What to do with you

Bards Apprentice: Thank you for the detailed review! Sorry there wans't much dialogue in the first chapter, hopefully this will be more to your liking. :) I'll work on the confusion bit, I have that problem fairly refularly. *L* I try to switch paragraphs when changing person but it doesn't always work out as clearly as hoped. Anyways, I'm glad you're enjoying it so far and I hope you like this chapter too.


Chapter 2

Long hair trailed after him as he bolted through the doors, skidded around the corner and slipped between a pair of Americans, altering their perceptions enough for them to believe he belonged with them. He knew they were right behind him and tried to blend in, bright green jacket shifted off and traded quickly for a brown one with a passing man about his size. The brilliant orange was hidden under a hat, most of the heavy length tucked into the back of the hip-length coat.

But it would only last under a cursory check and he needed something more permanent. His eyes slid closed as he focused, looking for something, someone to hide him; there, two lines over. A woman fussing with her hair and regretting not coloring it before leaving instead of waiting until they got home. It was a simple matter to convince her to hand him the box and walk away to continue fretting on her own. None of the agents showed on his radar but that didn't mean anything now; he hadn't sensed them until they laid hands on him at the house either. But then, he'd picked them up around the house once he knew to look, and in the car; something was going on there but he didn't have time to work on it.

Well, he just had to risk it. An unhurried pace took him to the large bathroom and he tucked into a stall, draping the jacket over the toilet and digging through the box of colorant. 'Shit.' There was no way that little bottle would cover his hair. His knife slid free of its sheath and he started hacking away, catching the long strands on the dark coat. No time to waste on mourning it, even if he had been growing it since he was thirteen when his talent manifested.

A faint cringe and he flushed twice before using the water in the tank to wet the short fringe enough to mix the dye in, remembering to dab a bit on his eyebrows too. Minutes passed slowly, the fumes making him light headed but strangely alert, blunting the voices. 'Time.' Vigorous rinsing got most of the excess color out, leaving a reddish-brown color. The air dryer served to get the moisture out of his hair and he washed quickly, burying the box in the garbage; even if they looked, nothing would grab their attention immediately. When he checked, he passed as just another guy, nondescript and boring, hair a bit messy but neat enough to be just a busy man in need of a trim. He helped himself to a second jacket from the first guy in and sauntered out, settling himself in line to board his plane; the last place they'd look for him would be waiting patiently for a flight they obviously knew about. He wore one coat and held the other over his arm as an overcoat, hiding the bright hair, a plan already forming.

Distraction would be the key now and he chose a young man in his age range and with the same body type who seemed alone. “Hey, can I sit there?” The empty seat was handed over without a fuss and the new brunet started to chat quietly, giving the impression of two young friends traveling together. Glassy brown eyes stared at him as he wiped the mind clean and replaced everything with his own memories and identity. The first coat was handed over, bright hair still wrapped, tickets, everything the young man would need to become Schuldig Rache, and instructions were given; go in, sit down, remain in your seat no matter what.

Their boarding call came and he ushered his new friend along, smiling pleasantly at the stewardess and seating the young man in the marked spot for him. Now came the tricky part. There was a short metal walkway with waist high sides from the larger boarding corridor to the plane entrance and a slip of space just over three feet wide between the corridor and the plane's side. At a short lull in entering foot traffic, he darted out, blocking the young stewardess' eyes for an instant. He could see the baggage area where they were packing the last of it and swung himself over the edge to drop to a cart with a thump.

The startled handler turned quickly but his eyes glazed and he looked forward once again, ignoring his stowaway. No one commented, the idea that he was new and just observing today implanted firmly. 'Come on, come on, where are you?'

There, one was chatting up a flight attendant, and the other greeting passengers. Both pilots suddenly had the urge to get settled in and made their way to their seats to start double checking dials and readouts. He let them finish and confirm takeoff position before taking over; the knowledge to get them off the ground was simple enough to use and he picked up the position of another plane above to the right and ahead of them. A sharp pull of the controls tipped the nose upwards and to the left, tilting the smooth takeoff. The air controller was chattering in the pilots' ears but was ignored, the telepath too focused on causing a big enough explosion to bother with him.

The other plane was already in its final descent and couldn't pull up fast enough to avoid scraping its belly against the tipped wing of the smaller plane beneath. For a second, both planes wobbled, thrown off course by the collision before the pilot of the smaller shoved hard, forcing the nose and flaps down, pushing for a tip first hit. The larger plane wavered and shook, its pilots struggling to forcibly drag it back on course; they were almost in control when the explosion shook them, the originator of the accident going up in flames directly below. Blasts of heat tilted the heavy vehicle to a rolling landing.

Sirens screamed, covering the panicked shrieks of passengers and the crack of metal under stress. Schuldig settled further out of sight and nudged his driver into returning to the hanger. Once there, he swapped outfits, sent the man on a coffee break and vanished, sliding out the front doors and across the street to catch the first bus out of town. Seven hours later, he stopped to call in; the phone rang twice before a mechanized voice came on and informed him the number was no longer in service.

'Alright, relax, not a big deal. I'll just go to the safe house and wait it out.' After his close brush with Esset and now the emergency number, Brad's personal phone, wasn't in service, the twenty six year old struggled not to panic. 'It's fine, everything is fine. I'll go wait for them and it'll all be fine.' How to get there was the problem, his wallet, cards, everything had been left with his luggage in his rush to get away, not that they were safe to use but he could have at least maxed them out quickly. And it would be a lot of strain to convince everyone he met that he belonged. 'Think, you can do this.'

Except, he wasn't really made for this, planning everything out. He was more for getting the objective and sliding through, enjoying himself as much as possible as he went. This was why he'd ended up on a team with Crawford, who planned for every little tiny possibility. 'Wish Far were here.' At least that woman's ogling wouldn't be pounding in his head. Unless...

He scanned quickly and found she was going his way, at least partially, and he slid into the seat beside her, flirting lightly and nudging her natural resistance to the side, encouraging her to take him with her. It wasn't a bad way to travel, people were too polite to stare at the older woman and her obvious boy-toy, and she wasn't that bad to chat with. From the outskirts of Vienna to Salzburg to Innsbruck to Munich where he pulled his 'I don't speak German' bit and snagged a flight to Toronto.

The safe house was simple to find, a small cottage like place a block away from Victoria Park; a cab dropped him off at the park and he wandered for a bit, just to be cautious but no one seemed to be interested in the lean brunet. He wasn't surprised to find the door locked, but the place was empty, a thin layer of dust showing the housekeeping staff had been neglecting their duties. At least there was some canned food and dried noodles; not great but food was food. It was a bit strange that no one was here though; if the emergency phone was off, they had either gone to ground and should be here, or they'd been taken.

'No, no, they're fine. I'll just wait for a bit, meet up with them, and we'll be gone.' Even warmed up, the pasta tasted like chalk and he went to bed as soon as he finished, hoping to wake up and have his team there to yell at him for fucking up.

No such luck and he lolled around, waiting for the better part of a month, testing the list of numbers he had memorized years ago; all came back as disconnected. The only truly productive thing he did was stop at the bank and clear out his private accounts. Everything came from back-up accounts Crawford had set up for each of them and he'd taken his and Farfarello's share and hidden it further, just in case. It was a simple thing to convince the manager he should have the contents of both boxes. Passports and cash were collected and carried carefully home to wait some more.

Five weeks after he'd arrived, voices laughed on the steps and he started to open the door, his hand on the handle when he realized he didn't recognize any of them. They were laughing and chatting, visiting as they tried to fit a key to the lock while he bolted through the house, grabbing the most vital things and darting out the back. The scan he'd done showed they were a clean up crew from Esset; no talents, just there to destroy all traces of the association. The faint snatches of conversation made him swallow and drift into the morning on silent feet. 'Hey, someone was here. They, ah, got them, right?' 'Yeah, yeah, all accounted for. Looks like someone moved in, the place was vacant so long. What a pain.'

His first instinct was to bolt but where would he go? Schwartz was the only place he really cared to remember, other than Rosenkreuz, which wouldn't go away no matter how deeply he buried it. If they found the safe house, they had Crawford, and if they had Brad, they definitely had Nagi. 'All accounted for' could mean anything, he was probably dead on their radar and they wouldn't kill Nagi or Crawford unless it was absolutely unavoidable. The real concern was Farfarello, not even a legitimate member of Schwartz, regardless of the elders acknowledging him.

Nagi asked once, why Farfarello was never mentioned in official orders and why he was never addressed by visiting commanders. Schuldig still remembered clearly the look of fear on the boy's face when the redhead had leaned in and touched their noses. “Far exists to keep me sane, Nagsy dear. Without him, you would be my playmate and toy.” Heavy power had tried to push him away but parted around the slight body. *Now, play nicely with him, or I might have to come to you anyway.* There had been no questions after that.

'No, Brad won't let them, he'll protect him, keep him safe.' Of course he would, he'd brought them together and knew exactly how important it was for his telepath to have a ground. Unless he believed him dead too. “Fuck.” A dry whisper slipped past his lips as he collapsed against a wall, bag clutched to his chest, shirt still half undone. His cheek was damp and he reached up to touch it, shocked he was even capable of crying anymore. Thick, wet heaves started and he screamed with hysterical laughter, back pressed to the sun warm wall, passersby giving him odd looks and moving to the other side of the street; well, he was finally free, bought in blood as he'd always known it would be.

~~Seven months later~~

'What the hell am I doing here?' Well, that could be answered easily enough, really. He's wandered back into the country, bored with his random destinations, usually decided by wherever the person next to him was going. He discovered it to be surprisingly easy to find people willing to take him places in exchange for a bit of chatting; it was even a bit fun, to not have a plan and not owe anything to anyone. And when they arrived, he waved goodbye and headed out again. Sometimes, he didn't even have to use his talent.

And now, he was here, leaning on the wall across the street from his old home, even for the short time he'd stayed there. It still felt as if he could walk across the street, open the door, and Nagi's cooking would drift from the kitchen, the steady clink of bowls and pans moving as he went about making a day long meal in minutes. Brad would yell out his office door for him to take off his boots and close the door properly and Far would be watching television or playing a card game by himself on the floor. His chest ached vaguely and short dark hair shook as he crushed his cigarette out against the wall. Can't change the past and no point thinking about it.

He turned to go an instant before he picked up an old flavor of mind, one he hadn't tasted for years. Thick and sweet with angsty determination, it could only be Yohji Kudou, out on the hunt. 'Well, what have we here?' This might be fun after all. The shadows reached out and took him in their arms, effectively hiding his form and he slid into the old rhythm of silent breathing and motionless watching. When the bleached head came within grabbing distance, he wrapped a quick arm around the slender neck and immobilized the flickering wire with a twist of strong fingers.

*Well, hello kitty-kitty. What are we hunting tonight? More 'evil beasts' that haunt the darkness?* Lean muscle tensed, then relaxed, the light body practically collapsing into the older man's arms. *Oi, that's no way to act when the enemy captures you!* Not that he was technically the enemy anymore, but still, it was the principal of the matter; he might have to kill the blond just to make sure he didn't start making assassins look bad.

“Schuldig.” The slight weight twisted a bit to look up; somehow, the former detective felt smaller, more delicate than the last time they'd met. “You should go. This isn't going to be pretty.” He didn't seem to care that they'd tried to kill each other for years or that they hadn't seen each other in nearly as many.

Instead of asking, the telepath slid through the current mission plan, rummaging for the details strictly out of curiosity. If Kudou thought he should go, it must be big. Photos splashed across the alert mind, grisly and brilliant in their mockery of life, tortured bodies splayed out in alleys, dark rooms, hotels, rich houses, a seemingly random assortment of men and women, old and young. Kritiker information trickled through, dates, witnesses, and a sketch of a young man with delicate features, shoulder length hair and a series of scars across his face.

Schuldig's hands tightened, making the blond wriggle in his grip. 'He's alive. He's, alive.' Relief and joy, clear and sharp raced through him and he found himself hugging Yohji, squeezing him as the blond kicked and struggled to breathe. The name slipped out and brushed the curve of a pale ear. “Farfarello.” Even without the patch, it was clearly him, both eyes bright and clear, filled in and colored by memory.

“Yeah, I figured it was him. You should go.” Slender fingers were pried off and the wire reset at the blond's wrist. He continued whispering as he checked his equipment “Get out of here.”

*How do you know I'm not with him?* A bit of smirk and the brunet stepped back, reaching for a new cigarette.

“You look different. Weird.” A faint squawk from the radio in his ear. “Couple of minutes.” Idle hands fiddled with equipment, feet shuffling a bit. “Doesn't feel like he has a specific target, no goal. And there are witnesses. As I recall, you didn't leave anyone behind.” Green watched him in the dim light. “Am I wrong?”

His former enemy hummed and lit up, offering a second with a flick of the wrist; it was taken silently. A brush over the tortured mind showed his old team breaking up; Ran and Aya disappeared in the night, leaving a brief note of apology, Omi moved up to replace his father, and Ken, that got a snort of laughter, had locked himself in a jail, refusing to face himself. Further rummaging showed the blond to be out with a new team; from his impressions, they were strong, but not strong enough to take Farfarello. *You're going to die.*

“Maybe. Does it matter?” The dark eyes turned away, staring across the street. “We've done so much anyway, it won't make a difference if we die today or tomorrow.” Another burst of sound from the radio. “Time. Get out of here before they find you.”

*Wait. Call it off.* For some reason, it seemed like the least he could do, for old times. *Put it off until tomorrow. I'll take him away.* And he couldn't just leave without seeing Far, not after so long and the hell he'd gone through getting his shields in place. The constant headaches were just a normal part of his life again, the way they had been before he met Farfarello, but if he could have even an hour of quiet...

Blond shook and the younger man looked over his shoulder with a tilt of full lips. “You know I can't do that. I would, but I can't. Go home, Schuldig, forget you were here, that you saw me. Just go home.” A foreign thought skimmed over Schuldig's. 'Even if I don't think you were doing what was right, you weren't entirely wrong either. Go home, do whatever you do.'

“Kudou, I'm taking him.” The last draw on the slender white stick made the tip flare orange, as bright as his hair had been. “Call it off.” Green widened then went blank as the blond mechanically lifted a hand and spoke into the radio, calling a change of plans in and for his team to regroup at the meeting place. “If he's still here tomorrow, take what you can.” A quick pat on the ass and the former Weiss member turned and walked down the street, determinedly heading for home.

Minutes passed slowly until Schuldig was certain there was no one watching the house then he stalked across the street on quiet feet. The front door opened easily under his hand, broken lock dangling from the inside wall where it had been ripped out. The knob was scratched heavily and there were signs on a battering ram having been used; the little table for their keys was still standing there, in perfect condition, a spare set of keys still where he'd thrown them last time he used them. Long fingers trailed over them, noting there was no dust but that they were still in place; he remembered clearly, because he'd arranged them so his car keys were on top and tangled up the others, which Brad hated with a passion.

A faint smile; it was the tiniest things that had made their lives worth it, the little details that only they knew about each other. Like that Nagi couldn't stand to see a dirty glass and obsessively picked them up, leading a little parade of cups as he wandered the house. Plates and cutlery could pile up for months and he wouldn't notice, but let a glass be dirty and he freaked out. Or Farf liking exactly two teaspoons of pepper on his omelet in the mornings, and not a speck more; he could tell. Always. Speaking of, the place was empty, and not just of his old partner.

Furniture was still there, plates on the table in preparation for a meal, looked like supper from the pots on the stove, cupboards were closed and he knew he'd find everything in place if he looked, but the rooms felt empty as if no one had been there since he left. Shields dropped carefully, scanning closely for any signs of life; still nothing. 'Then where is he?' If Kritiker's team was going to begin their assault, he must be nearby. “Far?”

His voice faded in the silence and the old carpet where he and Farfarello had played endless card games looked really good so he settled on his knees and thought. He could leave, but then he might not find him again, or he could stay and hope his partner came back. Or he could just take off and forget, like Kudou said. That was a tempting thought but he couldn't just leave Farfarello if he knew where he was.

Steel slid over the side of his neck, tip pressing to the base of his jaw and he remained frozen, fully aware that he could slit his own throat by moving. “Far.” Not a sound, no hint of intent, not even a psychic taste. “Far, let me go.” Light hair touched his cheek and sharp teeth grazed his ear, making his eyes flutter closed.

“Why?” Warmth swept along the pale shell. “You left me with them.” The blade vanished and the brunet was whirled around to face the snarling blond. “You fucking left me tied and hoped they'd kill me for you. Too bad they let you down.” Muscle bunched and flowed under mostly naked skin, a pair of tight pants and a gun and knife harness the only things covering the younger man; the gold eyes were bright with rage and Schuldig was too shocked by the accusation to wait it out.

“Wh, what? No, how can you think that? I was on a mission, I called you every fucking night and you wouldn't talk to me. I left a message every day, wrote you letters and you never even sent me one!” Long arms folded against the thin chest, ribs hard under his fingers. “Fuck, I thought you were mad at me for going without you, then I thought you were dead. I heard they took Brad and Nagi but I didn't know what happened to you, just that you were 'accounted for.' What happened?” Light brown contacts covered his distinctive blue eyes but the pain was still there, pleading for an explanation.

“Bullshit. I never got a message, a note, letters. You called once, ONCE, and I never heard another word.” The skinny blond shook his captive firmly, making his head snap back and forth, ignoring the whines of denial.

A soft choked cry and the slender arms ripped from his grip to wrap around his waist, short hair pillowed on his shoulder. “Far, I wouldn't leave you unless I had to, you know that, you KNOW it! I need you, I've been in hell since I left, I counted days until I could come home for fuck's sake.” The strain of the last year had the former redhead shaking and he clung, fisting his hands in the killer's weapon harness. “I'll show you, let me in, I'll show you.” His shields dropped completely, leaving him open and waiting, fighting the voices from outside, the multitudes of the city pressing down on him.

A cautious touch of a mind and he fell, twisting and crying into the silence. It finally stopped and he lay on the bare floor, staring up at the form standing over him, hands on trim hips. The mental manifestation was bulkier, heavier than the physical form, showing the recent weight loss clearly Obligingly, Schuldig showed the months he'd been on mission, the shock of finding he couldn't leave at the end of his term, the fear and running from Esset agents, waiting at the safe house, his roaming. The letters he'd written were pulled up and shared, messages replayed, and he felt his partner relaxing as he read and listened; there was even a tiny smile when the cuff and knife set was presented with a flourish.

*I don't have it anymore, it got left behind.* Just like almost everything else when he'd run.

*Okay.* Hard hands ran over the short hair, a mental manifestation he'd trained himself to use in case he brushed against an agent's territory. *Looks funny.* No anger, no betrayal, just acceptance and a sigh of relief was suppressed.

*Well thank you. It wasn't really a priority at the time.* A smile and he lifted himself up to brush soft lips to softer ones. *Forgive me? I really didn't mean to leave you for so long. I thought Brad would look after you.*

*He did that.* A questioning sound from the darker haired man was ignored and the blond led them deeper into his mind. *Here.* They were deeper than Schuldig had ever been, preferring to avoid the darkest spaces in his partner's mind; there were some things even he couldn't handle and he had no desire to test those limits.

A small church, beautiful in its simplicity of stone and sturdy arches, rose before them, a garden spread out around the edges, contained by a solid little fence and split by a short cobbled path. The windows were delicately, artfully designed and colored, charming with gentle pictures of angels. Only one level, with rounded corners and one door, it was the ideal image of a tiny country church, lovingly cared for. The wood door opened quietly and a young man stepped out, dark hair short, priest's robes immaculate.

*Hello. You must be Schuldig. Will you come in?* He didn't move off the bottom step, made no motion to coerce the older man in, but patience and gentleness radiated from him.

*Who are you? Far, who is that?* But he knew, instinctively knew this was Farfarello's core, the absolute base of his being.

Gold was watching him, a pale hand still holding his. *Rest. You'll be safe.* The blond pulled away, nudging his partner forward.

Schuldig leaned back, fighting the small push. *But, what am I*

*Just go, I'll come for you.* The talentless man still hadn't looked at the mirror image of himself and the telepath suddenly had a revelation.

God wasn't hated because he took the blond's family but because he created Farfarello capable of obsessive love and imbued him with the ability to destroy it. Gave those small hands the power to brutally remove everything they adored. The hate that bubbled so often was only a reflection of the love he'd had and ripped to shreds with his own actions.

Farfarello hated himself, more than any being on earth, more than God, he hated this perfect image of himself and needed to destroy it. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, to shred the last reminder of what he could have been, should have been, and he hated himself more for it, for the weakness. And he loved it desperately, wanted to own it, live it. Most people didn't want to look at their cores, didn't acknowledge their secrets, but if forced to, they could handle it, deal with it. Farfarello would never reconcile his mind and core, and would be trapped in his own cycle of hate and love for his entire life.

And to show him this, after believing for nearly a year that he'd been betrayed, showed the trust and belief the blond held in his partner.

The scarred man was still pushing, stepping slowly towards the church until the brunet's feet crossed the fence line. A kiss was pressed to the bare neck and a final shove sent the telepath stumbling forward. *Farfarello. Won't you come in?* The priest spoke in that soft voice, gentle and patient, knowing the answer but having to offer.

A faint snarl and the conscious mind retreated slowly, still not looking at the priest. The sound of the door opening further drew Schuldig's attention and he heard a quiet sigh. *Come in, please. There is nothing to fear here. He may hate me, but nothing has ever threatened this place. He protects me well.* The understanding smile and sad eyes pulled the tentative telepath to the door and he peered in.

Neat rows of pews lines the interior, all facing a small alter covered by perfect white cloth and flickering candles. The candles were what caught his attention and he took a step in to look more closely; each tiny flame had a picture behind it, some with writing on the bottoms. As he approached, the writing became names and his eyes widened in shock; every person they'd ever done a hit on was represented, names and dates filled in on most of them. There were many he'd never seen, some he'd forgotten, and several he remembered well; there were even a few with no pictures or names, just a blank piece of paper.

*Those are the ones we didn't see, the nameless in the dark. Their souls need extra tending, to lead them back to the fold.* The priest smiled at him and took his hand, pulling him to the only empty pew in the front. *Sit, be at peace. Pray or sleep as you like. All are welcome here and no harm is done.*

That gentle smile on Farfarello's face was strange and uncomfortable to watch so the telepath turned away to examine pictures, trying to remember each kill. But that felt wrong, blasphemous even in this tidy church and he turned his mind to where Nagi and Brad were, what had happened to convince his partner he'd abandoned him. Finally, sleep wrapped around him and he pillowed his head on his arm, curling into the hard pew.

Gentle shaking roused him enough to open his eyes and watch the priest move away to light more candles, pictures appearing in his hands to be set behind each new light. *It's time. Farfarello has come.* The pictures were vaguely familiar and he realized they were of two men on Kudou's new team; a fast scan showed the bleached blond to be missing and a little sigh of relief was suppressed. Why he was relieved, he wasn't sure. Perhaps Kudou was the last of his old life, before everything went to hell.

*What should I call you?* A wide yawn was covered quickly and he blushed a bit, still sleepy eyed and relaxed.

*Are you coming back?*

A long bang was brushed out of his eyes and Schuldig froze before turning his hand, grabbing the long strand, pulling it in front of his eyes so he could see the distinctive color. He patted at his shoulders and back, finding the long strands reached his butt again, the bright orange gleaming in the flickering candlelight. *My hair, it's back! How did that...* his voice trailed off at the horrifying thought that he was broadcasting in his sleep.

*No, only here. Things are exactly as they appear and this is you.* A slightly knowing smile. *And this is how you wish to appear for him, isn't it?* Bright blue eyes blinked rapidly and the priest walked over to run slender fingers through the long hair. * Will you come back?*

Surprise at his hair faded quickly under the reassurances and quiet petting. *I want to.* Pink rose in his cheeks and he peeked up from under the messy bangs. *If that's alright.* He'd never been embarrassed to visit someone's mind before and certainly never asked permission.

*Of course. You are my first guest and will always be welcome.* Strong hands pulled him to his feet and brushed his clothes back into order, smoothing wrinkles. *Now, get going. Farfarello is becoming annoyed. He doesn't like to wait.*

Quick steps to the door before the telepath realized the priest wasn't with him. *Wait, what should I call you?* He tried to stop but was pushed gently to the door, his feet skidding as he fought.

That serene smile flicked again, calm and gentle. *My name is Jei Roche.* The wooden door opened and closed quietly behind the stunned telepath.

When he looked up, Farfarello was standing near the gate, waiting impatiently for him to come within range. Unsteady steps and he fell into waiting arms. *Far, why didn't you tell me?*

*Nothing to tell. Come, the house is safe again.* The redheaded form was light in his arms and he carried it up to the surface of his mind again.

Reluctantly, Schuldig pulled away, edging back to his own mind and relaxing into the blanket he was wrapped in. Amber was staring at him, cool hands resting on the mattress on either side of his head. “Far? What did you do?”

“Made the base safe. That's my job, isn't it?” A bitter smirk and Schuldig closed his eyes to it. Had he been here the whole time, protecting something long taken? “But, we will have to move because you are here.” He sounded vaguely put out but his hands stayed gentle in the short hair at his partner's ears. Though, it seemed he'd decided Schuldig was staying.

Slightly chapped lips tipped and a faintly shaking hand reached up to tangle in the long hair, tugging gently. A deep breathe and brown eyes slid open to stare at the face he'd thought was gone forever; he brushed their lips together and groaned at the familiar sensation. “Missed you. So much, every day.” And he didn't even care that he sounded like a girl.

Pleased humming against his lips and the light touch firmed until a quick tongue flicked over his skin, parting the loose seam effortlessly. Soft licking enticed the blond up on the bed and he curled against the more solid chest, nuzzling at the collar of the partially open shirt. “Where do you want to go? I don't have much but we can get by for a while.”

“We're fine. What do you think I've been doing?” A number pushed into Schuldig's mind and he realized it was a bank account. A girl appeared, young, shyly blushing as she stood in front of the bank, suitcase in hand, the manager coming out to greet her and escort her inside; another image of the same girl, thin with tired eyes, turning tricks a few blocks away. “I collect, she deposits.”

“Where is she now?” Because she wasn't in the building and he hadn't sensed anyone like that close by.

Thin shoulders shrugged against his chest. “Don't know, don't care. As long as she shows on time tomorrow.” Schuldig grinned and hugged his partner tighter. That cold attitude was exactly why he loved him so damn much.








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