Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 14 – Report From a Troubled Mind


Disclaimer: To anyone who thinks I own anyone/anything associated with Weiß Kreuz - I don't. All I own is my imagination and sometimes I like to let it loose on unsuspecting anime characters. I make no money from these works of fan fiction.

Author's Notes: As always I give thanks to my fabulous beta, Iron Dog.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Schuldig knew someone was leaning over him even before he opened his eyes. He knew who it was because he was blocked from their mind. He hoped like hell Crawford wasn’t in the mood for another shower episode. As much fun as that had been, now really wasn’t the best time for another tussle in the bathroom.

“Are you awake?” Crawford’s voice was soft – almost gentle.

Schuldig was tempted to open his eyes just enough to make sure it was Crawford standing there, and not some dream-image left over from his sleep. He still felt too tired and too ill to do more than lay where he was, pretending to be asleep. Finally gaining access to Crawford’s mind had been a giant buzz, but that wasn’t all he’d been occupied with during the meeting. He’d also been keeping tabs on Stein, Clara and just for good measure, Jerry as well. Verena was a Shield, so Schuldig hadn’t even attempted to access her mind. But he’d over-exerted himself with all that mental tap dancing and he was paying the price now. He’d be paying for the next few days if the pounding in his head and the rolling of his stomach was any indication.

Still, all the effort had been worth it – had paid off in spades, in fact. Not that he’d ferreted out much in the way of dirt on the American. Crawford was as anal about his thoughts and memories as he was about every-damned-thing else. But what Schuldig learned had made his head spin and not in an enjoyable way. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe Crawford didn’t have secrets. Everyone had secrets. But it was the nature of this secret that surprised him. He meant to tackle Crawford on the matter – as soon as he felt well enough. He’d also update his illustrious leader on what else he’d found while he’d had access to Crawford’s head. But not now. Now his head hurt like a bitch, he felt queasy and Crawford wanted things from him that really could wait a little longer.

“Schuldig?”

“Go away, I’m sleeping,” Schuldig gritted out.

“I need to talk to you.”

Schuldig’s annoyed sigh was a warning that he was low on patience and fast using up the small reserves he had.

“Schuldig.”

“Christ! And people say I’m irritating,” Schuldig snapped as he opened his eyes and glared blearily at his leader. “What?”

Crawford straightened. “Sit up. We need to talk.”

“Are they back already?” Schuldig asked, trying to look past the American. He felt like he had just closed his eyes.

“What?” Crawford frowned briefly. “Oh, Stärke; no. I want to talk to you before they get here though, so sit up.”

Schuldig had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but it wasn’t long enough. He felt tired and ill and that made him ornery. Crawford’s treatment of him earlier in the morning added to the crankiness and he was in no frame of mind to do as the American demanded. Schuldig relaxed back on the couch, closing his eyes. Ten, no, twenty more minutes and maybe he’d be able to focus on what Crawford wanted.

“Can’t it wait? I don’t…”

“Now, Schuldig.” Crawford’s tone said refusal wasn’t an option.

Schuldig was still muzzy from sleep, but his brain was beginning to function as it should and it was telling him that Crawford was very anxious to speak with him. He opened his eyes again and looked at the American, scowling to show he was annoyed with his rest being disturbed.

“What’s happened?” he asked in a sulky voice.

“What did you find in my head?” Crawford asked his own question in response.

“A whole lot of organization and neatness,” Schuldig quipped. He really needed coffee if he was going to be interrogated.

“What, Schuldig?” Crawford demanded lowly.

“Can I have a coffee first?” Schuldig didn’t hold much hope that his request would be granted, but maybe he was looking especially shitty and ill because, to his surprise, Crawford agreed.

Naturally, he made a show of sighing heavily and telling Schuldig to stay put before turning and leaving, but he went. After he’d gone, Schuldig sat up slowly, his head protesting the movement by swimming alarmingly before settling into a rhythmic pounding. He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. Fuck, but he hated feeling like this! He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into upraised hands, closing his eyes and waiting for the pounding and nausea to settle.

It took a couple of minutes, but the urge to puke did die down to a bearable degree and the dwarves hammering an irregular tune quieted somewhat. Drawing a couple of deep breaths, Schuldig cast his mind back to his sojourn inside Crawford’s head. Schuldig hadn’t been lying when he’d said it was an organized and neat mind. He’d never seen one as well-ordered and tidy. Crawford’s brain was almost as frightening in its neat, compartmentalized fashion as Farfarello’s chaotic mess of a mind. It simply wasn’t natural to be that tidy in your own head.

But there’d been something amiss.

He’d tracked it down – with a foray or two into areas Crawford would have preferred he stay out of but hell, it would be a long time before he’d get the chance again…if ever. That, of course, had brought its own ill-reward. When Crawford had asked what he’d found, the American was referring to his Talent and nothing else. Schuldig was pretty damned sure that Crawford experienced a vision after the German’s little trip through his head and that’s what had Crawford looking for answers. Well, he’d come to the right place; Schuldig had answers aplenty. Trouble was they were answers that begged more questions.

The German remained sitting with his head in his hands until he heard carpet-muffled footsteps approaching. Raising his head he watched as Crawford advanced, carrying a mug in one hand and a glass in the other. Reaching the low table in front of the couch, the Schwarz leader set down the coffee and held out his hand.

“Here,” he said.

Schuldig raised his hand, gratefully accepting the two white pills and water Crawford offered. He swallowed them down before reaching for the coffee. While he was doing this, Crawford pulled up one of the chairs Stärke had used earlier and sat down, facing the telepath. After a couple of mouthfuls of the strong brew, Schuldig looked across at him, still bleary-eyed, but slowly improving.

“You’ve Seen something,” he said flatly.

Crawford hesitated, ever so briefly, before giving a nod. Schuldig grinned despite how shitty he was feeling. Damn, but he was a good telepath.

“You’ll have to think of a way to properly reward me, then, won’t you?” he leered.

Crawford’s look said he wasn’t in the mood for games. “What did you find?”

“Someone got by your shields,” Schuldig informed his leader as he lost his smile, becoming deadly serious.

He hadn’t expected an overt reaction from the precog and he wasn’t disappointed. Crawford stiffened for a fraction of a second, before forcibly relaxing and shaking his head. If the telepath hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed the stiffening and the subtle tension that now hummed just beneath his leader’s cold façade.

“No. Not possible. I would have felt it,” he denied.

“They must have," Schuldig insisted. "Someone has been inside your head, Crawford. How they did it, I don’t know. But they were there, and they interfered with your precognition. There’s not a doubt in the world about that.” There was nothing he could do except state the facts of the matter and let the American deal with his own bruised ego.

“No one gets by my shields,” Crawford declared. “You can’t get by them…”

“Someone did,” Schuldig interrupted, meeting the American’s dark gaze. “I know they did because I was there. I know they did because I unpicked their handiwork.” Crawford lost the small scowl that had been forming as the telepath spoke and looked expectantly at him. Schuldig grinned conspiratorially. “I found a signature,” he smirked, extremely pleased with himself.

“How strong?” Crawford’s scowl had disappeared, but Schuldig could still see the caution in the older man’s eyes.

“I could read it,” Schuldig assured him.

The caution evaporated, replaced by a malicious smile. “Then we’ve got them,” Crawford said darkly.

Schuldig returned the smile and raised his mug to his lips. As he sipped his coffee, his gaze remained on the American who was practically gloating at the promise of bringing their assailant to justice. Taking in the neutral-colored clothes, the slightly unruly dark hair falling over the pale forehead, the look of sadistic satisfaction Crawford wore and the smug aura he was exuding, Schuldig knew that, had he not been feeling so fucked over, he would’ve jumped the American there and then. He looked deliciously evil and sexy, two of Schuldig’s favorite things. People could say what they liked about the guy but, the fact was, sometimes the only thing vanilla about Brad Crawford was his clothes.

Ruing the fact that he was in no condition to initiate a sex session, Schuldig dragged his attention to the topic at hand. Signatures were similar to DNA, and were an unavoidable side-effect when a telepath worked in someone’s mind. The strength of the signature depended upon the power and skill of the telepath. A very good telepath could wipe almost all their signature away if circumstances required it. Usually they didn’t bother. After all, the only person who could find a signature was another telepath and the only time a telepath would be actively searching for a signature was in a rare case like this, where a psionic crime had been committed against their own.

The signature Schuldig found surprised him by its strength. Either no attempt had been made to be rid of it, or else the telepath hadn’t been skilled enough to do more than brush cursorily at it. Given the outcome the assailants had been anticipating, Schuldig was inclined to go with the first theory. If they’d achieved their goal, that signature would have been blasted away, along with the rest of Crawford’s rather brilliant mind. That would’ve been a shame, Schuldig mused as he glanced at Crawford, who appeared to be lost in his own contemplations for the moment. Schuldig had liked the man before the little jaunt through his head. Now… now he really liked Crawford and wanted to take another stroll through his leader’s orderly mind.

Still, they had a signature; they had a starting point and there was little doubt in the telepath’s mind that his leader was already making plans as to how best to advance from that starting point.

“Eszett will have to know,” Crawford said thoughtfully. “They have signatures of all the telepaths who’ve ever been there.”

Schuldig watched him as he spoke. He didn’t need to engage his telepathy to know how much the idea of handing over their information to Eszett rankled the American. Crawford would want Schwarz to be the ones who dealt out their own brand of justice to the assailant. He would want it that way because he would hate the idea of anyone getting the better of his team and retribution being administered by others. There was professional pride at stake here – Brad Crawford’s professional pride.

They were silent for long minutes, during which time Schuldig finished his coffee in a futile attempt to ward off weariness. He mulled over what they knew about the attack and the assailants, and had to admit that no matter what they discovered, it seemed to bring more questions than answers.

“I wonder why they just disabled your Talent?” he spoke up eventually. He looked back at Crawford. “Why not just finish you off there and then?”

“They wanted the whole team,” Crawford surmised. “If they’d disposed of me, you would have been forewarned.”

“But back then we didn’t know what was going on,” Schuldig pointed out.

“Maybe they weren’t ready to take us on at that time,” Crawford replied. “Could you tell when my Talent was tampered with?

“Maybe. I’m not sure. Maybe after I’ve rested and had a chance to think,” Schuldig muttered with a shrug of his shoulders and a pointed look.

Crawford said nothing. Looking across at him, Schuldig knew from his expression that the American was busy with his own thoughts. Schuldig left him to it. He was having trouble giving straight answers to the questions he was being asked. He was in no state of mind to try to formulate theories. He still felt sick and he needed more sleep. If he could get in another decent sleep, maybe he’d begin to feel better. Right now, he felt as shitty as he had when he’d first come out of stasis. The only plus was that he wasn’t throwing up now.

“If someone got by my shields, they would need to be an incredibly strong telepath,” Crawford said lowly. Schuldig looked back at him but the precog’s gaze was focused on some invisible spot on the coffee table. “If they were that strong, they wouldn’t need the links.”

Schuldig said nothing. He’d already made his point about the static coming down the links. No need to repeat it.

“If they were that strong, I’d have felt them. I’ve felt the touch of others in my head often enough. Why didn’t I feel a telepath that strong screwing around in my head?” Crawford continued, as though talking to himself. Now he raised his gaze to Schuldig. “If they were that strong, we’d all be dead.”

Schuldig drew a breath. “None of it makes any fucking sense to me,” he admitted, trying to beat down his pain enough that he could form a coherent thought. “The signature will help.”

Crawford looked like he was about to say something before changing his mind. He looked away, a small frown on his face.

“Something wrong?” Schuldig enquired.

Crawford looked back at him and gave his head a small shake. “No.”

Sure Schuldig knew he was lying, but there was nothing he could do about it except wait for the American to reveal what was on his mind, or find a solution to the problem. Right now, Schuldig’s problem was that he was about ready to fall asleep sitting up. The coffee hadn’t helped at all. He wanted his bed and he wanted to sleep through till tomorrow. He pushed himself to his feet, drawing Crawford’s attention.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Schuldig said to the look he was getting. “I’m so fucked I can’t think straight.”

“We need to get the signature to Eszett as soon as possible,” Crawford stated. He didn’t say anything more, trusting Schuldig to take his meaning.

Schuldig did and sighed heavily. He hoped he wasn’t going to be expected to link with someone almost half a world away and send the goddamned signature mentally. He knew it was important to get the information to Eszett, but a mind link of that magnitude was beyond him right now. He’d be puking on his shoes as soon as he tried it.

Crawford didn’t wait for him to respond. He’d risen to his feet and was leaving the room. Watching that straight, broad back disappear through the doorway, Schuldig drew a weary breath and limped after his leader. By the time the German reached the den, Crawford was already sitting behind his desk, holding the phone to his ear. Crossing to one of the large, high-backed visitor’s chairs pulled up on the other side of the desk, Schuldig fell down into it. Resting an elbow on the arm of the chair, he propped his head on his hand and listened as the precog spoke perfect German into the phone.

Within minutes, Crawford hung up. He looked across at Schuldig. “They won’t risk a mental transfer over the distance required,” he explained. “They’ve already got someone here in Japan who can do the job, so they’re sending him over. He’ll be in a couple of hours.”

Schuldig groaned lowly, “Not another fucking Eszett flunky invading our home,” he complained.

“Whoever it is won’t be here for long,” Crawford assured him. “And try to exercise more caution with what you say,” he added.

Schuldig laughed tiredly. “Loosen up, Brad; Stein and his merry band of Stärke can’t hear me.”

“Precaution never did any harm,” Crawford replied.

Schuldig didn’t care enough about the topic to keep arguing it. He waved his leader’s objections away. “Whatever. If that’s all, I’m going to try for bed again.”

“Before you do,” Crawford said. “Was there anything Stein wasn’t telling us at the meeting this morning?”

Schuldig looked across the desk, into the American’s dark eyes. No matter how tired he was, this opportunity was too good to pass up. “Yeah,” he replied. “He thinks you’re hot when you’re angry and wonders if you like hard, forceful fucking.”

“Schuldig.” Dark eyes flashed and his name was spoken as a warning

He couldn’t stop the derisive smile that came to his face. “You’re always so defensive when I mention Stein. Why is that? Repressed desire?”

“It’s none of your business,” Crawford replied coldly.

Schuldig continued to smile. “When has that ever stopped me?” he taunted.

Crawford closed his eyes, barking a short laugh and shaking his head. Opening his eyes again he looked across at the telepath. “You’re right. Go and get some sleep. I’ll wake you when Stärke arrive.”

Schuldig sulked silently to himself as he pushed up out of the chair. If the pre-cog wasn’t going to rise to his baiting, there was no point in staying. He kept his smug smile in place, despite his disappointment with Crawford’s reaction which, in the light of the morning’s events, had been unexpected and no fun at all. Whatever had bedeviled Crawford this morning, it seemed the bastard had purged himself of it, regained his legendary control and was back in charge.

When he reached the doorway, he turned and found Crawford watching him. He smiled knowingly before speaking. “To answer your question; there was nothing Stein wasn’t telling us. He doesn’t have a fucking clue – none of them do.” With that he turned away, heading for his bedroom and a few hours of blissful oblivion.


• • • • • • • • • • • • •

It was almost an identical replay of the morning’s meeting. There was tea and coffee on the table and everyone sat in the exact same spot as they had earlier. Crawford, glancing around the room, let his gaze linger on Schuldig, noting that the telepath looked slightly better than he had this morning. Of course, that might have something to do with Stein feeling the need to point out the blatantly obvious and tell everyone gathered that, if it wasn’t for Schuldig’s lightening-fast reflexes, it was possible Schwarz would no longer exist as a team, all its members being dead. Crawford wished that Stein had let the fact that Schuldig had – quite likely – saved their lives go unremarked. But it got worse; there was also the fact that Schuldig found the signature of the mysterious telepath and, right now, the smug look on the German’s face warned that there’d be no living with him for a long time to come.

Why Stein was suddenly expounding Schuldig’s virtues was a mystery. There was certainly no love lost between the pair of them, and Stein had been sniping at Schuldig ever since the telepath had regained consciousness. Now, all of a sudden, Stein was Schuldig’s biggest fan. It didn’t make any sense at all and, in Crawford’s opinion, this change of heart was to be viewed with great suspicion.

Crawford’s degenerating mood wasn’t improved by the fact that Schuldig and Farfarello were sharing the love seat again, sitting closer than they had this morning and closer than he would have liked. He had to wonder just what Schuldig had dug up when he’d been given free rein his mind this morning. He doubted the telepath had stumbled on just how much his and Farfarello’s relationship bothered Crawford. If he had, Schuldig wouldn’t just be sitting close to the Irishman; he’d be sitting in his lap just to piss off the American.

“No doubt about it?” Stein asked of the telepath.

“None at all,” Schuldig replied, sounding weary of the questions the Stärke leader was directing at him.

Stein sat back on his chair, frowning deeply. “But it makes no sense,” he remarked.

“Ask Clara if you don’t believe me,” Schuldig suggested testily.

“Oh, I believe you – it just doesn’t aid us in unraveling the puzzle,” Stein explained.

Crawford frowned mentally, wondering again where Stein’s new-found tolerance of Schuldig had sprung from. Being suspicious had never done him any harm and plenty of good when it came to Eszett or their flunkies. Being suspicious of Stein was second nature even after so many years.

“Maybe when Eszett tracks them down, we’ll learn more about their methods,” Schuldig suggested. “But it won’t change the fact that nobody can ride the links to access a mind.”

“You said you felt them in the links,” Stein pointed out, “and you say no one can access a mind via the links. Despite his powerful shields, and unbeknownst to him, Crawford’s mind was breached and his Talent interfered with. Do you see why I’m having trouble with this?”

“I agree, it makes no sense,” Schuldig said easily. “We could drive ourselves insane trying to figure it out. Let’s wait until Eszett have the signature. Provided they have the telepath on record, they can track down the offender. I’m sure we’ll get all the answers then.”

Crawford watched Stein as he gave some thought to the puzzle before shaking his head a little. “I’m still not comfortable with the breaching of Crawford’s shields. If they did it once, they can do it again, so he is at risk.” Crawford found the pale eyes on him. “I want to Shield you,” Stein said.

Crawford had been expecting the request and had no objection to it. Shields weren’t telepaths and they couldn’t read his mind. “As you wish,” he agreed.

“Verena,” Stein ordered.

She closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. Meanwhile, the discussion continued.

“If I remember correctly, a telepath doesn’t need to be particularly strong or talented to push static down a link,” Stein said, looking between Schuldig and Clara.

When Schuldig seemed disinclined to answer, Clara did. “No, they don’t,” she confirmed. “Once you know the trick of hooking into the links, sending static is easy.”

Stein frowned. “But you can’t use the links to get into a mind, and getting past the shields of someone like Crawford isn’t easy.” He sighed as his frown deepened.

Crawford saw Schuldig and Farfarello exchange a sly smile. What had amused them was anyone’s guess. He was certain they weren’t using the links, but just in case.

“Schuldig?” The name, and the way it was spoken, asked everything Crawford wanted to know.

The German looked across at his leader and gave his head a shake. “Nothing,” he replied.

Crawford held his gaze a moment or two longer, but let the matter drop.

“Done,” Verena announced.

Crawford turned his attention inwards and found it almost impossible to tell she’d done anything. Apart from a slightly odd feel to the edges of his mind everything seemed normal.

He thanked her and wanted Stärke gone. They’d been there for over two hours now and Crawford felt they’d discussed everything that needed discussing and were merely going over old ground now. He listened as Stein and Clara talked about links and shields for the dozenth time.

“I don’t think there’s much to be gained by continuing this discussion now,” he said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Once Eszett have the signature, there may be something we can do but, for now, I think we’ve said and done as much as we can.”

Stein’s look was testament to the fact he’d rather stay, but he knew when to capitulate.

“You’re right, of course,” he agreed. “We’ll meet together once we’ve heard from Eszett in regards to the signature.” As he’d been speaking, he rose to his feet, the rest of Stärke following his lead.

Crawford also stood and saw them to the front door where they exchanged brief good-byes before Stärke went on their way. As he turned from closing the door, he heard Nagi’s voice.

“That is not beneficial to my emotional well-being,” the boy complained only seconds before he exited the front room, a scowl on his face.

“Grow up, Nagi, it was only a kiss. There wasn’t even any tongue,” Schuldig’s laughing voice followed the miffed boy into the hallway.

Nagi disappeared into his room without another word and the slam of his door. Crawford stood still for a moment before moving away from the front door. He didn’t look into the front room as he passed it. He didn’t want to know what he might see in there - didn’t need to rub his own face in it. Entering his study, he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, closing his eyes.

He’d Seen this happening between the telepath and the mad-man and he thought he was prepared for it, but now…. Schuldig and Farfarello. He drew a deep breath and shook his head. He didn’t want to think about them fucking; didn’t want to know about it when they were fucking. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. What they do doesn’t matter. I have Schuldig when I want him and he needs me - that’s what matters. Let them fuck… He laughed to himself. Hell, try to stop them from fucking, he corrected. It doesn’t matter to me; it can’t matter to me; I won’t let it matter to me.

Pushing away from the door, he crossed to his desk and sat down behind it. Looking across the room, his gaze was snagged by the couch. Sitting in its usual place beneath the window, it looked innocuous enough yet, less than a week ago, Crawford and Schuldig had spent some very pleasurable time on that couch. He banished memories of the wanton and willing redhead from his mind. He didn’t want to remind himself of how Schuldig had looked that day, lying on the couch, gripped by need and lost to desire.

Drawing a deep breath to stall the thoughts clamoring for attention, Crawford ignored everything except the laptop on the desk in front of him and the work he had waiting. He’d gotten as far as the sixth keystroke before the doorbell rang. Crawford didn’t need his precognition to know who was at the door. Eszett’s errand boy had arrived to collect the signature.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

I hope people are still enjoying this. Hell, I hope people still remember it!