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Take a Chance	By : CardDragonBall Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1490 -:- 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
- 1-Take a Chance
- 2-2
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Title: Take a Chance

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Pairing: Schuldig/Ran (Yes, Ran as this is pre-AAWS, which means that Ran is still Ran and Aya is still herself and not coma-ed)

Rating: Um, I’d say very light R (downright edgy PG-13) for this part. I’m sure it’s got curse words in it somewhere.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Weiss Kreuz (but I would love to kiss the person who drew AAWS. Srsly.) I make no money for writing this (otherwise I’d be rich) and I mean no offense.

It wasn’t supposed to look like an attack on the family. No—not that, best not to start that sort of conspiracy. (”Oh, did you hear about the Fujimiyas? They were all killed, must be some kind of terrorist thing. Must have been something they’d done--) Gossip built interest, interest invited investigation, investigation uncovered secrets and secrets—well, secrets sold. (Better than sex, right?) It wasn’t going to look like an accident, nothing droll like that. (And is there a way to blow up a building accidentally anyway?) A purposeful strike, yes, something bloody and extravagant and innocent people were going to die. Originally considered blaming the yakuza, but too many innocent people were going to end up incinerated or crushed. Not them, yakuza would take the insult personally and there were enough of them to want those bastards safe in their own little networks.

Drinking their little sake cups and cutting off their fingertips—doing their own thing.

Terrorists worked. Some group like the mafia from overseas. Fujimiya went overseas, not that hard to imagine there could be people less than thrilled about that. (And Nagi would handle that forgery process, had already given him the outline for it, and trusted the kid to take care of the fine details. Set it up so the right information got leaked at the right time.) Crawford had given Schuldig the plans for the bombs—a simple matter of stroking the right connections back through Estet. Smooth talking a mainland based group into ripping the plans out of a likely suspect, and there they were: nicely printed.

Built the damn bombs last Saturday. Took hours to solder the wires down, putting each in its own place, building the damn panel. That had been the important part, building the panel—that had been the key to blaming the right people. Distinctive shape and set up to it. A pain in the ass.

Everything was set except the time and day. (‘Pushing the time limit,’ Crawford reminded him that morning, pulling his tie down into a perfect knot, eyes in the mirror, fingers pulling at his bangs with a frown like he didn’t quite like the way they looked. Then looking over at him. ‘Don’t push it too far.’) They’d mapped Momma and Daddy Fujimiya’s schedule in a day and half. No variant to that. (Wake up, go to the work, work, work more, come home after dark, sleep, repeat.) The kids were harder.

Little Aya flitted around a dozen different interests. Art, music, library, studying—a boy she was seeing without her dear older brother knowing about. Nothing serious there, some crush or another, hadn’t done anything but hold hands and talk about life. But she was home for dinner with big brother Ran every night but Thursday.

And Ran—

“Not exactly easy to lose in a crowd, is he?” Nagi mumbled. Looking at his menu, or giving all the impression in the world that he was. The boy probably had no idea what was on that printed page, he was watching Fujimiya Jr across room, serving dinner to a nice couple. The sickening sweet tone of their minds, admiring him for his hard work. Oh, he works so hard, he’s always in here, and he’s so young. He must be working for his dreams, he must be trying to support himself, and maybe he was doing nothing but putting a good work ethic into practice. Had to admire a hard working young man. That was a mark that a son had been well raised.

Strange how wrong that impression could be.

“Think I should compliment him on his ass?” Schuldig asked. Leaning back against the booth, arm over the edge, looking across the table at Nagi. Hadn’t even looked at the menu, not even for the pretense it gave.

Nagi dropped the menu down to the table, considered the words, the implication, and looked over at Fujimiya again. Bright red haired Ran. Smiling his dutiful smile. “Not even you,” Nagi said—in German, much to the disappointment of all the little ears around hungry to get in on the scoop—“Are that morally compromised. You are at this very moment creating a timeframe in which to kill his parents and destroy his family’s name.”

Schuldig smiled, corner of his mouth drawing up, breathed half a laugh into the air. “Morals necessitate the presence of a conscience.”

Nagi was silent for a moment, no expression on his face but the blank look and the wideness of his eyes staring at him. Concentration—that was Nagi’s real weapon. He could stare down anyone (even Crawford if the brat ever stopped being just fucking irrationally subservient to him. Big tall dark haired men seemed to be Nagi’s weakness.) “You cannot be serious.” Spoken in an undertone.

Schuldig leaned forward, hands sliding across the table, fingers against the edges of the menu and looked at him. Matching his stare, feeling the flinch of his mind. (Not quite as used to this life as he likes to claim.) “Tell me,” he said, “You can put bombs in his parent’s building, hit the button and watch crowds of people die without a single pang of conscience to bother you. But you find it so inconceivable that I would seduce him. He wouldn’t even know who I was.”

“You would know,” Nagi said.

Schuldig grinned. “Yes I would.”

Something unsettled there in his mind, rolling over. Nagi didn’t like it, and couldn’t figure out why he didn’t. Thought it was--wrong?--somehow. Fine to kill, hordes of people—kill all the people you wanted; that was fine. They were worthless bigoted amoebas, running around this planet with nothing but cruel self-concern and strictly adherent to the arbitrary laws of order they’d created.

(Right, and yet, he still trades his shoes for house slippers and his house slippers for toilet ones. That’s rebellion, Nagi—really.)

“Good afternoon,” Ran said, stepping up next to the table. A smile across his face that was pleasant and unthreatening. Neutral but friendly. (Costumer service smile.)

Schuldig looked up at him, smiling honestly (not a single honest thing about you) and returning the greeting. “Good afternoon.”

Formality out of the way, no need for much small talk, Ran looking expectant—must be a long day, his manners are slipping, or maybe he was just too used to foreigners launching into their orders or dragging him to the display to show what they wanted. Nagi staring across the table at him; could feel those eyes, the stare, the repeating echo of his mind.

(You can’t do this) He could.

“I’d like the katsudon and water, please.” Just as pleasant as sunshine, thank you very much. With another glance at Ran and a subconscious raise of his eyebrows, then looking across the table, at Nagi. Waiting while he ordered—Ran’s attention on him now. Schuldig watched; noticeably, until Ran looked back over in his direction, then he dropped his eyes again.

Little production of not looking. (Oh, but he caught you.) That being the point, naturally.

“Thank you,” Nagi said to dismiss him. Go away now, your usefulness has run out. Ran took the menus, assured them their order would be ready and went on his way. Made it almost all the way to the kitchen before he turned, looking over his shoulder, eyes narrowing down, looking back at him. (Caught again, and looking away like he wasn’t staring.)

“It's unnecessary to the mission.”

Schuldig shrugged. “Some things are too fun to pass up.”

~~~***

Ran toed his shoes off at the door, tucked them into the closet and pushed his feet into the slippers. Worn out, but comfortable. He shuffled across the floor—Wednesday—intent on heading up to his bed, doing nothing, maybe taking a bath. A long soak would be nice.

“In the kitchen!” Aya called. The sound of a pan on the stove, the cheerful edge to her voice. Almost humming.

Ran stood there, looking toward the kitchen; toes moving inside of the slippers—didn’t want to go in there. And that didn’t make any sense, Aya was his sister and he loved her. She was his family (pretty much the only family he had.) He ran his hand through his hair, sweeping the long bangs back off his face.

Her footsteps running across the floor and she was standing there, arms behind her back. “Come on, sour-face. I made dinner.” He made the face of horror at the thought of her cooking, all comic and exaggerated and she rolled her eyes at him with a laugh. “It is edible, I promise!” Then she turned and went back to the kitchen.

Ran smiled after her. Followed her back to the kitchen. Nice smell in the kitchen, oyakodon. Already portioned into bowls and sitting at the table. She slipped into her seat and waited for him to sit down.

“You look tired,” she said. Casual little observation, looking at him with all the serious attentiveness. (You can tell me when you feel down, you know. You always listen to me.) She waited, watching him fiddle with the chopsticks, poking at the chicken and egg. “Did you have a hard day at work?” (I told you that you don’t have to work for me, Ran. I can wait and work myself when I get done with school. I can do it.)

“It was fine,” he assured her. Fine? It was fine until three, and then that man came back in, without the boy this time. Sat by himself and ordered the same food, watched him with the same attentiveness. Quiet curiosity about him; asked quiet questions (he asked about the food, that was all. What was good here? What was in it? Did it taste anything like takoyaki?) No, there was something besides the average foreigner asking what food was good to eat.

“You’re lying,” Aya said. No smile on her face, slight frown to her eyebrows, like she was trying to figure it out.

“There was—someone—” No, seems silly, didn’t need to tell her that. Just some guy and he came in twice, that was hardly a regular costumer, and he asked about the food. He was just curious, trying to find something to eat. (His Japanese was too good for him to be just casually visiting. He’s been here a while, and he was young, and he was watching you.)

“Someone?” Aya repeated. Leaning forward in her seat now, pulling her legs up and folding them under her on the chair. “Someone like a girl? Was she pretty? Did she talk to you? What did you say? Tell me that you said something nice.”

Ran felt the blush across his cheekbones—half a thought to tell her no, not that, not even close. (But that wasn’t the truth was it? Because she had everything right but the adjective. He was…something like pretty. He did talk to him and Ran had said something approximating nice. ‘The tempura is good’)

“Oh!” Aya said. “There was.”

No, there really wasn’t. There was this guy you see and he kept watching me, (or maybe you just think he was.) No, he was. Watching him, and smiling at him. It could have been nothing more than just typical polite smiles. Maybe, could have been just this man’s nature. To smile and observe but—No. There had been something in the way he was looking at him. It couldn’t be all in his head, couldn’t be just imagined. There was something there.

“Aya,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighed, elaborate and then gave him that look—(you need to take care of yourself too, sometimes, Ran.) “I just don’t want you to throw away a good opportunity to meet someone nice just because—” (you’re scared) “—You’re shy. You need to lighten up sometimes! Take a chance and maybe she’ll turn out to be a nice girl. Maybe you should ask her out on a date!”

Turn out to be a nice girl? No. Not that. (Nice, maybe—girl no.) He nodded his head dutifully. “Ok,” he said. (The look on her face like she didn’t believe him at all, and she probably didn’t. But she let it go.) Let it go, but what was there to let go anyway? Some guy talked to him, considering his job, it wasn’t that unusual to find that you were asked questions about the food. Asked in that tone or with that level of interest maybe—or maybe it was the way he looked at him.

That man had wanted something and it had nothing to do with food.

“I mean it, Ran,” Aya said again. “Just one time, try it. Take a chance on someone, it’ll turn out okay.”

Okay? He was pretty sure how that guy wanted it to turn out; wasn’t so sure about the level of okay it would get. Wasn’t even sure he was willing to try it one time or not. (Liar.) But he made a sad attempt at a smile and nodded for her. “Okay, Aya.”
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Take a Chance