Chapter Twenty-Three – Rough Times

Nagi sat with Rammi in the courtyard, silently chewing on an egg mayonnaise sandwich and watching the older boy with huge eyes as he explained Rosenkreuz to him.

"The trick is to hold something back," Rammi confided. "Doesn't matter what it is, as long as they never figure it out. I mean, you're really smart. They don't know that yet. Keep it to yourself, and it becomes your only advantage. You're 'friend' Schuldig, he's not letting on how physically strong he is."

"What about you?" Nagi asked around the greasy slices of bread. He hadn't wanted the sandwich, but Rammi had insisted that since he'd gone to the bother of stealing it for Nagi it was the least Nagi could do. So, driven by guilt, Nagi fought the protestations of his delicate stomach and swallowed another mouthful of what tasted, to him at least, like cold semen.

"Me? Oh, how strong I am, I guess. Powerful, I mean. You know…" Rammi waved vaguely. "It's the only way to survive."

Nagi had doubts about a lot of what Rammi said sometimes. For example, Schuldig wasn't shy about his abnormal strength, but his talents as a telepath went way beyond the masters' expectations. And Rammi didn't strike him as particularly powerful, though he could just be really good at this stuff.

"You want them to underestimate you," Rammi told him. "The only thing as dangerous to your enemies as underestimation is overestimation, but that one's a bit harder to make them do. Still, fear is God. Try to inspire fear in those smaller than you." There was a pause. "Okay, those less powerful that you. You need underlings, Nagi. You need to show that you're top dog around here, among the students. Only the strong survive and all that."

"What about flattery? Schuldig-sama seemed to flirt with the teachers. A lot. They liked him for it." Nagi floated the remains of the sandwich to the bin. His stomach hurt.

"Heh," Rammi scoffed. "That's a tough game to play. The only reason that bitch got away with it was because he was so tight with that seer.  You have to know who'll be here tomorrow," Rammi said.

"I don't understand," Nagi admitted. "Why should someone be here today and not here tomorrow? You can't leave."

"You can die, Nagi. You need to pick your friends carefully. If the teacher you've been sucking up to is accused of being traitor, you'll go down too as a favourite of theirs. If you don't want that there's a hell of a lot of going down to do."

Nagi didn't really understand the grim pun, but he nodded encouragingly.

"Nagi, you and I are going to be a team. You're going to learn to refine that power of yours, and I'm going to show you where to direct it. Together you and I are going to survive." Rammi pounded his fist into his palm for emphasis. His impassioned speech was getting a lot of interest from the other students, and Nagi found himself shrinking back against the all out of habit. Being noticed was bad.

"Shh," Nagi whispered in a strangled voice. "They look, they see. Mustn't attract attention. Gotta be good."

"What?" Rammi stopped in front of him, staring down, hands on hips. "What are you on about, Nagi?"

"They're staring, they can see us!" Nagi whimpered. "Attracting attention."

"They can't understand what we're saying, Nagi. It doesn't matter," Rammi dismissed Nagi's fears.

Nagi curled up against the wall and quivered while Rammi continued his rant, waving emphatically to explain how they were going to come out on top and how he was going to use Nagi and how everyone would know them and fear them. Nagi didn't want to be known, didn't want to be the subject of undivided attention. When people paid attention to you, when they saw you and noticed you, they did bad things to you. They used you.

Another boy was watching them. He had noticed Nagi now, noticed the huge eyes and exotic beauty. Nagi bit his lip to keep from crying out as he felt those eyes drink him in. He couldn't see the boy, but he could feel his scrutiny. Once you had been seen you couldn't go back to being invisible.

* * *

Crawford stood in front of Hertz's office, fist raised to knock on the portentous oak door. Schuldig was hovering around the corner, just out of sight. Crawford could feel him against his internal shields, a comforting presence and a frightening reminder.

There was a sigh from inside the room. "Bradley? You can come in," A refined voice called out. Gregory. Brad pushed on the door and it swung inwards with an ominous creak. Well, it had been ominous until Schuldig had informed him that Hertz used a mixture of honey and sand on the hinges to force the noise. There was something wrong about a cultivated creak.

Gregory was standing in the middle of the room, as faraway from the walls and desk as he could get. Brad understood why – Schuldig said the walls in Rosenkreuz screamed with memories, and it wouldn't surprise Brad if this room were the worst for it.

Hertz was sitting at the desk, stroking its 'leather' inlay lovingly. It was no secret the two men despised each other. Madame Dubois was standing in a corner of the room, watching him with a hint of fear in her eyes. The others hadn't seen first hand the destruction this one young American would have wrought on their mother society.

It occurred to Brad then that if they didn't find anything now, they might still kill him. Madame Dubois's vision was considered proof enough, and they only needed to check if the others were involved. And if they didn't kill him, this could become a regular precaution, to make sure it never occurred to him. And, of course, they'd expect it to. They weren't stupid, they knew this sort of thing bred contempt and rebellion. Suddenly he wanted to confess to every wicked thought he'd ever had, to tell them everything he knew and beg to be left alone, even if it was under constant supervision. If he told them, they might let him off, they might not even rape him…

"I know what you're doing," Crawford said scathingly. "Remember Hertz, you turned this trick on me once before. I am above my baser instincts."

"No one can overcome their own brain chemistry," Hertz muttered. "You are just ignoring it. Your body is ready to run."

"Or resist," Crawford said smoothly. "Flight or fight syndrome; I am quite aware of it. So, will you be watching?"

Gregory flinched. "No," he said, pain stricken. "We're going to my temporary quarters here."

"So, shall we?" Crawford opened the door with a sickly false smile. Gregory didn't move.

"Please, I request that Ado- Schuldig be removed from the corridor. I do not wish to speak to him just now, and I do don't need that sort of distraction."

Pervert, Crawford thought. You're just worried you won't be able to get it up without picturing him as he was, and seeing him now will destroy that image.

Greg didn't react. Crawford felt vaguely triumphant. So far, his shields were holding. Of course, they usually held, except when Schuldig was prying. Hertz moved to find Schuldig. Brad felt a wave of guilt and sympathy. They knew what had happened last night, and Schuldig was going to be punished. Hertz was looking forwards to it.

Crawford stamped down on those emotions, obliterating 'Brad' from his system. He could afford to feel anything for the next hour. Those emotions weakened his shields and would make him more susceptible to fear, and thus trauma. It was bad enough with Hertz playing with his body chemistry, forcing basic instinctual emotions on him, but these more complex ones also had to be kept at bay.

Gregory let them into the small apartments. Crawford raised his eyebrows. It was exactly the same layout, even exactly the same furnishings, as his own. He hadn't been here for about three years. It seemed somehow much longer ago than that, yet also much more recently. He glanced around the room and his jaw dropped. The same bottle of wine was on the table.

Gregory looked sheepish. "I haven't been here for a long time," he excused himself. "I guess they don't clean for you."

"Who don't?" Crawford asked bitterly. "This isn't the Ritz. There are no maids and bellboys."

"I suppose not," Gregory sighed. "Come on, let's get this over with." He looked at Crawford sadly. "Don't hold this against me," he said with a hint of fear. "This isn't something I want to do. If you and Adonis weren't so close he'd be doing it, but it's something of a moot point now."

"Don't call Schuldig that," Crawford growled, surprising himself. He hadn't realised he still felt so strongly about it.

"He liked it," Gregory snapped. "Don't even think about judging us. You are not a telepath."

Crawford frowned. He hadn't realised Schuldig's licentious behaviour had anything to do with his power. He'd thought, well, he'd thought Schuldig did it for fun. Schuldig liked sex. It had made sense. Schuldig had had a screwed up childhood. Schuldig needed to pay for drugs. Schuldig needed to be needed.

"Ah have always depended on the kindness of strangers," Crawford murmured in a deep Southern accent.

"I like that play," Greg smiled 'A Streetcar Named Desire', by Tennessee Williams, in case you were wondering. Crawford glowered at him, and it was this expression that he'd refine over the years to frighten Weiss. His eyes burned.

Gregory pushed the door open to the small bedroom. It was starkly clean in contrast to the rest of the flat. There were no sheets on the bed and no curtains at the window. Crawford's shoes squeaked on the bare wood floor.

Gregory sat on the mattress and started to undo his shirt. Remembering some of Schuldig's advice, Crawford reached around and did it for him. Greg let his hands fall limply to his sides. Crawford ran his fingers across the slightly pigeon-chested older man, trying not to compare it to Schuldig's. The hair colour was almost the same, though Greg had more freckles and some of his skin was peeling near the top of his trousers where the sun had burnt his back.

"This isn't how it's supposed to go," Gregory frowned. "I don't think you quite understand the concept of rape."

"Will they know?" Crawford smiled wolfishly as he straddled Gregory's lap.

Gregory frowned and grabbed Crawford's wrists, flipping him onto the bed. With quick, experienced movements he pulled off Crawford's clothes. He'd worn a three-piece suit, as well as a vest and two layers of underwear. He'd hoped it would give him more time to prepare. It didn't.

Crawford's breathing hitched when he saw Greg's penis. It wasn't as large as Schuldig's but at the thought of having it forced into him he stiffened. The fear he had been fighting began to take a hold of him. He was going to lose. After all his meticulous planning, he was going to lose. Schuldig was right, losing his virginity hadn't helped, this was rape.

Greg didn't kiss him, didn't touch him. In fact, he was holding himself as far from Crawford as possible. With one hand he undid his trousers and wriggled out of them. Crawford was tense beneath him, stomach muscles clenched so that the taut skin on his belly quivered. Gregory ran a finger down it.

* It's good that you're scared, * Greg assured the frightened boy. He was a boy, only twenty-two, after all, and he'd never really suffered. Schuldig, Nagi, most of the students, they'd gone through things like this before they even arrived at Rosenkreuz. * You're making my job much easier. *

"No," Crawford murmured. "Please, I'll do anything you want. I know you don't like this. Please. Money, whatever. I'll give you head. I'll… I'll do anything!"

"You're right, I don't like doing this, but I like what Hertz is going to do to me if I give him an answer he doesn't want to hear even less," Gregory said pragmatically. A cold part of Crawford recognised that he'd do exactly the same if it were his own skin that needed saving. Hell, he did need to save his own skin here.

Gregory prepared himself to enter Crawford, but found his body less than willing. With a sigh, he concentrated, searching for a familiar mind.

* Greg? * An apprehensive murmur in the back of his mind.

* You want to do this, * Greg promised. He flinched suddenly.

Crawford frowned up at the contorted face.

* What's going on, Adonis? * Greg questioned.

* Guess, * Schuldig snapped. A wave of pain ripple through him again, and although Gregory did not directly receive the pain he received Schuldig's thoughts on the subject, which prompted a similar reaction in himself.

Gregory was shaking with the backlash of Schuldig's pain, and Crawford was shaking with nerves, but neither fact explained why the rest of the room was shaking. A low rumbling began, growing to a roar as chunks of plaster and stone tumbled and crashed to the floor. Outside, snow started to move of it's own accord, booming down the mountains to bury whole towns far below.

A chunk of stone about the size of a brick hit Gregory's lower back, and he yelped. He rolled off of Crawford and ducked under the bed. Crawford narrowly avoided a much more exaggerated fate as half the ceiling crashed down. He pressed his body into the doorframe, vaguely remembering some obscure diagrams on a safety leaflet he'd seen in his father's lodge in Japan.

Across the complex ceilings collapsed and walls gave way. One entire wing of dormitories was completely destroyed and almost a hundred pupils killed. The Laboratories lost half their subjects as the staff dealt with their own safety. Hertz was almost killed by his own desk as Schuldig managed to get under it first to hide from the falling trophies once mounted on the walls. All of Rosenkreuz suffered from the effects of the earthquake, which would fill the international newspapers for maybe a day and half before they lost interest. An earthquake in Austria? Measuring 8.9 on the Richter scale? How… odd.

For Crawford, how convenient.

Crawford stumbled back to the centre of the room and lifted a chunk of plaster off of the mattress. Gregory clambered out from under the bed, white and shaking. Crawford stared at him. Gregory had been shaking before the earthquake. His mind had clearly been elsewhere, trying to find someone he found more stimulating than Crawford himself. Sudden fury swept the last of Crawford's fear away. He grabbed Greg's chin and Gregory towards him.

"Leave him alone," Crawford growled. "He is mine now, understand?"

"Yours?" Gregory clearly didn't understand.

Crawford ran his finger under Gregory's chin. "Let me explain. Schuldig is mine. I don't like other people touching my things. Don't touch him."

Gregory closed his eyes again, not making a sound. He was scared. He knew perfectly well that this could go either way here, and neither was actually the right way. He was supposed to be raping Crawford, scaring the shit out of him like he had been, not shaking like a jelly, with weak knees and a throbbing back, waiting to find out whether he'd made Crawford angry enough to rape him, or whether he'd just be rough.

Crawford stared down at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. I will hurt you if you go anywhere near Schuldig ever again. I will rip out your testicles and shove them up your anus. There will be a medical team standing by to make sure you live." Crawford smirked down at him. "You're getting hard, you pervert," he frowned. "Keep your eyes closed. If you picture him I'll know."

Crawford tossed Greg onto the bed and straddled him. Greg prepared himself to be forcefully entered, but was surprised to feel Crawford gingerly covering his erection with a condom and coating it with lubricant. Crawford lowered himself onto the erect penis and began to rock up and down. The sex was fast and rough, but Greg didn't forget his purpose. At no point did Crawford's shields so much as splinter. What the fuck was he going to tell Hertz? Greg came suddenly, pain as much as pleasure roaring through his system as he emptied himself into the rubber sock.

Crawford climbed off and walked into the bathroom. Greg lay silently on the bed, watching him walk away. The younger man wasn't even hard. He closed his eyes in a mix of despair and shame. He heard the shower switch on and, a short time later, switch off. Crawford returned and threw a wet cloth onto his stomach. The shock of the cold flannel on his sweaty stomach made Greg's eyes snap open.

"What will I tell Hertz?" he asked. "If I tell him I couldn't get through your shields we'll both die."

"Lie, idiot." Crawford started to dress. "He'll know you did as instructed."

"He'll know I'm lying."

"I'll tell the truth."

"I don't understand," Greg sat up and cleaned himself with the dirty flannel.

"I am required, Mr May. When it comes to the summoning, they will need me there." Crawford smiled, the sort of smile that was more accustomed to eating dolphins than making pleasant post-coital conversation. "Like Schuldig, I am indispensable."

"So, I just tell them you will play no part in the downfall of Estet?" Gregory sat cross-legged on the dusty mattress. "They won't buy that."

Crawford turned around and stood over Gregory, looming. "Once, you removed a memory of mine. I do not know what that memory is, only that it involved a girl who spoke to me. Perhaps, I never knew more than that in the first place."

"You were a novice, they are not. I can't make Madame Dubois just forget the downfall of everything she holds dear."

"I'm not telling you to. Just add a little weight to your words. Make them believe you." Crawford leant down, placing one hand on either side on Gregory. "I do not want to hear another word on the subject, understand?"

Gregory nodded, cowed by this demanding young man. Crawford didn't ask, he told. Crawford didn't request, he demanded. Crawford didn't discipline, he punished. In Rosenkreuz, rape was a disciplinary action.

Crawford knotted his tie and adjusted it, then strode out of the room. Gregory sat on the bed, trying to get a hold of himself. He wished Crawford wouldn't act so proud; it was going to make his job even harder. But then, that was what Crawford wanted.

* * *

Schuldig grabbed Greg's arm. Greg glanced over and froze in horror.

"Don't come near me," he gasped.

"Why? What did Brad say?" Schuldig insisted.

"That he'd stick my bollocks up my arse," Greg said frankly. He looked at Schuldig. The slender youth had grown into a strapping young man and left his implied innocence behind. Schuldig could leer and smirk and be as sadistic as Hertz when the mood took him. Adonis had been a different person. Greg sighed. "You've changed."

"So?"

"What is it you want to hear?" Greg asked plaintively. "That I love you? I never did. That I want you? I don't. That I ever did? Never."

Schuldig let go of his arm. "I knew the first two," he admitted. "I thought there had been something, once. You wanted me."

"No. I lusted after your body. You, I didn't like. If Estet hadn't been so impressed by the discovery of a new, relatively sane, telepath I would have had you the minute I met you."

Schuldig looked like he'd been slapped. "I see. Just like everyone else, then?"

"Yes. Are we done here?" Gregory turned to continue walking down the corridor. "I have been exiled, so I'd quite like to leave before Hertz changes his mind."

"You're expendable now I'm here," Schuldig told him, "and I'm here to stay. We are done here."

It took a great deal of self-control on Schuldig's part not to kill the older man as he walked away, haughty and proud. No, not self-control. He was just in too much pain from Hertz's most recent beating to lift his arm far enough to shoot the man in the back of his head. He shot his ankle though, and limped away.