Deep Inside of You part 14
"You summoned me, Oh Master?" Schuldig’s voice drawled irritatingly from the doorway.
Crawford looked up from the screen of his laptop and scowled warningly at the German lounging in the door of his office. Schuldig just returned his trademark smirk, seemingly unintimidated by the possibility of facing Crawford’s wrath.
Always so damn blasé about everything. It was probably the thing that annoyed Crawford most about the younger man, that casual lack of concern for anything beyond his personal pleasures and comfort…it was that self-centered thoughtlessness that had brought them all to this suddenly precarious position, and it made Crawford want to punish the smirking fool.
Instead, he simply stared stonily at Schuldig for a moment, trying to make that annoying smirk wilt, but the German never faltered. Even more irritating. Crawford indicated the chair in front of his desk with a wave of his hand that was half invitation, half command.
Schuldig raised an eyebrow at the gesture, and glanced at the chair, apparently considering the offer for a moment before sauntering slowly into the room and draping himself bonelessly over the piece of furniture. Crawford ground his teeth and waited until the display of indolent unconcern was finished before he rose from his own seat and walked a bit stiffly to the office door, closing and locking it. Watching Schuldig from behind, he thought he detected a slight flinch in the narrow shoulders as the lock clicked softly. A small smile of satisfaction tilted Crawford’s lips. Not so confident and brazen as he acted, then.
That would make this go easier. It had taken him most of the past day and a half, since returning from Germany, to figure out how to adjust his strategy to accommodate the new inconveniences that had been imposed upon him. During that time, while he’d carefully examined every one of his and his subordinates’ files to ensure there was no incriminating information anywhere, he’d contemplated what to do about the thorny issue of Schuldig and his little...friend. In the end, he thought he’d come up with a rather ingenious solution.
Schuldig refused to turn his head to watch Crawford prowl the room, so the older man walked back to the desk. But instead of resuming his seat behind it, he leaned his backside against the front, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Schuldig measuringly. The German looked up at him from the chair, smirk replaced by an impatient little frown.
He’s trying to goad me, Crawford realized. Trying to push this interview directly into a physical confrontation, of one sort or the other. Trying to delay whatever orders he knows he’s about to receive.
He’s been almost…happy, this last little while.
Idiot.
"So, how was Germany?" Schuldig finally asked disinterestedly, when he’d apparently gotten tired of being stared at.
Crawford allowed a slight frown to twist his lips. "Unpleasant, as always," he replied flatly. "Our little vacation is over," he announced bluntly. "Time to get back to work on the glorious plan."
Schuldig’s features tightened in annoyance and disgust. "I wish you would tell me what we’re really going to do," he complained yet again. "I know you have your own grand scheme, and we’ve all agreed to go along with it since it has to be better than theirs, but it would be nice to know what it actually involves."
Crawford raised a brow at the younger man. "You already know that, Schuldig. We are working toward the end of everything," he said calmly.
Schuldig half-smirked at him, a mildly disbelieving look in his eyes. "C’mon, Brad, I’ve played along with that story, but you’ve never struck me as an anarchist," the redhead drawled.
For once, Crawford chose to ignore Schuldig’s baiting. They had things to settle. He stared coldly at the German for a few silent minutes, until Schuldig sighed and looked away, accepting that the subject of Crawford’s true intentions remained closed. For now.
"What are we doing, then? What’s going on? Did you get your wrists slapped for something?" Schuldig asked with vague curiosity, not meeting Crawford’s chill gaze.
"In point of fact, I did," Crawford said mildly. "For you."
He watched with satisfaction as Schuldig tensed in the chair. It was only a momentary slip, but it was proof of the German’s fear of punishment. Such small indications of his power over Schuldig were few and far between, and generally not worth the effort required to provoke them. But this unspoken arrangement they’d settled into over the Kudo matter... Crawford had known Schuldig was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been close to putting an end to the affair himself, even though to do so would weaken his own position by acknowledging the fact that he’d known what was going on and permitted it, where once he would have maintained stricter control. Schuldig grew more and more difficult to handle as he grew older, though, and Crawford had actually somewhat enjoyed the respite from their constant power struggle. He’d been able to focus more on nudging all his playing pieces into position on the board, without worrying about the annoying task of keeping Schuldig stable.
But it had begun to worry him, lately, the way the German was becoming slippery in his visions. Schuldig’s actions were no longer so easy to pin down. There was uncertainty and wavering where before there had been only obedience. Something was affecting the German’s projected behavior, and it hadn’t been hard to figure out what that might be. So Crawford had realized he would be forced to take steps.
And then, Germany. At first he’d been furious, wanting to kill Schuldig for drawing unnecessary attention to them at such a critical time, but as he’d sat here for the past day and a half and pondered the situation, he’d realized he now had the capacity to kill two birds with one stone.
He could eliminate the Kudo problem and assure Schuldig’s loyalty in one move, if he were right in his assumptions about the German’s motivations. And he generally was right, where Schuldig was concerned.
He wasn’t exactly certain how the German slut had decided on Kudo as a sexual conquest, but he could see how it might have been an amusing idea, to seduce one of Weiss. Stupid, but amusing, and that was Schuldig in a nutshell. Crawford had known the potential danger to the connection. He understood Schuldig’s powers better than he let on, better perhaps than the telepath himself did. Schuldig was very open to the thoughts and feelings of those around him. Very open. Sensitive, even. Crawford had observed the phenomenon many times over the years. Prolonged exposure to any particular psyche would influence Schuldig’s own. He took on the traits of those he was closest to. Considering his recent proximity to one of the so-called white hunters, Crawford had judged it was only a matter of time before he began to get suspiciously benevolent impulses. That would be inconvenient at best. He suspected their superiors might be aware of this aspect to Schuldig’s powers as well, and that might be what was truly behind their orders to dispose of Weiss. They didn’t trust Schuldig’s loyalty as they did Crawford’s, and they had never credited Crawford with nearly as much intelligence as he truly possessed.
He was surrounded by idiots.
"We’ve been given new orders," Crawford stated abruptly, his tone brisk. "We’re to dispose of Weiss once and for all."
Schuldig gave another small flinch, but that was all. He had improved over the years, Crawford had to admit that. He smirked slightly at the younger man, who still wasn’t meeting his gaze, critically observing the air of studied nonchalance his subordinate was projecting.
The boy could be taught, after all.
"Why now?" Schuldig asked calmly, studying his cuticles with apparent absorption. "They’re disbanded, harmless. What’s the point?"
"The point," Crawford replied slowly, "is that they won’t be disbanded much longer. SS has discovered the identity of their sacrificial vessel, and that may very well inspire Weiss to reform their association. And Kritiker is getting its act together as well, so they may have been reactivated in any event."
Schuldig pondered this information silently, finally looking up at Crawford with narrowed green eyes, his lips a tight, flat line.
"Who’s the vessel?" the German asked curiously.
Crawford raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I trust you with that information?" he asked coldly.
Schuldig scowled at him. "Well, you’re going to have to eventually, when we go to retrieve him, her or it," he snapped irritably, his calm beginning to fray around the edges.
"We won’t be involved in that part of the preparations," Crawford informed him.
Schuldig blinked at him in surprise, frowning. "Well, who the hell is?" he demanded.
Crawford frowned slightly in warning, but decided to let the tone go unchallenged for now. "SS has apparently decided to bring in an outside group for that aspect of the operation," he explained.
"Anybody we know?" Schuldig muttered grumpily.
"Scherient," Crawford replied flatly.
"Scherient?" Schuldig repeated incredulously, leaning forward in his chair to stare at Crawford in disbelief. "They’re fucking psychos!" he protested.
Crawford smirked bitterly at him. "Were you referring to Scherient, or SS?" he asked sarcastically.
Schuldig snorted, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Point," he muttered in agreement. He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "So…that’s our whole purpose now, kill Weiss?" he asked wearily.
Crawford pushed himself off of the desk and paced slowly around the room, feeling Schuldig’s eyes following him with a certain repressed satisfaction. He definitely had the German’s undivided attention. "We’re also expected to assist other operatives in causing some random chaos, but that is our most clear-cut objective," he agreed, not turning to look at the younger man as he spoke. When Schuldig said nothing to this, Crawford continued inexorably, "They are our enemies, after all. I know you’ve been fraternizing with them, but I don’t know how else you expected this to end, Schuldig. We would have had to kill them eventually anyway. They’re all afflicted with the most fatal of diseases: altruism. And they know too much not to have figured out our involvement eventually."
"But…they’re not like us, Brad, they’re barely professionals at all. They got dragged into the life, and the minute Kritiker stopped riding their asses, they quit. I don’t see why they’re a threat. Even if Kritiker tries to reinstate them, they won’t go back without a fight," Schuldig protested.
"I told you," Crawford countered coldly, ignoring the use of his first name for the second time. "The identity of the vessel will ensure their involvement regardless of Kritiker."
"Well, who could be so damn…" Schuldig’s irritated voice trailed off into silence, then he said quietly in realization, "The Fujimiya girl. It’s her, isn’t it?"
Crawford frowned. He hadn’t wanted Schuldig to figure out the identity of the vessel. That could cause problems if the idiot was more in thrall to Kudo than Crawford hoped, and if Scherient had yet to make their move. He hadn’t thought Schuldig would be able to work out the identity of the vessel, although it had seemed painfully obvious to Crawford once revealed. He’d seen her file, it was included with her brother’s information, and he’d noted in passing the odd state of suspended animation she seemed to have been in for the past two years. He hadn’t thought Schuldig would have noticed that point, but perhaps he had picked up similar information from the thoughts of Weiss.
"You are not to say anything to your little ‘friend’," Crawford warned coldly. "I won’t protect you if you do something that blatantly stupid," he vowed.
"I won’t," Schuldig replied irritably. He sighed again. "So we’re finally going to kill Weiss, then?" he asked unhappily, no longer even attempting to conceal his feelings on the matter. Crawford supposed he’d made it clear enough that he was fully aware of Schuldig’s involvement with Weiss by this point.
Crawford stood with his back to the German, contemplating the neat rows of books on his office shelves. History, mainly. Crawford preferred to learn from others’ mistakes rather than making them himself. "That’s what I called you in here to discuss," he said calmly, judging the duration of the uneasy silence before continuing.
"You’ve been rather a trial to me over the years, you know, Schuldig," he informed the younger man solemnly. "I honestly can’t think of one good reason I should take your feelings on this matter into consideration. However," he continued firmly, overriding the sounds of Schuldig’s protests. "I also know that when you don’t want to cooperate, you can be far more trouble than you are worth. And this close to the final act, I really don’t need to be dealing with any of your foolishness. We all need to be on the same page now, with no distractions, and no dissension. We’ve all worked towards this time for years, and I won’t have you ruining all our work and plans for a moment of weakness brought about by a borrowed conscience."
"What do you mean?" Schuldig asked warily.
Crawford turned to face the younger man, sneering just slightly. "Idiot. Do you really think I don’t know where you’ve been spending your nights? Do you think I’m ignorant of how your power works, of how susceptible you are to influence from any random passerby? I should have forced you to drop this bizarre little fascination of yours long ago, but…it seemed to make you…happy," Crawford admitted with feigned reluctance, watching Schuldig’s barely detectable flush at the words, the way the German dropped his head slightly. Perfect. He was almost too easy to manipulate in this state.
"Now we’re all paying for my…leniency," he continued flatly. "There are repercussions coming for your actions, but I cannot lay the blame entirely at your feet. I allowed this to happen, so it is at least partially my fault," he declared magnanimously. Schuldig frowned up at him warily, not quite trusting his words.
Crawford stepped over beside the chair Schuldig was sitting in and reached out to gently grasp the younger man’s chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. Schuldig’s were nervous and uncertain. Crawford knew his own were cold, but held a dim spark of compassion. He had perfected the ability to lie with his eyes years earlier. His mental shields were rock solid.
"I can’t have you too distracted or…upset to function properly," Crawford continued quietly, staring intently into Schuldig’s shadowed eyes. "To that end, I believe we can come to a compromise."
"Compromise?" Schuldig repeated softly, managing not to betray any hint of eagerness. Or perhaps he simply realized that there would be no entirely pleasant resolution to this situation.
Crawford smiled coldly down at the younger man. "I’ll allow some of them to survive," he promised, "so long as you promise to sever all ties with them."
Schuldig stared up at him blankly for a moment, but Crawford could practically hear the wheels turning behind the empty emerald gaze.
"All of them," Schuldig countered quietly but firmly.
Crawford released the pointed chin and snapped the younger man’s head around with a sharp backhand in one powerful motion. Schuldig lifted a hand to the side of his mouth, wiping blood away form a split lip, but regarded Crawford with calm intensity.
Crawford scowled at the younger man. This hadn’t been in the script. This was utterly ridiculous. "This isn’t an offer up for debate, Schuldig," he snapped. "You agree to my terms, or we can just kill them all."
Schuldig stared back at him defiantly. "I told you before, they’re my toys," he said coldly. "I don’t like to share."
Frustrated, Crawford hit him again, his knuckles stinging at the impact with the younger man’s cheekbone. Schuldig continued to stare up at him, dropping his hand from his mouth and allowing the blood to run slowly down his chin, his cheek bright red from the impact of Crawford’s fist. It would bruise quite nastily, he was sure, and that would have to be explained to Otto… the portion of their new situation that Crawford had no intention of warning Schuldig about.
"We let them all live," Schuldig repeated insistently.
"Or what?" Crawford challenged angrily. The damn German was not playing along as Crawford had expected. Too soft. Always too damn soft. "You have nothing to bargain with," Crawford pointed out coldly. "I’m making you a one-time generous offer in consideration of your past usefulness. You are in no position to be making demands of me, Schuldig."
"I’ll tell them everything," Schuldig threatened quietly, staring into Crawford’s eyes with a look of desperate conviction in his own. "I’ll tell SS everything I know about your plans, about Schwarz."
Crawford stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. Had the fool German gone completely fucking insane sometime in the past few weeks? What sort of hold did Kudo have on him to inspire this sudden lack of concern for his own safety? Schuldig had always been, above all else, a survivor. This challenge was plain idiocy.
"You’d go down with me," Crawford pointed out, in case the German hadn’t realized that.
"I know," Schuldig agreed calmly.
"You’d get Nagi killed as well," Crawford pressed, playing on another of the German’s many weaknesses.
Schuldig shook his head, never breaking eye contact. "I can get him out," he stated with assurance. "You, me and Farferello can all go to hell together."
Crawford glared at the younger man in disbelief. This was not how he had planned for this conversation to go. Perhaps he should have tried to see how it would turn out, so he could have planned things better.
Too late for that now.
Frustrated by the calm conviction on Schuldig’s face, Crawford hit him again, with about as much affect as he had previously gotten. Schuldig was just too long accustomed to rough handling.
He wasn’t going to back down. Crawford stared into the steady green eyes and realized he’d finally found a point beyond which Schuldig would not be pushed. For whatever reason, this was where he dug in his heels. Crawford was suddenly, maddeningly certain that Schuldig could be every bit as stubborn as he himself could, if he wanted.
And he obviously wanted to now.
Well. It wasn’t really a concession. Crawford hadn’t planned to kill any of Weiss anyway, not having any way of knowing which of them was important to his plans. It could well be that they all were, or that the team had to remain intact to be useful. But he had wanted to force Schuldig to accept his terms. It was a matter of control, of dominance…
A matter of principle.
"They all live, or I talk," Schuldig summed up coldly.
Crawford scowled at him. "I can only promise Schwarz’ cooperation with that," he pointed out. "If Scherient kills them, it’s not my fault."
"Agreed," Schuldig said flatly.
"We let them live, and you sever all connection with them," Crawford repeated.
Schuldig stared up at him a moment longer, dark bruises beginning to shadow one cheek and one eye. The cold emerald gaze gave no indication of pain.
"Agreed," he repeated quietly.
Crawford stepped back out of Schuldig’s personal space, and after a moment, the German stood up and headed for the door. Crawford stared after him, then frowned as a flash of foresight hit him.
"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" he demanded harshly. Hadn’t they just established the German was to stay away from Weiss from now on?
"I’ll be back tomorrow," Schuldig promised him flatly, not turning back to look as he reached the door. "For good."
Crawford continued to scowl at the younger man’s back, but remained silent as Schuldig exited the office, shutting the door firmly behind him. He continued to stare at the panel for a moment, then a cold, satisfied smile curved his lips. Not exactly as he’d planned for it to go, but the same basic result in the end. He didn’t care for having his authority quite so blatantly challenged, but there would be time to break the German of that later. For now, he’d gotten what he wanted. Schuldig’s loyalty back where it belonged, and his own intention not to kill Weiss passed off as a charitable gesture to ensure that loyalty.
Now perhaps his plans could be put back on track. He leaned against the desk and contemplated the future, his intentions, and Schuldig’s promise to return to Schwarz ‘for good.’
"Oh no, my friend," he murmured to himself, smirking at the closed door. "Quite the opposite. Quite the opposite."