Author's Note: This is my first Weiss Fic, so please be gentle J It's actually more about Schwarz than anything else.

Disclaimer: If I owned Weiss, they'd always be nakedJ

Chapter 1

The steamy, musty, sweat-soaked breeze slapped Schuldich and Crawford in the face as they exited the buzzing airport terminal. The prickly palm trees jutted happily from the ground signaling that they were no longer in Tokyo. Crawford removed his black spectacles from his face, wiped the clammy condensation from his lenses and placed them back on. The humidity was enough to remind them, if the tropical scenery didn't, that Tokyo was thousands of air miles away. Schuldich scoffed as he pulled his rose-tinted sunglasses down from their trademark place at the top of his head to cover his eyes from the beaming sun.

"So this is Rio?" Schuldich stated scornfully as he tried to hail a cab. The green vehicle buzzed by him and he cursed silently in German and leaned back dramatically on his luggage and eyed Crawford. Schuldich hadn't been in Brazil for longer than ten minutes and he already despised the country. It was too hot, the cab drivers were obviously inattentive and rude and to make matters worse, he hadn't a clue why he was there; Crawford had left him clueless, he couldn't even break down the Pre-cog's mental shields to pick at his brain about the mission. The German huffed in frustration and practically ripped off his green trench and threw it over his shoulder.

"Scheiße" Schuldich muttered as he paced the length of the waiting station outside of the terminal. He paced and muttered indistinguishable German curses while Crawford tried to hail a cab. Schuldich eyed the American, his hand up, shoulders tense and erect, back somewhat arched; he'd always admired the poise that Crawford exuded in everything, including his taxi hailing. Of course the cab would stop for him, Crawford exuded a confidence that couldn't be ignored. Without saying a word, Schuldich grabbed his bag and hopped into the green cab next to Crawford.

"Hotel De Cristal Da Praia" Crawford blurted over the loud ethnic music to the driver and the man sped off with a jerk through the whirling traffic. Schuldich's face was twisted into a mask of disgust; the cab was an FDA nightmare. It smelled of rotten fish, a pail of chum lying in the front seat next to the driver. Obviously there was not an exhaust law in Brazil, considering that the man was single-handedly widening the hole in the ozone with the amount of exhaust that his tiny car was emitting. Schuldich expected that the man was a fisher on his off time; the man wore a pair of torn shorts, broken foam flip-flops, and a holey, white buttoned down t-shirt.

I hate this place Schuldich tested Crawford's mental receptors.

We've only been here thirty minutes.

This has been thirty minutes too long Schuldich managed to sound miffed even in his mind.

We're going to be here for a while, so put your personal opinions about this country behind you

But Bradkins, the humidity is hell on my hair Schuldich practically purred back. His face was aligned with a coquettish smirk and when he received Crawford's customary glare he returned it with a flirty wink. Schuldich loved when he got under Crawford's skin. Out of all of Schwarz, he was the only one that was ever able to make the stoic, detached American show some signs of feeling, even if it was always annoyance or anger. If it wasn't for his own need for complete attention from Crawford, Schuldich would have given up a long time ago.

The green car jolted to the left lane and turned quickly into the front of the large hotel. The Hotel De Cristal Da Praia was a resort complete with a small disco that seemed to already have a party going on. Schuldich smirked and started to sway his hips as the thumping bass of the music hit his ears. Crawford quickly exited and paid for the cab and led them both into the lobby to check-in. While Crawford checked into the condo that was provided by Eszet, Schuldich looked around at the hotel brochures. He scanned the multi-colored, multi-pictured pamphlets about the events of the hotel. There was obviously a large party called Carnival that was happening this week. Schuldich eyed the photos of the large floats, the flowing alcohol, and the beautiful people and decided that Brazil might not be such a bad place after all. Schuldich pocketed the leaflet and smirked as the bellboy took his and Crawford's baggage and led them down the hallway.

The condo was nice complete with a fully stocked kitchen, a living room with a mediocre entertainment center, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The condo was also situated by the beach so that if they opened the glass sliding door, the sound of the roaring waves could be heard. Schuldich stretched his arms over his head and plopped down solidly on the coral colored couch and turned on the TV. Crawford tipped the bellboy the customary fee and turned to see the orange-haired German in utter relaxation.

"Don't get too comfortable, we have work to do," Crawford said straightening his tie and walking to block the television. Schuldich gave him a look of disdain and sat up popping his back in the process.

"Can't we just relax, Mein Führer, we just got off a sixteen hour flight," Schuldich wined and flipped over onto his stomach and buried his head into the soft cushions of the sofa.

"It's only jet lag, and if you fall asleep now your sleep cycle will be off the rest of the time here." Crawford merely stated as a fact. There was no sign of actual caring in his voice he was simply making sure that Schuldich was functional.

"I just wanted to get something to eat, watch some TV, and take a nap."

"The programs are all in Portuguese, it would be futile," Crawford said turning away from the television and walking back towards the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and stared upon a bare refrigerator.

"And if you want something to eat, you're going to have to get up." Crawford slammed the door and turned back to Schuldich who was looking at him with exhaustion. Jet lag was a horrible feeling and though Crawford felt it himself he needed to be alert for the mission later that night.

Schuldich rolled over on his stomach and pushed his head under the small cushion on the couch. He then pulled his green trench, which he'd been using as a small cover over his head so he wouldn't have to talk to Crawford. The American eyed the redhead and sighed; Schuldich could be such a child sometimes. Instead of walking over to Schuldich and pulling him up from the couch, Crawford pulled on the white suit jacket and started towards the door. He was so close to the condo exit that he had his hand poised on the doorknob.

"If you want to starve that's fine with me, but don't let it affect the mission tonight." The American was always cold with his words. He never sounded comforting or reassuring like a leader should. Crawford always sounded like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and sometimes it did. Schuldich waited for the door to slam close to jump up from the couch. Instead of laying there he'd decided to take the time while Crawford was out eating to take a shower and relax, maybe even hit the beach before the American got back. It was Brazil after all and even though the country was not his cup of tea, he wasn't going to enjoy that small hiatus while he could.

****

Crawford let the door slam behind him, mutter strong curses as he strolled towards the beach. Schuldich always unnerved him like no other person in Schwarz. And now he was stuck with the annoying German until they found what they were looking for. Crawford reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out the small sheet of mission parameters. The small piece of paperwork listed and prioritized their mission to the fullest; Crawford couldn't have done the job better himself.

It wasn't a strange or difficult mission he just simply had to find a new person with cognitive abilities to take back to Eszet. The person they were looking for was female, an Empath, and apparently now lived in Brazil. She was to be in her mid to late twenties and was a large fan of the Brazilian club underground. Crawford, not being one to be a club-goer, decided to bring Schuldich, thinking that the redhead would enjoy the Rio De Janero party scene. He forgot that Schuldich despised tropical climates, considering his German heritage. Crawford rolled his eyes; there was no way that he was going to enjoy himself on this trip.

The beach was nice, not too hot and not too humid, it just felt nice. Crawford removed his shoes and socks and carried them along as he strolled down the sandy shore. He hadn't gotten to visit many tropical places in his lifetime; most of his business trips for Eszet being carried out in Germany, Switzerland, and Ireland; needless to say, there weren't many warm beaches in Ireland. He liked this trip, the warm breeze and the salty air reminding him of his times at Rosenkreuz with a good, old friend. He knew why he'd been sent to Brazil, he had to get her back.

Again he stared at the mission parameters: Female, Empath, mid to late twenties, lived in Brazil; why would Eszet want her back after such a long time? It had to be her; she'd always talked about running away to a place like this. She always talked about being free to live their lives the way they wanted. Crawford saw a small piece of damp wood and crouched on it, scratching his head. The mission parameters wanted him to bring this woman back, but if it was her, he didn't know if he could. The moist sand sunk under his toes, the warm waves washed the sticky grains away only for his feet to sink more deeply into the sand. His memories stuck to his mind like sand to his toes and flowed over him like the warm waves on his feet and just like his lower appendages, he allowed himself to engulfed and cleansed by them.

It seemed that his father was unfit to care for him. Crawford winced inwardly; he had horrible memories of his father and his heavy, black leather belt. The man was burly, ugly, fat from alcohol and truck stop diners. Crawford had no mother, she'd died in childbirth and his father hated him for it. But Brad had a picture of her, his mother, the only person that cared enough to give her life for him. Crawford winced again; he had even worse memories of the times he had to go to school with black eyes because his father had gotten too drunk.

He was a small boy, not reaching a normal boyish height until much later in life. The children at school would beat him just like his father; he didn't have the money, he didn't have the clothes, he lived in a trailer with his drunkard abusive father; but he could always know how to avoid the beatings, the mocking, the molestations and rapes, he always knew. He always knew they were coming, but could do nothing to stop them; he was powerless to his fate. Crawford cringed, the memory of that night too painful. He'd gone to school with two black eyes and a few broken ribs; the teachers were smart they could see around his lies and excuses- "I fell," or "it was only an accident," or "it happened at baseball practice"- no child got not even the roughest of competitors got broken ribs from T-ball practice.

Crawford, or was that his name then? No, it was something else back then, something that he couldn't even remember; he'd gotten the name Crawford from someone more respectable than his father. He was taken away from his father, not by CPS, not by a foster home, but by a man in a cream suit and glasses. He'd just shown up one day at the front of their trailer. His name was Crawford, Brandon Crawford; a man of distinction. He let the limo sit outside running and waiting for him to return. Brandon opened the door and ordered little Brad to pack his things. All that Crawford remembered hearing was his father's drunken yelling, a silenced gunshot, and the limo pulling off with him inside. He never saw that trailer again.

It had been twelve years since Rosenkreuz trained its last Empath. Other such explorations in this area had not been successful, except for one, Thais. Crawford fingered his necklace with the lock at the end; she'd given him that and only she held the key. Empaths, because of their extreme innocence and ability to feel emotions so strongly, were too mentally weak after going through the Rosenkreuz training; or so the Eszet geriatrics thought after Thais's escape from Rosenkreuz twelve years ago. She'd been with Crawford the day that he'd arrived. He was nine and vulnerable and untrusting and she looked up to him with big, hazel eyes. She didn't have a name so he called her Thais from this story a teacher had read them in class. It meant "the bond." She followed him everywhere, sleeping in his bed, curling her small hands around his wild hair. She was an empath and he a pre-cog and for once he had a family. At first she was like a little sister, as they grew they became more. A kiss here, a hug there, exploration, love, everything that teenagers do in secret trying to hide it from their parents. He loved her more deeply than he could ever love anyone and watched as Rosenkreuz was slowly killing her. She told him about it, he'd witnessed it in his visions, he knew it would happen. She ran away, and he never saw Thais again.

Now, if this was her, if he saw her, he'd never let her go. He'd run away with her and leave Eszet behind and let them track both of them down.