Schuldig let himself into the slightly crowded cafe, and made his way directly through it towards the store on the other end of it. Why they didn't just have an entrance leading directly into the bookstore was beyond him, and it made things incredibly difficult on his part.
It wasn't that he had any trouble with the amount of people - there were only about thirty total on the premises - it was the principal of the matter, the fact that he had to exert himself to squeeze around the tables and down the small staircase that lead into the Barnes and Noble bookstore. He looked around, already bored. Crawford wasn't going to be out of his meeting for another two hours, at the very least, and as he wasn't needed INSIDE the building; Crawford just wanted him 'around' in case he was needed to talke someone out. Since he could do that just as easily from the surrounding area as he could from inside, Crawford had opted to toss him out on his ass, making him find something to do on his own.
Still grumbling, he wandered the store. Magazines held his interest for a while, and he sat down, flipping through one or two.
There was only so much that they could do to amuse him, though, and he eventually sat one down, and stared around at the books. His mind wandered, touching on various subjects, some of them the thoughts of those around him. Gradually, it went back to Crawford.
The prescient had been in his thoughts more and more lately, and he knew it wasn't just the old leader and subordinate feelings he'd held towards the older man when they'd first met. It was just them now, and he laughed quietly when he recalled where Nagi had found himself.
Somehow, he mused, he'd fallen in with the little blonde Weiss brat, who now gave orders to the very team he used to be a part of. Ch. But he was 'happy' there, and as long as he was fine with it, Schuldig kept his needling to a minimum. Farfarello was dead, killed by 'Siberian' when they took Estet's elders down. He'd survived long enough for Schuldig to put some of his consciousness into Crawford's mind, and then died. Some times, he stumbled across Crawford in the kitchen, gazing off into space, twirling a knife in his hands with a skill that only the mad Irishman had possessed. He enjoyed those moments, because he knew that it meant that Crawford had let his walls down enough to allow that little piece of Farfarello still alive in him some freedom. That meant that he wasn't as much of a hardassed bastard, which was, extraordinarily good, especially when one considered Schuldig's growing attraction to him.
That made him sit up a little straighter in his chair. -I am NOT attracted to him!- he told himself firmly. -I need to stop thinking, my mind is getting lost.- Firmly renewed in his ideals of needing no one, he wandered the store. He thought about contacting Crawford and whining, because he knew that it would annoy the prescient, but before he could draw enough thought together, Crawford's mind touched him.
Don't even consider it, Schuldig. The telepath sighed. -Snarky bastard,- he thought irritably, and continued the Search for Something Interesting to Do.
He passed a few books laid out on a table, and paused to see if there was anything good. One caught his attention, and he snorted. -The Idiots Guide to Sex? You've gotta be KIDDING me.-
Amused, he picked the book up and sat down to flip through it.
Five minutes later, he was absorbed in reading it, taking mental notes occasionally, and marking things that did and didn't work. When he finally became aware that he was still sitting in a bookstore again, he set the book down, and went in search of the section where more of those books could be found, as he still had another hour before Crawford would be out.
An hour and a half later, Crawford entered the bookstore, marking nearly the same complaints as Schuldig did, although for a different reason.
Most of the men he'd been in the meeting with left through a different door than they'd come in, in order to reach the cars easier. Crawford had walked with them as courtesy had required, and the doors had put him on the opposite side of the bookstore. He'd had to walk all the way around, because he'd expected to find doors into the bookstore on the other side. Obviously this was not the case, and as he'd turned in the opposite direction of the door - a right turn would have taken him to the front of the store, and in through the door, but he'd turned left - he'd ended up taken an impromptu walk around the block.
All mutterings aside, he looked around for his German. Not seeing him immediately, he frowned. He'd've expected him to be bored out of his mind, and be sitting in the cafe waiting for Crawford to tell him he was done. He was curious to see what he'd gotten up to in the two and a half hours he'd spent in the bookstore, and peered around shelves. No signs of him. Crawford was actually beginning to get worried, and he hurried around on his search.
"Schuldig?" he asked, looking once more. He saw someone sitting cross-legged on the floor, and they had the most fascinating shade of orange for hair, but it COULDN'T possibly be Schuldig, Schuldig didn't read...
He did a double take. It most certainly was Schuldig, and he was definately... looking at the book. Whether he was reading was different. He was sitting at an angle, and Crawford couldn't see the title of the book, but it must have been interesting, because Schuldig was holding the book out in front of him, and had it tilted to one side. His head was tilted to the other side, and he seemed to be in deep concentration.
"Schuldig? What are you reading?" he asked. Schuldig jumped, slamming the book closed, and shoved it onto the shelf. "Are you done with your meeting?" Schuldig asked, inching away. Crawford nodded, and Schuldig practically bolted.
Curious, Crawford knelt down and picked up the book. His eyes widened at the title, and he flipped to the page he'd seen Schuldig looking at. His eyes widened even further, and he tilted the book. He tilted it the other way, then tilted his head, and suddenly understood why Schuldig had been sitting the way he had been.
A slight flush on his face, he also slammed the book shut, but instead of putting it back on the shelf, he tucked it under his arm. The words "Kama Sutra" were visible peeking out from under his jacket, and he took it to the counter, before collecting Schuldig, and leaving.