Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ New Rules, New Ruler ❯ Chapter 11

Part Eleven

<A/N: Okay, when it comes to developing a story I tend to lean more on Character development than plots, as you may or may not have noticed. But bear with me, things are finally going to start happening. Trust, me I do know what I'm doing. I think. ^_^ First of all, though, I've got to wrench back this story from Brad and Schu's overactive libidos. >

"Brad?" Schuldig climbed into the soft bed.

"Yes?" the American replied sleepily. He was glad Schuldig had decided to join him. The bed was decidedly lonely without him.

"If she asked you, would you?" Schuldig didn't need to explain.

"I…" Brad thought for a moment, knowing if he waited too long Schuldig would take it to mean `yes', " I don't know," he finally admitted.

Schuldig didn't bother put an arm around his lover, leaving a sizable gap between them.

* * *

Crawford stared at the letter in his hand. There was nothing on the envelope. No address, no stamps, no postmark. It had been slipped under the door, it seemed.

He was alone in the flat. Well, Farferello was present, but he was still chained up and in his straightjacket after the film last night, and his mind was orbiting Pluto.

Crawford walked into the kitchen/dining room and pulled a chair out from under the long table. The white paper smelled slightly of photocopier ink and printer chemicals. He didn't want to open it alone. It felt wrong. SS had never sent them their assignments in plain envelopes. It seemed so detached.

Eventually, Crawford pulled a letter opener from his breast pocket and opened it. It seemed better to do it here, in the `public' part of the flat, rather than his personal and very private study. This was something the whole team should have been involved, but he `knew' it couldn't be put off until the others got back.

A photo fell out. He reached in and pulled out a variety of other documents, including blue prints and another envelope. He opened this as well.

As you are no doubt aware, SS kept many secrets from its employees. This laboratory has been identified as containing files and formulae that may reveal a few of those secrets. The male in the photograph is to be obtained alive, but all others are expendable. The data you retrieve may be vital to the survival of us all.

Tanya.

Crawford stared. It was… to the point. He found himself wondering who had pushed the envelope under their door. It was clearly not something your average postman could be trusted with.

Espionage always annoyed Crawford. Letterbox drops to receive information and stalking someone just seemed so, so cliché. And carried a greater risk factor. Someone sneaking around in a black leotard at night, obviously trying not to be seen picking locks or climbing through windows would arouse much more suspicion than someone in normal day clothes walking straight up to a building and forcing their way in through the front door would leave watchers convinced they had a right to be there.

Crawford rocked back in his chair, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazily above him. She was taking down SS agents. He began to understand why Schuldig was so concerned. Were these people being killed because they were loyal to SS, or because they weren't? Either way, Schwarz had every right to be on the hit list.

He collected the documents from the dining table and walked into his small study. He spread them across his desk and studied each one slowly. One was a list of the files Nagi would have to get from the computer. One was a list of personnel who should be present in the laboratory. Only the man in the photograph was psychic, it seemed, but all were `willing' employees of SS.

What was his power? Hmm, healing. A branch of telekinesis. Crawford harboured some suspicion that with proper training healing would be something Nagi might master, had, in fact, mastered briefly, but he didn't want to place any more pressure on their youngest team member. Anyway, a healer shouldn't be too hard to deal with.

Crawford was studying the blueprints for suitable entrances and exits for Schwarz when Schuldig returned. Even Schuldig knocked before entering Crawford's office.

Crawford waited almost a minute before calling out "Enter," denying the spitefulness of it even to himself.

Schuldig stepped into the meticulously tidy room. He spotted the documents on Crawford's desk, and couldn't resist craning his neck to get a better look at them.

"Mission?"

"Yes. Retrieval."

"Find and destroy?"

"Also."

Schuldig picked up the list of employees and began browsing through the names. His finger ran down the list and stopped about halfway down, tapping the paper thoughtfully.

"Crawford?" Ah, so Schuldig was still angry that Brad had answered truthfully last night,

"Yes?"

"Only the guy in the picture is supposed to be a psi, right?"

"Yes."

"So how come this guy is a pyrokinetic and this woman is post-cog?"

"I," Brad stopped. What had happened? "I assume they must have overlooked that fact. Remember, Tanya wants us to do this because she doesn't have all of SS's files."

"Bullshit." Schuldig tossed the paper in front of Brad. "They kept full employee records in Germany. You're telling me she `overlooked' the fact that she only named one of the psi employees at this facility? I attended with both of them!"

"Perhaps her letter is badly worded. She only wants the one kept alive. It is a reasonable assumption that she didn't intend to imply that he was the only psychic."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me? I said bullshit. There's always three psis in a team. Passive, Active and physical. She only named the physical. She had no intention of warning us that a bloody fire started was there!" Schuldig was yelling now, slamming his fist on Crawford's desk and shaking the American. "She wants us dead! She wants me dead!"

"Now you're being ridiculous. And don't suppose the fact that Schwarz could become a potential target hasn't crossed my mind."

Schuldig stared at him, anger flaring in the jade eyes. Why was Brad being so bloody minded? Why was he suddenly treating Schuldig like a child?

Schuldig slowly released the lapel of Crawford's jacket. He took his hand from the desk and made a show of uncrumpling and reorganising the papers. He stood back, folding his hands in the small of his back and looking like a soldier on parade.

"You better show these to the others," Schuldig said slowly. "There are probably others I haven't recognised. We've never gone against another team like this. The best we've fought is Weiss, and, let's face it, I could take them out on my own."

"Yes."

Schuldig regarded Crawford silently for a moment. "We're going to die," he said.

"I don't know."

Schuldig left the room, and Brad rested his head on the desk with a thunk. No matter how hard he looked, he didn't know. Crawford didn't like fear.

Strains of `Bohemian Rhapsody' drifted from the main room to wake Brad a few hours later. Music was a good way of judging Schuldig's mood, but this was the first time Brad had heard `Bohemian Rhapsody'. He didn't like what it said about Schuldig's current state of mind.

He was thirsty. The sluggish thought brought him further towards consciousness. He lifted his head from the desk, one of the blueprints pinned to his glasses. A luke-warm cup of tea was next to where his head had been. Despite the tepid temperature Brad gulped it down. He didn't really feel like leaving the study yet.

Leaving the dregs in the bottom of the cup, Brad turned back to his studies of the plans. Presuming what Schuldig said was true, and the telepath rarely lied, then this was going to be difficult. Fortunately it was a post-cog rather than a pre-cog like himself.

Post cognition was an odd branch of the `passive' mental psychic abilities. Occasionally flashes of the past would reveal themselves to the person. Brad supposed it was like having flashbacks of someone else's life. It was most useful in a research position, so it didn't surprise him that one was working in a lab.

It was the pyrokinetic that worried him. After his brief meeting with Bran <A/N probably should have mentioned this earlier, but Bran is actually a Welsh name, not Irish, and isn't pronounced like the breakfast cereal. Don't have the faintest idea how it is pronounced, I'm afraid>, Brad was well aware how temperamental and dangerous pyrokinetics could be. It seemed almost too clichéd. He wondered vaguely if this pyrokinetic would have red hair?

As mush as he hated to admit it, Brad was aware how right Schuldig had been. No matter what arguments he supplied, Tanya hadn't warned them. If she hadn't known, she should have, and certainly shouldn't have tried to send them in with incomplete data.

He stared up at the corkboard, mounted on the wall above the desk. There wasn't much pinned to it at the moment, but he knew it would fill up; so far Nagi's academic calendar and Farferello's various doctors telephone numbers took up most of the space. But in one corner, almost shamefully hidden, was a small scrap of paper with a phone number on it.

It would cost a lot. It would be the middle of the night there. It would seriously piss her off. All good reasons to do it.

Brad yanked the paper from the wall, catching his thumb on the pin and causing a small drop of blood to well up. Sucking the offending digit, he used his left hand to dial the number.

"Tanya?" he said as soon as she picked up, not even giving her a chance to growl hello.

"Buttercup, what a pleasant surprise," the caustic tone brought back memories of spurned advances and rejected offerings.

"Pyrokinetic. Post-cognitive." Brad actually found himself taking pleasure in winding her up.

"What are you on about, you little…" she trailed off in a selection of Russian expletives.

"You warned us there would be a Healer. You said nothing about a post-cog and pyro. Fortunately, Schuldig attended the facility with both of them."

"Ah shit. Tash deals with that stuff. Leave me alone." Brad was shocked by Tanya's tone. He knew it was an unearthly time in Germany, and he knew she knew she was paying for this call, but the lazy brush off seemed out of character.

"No. If you want us dead tell us. We won't be pawns."

"What? No. You're not pawns, Buttercup. I didn't know, As I said, Tash and some others put together the mission brochures. She's got the most computer knowledge of anyone here."

"So why didn't she tell us?" Brad had no intention of letting this go. "We could be killed, Tanya. Dead."

"I know! Shut up! Look, Tash is barely twenty. How should she know the who's who of psis? She can't hurt people, she's a telempath. Look, it probably just got overlooked. No one did much research into the other employees. SS usually just stuck anyone qualified on the job."

"And the fact there is one psi there didn't tip you off? The fact that there's always teams of four, three psi and one not?"

"Wait, `is'? You mean you haven't done it yet?" Tanya's voice took on an overtone of steel. "It would do you well to understand that when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed."

"We got the documentation this morning. I got the documentation. Farferello is out of it at the moment and Nagi's still at school. It's the middle of the day. We can't pull a job as soon as we get the word go. It needs planning and timing. You never worked the field, did you?" Brad was getting tired of this conversation.

"No, I managed to avoid that kind of work." He flinched at her tone. How did she always manage to make him feel so utterly inferior, no matter what he did? No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, no matter what sort of person he tried to be, he simply wasn't good enough. He was beneath her. He heard `another one bites the dust' filter through the closed door, and wished Tanya would bite the dust. Somehow, he knew, everything would be okay once she was dead. She was the root of everything that was wrong in his life at the moment. He knew those kinds of thoughts were utterly irrational, but they were making him feel better.

"Buttercup?" The polished voice seeped in from Germany.

"What?"

"Oh, you are still there. Anyway, don't take offence at a simple clerical error. I'll deal with it personally next time we ask you to do something for us. Please, get it all finished off as soon as possible and have that man sent to us. Goodnight, Buttercup."

"Good day, Tanya," Brad hung up the phone. Turning in his seat, he suddenly noticed Schuldig.

"I brought you more tea," the young man said shortly, before sweeping out of the room. Brad flinched.