Blinded

Part Seven

The day after Schuldich's First Kill, Crawford decided to ask the question.

Schuldich was watching the English news channel, because it was the only channel that did not speak Dutch, or he was trying to learn English, Crawford was not sure and did not care. There were more important things on his mind. He intended to delay it until the last moment so that he did not have to kill the German - if it came down to that - until the last moment. But he could not do that again. He wanted to give Schuldich the choice early so that the German had time to at least think about it. He never gave that choice to Jamie. The same mistake should not be made twice.

The doorbell rang, and Schuldich answered to door, paying the delivery boy in exchange for a giant pizza and garlic bread.

"Krawford, you want pisa?"

"Sure."

They sat on the couch, watching the news and eating pizza. After Crawford reached for his second slice, he spoke to Schuldich.

//How strong's your mind?//

//Huh?// Schuldich paused mid-bite. //What do you mean?//

//Can you keep secrets? Can other telepaths yank information out of you?//

//Yes to the first question. Nope to the second.//

//How sure are you on this?//

//Hundred-and-one percent. I still have to refine my mind reading and control, but I can do shielding peeeerfectly. Even SS' Neumann can't hack my mind.//

//Good. What I'm going to tell you is a matter of life and death. You can choose not to hear it.//

//Bring it on.//

Crawford continued eating, his eyes fixed on the television screen. //I'm planning an escape from SS control.// Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the German almost dropped his slice of pizza.

//What the fuck? You can't be serious. You won't be able to - //

//Are you with me or not?// Crawford's clean hand reached into his jacket and felt for his gun. It felt heavy and cold in his hand. As much as he did not want to, and did not think he would need to, he had it ready. Nobody was to get in his way, not even the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on. He had been that way all this life. He would not break tradition for a German boy.

If Schuldich detected the meaning of that movement, he did not show it. He pushed the crust of the pizza into his mouth and sucked the tips of his fingers. //Mister precog, can't you predict my answer?//

//Your answer depends on a decision I can't trace. Answer me now.//

Schuldich reached for the garlic bread, so relaxed they could be talking about the weather. //The Grand Escape? Heh. Just don't leave me behind.//

"You said you won't leave Harri and I behind!"

Jamie's voice echoed in Crawford's head, each word as clear as if it had just been spoken. Had it been twelve years ago already? If time could heal all wounds, why did it still hurt?

//I won't. We'll do it together.// It was a reply to Schuldich as well as a vow to himself. He would never go back on his own words again.

Jamie would be proud of him.

An arm rises from the man laying with his face buried in a pillow, gesturing for Crawford to stop.

"You didn't know about the gun."

//No. But I do now.//

Schuldich laughs, the bitterness of the sound surprising himself. So many questions flashed through his mind that moment, now he has all the answers. So the precognitive was ready to kill him since the beginning, he had been right about that all along.

Oh yes, he knew since day one that Crawford disposes of useless people with the same frame of mind he has for regular rubbish. Schuldich just thought he was different. And he was wrong.

//Are you with me or not?//

It could have been a trap. Crawford could have been acting under SS instructions to test his loyalty. If he gave the wrong answer, he could not be sure Neumann would be able to cover his sorry ass again.

Or, it could be Crawford asking him to give SS the finger and go with him instead.

Schuldich chose to take that question at face value. It made answering it very easy, and he would much rather believe Crawford needed his help in some grand escape. It felt so much more satisfying, and somewhat romantic.

He snickers, remembering another German romantic telepath. Neumann and him could so easily be brothers.

Still, that does not drive away the fact that Crawford was going to kill him.

"Schuldich." Crawford finally speaks, unsettled by Schuldich's random snickering.

//Don't apologise. You aren't sorry.//

"I am."

//You were just being you. And I can hate you so much sometimes just because of who you are.//

"Did you hear me at all? I said I'm sorry."

//Shut up. You aren't. Don't act out of character for me, I don't need your sympathy.//

"Don't tell me what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to act."

//Fuck you.//

"Are you actually angry, Schuldich? Because I don't think you are."

Shoulders begin to shake, then the German flips himself over, finally giving in to laughter. He runs a hand through his wild orange mane, then one blue eye winks at the other man. //I don't think you're sorry either. You knew I'd be on your side, didn't you?//

Crawford shrugs.

//But if I proved you wrong.// Schuldich pulls a face at him. //You were prepared to shoot me.//

Crawford ignores Schuldich's intense blue gaze and closes his eyes. Would he use the gun? He had to, in case the German leaked the plan to the SS. Only dead men do not speak, Schuldich had to die.

Or, if he could convince Schuldich it was just a SS loyalty test, then he would not have to kill him. And Crawford would be stuck in SS until their partnership ends. Which could be a long time. Once he owns something beautiful, he does not let go. Unless he destroys it with his own hands.

Freedom on his own, or SS until the end? Crawford guesses it only depends on how attached he is emotionally to Schuldich. When SS finally fell apart and Schwarz was set free, he chose to be on his own. If he could make that decision even after working together for so many years, then he should have had no problem pulling out that gun the day he asked for Schuldich's loyalty, at the beginning of their partnership.

"I would've shot you and told the SS that you tried to rebel."

Schuldich replies with a snort. Honesty has it downsides, and this is definitely one of them. It would have been a change if Crawford says he would not kill him no matter what. But hey, it's Crawford... //And now? If you have to make that decision now?//

One of Crawford's hands stiffens. Long fingers flex, and then squeeze into a tight fist.

"You know I don't like hypothetical questions. And you're already dead." He sidesteps the question easily. "Why would I have to make that decision now?"

"Che." Schuldich hates it when Crawford picks on his words.

Crawford rewards him with an evil smirk.

Schuldich went on his infamous hunger strikes, the first one since teaming up with Crawford.

They were in his home country, America, in fact the same city he once lived, waiting for SS instructions. He allowed Schuldich to run free as long as he did not do anything that would disclose the location of their house or compromise the upcoming job in any way. The German, whose hair was still white-blonde, wild and long, had agreed to the plan and they stayed in that house for almost ten weeks before SS finally contacted them. During that time, both of them minded his own business, went out on his own, and did not ask questions about what each other was doing. After all, they were just grown men working together, not family.

Crawford spent most of that time experimenting his clairvoyance. It definitely grew much stronger over the past year, but they had been so constantly on the move he had no time to think about it at all. Now that they had time to stop, Crawford could relax and explore whatever it was pushing around inside his head. And he could take time to deal with any migraine that may arise as a result of trying too hard.

He had no idea how Schuldich spent his time during most of those ten weeks. Sometimes from the clothes and smell of smoke and booze he could guess the German went clubbing. Sometimes he did not come back to sleep, probably finding warmer beds elsewhere. And sometimes, although not regularly, he would stay at home all day to read a book, watch television or do whatever he does in his room.

The only time Crawford was sure the German would be home were Mondays, when he would go to China Town to buy takeout. The German would be at home waiting for him and they would have dinner together. There never was a formal agreement between them to meet on Mondays, but the habit became stuck. During supper, the German would try to irritate him by attempting to drag him out to clubs together, or at least go watch a movie. Crawford would decline those offers, saying he had better things to do. Then he would finish his meal and make the German do the clean-up.

"Geez, you're what, twenty-four? Twenty-five? Come enjoy life a bit!" Schuldich was at it again, mumbling as he stacked foil boxes together and collected the disposable chopsticks.

"Who says I'm not enjoying it right here?"

"I know you do. I stay in sometimes just for the sake of it as well. But who says clubbing with me isn't better?"

It was good effort, to Schuldich's credit. Eventually, on the Thursday of the ninth week, Crawford obliged and went with Schuldich to shut him up once and for all. Sometimes even he forgot he was still in his early-twenties, how he loved parties and clubs back in university, and how entertaining the company of women could be.

That was the first time Crawford truly realised the amount of attention the two of them drew when they stood together. The bouncers. The bar tender who rarely looked up at anyone. The DJ. The women who were drinking or dancing. Even the men.

//Umm... What can I say. It's good to have you here, looks like I'll have better catches.//

Crawford could hear the smirk in Schuldich's voice. He snorted. After a few drinks and a quick observation of the populants of the club, they separated to do their own thing. Schuldich went dancing with a very possibly underaged pretty girl with hair as short as Farfarello's, and Crawford locked lips with a gorgeous young woman with long legs and British accent. He had her pinned against the wall in a corner just off the dance floor, the kiss lasting until the DJ mixed in something new with a different beat.

He found his way back to the bar, and was later joined by a sweating Schuldich.

//So you're straight.// These were the first words he said, using telepathy to overcome the drowning music, before asking the bar tender to get them more drinks.

One of Crawford's eyebrows shot up. //Is this what all the dragging and begging's all about? Finding out which way I swing?//

//Hell no, it's good to come out and play, that's all. But,// The German winked at him, downing whatever it was the bar tender gave him. //you wouldn't let me read your SS file, and I'm interested, so finding out now is somewhat a bonus.//

Crawford played with the word "interested" in his head, deciding that Schuldich did not mean it that way. The younger man needed to watch his words more.

Before Crawford could throw back a sarcastic remark, Schuldich suddenly hopped off his stool and pushed his ways towards the men's room. Crawford ignored him, until he noticed there was urgency in the way he pushed at the crowds, and how the upper body, particularly his neck, seemed to have tensed up. When a telepathic call did not achieve the ususal response, Crawford followed the German.

The men's room was empty save Schuldich, who sat on the floor right under the condom dispenser, his face buried in his knees.

"What did you drink?" Crawford's voice was irritated but not without worry.

"Nichts (Nothing)."

Crawford knew better than to pick at Schuldich's choice of language right now. "Was ist los mit dir (What is wrong with you)?"

"Stimmen (Voices)..."

Telepathy backlash? Had Schuldich been using too much telepathy, or merely been crushed by all the voices in the club? Not many choices were open to Crawford - he simply could not leave his telepath here underneath a condom dispenser.

His telepath? That did not sound too wrong. They were more leader and team than partners anyway. Just a rather small team.

A quick precognition check gave no signs of danger for the next several minutes, and Crawford reached down to grab the German by his upper arm. "Los, wir wollen gehen (Come on, let's go)."

Schuldich jerked his arm away, letting out a half scream, as if it burned. When he lifted his face from his knees, those eyes were blank. He swatted Crawford's helping hand away and got up on his own.

If Crawford had to pinpoint when that hunger strike began, it must have been the night at the club. He thought Neumann had handled the telepathy problems, but from Schuldich's face, which was not in pain but frighteningly blank, there was obvisouly more to it. They drove home, Schuldich made his way to bed, and Crawford dropped him some painkillers. There was only so much he could do, and he had no idea his own growing clairvoyance, together with the club crowds, were what induced the pain.

No wonder Schuldich would not let him stand within five feet radius.

Schuldich stayed in his own room - en-suite, thanks to SS - for the next three days. Crawford left him alone, spending that time to try and dig up any information SS had about telepaths. Talkng to several other team leaders confirmed his suspicions that SS knew very little and what they knew, they tried to cover. The long list of telepaths who had died of unknown causes or killed on the job whilst with a perfectly capable team was not encouraging either. Rumour had it that at least two of those telepaths committed suicides. One died of starvation. There was definitely something SS did not want anyone to know.

And damn that Neumann for not telling him. He must know, being a telepath himself and having supervised Schuldich.

Crawford had no plans to let Schuldich die like that, they were still nowhere near seeing the end of their days in the SS and he needed the telepath.

//Schuldich, I bought Chinese.// Crawford stood outside Schuldich's bedroom. He knew the door was not locked, but also knew better than to go in.

//I'm not hungry. But thanks.//

//They called, the job's tomorrow morning. I don't want to work with a sick horse. Come and eat.//

A sigh, low but audible, came through the door. Sheets rustled, and then there were sounds of feet padding on the floor. //Okay.//

At the table, Schuldich poked his fried rice with his chopsticks. His stomach growled.

"If you're hungry, why don't you eat?" Crawford asked, slurping in a good amount of MSG noodles. It was hard to find genuine Chinese food. Occasionally he missed his mother's cooking. But everything came with a price, and he had to make do with restaurant food.

With tangled hair tied back roughly by an elastic band, blue eyes peered at him under blonde bangs. Apparently Schuldich thought the question did not deserve a reply.

"Schuldich." There was warning in the voice. "I know telepaths like starving themselves, but I need a reason. I won't work with someone who randomly decides to starve himself."

That was enough a threat. The German chewed on his lips. "Hunger keeps the head clearer."

"Not if you don't eat for three days."

"It give me another feeling to concentrate on, rather than the voices in my head." Schuldich finally gave in and ate a dumpling. "Physical pain does as well, I just don't like hurting myself."

//You wouldn't like to see scars on me, heh?//

Crawford chose to ignore that comment. "What causes it?"

Schuldich glanced at him once, and he shrugged.

If those "voices" were bad enough to make other telepaths take their own lives, Crawford had to act quickly. He weighed his options. Force Schuldich to eat and let him be driven insane. Leave him alone and hope he gets better. Leave him alone and he dies starving. Make him at least eat something tonight so that they would get through the job tomorrow without getting killed.

He passed the thought to Schuldich, who unwillingly gave in. They ate in silence, Schuldich quickly regaining his playful character, chopsticking-in chicken pieces that Crawford was about to get, even taking pieces of bak-choi from Crawford's foil box. Crawford considered spitting into the food to stop Schuldich from more stealing. The thought hit him, that if Jamie was still alive, he and Schuldich may be rather alike. Jamie did like fighting with Brad over food. Not just over food, but everything...

He cracked an evil smile when the German made a disgusted face after he spat into his food. For a moment, he felt young, something he had not felt since entering Rosenkreuz. Schuldich had given it back to him. The goddamn German definitely yanked out the kid Crawford buried inside himself.

After the meal and a quick job briefing, Schuldich retreated to his room again.

Before going to sleep, Crawford tried to vision next day's events, and his heart skipped a beat.

The freeze-frames that flashed in the back of his mind were random in time. He saw their exit first, and then the kill. A hand reaching for a jar of ink. Some sort of fight in the middle. A man dead or dying on the carpeted floor. Schuldich wearing a pink shirt.

No, a white shirt that was soaked in blood.

[to be continued]