Title: Weiß Kreuz
Author: sorion
Fandoms: Weiß Kreuz / Torchwood
Pairings: WK: Crawford/Schuldig, Omi/Nagi; TW: guess...
AN WK: Post Esszett, no Glühen. Assumed co-op of Weiß and Schwarz.
AN TW: Four years post season 3
Disclaimer: I have no claim on either Torchwood or Weiß Kreuz. They belong to their respective creators and producers. But that crossover had it coming ;-P
Important additional notes:
- Since this is an unusual crossover, I will be introducing all characters as if they were unknown.
- It starts out as a Weiß Kreuz fic; Torchwood will enter the storyline in chapter 3.
- Chapters will be posted regularly.
Prologue: Hydra
His typing stopped when Brad Crawford was hit with a dreadfully tedious premonition. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and sighed. After a moment he continued his typing and his eyes flew over the eerily lit screen, with the practiced ease of someone being used to teammates with the mental maturity of fifteen year old schoolboys.
Somewhere behind him, he could hear tiny footsteps and wondered how Farfarello could have missed another conveniently helpless life form to torture. Since they had the man on the team, he might as well make himself useful around the house. Well, around the room in the abandoned hotel, this one in Paris. It wasn't exactly a house, even though they had the whole thing to themselves.
Subconsciously, he checked for all the members of their rather randomly assembled team, but he wasn't worried enough to track them with a directed premonition. It was now ten past midnight, which meant that Farfarello was hopefully out for the count from his meds, Fujimiya and Hidaka were still in London, the kids would return at around four from their "errands", and Kudou and Schuldig would be there in three, two, one...
Crawford groaned when he heard a window downstairs bursting to pieces and the two men in question stumble up the stairs, just as his prediction had told him.
He sometimes wondered if it was a good thing that he couldn't just filter out useless and annoying premonitions or not. Sometimes they vaguely amused him, but most of the time – almost all of the time, since the somewhat involuntary fusion of their two teams – they were just randomly annoying.
The moment the door opened, he said, without waiting for the lengthy rant he had seen coming: "Shut up. I'm not interested."
When his both visually and temperamentally fiery lover opened his mouth, nonetheless, he added: "And I am particularly not interested in who did what, first."
The two angry men in the doorway were startled into silence, and their annoyance quickly melted into tired amusement.
Kudou snorted and smirked. "You should keep your boyfriend on a leash, Crawford."
Crawford nodded. "I have considered it."
Schuldig smirked, happily and swaggered towards the other man to drop himself into his lap and effectively keep him from working. He slung his arms around Crawford's neck.
"Kinky, Bradley."
"Do not tempt me."
"Yes, please," Kudou agreed. "Don't tempt him. These walls are too fucking thin."
Schuldig's smirk widened and he directed it at the distressed looking comrade. "Not too thin for me, Youji dear."
"Don't I know it." Kudou rolled his eyes and left the room. "I'm going to sleep. Or try to, at least. Let me know when the kids are back, yeah?" The last sentence was yelled over his shoulder.
"Don't let the bed rats bite you," Schuldig yelled in return.
Kudou flipped him the bird out of general principle, but since he had already left the room, the German didn't see it. Not that that annoying pest needed his eyes to know what other people did.
{I saw what you did there, you know.}
Kudou rolled his eyes. {Shut up. Go fuck your boyfriend or something, but spare me your presence. I've had enough of it for tonight.}
Schuldig snickered in Crawford's lap. At the other man's disapproving look he shrugged. "What?"
"Leave him alone." Crawford was as tired as the rest of them. Schuldig was tired, too, but when he was in a playful mood, he sometimes forgot. He'd definitely remember the next morning. Schuldig always remembered just how tired and annoyed he was in the mornings.
Schuldig smiled benignly. "Don't you want to know how the hit went?"
"If you think I would have let you two funny girls go in there alone if I had thought that there would be even the hint of a problem, you have another thing coming."
Schuldig leaned into a kiss and hummed when Crawford let him. "Is that boss speak for 'good work, boys'?"
"Yeah, I guess," Crawford admitted.
"Fuck me silly?"
Crawford snorted, but he smirked. "Go to sleep, Schuldig. Lots of work, tomorrow."
Schuldig sighed in a fittingly martyr fashion, but slipped out of Crawford's lap. He was pretty damn tired, and he knew it. "You gonna wait up for the kids?"
Crawford nodded, his eyes were already on the screen, again. "Not really my kind of idea of a good time, doing you in this ratty, old hole." He circumspectly added, he knew that Schuldig would otherwise come with another 'you don't want me, anymore' speech at an inopportune moment.
Schuldig winked at him. "Make sure you get us somewhere more pleasant when we get out of here, then."
With his eyes back on the screen, Crawford allowed a relieved breath to leave his mouth. The Paris division was dead, then. It wasn't like there wouldn't be a new team before long, but as of now, they had maybe a couple of weeks of breathing time. He briefly considered leaving the kids in Paris, while taking the others to London with him to meet Hidaka and Fujimiya; God knew those two should have the chance to act their age for once, and Paris seemed the right place and for two weeks the right time.
More than likely, they would refuse, but it never hurt to consider several options. Watching the possible outcome opened fascinatingly unexpected premonitions.
Killing operatives all over the world sometimes felt like chopping off a hydra's heads; before long, there would be three new ones. It was tedious, annoying and frustrating to know that they had no other choice but strike at ugly heads, at this point.
However, this time, something was different. Rosenkreuz had apparently run out of fully trained paranormals and had hastily sent a team to France, wrongly assuming that Weiß and Schwarz were still in South America... Well, they were not. And now Paris was once more without Rosenkreuz control.
The hit had probably happened too late to make tomorrow morning's newspapers. Young, striving politician found dead at charity event. Along with his lackeys, but nobody ever cared about lackeys.
Crawford dreaded the day when fully trained operatives would be ready. The politician and his people were so terribly and ridiculously bad paranormals, it had been almost too easy. Which could only mean that they had been intended as cannon fodder and nothing else. Cannon fodder to buy time for better people to take over.
Taking out Rosenkreuz was the long-term plan, but that one was easier said than done. Crawford knew that his team was extraordinary, if he did say so himself, but that one last Bastille still remained beyond his grasp.
The only thing that kept him from losing it was a hint of a premonition that tickled his senses. One that told him that he had to continue do the small work and wait. Wait for something. Maybe someone.
Yes... their time would come. If there was one thing a precog knew, it was that things came within their own sweet time... but they always came.
His mind returned to his work, and he regarded with satisfaction how yet another central angle of Rosenkreuz' network went up in flames.
Easy target or no, it definitely stung the mad old bastards to lose Paris.