Breaking Point
By Schuldig (River)
It had taken him three smokes to work up the courage to return to the building in which the Schwarz safe house now concealed itself. He knew that Somali was watching him. He knew that she had meant her offer to send Ran with him. It was so, so tempting. But Ran had his own problems at the moment, and it was best if at least one of them was still with Bombay. Which meant… no alone time with the redhead. It was an understatement to say that that was frustrating.
As he neared the building, his pulse quickened. Something was wrong. He knew that Farf and Nagi had been wandering about recently, so it was no surprise that he couldn't sense them… but he didn't sense [anything] coming from the penthouse. He lengthened his stride, turning in through the revolving doors and heading towards the elevator. Something knotted in his stomach, and once he reached the penthouse floor, it grew. The front door was tilted in, partially open.
It was so quiet. So damned quiet. Too quiet. He pulled one of the guns out from inside his jacket, palming it as he swung the door back to eye the destruction. To his surprise, there didn't seem to be anything out of place. A least at first. He began to make a slow, silent sweep of the hideout, starting in the living room. Dusk was breaking through the tall windows that paneled the living area, casting the entire apartment in an eerie red glow.
The furniture was all intact. He was about to move on towards the kitchen when he noticed the half-empty wineglass on the coffee table. His gaze moved upward from the table to the pristine white couch, which was now marred with a spattering of red splotches. Blood. For all that he'd seen and done, his stomach turned. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to Schwarz. They were invincible. Someone couldn't just find their way into their safe house and take advantage of them. Especially Brad.
His exploration of the apartment quickened as he searched the rooms for signs of struggle or a hint of what had happened. The silence was starting to get to him. He hated silence. His mind started to stress the fact that this might not have happened if he'd been here. If he'd been with his team like he was supposed to be, Schwarz would never have been caught off guard. Brad would never have been caught off guard. Guilty.
Schuldig reached the room of the man he looked to as a leader, shoving the door open almost frantically. He didn't know what he expected to find. He moved over towards the mahogany desk near the windows. That's when he heard it. Nearly inaudible music was coming from the stereo built into the bookshelves behind Crawford's desk. Nearly inaudible… but when he heard the rise and fall of that falsetto voice… Latin words trilling with the soft, sad voice of a pre-teen voice, the gun fell out of his hand, hitting the desk.
His own voice serenaded him as he stared at the photograph neatly placed in the center of Crawford's papers. Schuldig began to shake. Mozart's Requiem echoed in his ears, pounding at him, suddenly very loud, though to anyone else, it would hardly be noticed in the silent, dusk-soaked room. Staring back at him was the dark-haired, cool-headed Oracle, his glasses falling off of his face. It was his eyes. His lips might be closed in that thin, lean line, but Schuldig continued to shake as he stared at Bradley Crawford's eyes. Fear. Surprise. Something… Brad hadn't known.
Schuldig hit his knees, partially falling over the leather chair next to him. He couldn't stop shaking. The boy's voice continued behind him. His voice. It wouldn't shut up! Shuddering, he reached up and grasped the gun off the desk, turning quickly and firing a shot into the stereo. The song continued sadly. He shot it again, and again, and again. He used the full clip and kept firing, the gun clicking emptily in his hand as he stared at nothing, wide-eyed.
That's when he broke. The redhead crumpled in the faint light of the room, slumping back against the desk as his sobs finally broke the silence, gasps of air breathed into his lungs and transformed into a sound full of hysterical mourning and laughter in one moan.
By Schuldig (River)
It had taken him three smokes to work up the courage to return to the building in which the Schwarz safe house now concealed itself. He knew that Somali was watching him. He knew that she had meant her offer to send Ran with him. It was so, so tempting. But Ran had his own problems at the moment, and it was best if at least one of them was still with Bombay. Which meant… no alone time with the redhead. It was an understatement to say that that was frustrating.
As he neared the building, his pulse quickened. Something was wrong. He knew that Farf and Nagi had been wandering about recently, so it was no surprise that he couldn't sense them… but he didn't sense [anything] coming from the penthouse. He lengthened his stride, turning in through the revolving doors and heading towards the elevator. Something knotted in his stomach, and once he reached the penthouse floor, it grew. The front door was tilted in, partially open.
It was so quiet. So damned quiet. Too quiet. He pulled one of the guns out from inside his jacket, palming it as he swung the door back to eye the destruction. To his surprise, there didn't seem to be anything out of place. A least at first. He began to make a slow, silent sweep of the hideout, starting in the living room. Dusk was breaking through the tall windows that paneled the living area, casting the entire apartment in an eerie red glow.
The furniture was all intact. He was about to move on towards the kitchen when he noticed the half-empty wineglass on the coffee table. His gaze moved upward from the table to the pristine white couch, which was now marred with a spattering of red splotches. Blood. For all that he'd seen and done, his stomach turned. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to Schwarz. They were invincible. Someone couldn't just find their way into their safe house and take advantage of them. Especially Brad.
His exploration of the apartment quickened as he searched the rooms for signs of struggle or a hint of what had happened. The silence was starting to get to him. He hated silence. His mind started to stress the fact that this might not have happened if he'd been here. If he'd been with his team like he was supposed to be, Schwarz would never have been caught off guard. Brad would never have been caught off guard. Guilty.
Schuldig reached the room of the man he looked to as a leader, shoving the door open almost frantically. He didn't know what he expected to find. He moved over towards the mahogany desk near the windows. That's when he heard it. Nearly inaudible music was coming from the stereo built into the bookshelves behind Crawford's desk. Nearly inaudible… but when he heard the rise and fall of that falsetto voice… Latin words trilling with the soft, sad voice of a pre-teen voice, the gun fell out of his hand, hitting the desk.
His own voice serenaded him as he stared at the photograph neatly placed in the center of Crawford's papers. Schuldig began to shake. Mozart's Requiem echoed in his ears, pounding at him, suddenly very loud, though to anyone else, it would hardly be noticed in the silent, dusk-soaked room. Staring back at him was the dark-haired, cool-headed Oracle, his glasses falling off of his face. It was his eyes. His lips might be closed in that thin, lean line, but Schuldig continued to shake as he stared at Bradley Crawford's eyes. Fear. Surprise. Something… Brad hadn't known.
Schuldig hit his knees, partially falling over the leather chair next to him. He couldn't stop shaking. The boy's voice continued behind him. His voice. It wouldn't shut up! Shuddering, he reached up and grasped the gun off the desk, turning quickly and firing a shot into the stereo. The song continued sadly. He shot it again, and again, and again. He used the full clip and kept firing, the gun clicking emptily in his hand as he stared at nothing, wide-eyed.
That's when he broke. The redhead crumpled in the faint light of the room, slumping back against the desk as his sobs finally broke the silence, gasps of air breathed into his lungs and transformed into a sound full of hysterical mourning and laughter in one moan.