Sunde: Chapter Twenty-Three

"I hate him!" he spat out viciously as he slammed the door to his room and yanked the knob for volume up on his stereo, letting the rock music pound into him, the English lyrics complimenting his mood quite accurately.

/Right. This is me believing you,/ Liebe said into his mind dryly.

He glared at her, his mind placing her near the window. "Shut up."

She arched a thin brow, sunlight pouring through her expression. /You make everything difficult, Schuldich./

"I'm supposed to, remember?" he retorted as he threw himself onto his bed. "I fuck up everyone's life. It's what I do best."

/Fucking people is what you do best,/ she corrected.

A thin smile tilted his lips upwards, the movement pulling at the bruises along his cheekbones. "That too."

He blinked annd suddenly she was sitting on his bed, one hand hovering over the discolored skin. /Why?/ came the simple question.

He glared at her. "Because I chose to."

/She didn't deserve to die./

"Does it matter?"

Liebe sighed. /I don't know what to do with you./

"You're dead. You can't do anything."

Schuldich surged up off he bed, moving through her as he headed for the door, turning off hte stereo as he went.

"And that's the problem."

He left her behind in his room, in his mind, whichever she existed in, propelling himself through the apartment, to the door, outside into the clear night air. He left the building behind for the street, the only place he had ever called home. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket he lit it and took a deep drag, hoping it would calm the tense jangle that was his nerves. He let his feet take him whichever directoin they chose, eyes focused on the ground, his mind, for once, focused only on himself.

The sting of nicotine on his half-healed lip made him grimace but he ignored it, just like he ignored the rest of the bruises that were already fading. He had recieved them not in a fight but in a form of punishment for killing Takatori's prized child, his daughter, Ouka. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to play with her mind and her half-brother's mind, the assassin, Omi. And in the final twist of the game that he had started, he had allowed Farfarello to kill her.

He didn't regret the move. He regretted nothing that he did. He had taken his punishment silently from the man they served until Brad had intervened, pointing out in his calm, quiet way that it wasn't Schwarz's fault that Ouka was dead, but Weiss'. Takatorie's rage had been averted, his anger focused at another source. And Schuldich had been spared the indignity of unconsciousness from a non-paranormal by Brad's careful words. When they had arrived back at their apartment building, Brad had locked Farfarello in his room and had turned his back on Schuldich.

/"Aren't you going to say anything?"/ Schuldich had asked him.

/"Why? The deed is already done."/

/"You always have something to say."/

/"You say and do enough for all of us."/

And he left Schuldich to his own thoughts, ignoring him for the next few days. Schuldich had sulked. He hated to do that, but he had had nothing else to do. The past month had been tense and hostile between them, affecting their work and the other two. The tension was as much sexual as it was anger and the two would never give into each other. So hwere he was, back on the streets, looking for another escape and knowing he would never find it. The day he had accepted this life in exchange for the silence had been the day he had sold the last shred of his soul.

He smiled humorlessly as he touched his fingers to the underside of one wrist. Suicide scars, needle scars; skin marked from a life that had never showed him any kindness so was it any wonder that he lashed out as he did, that he was who he was? It couldn't be helped. Society had molded him and he had provided the details with the tools the world had given him. And this was who he was. He could never change.

He dropped the filter to the ground and pulled out another cigarette, still walking. He had no destination in mind, only the need to do something--anything--to get out of this funk that he was in. He didn't know how long he had walked, only that when he had gone through the last cigarette in the third and final pack hidden in his jacket, he looked up and found himself in front of the flower shop where Weiss worked. It was late in the night, early in the morning and maybe he had meant to come here after all. Maybe the person sitting on the curb had somehow called him, who knew?

Schuldich spat out the cigarette and smiled, his voice, though low, carried enough to be heard. "Bad night?" he mocked.

The person jumped to their feet, reaching for a blade that was not there, violet eyes full of hate. "*You*!" Aya hissed.

"Yeah. Me. How's your friend?" he asked. "Still hurting? Still dreaming? Still seeing your face when he closes his eyes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aya spat out as he took a step forward bu thalted when Schuldich's touch swiped across his mind.

"You're not lying. I knew it. Ken never did tell you what happened, did he?"

Aya stared at him warily, unwilling to go any further without a weapon. Schuldich laughed and in a blink of an eye he had crossed the street, leaning in to whisper in Aya's ear before the other redhead could react, his voice mocking.

"I fucked him first."

With a wordless cry, Aya turned to punch him but Schuldich had already moved away. He laughed at look on Aya's face, an expression of anger, disbelief, and fear. The German brushed some of his hair out of his eyes and tilted his head.

"Ask him. Ask him what I did, how I touched him. Ask him who he saw when he closed his eyes. Ask him how long he screamed."

"I don't believe you!" Aya snarled in a harsh voice.

"Of course you don't. Because you don't want to," Schuldich's smile became hard. "Ask him. I dare you. The truth always hurts more than the lie."

With a last laugh and a bow, Schuldich bounded away, his fast stride leaving Aya behind in a sea of uncertainty. He smiled to himself. He felt better already. Perhaps a walk to clear his head and cloud another's was all he had needed after all.

He arrived at the apartment as dawn broke the night sky. Tired from his night out he shoved his key into the lock and opened the door, finding Brad waiting for him in the living room. The American was seated on the couch, legs crossed, eyes closed. Schuldich rolled his eyes and kicked the door shut.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," he said. "I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

"Sit down, Schuldich."

There was an edge to the American's voice that made Schuldich pause in his step and actually consider obeying the order.

"Now."

With a mental shrug he moved over to the arm chair opposite the couch and fell into it. "What is it? Not enough sex to keep you occupied? Oh, wait. This is you we're talking about."

Brad opened his eyes stared at Schuldich, studying the bored expression. He was used to Schuldich's mood changed and ignored the comment. "This isn't a game, Schuldich. We're nearing the completion of the first stage."

"Let me guess. You've Seen how it will all play out."

"I need you cooperating with us," Brad continued, brushing aside Schuldich's statement. "I need you willing."

A thin red brow quirked upwards. "That can be taken two ways, Brad. Which way do you want to take it?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

Schuldich smirked.

Brad's blue eyes narrowed slightly as he got to his feet and pulled something out of his pocket. "Are you willing?"

Schuldich stared at him over the gun calmly, smirk still in place. "New orders, Brad?" he asked quietly. "Takatori's? SS's? Yours?"

"Yes or no?" Brad replied just as softly. "Because I'm Seeing two different futures and whether or not you live is based on the answer you give me."

Slowly Schuldich got to his feet, the gun following his heart as he did so. The smirk had disappeared and in its place was a mask of blankness that Brad had never seen before. Schuldich reached out and touched his fingers to the gun, rocking forward to meet the barrel with his body. Green eyes bored into blue, morning light flickering over the shadows on their faces, and the answer fell into the silence between them, a dozen meanings in the words.

"Haven't you figured it out yet? For you, I'm always willing."

They stayed like that for several seconds before the click of the safety broke it and Brad drew the gun back. Schuldich let his hand drop and he turned away without another word. Brad watched him leave with a troubled gaze, the gun pointing at the floor. For a brief second, as they had looked at each other, he could have sworn he had heard real emotion in Schuldich's voice. Or maybe it had been his imagination; what he had watned to hear. But still.

There was a first time for everything.