The Black Cross

An unfamilair sensation roused Brad awake even though he hadn't really had the recuperative respite of true sleep. He was groggy, disoriented and slightly alarmed to find he was in his own bed but not alone. He half startled, only managing to pull himself up to his elbows, his eyes having trouble focusing. Without his glasses, things were blurry enough but he did manage to make out the swathe of fiery orange that could be only one thing.

The memory of last night seemed like years ago with the volume of memories and visions that had crowded his head since then. Schuldig was still here. And he had obviously spent, at least,the night.

Then he remembered... the vision. He couldn't even be sure what day it was. A sudden wave of nausea crinkled his nose, the thick, dank taste of old copper lingered in his mouth. After a moment to quell the queasiness, he blinked blearily at Schuldig.

"...how long..." He croaked out the words.

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Schuldig actually opened his eyes when Brad spoke, lifting his head from the pillow to look at him. He looked exhausted, but then, he didn't really sleep as much as he just laid there, waiting for order to be restored.

He knew how that felt. Maybe not on the same level, but he knew what it was like.

"Just over night." He said. "Not even 24 hours."

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Just the night? Brad closed his eyes taking a mental assessment of his head. It hurt, but it was more like the ache of a deep bruise rather than a sharp instrument being jammed into his frontal lobe. If he had to he could call up his shields. With that thought he paused and looked to Schuldig. His head had been an open book all night and, for the most part, still was right now. But somehow the urgency to keep him out just wasn't there.

And all thought was interrupted by a deep choking wheeze as he tried to catch his breath. His hand shot to his chest, a deep stabbing pain each time he tried to inhale. He looked down, under his hand and stared long at the bruise.

The gunshots. This was a new, unexpected and somewhat disturbing development. His lung was deeply bruised... he was still getting air so it wasn't punctured. But he still had the taste of blood in his mouth. Physical damage manifest from a vision? If it had ever happened before to any precog Esset certainly had no documentation of it.

He was too exhausted to think much more into it. He knew the answers would only raise more questions and now was not the time for either. He dropped back down to the bed, still struggling to breath shallowly to prevent some of the pain. What he really needed was sleep. But that was a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment.

The last order of business was still a question mark.

"Kudoh... "

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Schuldig watched Brad carefully, trying not to react when the man started coughing. But he couldn't stop himself from worrying. He'd never seen Brad react like this. Was it just his age? Was he starting to burn out? Usually precogs just went insane, becoming little more than tuners for the future to announce itself through. He'd never heard of a precog taking actually, physical damage from a vision.

He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the bruises as Crawford asked about Kudoh.

"Nagi took him home. I didn't think it would be good to keep him around if he set you off like that." Schuldig answered, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady.

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It irked him that Kudoh, of all people, had actually set him off. The useless Weiss playboy was barely capable of keeping Schuldig amused. The implications of his vision were, again, something to think about at another time. At the moment, it had the potential to anger him like little else could.

"Did you wipe him?" The harsh whisper rattled in his dry throat. Brad slide his legs off the edge of the bed and forced himself upright with grunt.

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Schuldig frowned a bit. He already knew what he was going to say was the wrong answer, but it was the only answer he could give. It was better to tell him now, than to lie about it and have him find out later. Which he would. He always found out.

"No. Nagi made sure he wouldn't find us, but I... I was distracted. I just wanted to get Kudoh as far away from us as possible."

He watched as Brad tried to get up, shaky as he was. Brad was going to need help, but Schuldig wouldn't offer unless he asked. Or unless he fell down.

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Brad frowned at the response but he couldn't really begrudge Schuldig the reason why he didn't take care of that detail. Weiss wasn't going anywhere.. he could wipe Kudoh's memories at his leisure. That thought just brought up a fresh wave of disgust at the state of his own head. It had been much too long since he'd lost control this badly and to do it in front of an enemy... intolerable.

Slowly he made his way to his bathroom, his steps slow and unsteady. The movement set vertigo in motion which peaked as he reached the doorway. He slammed hard into the wooden frame with his shoulder, unfortunately, the one bearing the faux bullet wound. He grunted hard with the impact, grabbing for the wall to steady himself. Stubborn pride wouldn't let him ask for help. He was actually on the verge of ordering Schuldig out of the room. He didn't need any of his team see him so incapacitated... even though Schuldig was the only one that ever truly had. It wasn't embarrassment he was loathing, it was the weakness. At fifteen it was forgivable but now...

Even though he craved privacy at this moment, he wasn't quite ready to forego Schuldig's presence. Not until he was certain the worst of control issues were truly over. He slammed his eyes shut, silently damning his gift and the price it exacted.

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Schuldig watched Brad and his stubborn pride as the man slammed hard into the door frame and still didn't ask for help. He really wanted to just get up and force his help on the man, but he knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

Brad was already hurt, and therefore prone to be even more grumpy. So instead of getting up to help, he laid back down and pulled the blanket back up. That way Brad could be as stubborn as he liked, and he wouldn't have to watch.

"If you decide you want some help, feel free to ask. Otherwise I'll just sleep the rest of the day."

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The goad would almost guarantee that Brad would not ask. He lurched forward into the bathroom, posting both arms on the counter, letting the wave of vertigo pass. Slowly he looked up at himself in the mirror. The bruise high on his ribs felt bone deep, almost as if he had a hairline fracture. The one over his lung was so black it nearly looked like the real thing, a cavernous hole burrowing deep into his chest. Each breath was still a sharp slice of pain that he was rapidly acclimating to. The bruise on his shoulder was a throbbing annoyance, radiating across his collarbone and up into his neck.

Then he finally looked to his own face. He was three shades too pale and the black circles around his eyes were almost a solid mask. A quiver began in his wrist from the effort of supporting his weight, every other muscle threatening to do the same. With a deep sigh he ran his fingers over the bruises, replaying their cause in his head, looking for some sort of explanation how this had occurred. There was none to be found.

His fingers traced the outline of the bruise in his chest, at least slightly relieved it wasn't also concave. He rasped out a question as loudly as was feasibly though it sounded more like a loud grating whisper.

"How did this happen?"

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When Schuldig heard the mumbling from the bathroom, he knew it wasn't a plea for help. But it was as close as he would get to an excuse to actually help. He crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, leaning against the door frame and watching the American.

"Nagi didn't see them." He said, watching Brad examine his phantom bullet wound bruises. "Scared the shit out of me, though."

He leaned his head against the frame, yawning as he watched Brad. Waiting.

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Brad glanced over his shoulder, the look of concern only recognisable to one of his team. Change had always been a challenge for the boy but something like this could have the potential to seriously unhinge him. This team was lal the security he had ever known and anything to change that... to take him outside his comfort zone was a potential disaster.

"How much does Nagi know?"

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"He knows you're hurt. He saw you seizing. But that's all. I told him you just need to rest and you'll be fine." He replied, pushing his hair from his face. "But I gave him a hacking assignment. Turns out this Johnson guy works for Kritiker, and has been working on a project that would make audible sounds cause actual, physical damage. Nagi's busy removing any evidence of that project from Kritiker's computers."

He sighed and shook his head. "I'd be willing to bet that's what's on the disk Johnson wanted. Probably expecting us to play it and be his guinea pigs."

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Brad turned to lean back against the counter, forestalling and more shakiness in his limbs. Brad just closed his eyes, knowing Nagi did see the worst of it... at least the physical manifestation of it. No matter how fatigued he felt, he's have to put on the show for the boy's sake. Keeping Nagi emotionally stable was a priority now that his powers were repaired.

Listening to Schuldig actually report on something critical that he wasn't ASKED to do was unexpected, so much so, he cocked an eyebrow in surprise. But it passed quickly with the mention of Johnson and the disk.

Brad cocked hsi head to the side just slightly, considering Schuldig's assessment of the situation, not disagreeing. But something else... something about the disk...

"It's all connected somehow.. but I'm just not seeing it yet. Weiss, Johnson, Kritiker... the vision... eventually... "

All of it... all his thoughts on this mission and Johnson and Kritiker were right there at the edge of his thoughts but he couldn't quite grasp them. He was still too exhausted and again the warm churning of disgust made itself know in his stomach. The amount of blood he had swallowed may also have been contributing to that sensation.

He rubbed at his face, trying to put a simple game plan for the day into motion. First and foremost...

"I need shower."

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"I think a bath would be better." Schuldig chimed in. "Soak your bruises. It will feel better than water pounding on them." Not to mention he was worried that Brad might fall in the shower. But he wouldn't mention that. It would only make the man more stubborn and pig headed.

"As for Johnson and Kritiker, I think this was an unauthorized test. Kritiker didn't approve and sent Weiss to get the disk." He chuckled softly. "How do you think they would feel knowing they actually helped protect us?"

He shook his head, moving over to the bathtub to start the water for Brad, making sure it was running at the proper temperature before plugging the drain.

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Brad didn't bother considering a bath. Half a shake of his head attested to that. He had never used the tub for anything other than washing blood off of various things.

"Do you think that is how it all happened?" His voice was still harsh, and he swallowed hard, clearing his throat. It was certainly the most logical explanation but not the only one. "And I'm not so sure Weiss would see it that way. I doubt it was Kritiker's intent either. At least, not directly."

Again, an eyebrow cocked as Schulidg started filling the tub.

"Ah... what are you doing?"

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Schuldig shrugged. "It's my theory. Doesn't really matter, because I don't want Kritiker having technology like that. Idealist sons of bitches with strong weaponry is never good..."

He paused in his explanation, looking up at Brad questioning him.

"I'm knitting a sweater, what does it look like?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm running a bath for you. If you're nice I'll even wash your back and be your sexy man servant until you feel better." He smirked.

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They knew all about idealist sons of bitches. And if nothing else, they were predictable in their methods because of it. The only differences between Kritiker and Esset were the scope of their operations (Kritiker had only ever scratched the surface of what Esset had become) and the values each organization placed on human life. The idealist sons of bitches, for all their high morals and pure intent, still put a price on human life, playing god to suit their own self righteous goals. Weiss would always be the flaw in their ideology.

"I'll take a shower..." Brad wasn't even sure he had ever taken a bath except maybe when he was a child. "Are you enjoying this?"

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"No. I hate having to be in charge, and I hate trying to convince you of anything, and I especially hate Nagi being worried because who the fuck knows if he might go off." Schuldig sighed, continuing to let the water fill the tub.

"But you are a stubborn son of a bitch who, honestly, isn't in the right state of mind yet to take care of yourself properly. And when you are out of commission, that leaves me in charge."

He frowned a bit, narrowing his eyes.

"So I'm pulling rank. Get your ass in the tub. I'll get you some painkillers and coffee."

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Brad let Schuldig have his rant. It was a symptom of the sudden stress all of this had wrought. Brad never doubted his ability to take control, at least, in the general sense. But it would never sit well with him. Underneath all that bravado, he was still insecure.

Brad's expression actually softened a bit as he logically had to agree with the assessment of his current status. Judging by the way he felt, he should probably sleep for a few more days but with Johnson and this dilemma to deal with it wasn't an option.

"Don't get used to it..." Brad could'nt just let that challenge to his authority go completely unanswered. "...and no coffee... not yet." His stomach was not up to caffiene just yet. "I still don't see why you are insisting on this tub idea."

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"You'll thank me later." Schuldig said, motioning for Brad to get into the bathtub. It was nearly full, and he didn't want the water to displace over the edge. "Besides, who's had more bruises, you or me?"

He was almost tempted to let Brad have his shower and fall and suffer through that. But he just couldn't. Any other time, he would laugh at the idea of Brad slipping and falling in the shower, but when the man was injured... it threw him off.

Brad being injured was against the normal order of things.

"Just get in, all right? I really don't want to argue." He sounded tired. "You trust me to take care of the team when you can't, and that's what I'm trying to do."

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Brad had never seen Schuldig like this. Resolute, resigned, not an ounce of snark in sight. He was taking this badly and Brad could only guess how much of that was because of the sex. Or what it was the redhead thought it meant. No matter the reasons, seeing Schuldig play the mother hen was quite disturbing, almost as much as it reaffirmed what Brad knew all along. His needy telepath had so few loyalties... but this team was one of the precious few.

Brad reached for Schuldig slowly pushing off of the counter, running his hand along his cheek to grip the base of his neck. His tension was beyond palable. A long hot soak would probably do him a world of good. He leaned down to kis him softly in reassurance. This would pass. Brad would heal and things would be back to normal in no time. Well... maybe not normal. There was the issue of what this was between them that was still pending.

"I will be fine... you don't have to handle this. I just need some time..."

Brad slipped out of his sleep pants then reached for Schuldig's. Neither of them were in any shape to be doing much other than recouperating.

"Just get in with me. And I really don't want to argue about it."

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Sex was the furthest thing from Schuldig's mind at the moment, aside from the flirting that was just an innate part of the telepath. Flirting was how he communicated. Right now though, he was just worried. He would have reacted the same way even if they hadn't had sex the night evening before.

So the kiss actually surprised him. He'd barely returned the kiss when Brad pulled away.

"I can handle it for now. Not forever, but for now." He chuckled a bit a grinned. "Leave it up to me, and we'd probably just be running drugs and knocking over convenience stores for kicks. You know I'm not a planner."

He arched an eyebrow when Brad again surprised him, inviting him to share the shower. Unlike Brad, however, he wasn't nearly as hard to convince. He shed his pants, tossing them aside as he stepped into the water, waiting to see if Brad would accept his help getting in.

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A fleeting smirk played across Brad's face. Schuldig could assess his own strengths and weaknesses fairly accurately. It was incredibly easy to picture Schuldig lording over a vast drug cartel and simply loosing interest when it became too much work. But the parties would, most likely, be epic.

Brad paused mid thought looking at the outstretched hand and instantly quelled the arch of an eyebrow and a glare. No, he wasn't weak but he was right now. He logically knew exactly how bad he looked, and that he felt even worse. Stepping into the tub might actually be an issue.

Reluctantly, he reached out and grasped Schuldig's forearm steadying himself before stepping slowly into the tub, avoiding eye contact as he did. It was humiliating, feeling so fragile. He just needed to remind himself, repeatedly, that it would pass but not soon enough to soothe his wounded ego.

He eased himself down into the hot water, a grateful sigh of relief as he slipped fully into the bath. He reached to pull Schuldig down, sitting him between his legs, pulling him back against his chest.

Brad was too exhausted to speak aloud. He dropped his forehead to Schuldig's shoulder, wrapping his hands around him pulling him in tight. It was almost overwhelming how good this felt. Brad wasn't really aware of exactly how intimate this was only that it satisfied some deeply imbedded urge he had yet to name.

Brad sighed heavily, his angry stomach relaxing with the penetrating heat. Breathing still hurt but it was relenting somewhat. Staying silent would most likely help that along. Brad let his eyes slip closed, letting himself be lulled into comfort.

// I'm not sure what to do with this vision. At least the vision of the elders was clear. I do not like what this one implies.//

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Schuldig barely managed to contain his sigh of relief when Brad didn't fight his help into the bath. It's not like Schuldig was picking him up and placing him there. He was just offering support.

He didn't want to think about what Brad would do if he realized someone must have carried him to bed...

There wasn't much persuasion needed to get Schuldig settled between Brad's legs, and even less for him to lean back against the man, being careful not to lean too much on the bruises. He sighed, contented, and leaned his head back on Brad's shoulder, closing his eyes.

The water felt good, and the heat made him realize just how tense he was as his muscles finally began to relax. This was perfect. He could lay like this forever and be happy, though he would have to move occasionally to turn the hot water back on.

He never thought he would be in this position. Sex with Brad was one thing, but cuddling in a hot bath was something completely different. Different, and very, very welcome.

A frown tugged at Schuldig's lips as Brad mentioned his vision. //What was it about?//

The reason he asked was to give Brad back a bit of privacy. Sooth his bruised ego and assert his place in Schwarz as The Oracle. But he remembered. He especially remembered the dead look in his own eyes. That had chilled him to the bone.

He wondered if Brad would tell him about it. Or anything else that was only significant to the two of them.

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Every last detail of the vision was sharp and clear. Immediately his mind went to that moment of instant panicked fear... violent raging emotion the likes of which Brad loathed in the rest of humanity in general. The vision forced him to experience it in all its intensity. It was a brutal first lesson in how to feel.

Over and over, his mind replayed that moment in slow motion, that vacant, doll-like stare as Schuldig fell. The piece of his chest that felt like it was washed in acid, boring through his gut as it disintegrated. Phantom feelings that he didn't even have names for taking up residence in his mind... the vision their trojan horse allowing them access to sack the city at will.

Brad gripped Schuldig tighter as he wrestled his shields into place. They were much weaker than usual, but more than adequate to make the point.

After a long few silent minutes he put his thoughts in order. //The vision was about liability.//

And even though he focused on Schuldig's and his own fate, it was the fact that Weiss was there, by their sides, that disturbed him the most. He had come to terms with death before he ever left Rosenkreuz. He didn't fear it. As much as he didn't want to watch it pass, he had come to terms with Schuldig dying. It was their life... it was an inevitability he would not delude himself to.

But in that vision, he not only cared what happened to Weiss but they cared just as much in return.

Brad could live with this liability to Schuldig. It was something they shared. It was contained. It was controllable. But this vision pointed to the unthinkable.

Brad leaned his head back, continuing to rebuild his damaged shields. He needed to regain his composure. Redefine his control.

//This stays here... behind closed doors. It is inevitable that Nagi and Farfarello know but the less the better. I want you to make sure that whatever Balinese may have heard is wiped from his memory. We do not need a target that large painted on our backs.// His mental voice was taking on it's usual flat professional character. And the simple act of giving an order had him feeling more like Oracle once again. It was comforting but only because it was the only thing he was accustomed to.

His attempts to shake off the forced feelings were taking much more effort than he had hoped.

That dead look in Schuldig's eyes... that would never leave him.

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Schuldig frowned a bit, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. Of course he shouldn't have expected Brad to tell him about the vision. He'd only grudingly told Schuldig about the vision of the elders, and it had been years after the fact. He'd dropped hints before, but it was only about a year before the fall that Brad actually told him about it.

He could feel some of the feelings and emotions leaking through Brad's patchy shields. Worry, anger, fear. It was unsettling, but nice to know that the man was actually human sometimes, and not some kind of robot.

The feelings were going to fade soon as Brad built his shields back up, so Schuldig took the time to enjoy it. After all, he was pretty damn sure the feelings stemmed from his future self's death.

It was the only bright side to it.

//Is that all?// He asked, hoping for some more volunteered information.

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Farfarello got up from finishing his game of solitaire, leaving the kitten asleep on the couch. He'd waited as long as he could stand, now he wanted some answers..

He walked purposefuilly to Crawford's room, knocking lightly and opening it, looking around, seeing neither of the two men he was looking for in the bed, the bed looking rumpled. They hadn't left the room, he knew that much, which left the bathroom.

The Irishman walked to the backroom and looked inside, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. He didn't even blink at the sight of them cuddling in the tub, not making any joking comments or looking surprised. He looked evenly at the two of them, an eyebrow lifting slightly.

"What happened?"

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Schuldig was being evasive. In other words, he did want to hear what Brad was saying. It was an old game and it meant only one thing. He heard the words... but it just may take awhile for him to listen.

Crawford was about to reassert his desire for descretion but a flash of a vision stole his attention. His eyes lulled open, fixing on the bathroom doorway just before the knock on the bedroom door. He had expected Farfarello to be sporting that same mischevious glint he had the night before but the vision revealed a stern look that could only be concern.

// You didn't tell him...//

Farfarello was worried, the same as Nagi. Crawford had intentionally fostered this team's dependance on him but now, he knew, it ran deeper than just that. This team operated more like a sick, twisted, dysfuntional family. The four of them finding comfort in their association, perhaps, only because they truly had anything else to call their own. Crawford's liabilities, it seemed, ran deeper than just Schuldig.

And how was he supposed to keep this relationship with Schuldig behind closed doors if the Irishman would not leave the damn door shut? Crawford shifted uncomfortably in the tub knowing full well it would be useless to make the attempt at decorum now. Just how could he insist and enforce the need for both a private life and the professional when they had all co-habitated for years?

"Nothing you need worry about." Crawford rasped out with a shallow cough for punctuation. "It was just a vision."

Farfarello didn't necessarily need the same kid gloves Nagi tended to need but there was nothing to be done now. It was over, the vision had no direct bearing on the hear and now, and Crawford would heal. The less emphasis placed on this the better.

And it didn't escape Crawford's sensibilities that sitting naked in the bathtub with Schuldig in his lap was not the place for this conversation.

"Do you mind? The door was closed for a reason."

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Farfarello lifted the other eyebrow as he looked at the man, hearing his voice rasp, then they came down in a frown. "'Just a vision,' my pasty white ass, Crawford. If ye're not going to tell me, fine, just... Let me know if ye need anythin'."

He obviously didn't care in the slightest about their privacy; his concern for Crawford's well-being trumped that so too damn bad. "No, I don't mind in the slightest actually." His voice was light and pleasant and there was a little smile on his lips as he answered that, completely different from the concern in his previous expression.

There was a certain look in his lone eye, though, that said as clear as day that he didn't give a damn about their privacy, and wouldn't hesitate to do this again and again if he didn't get the answers he wanted. And he had no problem either breaking doorknobs or attempting to pick locks, so there would be no keeping him out.

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Schuldig sighed and frowned at Farfarello. "Seriously Farf. Get the fuck out." He wasn't normally so snappy with the Irishman, but he also wasn't normally so stressed. The bath had been helping, but now he was nice and tense again. He just wanted some peace and quiet with Brad. And he knew Brad needed it as well. Just long enough to get his mind back into order.

//It was a strong vision, and his mind is hurting from it still. I'm still hurting from it. I'll tell you about it later, all right?// He tipped his head back again, strategically placed so that his body and hair nicely hid Brad's terrifying bruises from view.

Brad was seriously going to owe him for this massive cover up.

Maybe an expensive restaurant and a movie. He didn't care which movie, because he wouldn't be watching it.

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Farfarello's eye narrowed again as he looked at Schuldig and Crawford both for a long moment. He finally nodded slightly, "Alright, I'll leave. I'm makin' breakfast, come eat whenever ye're done."

//I want better answers than that, Schu. Must've been one hell of a vision to knock the both of ye on yer asses.// He knew there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do about it, but at least then he'd have some idea of what was going on. He hated being uninformed and useless; it was why he was in here asking questions, and why he was going to make breakfast. At least he didn't feel like he was sitting there with his thumbs up his ass waiting for someone else to fix things. Even if that's all he really could do.

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There was a pause between Schuldig's demand and Farfarello's answer. That moment of silence and the direct eye contact between them gave away their silent conversation. They had all lived together too long to not recognise the subtle signs of a mental conversation. Since expressions didn't sour on either side, it was safe to assume Schuldig told Farfarello what he needed to hear or at least enough to get him out of the room.

Crawford nodded once to Farfarello, and dropped his head back, eyes lulling closed once again. He was too exhausted to deal with this now. If he was going to do this... actually take whatever this was with Schuldig to the next level, then there would have to be boundries. For Schuldig. For Farfarello. For Nagi. This was not going to turn into a sideshow for their amusement. And to those ends he would have to start with the ringleader.

Schuldig could have told Farfarello just about anything but what the man had wanted was information about Crawford's vision. It stood to reason that Schuldig gave him something to appease him.

//Were you going to tell me or just wait until I figured it out?//

Brad was fishing... he couldn't be certain Schuldig knew anything about the vision. But, if he did, he needed to know. He was skeptical though. Schuldig would be in even worse shape than Brad at the moment if he had seen the vision. At least, that was how it usually worked. But much about this vision wasn't usual.

And why did this have to feel so good? Even Farfarello's interruption wasn't enough to dissuade him from this. It had been too long that Crawford had crushed the urge to simply reach out and feel Schuldig against him. A decade was a long time to wait, even for Brad. His hands traced a line up to the redhead's shoulders, his thumbs meeting at the base of his skull as he lazily stroked the tension from tight muscles.

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Schuldig sighed, letting his head fall forward as Brad began massaging his neck. His question hadn't seemed particularly angry, and the fingers gently digging into every sore, tense spot in his neck only served as further proof that Brad wouldn't be angry.

//Neither.// He finally said, letting his eyes close. //I thought you would prefer it if I hadn't seen.//

It was better to tell him now, rather than trying to flat out lie. It was one thing to bend the truth, but it was another to lie. Especially to Brad Crawford. Schuldig had never lied to the man. Embellished here and there, or used creative wording, but never actually lied.

And truthfully, he wasn't sure what the vision had been about. He knew it involved Weiss and what looked like Rosenkreuz... and him dying (which he was forcing himself very hard to believe he was actually dead in the vision, and not some horrible alternative that would be just as bad), and Brad dying... but what was the point of it? Why was it so important that it had to nearly kill the man to show him?

Schuldig didn't even want to think about what might have happened to himself if the vision hadn't featured himself. He knew those identical brainwaves were the only thing that kept him from being knocked on his ass as well.

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[Exit to Thursday 1.5]

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Brad gave no sign of a reaction... his hands continued without pause, no sigh of resignation, no angry words. It had been entirely reckless for Schuldig to risk himself when it was obvious Brad was going to be incapacitated. Again, his emotions overrode necessity. Brad knew he was most likely conscious now only because of the redhead's intervention but that had not been a guaranteed outcome.

//I would have.//

A vision was a complicated thing. One this complicated could easily take him years to fully understand. It wasn't just a simple replayed moment in time. For Brad it came with a myriad of abstracts as well; time, intention, emotions, subtle emphasis placed on the most seemingly obscure little thing. Visions could hold incredible amounts of information, all clues pointing to the right course of action. For Schuldig it must be like reading the last chapter of the book first.

//It's not set in stone.// Brad offered as he continued to rub Schuldig's neck, moving slowly across his shoulders. // The one good thing about seeing so far in advance... I have plenty of opportunity to change it.// Although he had never really put that statement into effect except in minute ways. But Brad would put it to the test. For more than one reason, he would not let this vision come to pass.

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Schuldig nodded slightly as Brad tried to explain his visions. Schuldig would never understand how it really worked. He wasn't a Seer. It was painfully clear that his mind wasn't wired like that when he accidently caught a vision and got knocked on his ass. The fact that he was still coherant through this one was amazing.

A sigh escaped as he began to relax more, nearly purring as Brad's hands continued across his neck and shoulders. It seemed wrong. Brad was the one who was hurt, and Schuldig was the one being massaged. He wasn't about to complain about it.

About the time that the smells of a big, hearty, western breakfast made it's way to the bathroom was when Schuldig felt a little mental poke from Farfarello.

"Breakfast is ready." He mumbled, not really feeling inclined to move at the moment.

He had almost fallen asleep against Brad when he suddenly heard Nagi screaming, instantly undoing all of the American's hard work. He was already standing when he realized the screaming was also laughter. The adrenaline left as quickly as it arrived, leaving him shakey as he sank back down into the water.

"Fuck... scared the shit out of me..." He grumbled, leaning back against Brad.

Edited Date: 2008-12-19 01:12 pm (UTC)

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It had been a long time since Brad had seen Schuldig jumpy, his nerves frayed around the edges, on constant alert. This kind of stress was bad for anyone but it was particulary troubling for a sensitive telepath. Brad pulled him close, leaning forward to rest his chin near Schuldig's ear.

"Stand down. That's an order."

No one would ever have believed Schuldig capable of accepting responsibility for anything and certainly not for anyone, especially not himself. And as a general assessment that was absolutely correct. His current agitation was a sypmtom and a clear sign that he was not only capable of accepting it but would fight to the death for it. The conundrum lie in his ability to care. His fatal, if deeply buried, flaw.

Brad could not let his sensitive telepath stay this tightly wound. It would leave him vulnerable and Brad simply was not ready to handle Schuldig if he did snap.

"I am just tired. My sight seems to be restored to normal... or perhaps a bit better." The small flash of vision of Farfarello held more detail than a mundane vision usually did. More depth. Brad couldn't help but wonder if the veracity of this vision was just growing pains as his talent expanded.

"Relax... I will taken care of them."

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Schuldig bristled at the direct order. He always did. If Brad said push, Schuldig would instinctively want to pull. It was a strange paradox. He hated having to give orders as much as he hated getting them. If he could just be left alone to do what he wanted, he would be a very happy man.

And he had to admit, for the most part he was allowed to do what he wanted. He just had a knee-jerk reflex against orders.

Schuldig didn't believe Brad for an instant. The man could barely stand on his own, yet he was claiming to be fine. He could even feel that the man didn't fully believe his own words. He smirked a bit, pleased that, at least for the moment, he could actually read Brad. It would annoy the precog to no end until he got his shields righted again.

"I'll relax if you'll just take it easy today." He said. "I'll be all right."

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Brad paused for a long second. He had been about to let a scathingly sarcastic response fly but reined it in.

Schuldig cared.

And, now that he thought back, he probably always had. Brad had always mocked him for it. Now, in this new context, it was almost shocking in its sincerity. It was troubling in the usual ways but they were easily ignored in light of what was dawning on the precog.

Brad just might care too. And not just in the 'how it affects the team' sort of way he usually did. Searching his own thoughts, past the team priorities, past managing liability - he was concerned at a personal level for no other reason than than not wanting Schuldig to suffer on account of his weakness.

That thought hit him much too hard.

Brad pushed away slowly, posting his hands on the tub as he struggled to force himself upright.

"I..." the sound came out weak and raspy. Brad cleared his throat and began again. "I haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday... I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

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[that was me]

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Schuldig sighed as Brad pushed away. It seemed their nice happy cuddle time was over. He could practically see the mask slam back into place over Brad's face.

It didn't matter. Schuldig still knew there were feelings somewhere inside the precog. He'd Seen it just as Brad had. It was too bad that he would have to wait so long to hear it.

But he could wait. When it came to Brad, Schuldig could be surprisingly patient... when he wanted to be.

Slowly, he stood up, wringing the excess water from his hair before stepping out of the tub. He grabbed a couple of towels, then offered his hand to help Brad up.

He did, however, stop short of helping Brad dry himself. He knew that wouldn't go over well.

"Yeah. I haven't eaten either. It smells good." He smiled as he toweled off and pulled his pajama pants back on, wrapping his hair up in the towel.

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Brad dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he made his way slowly to his closet. It was safe to say that Brad had a warerobe that rivaled Schuldig's but only in size and possibly price. The only hold over from Esset was a single cream suit that was sealed in dry cleaners plastic, never to see the light of day again.

"That was one thing I never anticipated with Farfarello. Who could have guessed that he could cook so well, and even if they did, who would trust what he put in the food." It was a small bit of levity. Breakfast actually smelled incredible. It had been much too long since he'd indulged in a Western breakfast. It was reminder of Sunday's mornings long long ago...

Today was going to be all about comfort. He reached for a thick pair of black sweat pants and a form fitted black t-shirt, taking them to the bed. He knew he'd need to sit to slide the pants on. With a resigned sigh, he got dressed, opting for bare feet for the small bit of added stability it offered.

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Schuldig snorted, leaning against the door frame as he waited for Brad to dress. Despite his casual pose, he was ready to jump if Brad were to stumble or fall, which thankfully didn't happen.

"Yeah. I don't think anyone would have guessed that he could cook. And cook well." He grinned, walking over to offer Brad a hand to pull himself up. Once he was on his feet, Schuldig followed the man down to breakfast.

[Schu exit to Thursday 1.5]

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