Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Big Exit ❯ One-Shot

“Big Exit”
By Viridian5
10/17/07

RATING: PG-13; Schuldig/Crawford, Farfarello/Schuldig; deathfic. If m/m interaction bothers you, pass this by.
SPOILERS: “Mission 25: Ende des Weiss-- To the Knights,” Schwarz Dramatic Image Album III, “Last Mission 10: Velvet Underworld,” “Last Mission 11: Piece of Heaven,” and “Last Mission 12: Epitaph.”
SUMMARY: A man needed more reason to stay somewhere aside from having nowhere better to go.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things Weiß Kreuz belong to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiß, Polygram k.k., and Animate Film. No infringement intended.
NOTES: Thanks to Bardsley and Syvia for pre-reading. Thanks to Bardsley for talking this out with me at points and suggesting the right summary, which had been a line in the story for ages but I hadn’t considered.

===================
“Big Exit”
By Viridian5
===================

As Schuldig smoked their victim’s last cigarette, its scent joined the acrid stench of burnt hair and nearly sweet scent of roasting pork, kind of like barbecue. All the smoke gave the room a hazy, dreamlike look, as if it wouldn’t already be surreal enough watching Farfarello at work as a member of Schwarz after years away and proficiently using the electrical abilities he’d once struggled with.

All the metal Farfarello liked to shove into people worked very well with the current he ran. Sometimes the hanging overhead light sputtered as Farfarello pulled more for use. The lighting, when they had it, leant a soft white glow to the smoke and Farfarello’s bare arms.

The electricity might be damned cool, but it kept taking Schuldig out of the scene and ruining his vibe of working-with-Farfarello. Then again, he might be better off not getting too comfortable with or nostalgic about Farfarello. The good old days hadn’t really been so good. Just old.

Burnt, lightning-struck, bleeding from countless small wounds, smoke rising from his pale flesh, Mr. Fowler held out much better than his soft, blubbery looks suggested he would. He hadn’t broken down and given them the information they’d demanded, and he still felt affronted that they’d destroyed his small army of men, come in to his very private office, and dared to torture him. Most people found just the sight of Farfarello enjoying himself at close range damned scary, never mind if he were enjoying himself at their expense. Fowler felt the agony and fear--oh yes, he did--but didn’t let them direct his actions.

“You got more of these?” Schuldig asked. “It’s a shit brand, but it’s better than nothing.” Schuldig didn’t need a smoke, but he enjoyed Fowler’s rage at seeing his cigarettes so despoiled.

“You’ll get nothing from me!” Fowler growled. “You’ll be dead soon.”

“By whose army?” Farfarello asked. “Your minions are slain, and your alarm system fed me before we cut its lines.”

Hard-ass Fowler might try to be, but he couldn’t help flinching at the sparks crackling over Farfarello’s hands. By contrast, Schuldig found it far too arousing--found Farfarello far too arousing--and he shouldn’t, not if he wanted to hold on to the purity of his anger.

Everything had become muddied since Farfarello had showed up a few days ago.

“Are you bored yet?” Schuldig asked him.

“Aye.” Farfarello popped his favorite blade out from its hilt. “Do you have what we need?”

“Got it ages ago. Mr. Fowler has been an open book.”

“I told you nothing!” the crime boss said, sounding certain. But Schuldig reeled off all the names of his next-in-commands and suppliers and the locations of his storehouses, getaways, safehouses, and profits to watch his hard, arrogant look crack and crash. What Mr. Fowler hadn’t given of his own will, Schuldig had easily taken.

“Looks like we’ll not be needing you anymore,” Farfarello said, giving that a moment to sink in before he slashed through Fowler’s neck deeply enough that the man could have been a Pez dispenser. He felt more satisfaction from bloodplay than the electrical and smiled even as he currently wiped blood off his blades and spikes before tucking them into his clothes.

If only Schuldig could bask in a sense of satisfaction himself. He’d killed enough to give him that vaguely afterglow-like feeling, but having Farfarello here marred it with uncertainty about the future and shit. Schuldig tossed his cigarette to the floor and vigorously ground it out into extinction under his boot.

When they left, Farfarello smiled as he turned off the light.

Once outside, Schuldig immediately put up his umbrella. It rained too fucking much here. More aware of maintaining appearances than he used to be, Farfarello put his coat on and zipped it up even though he didn’t need it against the cold. On a sunny day he might even wear dark glasses so he wouldn’t be immediately obvious as a one-eyed man. That succubus Sally had domesticated him and put some sense into his head. Schuldig’s lip curled in disgust.

“Look at you. You’re more a fastidious cat than a coyote,” Farfarello said softly, leaning in to be under the umbrella.

“And you’re a wolf again instead of some bitch’s dog.” Yeah, Schuldig had gone all canine Wild Kingdom in expressing his anger at Farfarello taking off the way he had years ago. You’d be a little more likely to find a coyote than a cat attached to the Schwarz wolf pack Farfarello had abandoned to be Sally’s domesticated pet, right?

Or not. Who cared? Farfarello had fucked up, and now he came back expecting Brad to fix the mess he’d left behind him.

Sally had been dead a little over two weeks, at Farfarello’s berserk hands even, yet he didn’t get upset over Schuldig insulting her. It confused Schuldig, and Farfarello’s cracked, difficult mind didn’t surrender any answers.

“You see I’m a wolf still, yet you were sent along as my babysitter.”

Schuldig grinned, all teeth. “Crawford wanted to make sure you still knew which end of the knife did what. Your carelessness got the cops on your ass in Sligo, which Crawford is fixing and cleaning up for you, and it’s been years since you did this professionally.” And he’d become a family man in that time, not that Schuldig could imagine him being anyone’s father.

Farfarello hadn’t said how much time he’d taken killing the driver who’d killed his son. Farfarello hadn’t said if he’d stay with Schwarz after he paid Brad back in assignments.

There’d just been Schuldig and Brad for years. Having Farfarello back, making it a team again with a leader and two minions instead of partners, changed everything, fucked everything up.

“I know which end is which. Surely you see that now.”

“You had a deep psi-bond snap just two weeks ago, so I had to be sure you weren’t a raw, insane disaster without it.” Schuldig remembered how shocked and pissed off he’d been years ago when he first realized Sally Schumars had latched herself into Farfarello’s soul. Still was. “Well, more insane than you usually are.”

“And I’m not.”

“You should be.”

“Hurt like fuck for the first week or so in a way I’d never known before, but it doesn’t anymore. The loss of my son aches more now. I think you made it better.”

“Not by trying.” Schuldig had no intention of taking Schumars’ place. He played second-best replacement to no one.

When Farfarello smiled it made that scar on his chin look somehow more endearing. “You’ll never forgive me?”

“Probably not. I only helped you get new clothes because you looked like a lumberjack and that’s not okay.”

“I didn’t think killing had dress requirements. Do you miss the bondage pants?”

“I miss nothing.” Schuldig unlocked the car doors with his remote. “Get in.”

Once they were seated, Schuldig set his wet umbrella against Farfarello’s leg. It wasn’t like Farfarello would really feel the cold and wet anyway. Unlike his little red sports car of old, this car had the driver’s and passenger’s seats situated the correct, European way, which meant that Farfarello could see him with his one eye without having to turn his head. Great. Farfarello could stare at him more. At least a subject on a slide under a microscope had a few layers of glass between it and the observer. Schuldig just had air.

He didn’t want to admit that it was a relief to get home and out of the charged, closed-in atmosphere of the car. Of course Farfarello leaned in close to him so his umbrella kept him dry too, setting off Schuldig’s “Schu-Schu needs to choke a bitch” reflex so badly that he had to throttle the urge down. If Brad wanted Farfarello back with them so badly, he could do the babysitting and wrangling instead of Schuldig.

Brad awaited them at the kitchen table as they came in. Schuldig preferred it when Brad worked at his side on the physical end of a job. Made him feel less like a prostitute working for a pimp.

“How did it go?” Brad asked as he put down his newspaper.

“I still remember which end you stab with,” Farfarello said.

“Good. Schwarz would have to renounce you otherwise. Schuldig, what’s your assessment of his electrical abilities?”

“Useful. He controls them well, and they produce a lot of damage and terror.” Noticing the surprised look Farfarello cast him, Schuldig said, “There’s no point in lying about that.”

“Hmm,” Brad answered. “Schuldig, come out and walk with me. Farfarello, stay in the apartment.”

Schuldig could see Farfarello itching to say something snarky about whether they trusted him alone with the silverware or something, but maturity won and he said nothing. Schuldig waved to him as he left with Brad.

Of course, Brad took his own white umbrella, so he didn’t need to lean in close to share Schuldig’s green-with-yellow-duckies one. They walked in silence through the gray-washed streets for a while, achieving some distance before Brad asked, “Does he want to stay with us?”

“He’s hard to read.”

“I know.” Brad smirked, probably out of knowing he was hard to read too. It killed Schuldig that he could easily read most of the population but his two teammates were often ciphers to him.

“What I’m getting from him is that he’s not sure. What I’m sure of is that I’m not perceiving the kind of psychic pain he should be in after having had a mind link severed so violently. I don’t care about his own resistance to physical pain, because it doesn’t make a difference here, not when he feels mental and emotional pain just fine.”

“I see. I’m pondering ways to sweeten the pot for him without making it look like we’re taking too much care in wooing him. He abandoned us, after all.”

“I’m not likely to forget.”

“You took it harder than I did,” Brad said with a small, smug smile.

“We all got rolled by Schumars.” The bitch had even made *him* briefly want her. “You should have taken it even harder, since a member of your team ran off.”

“Yes.” It was more than a “hmm” but less than an agreement. “We need a sweetener, since a person whose only reason to stay is that he has nowhere better to go can’t be depended on, but it shouldn’t look too desperate. Other areas of concern?”

“He abandoned us. Yeah, we can talk about Schumars, but he spent years away from us and our way of doing things. I don’t trust him to cover my back. I don’t trust him not to run out on us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Also, power sharing. I put in all these years. He hasn’t.”

“You want more credit within Schwarz?”

“Not just credit.”

“I brought you out to consult you on this.”

“As you damned well should have, but that’s still not the point.”

Farfarello’s return had made something very clear to Schuldig and shown him that he’d been working under a very pretty delusion for a long time. Working and living alone with Brad, fucking Brad, Schuldig had assumed that he’d risen to some greater position within Schwarz. He’d thought he’d become Brad’s partner.

Too bad Brad hadn’t seen it that way after all. It just hadn’t come up clear enough and strong enough in Brad’s difficult mind until Farfarello had returned and Brad had to think about how to deal with two subordinates instead of one. Brad might be fond of Schuldig, but that didn’t translate to shit on the equality front. People were fond of their dogs too.

Schuldig often told his victims it was better to know the truth than live a lie. He knew that was bullshit. And once you got truth on your skin, you could never get the stain out or ignore it.

“If he decides to stay, and he may not, I will not be placed on the same level inside this team with him,” Schuldig said. “I put in my time here. I earned my seniority. Personally, I’d rather he didn’t return as a permanent addition.”

Personally, Schuldig didn’t know if he’d be staying permanently himself. A man needed more reason to stay somewhere aside from having nowhere better to go.

“What would you do if he came in as a permanent member at the same status you have?” Brad asked with a small smug smile.

It had been a while since Schuldig had hated anyone or anything this much. “I would leave Schwarz, since my time in it obviously meant nothing.”

That wiped Brad’s smugness away. When had Brad become so complacent?

When had they both become so complacent? Schuldig had always hated complacent people. It had been his foremost joy to rub their noses in what hell life could actually be. But Schwarz hadn’t faced a real challenge in years. Life had been comfortable. When had he last challenged Brad on something big? Too long. He’d been too comfortable in the life of assumptions he’d dwelled in to want to. Through no doing of Brad’s own, events had converged in a way that had made it look like Schuldig had gotten what he’d wanted.

No wonder he hadn’t picked up any thoughts for a long time on how he had to be subordinated. He’d already, willingly, subordinated himself.

“You will not leave,” Brad said.

“It’s too bad I’m not some teenaged girl to think that means you value me instead of that you think you own me. How much do you think Nagi’s people would pay to take me on?”

From the look on Brad’s face, Schuldig had stabbed him with a knife and twisted it, just as Schuldig had intended. Brad had taken Nagi’s defection as a betrayal and still refused to work with him, while Schuldig understood Nagi’s reasons for leaving and saw Brad’s reactions as ridiculous. Big deal that Brad used to command Nagi. Nagi had been a kid back then.

“You would degrade yourself to make a point to me?”

“If he’s willing to pay and treat me well, there’s no degradation in it. You’ve made threatening noises against me leaving, but I have yet to hear you give me any reasons to stay. That says a lot. Tell me, Brad. If I said that I wanted to leave, what would you offer to change my mind?”

Brad planned ahead in ways that would astound even the most anal of people, yet the look that briefly crossed his face showed that he’d never expected to have to offer more. Schuldig felt deeply insulted. Had Brad seen him as some kind of lapdog, content to accept any scraps Brad decided to give him?

Hadn’t he been?

Farfarello hadn’t been the only one wearing a tight collar and playing someone’s bitch for years, although at least Farfarello could use the excuse of being helpless under whatever Malefici mind whammy Schumars had going. How humiliating!

“I would have to think on that,” Brad answered.

Wrong answer. “Farfarello doesn’t know whether he wants to stay for good or not.” Since Brad seemed to be in a clueless state of mind, Schuldig added, “Neither do I, whether Farf stays or not. Why so surprised, Brad? This is who I am.”

“I thought you’d... matured.”

“You’re the one taking this too personally. I’ll put this in a way that’ll help you understand it better: I want a raise, a promotion, and a better office in recognition of my years of service, or I’m leaving for a different company. There’s nothing immature in that. In fact, it’s sound business sense. When you figure out how to deal with that, talk to me.”

Prior to that, Schuldig had unconsciously matched his speed and stride to Brad’s, pacing with him, a habit established over years. Now he sped off.

He walked until his feet became too uncomfortably wet and cold, at which point he found a café, liberated someone else’s newspaper and recently delivered hot cocoa and biscotti, and took a nice table by a window so he could sit and think about nothing for a while, interrupted occasionally only by a waitress who refilled his mug with cocoa, whipped cream, and mini marshmallows whenever he wanted more.

When Farfarello walked in, Schuldig decided to generously let him sit down instead of starting a scene. The lightning bug had even used an umbrella to keep dry while tracking him. Once upon a time Farf would have gone out bareheaded and just shook himself dry like a dog when he came indoors again, usually because he enjoyed the reactions people had to it.

“Did Brad send you?” Schuldig asked.

“We each sent me. Your hair is starting to curl a little in the damp,” Farfarello said, sounding amused.

“I guess I’ll have to kill myself now. Besides, yours is worse.”

“Have you been this cranky all the years I’ve been away? I’d think not, since you leave a path of devastation. I was able to track you partly by a trail of quarreling lovers and broken friendships. You also wrecked a wedding. The two families looked set to tear each other apart. It nearly tempted me to stay and watch.”

The thought of that train of cracked lives warmed Schuldig a little. “No, the crankiness is a recent development. I also shield better usually.”

“Crawford doesn’t make you happy, then?”

The question made no sense, and Farfarello should know that, so why had he even asked? Brad would never try to make Schuldig happy; at best Schuldig would be happy as a side effect of something else Brad had done. Even at the height of Schuldig’s contentment, he’d never deluded himself that far.

He sounded more and more pathetic. What the hell had he been thinking the last few years? He’d gotten comfortable, complacent, old.

“He doesn’t make me happy. I doubt the idea that he should would even occur to him. His idea of ‘making me happy’ would probably involve him turning a gun on me and commanding me to smile.”

“You’re fine with this state of affairs?” Farfarello put his hand over Schuldig’s and let a little light charge flow out, enough to feel... intriguing and certainly not enough to hurt.

Schuldig yanked his hand back. “This state of affairs is my state of affairs.”

He had no intention of spilling his emotional guts to Farfarello, who exploited weaknesses like any good member of Schwarz would, nor would he become a replacement for Farfarello’s dead kind-of wife no matter how good the sex they’d used to have had been. Going from letting himself be willingly and happily used by Brad for years to willingly and happily used by Farfarello would be stupid.

“Has being with him led you to believe no one would want you for yourself?”

“Life has led me to believe that everybody has an ulterior motive. I know my own value just fine.” Schuldig wanted this conversation to stop, but leaving could be taken as an admission of weakness.

He despised humanity so much, but Eszett had pruned and shaped him, as they had all their telepaths, into needing to be around them and codependent on his team. Years after he’d helped destroy Eszett, that programming apparently remained because he couldn’t imagine himself going on alone now.

He’d looked after Farfarello and made sure he didn’t go out to kill too many people, served as the closest thing Nagi had to a mother, and provided data and supplemental ideas to Brad’s planning. He’d kept them all talking to each other and him. Losing Farfarello so suddenly and unexpectedly to that Schumars bitch had been a personal affront. Nagi had drifted slowly but as inexorably out of Schwarz’s orbit as he’d gotten older and started to feel too constricted within the team, and Schuldig hadn’t seen a way to fix it short of reprogramming the kid. That had left him alone with Brad, who saw no reason to change himself... which Schuldig had found reassuring after the rest of the team had changed and left.

Looking at it from that angle, Schuldig had to sneer at his own idiocy. Yes, what a happily ever after they could have together as team leader and tool. Why would Brad ever become anything different or compromise when what he was already doing worked so well for him? And now Farfarello returned, having been burned by his experiment with an almost normal life and wanting to revert to Schuldig taking care of him again. He could go fuck himself too. They’d killed Eszett years ago, so at least one of the three of them should become totally grown up.

“What are you thinking?” Farfarello asked.

“That this is all bullshit. Are you actually offering me anything here? So far I’ve just gotten hand holding and insinuation.”

“Are you so mercenary?” He had the nerve to sound a little bit offended.

Schuldig had to laugh in derision. “Considering that you seem to be asking me to take some risks here, yeah, I am mercenary, because I want to see if it’s worth it first. Besides, we are mercenaries. You’ve been back long enough to remember that. The only person who’s been looking out for me is me, and so far you haven’t shown me any differently. What do you have for me, Farfie?”

Farfarello just took on a mulish expression and didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t have an answer. Maybe he and Crawford both thought Schuldig would happily bend over for them if they tossed him scraps and trinkets once in a while. Maybe they hadn’t really thought about him at all and just figured he’d be there.

If so, they deserved each other.

This whole conversation tired Schuldig. “Remember that you can’t draw any more attention to yourself since your wallow in Sligo. Brad still hasn’t cleaned that up and wouldn’t welcome you adding to the gratuitous body count.”

“What are you going on about?”

Schuldig stood and sped out of the café, leaving Farfarello to deal with a waitress Schuldig had prodded into remembering that she’d been delivering hot cocoa to that table for over two hours. They’d told the silly fucker to carry cash on him, and he doubted the waitress would raise a really big stink once she saw Farfarello’s scarred and psycho face, but it made a tiny, petty distraction that gave Schuldig more time to get away and make himself less traceable.

He needed to lose himself for a while, to shake his pursuers and shake his terrible mood, and fortunately the gray, rainy afternoon was turning into a clear night, lifting the mood of most of the people around him and his as well. Nightlife always offered such possibilities, and he had clothes, money, and ID stashed in a locker that he could use. Some cleansing partying could flush out his system and give him a fresh perspective in the morning.

Schuldig supposed that some people would call what he and Chris were doing dancing, although it felt and probably looked wonderfully like frottage. High on the drugs most of the rest of the dancing, grinding crowd had done, Schuldig rubbed against him, slid his hands down to cup his sweet ass, and purred as the boy’s hot, fervent mouth sucked at his neck. Cute boy, Chris: lanky, eager, mind an open book. They looked younger every year.

“I can’t wait anymore,” Chris said as he went up on his toes to nip at Schuldig’s ear, his mind dripping lust. “I need you now. You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Well, Brad and Farfie probably figured they had more pride and dignity than some kid wanting desperately to get laid.

If Chris were really good, Schuldig would let him live. Schuldig’s mood had improved that much.

His mood started to decline as he felt a familiar static enter the club. If Farfarello had even an iota of sense, he’d see Schuldig otherwise occupied and leave.

Chris suddenly stiffened in a bad way and babbled loudly, “I didn’t know he was yours! I’ll get out of your way now!” before letting go quickly and fleeing. People tended to react like that to Farfarello stopping nearby and staring at them.

Schuldig turned to face him. “Real cute, but that’s only a temporary solution for you. I’ll just go somewhere else and find someone else, because I’m not interested in you and you’re a pain in the ass. I’m not the free toaster you get for coming back to the team. I’m not your rebound. I’m me, and I deserve better than to get used by anyone.”

“You’re right. You do. Can we go somewhere quieter so I don’t have to scream to you?”

Chris had run blocks away by now, and most of the people still around Schuldig and Farfarello looked nervous. This wasn’t the kind of scene Schuldig wanted to make. “Fine.”

As they walked out together, Schuldig noticed that he unconsciously matched his stride to Farfarello’s, just as he did to Brad’s. It annoyed the shit out of him, and it was his own fault, which annoyed the shit out of him even more. As satisfying as it would be to lay the blame for everything on Brad and Farf, Schuldig couldn’t overlook his own complicity in the situation.

When Farfarello stopped in an alley, Schuldig had to smirk. “This is your appropriate talking place?”

“Schwarz does so much in alleys.”

“True.” Murdered in alleys, had hot desperate sex in alleys.... Farfarello wanted to play on his sense of nostalgia. Knowing that made it easier to avoid falling prey to it. “So, are you here for Brad, for you, or for both of you?”

“As far as I can tell, Crawford is still deliberating on what to offer you. You threw him for a loop, you did.”

That tidbit of information left Schuldig with mixed feelings. Flustering Brad was fun, but Brad should have gotten something together by now. Was it encouraging or insulting that he hadn’t yet?

And should he really trust Farf’s word on what Brad thought and did? Farfarello was far from an objective or disinterested party.

Unwilling to divulge his inner struggle to Farfarello, Schuldig answered, “Good. He should work at it.”

“I’m here for me.”

“Of course.” A part of Schuldig that sounded a little like Brad Crawford sneered at how Farfarello didn’t think of the needs of the team. A part that was purely Schuldig said it didn’t matter how Farf felt about the team as long as he showed concern for Schuldig, especially since there wouldn’t even be a team if Brad didn’t get his shit together. “Dazzle me then. Tell me why I should run away with you.”

“I’d give you a fresh start. He bosses you about and takes you for granted. I wouldn’t.”

Schuldig waited for more for two minutes. When it didn’t come he asked, “And?”

“And what?”

“What else?”

“You need more? Selfish creature.”

“By going solo I could have a fresh start without dealing with Brad. Why should I bother with you? What do you bring to the table? You’ve been out of the game for years. You have no contacts or clients. You don’t do planning.”

“You enjoyed my company.”

“Years ago. People change. You changed; I changed. I haven’t been enjoying you so far, that’s for sure. Besides, I remember spending a lot of time babysitting you. Why the hell would I want to take that up again?”

Farfarello’s look of surprise would be comical if it didn’t piss Schuldig off so much. “Telepaths aren’t happy solo. Not for long.”

How long had Schuldig let that bullshit rule his life? Too long. “Thank you, Rosenkreuz. You’d trust the word of a bunch of sadistic normals with an agenda we’d killed ages ago for their idiocy? How coincidental that the theory would discourage telepaths from leaving their teams. And do I look happy with you or Brad right now? Too bad it only works for you if your telepath believes it.” Did Brad believe that shit too and figure he didn’t have to offer anything because Schuldig, being a telepath, would be desperate for his companionship? Brad had been Schuldig’s stable point, his anchor, for years based on that bit of Rosenkreuz training. Schuldig should probably ditch that and make himself his own anchor too. “I’m going home to see if Brad has decided on his pitch to keep me yet. He’s had enough time to think. Maybe he’ll outdo you. You could follow me or not.”

Schuldig started to walk away, alert ready to defend himself if Farfarello chose to attack him from behind, but Farfarello simply walked at a distance behind him, following him back to the apartment. It made sense that Farfarello would want to see how this confrontation went down.

With the argument over for the moment, Schuldig started to really feel the cold night air on his sweaty skin. He’d dressed for clubbing, not for a long walk, figuring he’d get a ride home with someone. But he fought the urge to shiver, not wanting to show weakness in front of Farfarello.

He distracted himself by stealthily removing his anchor from Brad and weaving it into himself. A lot of telepaths would need help from at least one other telepath and the anchor’s consent, but Schuldig was powerful and skilled. Doing this suggested pessimism about how the confrontation would turn out, but it was better to be safe. It made no sense to leave an important part of himself linked into someone who didn’t value him.

It could be risky having no stable point or lacking someone else as your anchor--telepaths living in the mental equivalent of a wind tunnel as they did--but surely Schuldig would find something and someone. Solving problems and ingratiating himself were two of his skills.

Schuldig started trying to listen in on Brad long before he arrived home. Recon always made sense. What little he heard didn’t relate to him at all. How insulting. Then he did hear a thought regarding himself, about how he pushed and tested boundaries and how Brad should stay strong and refuse to give an inch. And why the hell had Schuldig resumed being difficult now. It made Schuldig sound like a petulant child and Brad his father. It made him want to storm in and demand his due, but he knew Brad would just take that as further support for his goddamned petulant child theory. With that in mind, he should change out of his sweaty club wear and shower before he had his talk with Brad.

When Schuldig walked in he went straight to his room, gathering a change of clothing and his gun and holster. He would face Brad in professional mode, and the feel of the holster across his shoulders and the weight of a gun automatically put him there. As he opened his bedroom door, Farfarello gave him a quizzical stare.

“Out of the way. I’m washing up first,” Schuldig said.

Farfarello bowed with great sarcasm. Fuck him. Schuldig swept past him regally.

Being thorough, wanting to be more relaxed, Schuldig took his sweet time showering and used as much hot water as possible, washing his hair too. Afterward he towel-dried himself and gave his hair an extra thorough ruffling with the towel, then went all out with underwear, socks, pants, a shirt, boots, his holster, and a blazer to top it off. He’d face Brad with damp hair, and Brad could like it or lump it.

Brad and Farfarello greeted him as he opened the door. Fine. He already had his game face on. “Did Farfarello talk to you about our conversation, Brad? If he told you anything I didn’t already say to you, he’s lying for his own advantage.”

“I foresaw as much.”

“Of course you did,” Schuldig answered, and he saw that Farfarello had a look of annoyance similar to his own.

“Between that and our talk, you should know what I’m here for.” Schuldig had his telepathy open to hear anything he could from Brad, but Brad had his shields up as well as his own natural precog’s resistance. Not surprising.

“I do know. Schuldig, you get as much as you put into it. No more, no less. That’s how your share of everything is determined. It’s fair.”

“Fair? My years of contribution and seniority mean nothing, huh? You promised me better than this after the fall of the tower and even better than that after the destruction of Epitaph and final fall of Eszett. You claim to be a man of your word.”

“You must have misunderstood it.”

“Did you hear a word I said today about how I’d have to reconsider being on the team?”

“I could never let you leave this team alive. You know too much. I would hunt you down, and if you were still too much of a pain in the ass I would make sure you couldn’t take information about Schwarz to anyone else. I would kill you.”

“You’re going to get me to stay on the team by threatening me?”

“You’re not going to leave. You get things you need out of being Schwarz. You get things you need from me. Farfarello can only take from you.”

Schuldig kept feeling angrier and more insulted the longer Brad talked. “The threat is a cherry on top? One of the wonderful things about being in Schwarz?”

“I just want us to be clear.”

Clear? Very. Schuldig could tell that Brad meant it all. These were not idle words. Fuck him and his high horse. Schuldig could feel blood and rage pounding in his head. He’d been so stupidly and totally deluded that he’d wasted years on someone who had no respect for him and saw him as a tool or an attack dog to be kept on a short leash. He felt humiliated.

By instinct, Schuldig had his gun in his hand and firing within moments, moving at his top speed. Brad had already sensed the future coming and started moving away, which was why Schuldig had shot four times in quick succession: up, down, left, and right. One hit Brad’s head and another struck his neck, tagging the carotid artery. All that blood reminded Schuldig of finding him after his mental battle with Berger, when Schuldig had cradled him, worried he’d die, and Brad had made promises that he’d thoroughly broken tonight. This time Schuldig remained standing, distant.

The death wasn’t instantaneous. Schuldig had also instinctively damped down his link as he’d fired but kept some tendrils open to know for sure. When Brad died about half a minute after the bullets struck, it felt like something torn out of Schuldig, fast and painful. It would have been worse if he’d been as open to Brad as usual.

Feeling the edge of Farfarello’s burst of excitement over this turn of events, Schuldig turned his gun in that direction in case Farfarello decided to make a move. Otherwise, he gave himself some time to silently mourn, his only outward sign of it an occasional shudder. He’d known Brad for most of his life. They’d had some damned good times. He’d... loved him. He mourned the loss of the beautiful illusion he’d lived under for the last few years. His life as it had been had just died, and his head hurt so much....

He also cursed Brad for having become so complacent that he’d forgotten how to handle Schuldig. Years ago, post-tower, Brad never would have been so stupid and openly dismissive with a useful ally who no longer had a shared goal. Brad had basically committed suicide.

“You both forced my hand in this,” Schuldig said as he turned to face Farfarello, his gun still up and ready to shoot. Time to get on with the business of surviving. The pain of disconnection would fade with time.

“I didn’t mislead you for years. I didn’t force him to be stupid.” Farfarello sounded quiet and calm, but a bloodthirsty glee lit his eye. Brad’s corpse kept drawing part of his attention.

“Brad didn’t finish sweeping your killing spree in Sligo under the rug. You’re a wanted man. Just not by me. You’re a reminder of what I had to destroy.”

That took the glee off Farfarello’s face fast. “I respect you.”

“That’s good to know.”

“You’re pondering whether you should kill me.”

“Yes. I’m leaving, and I don’t need you following me. If you’re not amenable to taking direction, I have to kill you.” It might be safest to kill him anyway, but Schuldig would give him a chance to talk himself out of harm’s way. Killing half his old team in one night if he didn’t have to would be... overkill.

“I recognize that this is a bad time for you, and I’ll leave you be. You don’t need to kill me to keep your back safe. Someday you may not be so embittered by Crawford’s idiocy and wouldn’t mind me so much.”

“You expect me to come to you?”

“Maybe someday.” He looked winsome instead of arrogant, somehow cute at the moment even with the eyepatch and all the scars. It helped make his words sound like “I can be good to be with!” instead of “You won’t be able to live without me forever.” That made a huge difference.

“Maybe someday I’ll prove you right. Maybe. Pack your things to leave. This apartment is going up in flames.” He didn’t have the time to clear the place of all traces of their presence aside from that.

Having just moved in, Farfarello finished packing much faster than Schuldig did, even with Schuldig only packing his cash, work stuff, favorite clothing and possessions, and toiletries. Things could be replaced, and a lot of his reminded him of his time with Brad. Schuldig went through Brad’s room next, taking the emergency stash of money and weapons and Brad’s laptop. Schuldig needed the data on their accounts and contacts and could personalize it to his own tastes eventually. Finally, he took Brad’s wallet, cell phone, and pocket watch off his corpse, wiping the blood on the watch off on Brad’s beige suit jacket. The watch had sentimental value.

When Schuldig looked up as he crouched beside Brad’s corpse, he noticed Farfarello watching him. Watching him with respect. Maybe that someday really would happen. Schuldig picked up his packed things and brought them to the doorway out. Then he put his gloves on, picked up a few bottles from the liquor cabinet, poured them over Brad’s corpse, dropping the empties to smash on the floor, and walked away with the last one to leave a trail of alcohol to the door. Schuldig started erasing himself from the memories of the people who lived in the area. Mentally he said a goodbye to all this, then struck a match, set the alcohol afire, and closed the door behind him, Farfie, and their luggage. Closing the door was his concession to the neighbors.

After Schuldig put his luggage in the car, he looked at Farfarello, who stood there wearing his knapsack watching him. That and the way Farfarello didn’t assume he’d be getting a ride or complain about not getting one gave Schuldig a small warm feeling that offset his current hollowness. Not that he would give Farfarello a ride because of it, but it made Schuldig say, “If you’re looking for work, you could try Nagi in Tokyo. He has an organization.”

Farfarello had made it from Ireland to London on his own despite the police looking for him as a mass murderer. Farfarello had ways.

Farf smiled a little but asked, “You’re not going there yourself?”

Schuldig settled into the driver’s seat and closed the door. “I’m going solo for a while.” He had to figure out who he was when he was alone. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday, Farf.”

As Schuldig drove away, he didn’t look back.

  **********************THE END***********************