ll
go down to the lobby and call the airline,” Aya said softly,
not looking at him. “We won’t be able to leave for
several hours at least. You should sleep.”

Yohji
looked at the big, empty bed. No. He wasn’t drunk enough, there
was no way he would manage to– “I’ll go with you.”

“Sleep,
Yohji.” Aya turned to look at him. “You need to sleep.
And eat. When was the last time you ate?”

Drying
his hair seemed a good thing to do right then.

“Friday?”
Aya asked. Yohji nodded.

“I
will bring you something–easy.” Aya headed for the door.
“Call the lobby when you wake up, I’ll be near the desk.”

“Aya–“
Damn it, don’t say it, Kudou, don’t–

“What
is it, Yohji?”

“I–can’t
sleep alone.”

“You
want me to stay?” Aya asked, surprise clear in those incredible
eyes. Yohji nodded.

“All
right,” Aya said.

Yohji
left the robe on as he slipped under the covers. The redhead moved a
chair to sit by his head.

“Do
you want me to talk?”

For
an instant Yohji wondered if Aya would sing if he demanded it. He was
being so gentle and accommodating–maybe just this one last
time, Kudou Yohji would take advantage. He’d never have another
chance, he never planned to get this drunk again. It had led to too
much trouble.

“Come
here,” he growled, and yanked Aya out of the chair. Aya
stiffened, so he didn’t drag the redhead under the covers as
he’d meant to. Instead he let him lie on top, but snuggled up
to that wonderful chest.

“This...is
how you want to sleep?”

“Hai.”

***

Crawford
looked up as the door opened. “You shouldn’t be out of
bed.”

Schuldig
leaned his shoulders against the door jamb and folded his arms.
Crawford pushed his glasses up.

The
telepath looked–fragile. He was always slender, pale, and
exquisite. Now he looked vulnerable. Delicate. Breathtaking. His eyes
looked bruised, his hair was rumpled despite Nagi’s braid, and
the robe was sizes too big, showing most of a fine-boned shoulder. He
wasn’t smirking, or gloating, or glaring. He just stood there.
Looking.

“Nagi
wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“He’s
asleep.”

“Farfarello
went to get some food. He said to tell you if there is such a thing
as schnitzel in this city, he’ll find it. He will.”

Schuldig
shrugged. Crawford turned back to his laptop. “How do you
feel?”

“Hung
over.”

“That’s
hardly surprising. Have you even been sober since–“
Suddenly he had a lap-ful of German redhead. Schuldig wasn’t
flirting, though, he’d curled up like Nagi used to do, when he
was much, much younger.

“What
are you doing?”

“Testing
a theory.”

Damn.
Crawford didn’t know what to do with his hands. He knew what he
wanted to do, but he didn’t know where the line was. Where did
giving comfort to an ill teammate end, and worshiping beauty begin?
He must not give himself away.

“Yohji’s
right,” Schuldig said against his neck. Crawford let the
jealousy just wash over him and flow away, and refused to notice how
good Schuldig felt in his lap.

“About?”

Schuldig
slipped away before his breath drove Crawford to do something he
shouldn’t. Crawford sighed relief.

“You
can’t read me.”

“Are
we back to that game?” Crawford asked, hoping they weren’t.
Staying ahead of Schuldig on an ordinary day was hell, if he wanted
to play in this odd mood it would be far worse.

“Yes,”
Schuldig said, and threw an uppercut to Crawford’s jaw. He let
his head rock back, just taking it. “You bastard,”
Schuldig hissed, “why? Did I ever give you reason to doubt me?
Get up!”

“I’m
not doing this with you, Schuldig.”

“Not
tonight maybe,” the telepath said. “But you’re
going to do it. And you know what, Crawford-fucking-san? I’m
going to pound you into streusel. Because you can’t read me.
Because if you’d only asked once I’d have done
anything for you, and you fucking poisoned me.” He turned back
to the bedroom. “I’m going to find out how, Bradley.
And then you’re short a telepath.”
- 13
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- 15
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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained