Fools Together

Author's notes: The first half of this fic takes place during the ending of Schwarz Zwei. The second half is post-Gluhen. As a result, there are some spoilers for the drama CD.

Also Crawford really likes word-play.

I've wanted to write this fic for ages. Went through at least three different versions before I found one I actually liked. Enjoy!

"I have something I want to ask you."

Crawford wipes the blood off the gun Schuldig lent him with his handkerchief.

"What is it?"

Schuldig crosses his arms against the cold. He often forgets how cold winters in the Alps can be.

"Do you believe in love?" He can't look Crawford in the eyes, chooses instead to stare at the remains of Sylvia Lin. Her blood has just stopped pooling around her, soaking into the snow at the foot of the Alps. The still falling snow is just beginning to cover what is left of her head. It won't be long before the snow will completely engulf her and the rest of Farblos, considered the best team Rosenkreuz had to offer. Schuldig would laugh if he wasn't so damn cold. Too lazy to retrieve his jacket, lost in the scuffle with Sergei.

Crawford scoffs, picks up Schuldig's jacket from the snow covered ground, brushes off the snow clinging to the fibres, ignoring the gruesome scene right in front of them. His hair is out of place and Schuldig would do anything to reach over and smooth it back. He resists, of course. He doesn't want to give the impression he gives a damn.

"Only fools believe in love." He drapes the jacket over Schuldig's shoulders; Schuldig sighs.

"What's wrong?" Crawford's tone changes ever-so-subtly, to the point where Schuldig almost doesn't catch it. "Did Sergei ruin your coat?"

Schuldig pulls his jacket closer around him, shoots him a look. "Nein. Nothing is wrong."

Schuldig shivers, and Crawford wraps an arm around him—the gesture doesn't feel alien at all to either of them—pulls him closer.

"You're growing soft in your old age," Schuldig jokes.

"It wouldn't do you any good to die from hypothermia out here. No one would find you."

Schuldig gives him a playful nudge with his elbow.

"You would. You would know exactly where I was."

They walk—well, Crawford walks, Schuldig stumbles—to where Nagi is kneeling in the snow, right next to Farfarello and Sally, the latter fretting over what Farfarello keeps insisting are only "minor flesh wounds."

Crawford lets his arm fall from Schuldig's shoulders before anyone turns around and sees. He has a reputation to protect, after all. That and Schuldig might suspect something.

…Then again, when you spend enough time with a telepath, they don't even have to read your mind to know when something is up. The fact that Schuldig acts like this is just another day for Schwarz is quite unnerving.

Almost like this is normal.

-x-

Two-thirty in the morning, reads the alarm. Crawford is suspecting it's mocking him now as he feels the sheets beside him shift dramatically.

It's gotten colder.

"Schuldig."

Schuldig moves, groaning, his arm across Crawford's chest now as he turns onto his back. Crawford grabs this arm, sits up, yanks him upright. There's too much on his mind for either of them to be able to sleep tonight.

"Schuldig."

Schuldig pulls his arm free, braces himself on his elbow, the sheets just barely covering either of them. He shifts so he can see Crawford better, even though it's the dead of night and the blinds are closed. He looks like hell, with his hair sticking out at odd angles, half of it pooling over his shoulder. And to think Schuldig actually threatened to cut his hair off yesterday… He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself look presentable to the darkness.

"Ja?"

Crawford pauses and Schuldig waits. He could easily read Crawford's thoughts since he doesn't use shields at all, but Schuldig's respect for Crawford trumps his curiosity. He'll wait for Crawford to speak in well put together sentences even though it's bumfuck o'clock and all rational thought should be out the window.

Crawford pulls Schuldig's arm again before moving and claiming Schuldig's lips once more.

Now I'm awake. Why is he even in Crawford's bed again? Is this the night he's going to tell him to get out? It's just sex, after all, he shouldn't be thinking things like this... A kiss and then, "Get the hell out of my bed..." And since when did he care? It's just—

"I'm a fool." Crawford's well put together sentence comes out in a whisper against his lips.

At first, Schuldig doesn't understand what Crawford means as he pulls away from him, looks at him questioningly.

"A fool?"

Crawford lies back down and waits. Waits for Schuldig to understand. He stares and his eyes seem to penetrate the darkness, and Schuldig stares back, hoping the answer will just magically appear in front of his eyes.

And then, Schuldig laughs. It starts out slowly, like a small chuckle, and accelerates quickly to actual, wholesome laughter.

"Brad Crawford is a fool."

Crawford smirks. He could have done without being laughed at, but at least Schuldig understands now what he means by 'fool'.

"Guess that means we can be fools together, then." Schuldig leans over and kisses him before Crawford grabs his arms and pins him to the mattress beneath them.