Chapter 14
Schuldig was back at his apartment when he started to feel Aya come to. He had alleviated most of his frustration on three men who had attempted to mug him just before sunrise. A gun was his weapon of choice, but he had used a knife. He had learned from Farfarello long ago how gratifying it could be to slice someone to pieces. The only drawback was that knives tended to be very messy. He had needed to get a new change of clothes. The suit he had been wearing was ruined. He had taken his time with the three men, the blood had started to set and once that happened you could never properly get the stains out.
With a sigh at the loss he tossed the ruin clothes into a plastic bag, it really was a shame, he liked the suit and he looked good in it. Aya was starting to wake up but it would be a while before he was even remotely coherent. Schuldig had enough time to take a decent shower and to get himself something to eat for breakfast. Five and a half kills in one night left a body hungry.
As he showered, he thought about where he would eat. He had grown up eating hearty breakfasts of sausages and potatoes. He had never been able to develop a taste for Japanese breakfast. Fish, rice, and miso were not what he considered filling enough to start the day. He did not understand why one would bother to eat anything that left you hungry again in a few hours. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day after all.
It was not easy to find somewhere that would serve what he considered to be a good meal. Japan was flooded with restaurants that served other things besides Japanese food, but most of them were only opened for lunch and dinner, leaving him rather limited in his choices. As he watched the final tint of blood wash down the drain, surprised that he had gotten so much blood in his hair, he decided that he would go to a small bakery that he knew would be open despite the early hour. They served pastries that were filled with egg, cheese and pork. The pastries were not like anything that he had ever seen in Europe, but he had grown accustomed to them and the shop was on his way to the hospital.
He ate three of the filled pastries while he sat in traffic on his way to the hospital. Driving to work was a luxury in Japan so he could never understand why there was always such gridlock in the morning. He did not have any music playing; instead he kept himself entertained by sharing Aya's slow rise from the fugue state caused by the tranquilizers. As Aya was becoming aware his brain was starting to turn in circles as he tried to process the situation that he was in. His wrist and his face were both throbbing; he had not yet remembered how he had been hurt. He was becoming aware of his surroundings and beginning to process the idea that he was in a hospital; the fact that he had been in one for nearly a year and a half, had yet to come to him. He was growing more and more confused and afraid, although he would never have admitted it.
He had come to the decision while waiting in line at the bakery that Aya falling out of bed and being taken to the trauma ward was not necessarily a bad thing. It gave Schuldig the opportunity to play hero. He had already begun to soothe the pain from Aya's injuries and to keep Aya calm. With a gentle whisper he already was telling the younger man that he was okay, that he was safe. He did not want to push too deeply into Aya's mind yet, that might alarm him more, but he was making sure that Aya knew it was him who was there for Aya. He who would take care of Aya and that he was the only one who would ever want to. Aya's half-twilight state making it all the easier to reinforce the things that Schuldig had been telling him since he first went into a coma.
When he finally reached the hospital, Aya was almost fully aware of himself. He had remembered falling off of the bed and he had remembered that he had been in the hospital for quite a while, but the details of both were still fuzzy. And with a clearer head Aya was starting to ruminate, one thought chasing after another and then another in his mind. Schuldig was glad that he was no longer driving, it allowed him to savor the whirling kaleidoscope that was Fujimiya's unique and oh so intoxicating thought process. To Schuldig this was Aya in his most divine state. Schuldig was in no hurry to go up stairs, Aya would not be back to his room for hours, and the privacy of the garage was a much more suitable place to savor Aya's dark predilections. He reclined his seat, eyes closed and let himself push deeper into Aya's mind. Aya's face and wrist hurt, Aya was startled that he was once again connected to so many machines. Aya was slightly frightened, although he would never admit this to himself. So when the doctor comes in chart in hand, plastic smile on his face, Aya is an asshole.
Each of the doctor's standard questions -- "How do you feel? Do you know what happened? Are you seeing flashes in your eyes? Do you know who you are?" -- are answered with hostile glares and, when this does not chase the doctor away, hoarse, snarling, 'Fuck You's.' Schuldig expands his mental eavesdropping to include the doctor and chuckles at the man's annoyance, proud of the way that Aya's hostile and surly responses eventually wear the doctor's nerves down, driving him from the honest concern that he had when he had first entered the room to an almost frantic hope that Aya has not suffered any true trauma so that he might sedate him again.
Schuldig came awake with a jerk, his knee slamming into the steering wheel. He growled a string of curses as he rubbed at the smarting joint. He had not meant to fall asleep, had not meant to leave himself in such an unprofessional and vulnerable position unaware and unguarded in the underground parking lot, he hadn't even realized that he was so tired. The last twenty-four hours had been busy but nothing that he was not accustomed to. Normally he could stay awake for much longer, with a lot more activity than a hand full of kills, a quick fuck and a few hours of halfhearted baby-sitting. It must have been the emotional stress he decided as he scratched at the new stubble that was forming on his chin. So many feelings, such fluctuations of emotions, that was something that he was not used to experiencing, on his own anyway, ease dropping on other people's was completely different, that was in most cases stimulating for him, like a strong cup of coffee.
The digital clock on the dashboard read 14:24, which drew another string of curses from him. He had slept the entire morning away. Had missed being in Aya's room when he was brought back from observation. He brutally raked his fingers through his hair tearing at his scalp to erase the lingering traces of sleep that whacking his knee had not.
He lit a cigarette and began to reach out for Aya before pulling himself out of his car, taking a moment to stretch out the cramps that had formed in his back and legs from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position for so long. Aya was asleep, a side effect of the painkillers that he had been given. The doctor must have reached a compromise with himself the German thought with amusement, too professional to completely knock Aya out but not willing to deal with him entirely unsubdued. Aya was lost in a dream, dark and cold, filled with blood and screaming dead things, what Schuldig considered to be a signature 'Aya Dream'. In this dream Aya was standing at the edge of a dank stagnant pond. The water was a sick milky gray, bloated fish visible beneath the surface. Occasionally they were pushing their heads out of the water, they had faces of dead men with rotting eyes and swollen purple lips. There was something of great value at the bottom of the pond, Aya could not see it but he knew with the certainty of a dream that it was of life or death importance and that he would have to reach in and retrieve it. Aya did not want to touch the water, he was afraid of the mutant fish brushing against his skin, afraid that one would bite him and quite certain if given the chance they would pull him into the pond where he would remain trapped forever. If anyone else were having the dream Schuldig would have considered it a nightmare, but Aya's nightmares were far, far worse, so morose that they would put H.P. Lovecraft to shame. It was just another aspect of the man that made him so fascinating, so utterly captivating to the telepath, another one of his many charms.
As he rode up in the elevator Schuldig debated waking Aya and saving him from his own self-imposed torment but decided against it. Schuldig wanted to be in the room when Aya awoke, it would help to reinforce the concept that Schuldig would always be there for him. And Schuldig found the dream to be quite fascinating, he was curious if dream Aya would muster up the courage to try and retrieve the mystery item from the vile water, as well as what would happen if he did. But by the time Schuldig stepped off the elevator the dream had begun to melt into another dream, one that was half memory of a kill that Aya had performed, commonplace and not interesting enough to hold Schuldig's attention. With a sigh Schuldig allowed Aya's thoughts to fade into a soft murmur in the back of his own mind.
The Blode Fotze* and the Battle Axe were both at the nurses' station as he passed. He nodded at them both, a twisted smirk that he knew was unnerving on his lips but he blocked their thoughts. He was in no mood to hear their patronizing disapproval; he had lost in temper quite enough for a twenty-four hour period as it was.
As he entered the room his eyes immediately went to the form on the bed, surveying the damage. The left side of Aya's face was a swollen angry bruise, deep blue and red hues marring the perfect ivory skin. Ugly and upsetting, but there were no broken bones. His left wrist, which had not been so lucky, was draped across his stomach, encased in a thick white cast, the faint smell of the antiseptic paste that held it together still faintly lingering in the room. The long fingers protruding from the top of the cast were also discolored, these deep black, the telltale sign of broken bones.
The undamaged side of his face was set in repose, eerily similar to the look that he had worn for the duration of his coma. Once again the need to wake him, to bring animation back to his face, swelled inside Schuldig, screaming in his veins and it took all of his self-control to stop himself from crossing the room and shaking the sleeping man awake.
To distract himself Schuldig began to busy himself with the packages that he had brought and dropped the night before. Someone had placed the duffle bag in Schuldig's high-backed chair, but the store-bought items still lay on the floor where he had dropped them. He unpacked the duffle bag first; the clothes were rumpled from being left in the bag for so long. He hung them around the room and made a mental note to himself to make sure that he had one of the staff bring him in an iron. Even if he were just going to be sitting around the hospital room it was important for him to look presentable.
Next he began to line the grooming products up on the wheelable hospital table that was usually used by patients for eating so that Aya could easily choose which items he wanted. He had forgotten to ask if there were any particular brands that Aya would prefer and had not wanted to mentally reach out to ask when he had been shopping, afraid that Aya would find his ability to enter his mind whenever he wished to be disturbing. So instead he had randomly selected four or five different brands, making his selection by taking the highest priced items, only the best for his pet. He neatly arranged the products, grouping them together by function. The toothpastes and toothbrushes on one side, leading into the soaps and finally the shampoos. The last making him tingle with excitement with the thought of being able to wash Aya's hair himself. The magnificent color might have been ruined but he knew from experience that the hair itself was still as soft as silk and would be even more so when properly cleaned and conditioned.
Then he turned his attention to the antique vase. He hissed at the state of the flowers, a good deal of the petals had fallen out and were scattered across the table and the stems had begun to wilt. He had forgotten to get new flowers. He would have to get more later. He refused to buy anything that the hospital's gift shop had to offer and he did not think he had the time to go to a proper flower shop and get back before Aya woke up. No flowers were better than dying ones he decided and took the vase into the bathroom, dropping the old stems into the trash as he went.
He carefully washed out the porcelain and dried it with paper towels. He would get lilies and lavender later on he decided. He had remembered seeing some on display at a shop near by. When the doctors came for Aya's late afternoon poking and prodding he would have plenty of time to slip out and get the flowers and make it back before the doctors would be done with Aya.
Exiting the bathroom he dropped the vase, his lightning fast reflexes allowed him to snatch it out of the air before it could shatter on the linoleum floor. Aya was awake. He had been too wrapped up in the flowers to notice it happen. But it was not this that had startled him. Aya was glaring at him, the eye that was not swollen, bright with animosity and hate. Hostility rolled off of him in an alarmingly strong current. All of it focused on Schuldig as if the last year and all of the progress that Schuldig had made with him had never happened.
For years Schuldig had reveled in Aya's hate for him, but not anymore. He had tasted Aya's affection and trust, had found it much more pleasurable and addictive. The sudden regression set Schuldig off balance, letting his own temper rise. He would not and could not allow Aya to hate him again. It was not an option.
Brutally he tore into Aya's mind, smearing his cognitive thoughts, like taking a sponge to a charcoal drawing, not destroying them completely, that might have irrecoverable consequences, but blurring them into an undefined jumble so that Aya would not be able to reconstruct them without effort. At the same time Schuldig began to tear through Aya's recent memories. His sudden change had to be triggered by something and Schuldig dug without mercy to find out what it was. He strode across the room and straddled Aya, the vase forgotten but still clutched in his hand.
Aya had not fallen trying to get to the bathroom; he had been trying to get away. Schuldig growled at this realization and pushed harder. Aya moaned, the heat in his eyes gone and replaced by dull glass. Schuldig ignored it as he finds what he is looking for. Aya had tried to wrap it up in other thoughts, had tried to tuck it away but he had never had the training or natural ability to fend off Schuldig and as easily as cracking an egg Schuldig was viewing what took place.
Der Blonde Stricher.** He should have known. He should have killed him when he had seen him on the ward. He pushed harder, digging deeper into the memory, wanting to experience every moment of it as Aya had experienced it. Der Bastard einer Schlampe.*** He had just waltzed in, sat in Schuldig's chair, and talked to Aya as if he had the right to be there. As if he had the right to speak to Schuldig's Aya. He hadn't even cared what his being there would do to Aya, he hadn't even asked how Aya was, not even what had happened to him. Dieser Abschaum, Dieser egoistische Abschaum.**** And Aya hadn't cared in the least.
Schuldig snarled, rage flaring. Below him Aya moaned again. Low and pain filled, a sound that Schuldig had never heard him make before. It brought the German back to himself. He had the vase raised above his head ready to smash it down onto the undamaged side of Aya's face. Startled by his own position he pulled himself off of Aya and forced himself to gently put the vase down. He had to calm himself, he had to think rationally and steer himself away from his natural instinct to use violence. He did not want to hurt Aya. This was not Aya's fault. He could not help how he reacted to seeing his former lover; he had not asked the man to come to see him. And Schuldig knew that if he himself had actually followed through and hurt Aya he would never have forgiven himself for it.
He wants to hurt someone, preferably someone tall, blond and a half-breed.
He pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, taps one out of the box, sticks it in his mouth and lights it with a trembling hand. At the same time reaching out mentally, scanning the nearby hospital staff, ensuring that he did not draw anyone's attention with his outburst. In doing so he grazes the two nurses' minds, they are thankfully unaware of what had just transpired no more then forty meters down the hall. The urge to shred through the Blode Fotze's mind and find out where her sleazy excuse of a husband is swells with in him, dangerously close to the breaking point. With his eyes shut he takes a long drag on his cigarette, holding the acrid smoke in his lungs, then he does it again, and again, until he has smoked the cigarette down to the filter and the tremors in his hands have ended.
He drops the spent smoke on the floor and grinds it out with his shoe. Fix Aya now, kill Kudou later. He opens his eyes and looks down at Aya. His eyes are still glassy and unfocused, his mouth open wide as he takes in gasping breaths as though recovering from being choked. His mind is still in chaos, foundering to put itself back together again. Schuldig watches him for long minutes until his breathing returns to normal but does nothing to return awareness to the dull eyes. It will take Aya a good four to five hours to piece himself back together if Schuldig does not assist him. It means Schuldig has plenty of time to figure out how he is going to handle his current situation.
After smoking three more cigarettes and having put the vase back into its proper place Schuldig sits down on the edge of the bed. He pushes the hair off of Aya's face, noting as he does the slightest line of deep red that has appeared at the roots. Aya's hair has begun to grow again, a good sign that he would not be lapsing back into a comatose state. An almost insignificant good fortune, but one that Schuldig is still pleased with, after the last twenty four hours and the last half hour particularly, he will take whatever positive sign that he can get.
With the back of his fingers Schuldig begins to stroke the undamaged side of Aya's face from brow to cheek with a feather light touch, what his grandmother called a butterfly tickle. He reaches into Aya's mind with the same careful gentleness. First he scans to make sure that when he had topped Aya he had not caused anymore damage, it is sheer luck that he did not, he had paid no heed to the broken wrist and very easily could have ground it under his knee.
Part of the problem he decides is that he has been placing too much confidence in the bond that he has established with Aya's subconscious, in dreams and in his unconsciousness Aya is his, of this he is sure. But the aware and awake part of Aya's mind is still unconquered territory. He had been too excited by Aya's awakening and initial acceptance of him and had forgotten that there was still work to be done. The thinking Aya had, after all considered him to be an enemy for so many years; it would take some time to break down such thought patterns. It would not be nearly as vexing a task as winning over Aya's inner mind had been, the cognitive brain was much more pliable by nature, and he already had a strong foundation to build on. And, he points out to himself as he lays out on the bed, kicking his shoes off and settling himself so that he can lean his head on his hand, it was better that he had remembered this while Aya was still incapable of walking. He would have been so very angry if he had come back and Aya was gone. If he had been forced to have to track Aya down and bring him back, that would have been disastrous, for him, for Aya, and not to mention any of the hospital staff that would have crossed Schuldig's path.
He strokes his finger over the unmarred eyebrow on the right side of Aya's face. As feather light as his previous touch, he begins to stimulate a sense of well being, of trust and of need in the dazed man. Schuldig begins to truly enter into Aya's mind, a little deeper with each stroke of his finger. It was going to be a long evening and he would have to keep himself partially aware of his surroundings so that he might chase away the parade of hospital staff that usually came in the late afternoon, but he did not mind. He might even coerce one of the doctors to go too the flower shop for him and get him the lilies.