Dragon Cycle

Disclaimer: I still don’t own Weiß Kreuz or any of the characters from the series. I write this for fun and in the hopes that some people will like it. I make no money from writing these fics.

Author’s Notes: Thanks, as always, go to Iron Dog, my lean, mean beta-ing machine.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

It had taken less than half an hour for Schuldig to unload the mental fingerprint to the toady sent from higher up. Now, the Eszett minion was on his way, the signature firmly secured within a mind surrounded by shields few Talents could hope to breach.

Crawford returned to his study after seeing the man off and wasn’t surprised to find himself followed. To be honest, he’d been expecting this since Schuldig had woken up. Schuldig often found things bothered him disproportionately after he’d been laid flat by backlash. His personal annoyance factor both with himself and others increased tenfold. Given the magnitude of the recent attack, and the fact that Schuldig had taken a look around his mind, Crawford felt a little uneasy as to the degree and content of Schuldig’s complaint on this occasion. As he sat down in his large, leather chair he looked across to where the telepath was closing the door behind him. Crawford opened his laptop hoping against hope that the telepath would take the not-so-subtle hint and leave. Knowing what Crawford was trying to do, Schuldig smiled wryly.

“Am I interrupting your latest Evil Genius Planning Session?” he asked in a deprecating tone.

He crossed to the visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk and threw himself down into it. Watching him, Crawford noticed the German’s limp wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier in the day. Given their upcoming, busy schedule, that was a good thing. However, of more immediate concern to Crawford was why Schuldig had abandoned Farfarello and followed him into the study. Although it was possible that the German just wanted to see how much he could irritate his leader, it didn’t seem likely. Schuldig never missed the chance to bask in the glow of praise, deserved or not.

“I thought you’d be eager to return to celebrating your new-found status as Hero and Savior of Schwarz,” Crawford remarked, careful to keep his tone light.

Schuldig looked at him closely for long seconds before asking, “Are you…jealous?” He sounded as though the very thought of Crawford even knowing what the word meant was startling enough, let alone that the American could actually experience the emotion.

“No, I’m making an observation,” Crawford told him neutrally. He met the blue gaze levelly across the desk. “But a word of warning, before you allow yourself to be carried away in future, you might have a thought for Nagi,” he added.

“You mean the kiss?” Schuldig asked with surprise.

“You know very well that’s what I mean,” Crawford answered.

“It was a kiss!” Schuldig exclaimed. “One harmless little kiss. There wasn’t even any tongue involved. It was probably more harmless than the kisses Nagi and Tot shared…”

“I don’t think he needs to see it, that’s all,” Crawford said as he cringed inside at how prissy he was sounding.

Schuldig laughed loudly. “You’re kidding me, right? It’s okay for him to be a fucking assassin, but he can’t see two men kissing? You have screwed up priorities, Brad.”

Put that way, it did sound like a trite complaint.

“Why are you here?” Crawford asked now, electing to change the subject completely.

Schuldig’s smug look said that he considered himself the winner of that round and graciously conceded to the subject change.

“Questions,” the telepath replied as he became serious.

Crawford reluctantly lowered the screen on his laptop. He looked across at the German who was watching him without a trace of amusement. There was no way he could get the telepath to leave once he adopted this serious demeanor. At times, Schuldig was worse than a hungry dog with a bone when he wanted something.

“I know you poked around when you were in my head even though I expressly told you not to. What do you want to know?” Crawford asked bluntly.

“I want to know why you didn’t tell me,” Schuldig answered quietly.

Crawford met his gaze in silence for long moments before speaking. “Just a reminder, Schuldig; you’re the telepath here, not me. I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“Farfarello.”

“Oh.” There was only one secret Crawford had kept about the psychotic Irishman and that related to the death of Farfarello’s family. Now, it seemed that Schuldig had uncovered that secret when he detoured off the approved path in the American’s mind. Crawford elected to say nothing for now, letting the telepath disclose just how much – or little – he’d learned.

Schuldig arched his eyebrows in query. “Did you ever plan on telling me?”

“No. It was never any of your business,” Crawford answered frankly.

“And Farfarello? I know he doesn’t know the truth. I’ve been inside his head often enough and deep enough to know that for a fact. You don’t think it’s any of his business, either?” Schuldig taunted.

“It’s not important he knows the truth,” Crawford replied. “It’s highly unlikely things will change for him even if he were to learn what you found out by snooping. Learning this truth might even unsettle him more and push him into complete madness.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Schuldig argued.

Crawford sighed. It was the sigh he always used when he felt he had to explain something that was patently obvious. Crawford knew the sigh grated on the German’s nerves and he took a small measure of delight in using it to pay back the telepath for poking his curious nose where it didn’t belong.

“Now you know the truth, what has it gained you?” he asked the German.

“Knowledge I didn’t have before,” Schuldig replied immediately.

“And how is having that knowledge helpful to you?” Crawford pressed as he steepled his fingers together and patiently waited.

Schuldig wasn’t about to back down and admit he was making something out of nothing. “It helps me, at least, understand just how crazy Far is.”

Crawford wondered if this new-found knowledge had given Schuldig cause to re-think his involvement with the Irishman. Crawford certainly hoped so but it would be just like the contrary telepath to find the information added an extra zing of danger to his encounters with Farfarello.

“The team knew all it needed to know about Farfarello when he joined us – including the fact he is a psychotic killer,” Crawford pointed out. “Knowledge of his family, their history and their demise, was of no consequence to Schwarz then or now. I was told in my capacity as team leader but there was no need for anyone else to know…”

“According to who?” Schuldig cut in as he leaned forward aggressively in his seat.

Crawford sat back in his comfortable chair, eyeing Schuldig evenly. “As leader of Schwarz, there are things I know about each of you that you don’t know about each other; things you don’t need to know. This shouldn’t come as any surprise to you, Schuldig. Why are you trying to make so much of the fact that I knew something you didn’t?”

“It just seems like an awfully damned important secret to be keeping to yourself,” Schuldig replied, stubbornly refusing to give up the point.

“It’s not important,” Crawford denied.

“No? He killed his whole fucking family – something he’s blithely unaware of – and you didn’t think it was important enough for us to be told?”

Crawford really wasn’t in the mood for this. Time to put this bit of nonsense to rest. He leaned forward on his elbows, his gaze boring into the German.

“Should I, perhaps, inform Nagi and Farfarello of the fact your step-father found you entirely captivating and sexually molested you? I can let them know that your excellent cock sucking skills were developed before you even hit puberty, if you’d like.”

He saw anger flare in those blue eyes. “That has no bearing on what I do here,” Schuldig snapped.

“In its own way, it does,” Crawford replied evenly.

“I didn’t murder the sick bastard,” Schuldig argued back, his tone dark with the unspoken wish that he had done that very thing.

“My point is that each of you has things in your past that the other members of Schwarz – myself excepted – are unaware of,” Crawford said, sitting back again.

“And my point is that some things need to be shared while others don’t,” Schuldig countered.

“I agree,” Crawford said. “Eszett also agrees and, as our employers, they get to decide what their teams are told and what information is withheld. I may not agree with all their decisions but, as an employee, I abide by them – we all do.”

Schuldig made a face that showed he knew he was on the wrong side in a losing battle. He looked at Crawford. “I have to wonder what other secrets you’re keeping from us.”

Crawford assumed the question was rhetorical and didn’t answer. Instead he issued an order. “You’re not to tell Farfarello what you found out.”

“No, of course not,” Schuldig muttered, glancing away from the American.

“I mean it, Schuldig,” Crawford warned.

“I know,” Schuldig said sullenly.

Silence descended and lasted for several minutes. Crawford waited patiently, watching closely as Schuldig mulled over a fact he’d always known; his leader kept secrets from all of them. He expected that the severity of the attack that laid Schuldig flat for four days would produce more than just the usual moodiness, and the telepath’s brooding presence in his study was proving him correct.

As much as he would’ve liked to point out the obvious to the German; that this need to challenge him was nothing more than a consequence of the recent assault on his mind, Crawford held back. Past experience taught him that to do so would only inflame Schuldig’s already exaggerated sense of chagrin, resulting in a raging argument. An argument at this point in Schuldig’s recovery from backlash would only make the telepath surlier and possibly give him an intense tension headache. The entire team would then end up feeling Schuldig’s displeasure with random sharp stabs of pain that he would be nearly helpless to control.

Dealing with the telepath when he was in this frame of mind required patience and prudence. Crawford was grateful that Schuldig had only experienced backlash a handful of times and never to this degree before. Fortunately, Crawford possessed the skills required to deal with the German in situations like these. Despite knowing he had a report due within the hour, the leader of Schwarz sat silently, waiting for his telepath to decide his fretting was pointless and leave. He didn’t try to hurry Schuldig, allowing him whatever time he needed to deal with a mind that wasn’t quite functioning as it should – or usually did.

After several long, quiet minutes, Schuldig simply stood up and left without a word. Crawford watched him go then sighed heavily. He hoped that, come tomorrow, the telepath would be back to his usual self. As annoying as that usual self was, it was highly preferable to a silent and brooding Schuldig.

Looking away from the closed door, Crawford reached for his laptop and returned his attention to work and his unfinished report.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Farfarello was losing a battle. He couldn’t even summon the willpower to try and fight. Instead, he lay in his bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling above him. He had the vague idea that it was around seven at night and he knew, of a certainty, that he’d be asleep in less than five minutes. This was part of the punishment for his little indiscretion at the convent. There wasn’t a lot Crawford could do to discipline him and they both knew it. Depriving him utterly of his freedom was one form the American favored and Farfarello detested.

Usually, Farfarello accepted his punishment as part of the whole disciplinary ritual and went along with whatever Crawford decided on. Tonight was different. Tonight the usual deprivation had an added sting in the tail and he hadn’t been willing to accept his punishment. It seemed an additional cruelty to Farfarello. He wanted to stay awake because when he did go to bed he’d planned on doing it with Schuldig like they’d talked about that morning. Instead, Crawford remembered there was a reckoning due and had ensured it had been dealt out.

The straight jacket wasn’t a problem, it never had been. It was the fucking drugs pumped directly into his bloodstream that Farfarello couldn’t best. Lying there, he could only rue the lost chance he’d had earlier in the evening. The Irishman vaguely wondered if Crawford had Seen his evening entertainment and thought that restraining and drugging him would be a fitting punishment for his little faux pas at the convent.

After the Eszett messenger had departed, Schuldig went to see Crawford and he hadn’t come back. When Farfarello searched him out, he’d found the telepath lying on his bed, sound asleep. Schuldig was so deeply asleep that he hadn’t stirred when the Irishman crawled onto the bed and lay down alongside him. The telepath hadn’t even stirred when calloused fingers touched his hair and skin with surprisingly gentle reverence. He'd remained motionless and unresponsive when he was kissed with soft, wanting heat.

Farfarello lay with Schuldig until dinner time, dozing off and on, and very content to simply hold the other man as he slept. Of course, if Schuldig had stirred even a little, he’d have been on top of him in a flash, bringing him fully awake in the most pleasurable of ways. But Schuldig hadn’t stirred even when Crawford called from along the hallway that dinner was ready.

Farfarello needed to shake the German forcefully and only succeeded in waking him up after several minutes. Schuldig seemed surprised to find he wasn’t alone, but he’d returned Farfarello’s kiss easily enough before staggering from the bed and heading for the bathroom. Farfarello followed, hoping he could convince Schuldig to forego dinner in favor of sex.

However, when he reached the bathroom he’d found the telepath leaning over the toilet, dry heaving. Farfarello figured sex was off the menu until Schuldig stopped feeling nauseous. A small, disappointed sigh escaped the Irishman. After several minutes and much retching, Schuldig pushed himself to his feet. Farfarello stood by patiently with a towel in his hands.

“You know,” Schuldig muttered as he moved to the vanity basin, “I really hope we get to kill the fucker that did this to me. I will take great pleasure in making him, her or it, suffer.”

After Schuldig washed his face and rinsed his mouth, Farfarello handed him the towel.

Over dinner, Farfarello watched Schuldig, firmly believing the telepath would feel better after he’d had something to eat and that, within a couple of hours, he would finally get his chance to fuck him. Since their first – and only – night together, he’d become fixated on the idea of fucking Schuldig. So far the chance was denied him but tonight that would change. Schuldig agreed to that very thing that morning. While Farfarello was anxious to sample again the pleasure only Schuldig could give him, he was also eager to repay that pleasure in kind. He may not have been able to heighten pleasure by producing the looping sensations a telepath could, but he was prepared to do his very best and fuck Schuldig until the German was begging for release.

With such thoughts running through his mind, he’d been surprised Schuldig hadn’t picked up on them and made some kind of comment. But the telepath poked morosely at his food and ate sparingly. He’d shown no interest in his companions or what they were thinking, which even Farfarello knew was odd for the nosy telepath. After spending less than fifteen minutes at the table, Schuldig got to his feet and left. He’d looked ill and tired, so Farfarello let him go, planning to pounce on him after the German got a little more rest. Unaware of what Crawford had in store for him, Farfarello thought he’d had time on his side, so he hadn’t been concerned by the abrupt departure or the pasty look to Schuldig’s face.

Now he knew how wrong he’d been. Wrapped firmly in his straight jacket, and with his limbs feeling increasingly leaden, he knew he’d soon be sleeping soundly, courtesy of the drugs administered by Crawford less than ten minutes ago. It was those same drugs that deprived him of the ability to feel the anger he knew was there. All he could do was close his eye and wait for sleep to take him.

The sound of his door opening caused him to turn his head in that direction, opening his eye again. The sight of Schuldig advancing on him, looking awake and well and with desire in his eyes, was almost enough to bring the Irishman fully back to consciousness. Lust made a sterling effort to assert itself, but was smothered by lethargy. Because of the drugs, Farfarello couldn’t even work up some righteous anger at the unfairness of it all.

Arriving at Farfarello’s side, Schuldig frowned. “Why are you in bed?”

“What are you doing here?” Farfarello’s speech was slightly slurred and Schuldig’s frown deepened.

“Why the fuck are you drugged?”

“So’s I don’t get into mischief again too soon,” Farfarello said with a small giggle caused by the drugs now racing full tilt through his system.

“Ah,” Schuldig breathed, his frown clearing, “your visit to the nuns.”

“Aye,” Farfarello smiled slowly. “It was worth it, though,” he added with fondness in his voice.

“Looks like I’ll be taking a rain check,” Schuldig said. “Shame, I was looking forward to tonight.”

“So was I,” Farfarello slurred out. His eye wanted to close and he was having trouble dredging up the will power to keep it open. In fact, he was feeling so comfortably numb right now that it was all too easy to close his eye and let lethargy gently pull him under.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Schuldig yawned and stretched. He wasn’t tired, just bored. Trust Crawford to spoil his evening’s entertainment. If he wasn’t so put out with his leader for screwing up his plans for the evening, and had Crawford been home, Schuldig would have sought him out to make his night livelier.

Schuldig went into the den after watching Farfarello slide into unconsciousness - courtesy of Crawford-administered drugs. He’d sat there for a couple of hours, mindlessly channel surfing before watching the end of a hideous “art house” movie. Now the movie was over, Schuldig was bored and without company. Farfarello was in his room, unconscious. Crawford left just over an hour ago to see Takatori on a matter of business. Nagi was in his room, doing whatever it was Nagi did. Schuldig sighed heavily. If not for his Talent, Nagi would be a prime target when Schuldig was in the mood to annoy someone. As things stood, it was best to avoid annoying the Japanese youth. No matter how bored Schuldig got, nothing was worth provoking Nagi into losing his temper and psychically slamming him into a wall until his bones turned to jelly.

Schuldig sighed again. It was just after nine o’clock, he was wide awake and he was completely, utterly, bored. He’d been feeling better since his after-dinner nap and he’d been looking forward to spending a pleasurable and tiring evening with Farfarello before slipping into a deep, sated sleep. With Crawford successfully ruining those plans, Schuldig needed to think of something else to do to alleviate his boredom. His thoughts turned to alcohol. When the mere thought of a drink didn’t draw an adverse reaction from his stomach, the German knew his recovery was well under way and decided it was time he got out of the apartment before he went completely insane from cabin fever.

A quick shower, a change of clothes, a check of his wallet and Schuldig was heading out the door. His good mood was enhanced by the fact that even his ankle was feeling better.

Who knows, maybe I’ll get in some dancing, he thought as he ducked into a waiting cab.

Twenty minutes later he was at his destination and stepping out into the cold night. Having already convinced the driver he’d paid his fare, Schuldig headed for the steps that would take him down into the dim, smoky, crowded cavern that was Madness Underground. He liked this place for its loudness, its music, its dancing and its patrons. He didn’t like the cover charge so he didn’t pay it, but no one tried to stop him entering the club.

Once inside he almost reeled under the onslaught of noise and the buzzing presence of so many minds in such close proximity, all of them pressing against his newly-restored shields. The pall of cigarette smoke in the air of the small club made his eyes sting. The acrid smell combined with that of stale alcohol made him involuntarily wrinkle his nose. He wondered briefly if this was such a good idea after all. But, the bass-heavy beat reverberated through his body, and someone passing by just groped him. Schuldig wasn’t prepared to abandon his plans for a night out just yet. Not when things were just starting to look up.

Mentally parting the crowd, he made his way to the bar where his Talent ensured he got the barman’s attention immediately. Fuck waiting your turn in a place as packed as this. Drink in hand, he left the bar, confident in the knowledge that next time he wanted a drink, he’d be served just as quickly.

He headed towards the mezzanine floor, wanting to get a better view of what was on offer here tonight. He was sure he’d score – he always did when he came here. If he was lucky, he’d score more than once. He often did given the crowd, his looks and his Talent. Nothing encouraged the locals quite like a real redhead on the prowl. He hoped tonight was his lucky night; he was feeling particularly horny right now.

Reaching the mezzanine, he moved to the best vantage spot and rested his hip against the metal railing as he sipped from his drink and surveyed the twisting, writhing crowd below on the dance floor.

…fucking kill him!

For a split second Schuldig thought he’d attracted the attention of a night-clubbing member of Weiß but then realized it was no more than a random thought that managed to slip past his shields. Although that knowledge wasn’t totally comforting, in a place as crowded as this such things were bound to happen. The random thought wasn’t anything to be concerned about.

…told her not to…

Fuck! Another one… Schuldig barely had time to register that yet another angry thought had slipped past his shields before a wave of lust rolled over him. Then a warm body was by his side and hot breath flowed over his ear.

“I’ve been watching you and you are hot.” There was a soft chuckle. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Schuldig turned his head, looking at his admirer. He stood as tall as Schuldig, had cropped and spiked dark hair, and was very good-looking. The man radiated eager sexuality and Schuldig suddenly wanted him in the worst possible way. It seemed the feeling was mutual because the stranger already had a hand on the German’s crotch, and was caressing him slowly.

“Oh,” he breathed lowly, leaning in against Schuldig. “Let’s find somewhere…”

Schuldig didn’t let him finish. He was so fucking hard and horny, he was going to embarrass himself and come just from this guy’s touch. He bent, quickly depositing his glass on the floor. Straightening, he shoved the stranger into a shadowed corner behind them and out of immediate view. They were kissing frantically even as they were unzipping each other’s pants. Schuldig’s breathing sounded, to his own ears, like he’d just run a marathon. God, god, fuck! He wanted release and he wanted it now! He pushed his hand inside the opened clothing of the other man and grasped his erect cock. He heard the approving sound the stranger made and heard it repeated as he began to slide his hand up and down the other man’s length. Then there was a hand inside his pants, but the stroking was too gentle, too slow.

Schuldig jerked his hips forward. “Come on, do it!” he growled even as he continued to provide the kind of service he wanted for himself.

The tall, lean body pressed against him and he felt heat at his ear. “I want to suck you off,” the stranger said in a desire heavy voice. His tongue traced the outer edge of Schuldig’s ear before he added, “So do me faster and harder.”

Schuldig didn’t need to be told twice. He increased his pressure and stroke rate and soon pushed the stranger to orgasm. He waited impatiently while the man regained his breath.

“Come on, come on,” Schuldig panted as need rushed through his body.

“Patience, baby,” the man crooned.

Schuldig bit back on the response that came to him at the sound of that endearment. He really wanted this guy to suck him off. Right. Now. Because of that, he wasn’t about to delay him by explaining just how much he hated being called baby, or honey, or any other stupid fucking pet name. The stranger took Schuldig in his arms, pressing nipping kisses to his throat.

“My patience is running out,” Schuldig warned.

If this guy didn’t get on his knees right now, Schuldig felt he might have to take matters into his own hands – so to speak – because he was about ready to burst from need. Then he might give this idiot an aneurysm to thank him for his particular brand of fucking. Barely had the thought formed when the stranger was sinking to the floor. He removed his hand from Schuldig’s cock, replacing it with the wet heat of his mouth. Schuldig sucked in a deep breath as the man set mouth and tongue to work. Scant minutes later it was over; the need assailing Schuldig hadn’t allowed for anything leisurely. But even as he was recovering, the German was aware that being sucked off hadn’t caused his lust to abate, it had in fact, increased it. What the fuck was going on?

…stop trying to run my fucking life…

Schuldig physically flinched as the furious thought burst into his head. He was aware that the buzzing at his shields was much louder now, almost drowning out the thumping of the music in the club.

…supposed to just forget it…

Schuldig began to put two and two together and he was coming up with an answer he didn’t like. He tucked himself back into his pants, noting that the touch of his own fingers was a turn on now. This was bad. Very bad.

…what’s she thinking?...

He zipped up. He had to get out of here. He had to get out now.

…forgive them…oh my god! Are you shittin’ me...?

“Hey.” The stranger’s voice at his ear drew Schuldig back to reality. “Where are you going, beautiful?” As he spoke the man ran a hand over Schuldig’s crotch. The action evoked an involuntary moan from Schuldig and a surprised laugh from the stranger. He pressed himself against Schuldig, his hand rubbing lazily at the German’s still hard length. “I admire your recuperative powers,” he said, his breath hot against Schuldig’s ear. “You want my mouth again?”

“I’m getting out of here,” Schuldig panted as he looked a little frantically for the exit.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

“Gotta go,” Schuldig muttered. His head started to pound in time to the music and his stomach gave a slow, queasy roll.

“Let me come with you,” the stranger offered, taking hold of the German’s arm.

Schuldig’s first instinct was to pull away, but he fought down the urge. He wasn’t going to make it across the crowded floor without help. Of that he was certain. He’d made a monumental mistake in coming to the club so soon after his shields had been repaired. The mix of heightened emotions he was feeling and the ever-increasing flow of thoughts into his head was proof of that.

He let himself be steered down the stairs and stumbled at the last one, almost going to his knees. He shot out a hand, grabbing for the handrail as an arm went around his waist and hauled him upright. As they crossed the floor, few people spared them a second glance; those who did assumed Schuldig was either drunk or high. Not that Schuldig cared. His mind was under attack from all quarters now and he was focused on getting outside before he started trying to heave up his guts.

Getting through the crowd proved more troublesome without telepathy to help clear the way but Schuldig was battling to remain sane at the moment. He had no energy to spare for moving people from his path. He was fighting back the urge to throw up while, at the same time, trying to stay on his feet and keep moving forward as well as shore up his shields against the heavy mental assault.

...but I like him, too...what the fuck...too dark….wearing that thing...I'd rather be at a nicer place...costs too much...stupid fucker...it won't work out...tastes awful...why'd I let myself...hate this fucking song...see in him, anyway...tired, when can we go...kisses like a…he’s nice…come on, let’s…oh yeah...looks sick...yes!...dances like a retard…I wanna fuck him so bad…

Schuldig wanted to scream. He tried to shut out all the thoughts and emotions rioting in his head. Clammy sweat trickled down his face and made him shudder. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and tried to focus on reaching the exit door. He’d feel better once he was outside in the fresh air and there was a wall between him and all these invading minds. He knew he’d feel better…

“Hold on, we’re almost there,” the stranger offered by way of encouragement as he steered Schuldig up the stairs leading to the exit.

Less than a dozen steps later, the stranger was pushing Schuldig out into an alleyway. The door closed behind them with a dull thud while the stranger propped Schuldig back against the brickwork wall.

“How you feeling, babe?” he enquired, standing too close.

As soon as I feel better, I’m going to give this prick such a fucking headache, Schuldig promised himself as he drew in careful, deep breaths.

“You look really pale...”

Schuldig made a heaving sound, causing the stranger to step back away from him quickly.

“Listen, my car’s parked not far from here,” the man offered. “I’ll give you a ride home, huh?”

Sounded good, Schuldig thought. He wasn’t in any fit condition to try to get a taxi… He lost his train of thought as the stranger pressed up against him once more.

“And once we’re home, you can thank me for my help,” the man whispered.

Warm lips kissed Schuldig’s throat and hands came to rest on his waist. Employing the heaving noise again, Schuldig forced the other man away from him. He hoped that by the time they reached the car, he'd be feeling well enough to manipulate this bastard’s mind into taking him home; otherwise things might begin to get difficult. Taking his arm, the stranger began to lead them out of the alleyway.

“It’s just the booze making you ill, isn’t it?” the man asked as they walked. “If it’s drugs, then maybe the hospital is a better choice.”

“I don’t need to go to hospital,” Schuldig replied breathlessly.

“Home it is then,” the stranger said cheerily.

A shadow moved in front of them, causing the stranger to halt.

“Who...?” he began.

“I’ll take him off your hands.”

Schuldig made a small sound of relief and pulled free of the stranger’s grasp. He all but threw himself at Crawford, desperate for the calm and peace the man’s presence promised.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered.

“Hey!” the stranger objected as he saw his toy for the night being stolen right out from under his nose.

Schuldig ignored him, clinging to Crawford in an effort to settle the banshee clamor in his head that was turning his mind to mush.

“Thank you for your help,” Crawford said to the stranger before turning himself and Schuldig towards the alleyway entrance.

Instinct kicked in and the stranger was smart enough to sense the inherent threat in Crawford. He stayed where he was and made no attempt to prevent them from leaving. Reaching the mouth of the alleyway, Crawford steered Schuldig to the right. Within minutes they were at his car.

“If you’re going to throw up, do it now and not in the car,” Crawford instructed.

“I’m not going to throw up,” Schuldig replied. He was feeling slightly better now. The noise in his head had subsided to a level that was tolerable, his stomach had begun to settle and his headache had eased up a little. He could still feel minds slipping past his shields and crawling over his brain like ants. He wanted to get into the car and head for the blessed safety and sanity of home.

As soon as Crawford released the locks, Schuldig had the passenger door open and was in the car. He pulled the door shut behind him and hunkered down in the leather seat. He wrapped his arms loosely across his midsection and swallowed against the nausea he still felt. He tipped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes at the small measure of relief he was feeling. Crawford got in on the driver’s side and closed his door.

“How do you feel?” he asked, looking across at the telepath in the meager light.

“Better now,” Schuldig answered honestly. He was, in truth, still feeling somewhat shaken by his experience and its intensity; too shaken to jibe Crawford about this display of concern. Schuldig had never suffered his shields being decimated in the past so he’d had no touchstone when it came to knowing what to expect from newly reconstructed shields. He had an idea now. He just wished that it hadn’t been driven home so brutally hard. His recovering mind wasn’t up to such a mental beating so soon. Schuldig was never going to make a mistake like that again.

Crawford said nothing. He started the car and pulled out of the parking space. They drove in silence; Schuldig appreciating again how just being close to Crawford took away the panic and pain and paranoia. Something about the man calmed the racket of the unfiltered minds of the masses. Schuldig realized he must have dozed off soon after they set out, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake.

“We’re home,” Crawford said. He turned away and opened the driver’s side door.

Schuldig rubbed at his eyes and groaned. He was so comfortable, he didn’t want to move. But move he did. Once he was out of the car, he headed for the elevator. He heard Crawford lock the vehicle and turn on the car alarm. By the time he reached the elevator, the American was at his side. Schuldig let Crawford press the button to summon the car and, once it arrived and they’d stepped inside, he continued to let the American take charge. That was Crawford’s thing, after all. Taking charge, being in control, having things work out the way he Saw them working out and… Schuldig stopped, realizing the anger he was feeling wasn’t his own. There was only one place it could be coming from. He looked across at Crawford.

“You didn’t have to come and get me, you know,” he sulked. “I had someone who was willing to take me home.”

The American didn’t look at him. “I can take you back if you prefer, and you can live out the vision I Saw.”

The tone of Crawford’s voice and the implication of his words made Schuldig roll his shoulders in an effort not to shudder. He closed his eyes instead and said nothing. He really, really hated it when Crawford got that smugly self-righteous air about him. But he wasn’t up for an argument right now. All he wanted was to get into bed and sleep through till morning. He knew his shields weren’t damaged; just a little tattered around the edges. They’d recover in time and he was certain he’d get that time. Crawford wasn’t going to let him leave the apartment again anytime soon. The American would make him stay indoors until his shields strengthened to the point where a crowd, no matter how large or how loud, wouldn’t bother him in the slightest.

Grounded, Schuldig thought unhappily as the elevator doors opened.

He trudged to his room and, after shutting the door, began to strip. It was still early by his standards, but he was desperate for bed and sleep. Fuck it all, he thought angrily. If this grinding weariness didn’t let up soon, he was going to start killing things out of sheer frustration. Frankly, he was sick and tired of being sick and tired. He wanted to feel like the twenty-two-year old he was, instead of like an eighty-year-old – an unhealthy eighty-year-old. He wanted to be able to go out and enjoy himself, and he wanted to be able to stay awake longer than two hours at a time.

Tossing aside his black pants, Schuldig climbed onto the bed and under the covers. With a sigh, he let his eyes close and tried to ignore the loud buzzing at his shields. Familiar minds were the worst. They were closer and clearer so he was aware of the various buzzes from this team mates: weary contentment from Crawford; wide-awake eagerness from Nagi; and just plain fucking weird from Farfarello as he, no doubt, roamed the Bosch-esque landscapes of his sleeping mind.

Shut up, Schuldig thought at the all the noise in his head, just fucking shut up!

Of course, that didn’t make it stop. The noise didn’t let up for a second – in fact, in the silence of his bedroom, the buzzing sounded louder. It deprived Schuldig of much-desired sleep and rest. Lying there, he grew more and more frustrated as he was denied sleep. Knowing there was a solution to his predicament didn’t help. He refused to get up and go seek it out. He’d lie there and wait and eventually he’d fall asleep.

Yet, even as he was thinking this, Schuldig knew he was kidding himself. He wasn’t going to get to sleep without help. But he still stayed where he was for another endless hour before swallowing his pride and throwing back the covers. Climbing out of bed, he crossed the room, grabbing down the toweling robe from the hook behind his door. He pulled it on before stepping out into the hallway; a concession to Nagi in case the boy should venture out from the womb-like comfort of his room.

The white noise he was getting from Crawford told him the American was in his bedroom, so that’s where he went. He entered the room without knocking, stepping into the darkness and closing the door behind him. He crossed to the bed, knowing there’d be nothing lying on the floor to tangle around his feet and trip him. He slipped out of his robe as he went, depositing it on the foot of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” the precog asked as Schuldig climbed under the covers.

“You know I can’t, you prick,” Schuldig muttered darkly as he snuggled closer, desperate for some peace and quiet. “It wouldn’t have killed you to swallow your pride for once and come to me,” he complained.

“You’re the one in need,” Crawford reminded him.

Bastard! Anger blazed in Schuldig, burning away some of his self-pity. He hated it that Crawford was right and he hated the need - really, really hated needing someone the way he needed the American.

“You’re right,” he snapped. “You’re always fucking right, aren’t you?”

“Why are you so angry, Schuldig?” Crawford enquired calmly.

“‘You’re the one in need’,” Schuldig quoted at him. “Thanks for the reminder. My point still stands, you knew what state I was in, yet you made me come to you. Why was that? Punishment because I went out?”

“Is it punishment to ask for what you need?”

Schuldig ground his teeth together. He really should know better than to try to argue with Crawford. Especially when he was tired, cranky and his mind tender and sore from recent events. He closed his eyes and his mouth, determined to get some sleep and not to say anything more. His head hurt too much as it was. There was no need to aggravate the problem by going one-on-one with Mr. Smarmy-Ass-Answer-Crawford.

He felt Crawford move, and then the bedside lamp came on. Opening his eyes, he found Crawford leaning over him. God, not another fucking lecture! He was so not in the mood. He closed his eyes, ready to ignore the looming presence. Then he felt fingers catch his chin, forcing him to turn his head.

“I am not punishing you,” Crawford said lowly. Schuldig opened his eyes, looking up at the precog, who continued: “I came and offered you escape from a dangerous situation; a situation you wouldn’t have been able to control in the condition you were in. I wasn’t angry with you then, I’m not angry with you now. Any anger you feel is a result of the problem with your shields. Let it go, Schu. Just sleep and heal and stop trying to push yourself so hard so fast.”

“I only have your word the situation would have gotten out of control,” Schuldig countered, determined not to just fold.

Crawford sighed heavily. “You were extremely relieved to see me just over an hour ago and now you’re sulking like a two-year-old,” he said, his tone weary. “I’m not in the mood for this petulance from you.” He reached over the telepath once more. “Go to sleep, Schuldig,” he advised as he switched off the bed lamp.

In the darkness, Schuldig felt Crawford settling. Once the American stopped moving, Schuldig made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. He wrapped an arm around Crawford’s waist, anchoring himself to the precog’s side. He needed to be so close to ease the buzzing in his head. Whether it was because he’d attempted too much, too soon, or whether it was because Verena was shielding the American, Schuldig didn’t know, but he wasn’t getting the total relief he usually found alongside Crawford. But the incessant buzzing quieted enough that he knew he could sleep and despite all the sleeping he’d done today, he was ready to sleep again.

Warm and comfortable, Schuldig relaxed, deliberately letting go of the anger bubbling inside him - and was asleep in under five minutes.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N: For some reason the formatting went all wonky when I uploaded this. I think (hope!) I've caught everything and it reads properly now.