FicWad

AN: This ties in with A Matter of Sight, another Schwarz fic. Meaning one Agent Sands from Once Upon a Time in Mexico shows up.

**



Time, Brett had decided long ago, was a complete bitch. It went by either too fast or too slow and always in the fashion neither expected nor desired.

He refused to wear a watch for that exact reason, despite his father's firm suggestions that he should. It could be dangerous for a precog to lose track of time, especially on an assignment, but wearing a watch felt too much like giving in to unseen forces in Brett's opinion. Especially one so flimsy, something that could change over decades and centuries until minutes became seconds and hours minutes.

Plus, watches completely clashed with his style.

But now, sitting in another boring meeting in a typical office, Brett was mentally kicking himself. The businessmen must have been talking for ages by now, chattering away in obscenely polite Japanese while Brett sat beside one of Schwarz's current employers.

Just one lonely redhead amidst a sea of black hair.

Which would have been fine, really, except Watanabe-san leg kept pressing a tad too much against his own in an entirely unwelcome way. That was going to be straightened out one way or another as soon as the damn meeting was over...

How much longer...how much longer...

At the moment, Brett would have killed for a watch to glance at. Leaning over slightly, he tried to catch a glimpse of an associate's Rolex. The telepath figured it was quarter-of-something before there was a firmer jab at his leg and a twitching mind-smile from Rolex man.

"As you can tell, Watanabe-san, the department has been-"

All attention off him again, Brett inwardly sighed and figured that if anyone decided to spontaneously commit homicide in the room, it would be for the better. Taking that into consideration....

Kirito, he projected. Loudly. Come on, you lazy ass, I need some entertainment here. If I have to leave voicemail it'll be in the form of a lingering migraine.

Pause.

Kirito?

Mmmph, came the dull, fuzzy reply before the connection was blocked. The bastard.

He tried Cailin but no, just dizzy thoughts there that meant she was busy with one thing or another. Dreams, maybe, or whirlwind thoughts. Brett wondered if it was that late or that early yet, having been stuck in the office building since late evening.

And he had been so happy to have a job inside for a change.

Almost desperately he called out Alex...come on, not you too. Take pity on your poor brother, even if it's just to bitch at me. I'll pay you back somehow, dammit but all that was there were slow embers burning and hesitant content at some distant thing.

Alone. He was truly alone, left to suffer at the hands of cruel Fate and flow charts. No one was going to come to his aid.

"Well, fuck me," he muttered in agitation and accidentally caught Rolex man's gaze with in barely concealed grimace.

/Let it be over. I'll never ask for anything again if it's over. I'll never complain about field work if it's over. I promise. I swear./

"Now that formalities have been dealt with," Watanabe's voice boomed, "we can begin."

For such an abstract concept, Time could be a real bitch.


*


When the meeting finally ended and all the loose ends of the night were tied up, Brett raced home with a grim determination. He would complain. He would argue. He would wheedle some extra cash out of /someone/ for his pains.

He was young, after all. Certain material needs came with the territory.

At the very least, the telepath figured an agreement could be reached. The elder Schwarz could handle office work just fine on their own.

The game plan, as it stood, involved much stomping through the house. True, Brett didn't need a vision to figure out that the chances of this happening were unlikely-but at least part of it would turn out right. Right?

Home, however, found Kirito slouched back on the couch with a bowl of cashews balanced on his chest and Schuldig arguing with Nagi about the current water bill. Brett's cousin was apparently watching this with interest, popping nuts into his mouth with a practiced ease.

I'll have to comment on that later, Brett decided even as the redhead debated with himself if maybe he should have stayed out a bit longer. Grabbed some food, gained some sanity. Just the simple things in life.

With a sigh, Brett flopped onto the couch and kicked his legs up onto Kirito's lap. The telekinetic offered him a short, annoyed glare. Smiling sweetly, the redhead settled back and bided his time.

"Schuldig, all I'm saying is that you don't need to take forty-five minute showers every day. It's ridiculous. Your hair isn't that long."

"It's halfway to my ass, Nags. I think that counts as long." Schuldig grabbed a fistful of hair and shook it to prove his point.

Nagi sighed and swatted the hand away. "But it doesn't even tangle. I know this for fact, since you used to con me into brushing it for you. Thanks for the memories."

"Ah," Schuldig said with a slow smile. "Those were the days. There were so many things you didn't want Crawford to know and I held all the cards. Now you're so..." he waved a hand, searching for the word, "...jaded."

"And guess who helped that along."

"Hey, that comes with the territory." Blue eyes glanced towards the couch. "I wonder if Kiri-chan has any skeletons in his closet."

"Nope," Kirito quipped. "Cleaned those out ages ago."

"Damn," Schuldig said with feeling, looking thoroughly disappointed.

Brett wondered if anyone realized how off-topic the argument had become.

/Thanks for the reminder, brat/. Schuldig turned back to his teammate, hands on his hips and almost pouting. "And I need the shower time. You know how hard it is to get blood out of your hair?"

The chorus of "Yes" brought on a full-blown pout.

"That excuse doesn't work anyway. You don't even go out on a lot of messy assignments anymore," Brett argued and raised an eyebrow. Kirito tapped his shin, which translated into 'good one'.

Schuldig just huffed and shook his head. "Tell me about it. Those were the days. Guess no one's tough enough for us to have to get that up close and personal, huh?"

"Schu, I don't think that's what Brett-"

"Okay, Nags, how about this?" the German interrupted with a triumphant smirk. "I can take showers that long because I save us all money on the water bill."

"Has he been at the cooking sherry again?" Brett asked his cousin in a stage whisper.

"It is his turn to cook actually."

"I knew it..."

"So, how exactly are you saving us money?" Nagi asked with a resigned expression. It was amazing how often people wore that look when Schuldig was around.

"Well," Schuldig drawled, examining his nails, "Crawford's usually in there with me, isn't he? That's one less shower. My sexlife is saving us yen. "

Kirito smacked Brett's leg in what translated to 'he's your father and thus you share in the blame'.

Brett couldn't really retaliate against a claim like that.

"Not that this isn't a fascinating conversation," Crawford's voice broke in as the white-clad man casually walked down the hall and into the living room, "but there are other more important matters that need out attention."

"Just when we were making progress," Nagi muttered and tossed the water bill over his shoulder. It stopped halfway to the ground and floating off into the kitchen. "Shouldn't we wake Farf and Cailin for this?"

"That won't be necessary," Crawford said, coming to a stop in the center of the room. "They can be informed of the situation later."

"And tell us, O Leader, what this situation is," Schuldig said. Judging by his tone he already knew exactly what was going on, but he was the one to always push the scene along for the benefit of others.

Nagi rolled his eyes.

"We'll be having a guest arrive within the next day," the American explained. "A certain freelance agent of ours from the West."

Schuldig grinned. "And what a guest he'll be."

Eyes narrowed, Brett glanced over at the other redhead. His Schuldig may have started in on this conversation with an air of boredom but even he couldn't cover up that.../shine/ in his eyes.

"So, who is this agent?" Kirito asked through a mouthful of cashews. Brett leaned forward and wiped the crumbs off is own pants with a disgusted look.

"One ex-Agent Sands," Schuldig said. "He's been on our payroll for years and sends us vision info straight from Mexico. Talk about keeping people on their toes."

"Why do we need him though? We have two precogs right here," Kirito pointed out, eyebrows furrowed.

Brett swiveled his legs until his feet were planted on the ground and sat up a bit straighter. "It's because he's blind, right? The less you see, the more you...well, See."

"Precisely. Though hardly the easiest man to get along with, Sands often picks up on what others miss. A type of payment, I suppose, for having his eyes removed. He's managed to warn us about many critical events in the past." Glasses flashed as Crawford adjusted his lenses.

This was his full briefing mode then.

"What Crawford is saying, is that Sands's powers are stronger than his own and we've reached a mutually beneficial arrangement," Nagi said with a small smirk. "He just doesn't like to admit it."

"That doesn't explain why he's coming /here/."

The oracle glanced at his son. "Because Sands has always been a target for certain cartels. Each generation grows bolder in their moves, as is the case in most places. One is making a move to capture and make use of his powers."

"Which is a big no-no in our book," Schuldig added. He looked none-to-pleased with the idea of the other black-haired American being swept off to god knows where.

"Who's going to be keeping tabs on him then? And how long is he staying?" Nagi asked. The telekinetic had no real fondness towards the blind man and didn't relish the idea of dealing with him for a prolonged amount of time.

Schuldig immediately raised his hand like an over eager schoolboy. "Pick me! Pick me!"

Brad ignored him. "The duty will be divided. Naturally, Sands will be secure while in our home. It's his further wanderings that will require a guarding eye. Schuldig, you're going to be preparing for a hit case over the next couple of days, with Farfarello as backup."

The older redhead looked like someone had just stolen his candy. "Is this a hands-on case? Because /someone/-ahem, brat-seems to think us old fellows aren't pulling our weight anymore."

"Hey! I'm just tired of being either in an office or in some old warehouse with lackey guts all over the place!" Brett protested. "You guys get all the neat jobs."

"We've earned them, kid."

Crawford's eyebrows rose in contemplation even as his eyes darkened slightly. "Is that so, Brett? Interesting. This should please you then, as you'll be the first watching after our guest. Think you can handle that?"

Brett smirked, shaking soft bangs out of his face. "Sure I can. No problem." Finally, a worthwhile assignment.

"That's not fair," Schuldig mumbled and crossed his arms.

"Nagi will take over Brett's position as Watanabe's bodyguard." Crawford looked towards Nagi, who simply nodded his understanding. "However, Brett, when Schuldig is through with his mission he will be taking over for you. Understood?"

"Yeah. But then what'll I be doing?"

Schuldig grinned. "There'll be some freshly caught lackeys that need some gutting. You get to help Far."

Brett cursed.

Kirito offered him a dish of nuts.


The bed was shaking. Big, earth-rattling shakes that made a guy wonder if the next great earthquake had finally struck. Brett sat up in a rush, groaning as consciousness forced itself to the surface and for a moment he was going to panic before eyes registered one thing.

His cousin, dark eyes and dark hair framing a mischievous grin, standing at the foot of his bed. Birds chirped from beyond thick curtains and glass, light seeping in from the all edges.

"Morning, Sunshine!"

Muttering about places where the sun didn't shine and the offending objects that would be placed there, Brett clawed his way out of a tunnel of sheets. He was up now, wide awake, and wouldn't have been able to fall back asleep even if he had wanted to.

"What time is it?" he asked, pushing past the other boy in search of pants.

"About noon. You fell asleep after breakfast. It can't be healthy to live off a couple hours of sleep a night," Kirito said as he watched the telepath dress.

Brett grimaced. "You're not that much better, you know."

"Yeah, but at least I can go on sleep binges every weekend. Recharges my battery. You, on the other hand, are always running on low."

"Not my fault. Now bring me a drink."

Kirito gave his cousin an invisible push towards the door, resulting in a dull thud and a groan. "Oops...forgot to open the darn thing first."

"Funny," Brett said and rubbed his forehead.

The Japanese boy just smiled smugly and opened the door with a grand gesture. "After you."

"Did my parents go to collect Sands?" the redhead asked. The house was fairly quiet, only the soft sound of a television and muted laughter.

"Uncle Brad did. I don't think he trusted Schuldig to go for some reason."

"Take a wild shot in the dark guess what that reason is."

Kirito made a face. "I'd rather not, thanks."

The sound of someone laughing grew louder as the two boys made there way down the stairs, accompanied with the shouts and noises of an intense fight. Cailin glanced up when Brett trudged in and gave a little wave, losing interest in Power Rangers for the time being.

"Brett, my Da made waffles for lunch," she chirped, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees. "I think we all ate most of them but there might be a couple left."

"Are you watching Power Rangers?" Brett asked blankly. He blinked then snarled at Kirito when his hair was promptly ruffled.

"He's so adorable when he's dazed!" the telekinetic laughed. "We decided you're the red ranger, by the way."

Cailin grinned. "I'm pink! And Kiri-chan is blue. And Alex is black. And the waffles are shaped like Hello Kitty, because I bought a new iron."

Brett blinked again then shrugged and trudged off to find these special coveted waffles. Farfarello and Schuldig were in the kitchen, the latter apparently trying to make some kind of serious point. He was pointing at a blueprint with the utmost seriousness.

Farfarello simply went about cutting an apple with a bowie knife.

"Dad, Uncle Far. What's up?"

The two paused in their engagement and looked up at him. Brett raised an eyebrow in response as he starting looking around the room for some form of nourishment. "I'm guessing it's about the assignment you're on?"

"Finally, a notable second opinion," Schuldig said with a triumphant air and waved a hand over the map. "Your cousins were useless but /you/. I can trust you to understand."

"Yer daft, Schu," Farfarello responded fondly. His knife hit the table with a sharp snap.

"But we can't not do it. It's the perfect opportunity!"

Brett was starting to think Uncle Far had put something in those waffles. "What?"

"These blueprints," Schuldig started, pointing, "are of the rich man's house in the country. That's where we'll be working out of."

"And?"

"Look at where the kitchen and Master bedroom are."

The younger telepath sighed and looked over the map. "Over each other. So?"

"There's a dumbwaiter, ye see," Farfarello explained with a bemused expression. "An' yer ever special da wants to use it."

Schuldig looked insulted. "We have to. It's a dream come true."

"Don't people normally wind up stuck in those things?" Brett felt he had to ask. He didn't actually think it would do any good but the image of his Schuldig and Uncle Far stuck in a small box was slightly alarming.

Schuldig paused to give this thought then 'tsk'-ed and ignored the question. "Now that that's settled-"

Farfarello snorted and looked at the ceiling, probably in search of more rational company.

"-Crawford's on his way home with everyone's favorite blind-man. You might want to put some more clothes on, brat."

"Not that he could actually tell the difference," Brett pointed out.

The Irishman grinned. "He's got ye there, Schu."

"Oh, go kill a squirrel or something."

*


The man was smaller than Brett had imagined, thin frame in straight black from corner to corner. He couldn't decide if it was a statement or just something of a convenience, color co-coordinating not exactly possible. The American was standing in the doorway, an annoyed looking Crawford forced to a stop behind him and glaring at the top of a dark head. Sands, completely aware of this, was smirking.

"You know, Crawford, I can feel you breathing down my neck and let me tell you, you got a bit of a problem there. Didn't get a chance to use your inhaler this morning or is it supposed to be a hint?"

Schuldig chuckled, Kirito choked back a laugh, and Brett decided he like this guy.

"It's that, Sands, or I manhandle you into the house. Which do you prefer?" Crawford asked in a tight voice.

The agent clucked his tongue but moved inside, not bothering to take his shoes off in the hall but instead taking steady steps forward until Crawford could close the front door and push his way past.

Sands moved just in time to avoid being knocked in the shoulder.

"Temper, temper, Crawford," Farfarello crooned from his perch on the coffee table.

"Well," Sands drawled out, turning towards the Irishman, "if it ain't my fellow sightly-challenged friend. How the hell are ya, Farf?"

Farfarello shrugged. "Well enough, I s'pose."

"Just swell." The black-haired man turned suddenly, moving to stand in front of Schuldig who had been watching with a silent grin. "And Red. Looking good, sweetcheeks. Miss me?"

From the other side of the room, Kirito thought How did he...? and Brett just gave him a look and tapped the side of his head in answer.

The eldest German sniffed and flicked a piece of hair over his shoulder. "Sugar, I just missed having an excuse to wear my cowboy hat."

"Gee, Red, are you trying to hurt my /feelings/?"

"Can we move along to actual plans now?" Crawford asked suddenly. "There have been moves taken against you, possibly in relation to Schwarz as a whole considering out connection."

"What's to discuss, Braddles?" Schu asked and held up his hands in surrender as the frosty expression he received. "Legitimate question, boss. I thought we had it figured out. The brat watches Sheldon for a while before I take over and in a while he moves on."

"Once the cartel catches on and starts turning their attention to the East," Brett added, crossing his arms in an unconscious imitation of Brad's current pose.

Sands seemed to perk up a bit and turned that black-glass gaze of his directly on Brett. "So you're the kid, huh?" he mused and cocked his head to side as if listening for something. "The one that's supposed to baby-sit little old me. And you've got a brother too. My, my. Mommy and Daddy have been busy, haven't they?

"And you're both just chips off the old blocks, aren't you? Bet Crawford wishes one of you got his hair though."

Vision, Brett thought and saw his parents think the same thing. Put one and one together and you got something. Brad glanced at him for a moment-/we'll talk later/-but maybe he had known about Alex's little coming around anyway.

You never really could tell with Brad Crawford, talents be damned.

Brett straightened up a bit, looking down his nose at this strange new creature. "You're precognition is pretty strong, if you can See stuff me or my father can't see."

Sands offered him a bored look, knew it was a question meant for distraction rather than curiosity. "Logistics. One sense is lost, another kicks into over-drive. But you knew that. Red, make the kid stop wasting time with pointless questions."

Kirito swore later that Brett's hair had literally bristled up like an angry cat's.

Schuldig shrugged. "Just getting the facts completely straight. Part of the training."

"He's not going to be like this the whole time, is he? I'd rather take my chances with some angry bean eaters." Sands stepped forward, slower than he had on the way in and fingertips just barely outstretched to skirt along furniture. "Teak wood. Classy," he commented.

Then suddenly turned, hand out and palm up with an expectant look. "I'll be having my guns back now, by the way. I'm a wee bit antsy without them, savvy?"

Crawford smirked, small and hidden in the corner of his mouth but Brett saw it and, apparently, so did Schuldig since he rolled his eyes and said "Just give them to the gringo turned gaijin, Brad. He might need them."

"Not with Brett and Kirito around," the oracle pointed out. Reaffirming that power hold that was always his in the end. "It might be best if I held on to them."

Sands changed, then, sarcastic smirk to cruel death mask in a second. There was a skeletal look to him, some long past folktale from a land of dust and sugar-skulls. It felt familiar, told or shown at some point but razor-sharp in reality.

"You really really don't want to make me mad, /Oracle/," the blind-man sneered, soft and uninterested in way that had to be dangerous. It was how he worked, madness hid by method.

Brett thought it was fascinating.

"Besides," he said to his father, grinning disarmingly. "I want to test my shot against him. We've heard some tales about the blind gunslinger, I mean."

"I'd like ta see tha' as well," Farfarello chimed in, running the flat of a blade along his cheek with an amused expression.

Crawford turned his gaze towards the case he held, eyes covered by glass-shine. "In that case, I suppose I'll allow it. Take your guns back. But remember, Sands, that this isn't you territory."

Loaded words, there. Double entendre, anyone? Schuldig sent to all non-Americans in the room with an exasperated tone.

Farfarello And Nagi seemed surprised that Schuldig knew what a double entendre was.

"That means no mid-day duels," Kirito clarified brightly.

Sands quirked his lips a bit in an unpleasant expression. "Fine. No wearing holsters over clothes. Got it. We gonna go have a pissing contest in the backyard now, Wallstreet, or should we just whip out the rulers instead?"

"Lovely an offer as that is, I have other business to attend to. We'll discuss matter later," Brad drawled, checking his watch and starting for the door. "Schuldig, Farfarello, you have work to do as well. And really, Schuldig, no dumbwaiter."

"Why are my plans always thwarted?" Schuldig asked the air beside him with a defeated slump of his shoulders. Farfarello poked the empty spot with his knife.

After the Irishman dragged the woebegone telepath out of the room, Sands took hold of his weapons and methodically checked them over. Brett and Kirito exchanged looks.

"You two boys gonna just stand there?" Sands shot out, finding a chair and slouching down into it with a liquid motion. He sat, poised and relaxed and ready to spring with a moment's notice. "I'm blind, not deaf."

Kirito scratched his head. "The whole deaf thing wouldn't matter anyways. Telepathic speech and all."

"That'd be the mini-Red then. Just what the world needed, another carrot-topped telepath," the agent muttered almost to himself. "But kittens got claws, doesn't he? Real nice of you to get me my babies back. Not that I didn't know I would."

Brett shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against a wall. "Didn't do it for you, Sands. I'm serious about testing you out. I've been shooting since I could hold a gun but my Schuldig says you're not bad yourself."

"Your Schuldig said," Sands echoed, amused and Brett could see his own reflection in the older man's sunglasses, darker and distorted and just a little bit smaller. A sly shark-grin worked its way over pale features.

"You know, you might just be fun after all, gatito."


*

The last clip was emptied, bang bang bang until the target was missing heart and mind. It never became a routine, this game, there was always that rush through veins when metal warmed in hands and kicked back against your touch. Bitter taste and acid smell, but beautifully tragically perfect.

For them, he meant. Schwarz was built for bullet holes and loud noises.

"Let's see how we did then," Sands drawl-ordered, holstering his weapon of choice with practiced ease. How may times had he done the same, after taking out a group that thought him easy-pickings?

"I did better, obviously," Brett declared before even checking the targets. Sands looked bored, which was never a good thing. "Hold on, I'll show you," the telepath conceded and took a good look at the targets.

Neat circles of circles, hitting every vital spot and aiming to kill. They were pros after all.

Sands made a sound that might have been approval but probably wasn't. They'd worked out a relay system, sight to thought to thought to phantom sight. It had worked so far, keeping Sands from being caught up and swept away in busy Tokyo streets. When he thought the agent has seen enough, Brett let the connection fade to a snap-chord connection, ready to spring up if the need arose.

"Daddy's been training you good, gatito. Both of them. Soon the children will rival the parents and won't that be a sight to see," Sands drawled on, pleased with mayhem whether it was present or not.

Brett's eyes narrowed warily, free hand curling and uncurling its trigger finger. He asked suddenly, "What's your game?"

Sands gave the impression that he blinked, and the redhead could imagine wide innocent eyes in place of gaping black. "Game? What game?" he said then barked out a laugh. "Wallstreet let you keep Schuldig's tact then, or lack of. Can't you figure it out, gatito?"

"Stop calling me that," Brett growled, packing away his guns with sudden motions. "And I can only figure out part of it. It's not that hard. Divide and conquer, right? But why?"

"So much suspicion. I'd hold onto that if I were you, sugarbutt. Good practice for...future friends." Reaper smile again, a secret that wasn't going to be told.

"What-" Brett started to say but was broken off by his cousin.

"Brett's a precog too, you know," Kirito quipped, coming up from behind Sands with a soda in hand. The telekinetic looked at the targets and gave the redhead a thumbs up. "On top of the whole telepath thing. There's no point in trying to keep something from him. Or annoying him. It just doesn't end well for most people."

"How sweet. I'm sure you two won the homecoming race in high school. But you see," Sands began, emphasizing that word like he always did, "Brettie boy here isn't going to go snooping in my attic and he's not going to See everything. Perks of being handicapped."

Kirito set down his drink and came to stop on Brett's right side. "Still must suck though, living in the future all the time. And you can't even score a better parking spot. Someone got the short end of the deal."

The gun was cocked and aimed before the sentence was finished. "Funny, Jap, but I'm fresh out of good humor. So if you don't want a couple new holes for your fuckbuddies to explore I think you might want to back down. You dig?"

"What?" Kirito said blandly and Brett cracked a smile, shaking his head at the whole thing.

They all stood like that for a short while, life streaming on around them, then the safety was clicked on and gun put away when it became clear that Kirito was content to stand there for hours on end. Sands looked annoyed and blew a strand of hair out of his face. Brett would almost saying he was sulking.

"What do you /do/, anyways?" the American asked, honestly curious.

Kirito shrugged. "Snap necks, mostly. And retrieve snacks when no one else wants to get off the couch during a movie."

"He's very handy," Brett offered.

"Aww, Brett-chan, you saw the nicest things."

"Great," Sands commented and ran a hand through black strands. "I'm being hunted down and wind up with the ambiguously gay duo as my protectors."


By the time they got back to their home sweet Schwarzhaus, the sun was starting to set and street lights grudgingly flickered to life. Schwarz's street was empty, residents either tucked inside their homes or hours away from returning. It was Brett's favorite time of the day, beside the middle of the night, another reminder of why it was so much better to live outside that normal boundary.

"I hope San-san doesn't mind using chopsticks again. I keep forgetting to find a fork," Cailin was saying, curls swept up into a ponytail as she helped Nagi cook dinner. Fish and noodles and simple soup.

"Keep calling him San-san, princess," Schu told her and gave her a pat on the head. "And I'll buy you a pretty new dress next week."

Sands elegantly gave him a two-fingered salute.

Cailin giggled.

"There's no winning against her," Brett explained to his fellow precog. "She's still going to come out on top. And don't comment on that, really. Uncle Far is cleaning his best knives over there."

A resounding shing echoed through the kitchen.

"And I thought Mexicans were fucked up with their gun-toting musicians and face-hacking doctors."

"Naw. They've got nothing on Japan," Schuldig said with a hint of pride. He crossed the room, limping a bit as he did so and causing a couple raised eyebrows. "Just a twisted muscle. Stop looking at me like that!"

"But you have a shuffling gait," Kirito said, giving reason enough for everyone to stare. "I thought you were on a hit mission?"

Sands smirked. "Managed to squeeze a nooner in there, Heidi?"

The German threw a chopstick at him.

"What's a nooner?" Cailin asked without looking up from the stove, therefore missing the dead pause occurring to everyone around her.

Shing

"So, uh, what happened?" Kirito feigned deafness in favor of posing this question.

Farfarello actually cackled. "Mastermind gave in ta temptation. There are some spaces even he canna fit inta."

Schuldig opened the refrigerator angrily. "Why does everyone hate me?"

"I don't hate you, Schuldig," Crawford assured him as he sat down and the redhead crowed over the benevolence and glory of Braddles. "However, due to your incident at the hit's residence-honestly, a dumbwaiter of all things and one I warned you about-you'll be staying near home the next few days. Luckily, Farfarello managed the assassination perfectly."

Cailin clapped and hugged her Da.

Nagi was looking at Schuldig with a wry expression. "You had to have known it would end that way. You've watched too many cartoons not to."

"Yeah, but how could I not?"

Crawford looked as though he thought this summarized Schuldig's entire existence. "Regardless, stay near the house. You'll be keeping an eye on Sands as well," he put in rather reluctantly.

"Don't worry, Brad. I'll be good, ja?"

"Brett, Kirito, you'll be on a sweep and clean up mission with Farfarello, as I told you earlier. I imagine you two will be busy for a while, so report back every few hours. Call Nagi's line. Understood?"

The redhead saluted his father, scowling and making a note to wear old clothing tomorrow. "Mission accepted."

"I have a new technique I want to try. It involves a wall," Kirito said mostly to himself. Nagi sighed and ruffled his son's hair.

"Dinner's ready!" Cailin suddenly exclaimed, stating the obvious, but with those words business was set aside and the consequences of bringing it back were dire indeed.

"She really does always win," Kirito stage whispered to Brett, who could only nod gravely.

Nagi cleared his throat. "So, how do you like Japan, Signor Sands?"

"You just butchered the entire Spanish language with one word. I'm impressed," Sands drawled, toying with his chopsticks. "And Japan is like it's always been, Nads. Children playing grown-ups and closet perverts getting their kicks out of panties and naughty kid bits."

The telekinetic placed the soy bottle on the table with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Bet your darling spawns would love Mexico though," the ex-CIA went on, stabbing a piece of fish. "Lots of fun to be had there, boy howdy."

Schuldig's eye got a faraway look to them. "Oh, yeah."

"I'd go," Kirito said and his father gave him a horrified look. "Come on, Tousan, there's an entire black market in that area just waiting to be tapped into."

"Also, everything's cheap," Brett added. "Did you know they put worms in their drinks?"

"I think we're getting off course," Crawford told his son dryly. He looked as though he wanted to throw the source of it all out the front door.

Farfarello, not liking the idea of anyone going to Mexico any time soon, glanced at his sweeting and made a quick hand gesture.

"Eat!" Cailin sang suddenly and very loudly with a gleam in her amber eyes.

And so it was done.


*

The next few days passed in a blur red sticky stuff and too many squishy human parts. Or non-human parts. Farfarello had gotten side-tracked after the first sweep and had become distracted by a new pet store down the way. Brett was sure that they'd be finding bird feathers and dead goldfish all over the place for days.

"A new boa for my lass," Farfarello had told him firmly when the redhead has suggested leaving well enough alone. "And ye lot are always wanting sushi."

Not anymore they weren't.

And now the teen was tired and dirty and squelching with every step of his once pristine shoes. Not hungry, though, and that was a small relief.

Until he walked up to the house, standing higher and far away from the buildings on the street, and saw the black silhouette of a man sitting on the steps next to Cailin's rosebushes. In the high light, his shadow was stretched long and awkward over the pavement, just another ghoulish creation from a man like death.

And it was there, suddenly, a cemetery miles and miles away. Rough, time-worn stones and wild flowers mingling with weeds. Sweet carved angels with dirt smudges on their cheeks. But there were people laughing in the distance, too, and a chorus of remembrance. And Sands, pretending to watch from the distance with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was a click and a shadow and two gunshots like firecrackers.

Glasses, cracked and on the ground, and Brett strained to See a ghost's breath further but it was cut away without warning.

Sands looked up now, sardonic and confident and like a man that could rule the world again. He sniffed, copper stale air, and leaned back on his elbows. Brett got the distinct impression that Sands had seen him coming, one way or another.

Absently, he scratched a line of flaking blood off his neck.

"This is what you do, right?" Sands eventually spoke, words like pinpricks but steady and knowing. A real master of the game, not even worrying about the gamble. "Little gatito, taking orders and scurrying to obey? Just one more hired hand, cheap labor like those poncho's back across the sea, following orders blindly. Even I can see that."

Brett kicked at the man's shadow before running a hand through stiff hair. "That's not it. I'm good at it all, every single thing and I can only get better. I'm going to be in charge, when it's just me and Kirito someday. We're going to make a killing."

"Taking charge over the mouse? Of course you are," Sands said, amused. Pulling strings. "And what a good job you do, playing leader. But let's face it, pretty, you do the grunt work, the messy stuff because the big cats don't like it. Get thrown a bone now and then. Just that small splinter to keep you satisfied.

"Those lackeys you're tired of hitting? Guess who's one of them?" he finished, fingers tapping on concrete.

Brett shrugged, looking around the yard and at the nearest windows. "I can kill. As good as any of them. Anyone they tell me to."

"Sure. And that's just peachy, isn't it? But here's the thing, kid," Sands sat up straighter with an intent expression that made the redhead listen just that much more carefully. "The ones that run the show, pull the strings and plan the dance steps? Those are the ones that don't have to take out anyone unless-and this unless is very flexible-they feel like."

"Like you...you ran an entire country by phone and cons. My Schuldig told me," Brett said, nails digging into the palms of his hands. "Why are you explaining this to me?"

The American ignored the question, rummaging through a pocket until he pulled out a slim case. Brett tensed but Sands merely pulled a cigarillo out, hand rolled, slim and elegant, and lit it up. Smoke curled around them, crowning Sands and blinding Brett as it traced lazy patterns in the air.

"A country?" Sands finally responded. "No, no. Oh, no. Mexico was just the last act of one of many finely crafted plays. She's a real bitch though and didn't appreciate my stepping on her toes. But the others...I just made the calls. Read the people and moved the pawns. Then sat back to count the cash. You dig?"

Brett did, actually, and it made some unnerving thoughts stir, covered quickly by a shield before anyone could catch them. The assassin nodded, once, and leaned forward. Inches away from harsh lives and dark reflections. There was a world of plots and schemes and brilliant flashes there.

He wanted it all.

Sands smirked, fast play of bone-white lips, hearing everything he needed to hear in that pause, and patted the redhead's cheek. "Bright boy."


The next day he was gone, vanished when the dust had cleared. Brett sat on the front steps, looking out at the street as neighbors wandered by. Simple people with simple lives. The idea of it made him nervous.

"Brett-chan, you should pick a better spot if you're trying to hide," Cailin said and crouched in front of him, staring up with wide gold eyes. She was dressed in deep scarlet, no frills or lace to be found. Basic. "When Da and Uncle Brad get home they'll catch you and make you work."

The redhead smiled. "Don't worry, I'll See them coming. We can escape out the back and grab dinner out."

The pale girl made a noise of agreement and stood, still watching. A frown marred her pretty face as her cousin continued to observe the street.

"You shouldn't listen to him, Brett," she said and light brown eyes glanced her way. "Don't listen at all. Da says he talks like snakes, all tricks and riddles and venom points."

Eyebrows arched. "They used to leave kids outside back in the days, hoping a snake would hiss in their ear. Gave them the gift of prophesy."

"True," Cailin conceded as she headed up the stairs. "But what good ever came of it?"

A curve of red and she disappeared too, back into their home with a distant 'Hi, Uncle Schu!'. Brett tensed and rubbed at his face. There was probably a line of people waiting to give him a talk. He heard the familiar footsteps coming up from behind him, memorized for as long as he could remember.

They stopped and Brett looked up and back until he could see his Schuldig, upside but still making sense that way. "I can see up your nose from here," Brett said in greeting.

The older telepath chucked and flopped onto the stair next to him, stretching out long legs. His hair was pulled up in a long line of fire by a pink elastic. "Bet you're pondering the almighty question of 'where'd he go?'"

"You got it. Any good answer?"

"Well," Schuldig started, the word lingering. "He'll head out to Europe next. Chill out in France for a while and cool his heels. He probably has an old business friend or two in those parts. Give him a couple months and he'll wind up back in Mexico and all the pretty signoritas there.

Brett scrunched up his nose. "Mexico? But why go back there so soon? That's where all the trouble is. They took his eyes and I doubt he has any buddies there."

"Because, brat, Mexico made him. Doesn't matter where he was born or where he grew up. That's the last thing that matters now. It's all about that one place, for better or worse, that makes you. You can love it or hate it but in the end, you can't leave it behind."

Schuldig snorted and lifted his hand up to his mouth before dropping it with a sneer, phantom pains of a nicotine addict. "Why do you think we stay here, where everything fell apart at one point or another? Why Farf goes back across the pond to a place he despises? Why Alex came home in the end, for whatever amount of time?

"And no matter what, no matter what you feel or want or believe, you'll all end up at our door time and time again."

And what could Brett say, really, to a reality like that?