Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 19 – Confronting Truths


Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz or its characters, nor do I own or lay claim to the Weiß or Schwarz boys. We just have fun together. I write this stuff for pleasure and make no profit from it.

Author's Notes: My thanks again go to the fabulous Iron Dog, for betaing this for me and making it shiny.

And a big thanks to everyone who reads my story and to those who also review. Here’s where I make a blanket apology for the cliffie last chapter and I'll try not to do it again - but no promises ~_^

Sheeris Jemima: I'm pleased you're still enjoying the story. Thanks for letting me know you like the way I write Nagi. Because he says so little in the series, I don't find him the easiest person to write. So glad you like my efforts with him ^_^

annime: Yes, Crawford cares, but can he admit it out loud? Thanks for reading and reviewing ^_^

Draco: Farfarello has been having a tough time of it, but he's not the type to let things just drag on and he's coming to the end of his patience.

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Schuldig headed outside and dropped onto the bench under the tree. He was still shaking from the conversation he’d had with Crawford. When he’d been summoned into the American’s presence, he’d known the subject matter was going to be his behaviour – he just hadn’t expected things to take the turn they did.

He’d gone in, ready to confront a very pissed off Crawford and defend his actions, including the assault on Crawford’s boyfriend – who had, in Schuldig’s honest opinion, deserved to be punched, among other things.

When he’d arrived in the room Crawford claimed as his den, Schuldig was somewhat surprised by his leader’s demeanour. A goodly amount of time elapsed since they’d arrived back from the village, but the intervening hours appeared to have done nothing to soothe Crawford’s temper. In fact, if Schuldig was any judge, the American seemed angrier than when they’d arrived back at the house.

But, Schuldig had confronted an angry Crawford before. While the American’s icy-cold anger could be unnerving, Schuldig always refused to cower before it. It was almost a point of honour to face down the cold, controlled temper of the pre-cog without flinching. Today was going to be no different. He’d been ready to defend himself, his actions and shrug off anything else the American decided to throw his way. It wasn’t as if the telepath didn’t have practice doing that.

Before he even sat down, Crawford nailed him with his steely gaze, calling him a “complete and utter idiot," and "a fool of the highest order.” The clipped tones and name-calling told Schuldig that Crawford was still well and truly pissed off. The pre-cog was always the soul of decorum and didn't ordinarily resort to name calling to get his point across.

Schuldig hadn’t been prepared to be insulted that way by his team leader but Crawford hadn’t allowed him the chance to defend himself. Instead, he’d continued to fix the telepath with his unrelenting gaze as he laid out the facts in his bluntest, no-nonsense manner. That the facts were undeniably true only served to irritate the German and forced him to endure the tirade which ended with news that made Schuldig’s blood run cold even as his temper flared.

“Stein has reported you to Eszett,” Crawford had informed him. “He claims that you’re unstable since the attack and he’s using your mental assaults on Clara and your physical assault on him to support his claim. As a consequence, Eszett wants you to return to Rosenkreuz.”

The impact of the words hit Schuldig like a bullet train. For the first few minutes, he’d felt nothing but numb as he struggled to absorb the news. He hadn’t known whether to be angry or afraid and eventually settled on a shifting mix of the two. One thing alone had been unambiguous in his thoughts. Back to Rosenkreuz? No. Fucking. Way. The only way he’d be going back to that hell hole voluntarily was in a body bag. Even then, he had specific instructions in his will to have his body burned to ash before those psychos could pick apart his remains.

And Stein…he hated the man for provoking him and using him the way he had. Just thinking of the Austrian caused Schuldig’s anger to boil over. He was ready to take the manipulative bastard down – him and his whole fucking team. Schuldig let a nasty smile develop as he thought of actually making Stein’s head explode.

This had to have been planned, Schuldig thought to himself. No doubt about it. Stein’s never liked me, even way back when, and now he thinks he’s got cause to hate me even more because of Crawford. Like Crawford would actually have the bad taste to sleep with the asshole. So, the spiteful prick concocted this scheme to get me out of the way. Schuldig almost shuddered at the thought of going back to Rosenkreuz. He smothered his rising anger and, for the first time in years, he experienced the beginnings of true fear.

After what he’d clearly considered to be ample time for the repercussions of his message to sink in and the ensuing silence of Schuldig, Crawford spoke again.

“I’m sure the idea of returning to Rosenkreuz doesn’t appeal to you,” he said, “so you’ll be relieved to know that I’ve managed to convince Herr Fleischer to let you remain with Schwarz - for now.”

Having offered a lifeline, Crawford then went into lecture mode and Schuldig tuned him out. Despite being focused on his own thoughts and not paying full attention to the American, Schuldig still heard what was being said, and the way it was being said – and before long he’d taken offense. There was no need to speak to him like he was a misbehaving two-year-old and when he pointed this out, Crawford’s response had been an icy: “When you stop throwing tantrums like one then we’ll talk, man-to-man.”

Naturally, things degenerated after that and the meeting concluded when Schuldig stormed out of the den, slamming the door behind him.

Now he was outside, sitting on a bench under the tree, still infuriated – and shaken – by what had transpired. Schuldig was dazed by the thought of how close he’d come to having to return to that hell hole called Rosenkreuz. He was also infuriated with Stein for provoking him and then reporting him as “unstable”. The entire thing stank to high heaven of a set up and that just pissed the telepath off all over again.

Fuck! He’d give Stein unstable. He’d rewire the Austrian’s mind until he…

“You’re blocking the sun.”

“Jesus!” Schuldig almost jumped out of his skin.

There was a low laugh from behind him. “Not even close on my best days.”

Schuldig turned and looked to where Farfarello sat at the base of the tree, a book in his lap.

“I didn’t see you there,” he said.

“You’re still blocking the sun,” Farfarello informed him.

Schuldig scooted to the end of the bench so that his shadow wasn’t falling over the Irishman. Now Farfarello raised his head to look at his team mate.

“What’s on your mind to have you so distracted?” he enquired.

Schuldig wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he just waved the question away. God damn Crawford for behaving like the whole thing was his fault, anyway. Throughout the “meeting” which was, in Schuldig’s opinion, more of a Crawford soliloquy, the American harped on and on about how childish and foolish Schuldig’s behaviour was. How he’d allowed the situation to develop to the very dangerous point it had reached. How a more mature response to Stein’s taunting would have diffused the situation. Instead, according to Herr Crawford, Schuldig fanned the flames of antagonism by baiting Stein instead of ignoring him and his goading. He’d allowed himself to be lured into launching a physical attack on the man, thereby playing right into his hands. It annoyed the telepath to no end when he realized that Crawford was right.

Yeah, okay, it hadn’t been the smartest thing to do, Schuldig grudgingly conceded. But no reasonable person could fault him for his behaviour given how he’d been provoked. Even Crawford had to see that and shouldn’t be laying all the blame on his doorstep. Although, he had to admit he was more than a little angry with himself for letting Stein get the better of him the way he had.

And now, Crawford had saved him from the tortuous clutches of Rosenkreuz. No doubt the American would want recompense for his good deed. Schuldig guessed he’d be expected to bend over and take it any way Crawford wanted to give it for some time to come.

Well, that might not be such a bad thing, Schuldig thought with a sly smile to himself.

Another thought came to him then. Fleischer. That’s who Crawford said had phoned. Fortuitous, Schuldig mused. Fleischer was a big-wig at Rosenkreuz – he ordered the comings and goings of the teams and their members. He was not a man to cross. Huh, Schuldig snorted softly, who was at Rosenkreuz? If Schuldig had been ordered back to the bosom of that hell hole, Fleischer was the one who’d issued the recall. Nothing unusual in that. What was unusual was that Fleischer had made the call himself. Such menial tasks weren’t something a man as important as Fleischer bothered with – he had underlings to attend to mundane matters like phone calls.

Schuldig smirked to himself. Crawford. Damn, how the higher-ups at Rosenkreuz loved Brad Crawford. It hadn’t exactly been a secret that Fleischer liked the American; approving of his no-nonsense approach to life, his work and his colleagues. He’d predicted Crawford would go far. Maybe Fleischer had been concerned that one of his wunderkind’s team mates was proving problematical or maybe he just wanted to chat with his golden boy again.

Whatever the reason he’d phoned personally, it had been a stroke of luck. An underling would have issued the order and nothing Crawford said could have swayed them into rescinding that order. Because the order had originated with Fleischer, he alone was able to withdraw it. Schuldig had no idea what Crawford said to Fleischer, but he was grateful in the extreme for the outcome.

“You and Crawford make up, then?”

Schuldig looked around at Farfarello, who’d set aside his book and turned his attention on the telepath.

“Yeah, and to prove to me how sorry he is, later tonight he’s going to take me out and show me a good time,” Schuldig mocked.

Farfarello didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. He simply sat there, his unblinking gaze locked on Schuldig. His expression didn’t change so there was no telling what he was thinking. Eventually Schuldig grew tired of being stared at and turned his head away. He could have gone into the Irishman’s head to see what he was thinking but something about Farfarello’s gaze made Schuldig shy away from that idea. He could still feel the Irishman’s gaze on him, and it made his skin want to twitch with nerves. He turned around again, meeting that golden gaze.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked, his tone making it clear he was annoyed.

“Thinking, not staring,” Farfarello corrected.

The intensity of the Irishman’s expression and words further dissuaded Schuldig from taking a peek into his mind or asking what he was thinking about. Besides, it looked like nothing but staring from Schuldig’s point of view. Creepy staring, but only staring. Choosing to ignore the madman, he turned back around, but that place between his shoulder blades kept prickling and he wanted to shudder. Unwilling to put up with any more annoyances, Schuldig decided that even the crap on television was better than sitting out here with a silent, staring lunatic. He got up and headed for the house.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

This can’t go on.

That was the though in Farfarello’s head as he watched Schuldig stroll up to the house. It was wrong to have to make do with hands and fantasies when what you wanted was within reach.

Within reach, just not within my grasp, Farfarello corrected as Schuldig disappeared through the doorway and into the house.

Given the mood Crawford had been in and the fact Schuldig seemed undamaged, it was clear they hadn’t patched things up yet. No doubt, because it was already late in the day – and being the sort of plan-ahead control freak he was - Crawford had decided to wait until after dinner to call Schuldig back to him so they could start on making up. Sure, he’d offer some other reason for summoning the German, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Truth be told, though, it wasn’t the inevitable make-up sex that was bothering Farfarello so much as the fact that Schuldig no longer seemed interested in having sex with him. The closest thing to intimacy he and Schuldig had indulged in lately was some kissing that Farfarello himself had initiated – and it wasn’t enough.

Not so long ago Farfarello had thought there was nothing about Schuldig he didn’t like. He was revising that opinion now. He glanced down at his bandaged forearm. The German hadn’t balked at tending to his injury, so he wasn’t averse to being near him or touching him. He just wasn’t interested in anything intimate, so it seemed. The fact was, they’d found themselves in several situations where there’d been opportunity for things to progress beyond kissing and caressing, but Schuldig always called halt. This from a man who was usually all too ready to fuck gave Farfarello pause for thought.

If Schuldig didn’t want to have sex with him, he ought to be man enough to say so. Out loud and to my face, Farfarello added silently. And while he’s at it, I’ll be wanting to know why he’s had such a sudden change of heart. Schuldig seemed to have enjoyed their one time together. Farfarello didn’t understand what could have changed between one moment and the next. If the German was willing to allow and even participate in kissing and arousing caresses, why was he stopping at taking things further?

The idea that Schuldig might be done with him left Farfarello with feelings he couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t like he’d ever been dumped before so he had no way to know how it felt. Maybe this odd mix of unease and unpleasantness he was experiencing was exactly how it felt. One thing he did know, if Schuldig had decided it was over there was no real way he could force the telepath into a final fuck – and he doubted Schuldig was the type to be coerced into a pity fuck. He was more the type to laugh at such a request and walk away. Because Schuldig, for all his prettiness, was a malicious and sadistic bastard.

Part of his attraction, Farfarello thought with a slight smile. He tipped his face to the sky, looking up through the leaves of the tree at the gathering gloom of evening. Besides, his thoughts continued, I don’t want pity in any shape or form from anyone. Letting his eye close, he decided the time was fast arriving for him and Schuldig to get a few things straight.

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A/N: A shorter chapter than usual, but I didn't want to keep people waiting too long. We are getting to the sex - promise!