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How you remind me A/N: Lyrics from "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback (Schuldich) Patience is not one of my virtues. In fact, I don't think I have any. Virtues, that is. But still, we wait. Crawford says that Weiss is going to be here tonight, and hence, Schwarz must be present to engage them. I don't question him, but merely accede to his order. Besides, what would be the point of opposition? When all is said and done, I end up following his orders anyway. Thus, Schwarz waits for Weiss. And I wait for him, impatient as ever ... because tonight, I am to kill my lover. < Never made it as a wise man > I think there should be some significance in this evening's encounter. After all, it will be the first time I've seen him since that night we spent together. And yet, I can't bring myself to see beyond this present mission. It is a night like many others with nothing special to set it apart from the rest. I don't feel any importance in our upcoming engagement. I am Schwarz and this is my job. This is all I've ever known. < I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin' > I wonder what I will do when I see him again? Will I feel something more than this ennui that is so intricately entwined with my lifestyle? Or will I do what I usually do, mock and taunt with my usual acidity? < Tired of livin' like a blind man > Nothing. I know I will feel nothing for him. This is the way I am and this is the way I live. We knew from the moment we started our impromptu relationship that if we ever found ourselves in a confrontation, we would try wholeheartedly to destroy one another. This is our understanding and I intend to bide by it. < I'm sick inside without a sense of feelin' > Our previous rendezvous were based primarily on that assumption, which meant that in the bedroom, we had left ourselves behind and become someone different. It was my escape from reality, and I know it was his escape as well. < And this is how you remind me Of what I really am > I remember clearly our last night together, a night of physical bliss that had been almost perfect. I remember my body feeling content, satisfied, satiated. And I remember how he had looked at me that following morning, pleading, entreating, breaking every rule we had silently established before our relationship began. < This is how you remind me Of what I really am > He's so damned innocent despite everything he is. Doesn't he realize the idiocy in what he's doing? These feelings, these emotions are nothing but trouble, complications that will eventually be his downfall. He doesn't see how weak he is, does he? And he had tried to bring me down with him as well. He has to learn that I'm stronger than him, that I would never succumb to something as petty a feeling. < It's not like you to say sorry I was waiting on a different story > Sex is sex. It never goes beyond that. I am only concerned with the pleasure I receive from his body, as should he from mine. I don't need anything else. He is the naïve one if he believes otherwise. < This time I'm mistaken For handing you a heart worth breakin' > I recall him promising so much in his liquid brown eyes that morning, offering everything that he was like some sacrificial virgin. Didn't he know that I'd refuse? Perhaps I do have a redeeming quality in me somewhere: if I had accepted that morning, I would have eventually destroyed him. He would have realized belatedly that I'm incapable of returning what he gives so freely. It's just the way I am. < I've been wrong I've been down To the bottom of every bottle > They're here. Weiss is here. I can hear their adrenaline-enhanced minds assaulting my own. And I feel him, his focused thoughts dwelling on the task at hand, oblivious to the fact that we lie in wait for him and his friends. Within seconds, they come into view, and like some pre-planned scene, we engage them. Perhaps it is fate, or perhaps it is serendipity, but I end up attacking him, Ken, my enemy, ... my lover. I wonder what he is thinking as I lunge at him, my movements quick and lethal. I will not delve into his mind. I promised myself I wouldn't for fear of getting too entangled in his Boy Scout thoughts. Is he wondering why I'm attacking him so viciously after so many passionate nights? Or is he of the same mind as me, ready to kill a lover without hesitation? < Despite words in my head Scream 'Are you having fun yet? Yet? Yet? Yet? No, no > We dodge and we strike, we evade and we attack, moving through our intricate motions like some choreographed dance. I watch his face intently as I deftly step back from one of his deadly swipes. For all the focus and determination reflected in his eyes, there still remains a certain openness in him that will one day get him killed. ~*~*~*~*~ (Ken) I stumble backward in an attempt to avoid one of his blows but quickly regain my footing. He's attacking with the intent of death, and I should be following his example. It is something we had silently promised to do before our relationship began. But I can't seem to make myself do it, not when that last night remains so fresh in my mind despite the length of time that has passed. Surely, he must remember it as well: my body, my kiss, ... and my challenge. < It's not like you didn't know that I said I love you and I swear I still do > I know he couldn't have completely forgotten what we did, if not the events of the morning then at least the pleasure we shared the night before. Or perhaps he does remember everything but is denying it. How else can I explain the deadly gleam in his eyes as I block another one of his blows? It must be eating him up inside, what I offered him that morning he walked out. But he would never admit it, would he? Not to me, and definitely not to himself. That's just the kind of person he is. I may not be as jaded as him but I know enough to discern this. < It must have been so bad Cause living with me must have damn near killed you > But the feelings of those nights... what kind of person is he that he can so easily detach himself from those vivid memories? I remember his hands moving gently over my body. I remember his kisses stealing my very breath away. I remember his sensual beauty robbing me of my sanity. I can't forget it, no matter how hard I try. I can't erase these images that have engraved themselves so deeply in my heart. < This is how you remind me Of what I really am > I see his arm coming toward me and I swiftly sidestep by him, bringing my knee up to hit him in the midsection with one fluid motion. I catch him unaware and he falters backward. It's odd how he doesn't seem to be anticipating my moves as he usually does. Seeing my opportunity, I lunge, my claws ready to draw blood. But I stop in mid-swing, noticing the hollow look in his flashing green eyes. He had looked upon me with such desire in those eyes once and I wonder why they don't remain that way. Yes, I'm in love with him. And I can't kill him. I can't. < This is how you remind me Of what I really am > I feel him grab my wrist, the one I was going to use on him if I had followed through with my attack. He smirks and with an evil gleam, pushes me back until I hit a wall hard, jarring my senses momentarily. And yet, I continue to watch his beautiful face, deadly intent clearly emblazoned on it. His grip tightens on my wrist as I return his lethal look with one of confusion. This is the man who had walked out on me without looking back. This is the man who had denied everything I had to offer. This is the man who would never entangle himself with the likes of me. < It's not like you to say sorry I was waiting on a different story > Was it a mistake then, that night? Should I regret it all happened? Obviously, he wouldn't - or couldn't - reciprocate my feelings. Am I just some naïve idiot who let himself believe in rose-tinted fantasies when reality is so much drearier? < This time I'm mistaken For handing you a heart worth breakin' > No, I can't accept that. This is love. And love hurts, but it also heals. This is what I want. I want to truly feel, be it pleasure or pain. I am willing to take the bad with the good, because it still reminds me that I'm real, that I'm human. And searching his face before me, I can't make myself attack him. I am powerless as he yanks my arm toward him. I am entranced only with the intense green fire that burns in his eyes. Somewhere in there must lie what I want. < I've been wrong I've been down To the bottom of every bottle > He turns my claws toward me, and I remain unresisting. I won't fight him. I refuse to. I watch his face, devoid of all emotion save mockery. Do it, Schuldich. Do it. Prove to me that you're heartless. Prove to me that you don't feel. He's so empty, I realize as I feel my arm being pushed toward myself. It's like there's nothing more to him than what you see. I don't feel anything as the metal blades penetrate my own body. I only see that stony countenance of his, staring at me with a look akin to apathy. But he is frozen too, perhaps stunned at what I allowed him to do. I don't know. < Despite words in my head Scream 'Are we having fun yet?' Yet? Yet? Yet? No, no > I hear the others call my name in surprise but they sound so distant. I taste the copper of blood in my mouth and I spit it out. Nothing really matters now but him and me. He finally releases his hold on me and takes a step back. I slump against the wall, surprised that I'm still able to stand. He mumbles something that I can't make out and turns to leave. I open my mouth to call him back but my voice fails me, coming out as a dejected croak instead. He's walking out on me again, just like the last time. Why? I hear footsteps coming toward me as I slowly slide to the ground - probably the rest of Weiss. My vision if blurring but I can still see his retreating back. Is this how you're going to leave it, Schuldich? Is this who you really are? These are my last thoughts as darkness claims me. ~*~*~*~*~ (Schuldich) I stand still as the hustle of the hospital passes me by. I watch them go about their oh-so-important duties, these doctors and nurses, saving lives and their own mortal souls. Futile really, when you consider how death is always the winner in the end. But I'm not here to debate philosophy or the ways of the world. To be honest, I don't even know why I'm here. I walked out this morning into the sunlight and found that my feet had brought me here to this hospital. < Never made it as a wise man > It's because of him. It has to be ... because otherwise, I can't find any other explanation. I want to know if he still lives or if he had died. Call it respect for one's enemy, call it gloating, call it curiosity, call it what you will, but when looking at the bare truth, it is him that draws me to this dismal place. I don't even know how to start and so, I delve into the busy minds of those around me, stealing glimpses of happy childhoods and carefree lives that I never had and could never obtain. < I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin' > There! I find him in the sugary mind of a young nurse, one who thinks of him as good-looking and sweet. I ignore the fact that she fancies herself in love with him, much like I ignore this odd sense of relief that washes through my body in discovering that he still lives. A little more probing leads me to his floor, and then, toward his room. I stop at the entrance, my eyes taking in the sterile scene before me. He is lying there, sleeping, so alone, so helpless, so lifeless, hooked up to machines and a multitude of other things that I don't care to name. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor echoes in the bare, white room, the only indication that he's alive. < And this is how you remind me This is how you remind me > I did this to him. I hurt him. I hurt him so bad that he almost died. And he let me do it. Why? But he deserves this. This is what he had been asking for the moment he decided to read so much more into our relationship. Did I not say that it would be his downfall? As if pulled by an invisible string, I move toward the bed, compelled to be at his side by some unseen force. I look down at his sleeping face, pale but still beautiful against the starched sheets. < This is how you remind me Of what I really am > I reach down and gently smooth some errant strands of hair from his face. I don't know what prompted such an action, only that it seems like the right thing to do at the moment; just like the compulsion I have to kiss him right now. I give into it and bend down, touching my lips tenderly to his. I close my eyes, savouring the strange warmth that descends over my body. As I move away and re-open my eyes, I notice that he is awake now, probably roused by the contact. He just stares at me but doesn't speak, questions and curiosity abounding in his warm, chocolate gaze. What does he want to ask? I wouldn't know the answers. < This is how you remind me Of what I really am > He is my enemy. I should kill him, wish for his death even. But then, why am I so uncomfortable with the idea of him dead? Why am I so relieved that he is alive? Why do I have the premonition that if I had to do it once more, I would sooner hurt myself than ever hurt him again? I hate this. I hate these questions that appear in my mind without any answers. I hate these unfamiliar feelings that seem to be creeping through my body. I hate what he does to me. I hate ... I hate him. < It's not like you to say sorry I was waiting on a different story > He watches me so intently that I can't look away. I am caught up in his gaze, hypnotized by some lure that freezes me in my place. He wants something from me, yet I don't know what. Or perhaps I do, but am incapable of giving it to him. Yes, I think I know what you want, you foolish boy. But I can't give it to you. You see, I'm not like you. I don't have it within me to give and if I did, I never learned how to give it. < This time I'm mistaken For handing you a heart worth breakin' > I bend down toward him again, looking for all intents and purposes like I am about to give him another kiss, but I stop just short. "I hate you," I whisper harshly. "I hate you so much." Those words seem to roll off my tongue effortlessly, probably because I am accustomed to revealing my distaste for all things. For me to express anything otherwise is beyond my realm of capabilities. I move away, my gaze never leaving his face. After a moment of puzzlement, his eyes soften in understanding, and I curse silently. Damn him! Why does he have to be so fucking trusting and naïve? I don't want his pity or sympathy. I don't want to see everything he has to offer me. I want him gone from my mind, from my dreams, and from my pathetic excuse for a conscience. < I've been wrong I've been down To the bottom of every bottle > I reach down and run my fingers gently down his cheek, taking in the silky smooth texture of his skin. He closes his eyes and subtly leans into the contact. He is warm to my touch, alive, breathing, and for some reason, in knowing this, I feel a little more alive myself. That revelation scares me, insofar as I can be scared, and I pull my hand away, causing him to open is eyes in surprise at the sudden absence of my warmth. Falling back into familiar habits, I put on my customary smirk and glare at him with my usual façade of mockery. And yet, understanding still shines strong in his eyes ... understanding for me. < Despite words in my head Scream 'Are we having fun yet?' Yet? Yet? Yet? No, no > I hate him. I hate his naïve, trusting gaze that will undoubtedly haunt my memories for the rest of my life. I hate the compassion and understanding that he emits so easily. I hate everything that he represents. I can't take this. I can't stand it any longer, and so, I turn away. I know he still watches me as I walk out of the room, but make myself ignore it. After all, I am nothing like him. I kill but not for the same altruistic ideals that compel him. No, I kill because it is what I do and I do it well. It is all I have ever known and I have forced myself to like it. Being with him only reminds me of this and thus, I have to walk away. I make my way out of the hospital and into the sunlight, trying to clear my mind of everything that is of him, though I know it will prove useless. I am Schwarz. I am Schuldich, a cold-hearted, callous, unfeeling killer. I don't concern myself with anything that doesn't fit into that mold. I don't feel what he feels. I - I don't love. Do you understand now, Ken? This, my foolish lover, this is how I live. This is who I am. |