Nightshift 24: M43
The terrifying screaming from earlier in the day had not faded from Crawford's mind. When was the last time he had heard Schuldig do that - years ago? More than years, almost a decade? That high-pitched, frantic screaming, the cry for help that nobody was willing to answer because to them, it didn't exist. Or it had a meaning. Or he deserved it.
It struck him right to his very core how sensitive they were, now, in this place that sucked away their powers and restraints. It shook him, even. And Crawford was not a man easily shaken.
As soon as night had fallen, he'd slipped through the halls, following the doors until he found his way to Schuldig's room. There he'd found the German lying in his bed, almost unconscious, and the room's other occupant having vanished. Then Schuldig's eyes had opened, and he'd smirked and spoken, and in the dying sunlight he climbed under the covers to join Schuldig in the bed.
It was some time later that he sat on the edge of the bed, rumpled and shirtless. Schuldig was alive and sane - and for that, Crawford was grateful. But what would happen next, he wondered? Would Farfarello find them, or would he and Schuldig have to track him down? Would their apparently 'usual' nightly group rejoin and continue their exploration of this hospital from hell? Too many questions, not enough answers. Typically, he was the one with all the answers; having none frustrated him.
It struck him right to his very core how sensitive they were, now, in this place that sucked away their powers and restraints. It shook him, even. And Crawford was not a man easily shaken.
As soon as night had fallen, he'd slipped through the halls, following the doors until he found his way to Schuldig's room. There he'd found the German lying in his bed, almost unconscious, and the room's other occupant having vanished. Then Schuldig's eyes had opened, and he'd smirked and spoken, and in the dying sunlight he climbed under the covers to join Schuldig in the bed.
It was some time later that he sat on the edge of the bed, rumpled and shirtless. Schuldig was alive and sane - and for that, Crawford was grateful. But what would happen next, he wondered? Would Farfarello find them, or would he and Schuldig have to track him down? Would their apparently 'usual' nightly group rejoin and continue their exploration of this hospital from hell? Too many questions, not enough answers. Typically, he was the one with all the answers; having none frustrated him.