Strange Times

Sitting across the intimately small café table from a coldly seething Abyssinian was about as comfortable as staring at one of Schuldich’s smiles. Worse. Aya was the picture of polite company, calmly responding to questions about inane things and passing the creamer when asked. As soon as Omi realized conversation had stumbled into how nice the weather had been, he carefully set his coffee down, twined his fingers, relaxed his shoulders as he propped his elbows on the edge of the table, and gave Abyssinian Persia’s full attention.

“What can I do for you?”

A flicker of emotion teased through Abyssinian’s infamous composure. “You have a problem.”

“Yes, I have been told there is a pest problem in the office.”

“What do you intend on doing about it?”

Persia, eyes looking elsewhere, possibilities and penalties holding his attention as he took one, almost delicate, sip of coffee. “I will need to have them exterminated. They will be tricked out of hiding, and they will be taken care of.” It was Omi that smiled tentatively up at his companion, dropping the business façade of Persia. “I could use some help.”

Abyssinian’s mask cracked, just enough for Omi to see Aya’s honest relief at having the situation acknowledged, at the knowledge things would be…taken care of. “You have it.”

Schuldich was dreaming. That in itself wasn’t unusual. The content, though... He was dreaming of a dinner table with perfectly arranged plates and silverware, cups waiting to be filled and platters artfully spread across the center of the table. Napkins had been folded with a crisp efficiency an origami artist would envy. He dropped his spoon, knocking it with a stray adolescent elbow as he clasped his fingers for evening grace. A pretty woman frowned and a man who could never have been as large as his sleeping mind made him out to be opened his mouth, eyebrows lowered in displeasure. There was a name somewhere in the chastisement, but no matter how hard Schuldich tried he couldn’t make it out. Couldn’t hear what his father was calling him…

Schuldich woke with an expletive his phantasmal father would never have approved of and rolled over. Rolled directly onto the side currently sporting a trendy bullet wound. A handful of scathing curses later, most of which were directed at himself, Schuldich managed to uncurl from his pain inspired huddle and reach for the medication waiting for his awkward reach on the nightstand.

This is what he got for napping while Aya was out. Had Aya been there, Schuldich could have rolled his brain into a comforting blanket of guilt and bloodshed, dreamt Aya’s dreams and wandered through Aya’s dysfunctions as opposed to giving in to the vulnerability of unconsciousness.

Headache warring with the pain in his side, Schuldich gave up napping as a lost cause. Physical pain was a better excuse than being afraid to go back to sleep.

Restless and hurting, Schuldich paused, toothbrush halfway to his mouth and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sleek and sleepy looking, his eyes lidded in complacent resignation …it was a domesticated version of the familiar predator that was gazing back at him, some manner of tamed and trained Schuldich, content to wait patiently while someone else took care of his problems. Schuldich spat at his reflection. He’d been shot before, and would almost definitely be shot again. The difference this time is that he was allowing someone else to take care of the offenders.

Schuldich made his way back to the bedroom, dry swallowed a few more aspirin just in case, finger-brushed his hair into obedience and tied it up with one of his more chromatically offensive headbands.

Schwartz was gone, but he was still the Mastermind, and the Mastermind hadn’t prowled in far too long. There were places to go, people to threaten, and information to drag out of minds dumb enough to try and keep a secret from him.

Intimidation was a talent. Malevolent sadism was an art form, and one Schuldich intended to spend a good part of the day showcasing. He had been a little bit too happy lately, a little too comfortable. Night terrors, and the instant desire to have Aya there to soothe them over, were an expression of a pathetic dependence he was most unwilling to allow.

A casual flick of telepathy as he was letting himself out let him know where Aya was. Schuldich smiled. The kittens could hold their little business meeting and reaffirm their affectionate codependence. He would go out and work some Schwartz magic upon the unwilling and unsuspecting masses. Schuldich didn’t need Crawford’s magic touch to know Aya would be furious with him later.

He counted on it.