The Prisoner's Dilemma

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters. Siren and Hacker, however, are all mine.


His footsteps echoed dully through the empty parking structure. There were few cars on the upper levels where he and Sara would stage their ambush; as he cased the level, he saw only a handful of dusty hulks, several of them sitting on flat tires. They'd chosen the location of their stand well-interruptions would be unlikely, especially at this time of night.

He slowly walked through the concrete maze, his mind gradually settling into mission mode. If everything went as planned, this would be the last time. With a clinical eye, he noted all the various shadowed corners. The low lighting level in this rundown parking garage would work in their favor, providing plenty of hiding places for their backup. Schuldig would be able to ferret out the locations effortlessly, but he was counting on Schuldig to not reveal those positions to the rest of his team. Even if he did, the woman from Kritiker, Manx, had assured them her people could hold their own.

Carefully appraising its details, he continued to scour the level. Both he and Sara had taken a careful walkthrough of the garage before he'd talked to Schuldig yesterday, then again after working out the details with Manx, but something always could have changed. They had some time before the team from Kritiker showed up, even more time before Schuldig brought Schwartz. Using that time to reexamine the playing field and get his game face on seemed like a better idea than just standing around.

He took a moment to lean against a concrete pillar. The little telekinetic bastard might be strong enough to bring down these supports, but according to his files, he probably didn't have the control to tear them down and keep the rest of the structure from crushing himself and his team. Still, he'd made Manx aware that her team should focus on neutralizing the kid first, preferably in a stealth attack. Manx had assured him several of her people were experts with tranq darts.

That would leave the freak and the precog. Taking the freak out of the equation without doing significant damage could be difficult, but the contact was less interested in him than the others. If he didn't go down in one piece, well, at least he'd make sure the freak went down. His ability to influence motor signals was practically non-existent, but he might be able to set up a convincing visual/auditory illusion that would give Kritiker's team a chance to swoop in.

He walked along the empty aisles, contemplating the last target. After the precog had caught him in the park, he'd been very careful. According to the golden boy's file, his precognition was visually focused. He'd covered his meetings with Schuldig, but there wasn't much he could do about tonight-some very visual shit was definitely going down. The man couldn't see everything all the time. And hopefully Schuldig would be able to work some misdirection. Provided he didn't sniff out their plans, Sara and the team from Kritiker shouldn't have much trouble incapacitating him. Supposedly, he was a wicked shot, but such skills weren't much use in a fight with a magnetokinetic. A shark-like smile spread across his face as he contemplated how useless Sara had already proven Crawford's gun to be.

He was nearly finished with his lap of this level. Tension coiled in his belly as he thought of everything that was riding on this night. He didn't trust Schuldig to follow the plan, but he'd been very stingy in the information he'd given to the other telepath. Even if Schuldig forewarned his team, they wouldn't know about the Kritiker agents waiting in ambush. Chances were good that even if Schuldig spilled, Crawford would still walk into the trap, overconfident in his team's abilities. No, his biggest concern wasn't betrayal, but that Schuldig hadn't said anything to his team at all, that Schwartz wouldn't show up tonight. If he couldn't produce these four psi talents for Kritiker, his and Sara's deal would be considerably less attractive.

Checking his watch, he saw that the team from Kritiker should be arriving soon. Time to hunker down.

/Siren?/

/In position. All clear on levels four through six./

/Seven and eight check out too. Just finishing on nine. I'm headed down./

He made his way to the north stairwell. It was dark and narrow and even less clean than the south stairwell, but it was closer to Sara.

/Xavier.../

The sound of his name in her mind immediately snapped him back from the intensity of mission mode. /You ok babe?/

/...I don't want you to call me Siren anymore. Siren belonged to them./

He smiled. All of this, it was all worth it. He would do anything for this fierce, strong woman. /You've got it. No more code names. Sara Williams doesn't belong to anybody./

She sent him the mental equivalent of a nod, terse and to the point-they were still in a mission scenario, after all-but it was laced with the hint of emotions that let him know all over again that this was worthwhile. He savored the feel of her, his feet pounding steadily down the first flight of stairs. When the warmth of those emotions abruptly turned frigid, the soft core of Sara completely subsumed under Siren, he froze on the stairs.

/Baby?/

/They're here./

Those were the only words she could spare for him, suddenly pulling together all her considerable talent to toss a rusting jalopy in the direction of her attackers. Why the fuck were the people from Kritiker rushing Sara and why hadn't he picked up their approach? Something was terribly wrong here, and with a sinking feeling in his guts, he realized that it wasn't the Kritiker team who had arrived.

He raced down the stairs, recklessly taking them two at a time, pouring all his concentration into drawing information from her mind. It was the kid and the freak. They'd gotten in and he'd never heard them. Shit. They were fucking hours earlier than planned. Where was the godamned backup from Kritiker? He felt Sara's strain as she fought the little telekinetic over control of the airborne car. It hovered in the air between them, caught in a psychokinetic stalemate. He realized the moment she did that she'd lost sight of the freak.

He pushed himself faster, needing to get down to her. The desperate urge to find his partner overwhelmed him, blocking out everything else, including the missing chunk of concrete in the approaching step. His feet tangled and he half slid, half fell to the landing between floors, coming to a halt on his hands and knees. Sara was gaining ground on the kid and had backed up against one of the pillars, protecting herself from an attack from behind. He started to push himself up-he had to go help her.

The click of the gun's safety echoed in his ears an instant before he felt the pressure of the barrel against the back of his skull.

Fuck.

"Xavier," the nasal tone greeted, casual as a summer breeze.

One floor below, the freak darted out from Sara's blind spot and slashed into her arm with a surgically sharp sashimi knife. He felt her try to take hold of the weapon with her power and fail, the distraction causing her to lose ground in the battle with the kid.

Taking more weight on his arms, he kicked out with both legs. Schuldig dodged with his unnatural speed, somehow never breaking contact between the barrel of his gun and the back of his skull.

"You fuck! Fucker! Have to get to her...FUCK! SARA!!" He struggled up on his knees, not caring if Schuldig pulled the trigger.

On the lower level, Sara stood with her good arm outstretched as if she could use it to hold back the rusted heap creeping overhead in her direction. The freak ran past in a blur, slicing a line of ice across her belly. He felt the pain stretch out from it, ice melting into fire.

He lashed out frantically at Schuldig's mind and body, fighting like a tiger. Schuldig didn't shoot, but he held his ground.

Below, the freak zipped past in another rush, drawing a ribbon of red across her throat. He felt the warmth spread down her neck, running over her shirt, making it stick to her skin in a tacky mess, meeting up with the dripping red already soaking the fabric at her waist. She stopped focusing on the car and the kid threw it aside with ease, sending it to the oil stained concrete with a careless crash, glass breaking, worn shocks screaming under the stress.

He felt her, a whisper light touch in his mind. /I'm sorry, Xavier.../

He felt her go, quick and quiet, caressing her mind, trying to say goodbye. He slumped back onto his knees, all the fight gone out of him. The gun pressed against his head. "Goddamn you Schuldig."

"What can I say, Xave? I found a better deal."

"You're early," he growled.

Schuldig laughed, no humor in the sound whatsoever. "That bitch Manx made it easy for us-she was keeping the secret of your deal under wraps. Once we tracked her down, I didn't have to wipe too many memories to make sure Kritiker forgot all about your little appointment."

Part of him wondered, distantly, how Schuldig had found Manx and Kritiker when he'd not given him any of the specifics about the players in their deal. Then he remembered that first night he'd seen Schuldig in the bar and thought about the fact that Schwartz would probably be good enough to locate a contact for one of the major players in their city. Damn.

The pressure at the back of his head increased. "Can't say I really liked Ms. Kitty's version of my deal, Xave. Putting me to work helping to keep their new pet freaks in line doesn't sound any better than the gig I've got now." Schuldig's voice drifted down to him, gentling as he said, "You know, they were going to screw you too. Handing them Schwartz wasn't going to keep them off your backs for long. Sure, they were happy to let Siren build them their very own quantum computer, but they weren't going to let you live normal lives after that. Nobody's gonna let power like that slip through their fingers. The shrewd bitch was already coming up with excuses to keep Siren under lock and key."

"Still would've been better than whoring for Esset for the rest of our lives," he said tiredly.

Schuldig sighed. "Maybe."

He shut his eyes. Muted by overwhelming grief, the betrayal only stung a little. He hadn't really expected loyalty from Schuldig. But he had been pretty sure Schuldig would take the chance to get out. He still couldn't imagine how the rebellious, cocky shit he'd known at Rosenkreuz could have turned into this man who fucked the Elder's lackey. It shouldn't matter anymore, nothing did now that she was gone, but he couldn't keep himself from bitterly asking, "So you're content to keep polishing Mr. Brave New World's knob indefinitely? Happiness in slavery and all that bullshit?"

"I told you, Xavier, I found a better deal."

"He's a better deal? Jesus, Schuldig, you make me sick."

"You haven't seen what I've seen," he said quietly, and suddenly, Schuldig was tossing images directly to him, projecting a steady stream straight into his mind.

Schuldig, standing with his team in front of the Elders, walking away from them and sending a secret smirk Crawford's way.

Schuldig, looking on with the kid and Crawford, all of them clad in white, watching defiantly as the freak gutted that bearded old bastard.

Schuldig, crawling out of the sea, helping Crawford to pull the kid out of the water.

Schuldig, perched on the arm of Crawford's chair, looking over his shoulder as they both read from the computer screen, Crawford's thumb absently rubbing against the small of Schuldig's back.

Schuldig, sitting under an umbrella at a cafe, smirking as Crawford wove through tables, two drinks balanced in his hands. Crawford, setting the drinks down and wryly flipping Schuldig the bird, a crooked smile on his face.

Schuldig, leaning back against the sofa, headphones resting on his ears, drawstring pants loose around his hips, bare feet on the coffee table loosely brushing against Crawford's toes. Crawford, salt-and-pepper hair falling over his glasses, head bent as he lounged next to Schuldig and did the crossword puzzle.

He opened his eyes, reeling at the barrage. He craned his neck around, looking at Schuldig out of the corner of his eye.

"Isn't Brad gonna be a silver fox?" Schuldig teased, a slight tremor in his voice belying the flippancy of his words.

He'd been wrong. So wrong. /Yeah Schu, I guess you did find a better deal./ He took some satisfaction in the knowledge of just how deluded the assholes in Esset's upper echelon were in their appraisal of Brad Crawford and briefly, bitterly wondered what might have been if Sara and he had been teamed with these two men. Fate was a fucking bitch. /But why show me all that shit? You know they'll dig it out when I go back to Rosenkreuz./ He kept the tremor from his mental voice at the mention of his reeducation.

Schuldig looked down at him, blue eyes clear and sharp. /You're not going back to Rosenkreuz./

A huge breath gusted out of him as he turned his head back around, shoulders slumping in relief. He wouldn't say thank you, but he was grateful. /You gonna do it now?/

/Are you ready?/

He drew stale air deep into his lungs, held it till it hurt, slowly let it out. Did it again. /Schuldig...?/

/Yeah?/

/Will you...stay with me? I...don't want to be alone./

/Yeah, ok Xave./

He dropped his shields and felt the familiar, gentle touch of Schuldig's mind, not surging forward or looking around, just enveloping him pleasantly, letting him feel he wasn't alone like he used to do on those early, terrible nights at Rosenkreuz. The corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile. /You used to do this for me to get me to calm down enough to give you a blowjob, remember?/

Schuldig snorted softly. /Goodbye, Xavier./

He wasn't sure, but the instant before he heard that funny popping noise-a noise he was all too familiar with, the high-pressure expulsion of gas released by the ignition of gunpowder, filtered through the wider barrel of a silencer-he might have heard whispered words.

He felt a strange sting and spreading wetness on his shirt collar. The bullet passed up through the back of his head. Flesh disintegrated in the projectile's wake, neurons from occipital cortex sending their last garbled messages out to the rest of the brain. Still-intact frontal cortex attempted to make sense of the signal, spreading bright, hallucinatory colors across his vision. A final rush of neurotransmitter flooded what remained of his brain, spreading a sense of calm and clarity in his final moments, stretching those last heartbeats into oceans of time. The reality of the situation shone bright. It was so urgent, so immediate, the knowledge of his own death. He faced it with soul-deep resignation, understanding completely and mourning himself. Random memories played across his mind, tumbling through his fragile consciousness like raffle tickets in a spinning drum. The damage to the flimsy flesh reverberated to his brainstem and everything finally unraveled. Vague, disjointed impressions of light, sound, touch, and then nothing but the random firing of a broken machine that didn't realize its feeble activity was now totally useless.

"I'm sorry."

*****

Xavier collapsed forward, a puppet whose strings had been cut. Schuldig pulled back fully into himself, slightly unsteady hand finally lowering the gun. Crawford made no sound, but Schuldig felt his presence on the steps above. Dazedly, he realized he could hear Crawford's surface thoughts.

/He refused to be taken? Forced you to shoot him while trying to escape?/

Schuldig lowered his head, watching the blood pool around floating bits of grey matter and skull.

/I'll see to it that it goes in the report./ Crawford turned slowly on his heel and went back up the stairs.

*****

Crawford pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his hands over his face. He stared blearily at the fuzzy letters on his computer screen, sparing a few unflattering thoughts about the mothers of everyone in the data division. He returned his glasses to their perch on his nose and continued with the mission report.

It was so late it was early by the time Crawford switched off his monitor and crossed the hall to his bedroom. The apartment was quiet, his team enjoying a well-earned rest. He opened his door and felt along the wall for the light switch.

Schuldig was sitting on his bed in a worn t-shirt and sweats, arms crossed over his chest, defiant eyes glittering out of dark circles in his face.

Crawford paused in pulling off his tie as he saw the telepath-a small hiccup in his routine-then continued with his movements. "What are you doing on my bed?"

Schuldig shrugged his shoulders, a hollow imitation of his insolent smirk drifting into place. "When was the last time you had a pajama party, Brad? We could have a pillow fight, you could braid my hair...."

Crawford sighed irritably. "What do you want, Schuldig?"

The smirk vanished. "I can hear your thoughts. You stopped blocking me."

/I did./

"Why?"

Crawford turned to his closet, working the buttons of his shirt and shrugging it off. "Why do I do anything Schuldig? Because I saw that I didn't need to anymore."

"Saw, or saw?"

Crawford's lips quirked. "Does it matter? The end result is the same." He balled his dress shirt and tossed it in the hamper.

"And the end result would be...? What? What I saw in your head yesterday?"

He stiffened as he was pulling a soft t-shirt over his head. It wasn't really necessary to talk about this. "I see many possible futures, but yes, I'm working to push Schwartz's path in the direction those visions indicate."

Schuldig's eyes narrowed. /All of them?/

Crawford slipped his slacks down over his boxers and folded them neatly, placing them on a hangar in the closet. He turned back around to Schuldig. /Yes./

"But, you didn't want me to see that shit...it was pushed all the way in the back of your head." Schuldig looked like he was ready to rise off the bed.

"Schuldig, you do really think you could crack me?" He leveled a stern gaze at Schuldig over his glasses. /Do you think you could ever see that much detail of something if I didn't want you to?/

Schuldig's mouth gaped open stupidly. To give him credit, he recovered from the pose relatively quickly. "But...but, you hit me!"

Crawford sighed and walked over to the bed, switching on the little lamp sitting on the nightstand. He turned away from Schuldig and went back to the door, shutting off the overhead light. "If I would have flat out told you about those visions, or shown them to you willingly, what would you have thought?"

"That you're a manipulative bastard who was jerking my chain to get what he wants," Schuldig said, the blood draining from his face.

"Exactly."

"But you are a manipulative bastard who was jerking my chain. You crafty motherfucker...I can't believe you did this!" Color was rapidly rising back into Schuldig's cheeks.

Crawford settled on the bed next to Schuldig, leaning back against the headboard. "The subterfuge was to make sure you came to the correct decision. The slap," he said, leaning closer to Schuldig, "was to let you know you're not welcome to try wandering around places in my head you're not invited."

Schuldig's chest heaved. "The correct decision!?! You are truly an evil bastard...a king of demons." He raised his hand to strike. Crawford saw it coming and caught it in the air, squeezing harshly before soothing it with a rub of his thumb. Schuldig was angry, but also affected. "Does this mean you're going to be inviting me in your head?" he smirked.

"Maybe."

Schuldig stiffened and Crawford wondered if he'd pushed too far. He didn't want to have to say it, didn't want to discuss any of this right now, but the time had come. "Look Schuldig, I need this team, I need a partner if I'm going to make those visions come true."

Something in Schuldig's eyes gleamed. "A partner?"

"Yes Schuldig," Crawford said, pulling off his glasses and setting them on the bedside table before facing Schuldig and meeting his gaze. "Let me tell you how we are going to take down Esset...."

The End