Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 18 – Breaking Out


Disclaimer: Neither the Weiß nor the Schwarz boys belong to me, but we do have fun together - especially me and Schwarz. I still write this stuff for pleasure not profit.

Author's Notes: My humble thanks go to Iron Dog, for betaing this for me and making it sparkle.

And to my reviewers:

raya: Thank you! I'm very pleased that you're enjoying this fic.

Pocky Squirrel: Wow! Your review made me blush. Farfarello is tough to write, so I'm very happy if people think I've got some kind of handle on him. I hope I can keep up the lemon-flavored intrigue ^_^

Draco: Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Lounging in the doorway to the house, Farfarello watched Schuldig with a connoisseur’s gaze and wondered if the German had gone stir crazy already. Standing in the middle of the lawn, laughing at the sky, didn’t speak of a completely rational mind. But then, the Irishman shrugged mentally, that was one of the things he liked so much about the telepath – the potential for true madness.

Suddenly, Schuldig stopped laughing and was moving, stalking towards the back of the house. Farfarello watched until the telepath disappeared from view before he followed. When he reached the back of the house, he couldn’t see Schuldig anywhere.

The sound of a car engine purring to life drew his attention and Farfarello laughed lowly as he watched a black sedan pull out of the garage and move along the gravel drive, gathering speed. Crawford was going to be seven kinds of pissed to learn that Schuldig had taken a car and left the grounds without permission or even breathing a word of where he was going.

Given his distance from the vehicle, he hadn’t thought Schuldig could see him, so he was surprised when the car drew up opposite him. The window rolled down and Schuldig called his name, gesturing him over. Farfarello jogged across the lawn to the car and was soon comfortably ensconced in the passenger’s seat. He gave a mad laugh as Schuldig floored the accelerator.

Whether the German had known about the town or whether it was pure dumb luck that brought them there, Farfarello neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that the town contained a small western-style hotel that catered to tourists and backpackers, and it was there they’d taken refuge.

They sat at a little round table in the modestly-sized room and were working their way through their first beer. The other patrons, less than a dozen in all, were spread throughout the room, talking and laughing quietly together, while giving the redhead and his companion a wide berth. They seemed to sense that the two men at the table were not the sort to engage in friendly chatter.

Looking around slowly, Schuldig made a face. “This is as boring as being at the fucking house,” he remarked sourly.

He’d calmed down considerably since his earlier outburst, but he was still riled enough that Farfarello could sense his edginess. It would add a pleasing bite to what he was hoping to accomplish later; namely Schuldig in his bed, naked and writhing under him as he panted out Farfarello’s name.

“It’s a small village in the mountains, what were you expecting?” the Irishman enquired.

He saw the narrowed gaze that slid his way and dismissed it by lifting his bottle and taking a mouthful of beer. He didn’t mind this place. It wasn’t the kind of loud and overcrowded place the German preferred, but Farfarello liked the low buzz of conversations and the occasional laugh from the other patrons. He was aware of the discomfort his presence evoked, sensed it as uneasy ripples beneath the convivial façade, and ignored it. If he stayed home because he made others uneasy he’d never get out.

Across the table, Schuldig sighed. “No matter what I do, he’s going to know it was me,” he muttered.

Farfarello looked at him, waiting for an explanation but not asking for one. Asking Schuldig to reveal what he was thinking was a pointless exercise. He’d share if he wanted to. He watched as Schuldig’s restless gaze moved over the other people in the room. When it came to rest on him, Farfarello met it evenly and waited. His patience was rewarded when Schuldig finally spoke.

“Maybe,” Schuldig said with a small smile, “I could work with what Miss Yamamoto has already provided – just help things along a little.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” Farfarello said flatly and finished off his beer.

“She likes Crawford, remember? Thinks he cultured… for a westerner.”

“Oh, aye. So, that’s what you’re thinking, is it? Fan her interest in Crawford to get us home sooner.”

“Yeah,” Schuldig nodded, and then he seemed to slump a little. “Course, that would infuriate the venerable Mr Takatori, and cause all kinds of shit to hit the Eszett fan which, in turn, would come back at us, so maybe we need another plan of action.”

“You’re the Mastermind, I’ll leave it to you,” Farfarello replied already losing interest in the topic as he looked around for the barman, who was doing double duty as the waiter.

He saw the man standing at the corner of the bar, chatting with two other men. As soon as Farfarello raised his arm, he had their attention. The waiter straightened as the Irishman pointed to his bottle, indicating he wanted another beer. From opposite him came a low, nasty sounding laugh.

“A threesome would be amusing, ja?” Schuldig considered aloud, sitting back in his chair, a smirk on his face.

Farfarello looked across at his companion. “You mean Crawford, Takatori and the model?”

“Yeah,” Schuldig nodded. “What do you think?”

Farfarello gave a humorless smile. “That’s not an image even I want to contemplate,” he said. “Besides, to get Crawford involved in something like that…he’d know you’d been involved.”

Schuldig hooked one arm over the back of the chair. “True,” he conceded with a sigh. “What I need is a plan that can’t be connected to me in any way.”

They sat in silence until the waiter brought over another beer.

“Where’s mine?” Schuldig frowned at the solitary bottle. The waiter apologized and hurried off. Schuldig smiled meanly at his back before returning his attention to Farfarello. “The only way out of this holiday from Hell that I can see is if I can convince Nagi to give the old bastard a heart-attack mid-fuck.”

“Make sure Nagi doesn’t kill him, then,” Farfarello advised. “Takatori’s still Eszett’s pet project.”

Schuldig smiled. “He doesn’t have to kill him, just frighten him into a Tokyo hospital,” he replied. “Nagi might go for it. He’s not happy being stuck up here, either. It means he can’t see Tot for a couple of weeks.”

The mention of the girl’s name soured Farfarello’s mood. “Tot,” he sneered. “I could teach that baby-bitch a new trick or two with her umbrella.”

Schuldig gave a short laugh. “Yeah, and have Nagi spread you like jam all over the nearest wall,” he warned.

“If Schreient gets in our way, they’ll all die, including Tot,” Farfarello pointed out with relish.

“Sure, of course. But that’s in the line of duty. Just torturing and killing her for the fun of it isn’t the same thing,” Schuldig replied reasonably.

“Crawford shouldn’t let it continue,” Farfarello decided as he took a pull of his beer.

“What?” Schuldig laughed. “Ban Nagi from seeing her – like he was Nagi’s real dad?” He shook his head. “I doubt Crawford’s that bothered by young love. Or that Nagi would listen.”

“He ought to be bothered by it - it’s the worst kind,” Farfarello said firmly.

The waiter returned, depositing a bottle on the table in front of Schuldig, apologizing once more before departing.

“Since when did you become an expert on love?” Schuldig enquired of the Irishman as he raised the bottle to his lips.

“Never said I was an expert,” Farfarello returned lowly. “Just stating a fact.” He was lifting the bottle when he saw the telepath become suddenly alert, paying attention to something only he could hear.

Farfarello took a mouthful of beer, watching as Schuldig sneered.

“When I’m good and ready,” the German muttered before swigging from his bottle. In the span of a heart beat, the mood of the German plummeted back into surliness as he thumped the bottle down on the table top.

One-sided conversations were something Farfarello had gotten used to since working with the telepath. Schuldig would only fill in the details if he deemed it necessary, otherwise it was best to ignore the whole thing. From just those few words, Farfarello surmised that Crawford was trying to get his telepath to return to the house.

“Ja, ja,” Schuldig said, sounding annoyed.

Swallowing more beer, Farfarello watched the German, wondering if he was pissed enough at Crawford that he’d be looking for other company tonight. He hoped so. He wanted more than the one night and the mutual blow job they’d shared so far. He wanted to take Schuldig to bed and fuck him till he was begging for mercy. Not like last time, although that had been better than anything Farfarello ever imagined it could be. But this time he wanted to give as well as receive. This time he wanted to hold the German down and thrust into his heat. He wanted to know how Schuldig reacted when he wasn’t in control…

“Well, my day just keeps getting better and fucking better,” Schuldig said, his tone low and dark.

Dragged out of his extremely pleasant reverie, Farfarello looked at the telepath before following his gaze. The sight of Stein making in their direction caused Farfarello to growl low in his throat. Something about the man bothered him on an instinctual level and Farfarello learned from experience that his instincts were usually right. He reached for a knife as his internal alarm sounded a loud warning. Drawing up at their table, Stein smiled down coldly at the Schwarz members.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he remarked conversationally.

“No, it’s not,” Schuldig corrected with a sneer.

Stein shrugged off his lie and sat down at the table without waiting to be asked. He eyed Farfarello. “No need for anxiety,” he soothed. “I just want to talk to your mind-raping friend, here.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Farfarello warned as he casually played his blade over the table top.

Stein held his gaze a moment before gesturing to the waiter, who hurried over. The waiter looked nervously at the knife Farfarello held and the tense unhappy expressions of the men at the table. He took the order and hurried away from the table and the air of menace it held. Stein directed his attention back at Schuldig, his eyes cold and unfriendly. Farfarello watched closely, still holding the small, but deadly knife, ready to move at the first sign of a real threat.

“I remember you very clearly from Rosenkreuz,” Stein said to the German, reaching a hand towards him.

Farfarello tried to move to prevent the touch and found he could not. Stein’s telekinetic hold was feather light and the Irishman had been unaware of it until he’d tried to move. Now, he found himself rendered helpless and he hated the feeling. He silently informed Schuldig of his predicament. Although the telepath gave no outward sign that he’d heard, he mentally acknowledged what he’d been told.

Meanwhile, Stein had grasped a handful of Schuldig’s hair. “You were hard to miss,” the Austrian continued. “You weren’t so brash back then – perhaps that’s why you were so popular.”

“Fuck you,” Schuldig snarled.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Stein replied pleasantly as he let the fiery strands slide out of his grasp. “Nor I you.” He sat back, smiling icily. “Of course, given your… obliging nature, that could be rectified, I suppose. If I were so inclined, which I’m not. As entertaining as I’m sure it would be to have someone with your… Talent beneath me, your charms still elude me somehow.”

“If, however, I were a seemingly straight-laced American with one of the nicest peach-shaped asses this side of the equator….” Schuldig said with a superior smirk. He let the sentence hang, but his meaning was clear.

“I prefer class, yes,” Stein said easily as heat flared in his eyes at the mention of some of the pre-cog’s finer assets.

“I wonder which of us is more appalled by the fact we have such similar tastes?” Schuldig jibed.

Unable to move, Farfarello could only fume and watch the two men so he saw the small start Schuldig gave and Stein’s smug smile.

“I’m not a fool,” the Austrian said mildly to Schuldig.

“Not a total fool, at least,” Schuldig conceded grudgingly. His convivial tone darkened as he went on: “What is it you want here?”

“A drink, what else?” Stein replied with an easy shrug.

“Are we to take it the rest of your merry little band is also close by?”

Can you move? Schuldig asked into Farfarello’s head. The Irishman tested the hold Stein had on him and found he could not. He told Schuldig so.

“We have a job to do,” Stein answered.

“It’s a job that can be done just as effectively at arm’s length,” Schuldig replied.

“But I prefer the personal touch,” Stein answered, a slow, cold smile playing on his lips.

Conversation was halted as the waiter returned with Stein’s drink. As the young man departed, Schuldig rose to his feet.

“As much as we’d love to stay and chat,” he began.

“Sit down,” Stein ordered in a low voice, “I’m not done talking with you yet.”

“I’m done with talking to you,” Schuldig replied, his tone hard. He looked at Farfarello, who was still sitting at the table, unable to move.

“He prefers to stay,” Stein informed the German. He lifted his glass, inspecting the contents before taking a sip.

Farfarello tried once more to move, to break free of the hold Stein had on him, but with no success. He apprised Schuldig of the situation and the telepath stood a moment more, his fists clenching, before taking his seat again.

“Talk,” he snarled at Stein.

From the look on Schuldig’s face, Farfarello guessed the telepath was working hard at controlling the impulse to simply puree the Austrian’s brain and be done with it.

Stein eyed him speculatively. “I was wrong to call you brash. You’re just plain rude.”

“I’m not interested in your opinion of me,” Schuldig told him. “You said you wanted to talk, so fucking talk.”

Stein sat back in his seat giving Schuldig a hard look. “What does he see in you?” he queried quietly, true puzzlement in his voice.

“With everything else that’s going on, this is what’s eating at you?” Schuldig asked, his tone close to incredulous.

“I don’t like mysteries, and this is a mystery to me,” Stein answered as he studied Schuldig over the top of his beer before taking a drink.

“If I were you, I’d be more concerned about the attacks on the teams, rather than why Crawford won’t succumb to your non-existent charms,” Schuldig advised.

Farfarello saw the way Stein’s jaw tightened momentarily.

Schu, he tried, make him let go.

He’s shielded and I can’t get in. At least not without seriously damaging his mind, which wouldn’t be a good idea right now no matter how much I might want to, the telepath told him. I’m guessing it’s Verena protecting him.

Well, that explains a lot, Farfarello thought to himself.

It’s okay. We’ll listen to what he wants to say and then we’ll leave. We’ll get a chance to repay him for this later, Schuldig soothed.

Knowing he couldn’t move and seeing little point in struggling, Farfarello resigned himself to waiting until Stein decided to let him go.

“Speaking of the attacks,” Stein replied to Schuldig’s comment, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t violently attack my team members when they are only trying to assist in solving this problem we are all facing.”

“I fail to see how having your telepath creep about in my head is helping solve anything,” Schuldig shot back. “I will hold to my promise to puree her brains next time she attempts it.”

“Don’t make threats against my team,” Stein warned icily. “We do what we must in the line of duty. What I find curious is why you are so set against her taking a look around and ensuring that nothing is amiss.”

“I’ve checked thoroughly and everything is fine. I’ve said as much. But her continued attempts to access my mind suggest I’m not to be trusted or believed. So let me assure you once again – as one loyal servant of Eszett to another – there is no need for concern and there’s certainly no need for a lesser telepath to crawl around in my head trying to find something that isn’t there. Unless you’re not looking for something related to these attacks….”

Farfarello watched as Stein sat, looking at his drink and considering what Schuldig had said. The silence extended an inordinately long time before it was broken by the German.

“Why don’t you speak aloud?” he challenged.

Stein glanced across at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I can’t help it if you are reading my thoughts.”

Schuldig snorted disdainfully. “We both know what you’re doing,” he retorted.

Farfarello had continued to test the hold Stein had on him as he’d listened to the conversation. He was increasingly frustrated at his inability to move and furious at Stein for binding him in this manner. Suddenly, Farfarello found himself free as Stein pushed up and out of his chair in an attempt to avoid Schuldig who, without warning, launched himself at the Austrian.

Farfarello moved like lightening. He had no idea why Schuldig was attacking Stein, but he was ready to back his team mate. However, he’d only taken a couple of steps towards the Austrian when he found himself unable to move again. He growled his frustration, sounding like a wounded, enraged animal.

“That’s enough!” The words were spoken in a commanding tone, just loud enough to be heard.

Farfarello snapped his attention in the direction of the familiar voice and found Crawford and Nagi standing just inside the doorway. Crawford met his gaze, holding it steadily.

“Enough,” he said again. “Help Schuldig up.”

Instinct told Farfarello that now was not the time to defy his leader. When he felt Nagi’s hold loosen, he looked to where Schuldig was lying on top of Stein, his left hand bunched in the Austrian’s shirt. As he moved towards the men, Nagi must have loosened his hold on Schuldig because the German’s clenched right fist crashed into Stein’s jaw.

“Schuldig, that’s enough!” Crawford ordered firmly. “Farfarello, get him up.”

To anyone who knew the man, the way he was holding himself and the way he was speaking were unmistakable warnings to beware; Brad Crawford was pissed in the extreme and now was not the time to test him.

So, Farfarello did as he was told, reaching down and dragging Schuldig up and off the dazed Austrian. As he was being hauled away, the German aimed a kick at the downed leader of Stärke. Schuldig’s foot missed as Farfarello spun him around, and forced him towards Crawford. When they joined the other two, the American spoke Nagi’s name before catching Schuldig’s jaw in his grip. His dark gaze bored into the German. Barely restrained fury was in Crawford’s eyes. Farfarello had rarely seen their leader so incensed.

“Make these others forget we were ever here,” Crawford commanded in low tones. He didn’t release his hold and when Schuldig began to reply, he tightened his grip causing the German’s skin around his fingers to turn white and the telepath to flinch with pain. “Do it,” Crawford ordered in tones that demanded obedience. “Do it now.”

Schuldig pressed his lips together into a thin line and seemed to attend to the task set him. Farfarello kept his gaze on Crawford. This was more than mere anger at Schuldig for pulling some stupid stunt. Farfarello had seen Crawford in that mood often enough and it didn’t come close to the anger he could sense rolling off the American now. Yeah, Schuldig could be a right royal pain in the ass, but they were all used to that. Crawford was used to that – so why was he so angry this time?

“Done,” Schuldig muttered.

Crawford released his hold and turned towards the door. Vivid red finger marks stood out in stark relief on the telepath’s jaw where the American had held him. The others followed their furious leader from the bar. As he was leaving, Farfarello looked back to where Stein sat at the table once more, slumped forward in his chair, his head resting on the table. He looked, for all the world, like a man who’d had too much to drink.

Outside they split up, Crawford and Farfarello taking one car, Schuldig and Nagi the other. The drive back to the guest house passed in silence. Farfarello hadn’t been expecting anything else. In a mood like this, Crawford rarely spoke. He’d keep silent until some of the anger eased off and only then would he trust himself to speak to his insubordinate team mates. Judging by the amount of anger in his eyes that could be a while.

Farfarello sat quietly, his gaze directed out the window, his thoughts occupied with the fact that Crawford was going to confront Schuldig over this latest escapade and there’d be an argument. How long and how loud was anyone’s guess. With Takatori close by, perhaps the argument wouldn’t be excessively loud, but it would definitely be heated.

And, Farfarello thought with a disgruntled sigh, we all know where their arguments end up.

The only thought filling his head for the moment was that he was going to lose out yet again on the delight of the German in his bed. Crawford and Schuldig would argue, and when they argued they’d always make up with hard, aggressive sex. The bigger the blow up, the bigger the make up and this latest incident promised to be huge. He scowled and pushed unwelcome mental images out of his head. The thought of Crawford fucking Schuldig into the mattress was not something he wanted to contemplate. Especially not when he was aching to do the same to the German but opportunity just kept being snatched away from him.

Frankly, he was tired of losing out to Crawford. If he didn’t get his chance with Schuldig soon, he would act on one of the several scenarios that he’d concocted during the past week or so when the only action he was getting was in his imagination or through his own hand.

Frustration rose up in Farfarello and his hand snaked inside his vest as he reached for the comfort of a knife. He half expected Crawford to warn him against getting blood on the upholstery, but the American seemed contained in his own frozen world of cold anger and failed to notice what the Irishman was doing. For the rest of the trip, Farfarello kept himself amused and his impulses contained with his knife and his forearm.

When they reached the guest house, Crawford parked the car in the garage and got out. As soon as Farfarello was out of the vehicle, Crawford locked it and left the garage without so much as a backward glance.

Yeah, pissed way beyond what the situation called for, was Farfarello’s estimation as he watched the American stalk rigidly from the garage. He lounged against the car, toying with his bloodied knife as he waited for Schuldig and Nagi. He didn’t have long to wait. Within minutes, the second car arrived in the garage. As Schuldig disembarked, he looked around.

“Where’s Crawford?” the German asked.

“Gone up to the house,” Farfarello informed him.

“Guess I’m in line for one of his inimitable Brad Crawford lectures,” Schuldig mocked.

“He’s really mad at you, Schuldig,” Nagi warned seriously. “When he came out of the study before we came for you, his face was almost white.”

“He’s pissed because I punched his boyfriend. Fucker deserved it,” Schuldig said dismissively.

“It’s more than that,” Nagi said with a shake of his head.

“Well,” Schuldig said with a theatrical sigh, “he’s been mad at me before, so I guess I’ll survive his being mad at me now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Nagi said, his voice suddenly low and angry. Farfarello and Schuldig looked at him. The boy’s attention was focused on the telepath. “I hate it when there’s all this fighting. But you go out of your way to cause friction. You may thrive on it, but you ought to think of others once in a while.” Having said his piece, Nagi turned and left the garage.

Schuldig stared after him, looking slightly nonplused, before turning his attention to Farfarello. “You got anything you want to say to me?” he asked, his tone a challenge.

“Not me,” Farfarello replied easily, his attention on his bloodied forearm.

Schuldig nodded to himself before looking towards the garage doors and beyond.
“How long do you think it’ll take him to calm down?” he pondered.

Farfarello knew the telepath wasn’t referring to Nagi. “Longer than we can stand around in here,” he replied honestly.

Truth was, he’d never seen Crawford so angry before and the reason behind that anger continued to bother the Irishman. It was more than Schuldig stealing a car and heading into town. It was more than Schuldig punching Stein. Those were reasons enough for Crawford to be angry, but not for him to be as furious as Farfarello had sensed he was.

“Come on,” Schuldig said, and headed towards the garage doors. “Let’s go and get you cleaned up.”

Farfarello followed him up towards the house, wondering what awaited them there.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •


Crawford finished the call and drew a deep breath to try to calm his roiling stomach. The phone call was bad. Things couldn’t have gone to shit so fast if it’d been planned that way. Taking off his glasses, he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing it wasn’t going to alleviate the headache he could feel building up behind his eyes. He was going to need pharmaceutical help this time. He’d been back from the village for hours and he was still too angry to move from his temporary office.

Damn Schuldig, he muttered under his breath. Damn him for being incapable of staying out of trouble and double damn him for being stupid enough to allow Stein to goad him into acting as he had. The American wondered what horrendous evil he’d done in a past life to get stuck with Schuldig.

He stopped pinching his nose and raised his hands, using the heels to massage his temples. He ought to have been keeping closer watch on the telepath. He knew that Schuldig detested their current mission and when something didn’t meet with the German’s approval, he simply did whatever was necessary to ease his own displeasure with the situation. Crawford was well aware that Schuldig’s way of easing his discontent often meant causing the same to others. Crawford just hadn’t expected Schuldig to act so soon.

It was the second time that afternoon he’d missed something of importance.

The first had been Schuldig’s attack on Clara. There had to be more to that than Stein was telling him though. Schuldig wouldn’t have initiated an attack on Clara. He felt the other telepath beneath his notice. But, until he’d received the loud, angry phone call from Stein, demanding he call his telepath off, Crawford had been unaware the redhead’s temper had jumped off the scale. Crawford had been waiting for the outburst from the telepath, of course. There was always a furiously tempestuous outburst from Schuldig after he’d suffered backlash and the German’s temper had been building towards this eruption from the moment he’d woken up from his four-day coma.

Crawford’s hope that Schuldig would calm down after that outburst and start to act like the adult he was supposed to be proved futile.

A vision had alerted him to what was about to happen in the village, but he and Nagi hadn’t been able to move quickly enough to prevent the assault upon Stein. He’d been able to order Schuldig to clear the incident from the minds of the bar patrons but, because of Eszett procedure, Stein would remember. Crawford hadn’t been able to order the altercation be wiped from his mind. Schuldig was also aware of the procedure and, for some reason, the telepath had toed the company line in this instance.

Stein remembered and he’d not been willing to overlook the incident. Instead, he’d tried to work it to his advantage faster than Crawford thought he would. Crawford cursed Schuldig again for his utter stupidity. The American knew the telepath had more brains than to act as he had regardless of how provoked or primed for a screaming match he was.

Such thoughts did nothing to ease the oncoming headache and, despite his attempts to ward it off, Crawford could feel the pain intensifying. He stood up from his desk and went in search of strong medicinal relief. He’d need a clear head when he called Schuldig in and gave him the news - Stein had filed a report on the telepath’s behaviour and, as a consequence, Ezsett was ordering Schuldig back to Rosenkreuz to be examined and reassessed.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N: Yes, I'm back to old habits and cliffies. Humble apologies.