Verdammt Chapter 1: Verdammt, a weiss kreuz fanfic

Disclaimer: The guys belong to…eto…Takehito Koyasu…? And…other people. I'm just kinda borrowing them. For a while. They're not mine. They're NOT mine! *bursts into tears* The song mentioned therein is property of Matthias Reim and others which does NOT include me. (Very rough-shot, translated lyrics at the end!!)

Comments: It's not my fault. It's not— *listens to voices* --Oh. Right. It is my fault. This fanfic at least. And one other thing: I wish I hadn't been so…stupid?...to make this a birthday present. If I hadn't promised to write a fanfic with the pairing to be specified by the recipient, i.e. my dear fellow-conspirator Ayumie-chan – this [censored] fic would never have come into existence. ('Cause I don't even really like that guy. __) So if you absolutely wanna blame someone...…BLAME HER!!

Warning: Language (mild). Schuldig. Possibly OOC. A bar. Mentionings of Crawford. Really. *grins* Can anything go wrong with such ingredients? ^^V

Thanks: *hugs reviewers* To all you people out there who were so kind and reviewed the other crap I managed to upload. *throws out WeißKreuz-plushies*

BTW: Oh, and that *points* is Schuldig speaking telepathically: ::blablablablaah::

And that is him/anyone else speaking German. *gasp* "//blablablablaah//"

V e r d a m m t

by Muraki Hotaru

"Fine then! I'll go! I know when I'm not wanted!!" Fuming, almost as angry as his hair was orange, Schuldig stormed out of the house Schwarz was currently living in. As he was stomping towards the car he had recently 'acquired', his mind was ablaze. And while he was absolutely furious with A Certain Person, Schuldig was, for once, careful not to broadcast his thoughts. Crawford had become frighteningly good at picking up any 'stray' thoughts Schuldig could not – or did not want to – keep to himself.

Still, that's no reason for Mr. High-and-Mighty to act like such a prick! I wonder what got him so…stuck up. The way he's acting, you'd think he's got a 40" metal rod shoved up his ass! Schuldig, having reached his car, yanked open the door and plumped into the driver's seat. Or what he'd assumed to be the driver's seat. Grumbling, he moved over to the right side of the car. Great!! After getting grilled oh-so-politely— Schuldig made a face at the memory. –by that stuck-up, condescending, ego-inflated, mean BASTARD – I get stuck with a Subaru of all cars! I HATE Subarus!! Asshole!

That last thought clearly was not directed at the poor, innocent Subaru. In fact, it wasn't clearly directed at anyone or anything at all. Schuldig's rather volcanic eruption of rage had, by now, cooled down considerably. Turning the key in the ignition, Schuldig, in one of these unpredictably mood-swings of his that Crawford just loved lecturing him about, decided to go out and look for some amusement. He needed the distraction. And to hell with what Crawford had told him! Fuck you, Brady-boy! Schuldig thought. Grinning widely again, he sped off the small par-king lot.

Back in the house, Crawford sneezed, then blinked in confusion.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

Schuldig had nearly reached the city-limits when he saw the lights of a patrol-car blocking his way. When he saw the officer walking towards his already slowing car, Schuldig smirked. Had any of the Weiß boys seen that particular grin, they'd have gotten out of the German's way as far and fast as possible. Of that he was pretty sure. Oh, he was going to have some fun with that officer... Schuldig wound down the window, waiting for the officer to reach him.

"Sir, you were speeding. On this lane, there is a limit of 50 miles per hour. I'm sorry but I will have to give you a ticke—"

::These are not the droids you are looking for. Let me pass.:: Schuldig's eyes sparkled

maliciously. Too bad that someone would have to take the brunt of his anger. Too bad indeed… For that officer. ::You will go back to your car. Then you will give your partner a breath-taking kiss. And then you two will have passionate sex on the backseat.:: He smiled quite angelically, a truly frightening thing all on its own. ::Understood? Please confirm.::

"Yessir!" The hapless officer almost snapped to attention, his eyes already glazed over from Schuldig's insidious whispering. …Or was it due to the images the German had planted in his mind? "Yo, Ryo, let him pass!"

The other officer obediently pulled the car to the side so as to allow Schuldig's Subaru to pass.

Schuldig shook with mirth, gleefully watching in the rear-view-mirror as the 'bedazzled' officer purposefully stalked over to his unsuspecting partner. As the scene rapidly dwindled in the distance, Schuldig let out a whoop of laughter Crawford would have recognized instantly as the vocal sign of some mischief having been accomplished.

~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~ + ~

By the time Schuldig pulled into the small parking lot somewhere near the bar he had discovered on one of his previous evenings out, he had decided to try his level best and get as thoroughly and methodically drunk as possible. And to hell with Crawford's order to 'stay away from alcoholic beverages'! It was his fault, after all, that Schuldig felt so...so... irritated right now. If only, Bradley-boy. If only...

About twenty minutes later, Schuldig was seated comfortably on a stool at one end of the Marienplatz's counter, a beer and a whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He was still angry, though maybe not quite as livid as before. The prospect of alcohol always seemed to calm him down. More or less. And in his opinion, Crawford still was an asshole, a stiff prick, a— Schuldig knocked back his whiskey in one go. Feeling the whiskey flowing down his throat leave a pleasantly tingling sensation in its wake, he slumped. Sort of. When he remembered the incident with those two police officers, however, Schuldig brightened up again. I wonder what those two are doing right now... He smirked. But then again...

Signalling to the bartender for a refill, Schuldig took the first sip of his beer. "Aaaaaahh…." Now that was what Schuldig called a beer! Not the whimpy stuff you could usually buy around Tokyo. "Yo, Hübscher, can you tell me where the beer's coming from?"

The bartender, first annoyed by his cheeky familiarity, then, for some strange reason, intrigued, turned towards Schuldig. "//What are you thinking? Bavaria of course!//"

Grinning at the shocked-speechless expression of his customer, he turned away again to tend to the other patrons of his establishment.

Schuldig blinked. Then he blinked again. Who knew he'd meet someone from Bavaria. Who spoke German. In the midst of downtown Tokyo no less! On the other hand... He should have been able to guess from the bar's name alone. Marienplatz, really. It had been a looooong time since Schuldig had visited the city of Munich and strolled over the bar's namesake-place there.

Coming back to the present, he blinked. How had the mug of beer emptied so quickly…!?

"//Another one?//"

"//Yeah, sure.//" Schuldig grinned at the young bartender's eagerness to show off his language skills in using his mother-tongue. I wonder what other skills this one might be hiding… His grin turned slightly lecherous at that thought.

"//You look like you need it,//" the bartender said cheerfully, blushing ever so slightly. He placed another foaming mug in front of Schuldig. Then he reached behind and down, turning on the stereo before hastening to fill the orders of his waiters.

That left Schuldig alone with a filled-to-the-brim mug of 'Starkbier' and the nearly-full bottle of high-quality whiskey the bartender had so conveniently 'forgotten' to put back under the counter again. Taking a gulp of whiskey, Schuldig proceeded to accomplish the missive he had set for himself earlier this evening. Then he perked up. "//Hello—//" Schuldig quickly reached into the bartender's mind. "//—Helmut.//" He grinned as the young man whipped around, plainly surprised at being called by his first name.

"//Yes…?//"

"//Could you turn up the volume of the radio a bit?//"

„//Sure,//" Helmut said hesitatingly, still quite perplexed at how someone could have found out his real first name. With a little 'nudge' from Schuldig, however, he quickly forgot about it and turned back away to the business at hand.

Once again, Schuldig was left to his thoughts, his only company another shot of whiskey and a mug of beer. Alternating between these two, he listened to the song that had by now begun playing on the bar's little stereo. I didn't think they'd have a German radio station here. Schuldig harrumphed. Home, sweet home...

Ich ziehe durch die Straßen bis nach Mitternacht,

Hab das früher auch gern gemacht,

Dich brauch' ich – dafür nicht.

Ha! Schuldig looked at his watch. 'S not even m'dnight yet. But the song was true, nevertheless. While he still liked to go out once or twice in a while, he had cut down on his…adventures considerably. All because of— AAaargh! I. Do. Not. Need. Him. I don't. Not for going out. Not for anything! Hear me Braaaad? I don't need you!!

Ich sitz' am Tresen, trinke noch'n Bier,

Früher war'n wir oft – gemeinsam hier

Das macht mir – macht mir nichts.

Yeah, right. Schuldig snorted. As if he could do anything that'd make Bradley Crawford go out with him. Wait a sec—

—where had that one come from!? Schuldig sobered up a bit, shocked to the core. No. He was NOT interested. Not in Crawford. No. No way! Crawford was their leader, the one responsible for their missions. The one looking out for the team. Always cool, calm and collected. In control. Elegant. Handsome, well-built,… Noooo…!! Schuldig wailed mentally. I don't think that's a good idea—

Gegenüber sitzt 'n Typ wie'n Bär,

Ich stell mir vor wenn das Dein Neuer wär',

Es juckt mich – überhaupt nicht.

Schuldig barely managed to get a hankie out before his nosebleed could hit either his beer or his whiskey – or both. An (over-)active imagination combined with an un-healthy amount of alcohol can really bring about the strangest images in one's mind, ne? Before this, Schuldig would never have even thought of Crawford in that way. Now... Now the thought of Bradley Crawford being with anyone else sent Schuldig into a green-eyed fit of nose-bleeding jealousy.

Auf einmal packt's mich, ich geh' auf ihn zu

Und mach' ihn an, Laß meine Frau in Ruh.

Er fragt nur – hast Du 'n Stich?

He hastily downed another shot of whiskey, followed by a looong gulp of beer. Ignoring the weird glance Helmut threw his way, Schuldig remembered last weekend. Or, to be more precise, the evening of last week's Friday. I just know 13's not my lucky number. He sighed. Why hadn't Crawford taken Nagi to accompany him and that chipmunk to that fancy party? In Schuldig's opinion, a temperature of 103° F was a really sorry excuse for skipping one's duties. But alas, Crawford had ruled differently. And as a consequence, Schuldig had been 'asked' to go. Not only had he been forced to wear a tux but to top the whole thing off, Crawford had expressively forbidden him to "use his talents on any of the party's participants". Schuldig snorted. Really, where was the fun in that?

That evening had truly been no fun at all! Really... Having to watch Takatori prance around, talking as try-shrewdly as he was pompous. What a bore! But even worse, Schuldig had also been forbidden to "excessively indulge in anything alcoholic". Damn Crawford! However, in retrospect, that wasn't the worst thing that had happened that evening. The proverbial last straw on Schuldig's back had been all those obnoxious, twittly, brainless women who had – from Schuldig's point of view – thrown themselves so shamelessly at the tall, handsome American.

Und ich denke schon wieder nur an Dich.

Damn. Damn! Damn!! And here he'd hoped to spend at least one evening without ever thinking about—

Verdammt ich lieb' Dich, ich lieb' Dich nicht...

WHAAAT!?!? Schuldig nearly choked on his whiskey. As it was, he just sat there, coughing, his face nearly matching the colour of his hair. Purely from coughing, of course. Why would anyone – let alone himself – think that—

Verdammt ich brauch' Dich, ich brauch' Dich nicht...

Now why would he need someone like Bradley Crawford, icy bastard extra-ordinaire?! Schuldig mused thoughtfully, conveniently ignoring his earlier resolution to forget You-Know-Who for at least this one single evening.

Verdammt ich will Dich, ich will Dich nicht

For the second time this evening, Schuldig made a dash for some tissues. He had had to save his drinks from being flooded by a sudden burst of nose-bleeding once already. Damn his alcohol-influenced mind...

Ich will Dich nicht verlier'n.

Yes, Crawford was a stiff-necked asshole most of the time. Sometimes. Frequently. Every now and then. And yes, Schuldig did want to strangle the handsome leader of Schwarz more often than not. He took another swig of the two-thirds empty bottle of whiskey. But still...

So langsam fällt mir alles wieder ein,

Ich wollte doch nur 'n bißchen freier sein.

Jetzt bin ich's – oder nicht?

Oh boy, Crawford had really been angry this time. What exactly they had been arguing about, Schuldig couldn't remember. However, he did remember Crawford's anger. The tall American's fury was nothing like his own quick-fire temper but rather the opposite. Where Schuldig's rage was fiery and blazing, Crawford became icy, his anger bone-chillingly cold and cutting straight to the core, precise and merciless as a doctor's scalpel. And then – Schuldig was infuriatingly sure that Crawford had foreseen this, too – he had Schuldig to "go and not come back until he had cooled off". Which had led Schuldig to exactly where he was right now: in some hitherto unknown bar somewhere in Tokyo, drinking. But even with all those people and their thoughts around him Schuldig still felt... lonely? As if something or someone were...missing?

Ich passe nicht in Deine heile Welt

Doch die und Du ist was mir jetzt fehlt

—Ich glaub' das – einfach nicht...

Yeah, right. Me too, Schuldig thought, already too drunk to care that he was arguing with a song. I fu***ing don't believe it! 'Don't…? Isn't it rather 'don't want to'…?' a little voice piped up from somewhere in the back of his mind. Oh shut the FUCK UP!!!, Schuldig growled, irritated. I absolutely refuse to let him dominate me like that! Then, realizing what exactly he had just thought, Schuldig...

...blushed. The detailed and graphic images this brought up— He shook his head, half in disbelieving denial and half in a rather futile attempt to get rid of these pictures. Schuldig also tried to ignore the sudden tightness of his pants. Alas, resistance was futile.

Gegenüber steht ein Telefon,

Es lacht mich ständig an voll Hohn,

Es klingelt, klingelt aber nicht.

Schuldig smirked. No, here at least the song was not in accordance. There was no telephone in front of him. And... He carefully combed through Helmut's consciousness. Shit! I wouldn't have thought that— Schuldig turned, giving the payphone sitting innocently in a corner the evil eye. If he could just have Nagi's gift for a minute, he'd have ripped that useless piece of garbage out of its protective casing and smashed it against the wall until it crumbled to tiny pieces. Schuldig was somewhat surprised to find that he was near-ready to cry.

Sieben Bier, zuviel geraucht,

Das ist es was ein Mann so braucht,

Doch niemand, niemand sagt: Hör auf

But then again... Crawford had repeatedly told him not to engage so heavily in drinking and…other things. Schuldig felt himself blushing for the second time this evening. There was the question of his skills being impeded by smoking, drinking and…that, of course, but... Could it be that – and at this, Schuldig squirmed uncomfortably – Crawford was worried for him!? That was a novel feeling for Schuldig. He wasn't really used to the idea of someone caring for him. Or, he amended silently, at least caring enough to take an interest in his personal well-being. Schuldig sighed a bit forlornly. Somehow, this thought left a warm, pleasantly tingling sensation somewhere near his stomach. ...Or was it his...heart...? Naw, Schuldig decided. Must be the alcohol! Definitely the alcohol. What else?

Und ich denke schon wieder nur an Dich

Yeah, true. Crawford really was on his mind nearly all the time. Damn it!

Verdammt ich lieb' Dich, ich lieb' Dich nicht

Schuldig was confused. The relationships he'd had up to now had not prepared him for dealing with such complexities. No, they hadn't prepared him at all for the conflicting emotions and contradictory impulses that assaulted him now.

Verdammt ich will Dich, ich will Dich nicht

Schuldig finally came to a decision. Determined, he stood up, swaying only very slightly.

Ich will Dich nicht verlier'n

Gesturing for the bartender to come over, Schuldig reached for his wallet. He was feeling magnanimous today – so he would, for once, actually pay for his drinks instead of tricking someone into paying for him. The he had an idea.

"//Say, Helmut...//"

"//Yes?//"

"//...that song…//"

"//Ah, my favourite CD by Matthias Reim.//"

"//Huh? ...CD...?//"

"//Yep,//" Helmut nodded enthusiastically. "//You know, there is no German radio station in Tokyo.//"

"//But then why...?//" Schuldig wasn't quite sure why he didn't just search the man's mind fort he answer he was looking for. Must be Crawford's incessant lecturing about 'not wantonly using your gift', he finally concluded.

"//......Somehow, you looked like it,//" came Helmut's reply hesitantly.

"//Huh...!?//"

When he saw Schuldig's adorably perplexed expression, Helmut couldn't but grin. That in turn made Schuldig glare at him, albeit half-heartedly.

"//Hey, I'm good at my job,//" Helmut said. "//And a good barkeeper knows when a guest suffers from heartaches.//" Waving aside Schuldig feebly attempt at protest, he continued. "//You know what I would do in your place?//"

"//No. What!?//"

Schuldig's sarcasm, nearly thick enough to walk on, was cheerfully being ignored.

Helmut looked at him, for a moment becoming serious. Then he bent down and stopped the CD. Coming back up, he put the CD in its cover and slid it over to Schuldig. The grin he wore now was the widest Helmut had had during the whole evening.

"//Go home, give her the smooch of her life and give her the CD.//"

"//And what's that supposed to accomplish?//" Schuldig wanted to know.

Helmut just gave him a Look. "//Still better than doing nothing and waiting forever, hm?//"

"//Hmmmm......//" Thoughtfully, Schuldig pocketed the CD. With a decisive good-bye and a rather un-Schuldig-like 'Thank you', Schuldig left the bar.

As he slid behind the Subaru's wheel, Schuldig began to grin. And the grin widened the more he neared his destination. Having reached Schwarz's current domicile, he started to park the car where he had left it before. When he had parked the car to his inebriated satisfaction, Schuldig was actually determined to give Helmut's suggestion a try. Can't hurt, can it?

[ Inside the house, Crawford shuddered, an feeling of premonition running icy fingers down his spine. Unfortunately, it wasn't strong enough to lead him to an actual vision. It was late and he was a bit too tired to investigate further. ...can't be that important then, Crawford decided, shrugging it off. ]

In the meantime, Schuldig had managed to lock the car, walk to the front-door, actually find his keys and open, close and lock the door behind him again. He stood in the hallway, swaying ever so slightly.

"Braaadley— Where aaare yoouuu...?"

Crawford, having felt somewhat obliged to wait for his errant teammate's return, stepped out of the living-room. He stare-glared icily at the grinning Schuldig.

"Don't call me that. And do you know how la—hrmmmphg!!" The rest of Crawford's words was cut off abruptly as Schuldig latched onto him with uncanny precision and speed for one so drunk – and gave him a tongue-involving kiss of epic proportions, bringing to bear all he had ever learned.

When Schuldig let go again, Crawford just stood there, blinking.

"Wellasyousaidit'salreadylatesoI'lljustgotobedohandthat'sforyougoodnight." With that, Schuldig thrust the CD into Crawford's pocket and turned around, walking towards his room. The door shut with an audibly click strangely loud in the silence of the nightly house.

After hurricane Schuldig had disappeared, Bradley Crawford still stood in exactly the same spot in exactly the same position as before, numbly fingering the CD in his jacket's pocket.

I couldn't have predicted THAT!

O W A R I ^^V

AN: Please don't tell me anyone actually wants to know what Crawford did while Schuldig was busy getting sloshed. Or what Crawford will do now. You're not interested in that, right? RIGHT!?

Lyrics to "Verdammt"

(= Damn!)

I'm walking through the streets until after midnight,

I used to like doing that.

I don't need you for that!

I'm sitting at the counter, drinkin' another beer,

We often used to be here together.

I don't care, really don't care!

Across from me, there sits a guy like a bear,

I'm imagining this to be your New One.

I don't care, really don't care!

Suddenly it pricks me. I walk up to him

Telling him to leave my woman alone.

He only asks: You crazy!?

And again, I'm only thinking of you.

Refrain:

Damn, I love you, I do not love you.

Damn, I need you, I do not need you.

Damn, I want you, I do not want you

I don't want to lose you!

I'm starting to remember everything:

I just wanted to be a little bit more free.

Now I am – or am I?

I didn't fit into your perfect world,

But that and you is what I'm missing right now,

I simply can't believe it.

Across from me there's a telephone,

Laughing at me, full of scorn,

But ringing, no, not ringing.

Seven beer, smoked too much,