Title: Shot
Author: Lauand
Beta: Macavitykitsune
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Some Crawford/Schuldig implications
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Most drunken conversations end up delving into the past.
A/N: Thank you very much to macavitykitsune for the beta and the comments.
That Schuldig was upset was not rare. Crawford said that he was a spoiled brat, although Schuldig insisted in defining himself as a sensitive soul. It was fairly obvious what the Oracle thought of that affirmation. No, an upset Schuldig was a quite common occurrence. It was far stranger that Schuldig and Nagi were upset at the same time but not at each other. But that was Crawford, able to piss people off and unite them in their hatred for him. Feeling shitty at the same time thanks to the same person was a kind of bonding, so they brooded together in the living room. It was after nearly an hour of sitting together in silence like that that Schuldig brought the alcohol.
"Schuldig, I'm underage.'
The telepath slammed a shot glass in front of him.
"So what?'
And with that, they started drinking.
Brooding together bonds. Drinking together while you're brooding fucking welds. Three hours later, they were drunk and shirtless, showing each other their scars.
"See?" Schuldig raised the leg of his pants to show an irregular mark on his knee. "That was sheeeeer stubbornness. I tried to walk the wire and I kept on falling on the same fucking kneeee."
The telepath didn't slur when drunk. He just made some vowels longer, as if they were important pieces of information in themselves.
"And… did you… achieve it?"
Nagi didn't slur, either. He put a lot of conscious effort in showing he wasn't affected by the alcohol in any way, so his speech was slow and cautions, perfectly pronounced and enunciated, taking for saying a simple sentence twice the time it normally did.
"Naaaaaaa… they took me away before I could give it another try. They said I was of more value if I was able to waaaalk."
Nagi 'mmm'ed. He understood the bitterness behind the telepath's flippant tone.
"And… that one?" the kid pointed at Schuldig's side. It was a rounded mark, like a gunshot.
The redhead looked where Nagi was pointing at and snorted.
"That was Crawford."
"Crawford?" Nagi's voice was unaccustomed high-pitched. The Oracle was a bastard and Nagi himself had wanted to kill Schuldig on occasions - maybe twice a week -, but to actually shoot him…
"Yeah."
Schuldig gulped down another shot and refilled the glasses. His eyes then fixed on the table and he raked his fingers though his hair as he remembered.
"It was… it was in Rosenkreuz. When we founded Schwarz." He played a little with the glass, eyes still focused in a past Nagi couldn't see. "I was… I was a bit difficult, back then and… I didn't like being ordered around like a fucking dog."
Nagi refrained from commenting how much the telepath had obviously changed from those days… it was too unnerving how Schuldig's voice had sobered and didn't make the vowels longer anymore.
"I… you think that I'm rebellious now, because I answer back and I'm reckless and don't seem serious or praf…professional and stuff, but inside, inside…" Schuldig squinted, as if focusing very hard in what he was saying, "inside I know what's important. I may whine and smirk and mock, but I do my job, and I do it well. Because I want something. And I'm gonna get it and walk away alive."
Nagi said nothing. He just listened very hard, because it was the first time that Schuldig talked like a person, a real person, instead of an actor putting on an act.
"But back then…" Schuldig breathed deep, "I didn't give a damn if I lived or died. I was bitter and resentful because my life was a mess and it was all their fault. Because I didn't want to hear what the people were thinking, I didn't want to live in a dorm, I didn't want to fucking kill… I didn't want."
Schuldig's fingers rimmed the glass and dipped a little in the drink.
"I was assigned under Crawford's command, a man… what, five years older than me? And still so proper, with his stick up his ass… the perfect dog, licking his master's hand… when he was told to jump, he didn't ask how high, he just jumped in the fucking perfect measure. Good boy, Brad. Thank you, sir." Disdain tinted Schuldig's voice before it turned into admiration. "What a fucking swindler, he deceived us all…"
Nagi even thought he had seen the ghost of a smile on Schuldig's lips when he said that.
"I didn't know any better then, of course, so I did what I do best: being a pain in his ass." Schuldig derisive smirk was open now, Nagi couldn't tell if he was mocking Crawford or himself, or if that was Schuldig's honest smile because he had never learned to grin any other way. "As you already know, Crawford is not a tore…tolerant man. When he got tired of my attitude - and he got tired at only my second try to irritate him - , he suddenly pushed me against the wall and kept me there, fists in my shirt and face close to mine. And he…" Schuldig chuckled at that, "the bastard told me: 'Listen and listen well, Schuldig. If I succeed in my plans, we're going to spend a lot of time together in the coming years, so we better get along, because I always succeed in my plans. I'd love to earn your respect little by little, showing you how much I'm ready to give up for your skinny ass, just like a good superior officer should. But I don't have the time, nor the patience, Schuldig, so the next time you take a minute longer than necessary to obey my fucking orders, I'll shoot you. Nowhere vital, but I'll shoot you. Because until I can earn your respect, I'll have your fear.' "
With that, Schuldig grabbed the glass and gulped down another shot.
"Some people call that kind of speech a threat. I call it a challenge." His infamous smirk was firmly in place as he recalled. "You can easily guess the rest. The next order I was given, I clearly disobeyed and Crawford shot me. Here." And he touched the scar, nearly fondly. "He had to have spent years thinking and calculating the exact point that would be painful but hidden from view, that looked grave but wasn't really dangerous, that got my attention but didn't leave a sequel. Not only because I was of no use crippled, but because he knew that I would hate him forever if he did so, and he needed me to blow Eszett."
"Because that's how he is, Nagi," with that, in a gesture totally unlike him, Schuldig reached out and stroked the kid's cheek, the same that Crawford had slapped so long ago." He plans, and plots, and thinks, and scans the future and plans, plots and thinks again. He doesn't enjoy hurting us, but he does, because that's what he has to do."
Breaking the moment he had created unconsciously, Schuldig grabbed the bottle and served himself another shot. He then drank it, and poured another one. If he was defending Crawford, he was clearly not drunk enough.
"Hey," the kid's voice was hesitant. If Nagi was going to preach him about the reality of the cirrhosis, Schuldig would go and throw up. On Nagi's laptop. The keyboard, specifically. "You… you didn't hate him afterwards?"
Schuldig paused for a moment and then resumed what he was doing and drank another shot.
"F'course I did, brat," he sneered, "but… that was a very complex time of my life." He paused, as if pondering if he should open his heart to his teammate or not. Well, it was a bit too late to decide against it, anyway. "I was seeking death, in a way. I was… looking for somebody to kill me, someone who would put me out of that… life without making me think that it was my fault, that I had given up. Then, he came and shot me, and I realized, I fucking realized… that I didn't really want to die. That I don't fucking want to die. You… you see?"
Nagi breathed for some seconds. Then nodded. He thought he saw. Slowly, he leaned on the table and lowered his head to rest it on his crossed arms. He looked at Schuldig and hesitated. Then, he finally asked.
"Do you… do you love him?"
He knew that Schuldig and Crawford had sex regularly, but he was not so naïve as to think that had to mean anything for either of them.
Schuldig didn't seem startled by the question. He just sat there, playing again with his glass, casting a glance at Nagi's head on the table. He probably was reflecting if he should answer or not, and if so, whether with the truth or with a lie.
"Yeah," he finally whispered, "maybe I do."
And Nagi understood that it didn't change anything. That Schuldig was still Schuldig and that Crawford was still Crawford. And that he was still himself.
Suddenly he felt very tired. He was not used to drinking alcohol. He closed his eyes.
"G'night, Schuldig," he mumbled.
Schuldig eyed him clinically. Drunk as the telepath was, his practical mind couldn't help wondering if he should wipe the kid's memory or not. He had learned that the less people knew about him, the better. But he really disliked tampering with his teammates' heads, and it had felt good to talk to Nagi. The kid was a good listener. Because Nagi cared. Because he understood.
"Good night, Nagi," Schuldig murmured back.
He then stood up and stumbled through the flat until he found a blanket. He went back to the living room and laid it on Nagi's lithe form. After that, he gingerly walked to Crawford's empty room and let himself fall on his bed. If he had to throw up, there was no better place than Crawford's bed. Well, maybe Crawford's underwear drawer, but the bed was easier and more comfortable.
With a wicked smirk, he fell asleep.
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