“I give up, I quit I tell you! You’re the most useless, whiny God forsaken CHILD I have ever worked with in my entire career!”

“He called you God forsaken, did he?” Brad asked.

Schuldig nodded. There was a red tinge to his cheeks, his performance had been so heated. He’d been chewed out by Rourke so much over the past month that he’d become a master at imitating him, bright red face and all. “Then he threw a box at me and told me to leave, so I interpreted that as giving me the afternoon off.”

Sylvia scoffed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t deign to comment otherwise. She was inspecting her nails with a haughty expression as though actively participating in their conversation was beneath her.

“How ‘bout you? How’d working with Miss Blanca go?” Schuldig asked.

“As well as usual, I guess. She thinks by the end of the year I’ll be just about at the same level as her, Talent-wise, and after that my training’s going to shift over to Rourke for the most part since he’s got more field experience than she does. I’ll be learning non-Talent related assassin techniques from him.”

“So we’ll be working together?” Schuldig asked hopefully.

Brad shrugged. “Dunno. Hope so. From what you’ve been saying it doesn’t sound like private tutoring with Rourke is much fun.”

“Private tutoring with Rourke is fine.” Sylvia interjected. “So long as he isn’t tutoring a petulant child.”

Schuldig blew a kiss at her in answer, bringing about another scoff.

“I’m going back in the pool. Aren’t you going to swim Brad?” Sylvia asked, pointedly ignoring Schuldig, whose eyes were glued to her as soon as she stood up. She was wearing an indecently non-existent bikini, and yet was still somehow offended when he ogled her.

Brad had taken Blanca’s advice, and the three of them had spent the brunt of their down time at the hotel’s pool. The exercise was having a favorable effect on the two younger psychics, who had both increased their physical stamina from the new hobby. Brad, however, spent most of his time poolside reading and had only gone in a couple times so far.

“Nah, not today Sylvia. Blanca loaned me the Art of War, and I’m getting into it. I want to have it finished by the end of the day.”

Sylvia smiled approvingly at him. “As you wish.”

“I’ll swim with you Sylvia.” Schuldig offered, rising from his patio chair.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Your hair’s starting to turn green, you should probably take a break.” Sylvia cautioned, casting a disapproving glance at Schuldig’s choppy chlorine-stained tresses.

He sat down again with a pout, and watched Sylvia dive into the swimming pool.

“Is she always going to be such a bitch?” He asked.

“Yep.” Brad answered.

“She’s never going to like me even a little?”

“She might a little.”

“Why does she like you?” Schuldig asked.

Brad hadn’t even looked up from his book. “No idea.”

“My hair looks like hell, maybe she’s right. It’s all dried out and brittle. I probably should stop swimming so much.” He considered, tugging at a strand of greenish blond that broke off between his finger tips.

Brad frowned, regarding Schuldig over the top of his book. “I don’t think you should stop swimming.”

“Why?” Schuldig asked. “You never swim.”

“Yes but you like it. I don’t see how it matters if your hair turns green.” Brad said carefully.

Schuldig’s eyes had narrowed. He really didn’t understand why Brad was always going to the pool to read, but he decided he didn’t care enough to question it. Sylvia followed Brad and there was nothing wrong with Sylvia walking around dripping wet in a bikini. He shrugged, got up and walked over to the edge of the pool.

Sylvia was swimming graceful laps around the side of the pool, and more than a few of the hotel patrons were watching her, entranced by her movements. As soon as she came within a few yards of the spot he was standing Schuldig cannon-balled in front of her, and then swam as fast as he could towards the ladder lest she drown him.

***

“I’m not coming down until you take down your shields!”

“WHY THE BLOODY HELL WOULD I TAKE DOWN MY EFFING SHIELDS FOR A DISOBEDIENT SHIT LIKE YOU??!!” Rourke raged.

The kitchen of their house had cathedral ceilings, and there were large cabinets along one of the walls, almost as tall as the ceilings which were intended to display fancy china. There was about a foot of space between the ceilings and the cabinet tops, and Schuldig was nestled safely in that space. It was beyond Rourke to figure out how he’d gotten there.

“It’s for safety! I’m not coming down unless I can see in your thoughts that you’re not going to kill me!” Schuldig called. He decided against adding that he was wedged so tight he wasn’t sure he could get down without assistance anyway.

Rourke stormed around the room swearing for another ten minutes before he finally got up on a chair with a broom and started hitting Schuldig with the handle.

“Ow! Hey, fuck you, stop it!” Schuldig cried.

“Get DOWN!! GET THE FUCK DOWN!!” Rourke screamed, stabbing Schuldig in the belly as he tried to edge away from the psycho.

“I can’t, I’m stuck!” Schuldig admitted. “Stop hitting me! STOP!!”

“GET DOWN SO I CAN KILL YOU PROPERLY!!”

“ALAN!!” Blanca’s scream bounced off the high ceilings with a perceptible echo. “What in God’s name are you doing?!”

“This has nothing to do with God! That child is a foul demon and I am going to SMITE HIM!!” Rourke yelled, stabbing Schuldig again with the broom handle.

Sensing an opportunity in Blanca’s arrival Schuldig began whimpering loudly. It wasn’t difficult to fake up some tears either, since he now had several bruises along his exposed right arm and abdomen from Rourke’s attack.

Blanca kicked the chair out from under him and Rourke fell to the ground with a painful thud, unable to right himself due to his bad leg.

“You need to develop some fucking people skills!” Blanca spat at him.

Rourke was beyond words. His face was redder than Schuldig could recall ever seeing it.

“He’s going to kill me in my sleep.”

“Don’t give him ideas dear.” Blanca replied, and Schuldig gave a start as he’d been unaware of speaking aloud. “You, go slither off to your room you slime, I’ll handle your student.”

“If you think for one minute I’m deferring to a bleeding sow like you-“

“Do you want him down or not?” She demanded.

“Well how are you going to do it? He said he’s effing stuck and neither of us are telekinetics. Although I’m thinking of phoning in and asking for some assistance from a pyrokinetic!” He added, with an accompanying scathing glare at Schuldig.

“Go lay down Rourke, you’re giving yourself a coronary.” Blanca said dryly.

He pulled himself to his feet and left the room, swearing and grumbling, dotting all nearby surfaces with flecks of spit.

Blanca righted the chair she’d tipped over and climbed on top of it. Far from whacking Schuldig with a broomstick however she simply observed him.

<How did you get up here?> She asked.

Schuldig blinked, a little confused. <I’d show you except it seems once you’re up it’s kinda hard to get back down.>

She nodded. Her demeanor had changed entirely. She looked distant and yet interested at the same time. Schuldig tentatively reached out to her mind. He’d yet to try to read anything from Blanca, out of respect for her rank, however he was also extremely curious about what she was contemplating.

‘He couldn’t have climbed, he must have jumped somehow. Incredible. No wonder Crawford’s so protective of him, he’s going to be an asset. We have to make use of him while we have him.’

Blanca thought all this while moving around the kitchen, and if Schuldig hadn’t been fully aware she was still thinking about him he would have thought she’d forgotten about his predicament.

<Miss Blanca? Are you going to get me down?>

<Huh? Oh no dear, I’m too short. I’m going to go fetch Brad…> She’d disappeared into the refrigerator and emerged holding a tub of margarine. <And he’s going to grease you out.>

<Ah. You’re not going to tell Sylvia about this, are you?>

She laughed. <I suppose it’s not a terribly sexy predicament is it? Why were you hiding from Rourke anyway?> She asked.

<I pissed him off again and he was going to kill me. I’m really good at setting him off. I think he hates me more than Sylvia does.> Schuldig mumbled.

Blanca smiled sadly at him. <Schuldig dear, one thing you’re going to have to learn about people is that you can’t always take them at their words, even when you can see their thoughts. People are amazingly good at rationalizing their feelings away and basically lying to themselves.>

<Meaning?>

<Sylvia doesn’t hate you. She’s jealous of you. There’s a subtle difference.> Blanca said knowingly.

<Why’s she jealous of me? She’s doing way better at her training…>

<Yes but you’re advancing faster than she did. She is older than you and you’ve got more raw talent anyway. Besides I think it’s not all to do with work.>

Well that was obvious enough. Sylvia’s intentions towards Brad were painfully clear, and his continued disinterest in her fueled her hatred towards Schuldig for the favor he was always shown. But that really wasn’t his fault. It’s not like he and Brad were dating, therefore he shouldn’t really have been viewed as a rival.

Schuldig thought over what Blanca had said about people deceiving themselves. <So…does that mean Rourke’s jealous of me too?> He asked hopefully.

Blanca laughed again. <No hon, Rourke’s much more simple than the average person. He really does just hate you. I’m going to go get Brad. He’s sprouting like a weed. We give him long enough, he’d be able to reach you without the chair.> She grinned.

<Okay, but be fast!> Schuldig called after her.

He was painfully aware of how vulnerable his situation made him. ‘At least she said she wouldn’t tell Sylvia about it.’

“Oh this is something. I wish I had a camera.”

And there she was. Sylvia stood by the fridge with a carton of milk in one hand, gazing at Schuldig with the happiest expression he’d yet to see on her beautiful face.

“Hey.” He said, forcing his voice to sound casual. She didn’t buy it.

In fact, by the time Brad and Blanca got back with the margarine she had abandoned the carton of milk in favor of prodding Schuldig with the broom handle. At least she wasn’t using the same vicious stabbing motions Rourke had, maybe she did like him a little.

“Sylvia cut it out!” Brad yelled. She dropped the broom with a clatter. She froze, looking at Brad, who looked anxious and angry. She then turned and ran from the room.

Brad got on the chair and started smearing margarine along Schuldig’s bare arms. His upper body seemed to be what was pinning him to the spot, as he still had freedom of movement in his legs. Brad didn’t say anything. He was however practically radiating disappointment, which made Schuldig defensive. This totally wasn’t his fault, it was entirely Rourke’s for being such an asshole anyway.

He did decide against telling Rourke to blow him in the future though.