Chapter 2: Patience is a Virtue
I am extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.
Margaret Thatcher, in Observer April 4, 1989
----
Schuldig watched Crawford sleep in the seat next to his. It was always a good sign when the pre-cog slept during a flight. When Crawford didn't was always a tense, turbulent ride. He was also glad that the American felt comfortable enough in his presence to sleep, trusted that Schuldig would watch out for him while he was so vulnerable. It was a nice feeling.
Crawford didn't extend that trust easily. Schuldig realized the gift that had been given to him. It was gratifying, but he still wanted more. Ever since he had come back, the two of them had fallen back into place, with only a few changes. Crawford had changed, just as Nagi had indicated. Schuldig had changed too.
He still would charge the gates of hell for Crawford. Yet he didn't follow as blindly as he had before. There was a time that Schuldig had never questioned Crawford, never thought about the things that Crawford asked him to do. He had been a good soldier, following his orders. He would smirk and make wisecracks, but he always did what he was told.
Now, he still would follow Crawford's direction, but he would coax out the reasoning behind it, find out the whys. In doing so, he had learned more about the ways Crawford's mind worked. He also got the feeling that Crawford liked this change. Schuldig had never thought about it before, but there was an ease to allowing others to think for you. The one doing all the thinking had a heavy burden to carry.
Schuldig now did his part to alleviate that burden. Crawford had surprisingly appreciated the gesture. Now Schuldig knew what they meant when they said, "it's lonely at the top." They were partners now. Schuldig felt vaguely guilty for not doing this earlier. It had been the lazy way out, and they all had accepted it.
He stared out the window. All he could see was white clouds, a thick field of them that stretched out below. They were on their way to Crawford's home turf. Schuldig was glad to be back in action, even if he did feel some misgivings at the difficulty of the assignment ahead. What he was really looking forward to was seeing where Crawford grew up, the circumstances and places that had shaped him.
He turned back to watch Crawford sleep peacefully on. Since he had returned, the dynamic between them had changed. They had grown closer, but not as close as Schuldig would have liked. After that one kiss, which had done more to make Schuldig feel home than anything that Crawford could have said, there had been no other shows of affection from the pre-cog.
Schuldig didn't know why Crawford had retreated behind his aloofness once more. If it weren't for the small thoughtful gestures, the gentler tone in Crawford's voice and his new willingness to give explanations when Schuldig asked for them, Schuldig would have thought that he had dreamed everything that had happened since Esset's fall. Especially that welcome-home kiss.
Schuldig had felt something inside him that he hadn't even known was empty fill in that meeting of their lips. Yet it had awakened a hunger for more. He hadn't pushed, because it was Crawford. No one pushed Crawford. Irresistible force, meet immovable object. The American could give the impression of fluidity on the surface. Underneath, he was steel. No, Schuldig hadn't pushed. He was stubborn at times, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to push and ruin everything. That didn't mean he didn't wish that he could.
He remembered as a child, he had once been playing with a brand-new soccer ball his father had given him. He had been walking down the street, practicing bouncing it on his head. He had bounced it off his head too high, and it had soared in a large arc to fly over a tall iron fence with some wicked spikes at the top. He had watched in dismay as the ball went over the fence and bounced a couple of times before rolling to a stop at the base of the fence.
He had reached through the fence and had grabbed the ball handily. He had tried to toss it back over the fence, but it fell short and bounced off the spikes, this time to roll just out of reach. He had been stubborn then, too. He had tried all afternoon to retrieve that ball. He had found a stick to pull it closer. But every time he tried to toss it over, he couldn't get it high enough. He had been so small, and the fence so high. He had tried until it had been too dark to see, and he had missed supper for it.
He had tried for three successive afternoons to retrieve that ball. On the fourth day, it had been gone. He remembered well the feeling of 'almost, almost—" that had been the prevailing theme of those days. It had been that feeling that had never allowed his determination to flag. He knew that feeling, and it never failed to spark that resolve. He gently brushed his fingertips against Crawford's cheek. He felt that resolve now. He was so close. He could wait, even as he patiently tried to bring the object of his desire within his grasp.
----
Crawford awoke from a pleasant dream. Long fingers were threading through his hair, he could feel the warmth of Schuldig's mouth lightly caressing his. He opened his eyes and smiled. Schuldig smiled back. "We're here."
Crawford blinked, the last vestiges of the dream fading away. They were in Boston. He took his glasses out of his pocket and slipped them back on. He touched his fingertips to his lips. Had Schuldig kissed him while he had been asleep? Schuldig winked. "I won't tell," he said mysteriously. The redhead stood up, stretched, then leaned over Crawford, one hand on the armrest, one on the back of the seat before theirs, trapping Crawford in.
/Let's get this business over in Boston, Crawford,/ he sent. /Going to show me the sights between kills?/
Crawford raised a brow, unruffled by being blocked in. "Maybe. I don't think that you'll find much of interest in Boston. America's more conservative than Europe, you know."
"Even than the English?" Schuldig asked with a disbelieving laugh.
"In some ways, yes."
"Well, then, I guess I've got to be a good boy," Schuldig said. He straightened, dropping an arm to allow Crawford to pass. As the American did, Schuldig whispered devilishly in Crawford's ear, "But not too good, Brad."
Schuldig was rewarded by Crawford's slight shiver, then the two were eye to eye. Behind the obscuring lenses, Schuldig thought he could detect a trace of amusement. "I never would expect anything else from you, Schu." He brushed past, then said over his shoulder, "And it's Crawford."
----
Schuldig flopped down on Crawford's bed with a grunt of irritation. "Damn, Crawford. I've had an easier time finding felinophobes at a cat show then I've had in finding any trace of these guys."
Crawford didn't look up from where he was reading a new file Esset had sent on his laptop. "We knew it wasn't going to be easy. They are here, though. If we can just get a lock on one of them, we should be able to find the rest."
"Without a doubt," Schuldig said breezily. "I have yet to find a mind that can keep me out."
"Indeed." Crawford scanned the rest of the file, then a wicked grin slowly spread on his face. "And I think I just found our first target."
Schuldig slid off the bed and sauntered over, leaning casually on Crawford to read over his shoulder. "Former classical cellist. Yeah? So?"
Crawford adjusted his glasses. "Yo Yo Ma is slated to make a special appearance Saturday night with the Boston Symphony."
"Yo Yo Ma? What kind of name is that?"
"That," Crawford said solemnly, "is the name of one of the greatest cellists in the world. Our target will be there."
---
A/N:
TrenchcoatMan – Nagi is getting his own fic that runs parallel with this one. It'll be the events that he goes through while the elder Schwarz members are in America. If he will cooperate. He's been most stubborn.
Lily – Welcome, and thank you for reviewing. Hope the rest of this fic lives up to your expectations.
Lonecayt – It is one of the banes of my existence, the lack of back story on any of Schwarz, other than that ONE episode on Farfarello.
Yanagi-sen – Nagi's been awfully silent lately, but I do have a fic sketched out for him and Omi. I have a few chapters written, but the beginning is what I'm having problems with. Not to mention, the Saiyuki crew has been getting rowdy lately. . .
RoseRed5 – Thank you for the review and for your kind words. I hope that you'll enjoy this one as well.
Lyra Stormrider – Thank you, thank you! Your words of praise means a lot to me. Hope you haven't been waiting too long!
Hisoka – Mmmm. Cookies. They wouldn't happen to be oatmeal raisin, fresh-baked sugar cookies or thin mints, would they? I'll sell a piece of my soul for any of those. What part left that doesn't already belong to various muses and my cat, that is.
The First Light – You know, that's the second time that L.A. has been mentioned in relation to Crawford. You might be right. If that's the case, this fic is even more AU than I thought. Does anyone know the canon here? Just out of curiosity. I'll be looking forward to your reviews! I love getting them.