Restorations

“Yes, yes, they went down the beach!” the old man said, waving to his right. “Drunk as skunks, they were, and leaning into each other to stay on their feet!”

Aya took a deep breath. The woman Crawford was talking to was waving the same way. He was close. Finally, he was close.

“Thank you, grandfather.” He bowed to the man, who grumbled about not being some Japanese whelp’s grandfather as he moved away. Aya walked down the beach. Three-fourths of Schwarz did the same, farther up the sand from the ocean. Nagi had apparently done as incredibly well as Omi had, at pulling information from Schuldig’s short taunt. Now if only someone at the identified hotel had seen them since yesterday…

Trust Kudou Yohji. Stuck in a foreign country with no money, ID, or weapon, his only companion a sadistic, manipulative telepath–Kudou Yohji went on a days-long bender.

Knowing Yohji, he was probably having the time of his life. Aya would have let him be, if Birman had answered him when he asked that Kritiker do the same.

***

“It’s–I’m sure it’s just–a glitch. Or something.”

“Kudou, you’re a fucking idiot!”

“What do you want me to say? I don’t know anything about it!”

Schuldig closed his eyes, made fists and relaxed them a few times. “Nothing. I don’t–“ His eyes sprang open, he stiffened, shooting off the stool and falling backwards, his body taut. Yohji barely caught him.

“Schuldig!”

“Aaaaa!!” the German gasped out, then curled forward, Yohji almost dropped him again as he wrapped around himself. “Zu viel…”

“Hey, is he okay?” The bartender was leaning over to look at the German curled on his deck.

“Is he look okay?” Yohji demanded. Damn it, his English wasn’t up to this–doctor, how did you say doctor in–

“Too much…” Schu gasped in Japanese. First his power was gone, now it was out of control? That made sense. Yohji put the German over his shoulder and ran for the beach. There wasn’t anyone down there, some sort of warning–

Schuldig was cursing, that was an improvement, right? Yohji set him down. “Schu, how do I help?”

“Crawford!!” the German howled. “You son of a bitch! You knew!”

“What did he know?” Yohji took the German’s hand as he writhed in the sand. “What do I do, Schuldig?”

“Won’t…come back! Fuck you…”

“He’s hurting you somehow because you left Schwarz?”

“Cont–tingency…drugs…something.” He threw his head back, those blue eyes blazed at Yohji. “I win! I’ll go first…”

“Damn it, Schuldig, don’t give up! Tell me what to do!”

“Nothing!” he panted. “Fuck it!…Fuck them! Won’t…won’t be forced…I am a prince, damn it!”

“Schu–“

”Call Crawford,” the German gasped, then went limp. “Ahh…”

“Are you all right?”

“Just a….breather. Power’s gone, it’ll come back worse, I’ve seen this before. Thought it was the damn pills…it’s going to kill me, Yohji. Please–get my cell phone. Help me dial Crawford, I want to tell him to meet me in fucking hel–aaieee!”

Yohji groped for the phone. Roaming charges, though, how much would–shut up, Kudou!

***

Aya watched from the corner of his eye as Crawford answered his cell phone. The American gestured at the other members of Schwarz, they all walked up the beach towards the city. Aya debated following, but it could have been anything. And he’d finally found someone who had seen two tourists, one blonde, one with the damnedest orange hair, staggering by today in search of a friendlier bartender.

***

“Is he going to be all right?” Yohji asked as Crawford removed the needle from Schuldig’s arm. The American glanced up, the light glinted off his glasses. But he didn’t answer, just handed the medical kit to Nagi before he lifted Schuldig. Yohji scratched the back of his head.

“Um, I don’t suppose you could…give me a ride home?” God, he couldn’t believe he’d asked that! He’d rather swim home than share a plane with–

“Go back to the hotel,” Crawford said over his shoulder. “In three hours your fate will meet you there.”

***

Ayeka-san had hinted she was getting off in an hour, but Yohji had turned her down as gently as he could. He’d decided wanting to die in bed was pretty damn selfish. On the beach would have to do. And drunk, of course. Drunk on a beach in Hawaii was not a bad way to go.

Yohji sat drinking in a beach chair under a full-size umbrella, and considered putting up a sign that said “Kudou Yohji, derelict assassin,” but he didn’t. He was glad he didn’t have his watch. He might have changed his mind, and hurt some innocent young–

Okay, laughing just wasn’t appropriate. Dignity, he was going to meet his fate with dignity. He wished he had the energy to get up and move the umbrella, the sun had changed angles and was now shining in–

A shadow fell over him. Yohji growled.

“Some assassin you are, you’re not supposed to let me see you coming.”

“Why not?” a deep voice asked.

“Aya!” Yohji tried to jump up, but it was a long way up and he landed back on his ass. “Ow!”

“Yohji,” Aya asked, “how long has it been since you were sober?”

Was he…smiling? That couldn’t be, Aya hated when he drank. It must be the glare of the sun behind him. Yohji hung his head. “However long it’s been since we went into that club.”

“That’s impressive, Yohji. Even for you.”

“Really? How long has it been?”

“That was Friday night. It’s now–“ Aya looked at his watch, “Tuesday afternoon, Tokyo time.”

Yohji counted on his fingers, then shrugged. “I’ve done better.” He peered up at Aya. “You’re not here to kill me? I wouldn’t mind, you know, I just–“

”No, Yohji, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to bring you home.”

“Oh.”

***

Schuldig was unconscious, and would stay that way for a while. It would be hours before Crawford could assess the damage. So when Nagi asked if Schu was going to be okay, Crawford answered honestly. Nagi stared at him.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Crawford ignored him as he stripped off Schuldig’s clothes. Nagi floated the German into the bathroom, he and Crawford worked together to wash the sand off their teammate. Crawford washed that fiery hair three times, to be sure. When they came out with Schuldig wrapped in a robe, Crawford was astonished to see Farfarello changing the bed.

“Sand,” the Irishman said at Crawford’s raised eyebrow. “It gets everywhere you wish it wouldn’t.”

Well, that was true. Nagi floated Schu to the bed, but didn’t put him down. Crawford was about to ask why when a fresh towel came floating from the bathroom, to drape itself over the pillow. Gently Nagi lowered his teammate to the bed. Then Schuldig’s hair started moving.

“He can take care of that,” Crawford snapped. It was disturbing, somehow, seeing the other two gently care for the telepath who delighted in torturing them.

“If it dries like that, it will stand up even more than usual,” Nagi said. “And he hates when he wakes up with tangles.” The red-gold strands twisted around themselves, into a braid over Schuldig’s shoulder. Farfarello cut a long strip from a towel, Nagi took it to tie the braid. “I will watch over him,” he said.

“That’s not–“

”He should wake up to a friend,” the boy said, giving Crawford another of those accusing looks. He’d been getting good at them, since Saturday morning. He should–

Later. He would deal with Prodigy’s attitude later.

“Very well.”

***

Yohji let the shower run down over his head and wondered what he was supposed to do now. Every time he thought he had things figured out, they changed, and he just didn’t care to think any more. Worse, he couldn’t just ask Aya. It was plain to see Aya…did not want to talk about it.

He’d been ready to die. He had. Damn Crawford anyway, he’d meant Yohji to interpret his remark like that. That cold bastard didn’t deserve Schu. He hoped the telepath would forgive him for telling Crawford where he was, but he couldn’t just watch him die–

Worry about that later, Kudou. Now come up with a way to tell Aya he didn’t need to be so nice, everything could just go back to the miserable way it was before.

Damn it, he didn’t want it to! Yohji leaned against the wall and sniffled, though apparently he wasn’t at the right stage of drunkenness to get a real crying jag going.

As expected, Aya had retreated. He wasn’t cold, but he was calm, careful, gentle–he was Abyssinian taking care of a wounded teammate. A badly wounded teammate. He hadn’t said a word about Yohji letting Schu kidnap–well…hijack? Umm…abduct? Lead astray? He’d definitely done that. Try as he might, Yohji could not remember flying to Hawaii. He thought he remembered going to drink at Narita–

Schu had sworn Hawaii was Yohji’s idea, the telepath had just made it happen.

Anyway. Aya hadn’t said anything, he didn’t even make fun of how drunk Yohji was. The mischievous little sneak was gone, maybe forever. Aya hadn’t been angry at Ayeka-san cooing over Yohji’s condition, either, or at Schuldig’s dry-cleaning hanging inside the door. The trust was gone, the possessiveness was gone, and almost the only thing he’d said besides what he had to was that he was never going to drink again.

“Yohji,” came that too-gentle voice, “get out before you drown.” That was another thing. Aya hadn’t called him ‘Kudou’ once.

There were four towels and a robe by the door, Aya hadn’t even come in far enough to put them in reach of the shower. Four towels and a robe was overkill, Aya’s subtle hint not to wander out in just a towel, he didn’t want to see. Yohji sighed and wished he weren’t so drunk. Maybe if he hadn’t spent the last–Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday–four days drunk, he could find a way to talk to Aya, here in Hawaii where they wouldn’t be interrupted by missions or evil assassins or genki chibis needing harassing or fangirls pretending to want flowers or–

Face it, Kudou, he told himself. He and Aya had lived together for years, worked together in not one but two jobs, and spent more time together than most married couples did. If they hadn’t found a way yet, a way was not going to be found.

Okay, now he was in the mood to cry. But Aya would come to check on him again, and he didn’t want to upset Aya. Not anymore. He’d thought teasing Aya brought out the real person, but that was only one aspect of him. Yohji wanted all of Aya, his anger wasn’t enough.

Forget it. Just forget it. He wasn’t going to get all of Aya, and he didn’t deserve him anyway. Aya needed someone…better. Someone who could talk books with him, books and traditions and…and loyalty, and integrity…Aya had come for him. Aya had dropped everything to come to Hawaii to search for his drunken idiot of a teammate, to save his life because he was too foolish to do it himself.

Aya deserved better than this. Aya deserved it, and with that miracle worker he had for a sister, he would get it. Yohji just needed to…stay out of the way. He could do that. They were still friends, at least, Aya was still in his life. Aya hadn’t tried to kill him, as that bastard Crawford had done to Schu.

“Get him, Schu,” Yohji muttered as he pulled the robe on. “Don’t let him get away with that.” Like there was a chance he would. Schu was as vindictive as Aya, and needed even less reason.

Maybe it was a redhead thing.

The redhead he cared most about was at the huge window when he came out. Aya stared off into the ocean view, his arms wrapped around himself. Yohji admired his profile, and wished it could be his arms around that sexy body. He remembered–

He remembered he better not remember, if he didn’t want to cry in front of Aya. He lit a cigarette instead of going over there.

“I’ll go down to the lobby and call the airline,” Aya said softly, not looking at him. “We won’t be able to leave for several hours at least. You should sleep.”

Yohji looked at the big, empty bed. No. He wasn’t drunk enough, there was no way he would manage to– “I’ll go with you.”

“Sleep, Yohji.” Aya turned to look at him. “You need to sleep. And eat. When was the last time you ate?”

Drying his hair seemed a good thing to do right then.

“Friday?” Aya asked. Yohji nodded.

“I will bring you something–easy.” Aya headed for the door. “Call the lobby when you wake up, I’ll be near the desk.”

“Aya–“ Damn it, don’t say it, Kudou, don’t–

“What is it, Yohji?”

“I–can’t sleep alone.”

“You want me to stay?” Aya asked, surprise clear in those incredible eyes. Yohji nodded.

“All right,” Aya said.

Yohji left the robe on as he slipped under the covers. The redhead moved a chair to sit by his head.

“Do you want me to talk?”

For an instant Yohji wondered if Aya would sing if he demanded it. He was being so gentle and accommodating–maybe just this one last time, Kudou Yohji would take advantage. He’d never have another chance, he never planned to get this drunk again. It had led to too much trouble.

“Come here,” he growled, and yanked Aya out of the chair. Aya stiffened, so he didn’t drag the redhead under the covers as he’d meant to. Instead he let him lie on top, but snuggled up to that wonderful chest.

“This…is how you want to sleep?”

“Hai.”

***

Crawford looked up as the door opened. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Schuldig leaned his shoulders against the door jamb and folded his arms. Crawford pushed his glasses up.

The telepath looked–fragile. He was always slender, pale, and exquisite. Now he looked vulnerable. Delicate. Breathtaking. His eyes looked bruised, his hair was rumpled despite Nagi’s braid, and the robe was sizes too big, showing most of a fine-boned shoulder. He wasn’t smirking, or gloating, or glaring. He just stood there. Looking.

“Nagi wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Farfarello went to get some food. He said to tell you if there is such a thing as schnitzel in this city, he’ll find it. He will.”

Schuldig shrugged. Crawford turned back to his laptop. “How do you feel?”

“Hung over.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Have you even been sober since–“ Suddenly he had a lap-ful of German redhead. Schuldig wasn’t flirting, though, he’d curled up like Nagi used to do, when he was much, much younger.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing a theory.”

Damn. Crawford didn’t know what to do with his hands. He knew what he wanted to do, but he didn’t know where the line was. Where did giving comfort to an ill teammate end, and worshiping beauty begin? He must not give himself away.

“Yohji’s right,” Schuldig said against his neck. Crawford let the jealousy just wash over him and flow away, and refused to notice how good Schuldig felt in his lap.

“About?”

Schuldig slipped away before his breath drove Crawford to do something he shouldn’t. Crawford sighed relief.

“You can’t read me.”

“Are we back to that game?” Crawford asked, hoping they weren’t. Staying ahead of Schuldig on an ordinary day was hell, if he wanted to play in this odd mood it would be far worse.

“Yes,” Schuldig said, and threw an uppercut to Crawford’s jaw. He let his head rock back, just taking it. “You bastard,” Schuldig hissed, “why? Did I ever give you reason to doubt me? Get up!”

“I’m not doing this with you, Schuldig.”

“Not tonight maybe,” the telepath said. “But you’re going to do it. And you know what, Crawford-fucking-san? I’m going to pound you into streusel. Because you can’t read me. Because if you’d only asked once I’d have done anything for you, and you fucking poisoned me.” He turned back to the bedroom. “I’m going to find out how, Bradley. And then you’re short a telepath.”