Schuldig

Schuldig was annoyed. No, he was pissed off. He hadn't been trying to get himself kicked out of Crawford's office—not that he ever did, but that always seemed to be the outcome of his visits with his stoic leader. He had just wanted some company and Crawford was usually the one he went to for it. The other members of Schwartz just didn't cut it.

Farfarello was too insane, though freakishly smart if you could ever catch him in a moment of lucidity, but most of the time his thoughts were too dark for Schuldig to handle for extended periods of time. It gave him a headache. And Nagi generally ignored the German because his face wasn't a computer or television screen.

No, Schuldig's choice was the hard-ass American known as Bradley Crawford, Code name Oracle; the precognitive bastard who led Schwartz and who wouldn't recognize fun if it knocked him in the face with a crowbar.

Crawford could be described as a very humourless man and his coldness should have turned Schuldig off, it did for most people, but for the German it had the opposite effect. Schuldig wanted to be the one to melt his leader's icy exterior. He wanted Crawford to smile without that dark gleam in his eyes so he wouldn't feel like he needed to run for the hills. He wanted to make Crawford smile a real smile, even once. He wanted Crawford to laugh, and not in a sinister or mocking fashion. He wanted Crawford to crack a joke or at least take the time to listen to one. He wanted Crawford to show him that he was a little bit human and not just a finely sculpted marble statue who gave orders and took them.

Schuldig just wanted Crawford.

Schuldig both hated and adored the fact that Crawford was still a mystery to him, even after all the years that they'd been working together. The German redhead really never knew what the man was thinking and he was dying to take a peek at his thoughts. He stopped keeping track of how many times he'd tried to force his way into Crawford's mind. He just knew that his pride was bruised from all the times he'd been roughly pushed back by the American's mental defenses.

Schuldig wasn't deterred however. He'd get him sometime. His determination was like a rushing river; sooner or later it was going to wear away the large rock lying in its path.

He really hoped that he was getting close though.

"Where's Crawford?" Shuldig rounded the corner into the living room where Nagi was watching some television. The Oracle hadn't been in his office, or anywhere else Schuldig had looked and he wanted to know why.

Nagi ignored the German, too absorbed in his program at the moment to acknowledge his presence, but Farfarello grinned as he entered the room.

The bandaged albino was sitting on the floor with the remains of his sandwich on a plate in front of him and a knife held high. He had chosen to stab the life out of his sandwich before eating it. Schuldig figured that the act probably hurt God somehow, though he wasn't sure how that was exactly.

The mad Irishman turned his one golden eye on the German and cocked his head. "'E said he'd kill you," he smiled wickedly, relaying the part of the message he liked.

Schuldig frowned and checked his mind but the albino's thoughts only consisted of the chanted phrase "kill you." He delved into Nagi's mind instead and was even less pleased with the message he got from him. So Crawford was going to kill him if he left the house, hm?

At the commercial, Nagi finally looked up.

"He went out and he said—"

"Nein. Don't tell me," Schuldig held up his hands, "This way I can pretend I never knew."

Nagi looked unconvinced. "He won't buy that and he's going to be mad."

"Kill you kill you kill you…" Farfarello's thoughts had now found voice, but his teammates paid him no mind as he stabbed at the bread crusts again.

Nagi turned back to the television when his show came back on. "Crawford said you can't leave, Schuldig."

"Well he didn't say that to me personally," the German countered. "And we all know how you teenagers forget to deliver messages."

Nagi frowned, taking that comment more personally than he should have. "I always deliver messages. Even Farfarello knows what Crawford said."

"Kill you kill you kill you." Farfarello stabbed happily.

"Farf is always saying stuff like that. And you haven't actually told me the message."

"You still know it. You read my thoughts."

"A technicality, I'm still going out."

"Schuldig," Nagi said impatiently, forgetting about his show.

Schuldig dismissed him with a wave. "Relax Kindlich. You know how to put Farf to bed and I'll be back before Crawford returns."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I'll try."

Nagi stared at him but said nothing and pouted, folding his arms, giving up. Schuldig found the act terribly cute and walked around the couch to the teen's side, making a point to avoid the knife wielding madman.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he cooed, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'll be home to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story tomorrow."

Schuldig smacked into the wall behind him as Nagi hit him with a wave of telekinetic energy. Instead of being angry he just laughed it off as he picked himself up and straightened his clothes.

"Play nice while I'm gone you two," he narrowed his eyes playfully at his teammates.

Nagi chose to ignore him and Farfarello grinned at the mess on his plate and started eating the crumbs.

"I hope Crawford gets back before you," he said in a moment of lucidity, turning his head to grin maniacally up at Schuldig.

The German shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up Farf. Crawford won't actually kill me."

"Maybe not," answered the Irishman. "But maybe he'll let me play with you."

Schuldig rolled his eyes and went for the door. "You keep hoping, Farf."