The Power of Positive Thinking

“Keep going and you’ll lose a lung, Kudou.”

“Che…” Yohji straightened and wiped his mouth. “You…saved my life.”

“So get over here and give me a nice thank-you,” Schu answered, but he wasn’t even looking at Yohji. He was scowling at the ocean he’d just pulled Yohji from.

“I was trying to die, you idiot! I’m not grateful!”

The telepath shrugged and plucked more seaweed out of his hair. “Sorry.”

“You are not!”

“Scheisse. Now my hair is frizzy.”

“You could have just left me alone.”

“And never mock your suffering again?”

Yohji sighed and used the last of his energy to crawl back into the beach chair and pull a bottle from the cooler. Plymouth Gin? Damn, where was the hot spiced wine, he wondered with a shiver.

“Told you to get naked.” Schu had, before he went after Yohji. And he’d stayed that way. So the German’s clothes were dry, and so was he, and drinking the cognac that had been out of the cooler for hours anyway. And looking at the ocean sideways, out of the corner of his eye.

“I hope to God by now I’ve learned not to listen to you.”

Schu shrugged and lit his next-to-the-last cigarette. Things were going to get real interesting on this beach in the next hour or so.

“Are you sure you didn’t bring any food?”

“Wait, let me check.” Schuldig looked in his armpits, spread his toes and peered between them, then bent his head to stare down his chest. “I got a sausage,” he offered.

Sigh. Yohji lit his fourth-from-last cigarette.

It wasn’t just the evening breeze and his dripping clothes making him shiver. Schuldig had saved his life. Schuldig the sadistic bastard, evil and proud of it, selfish and self-centered and convinced the whole damn world was there for his entertainment, had risked his life to save Kudou Yohji, not-quite-friend and sometime-amusement.

Why hadn’t he just made Yohji swim back? He hadn’t been that far away. If Schu could make Sakura shoot Aya, he had to be able to make Yohji swim back to shore when Yohji wasn’t even sure he was doing the right thing anyway.
But he hadn’t. Schu had come after him, dragged him back to the beach when Yohji was barely conscious, squeezed water out of him and threatened mouth-to-mouth if Yohji didn’t start coughing on his own. Yohji had pulled both Aya and Omi out of the ocean after the temple-collapse, he knew how hard it was to do what Schu had done.

Okay, it had to be because Schu couldn’t take Yohji over for some reason. So instead of letting Yohji drown, he’d risked his life. Why?

Heehee…Yohji reached out and poked Schu in the ribs. “Admit it. You like me.”

“Like hell.”

“Admit it.” Poke.

“Do not.”

Poke. “Do too.”

“Do not.”

Poke–

“Kudou, have you ever fucked a sumo wrestler?”

“Ick! No!”

“Poke me one more time and it’ll take 300 pounds and five chins to get you horny.”

Eep! Yohji sipped the gin and shivered. Schuldig swore and threw his green jacket in Yohji’s lap.

“You do–!“

”I’ll make you pay for it later,” Schuldig growled.

Well, duh. Yohji peeled and wiggled out of his wet clothes and slipped the jacket on and went back to sipping gin.

“So,” he said after a while. “You tried to kill Crawford.”

“Aa.”

“But you don’t think he stuck us here.”

“Trust me,” the German said, “this is not Brad’s idea of punishment.”

“So he’ll come after you, right? Or do you think he’s too mad about you trying to kill him?”

“Ie. That happens about once a month.” Schuldig switched his glare from the ocean to the stump of his next-to-last cigarette. “Brad will come.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t like it?” Okay, confusion, he’d thought Schu was crazy about the man, the way he talked about “Brad” all the damn time…

“Kudou, were you born stupid or did you work your way up to it?”

“Hey…”

“Nobody touches Brad Crawford’s property. That’s why he’ll come.”

“Come on, Schu, if he’s that careful of you–“

”You think?” the telepath demanded, not even letting Yohji finish. “You should see him clean his gun, Kudou.”

He could guess, from the way Aya was with his katana–careful and meticulous and, though he hated what he’d done with the blade, almost reverent. Not like the way he treated Yohji–well, sometimes. Aya had a way of touching Yohji occasionally that felt like he was worshipping–

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

“At least Crawford will come. As soon as Aya finds out I’m with you–“

”Bullshit.”

“No, seriously,” Yohji argued. “It’s how he is, he’ll just figure I changed my mind, and he’ll be fucking honorable and let me.”

“You quit smoking for him, Kudou. He has to have a fucking clue.”

“He won’t even let me tell him I love him. And he still won’t admit it’s more than sex.”

“Duh.”

“What?”

“He loves you, you die. Story of his life.”

“Aya-chan–“

”–walks on water, according to Fujimiya. Part of the proof is she survived, she made it despite his curse. Only she can do that, you can’t. So he won’t love you. He’ll fuck you all night long and half the day, bring you presents and call you sweet names, but he’ll never let himself love you. The second he does, you’re sure to die.”

Oh. Except– “He doesn’t call me nicknames.”

“He can’t come up with anything more stupid than kitten.”

“What do you call Brad?”

“Bastard calls me pixie.”

“Pixie?” Yohji knew laughing was a bad idea, but he couldn’t hold it in. “Pixie?” he yelped. “As in Tinkerbell? All it takes is faith and trust, and–Ow!“ He rubbed the back of his head, though Schu hadn’t actually hit him. “Hidoi!”

The German smirked and lit his last cigarette.

“But come on,” Yohji said. “‘Pixie’ isn’t your garden-variety nickname. It means something, Schu.”

“Yeah, fat lot you know about it.”

“The Oracle, buttoned-down and tight-assed and all-business, calls you pixie. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean anything.”

“So? He calls the cute and fluffy dog Spike.”

“You guys have a dog? I want a cat, but Aya says–Ow!” Again Yohji rubbed the back of his head. Schu snagged a cigarette from his pack before he could defend it.

“Are you sure Fujimiya doesn’t call you ‘idiot’ or anything meaningful like that?”

“Now I know you like me, you’re being mean to me.”

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Kudou,” Schu growled, just like Aya when he couldn’t take any more, “shut up.”

“Admit it and I will.”

Schuldig didn’t answer, instead he stood and started pulling booze out of the cooler.

“What are you doing?”

Five bottles and a six-pack later, the bastard upended the ice-melt over Yohji’s legs. Yohji squealed and jumped, Schuldig grinned. “Give me the jacket,” the telepath ordered.

“Why?”

The German growled and tugged the jacket off, wrapped it around a bottle of bourbon and put it in the cooler. He wrapped the rest of the bottles while Yohji pulled his slightly-dried clothes back on. He also snagged the last two cigarettes, and tossed them in the cooler.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“100,000 lemmings can’t be wrong.”

“Are your antennae picking up Farfarello or something? You’re not making sense.”

“You want to drown, now’s your chance. I’ll be holding onto the booze.”

Must be a redhead thing, Yohji reflected. Keeping plans secret, playing mysterious and being stubborn as hell and mean just for a laugh…

Damn, he missed Aya.

“Come on.” Schu headed down the beach, dragging the cooler.

“But–“

”Two cigarettes left, Kudou. You really want to be on a desert island with me when I’m niccing?”

Uh…no.

************

Brad Crawford wanted someone dead. And while that wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, this time it was bothering him. Not who he wanted dead, and definitely not why, but how much. The visions dancing in his head would have startled and inspired Farfarello.

He could not function like this. If he couldn’t plan, he needed a distraction.

Fujimiya, not surprisingly, was the first thing that caught his mind. That red hair was hard to ignore, and once it caught the eye…

Crawford had never appreciated the fact that the man was a cut above his associates in Weiss. Unlike the others, even in the best of company Abyssinian would not be an embarrassment. When he wasn’t being stubborn and swinging that damn sword, anyway. Right now he wasn’t.

Without his telepath–Crawford shoved down rage again–without Schu to make hiding his movements easy, he had “bummed” a plane ride with some businessmen. Fujimiya had carried it off as well as anyone but Schu might have, and left Brad Crawford struggling to hide his shock.

He’d done it before, alone or with Schu. Just look around till he Saw someone going where he wanted to go in a private or charter jet, and become part of the group. With Schu it was easy. Without him–as long as Crawford got on the plane before he had to shoot someone, that was good enough.

But Fujimiya had fit himself into the group so well, the businessmen were all trying to claim credit for having invited him.

Not that surprising, when he thought about it. Crawford just never had. He knew the redhead was the son of a highly successful banker, it followed that he had learned business, and the manners to go with the knowledge. So now Abyssinian, possibly the most determined killer Crawford had ever met–and he’d met quite a few–talked stocks and options with wizened old businessmen, with a dry and sharp wit needled the younger ones, and had most certainly charmed the entire group.

Watching that was…astounding.

“Crawford-san,” one of them called on another wave of laughter from the group, “I’m going to steal him away from you!”

“Nakoto-san,” Fujimiya said before Crawford could answer, “are you offering a partnership?” With a wink! “At what percentage? I can’t accept less than controlling interests.” Nakoto flushed and stammered, and everyone laughed again.

Yamanata-san would have liked to pursue that business proposition, Crawford saw. The man thought he hid it, but accustomed as Crawford was to people lusting after Schuldig, he saw. He also Saw the man getting his wrist broken, when he chose the straightforward way to express his interest. Best to head that off, as after that all paths led to a plane-ful of dead bodies attracting attention at their destination.

Besides, the best way to avoid it would annoy Fujimiya. Maybe the Oracle had been around Mastermind too long, maybe Abyssinian had been a thorn in his side too many times, but Crawford saw that as something eminently worth doing.

He sat beside the redhead and put his arm around suddenly-tense shoulders.

Fujimiya only glared sideways, but the conversation halted. Yamanata sat forward with a smile, Crawford leaned into the redhead’s ear. Telling him, he had found, was the only way to get cooperation from the stubborn bastard. Fujimiya would do anything to get Kudou back, but he wouldn’t do a damned thing if he didn’t see why.

“Play along,” he whispered, “or we’ll have to kill them. You’re too damn pretty, Ran.”

And Fujimiya laughed. Crawford was unprepared for how beautiful he looked doing it.

“You’re making him nervous, gentlemen. Do keep it up!” he said, with a playful grin at Crawford. “He’s so much nicer when he’s worried.”

Laughter ran around the group, the conversation resumed.

Crawford had never suspected that Abyssinian had a sense of humor, but now the man was showing it. He wasn’t just accepting the arm as a necessary act–he was playing along. And enjoying it. Maybe he thought to annoy Crawford back, but the truth was, the Oracle appreciated the distraction.

And Fujimiya was very distracting. The redhead felt good under his arm, looked stunning beside him. He was wearing black–of course, did he ever wear anything else?–and that set him off, against the background of Crawford’s suit. And he kept doing little things, planned movements that rubbed him against Crawford, tossing him smiles and re-directing flirts, making Crawford wonder if in another life he would have ended up on stage.

Briefly Crawford entertained a fantasy of not one, but two redheads, though he knew it could never work. Schuldig would never tolerate competition for attention, and Fujimiya would never tolerate Schuldig.

His pixie, Crawford was well aware, took a lot of tolerating. If Bickley had hurt–

Fujimiya touched him again, distracting him before his thoughts went farther than making the businessmen shift uncomfortably. He smiled back at the redhead, go with the act…the others smiled and relaxed.

Think of something else–Essett had been vulnerable because what they did not like and could not change, they ignored. Most humans had at least a little bit of psi power. It came out in as many different ways as there were determined people in the world, so it often wasn’t recognized, but it was there. It was why Essett could teach anyone to shield.

If asked, the businessmen might say they’d been reacting to Crawford’s body language or his ‘aura’ or something even less defined, but the truth was they’d felt his cold and consuming rage seeping around his shields. Even their tiny little motes of power could recognize a far greater one.

Abyssinian simply hadn’t noticed it behind his own anger.

The redhead, Crawford had long realized, was one with more than a crumb of power. His ability seemed to be some sort of reverse prescience, he set his mind on an outcome, however unlikely, and made it happen. His sister had woke up fully healthy after how many years, and enough brain damage to put her on a level with one of Schu’s leeks? Weiss had survived standing in the way of Schwarz how many times?

He’d never noticed it, but Kudou must have something too, if Bickley had taken him. He had to have a reason, Bickley wasn’t Schu, he would have planned–how much of what had happened since Crawford approached Bickley was set-up? Had Schu ever been in real danger? What had the bastard seen in Kudou, that Schu hadn’t? How? No way in hell did Bickley compare with the pure power of the German wild child. Though it would seem he had more power than he should, as Crawford should have realized when he couldn’t read a shred of the man’s future. The more powerful a psi, the harder they were to read, and before Bickley only Schu and Nagi had completely baffled his Talent.

Crawford admitted he’d been distracted, wondering exactly what and who his pixie was doing in his absence.

Like Kudou. Maybe Bickley had only taken him to keep Schu busy? The German had some sort of fascination with Balinese, that much Crawford knew. And dragged his thoughts from the blonde entertaining his pixie to the amusement of Bickley, before he scared the hell out of the sheep around him again.

Fujimiya helped again, flirting again. Crawford laughed at a half-heard comment and squeezed the man, just for the fun of his fleeting startle, before he pretended to enjoy the touch.

Natural selection, oddly enough, seemed to work against most people having enough power to actually do anything. Untrained telepaths rarely lived long enough to reproduce, and trained ones didn’t last much longer. Any precognitive who Saw what raising children was really like, would never have any. Telekinetics, pyrokinetics, oddballs of every sort–most of them didn’t survive long enough to piss in the gene pool.

And, of course, for some reason many of them were gay. Crawford chuckled at another flirt, and managed to kiss Fujimiya’s forehead, before the bastard bashed an elbow into his stomach and reminded him that when Abyssinian was on his power, he was as unpredictable as–as Farfarello. Not in that or any other way, could he compete with Schuldig.

“Bradley,” the redheaded devil said softly, flushed with anger the others would take as a blush, “you’re embarrassing me.”

Maybe he just had a thing for impossible redheads, and maybe Schu was right, and he liked pain. Whatever, Crawford kept it up, knowing the man would make him pay.

Maybe he was just too used to having Schu around to punish him whether he’d done anything or not.

********

Niccing–withdrawing from nicotine. Not a pretty sight on a normal person, the thought of Schu doing it stands my hair on end.

According to this website, http://www.snopes.com/disney/films/lemmings.htm , “lemming suicide is fiction. Contrary to popular belief, lemmings do not periodically hurl themselves off of cliffs and into the sea. Cyclical explosions in population do occasionally induce lemmings to attempt to migrate to areas of lesser population density. When such a migration occurs, some lemmings die by falling over cliffs or drowning in lakes or rivers. These deaths are not deliberate “suicide” attempts, however, but accidental deaths resulting from the lemmings’ venturing into unfamiliar territories and being crowded and pushed over dangerous ledges.”

Just in case you hadn’t learned anything yet today.