If You Leave

Title: If You Leave
Fandom: Weiss Kreuz
Pairing: Crawford/Schuldig

Author's Notes: Set approximately 7 years after the end of the series.
This fic is fully self-beta'd, so any grammar, punctuation, characterisation, etc mistakes are all my own work

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He knew what had made him stop. It was the surprise of seeing something so familiar in a gallery window in a small street in a foreign city. The tangle of emotions that had boiled up inside him caught him off-guard as well. He wasn�t exactly the emotional type; he was, in fact, very guarded when it came to his emotions. Conservative in all things, that was the image he carefully cultivated. In certain � shadowy � circles, his cool demeanor and in-control persona were considered to be of more worth than any amount of currency. Of course, it took a lot of currency to buy that demeanor and persona. So being caught completely off-guard by a mere painting, albeit a very good one, was somewhat of a new experience for him.

Moving to the plate glass window, he leaned closer, peering in at the painting and � almost � recognizing the bizarre and gloomy landscape. Of course he�d never seen such a place, because such a place didn�t exist in the physical world. But it had the flavor of familiarity; gleaned from years of working with the kind of mind for which such a landscape was nothing out of the usual.

Now he searched out the artist�s name. There it was, scrawled in the bottom right hand corner. Looking too damned familiar even after all this time, it caught him a little by surprise. He straightened, staring blindly at the painting on display in the window while he tried to contend with the sudden unleashing of emotions he hadn�t had to deal with in far too long.

How many years since he�d physically seen the man who�d been his colleague, his confidante and his lover. Seven, memory provided without hesitation. Almost seven, it amended, his need to be precise having never left him.

All those years gone. Yet he could remember the look on the German�s face as they�d parted company for the last time as though it were only yesterday. They�d shared one, final night and, the following morning, they�d made a quick, clean break having agreed that was best for them both. He hadn�t wanted it to end, neither of them had, and walking away had been one of the hardest things he�d ever done.

*** *** ***

Curiosity was a terrible thing, Crawford told himself as he stood on the pavement, looking at the flyer he held in his hand. He�d gone into the little gallery, making enquiries as to the painting in the window and its artist. The sophisticated lady behind the small desk had smiled and handed him a glossy flyer, explaining there was to be an exhibition in a week�s time.

Back in his hotel room, Crawford strolled out onto the balcony, a glass of wine in one hand, the flyer in the other. He read the details of the exhibition launch again, noting the artist would be in attendance. It was, he mused, a shame the flyer didn�t include a picture of the artist. He would have liked to see what Schuldig looked like after all this time. There was the exhibition, of course, but Crawford had business elsewhere and would be in London at that time.

Finishing his wine, he returned inside and sat down on the edge of the bed. Seven years. He let the thought roll around in his head. Then he let memories trickle through; memories of hard decisions and their last night. Looking back, it seemed like such a stupid decision. They�d shaken the world together, thought they�d lost each other, and were granted a second chance so they could run and hide and skulk about in the shadows for too many years. Then it was over and, after all they�d accomplished and endured, they�d surely earned the right to be together and yet� He stopped and gave his head a small shake.

�Yet, we still parted company,� he said softly to the evening�s gathering gloom.

They should have been smarter. He should have been smarter. Yet he�d let someone he�d lusted after, someone he�d yearned for and finally captured, just turn and walk away.

Wrong again, he corrected himself. He didn�t simply walk away, he was pushed�

They�d been together so long as team mates and he�d never been willing to acknowledge the attraction. By the time he�d allowed himself to do so, he�d wasted too much time. No matter how long they spent together, it was never going to be long enough to make up the lost time.

Then they�d finally broken free of all shackles. That was when he�d come to his decision and somehow talked Schuldig around to his way of thinking. Probably one of the stupider decisions he�d ever made, he conceded with an acerbic snort.

That last night together had been full of intimate whispers and harsh breathing, of touching and stroking and caressing, of kisses that neither of them wanted to break, of hard, urgent sex and tender, languorous lovemaking. They�d done everything in their power to stop time or to, at least, drag it out, but the world didn�t stop turning, not even for them. Morning had come and, with it, departure.

He set aside the paper he held and dropped his head into his upturned hands. �We were prize fools,� he chided aloud.

He came back to himself with a small start. Looking to the bedside clock, he saw that less than a minute had passed. Not unusual. These days he was more than adept at forcing visions to gain the exact information he wanted. He had that information now � and it was all he needed for a reunion.

*** *** ***

Two days later, Crawford was making his way back towards the gallery. He had no doubts about his vision and knew he�d find Schuldig with the gallery owner, discussing the exhibition.

The intervening days hadn�t been without some soul-searching on Crawford�s part. Given the length of time that had passed it was possible the German wouldn�t welcome this surprise visit. That would be unfortunate � for Schuldig. Crawford wanted to see him. He wanted to see what the German looked like now, how he was coping with life after Schwarz, whether he was happy, married, a family man� Crawford stopped his thoughts abruptly. This was still Schuldig, after all, he reminded himself�and having reminded himself of that, he conceded that this was still Schuldig and nothing was beyond the realms of possibility.

Reaching the gallery, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was quieter in here and a little warmer. The only other people immediately apparent inside were a couple giving close attention to a dreadfully baroque painting on the far wall. Crawford ignored them, and had taken maybe six steps into the gallery when he heard a familiar voice.

�Fuck!�

In times past that voice had been one of the most annoying sounds in Crawford�s universe. Now, it was one of the most welcomed.

To his left a door was flung open and there stood Schuldig, with his arms at his sides and his fists clenched, staring at him and looking like no time at all had passed. Crawford felt the breath hitch in his throat.

�What the�� the German began.

�Schuldig,� Crawford greeted him with a slight, formal nod. �Imagine meeting you again after all this time.�

�I couldn�t�� Schuldig stopped. His expression more than adequately conveyed his shock. He gave his head a shake and stared hard at the American again.

Crawford could see the gallery owner at Schuldig�s back, trying to ascertain just what had her artist so worked up.

�I couldn�t believe it when I felt your shields,� Schuldig breathed. �I thought I was dreaming. I don�t know whether to hug you or hate you, so��

Before he knew it, Crawford had his arms full of former assassin, who hugged him tightly, patted him firmly on the back and said how good it was to see him after all this time. Knowing the trap it was, Crawford wrapped his arms around the German. As he stood there holding Schuldig, the American found himself wondering how he�d lived without this man for so long.

*** *** ***

Schuldig sat back and rested one arm along the top of the bench seat of the small caf� they�d retired to in order to talk. He gave Crawford an appraising look.

�You look damned well,� he complimented.

�You look�like a painter,� Crawford returned.

Schuldig gave a small laugh. �Well, of course,� he said easily. He raised his left hand and gave a lazy shrug. �I wasn�t prepared to waste all this flair in a business suit.�

Crawford let his gaze travel slowly over the German�s lean form. Dressed in white, heavyweight cotton pants, the kind usually favored by house painters, and a bright yellow t-shirt, Schuldig still managed to exude an air of style. The t-shirt was, to Crawford�s mind, far too reminiscent of that god-awful bandana the telepath used to wear. But that offending piece of material was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Schuldig�s hair was caught in a high ponytail, with loose tendrils trailing around his face. The hair was as orange and outrageous as it had always been. Crawford found himself strangely relieved by this, and by the fact that Schuldig hadn�t cut his hair short.

�You haven�t changed at all,� Crawford said with a small shake of his head.

�Ah,� Schuldig�s slow smile was rueful. �I have, you know. It�s just that the changes aren�t obvious. I haven�t hacked off my hair, though, or dyed it a more acceptable color��

�I�m glad of that,� Crawford interrupted, surprising the German, who raised his russet-colored brows at the American.

�Are you? Really?� Crawford nodded once and said nothing. Now Schuldig gave a small smile. �I did think about cutting it - the back, at least - sort of like that Fujimiya kid had. Remember him?

�Shi � ine!� Crawford mimicked, but without the ferocity Fujimiya had always imparted to the word.

Schuldig laughed and nodded. �What a fun guy,� he jibed. �Anyway I changed my mind. I�m an artist, I�m supposed to be eccentric. There�ll be plenty of time in the future to cut it and, besides, the ponytail�s useful for holding my paintbrushes.�

Crawford smiled but his thoughts were focused on the German and how different his demeanor was to the last time they�d been together. Back then, Schuldig had looked unhappy, and an unhappy Schuldig was an angry Schuldig. He hadn�t wanted to split up, but Crawford insisted it was the best thing for both of them. Schuldig hadn�t believed him, but he�d turned and walked away.

Even after all this time, Crawford could still remember how it felt to watch the telepath turn his back, how it felt to watch him walk away.

�We were fools, Schuldig,� he whispered.

Schuldig stammered to a stop, mid-sentence. �You want to narrow down the occasion for me?� he asked.

Crawford raised his gaze, looking across into amused blue eyes. He decided to change the subject.

�If you�re done with the gallery today, would you like to have dinner with me?� he invited.

Schuldig smiled, so unlike his smiles of old. �A starving artist never says no to a free meal,� he replied. He straightened. �I should go home and change��

�No need,� Crawford assured him. �We can eat in my room.�

The German looked back at him, his expression guarded. �Very well,� he agreed.

*** *** ***

Schuldig gave a low whistle as he glanced about the luxurious suite.

�Well, this is very nice,� he complimented. He looked over his shoulder to where Crawford was still standing by the door. �Guess I shouldn�t ask what line of work you�re in to be put up in places like this,� he added � and as he spoke that old, familiar smirk appeared.

Crawford felt the floor drop out from beneath his feet. Not like it had in the tower all those years ago, but the result was the same. He was left struggling for breath and control as the years seemed to dissolve. He felt he was standing in the Schwarz house, looking at the man who drove him to professional and personal distraction. No one since, not in all the years that had passed, had been able to evoke such a reaction in him.

�That�s why I had to see you now,� Crawford replied, his tone casual. He moved into the room and continued. �I�m leaving in two days time.�

�Places to go, people to kill,� Schuldig quipped.

�Some things don�t change,� Crawford said as he reached for the phone. �What would you like to drink?�

Schuldig grinned and shrugged. �You choose,� he said and started towards the balcony.

Crawford rang for room service and watched Schuldig open the doors and step outside. They needed to talk. He needed to know what Schuldig�s life was like now. His call was answered and he spoke briefly, ordering champagne and asking for a menu, saying he would be dining in his room tonight.

That done, he joined Schuldig on the balcony. The telepath didn�t look at him, but he did smile a little.

�Some view you have,� he approved as he looked over the Place de la Concorde. Now he glanced at the American and asked, �Or don�t you even notice?�

�I notice,� Crawford replied.

Schuldig continued to look at him for another moment or two before nodding. �Yeah, I guess you do,� he said and looked back at the view.

�How long have you lived here?� Crawford asked.

�Almost eighteen months,� Schuldig answered. He turned his back to the Place and rested his butt against the balcony railing, bracing his hands either side of himself. �Where are you based?�

�London.�

Russet eyebrows hitched in mild surprise. �We�re practically neighbors,� Schuldig quipped.

�Practically,� Crawford nodded. He felt the silken brush across his shields and gave a humorless smile.

Schuldig shrugged. �Old habits,� he said. �Your shields are stronger than ever. I suppose I shouldn�t be surprised.�

�Just because Eszett is no longer baying for our blood doesn�t mean there are no more psi-talents in the world. I don�t want anyone in my head. What�s there is my business, no one else�s.�

Schuldig�s smile was full of too much knowledge. �You�re right, some things don�t change.� Now he folded his arms across his chest, giving his ex-leader a contemplative look. �Why do you still do it?� he asked.

�It�s what I know,� Crawford answered, understanding the German was referring to his profession.

�Sure. But we all left Schwarz with enough money to set us up for life � more than enough, in fact. There�s no need to risk your life any more.�

�It keeps me occupied,� Crawford replied.

�You could shoot clay pigeons at your country estate; that would keep you occupied, too.�

�I don�t have a country estate.�

�Buy one,� Schuldig suggested flippantly.

A knock at the door drew Crawford�s attention. Returning inside, he crossed the room and opened the door. The champagne was wheeled in, along with two crystal flutes and a menu for Crawford�s consideration.

Once the waiter had departed, Crawford poured champagne and carried it out to the balcony. Schuldig was still admiring the view but turned his head as the other man arrived. Crawford handed one of the crystal flutes to the German then raised his own.

�To happy coincidence,� he toasted.

Schuldig touched his flute to Crawford�s before taking a few sips.

�Excellent champagne,� he complimented, giving the glass an appreciative look. Then he turned his attention to Crawford. The look on his face swept years away. They might almost have been at the Schwarz house, discussing some plan or target. The look was the same as Schuldig often wore back then � cynical, smug and knowing too much. �For the record? Where you�re concerned, I don�t believe in coincidences � happy or otherwise.�

�That�s unfortunate, because that�s what it was,� Crawford replied honestly, shrugging off the increasingly cynical look Schuldig was giving him. �I was on my way back to the hotel and saw that painting in the window,� he explained. �Until then, I had no idea you were even in the country.�

Schuldig continued to look at him for a long moment more, his expression never wavering in its skepticism. Then he raised his flute and finished off the champagne in one mouthful before asking, �Did you think you�d found Farfarello?�

Crawford gave a small smile. �No,� he answered. �I knew who I�d found.�

Schuldig returned him a half smile of his own. �Surprised?�

�Somewhat,� Crawford allowed.

�That it was me or that I could paint?�

�Both. You�re a very good artist,� Crawford complimented.

Schuldig chuckled lowly and began to head back inside. �Yeah. Imagine my surprise � finding out that fucking with people�s heads wasn�t my only talent.�

Crawford watched him go, then finished off his own champagne and followed his former team mate inside.

�That�s what people want to hang on their walls? Nightmare images from the mind of a mad man?� he asked as he went to where Schuldig was pouring himself more champagne.

�Some people,� Schuldig replied. Finished with his own glass, he held the bottle up in query. Crawford accepted, holding out his glass. �Other people want other things. It doesn�t matter,� Schuldig continued as he poured. �I can always give them exactly what they had in mind.�

He set the bottle down and raised his own flute to his lips, turning away as he did so. Crawford sipped at his champagne, watching as Schuldig moved around the room, casting an expert eye over the prints on the walls. Crawford had paid them little enough attention previously, but now, looking at them, he decided he�d seen worse adorning hotel walls.

�It�s probably more difficult for you to picture me fitting into a normal life, than it is for me to imagine you continuing in the profession that was chosen for you,� Schuldig recommenced the conversation as he strolled around the room.

�We were at Rosenkreuz for many years,� Crawford pointed out. �An education like that is difficult to put behind you.�

Schuldig turned, smirking at him. �Once a psycho, always a psycho, huh?�

�You have a normal life now,� Crawford pointed out.

�Doesn�t make me any less psycho,� Schuldig replied with a careless shrug. �I don�t have any regrets about my past. The people I killed meant nothing to me. They were a means to an end, nothing more. They weren�t you or Farf or Nagi. That hasn�t changed. I don�t care for people who don�t mean something to me personally. I�m not � and never will be � a great humanitarian. But while I admit to having a psychotic side, that doesn�t mean I have a driving need to kill people. I really don�t care about them enough � unless, of course, someone pisses me off, then I�d go after them without a shred of remorse. I just learned to fake so much for so long it�s second nature now. So while I may give the appearance of being normal, I�ve no doubt I still fall under the medical definition of a sociopath.�

That said, Schuldig returned to his examination of the hotel artwork. Crawford watched him, knowing he had the perfect opening to learn what he wanted about the German�s life now. But he didn�t ask. If there were going to be obstacles, let Schuldig mention them when the time came.

�Do you miss them? Farfarello and Nagi?� Crawford enquired.

His question drew a peculiar look from Schuldig, but the telepath answered all the same.

�I miss the them they were. I don�t know about now because I don�t know them any more.�

Crawford nodded absently. �It�s been a while,� he conceded.

�Yeah, a few years,� Schuldig agreed. �What, five, six....�

�Seven.�

�Seven,� Schuldig repeated. He met Crawford�s gaze briefly. �Time flies.�

�It has,� Crawford agreed. He wanted Schuldig to stop looking at the paintings and come back to his side. His wish was granted in part.

�And did you? Have fun, I mean. That�s the rest of that saying, isn�t it?� Schuldig had dismissed the paintings and was now directing his full attention at Crawford. His tone and demeanor were still light, but Crawford sensed a dark undercurrent of tension.

He knew Schuldig too well to be surprised by this mood swing. The telepath had always been temperamental and it seemed the current topic had sparked one of those swings. Schuldig wasn�t old enough yet for the years to have mellowed him.

�Sometimes,� Crawford answered the question. �Not always.�

Schuldig drained his champagne flute again and tossed a humorless smile at the American as he headed for the bottle once more.

�It�s not often I�m wined and dined, I might as well make the most of it,� he quipped.

As Schuldig poured himself more champagne, Crawford set aside his own flute and moved in behind him. He pressed up against the telepath�s back and rested his hands on his hips as he leaned in close.

�Schuldig,� he whispered into the telepath�s ear.

Schuldig had frozen at the first touch, but now he relaxed and gave a short laugh.

�Why doesn�t this surprise me? You think you can just pick up where you left off?�

�We were fools,� Crawford repeated his earlier words. Up close, Schuldig smelled faintly of linseed oil and turpentine.

�It wasn�t my choice, if you remember,� Schuldig shot back, clearly in no doubt as to what the American was alluding to.

Crawford shook his head. �I thought it was for the best,� he said softly. �But letting go was harder than I ever imagined it would be.�

�You made it look damned easy, then,� Schuldig muttered.

Crawford touched his lips to the warm flesh of the German�s neck. �It was never that,� he admitted between kisses.

�And now you want to pick up like those seven years never happened, is that it?� Schuldig asked, his tone derisive. �Or is it that you just want to relive old times before disappearing for another seven years or, perhaps, for good this time? Don�t.� This last was in response to Crawford�s slow caressing of the telepath�s hips. Schuldig�s hands closed over the American�s, holding them still.

�Am I treading on someone�s toes by doing this?� Crawford enquired, nipping at the German�s throat.

�Maybe mine,� Schuldig replied.

Crawford gave a small laugh. He couldn�t help it. �Not unless a lot has changed these past seven years,� he replied. He loved it when Schuldig tried to play hard to get. It didn�t happen very often, but when it did, Crawford enjoyed every minute spent coaxing the reluctant redhead around to his way of thinking. Seven years hadn�t dented that enjoyment one bit.

�You need to stop living in the past, Crawford,� Schuldig snapped. �Things have changed, not least of which�� He stopped, taking a sharp breath and exhaling it as a low moan as Crawford slipped one hand free and rubbed it along his fly.

�There�s nothing wrong with a little pleasure, isn�t that what you used to say?� Crawford asked in a husky voice.

He undid the button on Schuldig�s canvas pants then caught hold of the zipper and slid it downwards. Slipping his hand under the elastic waistband of the boxer shorts, he wrapped his fingers around the German�s semi-hard cock. Continuing to encourage Schuldig to full hardness, Crawford ran his other hand up the German�s chest, seeking out a nipple and teasing it.

Schuldig may have been spouting fighting words, but his reactions were more along the lines of surrender. His head fell back in reaction to Crawford�s teasing and his breathing had picked up its pace.

Crawford could hear his own quickened breathing. Seven years seemed like no time at all right now. He�d always known how to get Schuldig to do what he wanted and that hadn�t changed.

�You�re right,� Schuldig spoke up breathlessly, startling him a little. For a moment he thought the telepath had managed to breach his shields but Schuldig�s next words made his meaning clear. �There�s nothing wrong with a little pleasure.�

Crawford smiled to himself, feeling the subtle movements of Schuldig�s body. He released his holds as the German turned to him, embracing him and bringing their mouths together in a hard kiss.

When they drew apart, Schuldig looked at Crawford through half-closed eyes and offered a slow, lazy smile. �So, you going to show me the bedroom?�

*** *** ***

Bare minutes after reaching the bedroom, they were naked and between the cool and very expensive sheets. As he rolled Schuldig onto his back, going with him so as not to break their kiss, Crawford was reminded that he�d had several lovers before the German had come along and several more in the years since they�d split up. But here was one lover whose hands, lips and touch he�d never forget or mistake for another.

There was no arguing that Schuldig was good in bed. Farfarello had passed it off as a by-product of his telepathy; of being able to see what people wanted and simply delivering it. But Schuldig was better than even that. He�d never been able to read Crawford�s mind - unless Crawford allowed it - but he�d always met the American�s needs and sated his desire in the most mind-blowing of ways.

Schuldig never skimped when it came to sex and now, as he brought hands, mouth and experience to bear on him, Crawford found he could barely think straight. The one thought he did seem capable of forming was that time had only improved the German�s technique.

And it was only now, as he held Schuldig once again, that Crawford realized just how much he�d missed the German, how much he craved his touch, his kiss�and his presence.

But no matter how badly he wanted Schuldig, there was one thing time could never change and that was his overriding need for control. Long time exposure had left Schuldig inured to the American�s quirks and needs, and he didn�t even try to look surprised when Crawford began to dictate the progress and direction of their encounter.

The German allowed himself to be rolled onto his back once more. Crawford had freed Schuldig�s hair from its binding when they�d undressed and now, looking at the way it splayed out over the pillowcase, he wondered for a moment if Schuldig had something of the telekinetic about him.

But just for a moment, because then Schuldig reached up, wrapping his arms around Crawford�s neck and drawing him down for another long, passionate kiss.

It had been far too long since he�d had the pleasure of Schuldig in his bed, and Crawford knew he wasn�t going last long enough for this first session to be leisurely. He was gratified to know Schuldig was in a similar state. This knowledge allowed him to grasp both cocks in his hand and pump them to release.

Hurried it may have been, but it also felt damned good.

So good, in fact, that he hardly minded the stickiness of their mixed release, pressed between their heated bodies when he allowed himself to carefully collapse on Schuldig.

As he recovered, Crawford found he had one regret. He and Schuldig had climaxed almost simultaneously, and he�d done so with his face buried against the German�s neck. Therefore, he�d only heard the sounds Schuldig made as he came. Crawford decided that, next time, along with hearing, he would see once again what orgasm did to his lover.

After a moment or so, Schuldig gave a long, satisfied sigh and Crawford felt a warm hand on his back.

�I�m glad I changed my mind about this,� Schuldig confessed as his fingers moved in lazy patterns on Crawford�s skin.

Suppressing a shudder, Crawford drew back a little and looked at the German. At this close range, Schuldig was a fuzzy mix of pale skin and bright hair; a fuzzy mix that opened its eyes a little and smiled lazy contentment at its former leader.

�Why did you?� Crawford asked in response to the German�s comment.

�What? You don�t think your groping was enough to do that?� Schuldig mocked. Then he gave another lazy smile and a lazier shrug. �Because it was sex�with someone I hadn�t had sex with in years�and I remembered how good you were, so,� another one-shoulder shrug, �why not?�

Crawford smiled a little. He supposed it didn�t matter how many years passed, some things were never going to change. He pressed a brief kiss to the German�s mouth and let his eyes close. He was warm and contented and very, very tired.

He woke up before he knew he�d dozed off. He was on his back now, and something warm trailed down his stomach before dipping into his belly-button. Correction. Something warm and wet. He became aware of the gossamer feel of hair sliding over his sensitized skin; the sensation making him want to squirm. Schuldig always did think of the most inventive ways to wake a person.

Having given Crawford�s belly-button a good imitation fuck, the tongue departed, moving further down the American�s body. Even knowing what was about to happen, Crawford wasn�t able to stifle his moan when Schuldig�s hot mouth took him in.

�Oh fuck,� he breathed, bunching the bedsheet in his fists as Schuldig�s talented tongue went to work on him.

::Good afternoon. So glad you could join me::

Schuldig�s tone mocked, but Crawford barely noticed. He was too consumed with his reactions to the sound of that voice in his head once more. Desire spiked sharply and his cock hardened even further.

::Oh, Brad. So needy. How have you managed without me all these years?:: Again there was mockery in Schuldig�s tone.

�It�s a question that does give one pause, isn�t it?� Crawford managed inject the right amount of sarcasm into his question, at the same time refusing to allow it serious consideration.

::Supercilious bastard:: Schuldig sniped back, not once letting the conversation interfere with his activities.

Crawford gave a small smile. That was the Schuldig he knew, all right. Never allowing himself to be distracted when his mind was set on something�especially if that �something� was sex.

Crawford could understand that. He was rather partial to the pleasures of sex himself. He�d always favored the no-nonsense, honesty of their liaisons. Their fucking had never been about anything other than gratification and need. Especially need. There was Schuldig�s perpetual need for the physical and his own never-ending need for control. And underlying that principal need was another, this one less obvious. That was the need to just be himself; of being able to set aside the fa�ade and allowing himself to be honest and vulnerable. Schuldig was the only lover with whom Crawford would allow himself this luxury. None of his other sex partners had seen the man beneath the fa�ade. Crawford had never felt close enough to any of them to allow them that privilege.

Perhaps that�s why he was here now. Driven by the need to once again experience how indescribably good it felt to set aside the mask he usually wore and just lose himself to the touch and warmth of someone he knew and trusted just as they knew and trusted him.

As the tension built within him, Crawford reached a hand down, burying it in thick, soft hair. In times past, when there had been few things certain in the American�s world, one of the things he�d always been able to rely on was Schuldig�s ability to put reality on hold and make him feel better than he imagined he could - if only for an hour or so. It pleased him to discover that was another of the things the years had not affected.

Bodily sensations took over from his thought processes as Schuldig�s mouth swept him to the edge of release. Then the German released him for a few moments before employing his dexterous fingers and limber body to bring them both to completion. Crawford was left gasping and sated.

It had been too long since someone had made him feel so damned good.

After endless minutes, Schuldig slid free of Crawford�s cock and flopped bonelessly onto the bed beside him.

�Not bad for an old man,� he taunted with a grin, keeping his eyes closed.

�Old? Give me five minutes and I�ll show you �old�,� Crawford replied.

�Five?� Schuldig echoed, his tone adequately conveying his doubt.

�Make it fifteen,� Crawford adjusted with a small smile.

Schuldig laughed and wrapped an arm around Crawford�s waist, settling himself comfortably.

There were people who differentiated when it came to fucking. Crawford was one of those. He knew what they�d just shared wasn�t love-making. He�d never made love in his life. But it wasn�t just sex either. With Schuldig it was different � it had always been different. Maybe that was because of the past, the team and the goals they�d had in common. Maybe there was more to it..

*** *** ***

�I�m going to be black and blue,� Schuldig said accusingly as he gave his reflection a critical look. He was standing in front of the large cheval mirror, inspecting his lean body for the damage he�d convinced himself Crawford had inflicted over the past day or so.

�Think of it as a reminder for when I�m gone,� Crawford replied, looping his tie around the upturned collar of his shirt and smiling at the German�s mirror double.

�There are more romantic reminders,� Schuldig answered, giving himself a final once over before turning away from the mirror and heading for the chair where his clothes rested in an untidy heap.

Crawford completed the perfect Windsor knot. �I�ll buy you some chocolates in the lobby store,� he offered as he inspected his reflection in the mirror.

�No, but you can drop me back at my car before you head to the airport,� Schuldig bartered.

�How far is it from here?� Crawford wanted to know.

�It�ll take you maybe ten minutes out of your way,� Schuldig advised as he buttoned his pants.

Crawford checked the very expensive watch on his wrist and saw he�d have plenty of time. He sent a glance around the room, looking at the suitcase lying on his bed, packed and ready for collection. His carry-on luggage sat beside it. He was as ready to leave as he�d ever be.

He looked now to where Schuldig was finishing up getting dressed. They were going for brunch, then he�d drop Schuldig at his car and they�d go their separate ways. The agreement was an unspoken one. Neither of them felt the need to state the obvious. This time there was no unhappiness and no anger from Schuldig. At least, none that was obvious.

For himself, Crawford could feel wisps of unease trailing through his otherwise contented mood, but he had no trouble tucking his disquiet away behind his usual smooth fa�ade. He did have to wonder if Schuldig was doing the same. It was a thought he didn�t entertain for too long. If something was bothering the German, he didn�t try to hide it preferring, instead, to let everyone know just how disgruntled he was.

Now Schuldig moved to the dresser. He gave his reflection the once over before raising his hands and attempting to impose some order on his unruly hair. Watching him there, Crawford knew he was looking at the reason behind his unease.

Today, he�d decided, he was going to hand back to Schuldig the choice he�d cheated him out of seven years ago. How Schuldig would react to that was anyone�s guess.

Usually, in a situation as unpredictable as this, Crawford would use unfair advantage by calling on his Talent. That, however, had proved problematical because he�d been unable to See the outcome of his intended course of action. He�d tried � more than once � all to no effect. That was the way of his gift and he�d come to terms with its idiosyncrasies years ago. That didn�t mean there weren�t times when he rued its fickle nature.

Turning, Crawford collected his suit coat from its stand and shrugged into it.

It took a couple of more minutes before Schuldig was done getting his hair into some form of order, then they were heading for the door.


*** *** ***

�Well, this has been fun,� Schuldig said, giving Crawford a slightly amused look.

They�d finished lunch, taking their time over a final glass of wine, and were now in a cab on their way back to their individual lives. Schuldig�s mood had remained light-hearted and if he had any misgivings about their imminent separation he certainly wasn�t letting them show.

Crawford nodded his agreement. �It has,� he said.

�You know,� the German continued, as he relaxed back in the seat, �you really should consider that country estate I mentioned. If we set up house together we could do this whenever we wanted, and there�d be the added advantage of you keeping me in the luxury to which I want to become accustomed. Of course, you�d have to give up this line of work. I�m out of the habit of killing, but if you were hurt I�d be forced to again become what I was. I�m sure I�d still be exceptionally good at it, but I don�t think I�d like reliving old times.�

�How do we pay the bills if I�m not working?� Crawford enquired.

�You don�t think I could support us?� Schuldig asked, sliding his gaze to the American and feigning offense at the slur on his artistic ability.

Crawford gave an elegant shrug. �It would depend on how much your paintings sell for,� he replied. �I do enjoy quite a sumptuous lifestyle.�

�Fine. If the money starts to run low, you can win us a few mill in the lotteries,� Schuldig said easily.

�If we target the American lotteries, we could set ourselves up for life with one win,� Crawford pointed out.

�Would we have to live there?�

�I don�t know,� Crawford confessed with a small frown. �It�s not something I�ve thought about before.� He looked across into Schuldig�s blue eyes. �Wouldn�t you like to see the land of my birth?�

The German considered the question for a moment then gave a lazy shrug. �Sure, why not?� he agreed. �Don�t know if I�d want to live there, though. Hey!�

Schuldig lowered his arms quickly and leaned forward, switching from German to French as he spoke to the driver. He sounded pissed, and the man made a placating gesture. When Schuldig was satisfied he�d made his point, he sat back again

�Fucking cabbies,� he muttered, reverting to the language of his homeland once more. �He thought he could take the long way.�

Crawford looked across at him.

�I would have thought you�d already covered that possibility,� he remarked,

Schuldig gave a shrug. �It�s covered now.�

Crawford checked his watch again. He still had ample time to make it to the airport so long as Schuldig�s car wasn�t much further away. To his right, Schuldig yawned widely and noisily.

�I think I�ll grab a nap when I get home,� he said. �I�m exhausted.�

�That�s your own fault,� Crawford pointed out, thinking back over the last day and a bit and the times when the German should have been sleeping but had chosen, instead, to tickle and tease, poke and prod, distract and irritate him.

Schuldig just grinned, knowing the American hadn�t minded his behavior in the least. �What a shame you�re leaving, or you could join me.�

Crawford slid his gaze to the other man. �I thought you wanted a nap,� he replied.

�I can nap with you in the bed,� Schuldig answered.

�You can, but I doubt you would.�

�You�re not that irresistible,� Schuldig mocked.

�I was remarking on your lack of self discipline, nothing else,� Crawford replied bluntly, but not without some humor.

�Never was my strong suit,� Schuldig admitted with an easy smile.

Crawford didn�t answer � he didn�t need to. They both knew it was the truth, so anything they could say would be redundant. But he was enjoying the easy rapport they shared. It was something else from their past they�d picked up again as though seven years hadn�t intervened.

A companionable silence descended on them as the cab navigated its way through the busy streets. Staring unseeing out his window, Crawford�s thoughts were focused on the past day or so. He and Schuldig had talked a lot, but he felt there was still too much to say and no longer enough time to say it. Better to leave it unsaid, he decided, than try to cram it into the few minutes they had left.

He turned his thoughts to other memories of time spent with the German, recalling again the warm flesh and hot mouth, the grasping fingers and straining muscles, the feel and taste of the other man. Memories. Perhaps all he would gain from this meeting. That was something he didn�t allow himself to dwell on.

Instead, having allowed himself time to reminisce on the pleasurable, Crawford now directed his thoughts ahead, to home and his next assignment.

�We�re here.� Schuldig�s voice drew Crawford out of his own thoughts.

He looked across at the German as the cab began to slow. Schuldig�s smile seemed genuine.

�Thanks for dinner�and breakfast�and lunch,� he said. �It was good to see you again after all this time.�

�And you,� Crawford said with a nod.

The cab came to a halt. Schuldig reached for the door handle.

�Don�t be a stranger,� he invited. �Contact me next time you�re in town.�

�If you come to London, look me up,� Crawford reciprocated. Schuldig gave one of his old smirks, and Crawford pressed ahead. �In fact, in regards to our conversation earlier concerning country estates and their locations, when you�ve decided where you�d like to live, get in touch.�

Schuldig stared for a moment then his gaze was full of mockery.

�After all this time?� his tone was derisive. �You must be going soft.�

Crawford figured he deserved the attitude. �The offer stands,� he said.

Schuldig shrugged and pushed the door open. �It�s been grand. See you �round, Brad.�

He climbed out of the vehicle, closed the door, and headed towards his parked car without a backward glance.

Crawford ordered to cabbie to drive on.

*** *** ***

Crawford took his suitcase to his bedroom and set it down on the bed. He was tired, having arrived back from the United States less than two hours ago after completing another successful assignment. He needed to make a call but coffee came first. He headed to the kitchen and set the coffee machine going.

He thought about checking his answering machine, and decided to leave it until later. He�d have his coffee and catch up on some sleep�

His cell phone buzzed discretely. Crawford reached into his jacket and withdrew it from the inside pocket, flipping it open.

�Crawford.�

�France.�

Schuldig had made him wait almost two weeks. He hadn�t Seen this coming, probably being too focused on work. Now, he could only smile to himself.

�Agreed,� he said. �But there�s one caveat. I�m not going into full retirement.�

There a slight hesitation from the other end, before Schuldig sealed their fates with one word.

�Deal.�

� � � � � � � � � � � �


A/N: Apparently you can't add links here, but if you're interested the lyrics that inspired this fic, they're from a song by OMD called "If You Leave".

Comments are always welcome.