FIC, FIC, FIC!!! (Weiß Kreuz)
Title: Pieces of Black (56-60)
Author: Lauand
Beta: Avierra
Rating: Depending on the piece. From G to R.
Pairing: When it applies, Crawford/Schuldig
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Thank you very much to Avierra for the beta-reading and general awesomeness. I touched this last, any mistake is my fault.
Riddles
(Written for indelicateink)
It was something that puzzled Schuldig. Because Crawford was notoriously discreet with his body, always hiding it behind ugly shirts and expensive suits, even in their slow time inside the flat in the summer, when even Nagi would wear shorts and Schuldig wouldn't bother with a shirt. However, every morning, Crawford would go into the bathroom in his dark pajamas and come out of it in nothing but a towel. Not even the vapor of the hot water would cling to him. And Schuldig, being Schuldig and hating mornings, would wake up at the break of dawn to be the silent witness to a nearly naked Crawford who would haunt the corridor for barely three seconds. For being so reluctant to show off, Crawford didn't care about Schuldig being there, either. It wasn't as if he were shy. Crawford wasn't. And Schuldig knew. Knew but didn't understand. It was something that really puzzled Schuldig.
"I don't get you," Schuldig said one morning.
Crawford paused when reaching for the knob of his bedroom. He looked like a totally different person. Muscled. Without glasses. Wet bangs everywhere.
"Your answer is your own question," Crawford replied cryptically, enjoying his role as the Oracle a bit too much for Schuldig's taste. But seeing that foreign body smirk so familiarly was nearly worth the annoyance, Schuldig thought.
Then Crawford completed the movement and entered his room without looking back.
Schuldig was back to bed and asleep by the time Crawford was putting on his slacks. It didn't even occur to him to wonder how come Crawford hadn't acquired a flat with a private bathroom in his bedroom. That would have puzzled him even more.
War II
"Crawford, I've got a news flash for you: you're not as cool as you think you are."
"You aren't as hot as you think you are either, Schuldig."
Defiance II
He heard the footsteps and recognized the softness combined with the fast pace of someone with shorter legs, but he still didn't try to turn over to face him. Everything hurt too much. Nagi didn't take that into consideration and flipped him over telekinetically. Schuldig groaned.
"Schuldig, you just never learn."
He could be battered, but not enough to stop him from smirking.
"I make a point of never learning, kiddo," he whispered, "I wouldn't like to give the impression that I can be taught."
Nagi shook his head, and went to fetch the first aid kit.
Counselor II
"How come I'm here again?"
"What do you mean 'again'?" Schuldig snapped. "I've never brought you here."
Yohji sighed, gathering his patience. He broodily pushed the cherry of his cocktail down, getting his finger sticky in the process.
"I didn't mean the place, I meant the situation. As in 'you've kidnapped me again'."
"What are you talking about? This is a bar, I haven't tied you down, you're here of your own free will..."
"Schuldig, you're blackmailing me. With things I haven't even done."
"Okay, okay, stop sulking. If you miss that cellar so much, I could still accomodate you. I might have a coil of rope in the car..."
Coming to the conclusion that the patience he had managed to gather wasn't that much after all, Yohji kicked Schuldig under the table.
"Hey!"
--------
"How is it that a bunch of sociopaths can work in a team so well? I would have thought your egos would collide, trying to put them all together in an apartment smaller than them."
Schuldig signaled the waiter for another round. Yohji thought that Schuldig getting him drunk and beating around the bushes was far better than Schuldig tying him to a chair and rambling about his love life in a cellar, so he accepted the new drink amiably.
"How do you know how big our apartment is?" Schuldig asked suspiciously.
"I don't. But your ego is the size of Tokyo and Crawford's is probably the size of Japan."
Schuldig took a large gulp of his drink and shrugged.
"We don't try to be friends. We don't give a fuck about what the others do or think. Keeping a relationship strictly professional does wonders for efficiency."
"But you live with the guys. And you're fucking Crawford." Yohji protested.
"So what?"
Yohji cast him a typical 'I'm not sure of the level of intelligence of my counterpart' look.
"Don't you think that might be crossing the line between professional and personal?"
Schuldig cast exactly the same look back at him.
"No. We don't take 'fucking' as something personal."
"And how the hell can you fuck in an impersonal manner?"
Schuldig sent him a mental picture. Yohji paled, grabbed his glass and finished his drink.
"That looked pretty personal to me," he finally said when he found his voice.
"It's not personal."
"It is."
"It is not."
"It is too."
"I tell you it is not."
"It sure looked like it."
"Well, appearances are deceiving."
Yohji frowned. And he had thought before that arguing with Aya was an exercise of futility...
"Okay," he looked at his sadly empty glass and decided this was as good time as any to get to the point, "why the fuck am I here?"
Schuldig made a facial movement that made his nose twitch. Yohji had to bite his tongue not to laugh out loud. He wasn't drunk enough to provoke the other assassin, especially when Schuldig wasn't drunk enough, either, to tone down his cruel streak.
"Because I don't want it anymore."
"The sex?"
"It being impersonal."
"...Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Then, like mirror images, they both signaled the waiter for yet another round.
---------
"You should talk to him. Tell him your feelings. Open up."
Yohji didn't slur, but he talked slower when he was drunk. Schuldig looked at him with half-hooded, red-rimmed eyes.
"Your sense of humour shhhhhhucks," he informed Yohji.
"I'm serious!"
"You can't be."
"I am!"
"Then, you'rrre an idiot. Iz that the best advice you can come up with?"
Yohji was starting to get angry.
"What did you expect me to say? That you should fry his brain till he's retarded enough to love you?!"
Schuldig narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not...! That's not...!"
"Oh, sorry," Yohji interrupted him, making a big show of rolling his eyes, "I forgot you're not in love but in 'whatever'. 'Whatever' being possibly denial!"
"You..."
Schuldig never got to finish the sentence because he thought action would be more eloquent than words. Therefore, he punched Yohji.
Yohji shook his head and tried to unify what each of his eyes was seeing in a single, more or less stable image. That allowed him to locate where Schuldig was. Once he had achieved that, he punched back.
------------
They hadn't made it to the park. Yohji had said that, after the ordeal of beating each other and getting forcibly kicked out of the bar, it would be more comfortable to lie down on grass, and not the hard pavement, but Schuldig was still bitter about Yohji preventing him from shooting the barkeeper and decided that he didn't want to take a step further. Yohji was in no condition to drag him, and it wasn't as if the streets were terribly populated in the suburbs at two in the morning, so he relented and sprawled by Schuldig's side in a timeless gesture of drunken camaraderie. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the brightest stars, the lights of Tokyo deninitely dimmer so far from downtown.
"You could write him a love letter and have Farfarello deliver it. That would sure call his attention."
Schuldig snorted, but followed the lead.
"Or I could send him flowers..."
"I'd offer you a discount!" Yohji laughed.
Even at such a late hour and deserted street, they could still hear the sound of an engine coming near.
"Or some chocolates. Heart-shaped ones."
They both pffffed and cackled at that.
"Why don't you sing Céline Dion under his window all night long?"
The engine was killed. The door of a car opened and closed.
"I can't sing to save my life."
"All the better! No, wait! How about getting some necklaces, those which have half a heart each!"
They heard the steps on the pavement, but they both ignored them.
"He would love that. I'm tempted to do it just to see his face."
"I'll give you a picture if you need to see my face so badly."
The nearest street lamp was pretty far away and behind the figure looming over them, but it wasn't that difficult to guess who that tall man in business suit was.
"Your Beige Prince is here to impersonally fetch you," Yohji cheerfully announced.
Schuldig kicked him.
"Ouch!"
"Tomorrow you're going to be hung over." Crawford said in a tone between irritated and resigned.
Schuldig and Yohji burst into giggles first and outright laughter next. Crawford patiently waited for the fit to subside. It took a while.
"He's good, eh?" Yohji commented to Schuldig, too amused and too drunk to realize the situation he was in. It wasn't everyday that one could say one had literally rolled on the floor laughing his ass off.
"Don't strain your powers like that," Schuldig admonished Crawford, "you could sprain a brain cell or something."
As response, Crawford lifted him by the arm and picked him up over his shoulder.
"If you shut up now, I might be nice and let you come out to play with your friend tomorrow, too."
"Uggghhhh..."
Yohji watched from the floor as the pair walked away towards the car. Well, Crawford walked away. Schuldig just hung from his shoulder as though it was common ocurrence for him to be there, apparently not weighing shit.
"If you do that I'll drop you. Head first."
Yohji didn't have the impression that Crawford was talking to him. He was curious, so he tried to direct his thought towards Schuldig.
/Do what?/
The feeling of Schuldig's voice in his brain startled him. He didn't think he would ever get used to the feeling. He hope he didn't need to.
/I was thinking of biting his ass. Or maybe he's 'seen' me puking all over his pants, who knows.../
/Schuldig.../
The mental voice was steady, totally unlike what his real voice would be, swinging from his perch on Crawford's shoulder.
/Yeah?/
/It's not impersonal for him./
A long silence followed. Crawford reached the car and put Schuldig's pliant body inside. He then walked around to the driver's seat and started the engine.
/...See you around, Balinese./
/Next time you need counseling, you already know where to kidnap me./
/Sure,/ the voice sounded amused but low, fading in the distance just like the car, /bye... and good luck with your kitten.../
/With my.../
But by the time he could finish the sentence, Schuldig was already gone.
No
"Do you feel attracted to me?"
Crawford didn't even raise his eyes from what he was calmly doing.
"No," he answered.
Schuldig didn't relent. The light of the desk lamp reflected on Crawford's hair and the wire of his glasses; the rest of the room was dark. Schuldig thought that the lighting became him.
"I mean, you know, sexually. Do you?"
"No."
Well, he had tried. Schuldig was about to turn and leave the room when he stopped and looked at his leader again. He wasn't wearing a jacket, or a vest. He wasn't sweating, that Schuldig could see, nor did he seem nervous. His mind was as still as a lake, his hands steady, his features serious.
"If you did," Schuldig whispered, "would you have answered 'yes'?"
Crawford paused for a second, maybe two. Then he continued what he was doing with the same order and meticulousness as before.
"No," he finally replied.
Schuldig fought not to smile.