pleasure, little treasure
I should be punished for having so much fun with this.
Title: Pleasure, Little Treasure
Fandom: Weiss/Gravitation
Rating: PG-13
PoV: Brad Crawford
Usual days, Brad Crawford spent his time thinking of work, of his hidden agendas, and ways to curb his team's decidedly trouble-making tendencies. Most days, he went to sleep with at least a mild headache. Some days, Brad Crawford wondered why he didn't choose to die when he had a chance at it.
And then he would feel guilty for even thinking of being ungrateful for the life his friends had spent considerable effort to save. Especially since he volunteered to be in his predicament. Precognition, bah. Never useful when he needs it the most.
Those 'some days' were usually the result of having to scramble for excuses not to let his bloodthirsty--or in Schuldich's case, pervertedly degenerative taste for destruction of the psyche--rip their nemesis into shreds, literaly and figuratively. Then having to explain those excuses to the 'higher-ups' he reported to.
It was enough to give him ulcer.
Then there were the rare days. Rare days, where all was right with the world.
The glass of drink he hadn't ordered clinked gently against the tabletop near the arms he had crossed to pillow his head. Looking up, he found blank, royal magenta eyes with indigo thunder flashing through the irises. "Mister Gray," Brad said softly, testing in his tongue the pet-name belonging to the bartender in front of him.
Superficially, the word 'gray' suited the man staring down at him not at all; nothing gray about him at all, nothing except the gray-areas he operated in.
Konomiya Aoi Hans, the Puppeteer with secret office in the Diet Building, a layer of black and white offset by jewelled magenta eyes. Hans, who once had been an extremely gifted academic with degrees up his sleeves within four years that anyone else would spent all their lives accumulating one-third of. Hans, who had once been just a teenager, a college-mate who shared one-third of their small apartment few minutes walk away from campus. Hans, who had once been a familiar, platonic presence sharing one-third of their one Queen-size bed, who was closer to him than family.
This shell in front of him held still enough for Brad to call him friend and family, still held enough to care when Brad was down, to offer a helping hand whenever he fell.
His team was a job, and, though he had once wondered if he could reach out to them, he realized he couldn't. Schuldich found him interesting, a safe the german couldn't quite find the key to. Farfarello would rather sink one of his many knives into his leader's flesh before having anything to do with talking and support. Nagi was the only possibility; but Nagi was also one Brad realized he shouldn't be heavily involved with, because Nagi was young and capable of being dependant; because of them all, Nagi was the only one with possibility of returning to sane, everyday world, and being close with Brad would only hinder that.
They were allies, they were never friends.
The glass of drink he had never ordered turned out to be a mug of beer; his comfort drink. It was the kind of beer they kept in their fridge, long ago in Boston, because Hans refused to have cheap beer in their appartment, even if he never cared that he was eating cardboard ration for food--one of numerous weird little quirks Brad didn't mind and was happy for, because the beer was, in the end, primarily for him.
Smiling, he took the mug and cradled it between his hands, "Thanks. You're the best."
Hans smiled gently at him, reached out and combed the fingers of his right hand through Brad's short black hair. The look in his eyes said you look like you need it, do you want to talk?
"Mm," Brad made a small sound of agreement, dropping his gaze onto the familiar colour of the beer. "It's the usual thing. You know. Fighting with Weiss, hiding from my team, hiding from Estet. Gets a bit tense and scary sometimes. And there's the leader of Weiss."
Hans had pulled over the stool he kept behind the bar so he could sit and listen when someone need to vent, and now he was listening intently to what Brad had to say. Always the attentive, listening ear. Hans knows people in a way no one should; he could watch someone walking down across the street and be able to accurately guess said person's life story. What made him such an excellent criminal profiler for the Police's special Heavy Crime Squad also made him invariably able to solve most people's problem simply by listening and giving advices that works.
Brad knew he was blessed that he could have this person's attention and care just about anytime he needed it. Well, anytime he could manage to get away from his squad unnoticed, anyway.
Hans pursed his lips slightly, nodding for Brad to continue. He didn't need to hear Brad elaborate on why the leader of Weiss had been a problem. He knew.
Sinking into the relaxing feeling of being able to blather about things that made his head hurt, the leader of Schwarz returned to his venting.
-------
When he was winding down, he found that midnight had come and go. The mug of beer he had craddled in his hands long finished and replaced with a cup of mulled wine, and he really was feeling too good to go back to the safehouse and start donning his mask again.
"Can I crash at your place?" He begged quietly.
"If your squad won't be suspicious of your absence," came the reply. That was as good as a yes, all things considered, he kept track of his team; they only keep track of him if they were snooping. And if they were snooping, Brad always found out in advance and always prepared.
He was going to cross his arms over the bar and rest his head on them when the door was open to a blast of cold night wind and the hubbub of nightlife.
And Shuichi was suddenly there in female form, shoulder length pink-hair and chic two-piece dress and all. "Oh, what a night! I hope it's over for now!"
Brad straightened on his stool and made appropriate agreeing noise. Shu-chan was beautiful as always, but a dullness of fatigue had settled in expressive amethyst eyes. His friend smiled, taking the stool next to him to find steaming black coffee with a dash of cream across it settled right on the bar beside Brad's mulled wine.
"Arigato, ani-ue." Shuichi murmured gratefully. Hans grunted in reply, arms crossed.
"Rough night?" Brad ventured, watching both of his friends with great fondness.
The pink-head bobbed slightly, "A bit more than usual. How are you, though?"
Brad shrugged lightly, the shoulder he bumped onto felt chill despite the layer of his shirt and suit-jacket. "Difficult. Schuldich was feeling... playful, and wanted to knock on Weiss' leader's defence some more. Took a while convincing him otherwise, and he amused himself battering against my shields afterward, because apparently, I 'ruined his fun'."
"Ouch," Shuichi murmured sympathetically.
"Ung," he replied, "I begged Hans to let me crash at his place for the rest of the night. You coming?"
Now Shuichi turned slightly and leaned on him. "I think that's a nice idea; Yuki had a tour in Kantou somewhere and won't be home for a couple of days. I'm not looking forward to a cold bed."
Brad nodded and failed to bit back a yawn. "And it's Wednesday," he looked expectantly at his other friend.
"Oh, oh! We can all sleep in Hans' bed, like we used to." Shuichi bounced slightly and Brad chuckled.
Hans smiled. "Closing time is just a bit over half-an-hour more. We'll go together; keep awake just a bit more."
Later, they trudged across the night crowd, making their way to Hans' two-floor suite on top of Ueno's best apartment building, Brad and Hans to the side and Shuichi in the middle. Shuichi had arms around both taller friends, Brad rested his right upper arm across Shuichi's back and curled his hand around Hans' left shoulder, while Hans had his arm across both Shuichi and Brad's backs.
Even later, they curled around each other in Hans' King-size bed, using only two-thirds of the space. Shuichi in Brad's arms and both spooned in Hans' protective hold that warded away nightmares and uneasy dreams.
-------
When Brad returned to Schwarz's safehouse the next day, a summon from their client was waiting, Nagi sat on the kitchen table with rebellious attitude, Farfarello was ranting nonsense, Schuldich stood ready to batter against his shield again with a disgustingly lazy smirk.
Brad merely raised an eyebrow at them, batting away the red-haired German's taunting innuendos, steadfastly ignored the white-haired deranged Irishman, and stared down Nagi's rebelliousness with a firm, eloquent look.
Usual days, Brad Crawford spent his time thinking of work, of his hidden agendas, and ways to curb his team's decidedly trouble-making tendencies. Most days, he went to sleep with at least a mild headache. Some days, Brad Crawford wondered why he didn't choose to die when he had a chance at it. But he always knew why he didn't, and especially in the rare days, he knew his reasons very well.
He had Hans, quiet and calm, stable and reliable, ready to listen, ready to protect, ready to help him up if he falls, ready to hold him should he falters, ready to protect him even against himself.
He had Shuichi, beautiful and flame-bright, fussing and worrying over him, ready to wrap him in warmth should he feels the cold of the world, ready to bust him out of any trouble he might have dig himself into.
Both have hands extended, and even though he was physically away, he was always holding those hands.
Hans was a genius in mixing drinks, and he always knew what Brad needs, anyday, anytime. No need to ask, no need to say anything.
Shuichi sings, a genius in voice and expression, keeping Brad in awe of the sheer power and possibilities of the world of Music.
Hans plays his violin in the quiet to a private audience. Brad, among his listeners, sinks into the heart-rending-heart-soaring emotion in the Puppeteer's performance.
Shuichi walking alongside him under the sun, enjoying the warmth of the bright day.
Hans quiet smiles, precious because they were rarely real.
Shuichi chattering on and on about things, letting Brad tuned his voice into pleasant white noise to nap with over sun-drenched summer grass.
Little pleasures in life. Little things for others, perhaps, but his lifeline nonetheless.
Pleasure, little Treasures
=============================================================================================
Like I said, I'm having too much fun in my separate universe. Could be AU, because I never know what's the Rozenkrauz drama CD is all about, and I stopped following WK when Gluhen came out. Don't remember Brad Crawford's past ever being discussed, except perhaps in the Rozenkrauz drama CD, which, like I said, I didn't know what's it about.
Title: Pleasure, Little Treasure
Fandom: Weiss/Gravitation
Rating: PG-13
PoV: Brad Crawford
Usual days, Brad Crawford spent his time thinking of work, of his hidden agendas, and ways to curb his team's decidedly trouble-making tendencies. Most days, he went to sleep with at least a mild headache. Some days, Brad Crawford wondered why he didn't choose to die when he had a chance at it.
And then he would feel guilty for even thinking of being ungrateful for the life his friends had spent considerable effort to save. Especially since he volunteered to be in his predicament. Precognition, bah. Never useful when he needs it the most.
Those 'some days' were usually the result of having to scramble for excuses not to let his bloodthirsty--or in Schuldich's case, pervertedly degenerative taste for destruction of the psyche--rip their nemesis into shreds, literaly and figuratively. Then having to explain those excuses to the 'higher-ups' he reported to.
It was enough to give him ulcer.
Then there were the rare days. Rare days, where all was right with the world.
The glass of drink he hadn't ordered clinked gently against the tabletop near the arms he had crossed to pillow his head. Looking up, he found blank, royal magenta eyes with indigo thunder flashing through the irises. "Mister Gray," Brad said softly, testing in his tongue the pet-name belonging to the bartender in front of him.
Superficially, the word 'gray' suited the man staring down at him not at all; nothing gray about him at all, nothing except the gray-areas he operated in.
Konomiya Aoi Hans, the Puppeteer with secret office in the Diet Building, a layer of black and white offset by jewelled magenta eyes. Hans, who once had been an extremely gifted academic with degrees up his sleeves within four years that anyone else would spent all their lives accumulating one-third of. Hans, who had once been just a teenager, a college-mate who shared one-third of their small apartment few minutes walk away from campus. Hans, who had once been a familiar, platonic presence sharing one-third of their one Queen-size bed, who was closer to him than family.
This shell in front of him held still enough for Brad to call him friend and family, still held enough to care when Brad was down, to offer a helping hand whenever he fell.
His team was a job, and, though he had once wondered if he could reach out to them, he realized he couldn't. Schuldich found him interesting, a safe the german couldn't quite find the key to. Farfarello would rather sink one of his many knives into his leader's flesh before having anything to do with talking and support. Nagi was the only possibility; but Nagi was also one Brad realized he shouldn't be heavily involved with, because Nagi was young and capable of being dependant; because of them all, Nagi was the only one with possibility of returning to sane, everyday world, and being close with Brad would only hinder that.
They were allies, they were never friends.
The glass of drink he had never ordered turned out to be a mug of beer; his comfort drink. It was the kind of beer they kept in their fridge, long ago in Boston, because Hans refused to have cheap beer in their appartment, even if he never cared that he was eating cardboard ration for food--one of numerous weird little quirks Brad didn't mind and was happy for, because the beer was, in the end, primarily for him.
Smiling, he took the mug and cradled it between his hands, "Thanks. You're the best."
Hans smiled gently at him, reached out and combed the fingers of his right hand through Brad's short black hair. The look in his eyes said you look like you need it, do you want to talk?
"Mm," Brad made a small sound of agreement, dropping his gaze onto the familiar colour of the beer. "It's the usual thing. You know. Fighting with Weiss, hiding from my team, hiding from Estet. Gets a bit tense and scary sometimes. And there's the leader of Weiss."
Hans had pulled over the stool he kept behind the bar so he could sit and listen when someone need to vent, and now he was listening intently to what Brad had to say. Always the attentive, listening ear. Hans knows people in a way no one should; he could watch someone walking down across the street and be able to accurately guess said person's life story. What made him such an excellent criminal profiler for the Police's special Heavy Crime Squad also made him invariably able to solve most people's problem simply by listening and giving advices that works.
Brad knew he was blessed that he could have this person's attention and care just about anytime he needed it. Well, anytime he could manage to get away from his squad unnoticed, anyway.
Hans pursed his lips slightly, nodding for Brad to continue. He didn't need to hear Brad elaborate on why the leader of Weiss had been a problem. He knew.
Sinking into the relaxing feeling of being able to blather about things that made his head hurt, the leader of Schwarz returned to his venting.
-------
When he was winding down, he found that midnight had come and go. The mug of beer he had craddled in his hands long finished and replaced with a cup of mulled wine, and he really was feeling too good to go back to the safehouse and start donning his mask again.
"Can I crash at your place?" He begged quietly.
"If your squad won't be suspicious of your absence," came the reply. That was as good as a yes, all things considered, he kept track of his team; they only keep track of him if they were snooping. And if they were snooping, Brad always found out in advance and always prepared.
He was going to cross his arms over the bar and rest his head on them when the door was open to a blast of cold night wind and the hubbub of nightlife.
And Shuichi was suddenly there in female form, shoulder length pink-hair and chic two-piece dress and all. "Oh, what a night! I hope it's over for now!"
Brad straightened on his stool and made appropriate agreeing noise. Shu-chan was beautiful as always, but a dullness of fatigue had settled in expressive amethyst eyes. His friend smiled, taking the stool next to him to find steaming black coffee with a dash of cream across it settled right on the bar beside Brad's mulled wine.
"Arigato, ani-ue." Shuichi murmured gratefully. Hans grunted in reply, arms crossed.
"Rough night?" Brad ventured, watching both of his friends with great fondness.
The pink-head bobbed slightly, "A bit more than usual. How are you, though?"
Brad shrugged lightly, the shoulder he bumped onto felt chill despite the layer of his shirt and suit-jacket. "Difficult. Schuldich was feeling... playful, and wanted to knock on Weiss' leader's defence some more. Took a while convincing him otherwise, and he amused himself battering against my shields afterward, because apparently, I 'ruined his fun'."
"Ouch," Shuichi murmured sympathetically.
"Ung," he replied, "I begged Hans to let me crash at his place for the rest of the night. You coming?"
Now Shuichi turned slightly and leaned on him. "I think that's a nice idea; Yuki had a tour in Kantou somewhere and won't be home for a couple of days. I'm not looking forward to a cold bed."
Brad nodded and failed to bit back a yawn. "And it's Wednesday," he looked expectantly at his other friend.
"Oh, oh! We can all sleep in Hans' bed, like we used to." Shuichi bounced slightly and Brad chuckled.
Hans smiled. "Closing time is just a bit over half-an-hour more. We'll go together; keep awake just a bit more."
Later, they trudged across the night crowd, making their way to Hans' two-floor suite on top of Ueno's best apartment building, Brad and Hans to the side and Shuichi in the middle. Shuichi had arms around both taller friends, Brad rested his right upper arm across Shuichi's back and curled his hand around Hans' left shoulder, while Hans had his arm across both Shuichi and Brad's backs.
Even later, they curled around each other in Hans' King-size bed, using only two-thirds of the space. Shuichi in Brad's arms and both spooned in Hans' protective hold that warded away nightmares and uneasy dreams.
-------
When Brad returned to Schwarz's safehouse the next day, a summon from their client was waiting, Nagi sat on the kitchen table with rebellious attitude, Farfarello was ranting nonsense, Schuldich stood ready to batter against his shield again with a disgustingly lazy smirk.
Brad merely raised an eyebrow at them, batting away the red-haired German's taunting innuendos, steadfastly ignored the white-haired deranged Irishman, and stared down Nagi's rebelliousness with a firm, eloquent look.
Usual days, Brad Crawford spent his time thinking of work, of his hidden agendas, and ways to curb his team's decidedly trouble-making tendencies. Most days, he went to sleep with at least a mild headache. Some days, Brad Crawford wondered why he didn't choose to die when he had a chance at it. But he always knew why he didn't, and especially in the rare days, he knew his reasons very well.
He had Hans, quiet and calm, stable and reliable, ready to listen, ready to protect, ready to help him up if he falls, ready to hold him should he falters, ready to protect him even against himself.
He had Shuichi, beautiful and flame-bright, fussing and worrying over him, ready to wrap him in warmth should he feels the cold of the world, ready to bust him out of any trouble he might have dig himself into.
Both have hands extended, and even though he was physically away, he was always holding those hands.
Hans was a genius in mixing drinks, and he always knew what Brad needs, anyday, anytime. No need to ask, no need to say anything.
Shuichi sings, a genius in voice and expression, keeping Brad in awe of the sheer power and possibilities of the world of Music.
Hans plays his violin in the quiet to a private audience. Brad, among his listeners, sinks into the heart-rending-heart-soaring emotion in the Puppeteer's performance.
Shuichi walking alongside him under the sun, enjoying the warmth of the bright day.
Hans quiet smiles, precious because they were rarely real.
Shuichi chattering on and on about things, letting Brad tuned his voice into pleasant white noise to nap with over sun-drenched summer grass.
Little pleasures in life. Little things for others, perhaps, but his lifeline nonetheless.
Pleasure, little Treasures
=============================================================================================
Like I said, I'm having too much fun in my separate universe. Could be AU, because I never know what's the Rozenkrauz drama CD is all about, and I stopped following WK when Gluhen came out. Don't remember Brad Crawford's past ever being discussed, except perhaps in the Rozenkrauz drama CD, which, like I said, I didn't know what's it about.