Author's Notes: So, yeah, another chapter. I have a lot written, actually. I'm surprised with him much I have in backup just in case I go through some kind of drought. It's reassuring to have so many fresh chapters saved so I can edit at my leisure.

It's all great that so many of you really like this story. It's more incentive to write. It's also really hard to keep people in canon. (laughs) Anyway, there's more to come, I promise. I wanted to thank all my readers anyway.


Glimpses 8


1991 A.D.


"Do you believe in God, Brad?"

I looked up at my housemate and blinked, startled by such a sudden question after nearly an hour in silence. We had spent the afternoon sharing the couch, reading and drinking tea. The only noises we had made were the flipping of pages, the clink of our cups on the table and the occasional sigh.

I was tempted not to answer, to return to the haven of my pages and perpetuate the silence, but those blue eyes were holding mine, fiercely demanding my reply. His shock of orange hair seemed wild and alive, like a lion's mane, and his fair skin was luminous. His eyes were liked with thick kohl that made all his features stand out even brighter.

He looked like a vampire.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Do you?" I countered, my hackles up at the direct questioning. I loathed talking about myself; I had done it too much as a boy.

"I asked you first."

"And you will go without a reply," I snapped and looked back down at my book.

His mindtouch in my head was sinuous, glittering like a snake's back against my thoughts. I forced myself to think of nothing, and thus give him nothing. All he would find on my surface thought would be the feel of a snake's cool skin, the soft, earthy smell of dirt and rotting leaves, and the legends of those evil creatures.

"I could take it from your mind, you know. You have no way to block me."

"I know, but would you really pay me so much disrespect?" I murmured back, turning at last to fully meet his gaze. I was so calm, so unemotional. I felt as if I had been made perfect in my quietness, cold and pristine with almost zenlike apathy.

I'd lived too long in Japan if I truly thought that any sense of well-being came from sheer mental nonexistence. No wonder people thought I was an emotionless prick.

I felt Schuldig move closer, his whole side pressed against mine, his lips against my ear, soft and pliant and venomous.

"Yes, you're a prick, but I've seen enough of your mind to know that you are hardly emotionless. You're just angry, only angry. You believe the world has betrayed you and that it must suffer."

I felt my cool moment of silent perfection melting away now as the very anger my redhead mentioned raised color to my face. In seconds I was seeing red, my fingers gripping my book. I wanted to kill him for ruining that moment of peace.

"So answer my question," he pressed.

"I don't see why I should."

"So I'll know where you send me when you finally snap and kill me?" Schuldig laughed. I stared at him, shocked. Then I frowned, shoving my glasses back up my nose and turning back to my book.

"You need to stop making shit up, Schuldig. Leave me alone."

He sighed and got to his feet, flitting off as if nothing had happened. He did it just to annoy me.

Hours later as I was chopping vegetables for supper and dumping the garlic cloves into the pot of whatever it was that Farfarello was stirring, I was still thinking about what Schuldig had asked me. I knew the answer, of course, but it bothered me that the man had asked. Didn't he already know the answer? Was he trying to get me to talk for no reason and he thought broaching a topic rife with potential arguments was a good way to go about it? I didn't understand at all.

I glanced at my pale teammate and frowned. Maybe Schuldig had been hanging around Farfarello too long…

As if he'd heard my thoughts, one gold eye flickered up to meet mine, his thin, scarred face morphing into a smile. He looked nice when he smiled, some kind of boyish innocence shining though all the horrors he wore on his skin. Watching his expressions had stopped making my skin crawl years ago.

"Schuldig told me about your fight this afternoon," he murmured in English. I scoffed and turned away to chop a radish with particular vehemence.

"It wasn't a fight. I didn't raise my voice."

"You know as well as I that decibels don't make an argument. And before you ask, I didn't put him up to it. I already know what you think of the Almighty."

"Maybe you should be the prophet from now on," I growled. My sarcasm only seemed to amuse him, because he was laughing into the crook of his arm, trying to cover it with a cough.

"I like my current position just fine, but thanks." He meant the grunt work I gave him: cutting people up, interrogational torture, and my personal confidant. I just shrugged, dumping the last of the vegetables into the pot. "You want me to talk to him?"

I looked up again. "What?"

"Tell him to leave it lie?"

"Is that even a possibility?" Last time I'd told Schuldig to mind his own business he'd left the house in a fit and didn't come home for days. I was the one who had to hunt him down and apologize before he even considered coming back.

And Esset said they'd studied my teammates for perfect functional dynamics…Liars…

"If I ask nicely." Another smile. "He's bound to listen then, manners has that effect on a lot of people."

"And killing him would be too much trouble," I added sourly as I set the table and got down the plates and glasses. Farfarello just laughed. It was a calming sound, his laughter, and even as we spoke I could feel the coil of rage that had been building in the last few hours finally begin to unwind. I might actually make it through the meal without snapping at someone.

"Hey?! What's for dinner?" That nasal voice broke my revere and I could feel my shoulders tense. Farfarello just looked at me and sighed, shaking his head as he turned away and stirring the stew.

Maybe I would get through a meal without snapping, but I might be tempted to do far worse…like shoot a certain redhead.

I gave Schuldig a nasty look and fled from the kitchen, the both of them staring.

Team dynamics my ass.


Fin Chapter 8

Please Review


To My Readers:

Rori BartonYou want to cuddle Brad Crawford? (shudder) To do so incites death and destruction…Anyway, there shall be more details later. There are so many years of his life that I've yet to go into.

maycatThank you! I'm glad you're enjoying this fic, and I've doubly glad you like my characterization of Crawford. (smiles)


(This reply has Spoliers. Do not read if you're going to bitch about the end of the series being ruined for you)


fullmetalguitar'Beyond awesome'…Now my ego's going to be inflated all today. (giddy smile) And can you imagine someone like Brad Crawford having any kind of normal life? I mean really, he's a child of the 70's (if my calculations are correct), who grows up to be the leader of the assassin group who ends the Elders of Esset. You'd have to be pretty fucked up to accomplish something like that, because normal suburban kids just don't aspire to such things…at least not normally…

(grin) Sure, you can keep it forever…or as long as it takes for to delete it like the assholes they are. It's good to hear from you again. (huggle)