You're On Your Own
scandal
Crawford couldn't care less if all of Tokyo found out about Hirofumi's failure. He didn't get paid to babysit.
-x-
Crawford sat back in his expensive and rather comfortable executive chair, hands folded in his lap as he tried to hide his triumphant grin. The door to the white painted office opened and there stood Takatori Hirofumi, fear in his eyes and anger on his face.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Takatori's eldest son," Crawford said, voice smooth, light. "I've heard a lot of things about you. Please, sit." He gestured to the seat placed in front of his desk.
"It failed," Hirofumi said, ignoring the offered seat.
Crawford knew what he was referring to, but pretended to be confused. "What failed?"
"The plan, the Human Hunting Game. It was thwarted by a group of people trying to kill me."
Crawford shrugged. "What does this have to do with me?" It wasn't like he was the one who sent Weiß after him.
"I was hoping you could tell my father that it was out of my hands, that it wasn't my fault."
Crawford leaned over his desk and peered into Hirofumi's eyes, hands loosely clasped together. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Why should I cover up your mistake?"
"If you don't," Hirofumi said, hands now gripping the back of the chair placed in front of the nearly spotless desk, "there will be a scandal."
Crawford shrugged once more. He still didn't know what this had to do with him, or Schwarz. The little Takatori was not of his concern.
"It's not my job to cover for you or protect you. You're on your own."
Hirofumi looked shocked. How dare this man speak to him this way.
"You protect my father and me by extension."
Crawford scoffed. "My team of specially trained bodyguards are not the Secret Service like the American president employs. We protect whoever gives us the money." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't see money passing from your hands to mine, Takatori Hirofumi-san."
Schuldig took that moment to enter, a large envelope in his hand. He looked from Crawford to Hirofumi and said, telepathically, "Busy?"
Crawford signaled no with the slightest shake of his head. "We were just wrapping up this meeting, Schuldig."
Hirofumi turned around and saw the German standing by the door. Just when did he enter and why didn't he notice?
"I'm not done with you yet, Crawford," Hirofumi said, his voice low, brows knit together in a look of anger.
"That's 'Mister Crawford', if you please," Crawford said. "You can talk to your father about it if what I said displeases you, but I have orders from my superiors I must attend to."
Hirofumi straightened up, gave Crawford one last look, and stormed out of his office.
"Should we close the door?" Schuldig asked in English.
Crawford shook his head. "They won't understand us; there's no point." He gestured to the folder Schuldig was holding. "Orders from Eszett, I take it?"
Schuldig made it over to Crawford's desk in three long strides and deposited it on the desktop. "Probably just them checking in."
Crawford opened the envelope with a letter opener and read the contents.
"That Hirofumi... He didn't like what you said," Schuldig remarked, hands in his pockets, "but he wouldn't have liked what you were thinking, either."
Crawford took out a piece of stationery from one of the myriad of desk drawers, half of them locked and needing a key or three.
"He doesn't have to, and I don't really care." He moved a stack of papers just before Schuldig sat down on it. Schuldig took out a cigarette and lit it. Crawford wrinkled his nose, though he should have been used to Schuldig's smoking by now.
"Think we'll have to do damage control?" he asked, after a long drag.
Crawford said nothing for a moment, zoning out briefly. He was searching the immediate future for an answer.
"No. Takatori will take care of his son and we will just sit back and observe. His plan may have failed, but ours is unfolding just as it should."
Schuldig snorted. "I'm sure those three old bints'll be pleased to hear that."
"'Three old bints'? Can you at least pretend to be respectful?"
"Why? We're gonna betray them anyway. Besides, I don't respect anyone except myself. You know that. You also know I'm not the nicest guy on this side of Japan, either."
Crawford scrawled, in the neatest writing Schuldig had ever seen, a letter telling 'those three old bints' that everything was going just fine, and that everything would be completed soon.
"Your German sucks," Schuldig commented, reading the letter over Crawford's shoulder. "You call that an eszett? It looks like a 'B' to me."
"Then you write it."
"I don't write letters. You don't know what I might put in them."
Crawford could only imagine would Schuldig would put in the letter.
