Chapter 12: The Fox and the Hare

Schuldig walked the crowded streets, skimming the passing people's thoughts absently, more out of habit than any real desire to do so. The trip to Atlantic City had provided the meanest of tidbits. To Schuldig's way of thinking, it had been a waste of time. All they had garnered was a face to put to the last name on their list of rogue talents. It was their last chance to pin the last loose end of all, the one who had gathered this group together.

Crawford was up in his hotel room, reading over the files and notes that they had accumulated, trying to uncover the slightest clue, coaxing out that elusive window into the future. Schuldig preferred a more random approach. When Schwarz was facing a dead end like this, they had different methods of determining the next way forward. Most of the time, Crawford's way was the right one, the one that saw them through the crisis.

But every once in a while Schuldig's chaotic method was the one that opened the new door. He would wander, sometimes all day, skipping randomly around, lifting a memory here, a rumor there. In the back of his mind, he would try to match these scraps to the scraps he already had. Most had to be discarded. Every once in a while, though, he would be surprised with a seamless fit.

It looked like this run was going to be one of those fruitless ones. All he had come out with today was a powerful thirst and a swelling headache. He ducked under an awning and entered the cool shadowiness of a small bar. It was late afternoon, so there weren't many people there, just a few regulars scattered down the long, glossy bar. He seated himself at the bar as well. To his relief, they carried a few decent German beers.

It didn't take him long to slake his thirst, even as he sifted through what he had found. Nothing, nothing, and still more nothing. He sighed heavily. No help for it. Well, at least he had gotten out of the hotel. Crawford was no fun when he was in 'über-Crawford' mode. He lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs. It formed a trail when he stood up and left. When he stopped just outside the door to ponder his next move, it patiently formed a cloud over his head, held in by the awning.

He was still standing there when a familiar figure walked by. Her silvery hair picked up the deepening red of the setting sun, like the glint of a far-off fire. Schuldig took one last drag off his cigarette and discarded it, stepping out of the awning's shadow to follow. What was Claire Crawford doing on this unremarkable back street? Other than the hole-in-the-wall bar he had just left, there was nothing here.

The street was more an alley running between a mail-order supply warehouse and an abandoned building. He wished he could skim her thoughts, but the challenge of tailing her was enough to amuse him. To his surprise, she stopped at the back door of the abandoned building, and after a furtive glance around, unlocked the door and slipped in.

Schuldig watched her go in, then approached the door himself. He tried the doorknob. She had locked it. He nibbled on his lower lip. Had he worn the right watch today? He took it off and checked the back. Yes, luck was with him. He took the small piece of metal and unfolded it into a small lock pick. He hadn't had to use one in a long time, not since they had picked up Nagi.

He laughed at himself, a low, amused chuckle. They had all gotten so complacent. It was easy to do so, though. They were such an efficient team and always held the best cards. Still, he chided himself, there was no reason to let old skills get rusty. Even though the years had faded the skill, his fingers still remembered the familiar motions, and the lock clicked obligingly open after only a couple of seconds.

He listened intently, but there was no sound on the other side of the door. Carefully, he eased the door open and peered through the crack. A broken and boarded window let in a few rays of light to illuminate the room. It was empty except for a staircase. He slipped through the door and locked it behind himself. The room was forlorn, long abandoned, with motes of dust dancing in the crooked beams of light.

On the floor was a thick layer of dust, except for a path cleared by numerous passings over time. Someone had come and gone frequently from this place, always using the same path. He examined the footprints. He was no expert tracker, but in the dust, the tracks were easy to read. He could make out only two sets, over and over again. Small, high-heeled prints. Claire's. And another set, larger, wearing more sensible shoes. Flats, or loafers, maybe men's dress shoes? He couldn't tell.

He ghosted up the stairs. When he got near the top, he heard voices. Following his sharp ears, he traced the conversation to a closed door off to the left. Pressing against the wall, he eavesdropped on the conversation. If his talent refused to cooperate in such close proximity to a cipher, there still was the old-fashioned way of gathering information.

-

Vela Berdan wondered at Claire's new turn. Claire was an expert at maintaining a serene poise, but the two women had known each other for a long, long time. Vela knew what she saw today was not just a façade but what Claire was actually feeling. Her empathy simply confirmed it. Claire reached out a hand, and Vela took it, strengthening the bond between the two women even more. Vela felt a wave of happiness and conviction pour from Claire.

Claire had made a monumental decision, something that put her turbulent soul at ease. Unfortunately, Vela was an empath, not a telepath, so she couldn't tell what that decision was. Claire wasn't volunteering the information, either. She buzzed around the room, vibrant with barely suppressed excitement, even as she discussed what to do about their current situation.

Claire was happy and that pleased Vela, Even though she was puzzled as well. Her happiness turned to dismay as Claire outlined her plan. "No, Claire! You can't tell your son about me. He would come for me!" Possibly you too, she thought to herself. Vela didn't dare say that out loud. Claire would never believe her son could be a threat to her.

"Don't worry, Vela. I have it all planned out. He will listen to reason, once I clear away the evil that has a hold on him."

Vela's alarm grew at the strange fire that burned in Claire's eyes. They were light, like the underbelly of a thundercloud during a lightning strike. Once again, she cursed the passive nature of her gift. Through her bond with Claire, she could draw away pain and soothe the fragile soul, helping Claire keep the tenuous grip on her sanity, but Vela wondered if the recent events had finally cracked the thin veneer of normalcy that held Claire together.

Claire never had been well, and the crushingly cruel life she led had not helped. Through the years, Vela had furtively stood in the shadows, trying to hold this dear woman together. It had been a strain on them both not to be able to bring into the open the bond that they shared. It was special, unique, one that only they could share. Somehow, Vela was able to function around Claire's cipher talent. She never questioned the good luck. It had brought them both through the rough years of not being able to be together except in furtive, fleeting moments like this.

She squeezed Claire's hand. "Please, Claire, don't do this unless you're sure."

Claire's eyes cleared of that disturbing fire and softened in clear affection. She placed her other hand over their joined ones. "I would never risk your life, Vela. You're too important to me. I will be sure before I tell him." Her gaze faded into memory. "He's always been such a thoughtful boy. So intelligent. He'll see reason easily enough."

Reluctantly, she released Vela's hand. "I have to go. I invited Brad to supper, and I want to take care of a few details before he arrives." She smiled, her face a little odd. "I want to make sure that everything is right for my son's homecoming."

Vela escorted Claire to the door, trying to drink in every last moment with her. When the door closed behind Claire, Vela drew herself erect. She was a handsome woman, with a face and bearing that had been little touched by age. Her long, lean body had a regal aspect, heightened by the contrast of her well-cut, mannish suit and her decrepit surroundings.

She gripped the rail and debated whether to go up or leave through the same door that Claire had just used, one last attempt to elude her Esset hunters. She raised her chin. She didn't want to face the end like a hunted beast. She was a daughter of an old and respected family. She would face her end with dignity and as much grace as she could muster.

She entered her room and lit a few candles against the strengthening night. Day had departed. Night was now here, stealing the light. "Thank you for waiting for her to leave," she said quietly. "I know why you're here."

Schuldig came out of the shadows sporting a playful smirk. "I thought you might."

"Why did you wait?" Vela asked. The Esset man seemed like he was in no rush. She wouldn't mind a few answers before she died.

Schuldig let her know that he had read her thoughts by a slight widening of his smirk. He might indulge her in an answer or two. If it amused him. He always liked this stage in the game. It was now up to Vela how long she was going to live, depending on how long she could keep Schuldig amused. Schuldig also was a curious creature. He had a few questions for Vela, too. He would answer hers first, though. There was no harm in it.

"She's a non-participant. There's no reason to involve her."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that she is your partner's mother, would it?" Vela chuckled at Schuldig's start of surprise. "Don't tell me that they are starting to give Esset agents hearts now."

"Not likely," Schuldig growled. "Don't expect weakness or mercy from me, old woman."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vela shot back tartly. "What Esset says goes, I'm aware of that. To do otherwise would be to forfeit your own life, and if you weren't aware of that, the first act of mercy would have been your first and last lesson in that inconvertible fact. You wouldn't have gotten where you are if you had those qualities in you."

Schuldig's smirk resurfaced. "Well then, now that we know where we stand, let's play a game."

"Fond of games are you?" Vela said. "Let me guess. Twenty questions."

"Or however many I like," Schuldig said with a shrug. He sat down in a leather-upholstered chair and waved Vela into the other. Like magic, a handgun appeared in his hand. With a click, he set the pistol on the small table at his elbow.

Vela brought over a candle and took the other chair. She set the candle on the table next to her chair. The two stared at each other for a moment, then Schuldig asked the first question. "How do you do it?"

Vela immediately knew what he was referring to. That would be the first question any talent would ask. "Get around Claire's cipher ability? I don't know, really. We met as young women in college. Something just. . . clicked. It was like fate. It was as if we had uncovered a bond that had connected us since the day that we were born." Vela linked her hands together and folded them over her stomach comfortably. "Do you know anything about bonds, Esset?"

"Not Esset. Schuldig." Schuldig's white grin flashed in the gathering dark.

"Ah. Guilty. Are you?"

"Aren't we all?"

"You didn't answer my question, Schuldig," Vela said, lightly stressing his name.

"I know about bonds, yes." Schuldig's smirk had faded a bit, but he was willing to indulge his prey a bit. That was part of the game.

"Why, I think that you do, Schuldig." Vela sounded surprised that Schuldig would so readily admit the truth.

Schuldig turned briefly serious. "I'm guilty, but I'm not a liar, Berdan."

"Really, Schuldig?" Vela murmured. "Then what about your bond with your partner? With Brad Crawford?"

Schuldig stared broodingly at the candle at Vela's elbow. "Of course we have a bond. We're a team. I have a bond with all of my teammates; that's what makes us the best."

"Are you lying to yourself now, Schuldig? Or just trying to avoid the real question?"

Schuldig's glance at Vela was sharp. "Don't forget I can end this session whenever I want." He made no move for his gun, though.

"Don't answer, then. I'm just the rabbit, facing down the fox." She motioned to the russet gleam of Schuldig's hair. You even have the coloring of one."

"You have the look of a hare, not a rabbit. Lean. Are you fast like one?" Schuldig's face turned sly as he nudged the gun closer to Vela.

Vela's glance darted to the gun, then away again. She wasn't going to play that particular game with this fox. The hare was fast, but the fox was younger and faster. "Age catches up with you," she said instead.

"Smart hare." Schuldig idly spun the gun around, like a deadly version of spin-the-bottle. "Age isn't going to be a factor for you any more."

Vela licked her lips. Death was approaching. She could sense it. What would become of Claire? The first touch of panic stroked her. "Brad Crawford," she pressed. That tenuous link of her to Claire to Brad to this man was her only thin thread of hope.

Schuldig looked wary. "What about him?"

"You wouldn't want him—upset, would you?"

"Crawford? Upset?" Schuldig laughed. "That's not a state he knows anything about. Hard to be, when you can see the future." He grinned. "It kinda gives you a confidence about the way your life is going, takes away all the unpleasant surprises."

"Even about a cipher?" Vela was rewarded by a small wrinkle of worry on Schuldig's brow.

Schuldig frowned inwardly. How did Claire Crawford's cipher talent affect her son? He didn't know. Not that he was going to tell Vela.

Vela pressed on. "What do you know about Claire's condition?"

"Condition?" Schuldig's interest was engaged again. Vela didn't like that probing, searching look. She felt even more like a hare paralyzed by the stare of the fox. She forced herself to speak. It might be the only way to save herself. And to save Claire as well.

"Yes. You can't read her mind, can you?" Schuldig's unconscious wince was answer enough. "Gave you a headache when you tried, didn't it."

"Understandable," Schuldig said. "She is a cipher, after all. But I was able to lift a few things. Like. . ." his voice died off as he remembered. "No wonder your face was familiar when I lifted it from Lovani."

"Lovani!"

"Lovani and Sutter," Schuldig told her absently as he started putting the pieces together.

"What did you do to them?" Vela asked.

"Crawford killed Sutter. In an indirect manner," Schuldig told her absently. Things made sense now. "I mind-wiped Lovani. She won't recognize you now, I'm afraid."

Vela felt cold fear sweep through her. It was real. Death was here for her. This young man with the unconcerned manner was going to kill her. She couldn't allow it. Claire needed her. She flicked a frightened glance at him, saw that he was distracted. She lunged for the gun.

Schuldig had been distracted, but he had the instincts of a wild predator. His hand was there first. A shot rang out, and Vela staggered back to fall into her chair again. She pressed her hand on the pain in her chest. As she pulled her hand away, it trembled when she saw the blood covering it. "No," she whispered.

"Sorry," Schuldig said, not sounding sorry at all. "That's what I came here to do, though. Why are you so surprised?"

Vela's eyes blazed up at him. "Damn you! You've ruined it all!"

Schuldig reared back in surprise. He had not expected this reaction. Vela lunged upwards out of her chair. Schuldig raised his gun, but Vela ignored it to grab his wrist with a hand like an iron vise. "You wanted to know?" Vela hissed. "Well I'll give it all to you. All of it." Approaching death gave new facets to her empathy, and she funneled her desperation into him, overwhelming his defenses. In a large wave, she lashed out, flooding the telepath with all her memories at once.

Schuldig gave a strangled cry and tried to throw her off, but death seemed to have lent her strength that she should not have possessed. She relentlessly poured it all out to him, even as her life's blood poured out onto the floor. Drained, she swayed then hit the floor, her dead eyes staring sightlessly. Schuldig made a small, gasping sound, his eyes wide and just as sightless as he struggled to contain the flood of information and find a rock for his battered psyche to cling to.

The moon was high when his sight finally cleared, when he finally had control. He stumbled to his feet. "Gott. Mein Gott," he gasped. Crawford. He had to find Crawford. Claire Crawford was a time bomb, primed to go. And the deactivation switch had just been killed. The clock was ticking. His gaze darted from side to side. Crawford, where was he? At the hotel? No. He was going to dine with his parents. Tonight. Schuldig's panicked gaze flew to his watch. Now. He was there now.

Schuldig scooped up his gun and leaped over Vela Berdan's dead body. This was bad. Vela had been the only thing holding Claire together. He ran down the stairs. One good thing had come out of that bewildering flood of information. He now knew where Crawford's parents lived. As he ran, he pulled out his cell phone. Crawford's phone rang, but he didn't pick up. With a curse, Schuldig punched the phone off and ran faster. He had to catch up with Crawford before he saw his mother.

-

A/N: Mein Gott – "My God" in German.

Sorry it took so long. I usually like to thank each reviewer personally, but I unfortunately can't this time. But I would like for all that reviewed to know, your words are very much appreciated and I thank you deeply for taking the time to leave me a review, new reviewers and returning reviewers both. If it wasn't for you, I probably would no longer bother trying to find the time to post this. Hope you enjoy!