Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldig.
I want you to remember
Everything you said
Every driven word
Like a hammer, hell, to my head
The chemicals between us
The walls that lie between us
Then lying in this bed
The chemicals displaced
There is no lonlier state
Than lying in this bed
Chapter 3: Opportunity Cost
You were angry at me when we left Germany, because you couldn't speak Japanese worth a flip. Nagi was angry at me because I had to convince him to let you into his mind, where you could pick up the language, and Farfello's always angry. We fought about it, remember?
I told you that the only reason you were upset was that you'd have to find new fuck buddies. You threw your bottle of beer at me, which I knew you were going to do as soon as I made the sarcastic comment, so it was all too easy to simply move my head to the side and let the bottle smash into the wall. You let out a frustrated yell, apparently even more infuriated by your apparent inability to get past my barriers. I told you I was sorry, you know, but you had already left the room. Such was our dance.
When we got to Japan and settled in that first night you were exhausted from jet lag, and fell asleep on the couch. I know you thought Nagi moved you that night, simply assuming that I wouldn't care enough to pick you up and move you to your bed, but it was me, Schuldig. And it was safe enough with you asleep for me to indulge myself; I kissed you on the forehead. Which was a mistake really, undoing a few years of work and practice in being a cold bastard. Not that it mattered since I never told you any of this. Until now, that is. But I don't want to digress from my story.
I'm really glad I'm not a telepath. I don't want to know what you thought of me, if you ever really hated me for all the times that I did things that should've made you hate me. Do you understand that it was a protective barrier, Schuldig? That you were a weakness? Will you understand, when I show you all this?
It's imperative that you do.
You know the Estet story, and I see no point in relating all of those missions and conflicts. It's getting late and I have limited time. Remember when Takatori beat you with the golf club?
I wanted, so badly, to reach out and snatch it from him. To beat the fat, greasy, disgusting bastard until he was puddle on the floor, and then give whatever was left alive of his body to Farfello for play afterwards. And I would have, just so you know, if not for a vision on my way into the office of myself doing that exact thing and its consequences.
Estet would have terminated me. And by that, I mean, that you would have been given the mission to kill me, and you would've done it, and then you would've killed yourself. I didn't want that. I wanted us to have a future free of their rules, with just us, you know? So I didn't grab the golf club, ironically enough, because I wanted you to live. Because I wanted to hope for the chance to live with you, someday. You came so close to breaking through my barriers, then, too; like when we took you home, and you fell asleep, bruised and broken. I watched you sleep, and if you had woken up and just said my name, Brad. Not Crawford, not Liebe, not any of the annoyingly flippant nicknames you have for me, just Brad, I would've caved. Been putty in your hands. Brad's the type of guy who would've taken all the hits of that golf club for you, did you know? I guess you've never met him, though. I was always too busy being Crawford.
I remember a conversation we had one time, driving through the streets of Tokyo in the rain, with you watching the masses from the window as they hurried through the streets like so many rats in a giant, disturbing race; I remember passing by a couple kissing in the rain and feeling like we drove by in slow motion.
"What is it like to live, Crawford, that we should want to?"
I didn't answer you. I've never let myself live. You probably took my silence for apathy, but I'll tell you what I was thinking -- you've always been alive, Schuldig. Unstable, maybe; but bright and alive and full of energy like a fire. All different types of fire, too; you could be just as destructive and were always just as beautiful. It was the first time that you'd ever voiced your growing hatred of life to me; but I'd witnessed it in your actions -- the way you worked so hard to destroy the potential happiness of those around you. I guess if we couldn't be happy, then nobody else deserved it either.
Although your actions with Nagi were different. You were distinctly happy when Tot died, despite his anguish, and I'll admit that I felt some satisfaction in the death of the brainless twit as well. We were never any good at looking out for eachother, but I think both of us watched over Nagi, whether he realized it or not. Like brothers. Only I could never care for you like a brother, brotherhood is not intense enough to describe what there is between us. You changed though; later on, when Nagi became involved in Bombay, although you pretended not to be. You pretended not to know, pretended to ignore the entire situation. I pretended to ignore all of your personal lives almost constantly so I suppose I don't have the right to wonder over your choice. Did Bombay and Prodigy remind you of what we should have been like, Mastermind? Were they the equals that I've never let us be? Were they what you wished we could be like; young and innocent, free of any game-playing, equals, naive, in love, with a sincere care for eachother's well-being?
Have you ever stopped to wonder if we could have been good for eachother? Or if we will be good for eachother, ever? I'm sure we could have been, if I had let you in. But I was too proud to admit, despite your constant teasing, that you'd had me from day one. I didn't want you to win the stupid little battle. Oddly enough, if I had let you, we both would've come out winners of the war.
Reading back over this I want you to know that I have always cared about your well-being. I wouldn't be doing this now if I didn't. But I don't have much time so I will continue.
I feel a need to go back to our arrival in Japan to show you another point. When we got to Japan it didn't take you much time to get back into your old habits, clubbing all the time. And I was the same as always, building on our power, setting up our future, our glimmer of hope.
Who cared what the emotional cost was? I tried to tell myself I didn't. That I didn't care when you went out, that your behavior was just a shallow attempt to get my attention, that you didn't need me and that I certainly didn't need some stupid slut like you -- no matter how much your hair looked like liquid fire when the sun hit it the right way, or the way your lean body moved with such catlike grace whether fighting or dancing. I kept lying to myself, and in the process I lied to you. There's an economic term for the choices I've made: "Opportunity Cost." Opportunity Cost is the cost of the thing you lose in order to pursue something else. By chosing to pursue power and the future, I pushed you aside. The opportunity cost was our happiness. Upon reflection; what I lost was far more valuable than anything I could have gained. Apparently I would make a lousy economist.
During our years in Japan there were a few times you came close to breaking through again, though. When just another word would have done it, or another touch. Will you realize when you read this how little I deserve to have your love? I'm apprehensive that you'll be disgusted and leave, irritated by all my petty, cruel, shallow attempts to push you away. You would have every right, you know, Schuldig. It's funny, how all those years while I kept pushing you away, I still tried to keep you on such a tight leash, unable to stand your presence and unable to live without it. Such a paradox. Two steps forward and three steps back...or is it three steps forward and two steps back? I can't remember, it's been so long since I've been around the cliches of America.
I hope this is making sense, Schuldig. I want you to understand. I want you to remember. There's a chemistry between us, a bond that I've abused and trampled on and broken so much that you don't feel like fighting for it anymore.
The simple truth is I want you to hang onto it and fight for it. I always have.
Leave me some love, folks. ^_^ This fic is a nice distraction from Karma Police... I swear I'll update KP later this week though. Probably Sunday, now that I think about it. Um...to clarify Brad's reflections to time in this piece, it's something he's writing, at night. He's putting all of his reflections about Schuldig down on paper. This thing's really flowing pretty well for me so I expect it to be finished soon. -glaube.