Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Chapter 23 – ID

Disclaimer: I continue not to own Weiß Kreuz, the series, or any of the characters that appear in that series. I do, however, borrow them so I can have some fun with them. I write for pleasure not profit.

Author's Notes: A huge thank you to Iron Dog once again for continuing to beta this fic for me.

I really must apologise for the slow update, but I hope this extra long chapter helps make up for my tardiness.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Schuldig.

The German twitched slightly. He was far too comfortable. He didn’t want to wake up just yet – didn’t want to move, not even enough to open his eyes. He grunted a response that suggested going away would be in the other person’s best interest.

Schuldig.

Fuck off, he sent back in annoyance to whoever was disturbing his sleep.

Schuldig, wake up. The tone dripped exasperation.

“I said fuck off,” he snarled.

“Who are you talking to?”

Schuldig recognized Crawford’s voice and rolled onto his side, growling. He lifted the pillow, bringing it down over his head and clamping it in place with his arm. “I’m sleeping,” he muttered in protest. “Leave me the hell alone.”

We need you to wake up, Schuldig, the original voice persisted.

Now he recognized the voice in his head. Clara. His growl this time was even deeper. “I don’t need to do a damned thing for you, bitch, now shut the fuck up!”

He heard her sigh. At least tell Crawford to turn his phone on.

The bed moved. “Schuldig, who are you talking to?” Crawford asked again.

The telepath ignored him in favor of lying still and getting his thoughts in order.

Schuldig? We need to contact Crawford and he turned his cell phone off.

Cell phone? Schuldig frowned. His head cleared slowly and a thought came to him. He extended his mental reach, searching out Stein’s mind. He found it without too much effort, but stopped short of plunging on in. His last experience was a fresh enough memory that he didn’t want to take any risks. Instead, he allowed the Austrian to hear him as he replied to Clara.

We were trying out a few moves I learned from Stein, he offered, making his tone as lecherous as possible. We must’ve knocked the phone off the bedside cabinet in our enthusiasm.

Along with the thoughts, Schuldig sent fast, random flashes of assorted body parts in obvious sexual poses. Alone, none of the mental images were explicit. When strung together, the lewdness was blatant. The German didn’t need to be inside Stein’s head to experience the Austrian’s reaction. Schuldig almost laughed aloud at the enraged thoughts, which included a death threat or two, that seethed through Stein’s mind. The red haze of his rage was almost visible, the vitriol scalding. Unable to help himself, Schuldig snickered into the pillow. Being an evil bastard was one of the few true joys in his life.

Meanwhile, Clara shuddered. Spare me the details, please.

Schuldig gathered his composure, a few well satisfied mental chuckles intentionally trickling through the link. Tell Stein to unbunch his panties. Crawford’s right here. I’ll pass the message on. Yanking the Austrian’s chain was just too much fun.

I know you can hear me you Nazi prick and let me assure you that you’re not as clever as you think, Stein fumed. Intense anger colored every thought from Stein, further perking up Schuldig’s mood.

Oh, of course I am, Schuldig replied easily, ignoring the intended slight. Hell, he was German; being called a Nazi was nothing new.

He raised the pillow enough to peer out at Crawford, and found the man looking at him.

“Stein wants you to turn your cell phone on,” Schuldig told him.

Crawford muttered to himself before reaching to the bedside cabinet and grabbing the phone.

Phone’s on, Schuldig informed both Clara and Stein. Now fuck off and leave me alone.

He pulled the pillow back down over his head. If he was lucky he might be able to drift off back to sleep for a little while longer.

Crawford’s cell phone buzzed and was answered immediately. Schuldig closed his eyes but listened to the quiet, one-sided conversation which consisted mainly of Crawford saying “yes” and “I see”. Boring really, Schuldig decided and was glad the call lasted barely a minute. The call didn’t even raise his curiosity enough to eaves drop mentally. Maybe now he could get some sleep.

He felt the bed move again and figured Crawford had gotten up. Soft footfalls around the room confirmed his assumption. Schuldig made himself comfortable and waited for sleep to claim him again. He burrowed deeper into the covers, sighing softly at the warmth and slight scent of Crawford and their recent bout of sex that clung to the sheets. It felt like he’d just dozed off when Crawford was back and talking to him.

“Schuldig. Time to get up,” he informed the sleepy telepath.

“No it’s not. It’s too early,” Schuldig protested weakly.

‘It’s almost seven,” Crawford replied.

“Nrnnn,” was all Schuldig could find the strength for.

Crawford spoke his name again. Schuldig ignored him. He could hear the pre-cog moving around so he risked peeking out from beneath the pillow. Crawford had his back to the bed as he pulled on a crisp clean shirt – a work shirt. Schuldig stifled a groan and pulled the pillow back in place and feigned death. If Crawford was dressing in work clothes, he’d be dragging the rest of the team along with him wherever he was going. Schuldig was tired and he wanted to sleep – just another hour that was all. It wasn’t like he was asking to sleep till midday. The soft sounds Crawford made as he dressed were more soothing than distracting and Schuldig felt consciousness slipping away again. He gladly let it go.

Without warning, the pillow was yanked from his head. He blinked blearily, his eyesight clearing to reveal Crawford standing at the side of the bed holding the pillow in one hand. The American’s expression said he wasn’t in the mood for Schuldig’s obstreperous behavior.

“Get up,” he said in a no nonsense voice.

In response, Schuldig raised an arm, hooking it across his eyes to block out the morning light. Just because Crawford was in a bad mood didn’t mean Schuldig was going to do as he asked.

“Schuldig,” Crawford’s tone said his patience was wearing very thin.

“I’m tired. Let me sleep. Last night wore me out,” the German complained.

“Get up. You can sleep later.”

“I want to sleep now,” Schuldig sulked.

“We’ve got a meeting in the village in an hour,” Crawford informed him. “So get up, get showered and get dressed.”

Schuldig felt the pillow land on his chest. Ignoring it, he dragged his arm down from over his eyes and watched the American turn away and move to the dresser.

“What meeting?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

“It seems Eszett has some information for us,” Crawford divulged.

Schuldig lay in the bed, his gaze resting on the broad-shouldered figure of his leader, and tried to digest what he’d been told.

“Why not just tell me and let me pass it on? Why make us drag our asses out of perfectly comfortable beds at such an unholy hour?” he asked, puzzled by this need to meet.

“They didn’t say,” Crawford replied, reaching for a comb.

“Of course not,” Schuldig grumbled. He would get up and go to the meeting because of simple curiosity but he didn’t want to make it look like he was doing what Eszett wanted.

Crawford paused and glanced at the telepath in the mirror. “They won’t be pleased to be kept waiting,” he remarked pointedly.

“God forbid we keep any minions of the all-powerful Eszett waiting,” Schuldig retorted. “While they, of course, can order us out of bed at the crack of dawn to attend an unnecessary meeting.”

Crawford checked his hair in the mirror and put the comb to use on a few errant strands. “We won’t know how ‘unnecessary’ the meeting is until we’ve attended it,” he reasoned. “Now, stop stalling and get up. The longer you dawdle, the less time you have to shower and dress.”

Watching him, Schuldig smiled a little. “I’d prefer it if you came back to bed,” he said in his best seductive voice.

He was speaking honestly. The sight of Crawford standing there in his business pants and shirt was a turn-on for the German. He would take great delight in messing up the image of a successful salary man that Crawford carefully constructed each morning. He would love to press him down on the bed and muss his hair and clothing. For Crawford to give him a nice hard, fast fuck with only his pants undone while Schuldig was naked was a hot as hell mental image.

Crawford examined his reflection once more then set the comb down on the dresser. He turned and gave the telepath a cool look. “I think we’ve both worked for Eszett long enough to know that what they want always takes precedence,” he replied.

Schuldig held his gaze a moment before shrugging. “True enough,” he conceded. He climbed out of bed and made his way to where Crawford was pulling on his suit jacket.

Schuldig snaked his arms around the pre-cog, nuzzling his neck. “The meeting won’t take all day,” he said, his voice husky. The German was still hoping for an early morning quickie as he pressed his naked body against Crawford’s fully clothed one.

“One would hope not,” Crawford replied, grasping Schuldig’s hands and forcing them away from him.

With a sigh, Schuldig backed off. He gave a mental shrug. He hadn’t really thought he’d be able to coax Crawford back to bed but, with the American looking so fuckable in his business clothes, it was worth a try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. But when Crawford put on his best no-nonsense face and tone, the battle was lost. Schuldig had worked with the man too long to recognize the signs of defeat.

“Too bad, too bad,” he murmured as he turned away. He grabbed his robe up from the foot of the bed and pulled it on as he headed for the door.


• • • • • • • • • • • • •


The meeting took place in the small hotel where the Eszett agent had taken a room. Her name was Mya and she was blonde, reed-thin, self-assured and all business. It was no surprise that Stärke were also present. The two teams greeted each other with varying degrees of enthusiasm before Mya directed them to be seated. Once they were all sitting, she took her place and looked at Crawford.

“The signature you sent has caused some problems,” she said without preamble.

It wasn’t the opening Crawford had been hoping for. “In what way?” he enquired.

“It belonged to a low-grade telepath by the name of Aleksandra Pastukhova.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Schuldig asked. “You’ve got the name…”

“She’s dead,” Mya interrupted.

Schuldig blinked – incredulous. “Since when?”

“Eight years ago,” Mya said.

Schuldig looked the Eszett agent in the eye. “That’s not possible,” he disputed with a shake of his head.

“Clearly,” she conceded. She sent a glance around those gathered at the table. “Eight years ago Aleksandra Pastukhova reportedly fell to her death whilst on an ocean cruise. Her body was never recovered, but there had never been any cause to doubt she was dead. Witnesses all gave similar accounts of the incident, and with the ship being on the open sea when she fell overboard, the lack of a body didn’t raise suspicion. Now, however, Eszett is looking into her reputed death once again.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Clara protested. “Even if she’s alive, you said she was a low-level Talent, so how could she have gotten into Herr Crawford’s head?”

“That’s a good question,” Stein agreed, “especially considering there is no doubt she was in his head. Unless, of course, Herr Schuldig misread the signature,” he added with a malicious little smile directed towards Schuldig.

Crawford shot a warning glance at his telepath, but Schuldig seemed disinclined to rise to the Austrian’s bait. Somehow, that troubled Crawford even more than if Schuldig had pointed a gun at Stein.

“Eszett considers that extremely unlikely,” Mya replied coolly.

Stein shrugged easily. His hooded gaze slid towards Schuldig, where it rested briefly before moving back to Mya.

“Would she have a motive for carrying out these attacks?” Crawford enquired, refocusing attention back on the facts to hand.

“Records show she came to Rosenkreuz with a younger brother,” she replied. “He died approximately one year before she supposedly did. Whether his death would be motive enough,” she made a face, “who can say? I understand they were close, but not extraordinarily so and she did remain at Rosenkreuz after his death. There was never any talk that she held the institute responsible for her brother’s fate and she exhibited no signs or desire for revenge. She wouldn’t have had the skill, anyway. She was, as I said, a low-level Talent – too low, in fact, to be trained. Instead, she worked in the records department as a clerk.”

Crawford’s interest sparked at that, remembering that the assailant seemed to have access to inside information on the teams. Almost immediately he realized any information Pastukhova had would have been too old. Although the assailant’s information was a little dated, he doubted it was eight years out of date. There had to be more to this than they knew. Crawford suspected they were missing something.

“Her brother?” Verena asked.

“Another telepath. He was talented enough to be trained; not talented enough to survive. He ended his days as a shell,” Mya answered.

Clara shuddered.

“Unlucky son of a bitch,” Schuldig said by way of understated commiseration.

Crawford silently agreed with his telepath. It was also his considered opinion that having her brother used as a test subject by other Talents may well have been enough to cause Pastukhova to harbor grievances against Rosenkreuz and Eszett.

“Eszett are continuing to investigate the alleged death of Aleksandra Pastukhova,” Mya explained. “But they wanted you to be brought up-to-date on events. The fact her signature was found in Herr Crawford’s head makes it clear she didn’t die. Therefore, we are devoting considerable resources to tracking her down. We have questions that require answers.”

Crawford read ‘considerable resources’ to mean Eszett was turning the world inside out in its search for this woman. He didn’t envy her in the least, nor did he feel any compassion for her. She’d been in his head, she’d interfered with his extraordinary Talent and she’d tried to take Schwarz down. Crawford wanted to be there when they found her; wanted to be there when they asked the hundreds of questions they would ask her; wanted to be there when they had all their answers and it was time to end her sorry existence. He was sure the rest of Schwarz felt the same way.

“So what happens now?” Stein asked.

“You keep your guard up, and you wait,” Mya replied flatly.

Stein gave a sharp nod. “Very well.”

Crawford glanced around at his team. None of them looked the least mollified by what they’d heard here today. Hardly surprising. As a team, Schwarz remained under threat and, worst of all to Crawford’s thinking, retained Stärke as bodyguards. Within minutes, the meeting was effectively over. As the others filed out of the room, Crawford held back.

“Something on your mind?” Mya asked as she closed the door on Stein, the last to leave.

Schuldig?

Ja?

Where’s Stein?

Coming down the stairs.

Keep an eye on him.*

I’d rather...

Just do it, Schuldig!

Jawohl, mein Führer, Schuldig snapped back.

Crawford ignored him, satisfied that Stein hadn’t lingered by the door. He looked at Mya, who was watching him expectantly.

“Something I meant to address a while ago but never got to,” he replied to her question, “and now seems as good a time as any. The attack on Macht causes me to question the point of having bodyguards.”

“You want Stärke relieved of their duties.” It wasn’t a question.

“Macht’s bodyguards couldn’t save them,” Crawford pointed out. “We’ve already been attacked once, and we survived that without any help from Stärke. I fail to see the point of wasting such a valuable resource when they could be put too much better use elsewhere.”

“I’ll mention it when I contact Eszett next,” Mya agreed with a nod.

Crawford thanked her and took his leave. He’d hoped that Mya would call off Stein’s team but, apparently, she was only there to pass on information, not make decisions. He found the other members of Schwarz sitting in the car, waiting for him. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, Schuldig made a show of checking his imaginary watch.

“That was quick, even for you,” he jibed.

“Whoever told you that you’re funny was lying,” Crawford informed him as he started the engine.

“I know,” Schuldig agreed, “but they wanted to get into my pants in the worst possible way so they were prepared to do, and say, whatever it took.”

From the back seat Nagi made a sound of disgust. Schuldig turned to him as Crawford steered the car onto the roadway.

“You’re nowhere near as innocent as you look, so stop pretending sex talk is offensive to you,” the telepath chided. “I’ve seen some of the websites you go to.”

“It’s not the sex talk that’s offensive, it’s the mental images that come with it,” Nagi replied with a tightening of his lips.

“Oh, like the testosterone-fuelled imaginings of a sex-deprived teenager aren’t enough to give me nightmares,” Schuldig retorted.

“If you stayed out of my head…”

Crawford tuned out the squabble between Schuldig and Nagi and focused on the meeting he’d just attended. It was his opinion that Aleksandra Pastukhova may have felt she had cause to despise Rosenkreuz and Eszett but, from what Mya had said, she certainly wasn’t possessed of Talent enough to tackle either organization. He had no doubts that, now they were aware Pastukhova was alive, Eszett would find her. It was merely a matter of time.

On the matter of Stärke, he held little hope they’d be relieved of their bodyguard duties but he’d had to ask. Eszett had to know that, in the event of another attack, Stärke would be of no more use than Macht’s bodyguards had been, but they’d left Stärke in place. He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of a car door opening and the sudden increase in road noise.

“Okay, okay!” Schuldig conceded whatever point he’d been debating with Nagi. The door closed and Schuldig let go his grip on the seat. “You’re so testy when you’re losing an argument,” he muttered as he looked out the front window.

“I can open the door again,” Nagi threatened.

“I can change your mind about that,” Schuldig fired back.

“Not before I pitch you out the door and onto the road,” Nagi countered.

Schuldig slumped down in his seat muttering under his breath but seemed to concede the argument to Nagi.

It was like having a couple of five-year-olds in the car, Crawford thought to himself – worse, in fact, since Schuldig and Nagi should know better. Out loud he asked, “Now the important matters are out of the way, care to tell me what you learned from our friend from Eszett?”

“Not a lot,” Schuldig replied. “Her surface thoughts were pretty much what you’d expect; focused on the job at hand. But behind them were a set of state of the art Eszett shields. Nothing getting in or out there. Not even me. If she had any secrets, she was keeping them.”

“Not surprising,” Crawford remarked.

“She was mildly surprised by your request,” Schuldig said.

Crawford flicked him a look. The German gave a lazy shrug. “I was curious,” he excused his mental eavesdropping, “and her thoughts were just,” he wiggled his fingers at the side of his head, “floating there. So it was easy to find out what you’d been talking about.”

“And?”

“She’s inclined to agree that Stärke are wasted on this task, but she doesn’t make the decisions.”

“Those who do aren’t likely to move Stärke,” Crawford said.

“That’s…” Schuldig’s sudden halt in conversation drew Crawford’s attention.

A brief glance told the American that Schuldig was eavesdropping yet again.

“Fucking prick!” Schuldig ground out angrily after a several moments of silence. “That fucking…” He stopped, words obviously failing him. The look on his face was evidence of just how mad he was. Enraged, would probably have been a more apt description.

“Turn the car around, Crawford,” he ordered in a tight voice.

“Why?”

“Turn the car around! We’re going back and I’m going to kill that Austrian bastard with my bare hands,” Schuldig hissed as profanities in several languages started to flow from his mouth.

“What are you talking about?” Crawford frowned, attention divided between the road and his fuming telepath. He had no idea Schuldig knew that many ways to call into question a person’s heritage in that many languages.

“I’m talking about killing Stein, what else?” Schuldig looked at his leader. “You going to turn the car around? I can kill him from here, you know, but I’d prefer to do it face-to-face. More satisfying that way.”

“You’re not killing Stein,” Crawford said flatly in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Don’t bet on that,” Schuldig shot back. “I swear, Crawford, if you don’t turn this car around right now…”

Crawford could feel the fury and agitation radiating from Schuldig. He had no idea what had the telepath so riled, but in this state of mind, Schuldig was likely to do something stupid – like have Nagi turn the car around. Crawford pulled onto the shoulder of the road and brought the vehicle to a halt. After throwing the car into “park” and engaging the hand brake, he looked at the German.

“What’s happened?” he enquired calmly.

Schuldig’s gaze was flint-hard. “I swear to you, Crawford, I am going to kill him…”

“No, you’re not,” Crawford responded, “so stop being so melodramatic.”

“Melodramatic!”

“Just calm down and tell me what’s happened,” Crawford interrupted the tirade he could see building.

Schuldig didn’t answer. He pushed himself back in his seat, folding his arms, staring sullenly ahead, his jaw working angrily. It took the space of one heartbeat for Crawford to realize what was happening. He turned in his seat and reached across, grabbing Schuldig by his white suit jacket and dragging him around so they were facing each other, faces mere inches apart.

“Don’t,” Crawford warned his gaze and focus intense. “Schuldig, don’t. If you do this, there’ll be nothing I can say or do that will save you. Is that what you want; for him to win and have you removed from this team?”

Schuldig’s demeanor didn’t change for endless seconds. Then he reached up and, grasping Crawford’s wrist, pushed it away. Now Crawford remembered to breathe again.

“Fine,” the telepath conceded, more sullen than ever. He slumped back into his seat then turned his head to look at Crawford once more. “But if he does win and gets me sent back to Rosenkreuz, I will kill the fucker before they take me away.”

“That won’t happen so long as I have any say in matters,” Crawford assured him. Aware of Farfarello’s increasing agitation in response to Schuldig’s volatile mood, the Schwarz leader decided it would be best if he and Schuldig continued their discussion in private. “Let’s get back to the house, and we can talk further,” he said, putting the car into gear and steering it back onto the road.

The rest of the ride back to Takatori’s guest house was made in relative silence. The only sound was that of muted road noise and, now and again, a soft, metallic ‘snick’ from the back seat as Farfarello extended his poniard then retracted it. Occasional glances in the rear view mirror assured Crawford that Farfarello was now calmly playing with his weapon and not sliding into a berserker rage. A quiet exhale of relief left the American at that. The last thing they needed at the moment was Farfarello going off on one of his murderous sprees because of Schuldig’s mood.

Crawford didn’t mind the quiet. Although he could still feel the anger radiating from Schuldig, it was losing its heat. Once they were back at the house, he and Schuldig would discuss whatever it was Stein had done to send the German into this latest fit of rage. Stein seemed to have quite a knack for pushing Schuldig’s buttons – another reason to get Stärke relieved of their duty as bodyguards.

It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the house. Crawford steered the car along the driveway, bringing it to a halt at the side of the main house on Takatori’s earlier orders. The old man’s other team had some errands to run after lunch, so the car was to be left out for their use.

Killing the engine, Crawford opened the car door and got out, the others doing the same. By the time he straightened and closed his door, Schuldig had already started stalking towards their accommodations, still fuming over whatever Stein had done. Watching him, Crawford gave his head a small shake and suppressed a sigh.

Then Schuldig stopped almost mid-step and seemed to listen for the briefest of moments. Something about the scenario caused Crawford’s stomach to lurch sickeningly. His mind flashed on the vision he’d had earlier. Before he had time to react, Schuldig was turning.

“Down! Get down!” the telepath shouted verbally and mentally as he made a desperate dive for the safety of the car.

Even as he was calling out his warning, the sound of gunfire cracked through the air. Crawford ducked, hearing someone grunt. His heart lurched in his chest. Drawing his gun, he quickly made his way around the car.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he passed Nagi, who was crouching by the back passenger door.

“Yes,” the boy replied, ducking his head as another shot was fired.

Someone returned fire as Crawford continued around the car. Where was the shooter?

“The trees,” he heard Farfarello say, unconsciously answering his question.

Crawford felt relief wash over him as he saw Farfarello and Schuldig sprint towards the nearest crop of trees. They took a zigzag line, but no one fired on them.

“Nagi, stay here,” Crawford ordered.

He straightened from his crouch and took off in the direction his team mates had taken following their zigzagging path. Reaching the trees, he looked about and listened. Sounds from up ahead and to the left gave him the clue he needed and he set off in pursuit.

Schuldig and Farfarello were moving fast and keeping track of them wasn’t easy. Fortunately, they were making some noise as they pursued their attacker and that helped Crawford stay on track. After long, worrying minutes, he heard Farfarello’s gleeful shout, then the sound of a gun firing.

Schuldig? Crawford queried, worried his vision had been off-kilter enough that maybe – just maybe – he’d gotten the location of the fatal shooting wrong and it didn’t happen at the car at all.

We’ve got him, Schuldig replied, the excitement of the chase buzzing in his thoughts.

More relieved than he’d ever admit, Crawford quickened his pace, but by the time he located them, their attacker was in the process of dying, with a good deal of help from Farfarello, while Schuldig stood near by, watching dispassionately.

“Who is he?” Crawford asked as he drew up.

“An associate of our drug-producing friends from the other night,” Schuldig supplied, not taking his gaze off Farfarello’s activities. “Apparently he didn’t take kindly to us closing down the business and came looking for revenge. Unfortunately for him, he’s not the crack shot he thought he was – never will be, now, either,” he added as Farfarello snapped two of the man’s fingers.

Blood gurgled out of the assailant’s mouth as he tried to scream his pain, but his vocal chords had already received Farfarello’s special kind of attention and were close to useless.

Crawford stood silently, his unseeing gaze on the pain-twisted face of the man who’d stupidly thought to avenge his business associates. The pre-cog was disconcerted by the event. The attack was similar to the vision he’d experienced at his desk a few days ago, but it wasn’t exactly the same. Considering the outcome of that vision, he was more than pleased this had ended differently. But, in the past, his visions usually played out as he saw them. Since the attack, his Talent hadn’t been functioning as it had before. It was better than having no Talent at all, he decided, but a malfunctioning Talent presented its own set of unique difficulties.

“While we’re waiting,” Schuldig’s voice broke into his thoughts, “we might as well discuss your boyfriend.”

Crawford scowled at the telepath and gave his head a shake. “Back at the house,” he insisted in a low voice.

“Why not here?” Schuldig pressed.

“Whatever you have to say can wait until we go back to the house,” Crawford insisted.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Schuldig pointed out.

“Schuldig, I am not getting into an argument with you over this,” Crawford replied lowly. “Waiting a few minutes won’t kill you.”

Schuldig breached the distance between them in two quick strides. He leaned in close to Crawford, his intense blue gaze boring into the American.

“A few minutes won’t, but your boyfriend is giving it his best shot,” he snarled.

Crawford could see the barely suppressed rage in Schuldig’s eyes. That, coupled with what the German said, was enough for Crawford to decide the matter couldn’t wait. All the same, he refused to discuss Stein in front of Farfarello. The Irishman clearly had the hots for Schuldig and had already been agitated by the telepath’s outburst in the car. Should he perceive that Stein was a threat to Schuldig, Farfarello would go after the Austrian and take care of the source of Schuldig’s irritation once and for all.

Crawford had worked far too hard to get this team together and he’d be damned if he was going to let anyone rip it apart.

He glanced at Farfarello, who was completely engrossed in his bloody activities. Looking back at Schuldig, Crawford gestured with his head, suggesting they should move away. They could stay where they were and mind-speak, but Crawford didn’t want to risk himself or his telepath in that way, especially not with the shooting incident so fresh in mind.

He led the way and stopped when he judged they were out of Farfarello’s hearing. Turning, he watched Schuldig draw up. His foremost thought was that, had things followed his vision exactly he’d be without his telepath now. The mere thought sent a chill along his spine. Never had he been so glad to have his vision go wrong. Suppressing the urge to shudder, he asked, “What did you mean by saying Stein’s trying to kill you.”

“Exactly what I said,” Schuldig replied, clearly angry, but keeping his voice low. He obviously understood why Crawford had them move. “He hung around while you were talking to Mya. When you were done, he slimed his way in there and laid out a “scenario” for her to put forward for Eszett’s consideration.” Schuldig moved closer in his agitation. “He’s proposing that I’m the assailant,” he hissed.

Crawford snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Eszett won’t believe that,” he scoffed.

“Not according to Stein. He backs up his hypothesis by pointing out that I’m one of, if not the, strongest telepathic operative to come out of Rosenkreuz. Schwarz was attacked, but not killed, while all the other teams died. Then there was the fact that the signature I took from your head and handed over – and which was so important in identifying the attacker – belongs to a dead woman. He thinks these are reasons enough for Eszett to investigate me further.” Schuldig raised a hand, pointing at Crawford. “I swear, Brad, if I end up back at Rosenkreuz, I will kill that bastard and fuck the consequences.”

Crawford couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised by anything Stein might do these days. But it infuriated him that the man simply refused to take “no” for an answer and seemed to believe that removing Schuldig from the picture would get him what he wanted. Putting aside the sheer selfishness of his behavior when Schwarz and Stärke were in such a precarious position, Crawford didn’t appreciate the continuing threat to Schuldig one little bit.

“You’re not going back to Rosenkreuz,” he assured the telepath.

“You going to save my ass again?” Schuldig challenged. “How often can you do that, Brad? How often does Stein concoct some bullshit theory and you have to step in to prevent him getting what he wants? I won’t go back to Rosenkreuz. If you can’t talk them out of taking me back, fucking shoot me.” Schuldig’s eyes blazed as he spoke. “I mean it, Brad, you shoot me instead.”

“Stop being melodramatic,” Crawford replied quietly. “I have no intention of letting you go back to Rosenkreuz and I have no intention of shooting you…”

“You’ll let me kill Stein, then?” Schuldig interrupted with a little anticipation creeping into his voice.

“…or letting you kill Stein,” Crawford replied. “I’ll take care of him; you just focus on keeping out of trouble.”

Schuldig straightened up, looking the American in the eye. “You’ll take care of him?” he queried. “Should I be jealous?” His tone and his look were both a tease.

Crawford had stopped being surprised by Schuldig’s sudden changes of mood a long time ago.

“No,” he replied, leaning in closer, “because if what it takes to keep you out of the clutches of Rosenkreuz, is to fuck Stein, then that’s what I’ll do.”

It was a rare occasion when Crawford could throw Schuldig off balance, but he savored every second when he did manage it. Now was one of those occasions. Schuldig was standing there, just staring, mouth open in a startled little ‘O’; probably unsure if he should believe his ears or not. After long seconds, it seemed the telepath decided he could believe his ears, but not his leader.

“You wouldn’t fuck him,” he said with an uncertain laugh.

Now Crawford allowed himself a small, mean smile. He leaned even closer to the German.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I don’t believe I could get it up for Stein,” he confirmed then he straightened. “But there are other ways of dealing with men like Stein. Leave him to me. You concentrate on not letting him goad you into irrational behavior; otherwise you will end up back in Rosenkreuz.”

Knowing he’d made himself as clear as he could, he started back to where they’d left Farfarello. Within seconds, Schuldig was at his side.

“You’re not going to fuck Fleischer!” the German asked, sounding both amused and horrified.

Crawford drew a deep breath. “Not everything’s about fucking, Schuldig,” he replied patiently.

“Not for you, maybe,” Schuldig retorted with a lecherous grin.

Crawford chose not to comment. He completed the rest of the short walk in silence but his mind was busy. It was apparent to him now that Stein had given up any hope of bedding him, and was simply out to harm the man he held responsible for his lack of success in seducing the American. Stein was delusional to think he’d ever stood a chance with Crawford; out of his tree to think he’d be able to win back a chance he’d never had. He was even more out of touch with reality if he thought Crawford would stand idly by while he tried to remove Schuldig from Schwarz.

Although the German had failed to recognize it, Crawford had spoken the truth out here amongst the trees. He would do whatever it took to thwart Stein’s plans and keep Schuldig out of Rosenkreuz’s clutches - and by his side. All the reasons for that, Crawford refused to dwell on at the moment.

Arriving at the spot where the attacker had fallen, they found a blood-soaked Irishman and the remains of something that no longer resembled a man. Giving the dismembered corpse a brief glance, Crawford looked at Farfarello.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, “we’ve got a party to go to in a few hours.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • •