Fic: You Can't Make an Omelet.... for Indelicateink

[lady_ganesh]

Author: lady_ganesh
Recipient: indelicateink
Title: You Can't Make an Omelet Without Breaking Some Telepaths
Rating: PG-ish
Characters/Pairing(s): pre-Crawford/Schuldig
Summary: Crawford has a future in mind, and he's more than capable of destroying anyone who stands in his way.
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 2,443
Author's Notes: Thanks to red_squared for betaing.



One of the first principles Crawford had learned at Rosenkreuz was that, at the source, power rankings were a lot like playing rock, paper, scissors. Paper beats rock, rock beats scissors. Telekinetic beats clairvoyant, clairvoyant beats telepath.

It wasn't as sure as the hard and fast rule of the playground -- relative amounts of power were important, and the second principle burned into Rosenkreuz pupils was the value of psychological warfare -- but it served as a simple shorthand. Effective.

While they had never been at the top of the power hierarchy, clairvoyants were generally chosen to lead teams when they were available and sufficiently strong. Telekinetics and telepaths both had control issues, and Eszett cared about nothing so much as control. That had always granted Crawford a certain advantage.

The first time they'd put him in a leadership position, he was seventeen. Everyone had been assigned in teams of two for what their instructors insisted was a routine exercise. Crawford knew better. He'd seen it all, though only in snatches. Their plans ended with a permanent assignment and a knife in his back. Crawford had a better idea. There was someone else in his future. Red hair, blue eyes. Whoever it was, they were getting closer, and a weak, grasping telepath he couldn't trust wasn't about to stand in his way.

Crawford never bothered learning the boy's name. He was from Spain, a slight, greasy teenager with dark rodent's eyes. "So according to the instructions, we're supposed to cross through a maze--" He looked at Crawford's face, slightly surprised. "You're powerful."

Crawford smirked. "Not much to read?"

"It's a maze," he said. "We'll have to communicate by signal, if you won't let me in."

"We'll be fine," Crawford said, in a way that he knew would make the teenager even more nervous. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Don't worry."

They made it through the maze without any further difficulties and were assigned together permanently, as Crawford had suspected. By the third day of the assignment, pushing against the implacable wall of Crawford's mental control had worn the forgettable telepath's nerves to a thread. Crawford finished him off by letting him in just enough to let the weasel know what he really thought of him.

The minor knife wound he'd received had been well worth the trouble.

The second time, he didn't wait for any kind of assignment. The telepath was a tall German woman with long blond braids, named Grete because otherwise she wouldn't have been a total cliche. Crawford saw the Elders' plans; marriage, children for the benefit of Eszett, perhaps the unimaginable privilege of hosting the infant clone of the Fuhrer someday. Delightful. Crawford would shoot himself in the head before any of that happened.

Not that it was necessary. He almost didn't have to do anything but observe; there had been an 'incident,' as the teachers referred to it, in the Women's Corps two months before, and tempers were short as it was. All he'd had to do was put in a small word to a young Thai pyrotechnic, and the sparks flew on their own, so to speak.

He'd had to help put out the fire and his eyebrows had been singed off, but again, it seemed a small price to pay. After all, he knew they would grow back.

The third telepath, when Crawford was almost twenty, had been a young man with flame-red hair and blue eyes, and for a moment Crawford had thought that his chance had finally come. But then the man opened his mouth, and the soft Southern drawl had been, while achingly familiar, the opposite of the harsh sounds he'd been waiting for.

Crawford didn't even really dislike the boy. But he could already see what would happen. This one had been broken too brutally, too long ago. He would never disobey the Elders. At the end, he'd die protecting them, and Crawford's chances would be shattered to nothing. He'd come out alive, but he'd be shackled for the rest of his life.

That was unacceptable.

Lynn would be more difficult than the others. He was competent, clever, clear-headed: everything the Elders prized and everything that would make him a worthwhile asset to a team. Crawford would have to move carefully.

Salvation, of a sort, came from a direction he hadn't anticipated. He was sitting at the cafeteria eating a sandwich when he heard a voice he'd only before caught in his visions. "No," it said, in thickly-accented German. "I'm not eating that."

The accent was Western European. Irish or Scottish, maybe? Even after years at Rosenkreuz, Crawford couldn't always distinguish between accents; badly spoken German just sounded like badly spoken German much of the time. No doubt there were several snide notes about it in his file.

The speaker was younger than Crawford, probably by a few years. He had snow-white hair and wore an eyepatch that didn't seem to be chosen as a dramatic gesture. Scars crisscrossed his skin.

"You'll have to," Lynn said, in a reasonable, calm voice, no doubt calculated to calm whatever was going on in the first speaker's head. "Or go hungry."

"I've been hungry before," (Farfarello, Crawford's mind helpfully supplied) said. "I'll no doubt be hungry again. Now leave me alone."

For a second, the future cracked open: Unstable, he heard in his head, that sharp, nasal voice he'd been hearing for years. See, the problem with most telepaths is they're empaths too. They start feeling bad for the crazies, then the next thing you know they're screaming at shadows and climbing the walls. That's why I'm better, Crawford. Because I do not give a fuck about any of you.

Crawford looked over at the white-haired student. He looked completely unsuited for his German school uniform. For any uniform, really. Work overalls might have suited him. He would have been a creditable pirate.

"I want him on my team," he told Herr Strauss that night. "I've seen him in my visions. I can't succeed without him."

Herr Strauss scowled at him. "You know as well as I do that the future is malleable. We expect you to work within the circumstances you are given."

"Of course," Crawford said smoothly. "But I have also learned not to waste an asset when it is given to me. I know we can work effectively together. I've seen it. I've seen us doing essential duties for Eszett. Why would I waste an opportunity like this? Why would you want me to?"

The shadows on Strauss' face deepened. "And how much will it benefit your own agenda?"

Crawford pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I believe you are well aware that our interests coincide." The sacrifice. The demon. Crawford held them in his mind, just enough to peek out, the prize the Elders longed for. And all within their grasp, if they just played their cards correctly. You can't refuse me, Crawford willed, from inside the walls of his mind. You won't.

"We will consider it," Herr Strauss said. "You are dismissed."

Crawford nodded and left, keeping his face impassive. He knew he had already won.

He was assigned Lynn the next day, no doubt to teach him that he shouldn't count on getting everything he wanted. Crawford introduced himself in the most ingratiating way possible, ready to play the role of the caring, supportive team leader. Lynn was suitably grateful.

It was several weeks before Farfarello turned their partnership into a trio, after a disastrous assignment which ended in gore and recriminations. Farfarello had been uninjured, and had managed to avoid most of the blame as well.

"I'm not sure about this," Lynn said. He knew better than to betray any nervousness, but Crawford was good at reading signals. "His last mission didn't exactly end well."

"It's hard to say until he's in our group," he said evenly. "The first telepath I worked with was...unstable. I would hardly say that I should swear off all telepaths as a result. And I'd hope you wouldn't judge me from those unfortunate circumstances."

"Of course not," Lynn said, his eyes monitoring Farfarello from across the cafeteria. "But if you want to talk unstable...Farfarello certainly qualifies."

Crawford did his best to pin Lynn with his gaze. "In what way?"

With a little shrug that indicated his objections were futile, Lynn switched to English. "With all respect, Crawford, he's mad."

Crawford gave him a brilliant grin. "We're all mad here, Lynn. Don't you know that by now?"

After four months, even Crawford could tell Lynn's sanity was fraying at the edges. He seemed to hear voices no one else could, and jumped at shadows even when the three of them were alone. Herr Heydrich hadn't noticed yet, but that was simply because he was distracted with other affairs, including sixteen new students and a small fire in the girls' dormitory. It was just a matter of time, though. Crawford was going to have to talk fast to get another telepath assigned to his team once the shit hit the fan. He had time, though. He could be careful. Perhaps he could even talk Herr Strauss into giving him the telepath he wanted, the one from his visions. If he could find him in time--

I give him three more weeks, a voice said, smack in the center of his forehead.

Crawford paused with his hand on the door to the boy's toilets. He couldn't breathe. It was like a gunshot had gone whizzing by his head.

Hello, Crawford, the voice continued. You've been waiting for me. You even left the door open. Pretty generous for a clairvoyant.

"Get the fuck out of my head," Crawford growled. "I won't ask you twice." He pushed into the toilets, and there the boy from his visions was, standing in front of the urinals with his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was green, not red, but Crawford would recognize his posture anywhere, his blue eyes, the way he cocked his head as if expecting Crawford to do an interesting trick.

It's safer this way. Whatever it is you're hiding, I don't think you want our dear teachers learning it.

"You think I'll just tell you?"

The boy grinned unpleasantly. You will. For now, I just want to know why me.

Because I've seen you, Crawford reluctantly thought back. For now, that's what you'll get.

The boy considered that, then spun to face the urinal. "Schuldig," he said, matter-of-factly unzipping his pants. "You're Crawford?"

"Yes," Crawford said, taking the next urinal. He hated trying to talk and piss at the same time. He unzipped anyway.

"They say you're strong," Schuldig said. "The Elders have plans."

"The Elders always have plans," Crawford said dismissively.

"Your mouth tightens when you say that," Schuldig said. "Be careful."

Crawford shot him a sidelong glance. Not many telepaths paid attention to body language. They relied on what people already gave them. Schuldig was clearly more useful than your average telepath. Had Crawford really left an opening for him? Or was he that powerful?

"You're with Lynn, right?" Schuldig said, casually.

Crawford nodded, shook himself off, went to the sink to wash his hands.

"We were in training in Bavaria together." He's a fucking idiot. Can't shield well enough and can't handle what he finds. "Who else is with you?"

"Farfarello. He's a physical fighter, mostly. Can't feel pain." Crawford scrubbed absently under his fingernails.

Schuldig nodded. And stark raving nuts. Religious fanatic. Anti-fanatic? Is that what you call it when rejecting God's your religion?

Something like that.

"They say they're not going to assign me for a while," Schuldig said. "At least a month. They're afraid with this many non-telepaths around I'll lose control."

You won't. "Huh."

Then I'll be seeing you, Schuldig said, and left.

It took Crawford a second to realize Schuldig hadn't bothered washing his hands.

He'd have to do something about that.

In a month, Crawford had realized that he couldn't get Schuldig to do anything. Washing his hands when he left the men's room was the least of his problems. Schuldig pushed at people for nothing more than Schuldig's personal amusement. He jumped into the thousand random little fights that erupted regularly at Rosenkreuz with an eye to making every conflict worse. Crawford once caught him humming Bach's Agnus Dei all but in Farfarello's ear.

Crawford started pushing his visions further, harder. Maybe Lynn could be strengthened, his mind toughened. Maybe he....

It won't work, Schuldig told him one night after lights out. Even if you tried, it's too late now. Lynn's too far gone, and if he starts moving in the right direction, I'm here to push him back.

Why do you even care? Crawford thought back angrily, raising his head from the bed. You don't even like us. When had Crawford cared about being liked? When did he think of an us?

You let me in, Crawford. You let me see what you saw. Do you think I'll give that up?

No. Of course not. Crawford had spent years lying, cheating and manipulating for just a taste of freedom. It had all but been dropped in Schuldig's hands. Who would let that go? I don't have to like it.

I'd be shocked if you did, Schuldig thought with some amusement. Though I've seen a few things in your mind you might like....

Was he bluffing? Or had he really seen....

"I'm the babe with the power," Shuldig said, now at the foot of his cot. How long had he been sneaking up on Crawford? Besides, Lynn's straight.

"Get the fuck out," Crawford said.

Don't worry, Schuldig said, as he disappeared back into the darkness. You're not the only one who knows how to bide his time.

Does that mean you'll learn to listen to me?

Maybe. Good night, Herr Crawford. I don't know what your visions say, but I suspect I'll be part of your team by the end of the month.

That was pretty much what Crawford's visions had predicted, too. Don't think this is going to be easy.

That's fine. I don't like boring.

Crawford let his head drop back on the pillow and closed his eyes. That, at least, they had in common.