Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; not Brad, not Schu and not Nagi or Farfarello. Neither do I own the songs that I used for the fic;

Chapter One: Inhalation – Breathing by Lifehouse.

Chapter Two: Whisper  - Whisper by Evanescence.

Chapter Three: Respire - Taking Me Over by Evanescence.

Apparently a lot of Lifehouse and Evanescence songs are BxS songfic worthy! ^_^

The standard disclaimer applies. And oh, I own Brad's Black Mercedes and Dr. Clea Dominique.

This fiction was written for entertainment purposes only. (So please none of those legal craps, ok? 'Sides, I don't own a single cent. Neither do I get any by twisting plots and writing them down!)

Pairings: Brad X Schu

Rating: PG-13 (Might change to R)

Feedback: Wanted! Let them scorch if you must or be generous and let them be soothing.

A/N: I am sorry that I have failed to mention all of this in the first 3 chapters that this story is Yaoi (Doh!) so don't read if you don't like it. I mean, you'd think that people would know from the coupling mentioned. *dramatic sigh*

Another A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Hazel and all the nice people who have read and reviewed this fic, Cain, Seph Lorraine, Kato-Chan and Shi-Chan. You guys make me feel so appreciated and I love all of you! And to Hazel, you know this one chapter exists only because of your persistence. Thanks and lotsa love you guys~!

Chapter Three: Respire

Legend:
*Song Lyrics*
~Telepathy~

//Thoughts or Memories//

Crawford felt the blood rush to his head, thrumming like a million of angry bees stuffed into his cranium. He swerved to the right, dodging the incoming car absently. Crawford had felt the bitter taste of fear and the anxiety of near death. He vaguely heard the aggravated honks of the passing drivers. He was too busy sorting his emotions to care which side of the road he was driving on. Tonight, Crawford had nearly lost Schuldich for good.

Clea's words rang like a bell in his head. Crawford's black Mercedes Sports skidded to a stop in their garage, announcing his return to Nagi and Farfarello. The main door opened to reveal Nagi standing by the entrance, ready to assist. As Crawford slipped out of the driver's seat, Nagi could see the weariness etched on Crawford's face. The young Japanese neared the car, opening the passenger seat's door to carry Schuldich out.

Crawford's first instinct was to stop the boy, fearing that Nagi would drop the German. He had to remind himself that the boy's physical-psychic power was stronger than his brute strength alone and that the Nagi cared for his comrade as much as he did. Reluctantly, he allowed Nagi to float Schuldich inside, keeping a watchful eye on both of them all the while. The flooring of the stairs barely made a sound as the young boy and the German made their way up to the second floor.

"Put him in his room, Nagi."

Nagi merely nodded.

The whole household was somber that night. Even Farfarello sat motionless on the couch in the living room; his favorite knife plunged into a blood red apple on the coffee table. The television was on, but he wasn't watching it. Instead, he had his eye on Crawford who, at that moment couldn't even push himself off the heavy main door he was leaning on. Suddenly, the whole escapade finally sunk in and at last, Crawford gave into the urge to just let go. He crumbled onto the shiny floor of their house.

*You don't remember me, but I remember you.

I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you*

Boots thumped against the floor as Farfarello made his way to the door that Crawford was slumped against. Crawford eyed the jaded boots curiously, not bothering to look at their owner.

"Takatori called. He wants us to be in the office tomorrow," Farfie said in all seriousness, looking down on his American leader slumped against the main door.

Farfie stood there watching motionless as Crawford's bloodied hand slowly lifted itself from the floor to rip the glasses off his ragged face. For a while nothing could be heard except for the light shuffling from Nagi's movement upstairs and the electrical buzz of the television. Everything else was silent, as if waiting for Crawford's reaction. Then, when it came, Farfie's single visible eyebrow twitched. Crawford let out a loud, very uncharacteristic sigh.

"All of us?" the brunette simply asked, lethargy drenched his voice.

"Didn't say," was the blonde's simple reply.

With nothing more than a nod, Crawford stood and dusted himself. Farfie understood that he had been royally brushed off, meaning that the conversation was over. For the first time in a long while Schwarz have been together, this was probably the first time Farfie have ever seen Crawford so distraught and unsure. If he weren't deemed insane, Farfie would have started worrying about the Oracle and the Mastermind, even the Little One for they were all dancing on thin ice.

*But who can decide what they dream?
And dream I do*

Remembering that he was behind schedule with this self-mutilation time, he made his way to his basement room but not before grabbing the knife embedded in the apple. He stopped to glared at the screen with the Pope's face on it. The newscaster was saying something about a religious conspiracy uncovered. Farfie grinned and executed a quick jab at the remote to shut off the buzzing television.

 //One of humanity's greatest creations and worst blights, that thing is! God must really be damning Himself. All the lost souls because of it…// Farfarello thought absently about the TV. About a month ago, a thought like that would have made Schuldich's acerbic or amusing remarks snake itself inside his 'deluded' head.

But since that accident three and a half weeks ago, telepathy with Schuldich was either painful or nonexistent but seldom in between. Not many knew, but Schuldich could make Farfarello feel pain. Crawford said that it was because Schuldich could trigger the pain receptors in his brain, causing his body to feel both, psychologically and mentally induced pain -something about mind over matter- though they were never strong enough to enough to kill him. But with this recent predicament, the pain he felt was almost to the breaking point. 

With the apple thrown haphazardly in the direction of the trashcan by the fridge, he happily nicked at his white flesh with the knife as he made his way for his room. Hearing his own voice in his head all the time was beginning to get boring and lonely. //Does Crawford and Nagi feel the same?//

Crawford eyed the Irishman as he made his way in the general direction of his basement cell/room. Crawford felt odd that Farfie seemed subdued and, dare he say it, almost 'normal.' Ignoring that, -as he preferred to think about more important and significant things- Crawford turned and began climbing the stairs while loosening his tie as he went. He felt like crap. He was awfully sure he looked it.

What was meant to be a week's trip to New York became two weeks of Hell in the States with the Devil himself. He felt sorry for having left Schuldich … Schwarz for so long. He pitied Nagi somewhat; a sickly Schuldich and an insane 'lunatic' aren't such easy things to take care of. He stopped at the top of the stairs, nausea causing his head to spin in wide frantic circles. Nagi stood in the hallway just outside of Schuldich's room looking ever so young. //Speak of the Devil//

*I believe in you 

I'll give up everything just to find you*

"Schuldich woke up for a bit," he said quietly. Crawford barely heard what the youth was saying even as he walked closer.

"How is he?" came the concerned reply. Crawford was indeed concerned for them, more than he wanted to or will ever admit.

"He was moaning your name. Then he woke up. He saw my face and smiled. He said 'Hello, Chibi!' just before he fell asleep again."

Crawford didn't know how to react to the gladness in Nagi's voice, so he just remained silent and just observed.

"He recognized me, Crawford. He finally did!" Nagi said ruefully, a sad smile graced his features. His voice trembled with mixture of fear and pained joy.

"Recognize…?"

"A week ago, since after you left, he couldn't remember things. He forgot who I was, what his name, where he was. Things like that. And sometimes my brain feels like it's going to rip apart"

"It's just the side effect of his situation. His psychic power control is weak. Something happened. So his controls are just aren't as strong as they were before," Crawford explained, cautiously leaving out the disquieting parts. He was grateful that Nagi wasn't a telepath, but the boy is smart and sooner or later, he'll put two and two together. But Crawford seriously hoped that even as smart as he is, he'd end up with five.

"So that means the voices…are stronger?"

"And his barriers, weaker. He'll recover, but he'll need our help," Crawford tried to explain it nonchalantly.

*I have to be with you to live, to breath...
You're taking over me*

"How can I help?" Nagi eagerly asked.

"I need you to stay here with Schuldich tomorrow. Takatori wants a meeting with us tomorrow morning, maybe until noon."

"But I have schoo…," Nagi's reply was cut short when he heard a moan from Schuldich.

"Listen to me, Nagi. I can't leave Farfarello behind with Schuldich alone. I'm not sure he's capable of caring for Schu's needs. And Takatori MUST NOT know about Schuldich's condition. Can I trust you to do this?" Crawford was gripping Nagi's shoulder, trying to make the boy understand the situation.

"I…Yes," he answered but his eyes that were averted away from Crawford, fell on the sleeping German, instead.

"Good. I…I won't be able to do this alone, Nagi" Crawford said. He patted Nagi's shoulder gently, emphasizing his point. He removed his bloodied double-breasted Armani coat and hanged it over his right arm while his left worked on unbuttoning his cuffs as he moved on towards his room to get his own rest.

"Brad?" Nagi called out; his voice was laden with uncertainty.

Crawford stopped and turned to face the boy, "Hmm?"

"He…he will be alright, won't he?"

*Can you know what I know and all we have.
You saw me mourning my love for you and touched my hand.

I knew you loved me then.*

 Crawford allowed a small smile, "Aa. He's strong enough."

Nagi let out an almost inaudible of relief. But Crawford heard it and his smile widened a notch.

"I-It's just that the missions would be really difficult without him," the young Japanese said, trying to cover his initial embarrassment of being too sentimental.

"Of course. That's for me to worry about, Nagi. It's all right for you to worry about him. We all do," Crawford spoke with his back to Nagi.

Nagi was silent for a few moments as if contemplating what Crawford had said, and then he said, " Okay. I'm going to help Farfie settle in. If you need me…I'll…be with him."

Crawford wasn't sure how it happened, but he supposed during the past weeks, the two younger members have grown closer together. Farfarello probably had been able to give Nagi the comfort the boy needed so much; it was something that Crawford couldn't have given. Crawford felt awful that he wasn't around to help Schuldich and Nagi but he felt glad that Farfie was around to compensate that. His train of thoughts followed him all the way to his own room.

He was covered in grime and blood and he was desperately in need of a bath. He remembered that Schuldich was probably in a far worse condition compared to him. He stripped his soiled clothes away and dumped them into a laundry basket in the corner. He turned on the hot water and stepped in.

Crawford took a quick shower, his every thought drifting back to the unconscious German next door. Even as he dried himself, Schuldich occupied his mind. He rinsed the tub once over then began filling it with fresh hot water for Schuldich. As he filled the tub he tried to think of something else, but everything kept drifting back to the redhead, even as he looked in the bathroom mirror. 

*I look in the mirror and see your face, 
if I look deep enough.*
Flashes of the woman in Schuldich's mind flared through his head. Images of the bleeding German, stray voices and a glimpse of Schuldich with dark and tainted -but beautiful- wings rutted in his skull, demanding his surrender. He saw Schuldich's memory mingled with recollections of strangers that he had picked up. There was a blurred line between his memories and oblivion. Between sanity and psychosis.
 
Crawford let out a hoarse gasp and breathed in deep gulps of air. He pushed back loose strands of wet tendrils of dark hair out of his face. He felt the nausea surfacing again and this time, it didn't just stop there. Crawford lurched then emptied the contents of his stomach out into the sink. Bits and pieces of the partially digested airplane food and a lot of water and mucus drained down the bowl. //Just as well. Plane food can't be good for the body, anyway!// 
 
 Crawford hurled a few more times before his stomach was calm enough to let him take a breather. Vaguely Crawford wondered whether that was the reason Schuldich was always so thin. All that voices and faces pushing their way into his head all at once while spinning like a tornado within his skull. The whole thing was like a bullet ricocheting off the walls, gaining speed and momentum as it goes.
 

*So many things inside

that just frighten you are taking over*
 
After a while, Crawford got to his wobbly feet and slipped on his boxers and pajama pants. Then, bare-chested, he went into the room next door. Schuldich was still mumbling in his sleep and began thrashing slightly. Gently as he could, he lifted the unconscious German into his arms. He had a slight problem getting Schuldich to stay in position as he kept slipping off. Crawford felt a slight piercing irony in doing that. In that one night alone, he had carried the redhead in his arms -in the way he had always imagine- four times and not once did he enjoy doing so. He was surprised that even in his weakened condition, he still managed to carry the smaller man. 
 
He carried Schuldich into his room and lowered the sleeping German on his bed, spread eagle. Carefully, he peeled off Schuldich's stained-beyond-repair shirt off his body, mindful of the cuts and bruises on the pale body. He paused for a moment before rising to head for the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a small container filled with warm water and a towel-like cloth. 
 
Crawford gingerly wiped off the mud and coagulated blood the best he could in that circumstance. He began unzipping Schuldich's soiled trousers. Crawford noticed that it was the German's favorite pants –Schuldich had told him once when Crawford accidentally spilled coffee on it- aside from the skintight ones he loved so much. He made a mental note to buy another pair for him later to replace this one. He pulled the pants off and chucked it into the dustbin near the bathroom door. The American leader hesitated for an instant before removing the black boxers. He wiped the German of the visible dirt all over in the most indifferent manner he could manage. 
 
He carried Schuldich to the bathroom and gently slipped him into the warm water, careful to leave his arms out of the tub. He ran the soaped cloth over Schuldich's back and arms. Schuldich stirred slightly at the foreign sensation. Crawford wondered where the redhead had been to before he went under the bridge. It seemed to Crawford that Schuldich was probably assaulted from the bruises and shallow cuts on his back and arms. 
 
 
It brought him back to the time when they were both younger and still green in the business. There were several times when they had to bathe together to save water and time. Schuldich would always make a joke and pretend to 'invite' Crawford in with him the way lovers do, whenever they did. And there were times when either one of them were unconscious and wounded and in dire need of a cleaning like at that instant. 
 
*(taking over me)
You're taking over me*
 
He moved to Schuldich's chest. He watched the way his hand moved around in slow circles over the pale skin, mesmerized. As he moved downwards, he could feel his own breath catch in his throat. He's done this before, then why did he feel so differently about it? Crawford pushed the notion out of his head and moved to tend to Schuldich's legs. The cloth slipped out of his hands into the milky water. He couldn't see the cloth in that soapy water so he dipped his hand and started to feel for it. But everything that he touched almost always ended up being Schuldich's skin. He gave up looking for the offending towel and used his bare hands instead. 
 
He was up to Schuldich's calf when the German began to rouse. Crawford pointedly ignored the German and carried on with his task. But when Schuldich began slipping down into the water, he rushed to pull him up by the shoulders. Schuldich was almost fully awake by then, his breath slightly ragged. Crawford felt a stab of longing in his heart. He wished that the German's hitch in pleasure, but he knew better; Schuldich was in pain. 
 
He rinsed Schuldich's mud caked hair before applying a large amount of shampoo on his head. He washed the hair thoroughly until it became a brilliant red gold river down Schuldich's back. He cleaned the German's face just as thoroughly. Pale skin began to glow again and pale bloodied lips began to regain its color again. Crawford remembered the way they pressed against his, making him long to relive that moment again. In frustration, Crawford stood and went to his room retrieve a towel for Schuldich.
 
"B…rad…?" Schuldich's voice came out hoarse. Green eyes slid open. They narrowed to adjust to the glare of the bathroom light. Schuldich felt disoriented and began to panic. He was in a tub, naked, alone and he couldn't recognize his surrounding. He tried to use his telepathy but it wasn't there. Not even a trace of it was there anymore. The realization of that finally sunk in and he wanted to weep. 
 
*(taking over me)

Taking over me*

 
But then it came back in full force making his brain overload. Schuldich wanted to scream in pain but his voice refused to work. He gripped the rim of the tub until his knuckles were white and the cuts on his wrists bled again. He was choking in his own breath and voice. 
 
Crawford came into the bathroom again. He dropped the towel and the robe he was carrying and rushed to the German's side. Almost immediately, the pain reduced. Schuldich reached out desperately for Crawford. The Oracle automatically offered his hand. The German clung to it and clutched it to his chest as close as possible. Crawford's hand was throbbing from the death grip that caused a lack of blood circulation. He peeled the gripping hands off his arm and proceeded to hug the shaking body. Schuldich was almost clawing at Crawford in his haste to kill off the pain. After a few moments, Schuldich's breathing began to regulate and his grip lessened. 
 
Crawford lowered his barriers but the German ignored it, not wanting to share his pain. The American released Schuldich and made him lean back in the tub. He watched the tear streaked face. He felt remorseful and helpless; he felt distant. Crawford slicked the wet strands of red gold from the flushed face. He wanted to stop that so badly. So when he saw the delicate brows furrow in pain, he gave in to his whims.
 
Crawford gently made Schuldich's head face him. Holding his face firmly so that the redhead doesn't slip away, Crawford closed in on the space in between. Schuldich was too weary to respond or protest. He pressed his lips to Schuldich, simultaneously laying his mind bare to the German. He wasn't trained to 'wrap' his mind around others' minds the way Schuldich always does. So the best he could do was to offer to Schuldich and wait for him to accept. 
 
Schuldich was slow to accept, but Crawford was a patient man; when he wanted to be. He felt a reluctant pressure and a slight strain against his mind, sort of like a warning of what's to come. Schuldich gasped as he felt his mind being 'breached'. Crawford took the chance to slip in. He delved his tongue into Schuldich's sweet mouth. His senses were besieged by his warmth and familiarity. He lingered for a moment, savoring the feel of Schuldich before cajoling the redhead further. 
 
The next moment was a rush of forces, splitting his brain in half and stretching his mental seams. His body went rigid against Schuldich's pliant one. He had to force himself not to clench his jaws and bite his own tongue. He wanted to rip himself away from the German but he fought against that as well. Instead he gripped the tub the exact same way Schuldich did while his other hand was clenched tightly into a bleeding fist behind the redhead's head. Just when he thought he was going to suffer from a mental breakdown, the pain eased and somewhat dissipated in between the two minds.
 
Schuldich had begun to respond, tentatively. He pressed himself closer to Crawford, if that was indeed possible, kissing Crawford's stiffness away softly. Crawford gently pushed Schuldich away after a while, fearing that the German might suffer from some difficulty. The redhead drooped against his shoulder without a sound. It occurred to Crawford that Schuldich had fallen asleep on him.
 
*Can you know what I know and all we have.
You saw me mourning my love for you and touched my hand.*
 
Smiling slightly, he slipped his hand beneath Schuldich's knee and another supporting the frail German's back, he lifted the body out of the tub and onto the toilet seat. He grabbed the discarded towel and bathrobe, toweled dried the younger man as thoroughly as he could manage before wrapping him in the fluffy crème robe. Absently, he wondered about the towel and how it came to be in Crawford's closet and how fetching the redhead looked in it. 
 
Decked in the crème robe, Schuldich was lowered onto the middle of the -currently- deep royal blue sheets. Crawford re-bandaged the wrists and all the other smaller wounds and smoothed on some cream for his bruises. Crawford then tucked Schuldich in and prepared to sleep on the couch again. But after half an hour of watching the German sleep and another half of an hour tossing and turning in his comparatively small couch, he gave up and decided to get some coffee. But before he could even get up, Schuldich actually woke up and sat in the middle of the king sized bed looking terribly lost and ruffled… and extremely delectable.
 
"Bra…d?" Crawford actually sat up at the accented voice calling his name.
 
"Hmm?" he said trying to sound as if he just woke up. 
 
"The voices are back again," he said softly, trying to untangle himself from the sheets. Crawford suspected that he wanted to come to him. 
 
"Stay there," Crawford said gruffly. When Schuldich made no point of listening to him, Crawford got out of the couch to stop him. By the time he got to the bedside, Schuldich's left foot was dangling out of the bed. 
 
"I was going to come to you," Crawford remarked casually. He stopped beside his anxious German teammate, observing what his counterpart would do.
 
Schuldich didn't say anything. He just shifted to the middle of the bed uncertainly. Crawford made a move to sit at the end, waiting for the redhead to make a move. And his patience was richly rewarded. Schuldich touched his hand that was pressed onto the mattress and pulled him close. When he was close enough to Schuldich's opinion, he laid his head on the pillows pulling Schuldich along with him. 
 
"Let me share it," Crawford had said. He felt the redhead shake his head against his chest, which was still bare. 
 
" That's not a request, Schuldich…It's an order," he said, voice gentle but not without that underlying firmness. 
 
Reluctantly, Schuldich sat up and turned to look down on his leader. There was barely any light in that room, other than the bathroom light that was stealing into the room and the moonlight from Crawford's partially exposed window. But he could see the determination in the American's eyes. And he fulfilled his leader's silent command. He kissed Crawford with all his pent up passion but he was still careful not to leak any of his pain. //Oh, how I have wanted to do this for ages. Ironic that I could barely enjoy it when I finally got the chance to.// 
 
But that's not to say Schuldich didn't enjoy any of that contact. Despite the ringing pain, the sparks and fireworks still flew. The kiss still burned itself into his brain, as a matter of fact, the brief and few 'pain-killer' kisses he had with Crawford have already engraved themselves much deeper and stronger than the foreign thoughts and memories had. But that didn't mean he could let Crawford suffer at the expense of a few chaste kisses. So he held the barrier still. After a short battle of dominance, Crawford broke the kiss.
 
"I mean it, Schuldich," he said, tone utterly exuding his command. Sighing, the younger man relented. He allowed Crawford to kiss him this time, cautiously releasing his barrier to avoid any mental shock on Crawford's behalf. He felt the pain seeping away as he was pushed into the soft down pillows and Crawford's tongue requested entry. 
 
And silently, Crawford made a vow to himself that no matter what; he will rebuild that control again with Schuldich if life was to mean anything. And Schuldich just knew that: maybe, just maybe, life would be worth living again and Crawford will make things okay again.
 

*I knew you loved me then.*