Chapter Eighteen – Speech is silver
Just to comment on Schuldig's choice of viewing: my friend's dad was staying in Germany, and whilst flicking through the channels actually came across a show with a guy with a sparkler taped to his dick whilst talking to her on the phone. He didn't continue watching to find out what happened next. The conclusion we can draw from this: German porn is random.
That night, Crawford opened the door to his apartment to find Schuldig already there. He was sprawled on Crawford's couch, watching the television. Crawford frowned. German porn. He hadn't even been aware he got porn, and he certainly didn't approve of people watching it.
"This guy's got a sparkler taped to his dick," Schuldig commented. "Can't for the life of me figure out why, but it looks like fun." He smirked up at Crawford as the older man snatched the remote from his and switched the spectacle off. "Aww, I wanted to find out what happened when it burnt down," Schuldig whined playfully. Crawford's face remained impassive. Apart from a single twitch, which he did his best to suppress.
"I assume you want me to help you academically?" Crawford said icily. Schuldig shrugged.
"Wanted to catch up properly, for old time's sake," Schuldig said.
"I see."
Schuldig snickered, and missed the briefest flash of a hint of a tiny smile that almost appeared on Crawford's face. In other words, Crawford's composure was crumbling already.
"Look, you keep going on about this essay, and you're beginning to make me nervous. I can read enough to get by, and I can sign my own name, but I'm still not so good at the whole reading and writing thing in general. More than five letters and I start getting lost. And that twat who's supposed to be teaching is about as quick as the London Underground, if you know what I mean." Schuldig grinned lazily. "So, I figure, since you're back for a bit, and bit of one on one tutoring wouldn't go amiss. And any other one on one activities you might have planned," Schuldig leered. Crawford turned away sharply.
"Until you said that," He said, his back still turned, "I was almost willing to contemplate taking you up on your suggestion. But, I'm afraid, it is still all too obvious you have retained this juvenile physical attraction for me, and until you are willing to accept that we will never partake in any kind of sexual encounter with each other, I'm afraid we can't spend time together."
Schuldig's jaw dropped. "You're bullshitting me," he said incredulously. "There's no fucking way your using me as an excuse to get out of this. So what if I thinking you're fucking hot? You expecting me to jump you or something?" Crawford found he couldn't turn around and face the teen. No, he didn't honestly think Schuldig would try and rape him; the guy wasn't that suicidal. "It's you, isn't it? You just won't admit it. You're scared of what you might do. You're the one with a 'juvenile physical attraction'. You're scared that you'll say 'no sex' and then you'll want it, and you're too proud to go back on your fucking word!"
Schuldig stood up and walked around so that he was facing Crawford. Crawford folded his arms across his chest, but, some how, it just made him look vulnerable instead of firm. Schuldig fought the urge to punch the inexpressive bastard.
"This is what I never understood about you," Schuldig admitted. "You're attracted to me, I'm attracted to you, but you're so bloody resolute that nothing's ever going to happen. Why? Do you think it's 'wrong' to be gay? Are you scared because you're a virgin? Is it because you think they'll disapprove, and punish you? Is it me?"
"Of course it's not you!" Crawford snapped. "I'd have told you if it was," he said more softly. "Look, Schu, I just don't want to, okay? Don't pry. It's not polite."
"Nor's killing people you've never met," Schuldig told him. "Why don't you want to?" he asked plaintively.
"I thought I just told you to drop it?" Crawford fought the urge to turn his back on Schuldig again. He hated being on the defensive like this, especially when he knew he didn't have a hope in hell of persuading Schuldig to leave the matter alone.
"Why'd you call me 'Schu'?" Schuldig tried a new tack. "I mean, it's a nickname I can live with, though I always fancied 'Schuldig the Destroyer' as a moniker. But I can live with footwear."
A brief smile flickered across otherwise stony features. "Sorry. My mind was elsewhere."
"I said, I like it. Kinda. It's a sign of familiarity…" Schuldig let that hang.
"No, it's not. Well, I am familiar with you, yes, and… it's not. Not in the way you're thinking."
Crawford was getting more and more uncomfortable. Schuldig decided to amplify that by moving closer. He slipped his arms around Crawford's neck and leant back a bit, giving Crawford a good view of his strongly muscled arms and torso under the tight uniform.
"What happened to the guy who was scared of this guy?" Schuldig asked softly. "Bradley, who didn't like the way he was being desensitised to all this violence, and hated his father vehemently? The guy who enjoyed a joke and was sympathetic towards people like me? The guy who was beginning to acknowledge that he found me attractive and enjoyed my company? Where'd you put him?" Schuldig wheedled gently.
"I'm still that guy, Schuldig. I just had to change to keep up with this life. If you can't accept those changes-"
"I'm still having trouble working out how you have! All that time hanging around the Japanese kid's room taught me a lot. You shot kids, in cold blood, because they were hungry. The guy I knew might not have given them food and money, but he would at least only knocked them out. You snapped a guy's neck with your bare hands." Schuldig pressed closer to Crawford, arms tightening around his neck, coincidentally pinning his hands to his sides. He tucked his head under Crawford's chin. "Was it quick?" he murmured.
"No," Crawford sighed. "But it's all a moot point, isn't it? I'm a different person to the one you knew. You have to let go."
"No. I don't care if it takes forever; I'm going to get that guy back. I liked that guy, and that's saying a lot. I hate most people, but he was calm and quiet and… and he liked me." He pressed a little closer to prove his point.
"I know, Schuldig, but I meant you have to let go. My gun is in its shoulder holster, and I can't remember if I put the safety on. If it goes off it could kill both of us." Crawford bent his neck at an awkward angle to meet Schuldig's gaze. The younger teen's eyes widened.
"Oh! Oh," Schuldig stepped away hurriedly. "You should have said. I'm quite attached to my arms, and, you know, other body parts." Crawford offered him a grim smile as he checked the weapon and put it back in the holster. "Hey, you didn't put the safety on!" Schuldig pointed out.
"I know."
"But, but… Oh. Bastard." Schuldig glowered at him. "There are other ways of keeping me away, you know."
"Really? I wasn't aware of that. Pray tell, what are these ways?" Schuldig's eyes bore a hole between Crawford's. The smarmy, conceited, supercilious tone was just bordering on a little too much.
"If there weren't so many fucking rules about fucking harming your fucking superiors I'd fucking do you, you know that?" Schuldig spat. "I try to be nice. I try to be pleasant. I even do as you ask. I swear I hate you right now. You make Hertz look like Mr Touchy-feely. What's your childhood trauma? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing," Crawford ground out, "is wrong with me. I suggest you look in a mirror if you want to see someone with problems."
"Oh, that's so witty. So suave and sophisticated and civilised," Schuldig mocked.
"Sarcasm is a defence employed by those who know they're about to lose," Crawford smirked.
"You must have been pretty confident of your own demise earlier then," Schuldig retorted, winning the round. "I'm going to leave now. I hope my visit made you happy. I'd hate to think I'd wasted my time here." Schuldig spun on his heel and strode towards the door, chin up, shoulders back, head held high, the picture of deportment. The overall superiority was somewhat marred when he slammed the door hard enough to make the paint flake away from the walls.
Crawford sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. And then another. And a couple more. Plus another few. And so on…
* * *
Schuldig could see Crawford, sitting on the other side of the room. The man was pointedly ignoring him, and Schuldig knew the best way to get his attention would be to sit down with him again. Once he had that attention, he might even be able to make amends.
But Schuldig had a rapidly burgeoning sense of pride, and for once he was right when he felt Crawford owed him an apology. If the guy couldn't accept that everybody had feelings, including himself, he would do himself a mental injury. But it wasn't going to happen in a hurry, and Schuldig didn't feel like waiting for Crawford to have a full frontal lobotomy while his wallpaper paste went cold. Or possibly warmed up. It was hard to tell which had been the original intention of the 'chef'.
Scanning the room, Schuldig caught a familiar thought pattern as others might spot a familiar face. In a corner, on his own, the tiny Japanese boy was curled over his own bowl of gruel. As Schuldig approached, he was amused to see the kid had to kneel on the bench to reach the table.
"Guten Tag!" Schuldig hailed him heartily. The boy almost fell off the bench. "My name is Schuldig. What's yours?"
Wide blue eyes stared into Schuldig's. The boy shook his head, signifying that he didn't understand.
"Do you speak English? German? French? Anything apart from fucking Japanese?" Schuldig asked hopelessly. He had no idea what the kid was thinking, which was a novelty, but the general pattern of the thoughts indicated distress and confusion. Schuldig absorbed the confused Japanese thoughts, and tried to work out how to make the child understand.
Eventually, he gave in and submitted to the tried and tested technique. He pointed at himself. "Schul-dig," he said slowly. Then he pointed at the boy.
"Na-gi," the boy said, equally slowly. Schuldig got the impression he was being gently mocked. He didn't particularly mind.
He pointed to the breakfast. "Scheisse," he said solemnly.
A smile flashed on the small boy's face. "Shit," he said in English. Schuldig cracked up.
"Why is it people always learn to swear first? Corrupting young minds. Okay, okay, real name: wallpaper paste."
"Name wall paper paste," Nagi repeated. Schuldig shook his head. Sure, it would be a long and thankless task, at least until he worked out how to mime 'danke', but it would keep him amused for at least a day.
