The Prisoner's Dilemma

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


It had been a pretty shitty day for Schuldig, hiding in his room and making futile attempts to get a read on Crawford, but things were finally looking up. He leaned his head back, long hair snagging on the rough texture of the alley's brick wall, and slid deeper into the mind of the young man kneeling before him. Now this was what sex was supposed to feel like. Uncomplicated and transparent. The hot mouth around him felt good. What the guy lacked in expertise he made up for in enthusiasm, enthusiasm that Schuldig was free to sample first-hand. The slurping sounds were so much more vivid when heard through this stranger's ears. He enjoyed the visceral feel of the cold seeping through the knees of the man's jeans from the dirty pavement, suppressing his partner's sense of propriety so that he wouldn't take notice of how filthy his pants were getting. He relished the taste of himself in the man's mouth. He hoped this guy kissed; it would be nice to experience his taste on two tongues after he'd finished. He delved into memories of past experiences and easily found the information he wanted. Oh goody, he did kiss. Schuldig curled his fingers into the crunchy texture of over-gelled, spiky hair and closed his eyes as he played in the mind of this lovely, willing toy.

Inside the club, a new song began playing, something with a more up-tempo bass that Schuldig could almost feel throbbing through the dingy brick he leaned against. His partner unconsciously picked up the rhythm, moving his mouth at a faster pace. Schuldig groaned his encouragement and heard the way he sounded to the other man, felt the man's building excitement. He was so enmeshed that he vividly felt the press of something cold and hard at the back of the man's neck. He got tangled in the man's confusion at the sensation as he pulled away from Schuldig's crotch. Schuldig heard the soft click of a gun's safety being released through two sets of ears. He sputtered up to the surface of his own consciousness, panting and confused. Schuldig opened his eyes and met Crawford's steady gaze. It bored into him with frightening intensity before shifting to the scared shitless man still squatting between Schuldig's legs. Crawford pushed the gun more forcefully into the back of the man's neck. Schuldig felt a ghost of the pressure at his own neck and fumblingly tried to consolidate himself.

"Time to move along," Crawford said, sliding the barrel of his gun to the side of the man's neck and nudging. The man scrambled back, palms slapping against the ground as he put distance between himself and Crawford's gun. Once he was backed against a dumpster, he pushed himself up, flung a nervous look at Schuldig, and ran for the street. Crawford kept his gun trained on the man the whole time. Once he was out of sight, he leveled it back at Schuldig.

Schuldig looked up into Crawford's face. The sodium lamp above the club's rear exit cast a glare off Crawford's glasses, making his expression difficult to read, but the set of his jaw was firm. He stood confidently, feet apart, right arm extended so that the barrel of his gun pointed unwaveringly at Schuldig.

"Fucking asshole! You scared the shit outta me!"

Crawford took his gun off Schuldig, bending his elbow so that the barrel pointed up and thumbing the gun's safety back on. Without warning, he lunged at Schuldig, gripping his shoulders and preventing any further complaints by covering Schuldig's mouth with his own, hot and brutal. It was a furious struggle for territory Schuldig immediately lost himself in. A tongue furiously thrust deep into his mouth. Crawford's gun dug into Schuldig's collarbone as the grip on his shoulders tightened. Almost reflexively, Schuldig reached out for Crawford's mind. The reaction was violent and immediate. Schuldig found himself shoved back so forcefully his head bounced off the brick wall. Stars blossomed in his vision. Dazedly, he looked up at Crawford. His glasses practically glowed, expression still unreadable.

"We have a mission," Crawford said blandly.

Schuldig took a moment to gather his scattered thoughts. He rubbed the back of his aching head, wincing when he brought his fingers up to his face and saw a smear of blood. "Fuck, there are better ways to let a guy know. Ever hear of a cell phone?"

Crawford ignored the question as he holstered his gun, smoothing his suit jacket over the subtle bulge it made. When Crawford turned back, the glare on his glasses was less severe and Schuldig could see amber eyes sweep over him. Schuldig surveyed his disheveled appearance, tucking himself back in his pants and zipping up with a grimace.

Crawford continued to gaze at him coldly. Schuldig felt uncomfortable and indignant under the scrutiny. He had one bitch of a headache starting now and wished Crawford would just get on with whatever the hell it was he was going to do so Schuldig could go home, take four aspirin, and stand under a hot shower for an hour or two.

Crawford finally broke the silence. "You left your phone."

Oh, yeah, that was right. He'd left the damned thing at home precisely to avoid interruptions like the one he'd just had. Well, Crawford had him there.

Still feeling a mild residual connection to his erstwhile alleyway companion, Schuldig noted that the guy had calmed down enough to start thinking about finding a policeman. Schuldig focused his concentration on making the man forget the last half hour.

"My little friend's taken care of," he said hopefully, swallowing back the nausea the effort, combined with the bump on the head, had caused.

Crawford didn't comment, but the look he leveled at Schuldig suggested he expected nothing less from the telepath.

Schuldig gingerly touched the knot at the back of his head, hoping to garner sympathy if he couldn't appease Crawford with his telepathic prowess. There was less blood when he pulled his fingers back this time.

No sympathy was forthcoming from Crawford, but he did give him an appraising look before asking, "Can you drive yourself home?"

Schuldig considered the matter. He felt like shit at the moment, and it might be enjoyable to extract some petty form of vengeance by sullying the pristine interior of Crawford's car with his bleeding head, maybe even barf on the leather seat, but the thought of an awkward ride alone with Crawford at the moment was too daunting. "I can make it."

Crawford nodded crisply and left the alley. Schuldig took a moment to run his hands through his hair, trying to collect himself, before staggering out to follow Crawford home. He took a detour back into the club's bathroom, using wet toilet paper to dab at the blood in his hair. Fuck Crawford and his mission if they couldn't wait five minutes for him to clean himself up a little. Back at his car, he found an old bottle of Excedrin in the glove box and dry swallowed a few of the pills.

Traffic was light and the drive home didn't take long. Schuldig tried not to think too hard on whatever the hell this weird thing was between him and Crawford. By the time he pulled into his customary spot in their building's garage-a significant number of steps farther from the elevator than the spot Crawford always took, he noted bitterly-he'd managed to school his features into something that resembled his game face. He bullied the expression into his usual sardonic smirk before he opened the apartment door.

The rest of Schwartz was already assembled in the living room. A quick surface scan of Nagi's mind revealed that the kid had prepared materials for a mission briefing under Crawford's instruction while their leader had been out collecting Schuldig. He was just finishing hooking up his laptop to Crawford's slick little mini-projector, sitting next to both machines on the coffee table as Schuldig walked in. Crawford sat in the armchair, typical collected expression on his face. He paid Schuldig no heed. Farfarello sat on the floor by the couch, knees hugged to his chest so that he could rest his chin on them. The Irishman looked bored. It wasn't clear how much information from briefings he retained, and Schuldig almost always fed him step-by-step instructions when he had to do more than run around and kill everybody who wasn't Schwartz during missions, but the man had a good memory for faces, so it didn't hurt for him to at least see pictures of their targets. Schuldig sauntered over to the couch and sat down, sure to take up as much space on the furniture as possible.

Crawford cleared his throat as Nagi pulled up the first picture in his presentation, signaling the beginning of the briefing. Schuldig looked at the picture projected on the white wall of the living room. The somber face of an unremarkable woman, probably in her early thirties, stared back at him. The hair was long and blonde in this photo, but Schuldig still recognized her as the mousy brunette that Xavier had talked to after leaving Schuldig at the club last night. The telepath straightened on the couch, his interest effectively snagged by the photo. Were they going to work with another team on this mission?

"This is Sara Williams, codename Siren, field agent from Esset team Gelb," Crawford said in flat, detached tones. "Nagi?"

Nagi switched to the next slide, which showed what looked like a bad DMV photo of the woman alongside statistics about her. Schuldig quickly skimmed the information. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Brown. Height: 165 cm. Weight: 57 kilos. Primary Talent: Magnetokinesis. Country of Origin: USA. Age of Acquisition: 16. Although Schuldig had never seen one before, he was pretty sure he was looking at the front page of her Esset master file. Crawford had probably seen the files on the rest of Schwartz since he was their leader, but it was far from standard operating procedure to show agents other agents' files, even if they were to be working together. What the fuck was Esset thinking?

"As you can see from the file, Siren possesses the rare psi talent of magnetokinesis, the ability to control magnetic and electromagnetic fields." Crawford paused, eyes sweeping across his team. "She," he said gravely, gaze coming to rest on Schuldig, "is our primary target."

Schuldig didn't allow his surprise to show. He heard a soft gasp from Nagi and a chuckle from Farfarello, but the room remained amazingly impassive in the face of an order to hit one of their own.

Crawford continued the presentation, motioning for Nagi to move to the next slide. Schuldig had to fight much harder not to let anything show under Crawford's watchful eye when Xavier's picture appeared on screen. It helped that he was expecting it.

"This is our second target, Xavier Leclercq, codename Hacker, also a member of Gelb," Crawford said, butchering the French pronunciation of Xavier's surname. Schuldig looked at the photo, Xavier sporting the more familiar shaggy hair that curled around his neck and ears. Nagi clicked to Xavier's profile. "Hacker is a mid-level telepath. According to his records, he specializes in using his talent in conjunction with principles from social engineering. He is exceedingly adept at manipulating people. Hacker and Siren's primary function within Gelb is as a data gathering sub-team, interacting with targets to ferret out useful information for other members to act upon. Nagi?"

A new photo appeared, this one apparently a still taken from an airport security camera. The grainy picture showed the two targets looking much as they had at the club. They stood in line at a ticket counter, Xavier's hand gripping Sara's elbow, eerily reflecting the pose Schuldig had recently seen them in the night before.

"This footage was taken from a London airport four days ago," Crawford continued. "Not surprisingly, considering Siren's capabilities, most of the security footage was compromised, but the data division was able to come up with this shot. According to their sources, Siren and Hacker boarded a plane to Tokyo. The organization believes our targets will stay in the city for some time. Our objective is to locate and terminate Siren."

Crawford let silence hang in the room for a few beats, practically daring Schuldig to ask a question. Schuldig wasn't going to give the prick the satisfaction. "And Hacker?" Nagi asked.

Schuldig toyed with a loose thread dangling from his shirtsleeve, working hard to keep up a disinterested image. It didn't look like Crawford was buying it. Schuldig felt the weight of his stare as he answered Nagi's question.

"If possible, we are to apprehend Hacker and send him in for reeducation. However, taking out Siren is our top priority. If we can only accomplish that objective by going through Hacker, so be it."

Schuldig tried not to squirm at the mention of reeducation. Death just might be preferable. Dark memories of punishment time spent adjacent to the reeducation wing at Rosenkreuz threatened to surface. He forcefully pushed them down. He felt Nagi's discomfort with the idea and could tell the kid wanted to know just what these agents had done. Of course, Nagi would never ask, not if it meant questioning Crawford, and by extension, Esset. Normally, Schuldig would've asked the question for him, but tonight he didn't feel so confident he could get away with questioning an assignment.

Farfarello surprised them all by speaking up. "'And that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes.'"

Schuldig looked up from his sleeve to see Crawford's reaction. Crawford stared at Farfarello for a moment, the muscles in his jaw tightening subtly before he seemingly shook off the comment and resumed the briefing.

"We'll be going with standard assignments on this one. Prodigy, I want you tracking them over the net. Look for locations experiencing frequent disruptions in their security cameras, any reports of malfunctions to electric locks in hotels, fraud, theft. The organization has frozen the targets' accounts, so they don't have money to run with. They're likely to rely on their talents to get by. We can take advantage of that."

Nagi gave a small nod.

"Mastermind." Crawford turned to Schuldig. Schuldig slouched back down into the couch cushions, insolent smirk in place as he met Crawford's eyes. "I want you covering the streets. Move around, see if you can pick up on their shields. I have a feeling," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, "they'll be hitting the clubs." Schuldig inclined his head.

"Berserker," Crawford said, bringing his attention back to Farfarello, "we'll need you once we locate the targets. I want you ready to go at a moment's notice."

"Aye."

"I'll be planning our assault and doing what I can to track them down on my end. Questions, gentlemen?"

Schuldig had about a hundred of them, but like the rest of his team, he remained silent. Crawford dismissed them and Schuldig wasted no time in retreating to the bathroom for a shower. Standing under the hot water, he once again tried not to think too hard. He fought to keep Xavier and the new mission out of his mind. One of these days, maybe he'd have Crawford show him how to do that meditation shit. Some of the instructors at Rosenkreuz had tried to teach it, but Schuldig never trusted any of them enough to open his mind and enter a relaxed state in their presence. Not that he felt particularly comfortable with the idea of letting his guard down around Crawford at the moment either, not when the bastard was making it abundantly clear he didn't trust Schuldig. Besides, that trust shit was a two-way street Schuldig wasn't sure he ever wanted to travel.

Once the water turned from almost scalding to lukewarm and his hair had been carefully washed and conditioned twice, Schuldig finally abandoned the shower. He took his time towel-drying his hair, careful not to aggravate the lump on the back of his skull. He brushed and flossed his teeth. He even clipped his damned toenails. All reasonable excuses for staying in the bathroom and hiding from recent developments exhausted, Schuldig wrapped his towel around his waist and made his way to his bedroom.

He wasn't at all surprised to find Crawford waiting for him there. He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a stern expression on his face. Schuldig shut the door and sauntered in. He leaned back against his dresser. The motion made his towel slide down a few inches, exposing the dark red trail of hair below his navel. Schuldig caught Crawford's eyes momentarily flickering down to watch the towel's descent before they returned to his face. Schuldig smirked and let his own eyes wander over the clean lines of Crawford's suit.

"You know him," Crawford said. It wasn't a question.

There was no point denying it. "Vision?"

"Yes. Last night, before you left, I saw you together sitting at the bar." Crawford's face remained impassive, but there was darkness in his voice. "How do you know him?"

Schuldig turned to his dresser and reached for the brush sitting there. He flipped his hair over his head, effectively hiding himself, and began to work through the tangles. "We bunked together at Rosenkreuz a couple semesters."

"And?"

"And what?" Schuldig said, wincing when he made contact with the bump on his head. "Isn't all this shit in our files anyway?"

"No."

Schuldig sighed. He set the brush back down and found his insolent mask, turning to face Crawford again. "He was a late acquisition. They put him in with me since I'd been there a while and knew what I was doing. Guess they wanted me to show him the ropes."

"Did you?"

Schuldig smiled lasciviously and ran a hand down his chest. "Sure. We learned from each other. I taught him how to suck cock. He showed me how to roll a joint." Something briefly flared in Crawford's eyes.

"How long did you...room together?"

Schuldig smirked at the pause. "They bumped me up to alpha level after his second semester. I'm sure you remember how it worked there, Brad," Schuldig said, taking a step closer to the precog, "Alphas got their own rooms."

Crawford stood his ground. "So what is he to you?"

"He was just a fuck." Schuldig took another step, closing in on Crawford's personal space. He didn't want to talk about this any more. "You know, Brad?" he said, moving close enough for Crawford to touch. He formed his words deliberately, over-enunciating and watching as amber eyes were drawn to his mouth. "Just. A. Fuck."

Feeling bold, Schuldig reached for Crawford's tie, tugging an end loose and sliding the material between his fingers. Crawford fisted his hands at his sides. He drew deep breaths through his nose, nostrils flaring. Schuldig slipped the suit jacket from broad shoulders, draping it carefully over the edge of his bed. Crawford held his ground admirably, but when Schuldig began to slowly undo the buttons of his dress shirt, the man finally broke down, seizing Schuldig's shoulders and bringing his hungry mouth down over the telepath's. Forsaking the slow, seductive approach, Schuldig roughly finished the buttons on Crawford's shirt. Without breaking the kiss, Crawford batted Schuldig's hands away to pull the shirt off, kicking away his shoes at the same time. Schuldig took the opportunity to rip at Crawford's belt. He whipped it away and scrabbled to get the man's pants open.

Schuldig's fingers wrapped around Crawford's erection, which caused Crawford to end their kiss as he dropped his head to his chest with a low moan. For a moment, they froze, eyes locked on each other. Schuldig ached to be inside Crawford's mind. He knew better than to try now, though. Just looking at the man like this, flushed and wanting, was some consolation and within the heat of his mind, Schuldig realized that he didn't have to be inside to know Crawford's excitement and feel his need. He could see it in the blaze of those eyes, feel it twitching in the palm of his hand. The moment ended and they descended on each other again, kissing, grabbing, pulling.

Strong hands drifted down to cup Schuldig's ass and began to knead. Schuldig moaned into Crawford's mouth. He relinquished his hold on the hard flesh in his hand, moving to drop the towel from his waist. He pressed against the broad chest in front of him, soaking up the heat of bare skin. His hands flailed at Crawford's slacks until they slipped down. Schuldig ground against his hips, grabbing Crawford's ass much as Crawford grabbed him. Trapped as he was in his own mind, Schuldig had no choice but to focus his attentions inward, to the sensations of hands on him, tongue in his mouth, skin against his own. He didn't know how he felt to Crawford, but he realized Crawford felt pretty fucking good to him.

The groping hands began to pull with a purpose, and Schuldig understood he was being led to the bed. Sure, bed seemed like a fine idea. He pulled himself away from Crawford's mouth. "Lube...drawer...bedside table."

Crawford nodded. When the back of his legs hit the bed, he collapsed down onto the mattress, pulling Schuldig on top of him. He reclaimed Schuldig's mouth, kissing hard and deep while his strong legs propelled them further up the bed, the hand that wasn't wrapped around Schuldig searching for the bedside table. Schuldig shifted to the side, sliding his thigh between Crawford's legs and moving it up and down, creating a maddening friction. He stretched up, finding the drawer and the prize it held. He pressed the bottle into Crawford's hand. Again, the action momentarily froze as their eyes met. Schuldig reached up to Crawford's face, intending to get rid of those damned glasses, but Crawford caught his wrist. "Don't." The grip tightened, sending a sharp flash of pain as fine bones ground together, then it was gone and a slick hand was sliding down the crack of Schuldig's ass while a hot tongue invaded his mouth.

The prep was minimal, the fucking desperate. Schuldig rode Crawford hard, legs folded on either side of the hips that drove into him, arms braced on the bed, body curled over the torso beneath him so that their mouths could fuck too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex without being connected to his partner's mind, so he found himself noticing feedback from his more mundane senses with a fresh intensity. He felt the contrast between the heat of Crawford's body and the coolness of the sheets. The hairs on Crawford's legs tickled against his skin. He smelled the strange synthetic odor of lubricant, traces of his own shampoo, Crawford's very expensive cologne, the musk of arousal. Crawford's mouth tasted warm and clean, with a faint almost sour undertone from adrenaline. He heard the sounds of air whistling in and out of their lungs, the smack of flesh meeting, the creak of the bed.

It didn't last long, not when Crawford moved a slick hand from Schuldig's hips, wrapped it around his cock, and started frantically pulling him off. Schuldig imagined the frenzied pace had something to do with Crawford being close too, but without being inside him, he couldn't know for sure. Schuldig breathed obscenities into Crawford's mouth and the precog swallowed them with a growl.

When it was over, they stayed still for a few heartbeats, foreheads pressed together, hot panting breath washing over each other's faces. Schuldig looked to the side and saw that their fingers had twined together. The image stirred a whisper of memory and he shut his eyes to block it out. Their sweat was cooling. Crawford shifted underneath him, leaving his body as he pulled his hand free. Schuldig rolled off him and onto his side. He watched as Crawford sat up and spun away from him, looked at the shift of strong muscles in his back as he reached for the tissues and cleaned himself up. He didn't want to look anymore, so he turned away and listened to the rustle of clothes as Crawford dressed.

"What did they do?" Schuldig asked softly.

Crawford's voice was soft too, but as steady and flat as if they were in a mission briefing. "They angered the organization."

"No shit," Schuldig said, knowing he was probably pushing his luck. "But what did they do? Why do we have to kill her but we can capture him?"

"...It doesn't matter, Schuldig. You don't need to know." Crawford finished dressing. Schuldig rolled over again, watching Crawford's back as he reached for the doorknob. "This mission isn't going to be a problem for you."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but when Crawford turned to look at him as he opened the door, Schuldig found himself answering anyway. "No," he whispered.

Crawford nodded then turned his head away. "The next time you keep information from me, the organization will be notified, Schuldig, " he said, stepping into the hall and softly closing the door behind him.

Schuldig closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut. "I know."