Chapter Twenty-Six – Crime
I was about halfway through the next chapter when it occurred to me I still had three years left to cover. So, here's another one of those 'and six months passed in this manner' chapters to take up a bit of space. Sorry, but Nagi's going to have to put up with being raped for the better part of a year. I want to bring Farf in soon, but I need to put a few more months behind us first. I'm rapidly running out of plot!
Crawford frowned. He couldn't find Schuldig.
That in itself was strange, since as a seer Brad could often predict where a person would be at a give time, it was doubly so considering it was Schuldig. Not only did a large portion of his visions relate to Schuldig these days, the German was rarely, if ever, gone from his side. For the last four months Schuldig and he had appeared inseparable as the German continued to try and convince him of his worthiness to be Brad's lover. Schuldig couldn't be got rid off, even when Brad didn't want him there. It seemed rather ironic that now Brad did want him, he couldn't find him.
Brad was walking through the third year corridor towards the first and second year dormitories when he smelt cigarette smoke. Smoking wasn't technically allowed on Rosenkreuz grounds, but there was a roaring tobacco trade going on which even the staff partook in. There were at least three members of staff supplying the students with the materials for rollups in return for sex, but Brad didn't like to think of Schuldig swapping his body for a smoke. He wanted to blame it on prudishness, but the burning in his chest would never fit with that explanation, and he knew he was jealous.
Putting that aside, aware that there was a fair chance that in this corridor the smoker would be a telempath, Brad pushed the door open. He froze as the smell hit him full force. No bloody way was that tobacco.
Sprawled across the floor, completely stoned, was a black fifteen-year-old seer, who Brad had had to speak to once or twice. Next to him, apparently equally high, was Schuldig.
Crawford felt no guilt at dragging both of them out of the room and towards Hertz's office. The black market was over, even if he had to crack down on it himself. The younger teen was still giggling as Crawford explained what he'd found to Hertz. Schuldig, on the other hand, had started violently protesting his innocence.
"I'm not high!" Schuldig wailed. "I haven't touched a thing! No drugs for Schuldig. I'm off them. Come on, please… Herr Hertz, you can tell I 'm not lying, can't you? And Br- Herr Crawford, you know I never lie, remember? I didn't touch the stuff! I swear! He was getting high - I don't even know his name! – and I passed by and I could feel the change on thought patterns and it affected me, as a telepath! I got so caught up in his thoughts, it wasn't my fault! I didn't touch the stuff!"
Brad felt a pang of conscience as Schuldig begged and pleaded both of them, but kept his shields clamped firmly down. He wished it hadn't been Schuldig, but this behaviour still had to be punished. If he'd found a telempath leaching off the young seer's drug induced high then he would have dragged him straight to Hertz, and so the same must apply to Schuldig.
Hertz, however, seemed to think differently. "Take him away," he gestured to Brad. "I will punish this one, you can punish your pet telepath," he said bitterly. Brad managed not to flinch, but he found himself wondering why Hertz hated him quite so much.
"Brad?" Schuldig said quietly as they walked towards Brad's quarters. "You're going to punish me, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Like he would?"
"Probably."
"I didn't mean to do anything wrong," Schuldig said earnestly. "I just… I'm an ex junkie, Brad. You couldn't understand what a draw that was to me. It's so hard to stay clean sometimes, and knowing that there's weed in Rosenkreuz… But I didn't cave. I didn't smoke any. I know you probably don't see it the same way, but there's a huge difference between what I did and what I wanted to do."
Brad sighed as they entered the main room of his apartment, turning to face Schuldig. "That's not the point. You got the benefits without the physical repercussions. I understand that probably 'makes everything so much harder', but I have to punish you as I would any other student."
"Why?" Schuldig bit out. "I get let off so much other stuff… I thought you'd be at least a little lenient. I did nothing wrong. If he'd, I don't know, been looking at porn, you wouldn't punish me for getting caught up in his mind then, would you?" he asked nastily. Schuldig knew perfectly well what Brad's opinion of him was, and while he new it to be well founded, being thought of as a slut by the man he most wanted to think well of him was a burden that could only be borne so long.
"This is illegal," Brad snapped.
"No court could ever find my actions unlawful," Schuldig pointed out bitterly.
"Sure they could. Aiding and abetting, perhaps, or whatever it is they charge you with when you get caught with stolen goods, even if you had no idea they were stolen." Brad folded his arms triumphantly. "I don't care if they knocked you out and tied you up and threatened to kill you to keep you in there with him, I'm still going to punish you."
Schuldig stared at him. "You don't get it, do you? You were never addicted to anything, were you? You can't claim to have anything to judge me against, can you?" His voice was acidic and hurt Brad, just a little, as Schuldig's pain and betrayal lay like raw wounds across his words. "I try so fucking hard…"
"Try. Harder."
Schuldig's eyes stung. Brad hated him. He'd tried, goddamn it, he had tried, but it wasn't good enough. He'd tried to stay away from drugs, even fags and booze for a while. He'd tried to be responsible and mature, for Brad. He'd tried to be what Brad wanted: an equal, an adult, a peer.
Bradley was struggling not to swallow his tongue. His words were ringing around his head, but it wasn't him saying them. His father, oh god, his father had said the same. So many times, the same mantra: 'not good enough, try harder, not good enough, try harder…' He'd tried so hard he'd given up. Staring at Schuldig, he saw that, he saw himself. Giving up. And the worst part was Bradley hadn't realised that Schuldig had had something to give up on. He hadn't recognised that the teen had been trying.
"_"
"Don't," Schuldig said levelly. He stared at Brad slowly, up and down, then
turned and walked out of the room. Bradley let him go.
Schuldig couldn't appreciate his victory. Sure, he'd gotten away without punishment, but he'd quit. He'd never done that before. He'd quit on Brad, he'd quit on the idea that Brad might come round, and he'd quit on himself. For the first time in weeks he silently joined the multitude of students moving towards lessons, automatically selecting the appropriate file of silent bodies. Inside, they were anything but silent. Gratefully, but not joyfully, Schuldig opened his mind to them. It was better than being inside his own head.
* * *
Anger curled, dry and cool, in the pit of Nagi's stomach. It waited like a snake, ready for the slightest provocation. It might flare to burning rage or implode into icy hatred. Outwardly Nagi was calm, collected, empty. Inwardly the anger was filling him, uncoiling through every vein and artery, filling him until he felt more whole than he had in years.
He'd hated himself, for a while, for letting this happen. Swinging drastically between self-loathing and self-pity, Nagi had cried himself to sleep more times than he could count. Why did this always happen to him? Why did people think he'd make a good fuck toy? Was it his fault?
No.
Nagi was, by nature, pragmatic and thoughtful. 'Get over yourself' a voice snarled from the pit of his memory. And he had. Nagi was over himself, and sick of being under other people.
He had no qualms about killing. The last thing many grown men had seen was the blank face, beautiful dark eyes blinking blue at them, and then their neck snapped. Grey-green eyes haunted Nagi at night, sometimes actual as the boy came to him, sometimes in his twisting nightmares. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.
Nagi had started to narrow down the odds. Right now he was angry. Soon he would take his revenge, he was be filled with burning rage, douse it with cold hatred, slake his thirst for revenge on blood. His fellow inmates saw it in his eyes, felt it in his thoughts. Nagi was angry. It might take months, years, to find out which of the mindless drones had the individuality to rape him, but Nagi was patient. He stared at their eyes, and they stared at him.
The other students thought Nagi was odd. Soon, he would get even.
