FicWad

The mug was warm between his hands, warmer than the gloves he had managed to get a hold of before wandering out into the blast of cold hell that was currently passing as weather. They weren't much of anything, scraps of worn fabric with no fingers and starting to grow threadbare in some places; they'd need to be replaced soon. They were ugly and brown and blue and tan, would clash with just about anything if given a chance, and fuck all they didn't do their /job/. What was the point of fingerless gloves anyways?

There was no point and that was his point.

That was why he was huddling in the back corner booth of a café, hands around what smelled like coffee and tasted like battery acid gone bad. At least his scarf was warm...

Lights were blinking on and off at a frantic pace, trying to keep up with each other until they finally burned out and were replaced. The life of a Christmas light. Cheerful, fast-paced or steady, either long or short. He ignored them and watched the steam rise from the coffee, adding to the already frosting windows. He added more to it, leaning over and breathing hot air onto the cool glass until it fogged up. His finger traced a word backwards over it then he sat back and watched, waiting to see the looks on people's faces when they realized what English word that was.

Alex didn't really like the holidays.

"I really fuckin hate the holidays, you know that, brat?" a voice complained, accompanied by the tinkling of the front door's ribbon-bedecked bell.

"Yes, I know. How could I not know? You've been saying that since we left." Also complaining, but less blatantly and less nasally.

"It doesn't seem to be penetrating that brain of yours though," Schuldig stormed over to a table and slid into his seat.

Alex scooted back in his, to the side, seeing but not seen with any luck. Which he was apparently lacking in at the moment since they were here to begin with. What were the chances?

Blank mind, blank mind, he thought. Tried to shield himself and hoped everyone else was thinking more loudly than he was. They should be-Schuldig and Brett had always cursed the season for that reason. Blank mind, blank mind.

Brett glanced in his direction, or Alex thought he did at least, but didn't say anything. Amber eyes-tea with too much milk and honey-flickered away a second later as the telepathic precog slide into his own seat, hair the only thing Alex could see from behind his father's back.

But he could hear them. Of course.

"It's all this depressing cheer, right? Everyone is either depressed about not being too happy or too happy about not being depressed which makes them depressed again since they remember they were in the first place," Schuldig said loudly as the waitress came over, a slim little thing with bobbed black hair and leg warmers on.

"You know what I'm saying, don't you..." Schuldig made a show of looking at her nametag, even though he didn't need to. "Aya. Huh."

"I'll have coffee. Milk, two sugars," Brett spoke up, "and a chocolate chip cookie."

"Espresso, Aya, /please/," Schuldig drawled out the word like it pained him and Alex would bet he was watching the girl walk away with narrowed eyes. He remembered the look.

He should leave. That would be the right thing to do, about now. But his father and brother were sitting between him and the exit

"Aya...damn. What are the chances, huh? Fuckin Ice Princess's lil' sis." Schuldig seemed stuck on this particular issue, fingers drumming on the side of the table.

"Weiss, right?" Brett said, tilting his head to the side so Alex could see the look in his eyes. Going through the file cabinet in his brain, flicking through folders for whatever useful information he had gathered.

Alex didn't have an organized system like that. He didn't need one. He remembered stuff and he didn't, but he knew what he needed to know. Knew all about Weiss, their families, and the thought brought a smile to the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah." Schuldig's back slouched, one arm thrown over the back of the seat next to him. The waitress came back and placed their orders on the table, smiling and bowing before going to check on her other customers. "Guess the flower business isn't booming. Last time I checked up on and heard..."

Alex didn't hear the next part. The waitress with bobbed hair was staring at him with kind eyes. "Would you like me to refill your mug, sir? It must be getting cold."

Alex shrugged a shoulder and she did, more steam rising, and he mumbled a 'thanks' that earned him another smile. She didn't know that his coffee would never grow cold if he didn't want it to. If she did, she's probably try to employ him.

"...and I'm tired of this holiday stuff."

Brett heaved a sigh. "Cailin wants us to give each other presents again this year. We didn't get to last year, remember? Cause Uncle Far took the whole 'sees you when you're sleeping' thing a bit too seriously and barricaded the house. Kind of ruined the whole thing."

"Made me feel safer though," Schuldig chuckled.

Last year at his time, Alex had been squatting in a warehouse with a pile of blankets and a handful of yen, trying to figure out what to do next.

The door wreath of the house across the street caught fire, making a couple people scream and dash away. Or attempt to dash. It was hard for some considering the number of shopping bags they were carrying.

Schuldig was laughing and downed his espresso with one gulp. "Mein Gott! That's what I like to see. Some good old arson this time of year. I hope someone steals the baby Jesus at the church next. Before Far gets to it, that is. He's been eyeing the nativity for weeks."

Brett was staring at him now. Eyes trying to decide whether to narrow or widen, mouth half-way between a concerned grimace and an annoyed pout. The brat probably thought Alex was trying to take away from his Schuldig time or something, not /knowing/, never knowing, never bothering to ask why.

It was such an important question.

Snow was falling again, slow sluggish chunks of frozen water. They probably hissed as they hit the burning wreath, or maybe they didn't. Maybe he'd find out later.

Alex sipped his coffee, made a face at it though not the same one as before. This one was moderately better than battery acid. Perhaps by his tenth cup he'd have the real stuff.

He stiffened when he felt a pressure on his mind, cool water lapping at the edge, barely making its presence known. Not fiery cinnamon like Schuldig's was, the one or two times the oldest redhead had tried to get into Alex's mind.

/Stop/, he said and was mildly surprised when it did. They tried to avoid each other for the most part, never prying, never burning, not unless they could help it. But this was Brett seeking him out, on purpose, for the first time in a long while. And he had stopped when told. Alex hadn't thought that obeying orders from him was covered in his training.

And when they were younger and probably wiser, Brett had been arrogant and stubborn, wanting to push all the wrong buttons. Sly as a fox. Most siblings put up with persistent pokes at the arm or tugging on hair-Alex had dealt with jabs at the mind, sometimes intentional and sometimes accidental.

He had stopped this time.

Why. The question came up again.

His hands were getting cold again, against all odds.

"I'll be right back. There's a call I need to make," Schuldig drawled and stood, heading towards the other side of the café and the restrooms there.

Brett met his stare from across six feet of tiles, vinyl, and plastic. Then he stood and walked over, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black coat. And he has sunglasses perched on his head. The sun hadn't been out in a week and the bastard had his sunglasses on.

"I bet you hate not having to wear real glasses," Alex said as way of greeting.

Brett smirked. "I have a pair of non prescription ones. They make me feel smart."

"You need all the help you can get." No real bite there. Just the expected banter between brothers.

"I didn't know you were here." The younger man looked at the table, shoulders bunching up for a second before relaxing again. "I know he didn't know, because he couldn't have, but I didn't know either, okay?"

Alex glanced at him. "You didn't tell him." He didn't hear Brett say anything, but that meant nothing when it came to them.

"No. I didn't think you'd want me to...so..." Brett took a deep breath. Then he met his brother's gaze again and plowed forward. "Look, I know you don't like things at the house. With everything."

Alex wanted to say that Brett apparently knew a lot of things but didn't.

"And it's your life. I get that. I don't understand everything but I do get that. But Cailin misses you and Uncle Far will talk about you and-"

"Do /they/?"

"Sometimes. It's...you're...it's not the same, anymore."

"It is the same. If it wasn't, I might go ba-" he stopped himself and kicked the opposite booth seat. His shoe squeaked against the vinyl.

Brett snorted. "Well, you could if you wanted to. I don't think you do, but...you don't have to move in and take up the family business. I got that covered. I like it. But that's not why I'm saying this. We...look...fuck, we miss you, okay? We'd like to see you again. Around." He drew his hand out of his pocket, placing a set of gloves on the table. "Take those. Your hands look bone white and I can just steal Kirito's pair."

Alex half-grinned, picking up the gloves. "Lambskin? What is this, a peace offering?"

"Well, I didn't have any virgins on hand to offer you." Brett started to turn away. "I'll get my Schuldig and we'll get out of here now. Just...just...think about it, okay?"

"Why?" Alex asked.

Brett raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

That summed them up, Alex decided, and moved the gloves closer to him. "Thanks, brat."

Brett shrugged and walked away without a reply, and a few minutes later Alex slid into shadow as the other two redheads left the café.

He went back the next day, chancing luck one way or another, and sat in the same booth with the same frosting window. There was his word, a dull outline on the smudged glass, and he squinted at his reflection for a moment, tracing freckles and eyebrows before noticing the outline of words beneath it.

He sighed, hot breath giving warmth to the surface, and recognized the handwriting on the window. Not his own, but close.

Anytime