Teamwork (Weiss Kreuz, Schudig/Crawford)

[lady_ganesh]

Title: Teamwork
Author: lady_ganesh
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Daily life in Schoss Rosenkreuz.
Pairing: Crawford/Schuldig
Prompt: November 15, He’d seen a lot of things with his gift, but he didn’t think he’d ever picked up the porn channel before.
Author notes: Freestanding sequel to Symbiosis.



"Crawford?"

Brad Crawford shook his head and brought his mind back, with some difficulty, to the here and now.

"You okay?" Schuldig was frowning at him.

"I'm fine," he snapped, hoping his shields were strong enough to keep the telepath out. Schuldig had been getting pushier lately; Crawford hoped it wasn't a sign of more difficult things to come.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen sex with his Talent before. It'd just never been quite as vivid as it had recently gotten. And he'd never been directly involved.

Schuldig waved his hand in front of Crawford's face. "I don't believe you."

Crawford grabbed his wrist and twisted it for emphasis. "I'm fine."

Schuldig's feral grin answered him. "That's better. Come on, they're waiting for us."

Crawford sighed and got up. "I already know what--"

"I know," Schuldig said. "But I don't."

This was the first time Crawford would officially be a team leader, though he'd been pushing his team around in the shadows for a while now. He'd seen a different team, his real team, with his Talent, and he was anxious to have them by his side. Still, he'd settle for the two he was going to be assigned; they were competent enough, or at least they appeared to be--

The world splintered white for a moment, and the future changed. "Wait," he said. "Something's happening."

He ran toward the meeting room, Schuldig easily matching his pace.

Herr Ferguson was waiting for them, but not with their new team. "Ah, Crawford," he said. "Schuldig. There's been a delay. If you could just wait for a moment--"

The boy who was assigned to us is dead, Schuldig noted in Crawford's head. They're talking the girl down. I think we'll be three, not four.

"Yeah," Crawford said. "We'll wait."

There was coffee set up on the table, and Schuldig poured himself a cup.

"What happened to the boy?"

"Messy," Schuldig said, "whatever it was. Think it might have been a Farm kid."

"The dead one, or the killer?"

Schuldig shrugged. "Either. Both. Dunno." He stretched out over the overstuffed couch. "This room's fancy."

"Usually they only use it for entertaining clients," Crawford said. "Dunno why we're in here."

"We have potential." Schuldig grinned. "They're setting us up for greater things. Or to put us down if we get too cocky." He took a gulp of coffee. "Needs sugar."

"You always say that." Crawford poured himself a cup. "They must not have gotten around to setting the sugar out yet."

"So," Schuldig said, just as Crawford raised the coffee to his lips, "when did you start picking up the porn channel?"

I should have seen that coming, Crawford thought reproachfully to himself as he tried not to choke. He'd been so overfocused on who was coming in the door that he hadn't noticed the threat beside him. "Dammit," he said, when he could speak. "What is wrong with you?"

Schuldig rested his coffee cup back on the table, the better to lounge over the couch. "It's a simple question. Normally you shield better than that. If I have to watch your back, I should know what to look for, right?"

"Ah," Herr Ferguson said, as he re-entered the room. "I see you've made yourself comfortable." A young girl followed him. She looked East Indian, of average height, average build, average appearance; remarkable only in her sheer lack of distinction. Crawford had seen her in passing once or twice, but she was relatively new. "This is Miss Gunjita. I do hope you'll be able to get along and work together well."

"Yes," Crawford said, rising. "I'm sure we will." He extended his hand, and the girl shook it limply. "This is Schuldig, and I'm Crawford."

Schuldig nodded languidly from the couch, clearly unimpressed.

"Miss Gunjita is telekinetic," Herr Ferguson said. "I think she'll be a remarkably good addition to your team."

"And the fourth member?" Crawford pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Will be meeting you in a day or so." Herr Ferguson off further questions in that direction with his tone. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

"He should've brought sugar," Schuldig sulked, as the door closed behind him.

"Stop whining," Crawford said, and turned his attention to Gunjita. "You're telekinetic, huh?"

She nodded.

"They'll put us in the obstacle course to see how we work together. Anything we should know?"

She shook her head. "Anything I should know?"

Schuldig is sadistic and likes to make women miserable, Crawford thought to himself. And my visions are spending more time on Skinemax then anything useful. "Not really. Be careful, our control isn't always great. What did Ferguson tell you?"

"You're clarivoyant," she said. "And he can read minds." Her eyes rested suspiciously on Schuldig. "They consider him an 'attitude problem.'"

"They're right about that," Schuldig purred.

"You're not very popular with the others," she said.

"I don't care about the others," he answered. For once, his tone was neither light nor sarcastic. "So that doesn't really matter."

"I see," she said. Her face was calculating.

A telekinetic could be useful, even a weak one. He'd have to talk to Schuldig later.

"I'm bored," Schuldig said two weeks later, lounging on Crawford's bed. Crawford had told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave Gunjita alone, and he was bored and frustrated with no teammates to torment.

"I don't care," Crawford said. "Get off, I want to sleep."

Schuldig pouted. "You used to let me sleep here." That had been a long time ago, now, when Schuldig's brain had been confused and chaotic. Having a stable team and a stable partner in Crawford had changed things significantly; Schuldig was still unreliable and mercurial, but it had faded more to the level of a personality quirk than ongoing psychosis.

"You're not sleeping," Crawford pointed out. "You're being a pain in the ass."

"I'm bored."

"Suffer," Crawford said. "I'm tired. I'm sure you can find someone to annoy, if you try hard enough."

"Fine," Schuldig said, and disappeared.

Crawford knew he'd regret the suggestion, but it didn't really matter; future stress was nothing compared to the present peace.

The visions were clear in their general content, but the lighting was poor, and the details sadly lacking. He had his glasses off in them, too, which only muddled things further. The most he'd get was a glimpse of green hair and white skin; white sheets, might have been from the Schloss, might have been a motel room.

It was enough to get him hard, but not enough to plan any dates around.

It was enough to feed his dreams, though, and he was deep in the throes of passion with a mysterious green-haired stranger when Gunjita shook his arm. "Crawford," she repeated. "Crawford!"

He blinked at her face, softened by the dim light and his poor eyesight. "You're not supposed to be in the boys'--"

"Shut up," she said. "Follow me."

He did, rubbing his eyes and trying to will his erection down. Gunjita was in the long white nightgown that was assigned to all the girls; he'd heard rumors that some girls wore their own nightclothes, but had never bothered to find out. When he got his glasses on, he could see that her plain face was marked with worry and fatigue.

She led him-- dragged him, really-- to the boys' washroom.

"Go in there," she said. "Fix it. He's yelling at me."

Crawford's brain woke up enough to realize what was actually going on. "Schuldig?" He'd had far more time to shield his mind from Schuldig's nocturnal annoyances; Gunjita must have been wide open--

"Fix it," she insisted, shoving him toward the door.

"One of the boys is holding it shut," he snapped back, turning away before the guard could realize there was anyone at the door.

Gunjita scowled. "On three," she said. "One, two--"

Assisted by her telekinetic push, Crawford made it through the door. That was the easy part. Pulling Schuldig free was harder, though two of the boys were younger and far less skilled. There were four of them, and they must have overwhelmed Schuldig mentally; there was no way he couldn't handle them otherwise--

Schuldig bolted for the door, cursing in German and English as he went.

"Take care of him!" Crawford commanded to Gunjita, then took stock of the remaining boys. They had all recovered enough to be a threat; the only real advantage Crawford had had at first was the element of surprise. Now he had to rely on his Talent and his fists.

"You need to keep your pet in line," Gerling said angrily. He was the oldest, and another telepath, though nowhere near as powerful as Schuldig.

"He's not my pet," Crawford said. "And I'm surprised you're so weak to let him bother you."

Gerling snarled and threw a weak punch; Crawford dodged it easily, and ducked the cup of-- something-- that Himmel threw at him. It was caustic, as he discovered when it hit the third boy; Arquette, he thought. At any rate, the boy screamed, clawing at his nose and eyes. One down; and the others--

"Is it always like this?" a voice said behind him. It had a trace of an accent, though Crawford couldn't place it. "Because if I'm going to fight every time I have to piss, it's going to be tiring."

The disturbance, as Crawford saw, bought him a bit of time. He straightened up and pushed his glasses up his nose. "No," he said. "We're not supposed to fight."

"Naughty," the newcomer observed dryly.

Crawford spared him a glance; shocking white hair, eyepatch--

Another piece of his future slid neatly into place.

Crawford turned his attention back to his adversaries. "What the hell did you do to Schuldig?"

"Nothing he wasn't asking for," Himmel said.

"And what are you asking for?" the new boy asked cheerfully. He was skinny, with sharp cheekbones and a sharper gold eye. "After all, I found you fighting."

Crawford pushed his Talent forward slightly and realized that he'd just become a non-factor. The white-haired boy could take all three of the boys still standing, easily. But at the moment, they were too confused to fight. "Come on," he said to the boy. "Herr Schmidt will be coming soon to see what's going on. To hell with them."

The boy's eyes were still fixed on Crawford's adversaries. "I still need to piss."

"There's another bathroom," Crawford said.

"Hm," the boy said, but he let Crawford lead him out of the bathroom and down the hall. His face was heavily scarred.

"What's your name?"

"Farfarello."

"Your accent doesn't sound Italian."

"I'm not Italian. I'm Irish."

Okay. Crawford walked through the boys' bunks. He kept his voice low, though everyone was awake from the commotion. "You're new?"

"Just came this morning from the Farm."

"You're not supposed to tell people that."

Farfarello shrugged. "I don't care. If they're afraid of me, maybe they'll leave me alone. Why did they do that to your friend?"

"My-- oh. Schuldig. He's on my team. I don't know, exactly."

Farfarello raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You must have a guess?"

"He's psychic. He probably annoyed them into violence," Crawford said. "Though usually they just beat him up. I don't know what happened this time." He nodded at the bathroom door and Farfarello walked through. Crawford crossed his arms, put his back against the hallway, and waited. Herr Schmidt showed up shortly after, slightly out of breath and red-faced with anger.

"What did you have to do with all this?"

"Schuldig called to us," Crawford said. "He was in some kind of distress. We came. Farfarello needed to use the head, so I showed him where it was."

"Do you want him on your team?"

"Does it matter?"

Herr Schmidt nodded approval. "I appreciate your realism, Crawford. Schuldig's in the hospital ward. You can see him if you'd like. He should be ready for duty again in two days, and we'll pull your team together then."

"All right," Crawford said.

Schuldig looked ludicrously small in the hospital bed. His eyes were bandaged, and they'd turned the lights down to rest his eyes. The nurse said his vision would be unaffected; he just needed darkness and sleep.

"Are you all right?" It was hard to see in the dark, but he could tell Schuldig was still awake. He sat in the chair next to the hospital cot.

In the dark, Crawford couldn't quite figure out what Schuldig was doing until he felt warm fingers close around his hand. "It hurts like a motherfucker."

"What did you do to them?"

"Too much," Schuldig said. Crawford could feel him shifting on the bed. "Can I have more pills?"

"I'll ask Matron when she comes back."

"I don't want to be alone," Schuldig said.

Schuldig never asked. He cajoled, or threatened, or just did what he wanted to anyway. It was strange to hear him so close to...asking.

Crawford sighed. "I'll ask Matron."

Schuldig didn't say anything, but the grip on Crawford's fingers tightened slightly. He'd fallen asleep by the time Matron Hess came along, so Crawford was able to ask in peace.

"He won't keep his bandages on if I don't stay," he said, which was more or less true. "It'll take longer for him to heal."

"All right," she said. "You can sleep in the chair."

Crawford nodded. The chair wasn't comfortable, but he was exhausted, and he managed to get something resembling sleep.

He woke up finally to Schuldig's voice. "You're sure?"

"You'll be fine in a day or two," Matron Hess said.

"Let me see."

She sighed. "You're so impatient," she said. "Go ahead."

"Ah," he said after a moment. "Not so-- wait, my hair--"

"Most of the chemicals were on your head," she said.

"They wanted to ruin my hair," he said. "I fought them, that's why it got all over-- but--" He started laughing. Crawford opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. His glasses were-- over there, on the table. When had he taken them off? Probably in his sleep--

"It's shit," Schuldig said delightedly, as Crawford slipped his glasses back on. "Crawford, look."

Crawford looked. Schuldig's face was red, as if it were sunburnt, and the bandage around his eyes hospital white. But it was his newly green hair that caught Crawford's attention.

They made me the man of your dreams, Crawford, a voice said in his mind, almost giddy with excitement. And here I was going to feed him his own entrails.

"You look like shit," Crawford said, while his mind whirred. Schuldig was green-haired, on a snow-white bed, and--

he'd been jealous--

"Shift change," Schuldig said, and for a moment Crawford wasn't sure if it was the present or future talking. "We're all alone."

Crawford pulled himself into the present and looked up. Matron Hess was still fussing with Schuldig's bed. "Can't I have another pillow?" Schuldig wheedled. "Shouldn't my head be elevated, so I'll heal more quickly?"

"Your head is fine where it is. Don't abuse the call button." And then Matron Hess and her severe skirts were gone, and Crawford's reality caught up with his Talent.

"Shift change," Schuldig said, his weight shifting in the bed. "We're all alone."

"They're only visions," Crawford said. "They're not carved in stone. You of all people should know that."

"I know how they made you feel," Schuldig said, and Crawford wondered how he could still look so smug under the thick bandage on his eyes. "Come here."

"No," Crawford said, even as his vision tumbled forward. No one would check on Schuldig for a good half hour. At least. And Schuldig had somehow untied his hospital gown... "Schuldig," he said, trying to stop the flood.

"Come here," Schuldig said, and grabbed at him. He was blind, but he still managed to get Crawford's wrist on the first try. He pulled, hard, and Crawford stood up from the chair. "Get in already." He tugged the blanket back with his free hand, and Crawford saw it all over again, naked chest, hard muscle, the dark tangle of pubic hair--

"You're such a pain in the ass," Crawford said, and pulled his glasses back off before Schuldig could screw them up.

Two days later, they were officially assigned Farfarello.

He's completely insane, Schuldig told Crawford, with something like admiration. Reality's hardly even making an appearance.

Are you going to be all right?

Yeah. It's steady. Like a rainstorm.

The information was not as assuring to Crawford as Schuldig'd intended it to be. Still, his Talent didn't reveal anything catastrophic. He settled for saying "Don't fuck up," and pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Schuldig flashed him a wicked grin, and looked over at Gunjita. She's nervous.

She's got a right to be, wouldn't you say?

Eh, maybe. Schuldig shifted his weight. "What the fuck's the holdup?" His face was still reddened from the attack and his eyes were red-rimmed, but his sight and senses were fine. Gunjita had been rattled, both from Schuldig's midnight summoning and the violence that had been done to him; she was shifting nervously from one foot to another, and eyeing Farfarello when she didn't think he was looking. Crawford allowed himself a bit of sympathy toward her; whatever she'd been told when she was taken, nothing really prepared you for the Schloss.

"Your necklace," Farfarello said to Gunjita. "What is it?"

Watch out, Schuldig said.

What? Crawford's Talent showed nothing of consequence.

"Shiva," she said, holding up the tiny gold medallion. "The destroyer."

"Ah," Farfarello smiled. "A heathen god, to challenge Him."

"We believe--" Gunjita began, but Schuldig interrupted her.

"I think they're starting." Mentally he added, to both of them, No mention of the Christian God. Under any circumstances. Trust me.

"Shiva brings renewal," Gunjita finished lamely.

Farfarello nodded. "To begin again, one must destroy. A good sentiment."

Rainstorm, Crawford said to Schuldig.

Mmmmm.

Schuldig came in three hours after lights out.

So, he purred in Crawford's mind, what are we doing tonight?

I'm going to sleep, Crawford said, trying to ignore the electric brush of Schuldig's hand against his thigh. As you should.

What, do we get busted tonight?

Crawford sighed and checked his Talent. They would, in fact, not get busted. Schuldig giggled in the back of his mind, and Crawford reached out and smacked the greenish blur at the side of the bed. So what's the trouble? We kicked ass today. There's nothing to be afraid of, right?

They hadn't touched since the hospital ward.

Crawford wished, sincerely, that Schuldig was manipulating his mind. He knew Schuldig wasn't; that the ache between his legs was entirely his own desire, that he, not Schuldig, was the one wanting to push Schuldig against the mattress and sink his teeth into the telepath's shoulder.

I'm not afraid, Crawford said.

You know I'll make you feel good.

He hated it when Schuldig was right.

Well, hurry up then.

Schuldig giggled in his mind. We're going to rule the world, he added, as he slipped his hand under Crawford's pajama top.

For the moment, let's just focus on not getting caught.