Author's Note: Thanks for the review guys. Poor Crawford, pull out the tissues.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Don't sue me, hire me instead.

Chapter 3

"Look Bradley, a redbird," her voice held that warm, sticky, squeaky young feminine innocence. She was looking out of the window, a frosty winter morning causing the glass to resemble that of a beer mug. The scene was void of color, a freshly fallen snowing having covered the entirety of all of Austria. The only joyful variation of white was the cardinal.

"It's called a Cardinal, Thais," he remembered saying to her not putting down his book to speak; he had a test in his next class and decided to come to her dorm to study. This practice was almost futile with Thais around.

"Come and look Bradley," she never shortened his name; she only let the length flow off her tongue. She never called him Crawford like so many other students, Thais was never impersonal; he was simply Bradley. He loved the way his name dripped from her lips. He couldn't resist her and denied her nothing; he dropped the book and walked towards the window where she was perched. The bird was beautiful, a rarity at the hell that was Rosenkreuz; it looked like a drop of crimson blood on a pristine white shirt. It was then that he saw it.

His vision usually involved other things, other people, other situations, never him. In a split second he'd seen his future, a white shirt, glasses, a 9mm, on drop of blood on his suit. He was an assassin, a deadly, heartless assassin. He swallowed deeply and accepted this future self, taking off his glasses to wipe away some of the dust that had collected on them. Thais was none the wiser to what had just occurred. He'd become good at hiding his foresight from others.

"Why do you wear those things?" she asked, watching him place the large wire-framed spectacles on his face.

"They take away the headaches," he answered truthfully, then a devilish smirk aligned his face, "besides, don't I look handsome Thais?" a beautiful clinking peal of laughter rang from her lips; the bird flew off, she didn't notice.

That was so long ago, that memory. He'd gotten so used to defining his life in the future that he rarely thought about the past. But there she was, in the flesh, in front of him. Like a forgotten memory, a ghost, something so warm and gently, the nostalgia eating him up inside. She remembered him; after all these years she remembered him. His name still flowed from her lips like a gentle song on a crisp spring breeze. She hadn't turned from her place at the mirror, only eyeing him through the reflection like he was some ghost. In truth he was a ghost, an apparition of the forgotten history of her former self.

She turned, hesitation evident in every movement, ever muscle reflex. She was so slow, so quiet; afraid that he was a specter and that if she moved too quickly he would disappear into thin air and never come back. She closed her eyes as her body made the turn, wishing, hoping that when she turned around he'd be there. She opened her eyes, she stood, and he was there. They stared blankly at one another; the same confused look on both of their faces. Questions unanswered, memories swirling like that of a whirlpool, anger, resentment, friendship, love.

"Thais," he finally spoke, his voice sounding winded. It was a whisper so quiet, unlike anything he remembered sounding like. Usually his voice was laced with confidence and a sturdy rhythm of power, now he sounded like a small child looking for comfort. He was shaking; he never shook. Not even in his first kill did he shake, he only felt the recoil of the gun. Now, his body was wracked with so much emotion that he could barely think. She nodded to his unasked question. In his voice, just by saying her name, she could tell that he was asking if it was really her. This was really happening, it wasn't a dream.

"Bradley," she said again, not having said the name like that in so many years. And in her voice he still heard that childlike innocence; the innocence he left on that windowsill on the cold winter day, watching that red bird against the virgin snow. In this beautiful woman that stood before him- shoulder length hair, expressive amber eyes, chocolate skin, voluptuous curves- he still saw the young lady that was present in his memories.

/Look Bradley, a redbird/

He was frozen in his spot, not being able to move, the memory of that winter day playing in his mind over and over. He watched her though, this newer, older version of Thais, as she moved slowly towards him. Her movements countered, measured and weighed, her shapely hips swaying as she sauntered towards him. There was only a small space between them, but she covered it slowly, taking it step by painful step; a journey into the past a memory, a beautiful, painful recollection.  A few more steps and there she was, under him, in front of him, in the flesh. She couldn't be real; he had to be dreaming, he relished those thoughts, trepidation and doubt in his senses flowing through his head. But she erased all doubt as her small arms wrapped around his torso and she brought her head to his chest. He closed his eyes, holding back the tears that accompanied such emotion. His hands went around her still form and stroked her head, allowing her to water his suit with tears; he didn't care, she was real and there and not a dream.

She remembered it being a lot easier to hug him; when they were younger he had been much smaller, almost a waif. Now he was a grown man, his chest feeling muscled and strong under the suit. She remembered being able to put her head on his shoulder, now she was able to listen to his heartbeat from where her head lay. It was comforting; he hadn't died in Rosenkreuz, the beating organ told her that much. She was hugging him, his scent, his warmth, his feel, everything was right, her Bradley.

"What are you doing here?" she said, breaking away and wiping the tear residue from her face. Business; he'd almost forgotten in this reunion the reason why he was here-Eszet. At once she felt the change in his countenance. It turned from the gentle Bradley that she used to know to the serious, stone-cold businessman that was called Crawford.

"Eszet wants you back," his voice was unwavering. She looked at him with a blank stare. She backed away. That name she hadn't heard or thought of in years. So, he was still under their control.

/ "I can't stay here, they're killing me," she shouted at him. All the wills of a teenage girl, all the rebellion and stubbornness. She looked defiantly at the older dark-haired youth in front of her.

"You're overreacting, Thais," he stated trying to calm her. He reached over to her and put two hands firmly on her shoulder; she pushed them off violently.

"I'm not overreacting, Bradley, I know what I feel. These emotions aren't mine. These emotions are yours, the other students, Portia's, the teachers, everyone's. I can feel the evil in this place and it's killing me." She'd mentioned Portia, the poor girl who'd gone crazy and committed suicide three days ago. Thais had felt her insanity and sadness as she fell to her death from the top of the school building. Thais hadn't left the room in that long until he'd come back from his first class and found her curled up in his own bed.

"You're fine, Thais. You're too strong for this. Calm down, you know you can't leave this place. We gave our words that we'd stay. We owe Rosenkreuz our lives for taking us away from the hell that we'd lived in."

"We don't owe anyone our lives, Bradley. We were too young to consent to anything, just babies, just children. We owe nothing to the people of Rosenkreuz or Eszet, the only thing they did was take us from one level of hell to another. I'm leaving tonight, you can come with me or you can stay it's your choice Bradley." She was serious. Leaving Rosenkreuz was a serious offense. Many had tried before Thais and hadn't survived the bitter cold of the Austrian Alps; many hadn't even made it out of the compound. He looked at her with frightened eyes and watched as she grabbed her things around her, her trademark black wool scarf, some mittens, a small backpack, and a single dainty golden key to the lock that he wore around his neck on a golden chain. His heart caught and suddenly he was shocked by the reality of the situation- she just wasn't going back to her dorm room, she was leaving him. Forever.. He grabbed her, gripping her tightly by her shoulders; he'd never hurt her before that moment.

"Don't leave, Thais. If you do, I will tell Professor Goldentaug and you know the penalties for desertion," he wasn't serious, only afraid. She pushed him off of her and grabbed her things electing to run from the room, saying only one thing that shattered his world into millions of pieces.

"I thought we were friends, Crawford?" she fled, a thundering shudder of worn leather loafers echoing down the hallway. She'd called him Crawford only once and the name sounded disgusting dripping from her lips/

"You still work for Eszet?" she said the name with a tremor of bile rising in her throat. So they'd sent her heart to find her, how ironic. Those bastards would do something like that. Her once sympathetic face was now knit into an expression of disgust and anger. But something bigger took over that emotion- Bradley. He'd survived Rosenkreuz, no scratches, nothing save for the way he carried himself now. This wasn't the Bradley she remembered, this was Crawford the boy, now man that Rosenkreuz had helped create. He was their wanton slave, their dog, and their faithful humble servant. He'd help build Eszet's empire from the ground up, rounding up more faithful followers to take to Rosenkreuz and have them brainwashed for the "greater good." She could sense with her powers that he was cold; that he'd seen death and even more caused it. She walked back up to him, having felt in the beautiful naturalness of the hug earlier, a cold steely artificial substance.

 She felt his chest, an indention of hardness next to his heart. She reached inside of his suit jacket first feeling the worn, stiff leather of the holster. Her eyes never left his, never faltered as her hands traced the shoulder holster all the way to its holdings, cold as ice 9mm. The steel feeling as smooth and as cold as his emotions were right now. She recoiled quickly, stepping back bumping her legs against the chair she'd been sitting in previously.

"What do you carry that thing for?" she asked venom and fear mingled into the question. He patted his left side and let his hand linger there for a moment, feeling the hard indention that was surely hidden from the naked eye. His mind halted for a moment, reflecting on something Schuldich had said to him long ago.

/All I need in this life of debauchery is my gun. It does what it's told, I can silence it if I want to, and though it doesn't love me it gets me off/

That German could be crazy sometimes. His orange hair and almost femininely handsome looks didn't at all emanate the insanity that raged within. He was another like Crawford, who'd gone through Rosenkreuz and survived. He was another like Crawford who'd killed and killed and was never bored with the killing. Schuldich loved his work, loved his gun, and loved the killing, much like Crawford. Crawford had kept his mental shields up against the telepath for this whole trip; he knew that Schuldich suspected something. It was only a few times that he'd allowed Schuldich to really pick his brain. The Mastermind usually never bothered with reading him only amusing Crawford with mindless cognitive chatter about what other people's thoughts were, sometimes even sending a few voices Crawford's way. Schuldich was a character.

A friend? No.

A lover? Maybe one day.

A skilled and trusted partner? Definitely.

Crawford knew that if he'd let the German in on his secrets, on his vulnerability that Schuldich could undoubtedly hold it against him. This situation was threatening to break the fabric on which Crawford had sewn his life. If she came fine, she would be trained and used by Eszet, if she resisted he would shoot her.

"It's my job," he finally answered her question. She swallowed, understanding him completely.

"So, if I don't come with you, that thing will be used on me," she said the word "thing" with such contempt that it almost made Crawford shudder. Almost.

"What is your answer and you'll find out," he said as coldly as he could muster. He wasn't strong enough to fight Eszet's hold on him. She eyed him with contempt. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the gun, angling it at her head. She swallowed, obviously afraid.

/Please, Thais, just say yes. Please, so I don't have to do this.

Crawford, I thought we were friends?/

He swallowed, the pain of the memory too hard for him to swallow. How could he do this? How could he point a gun at her head like he had so many other nameless, faceless miserable people? She wasn't like them; she was special, his friend, his first love, everything to him. They would run away together, away from Eszet, just the two of them. She and Bradley would run away together, that was until Bradley became Crawford. She walked towards the gun, not afraid, not fearing him or the weapon.

"Alright, I'll go," she said, the gun so close that it was almost touching her forehead. His finger was poised on the trigger, itching to pull it. It was habit, only habit, his mind was screaming at him not to. He was a creature of habit. Slowly he relaxed and dropped the gun, casually and expertly replacing it back in the holster. He fell down to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Slowly going insane, aren't you, Bradley." She let him cry onto her sweats. He cried muffled, wet tears for the first time in almost ten years.