The Prisoner's Dilemma

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


Nagi took a moment to squeeze the bridge of his nose, closing his tired eyes. He didn't mind spending time at his computer-it was much better than sitting through another farce of a school day-but so far the work had been tedious and unrewarding. First he'd come up empty-handed in a search of the local police databases for any signs of activity consistent with their targets. Then he'd gotten to work on Crawford's latest request. Tracking down Gelb's most recent IP address hadn't been too difficult, but it had taken time. The mission materials Crawford had given him included Gelb's last safe house address, so it was only a matter of hacking into the systems of the area's local internet providers. Since Gelb's last safe house was in London, there had been a lot of places to check, but after a long morning, Nagi had found logs connected to the team. Now it was a matter of tracing the IP through the net and rummaging through the logs of hubs they'd passed through. There was a lot of ground to cover, much of it probably meaningless, so Nagi wrote a few scripts to automate the process.

He sat back in his chair, waiting for his searches to bring back the websites Gelb had visited. Crawford said he wanted to know what the team had been working on. He hadn't said exactly why he wanted the information. It was possible knowledge of Gelb's recent activities would help Schwartz track their targets, but Nagi wasn't so sure Crawford would ask him to split his efforts on the off chance he'd find something useful. In fact, if information about Gelb's past missions would be useful in Schwartz's current assignment, wouldn't Esset have sent that information along with everything else in the mission pack? One of Nagi's programs returned a hit-apparently someone from Gelb enjoyed bondage porn. He tagged the hit as low priority.

No, Nagi didn't think it was very likely he'd find anything with this search that would lead them to their targets. But Crawford was an efficient leader, so Nagi didn't doubt there was a good reason for what he was doing. It just seemed like that reason wasn't necessarily tied to the successful completion of their mission. The implications made him mildly uneasy.

Nagi thought maybe Crawford was looking for something Esset didn't want them to know.

He knew Crawford answered to Esset-during his thankfully brief stay in Rosenkreuz they'd tried to impress upon him the importance of the organization-but Crawford's obedience to the organization had always been an abstraction to Nagi. Now, he was beginning to believe he needed to revise the way he viewed their situation.

Another hit opened in a window on his laptop. Nagi was momentarily distracted, skimming the feature article on cutting-edge research in computing technology that had popped up on his screen. One of Gelb's techno-savvy members had probably been interested in the topic, but it might have been research related to a mission of theirs. Nagi tagged the hit as medium priority. If nothing else, he might enjoy reading it in his spare time.

As he watched his programs work, Nagi worked on his own problem, mulling over Crawford's motivations. Crawford answered to Esset. Crawford wanted Nagi to dig into information Esset hadn't seen fit to give them. Just where did the organization fit into Crawford's view of their situation?

Nagi wasn't sure, but he decided he needed to beef up the security on his searches. He might not know what Crawford was planning, but it never hurt to be cautious. Perhaps once this mission was over, Nagi would do some searches of his own too. It was time he found out more about Esset than the party line they spewed at Rosenkreuz.

*****

Knife shopping with Farfarello had been as fun as usual. Schuldig debated whether or not to block the shopkeeper from seeing Farf "test" the merchandise-it was usually pretty amusing to watch a normal's reaction to the Irishman using a blade on himself and licking it clean-but decided it was probably a good idea to keep a low profile today.

When they came home, Crawford was waiting for Schuldig in his office, hands folded neatly on his desk, newly splinted trigger finger resting gently on top. Schuldig had expected the promised discussion to be drawn-out, painful, and delve into topics he'd rather not talk about, but surprisingly, after asking him to come in and shut the door, Crawford had gotten straight to business. In fact, Crawford was aggressively professional. His main concern was in discovering what Schuldig and Xavier had talked about before his arrival, and whether or not the German had let any information on Schwartz slip during either of his meetings with the other telepath. Schuldig thought he caught a flash of suspicion in Crawford's eyes as he questioned him, but as others had pointed out, perhaps he wasn't necessarily the best at reading facial expressions or body language. The look faded as Schuldig recounted his encounters. He was surprised at how easy it was to slip into mission report mode, rattling off details and his own nascent analysis as the ideas took shape in his mind. Somehow Schuldig's thoughts tended to take on more structure when he and Crawford bounced ideas off each other. He was both relieved and disgusted with his ability to lose himself in the mission routine.

Crawford showed particular interest in the woman Schuldig had first seen Xavier with at the club, especially upon learning that Xavier wiped her memory. Schuldig remembered the aspect of the woman that caught his attention that night, aside from a great pair of legs and terrible taste in shoe-sock combinations. She'd been dubious that Xavier could deliver on his promises. Crawford's eyes gleamed upon hearing that information. There was no mistaking that expression; Crawford had seized upon a lead. The Crawford's bitch voice in Schuldig's mind piped up smugly with an "I told you so." Schuldig once again told it to go fuck itself. Crawford dispassionately reiterated the warning he'd given Schuldig last night about withholding information, warned him to call for backup at the slightest sign of their targets, and sent him out to hit the clubs again with an eye out not just for Siren and Hacker, but also their redheaded contact.

Schuldig didn't know whether to feel resentful of Crawford's professionalism-they'd not been so formal together in more than a year-or grateful that he hadn't called him on what had really been his fuck up today, letting Xavier pull him in. So now here he was, sitting at the same bar he'd been at two days ago, ostensibly looking for Hacker, Siren, or the redhead. What he was really doing was nursing a bitter-tasting beer, snarling at the intense reek of desperation the Monday night club-goers bombarded him with, and alternating between not thinking of the way Crawford's fingers felt interlaced with his own and not thinking of the way Xavier sounded in his head that morning. While it was possible he'd see the redheaded woman here, Schuldig figured Xavier knew it would be suicidally stupid to show up at this club again. He was pretty confident he'd be look busy but spend the whole evening safe from interruption, not thinking about whatever he pleased. He was damned surprised when a familiar, somewhat goofy-accented voice spoke up in his head.

/Out alone tonight, darling? Where's that tall drink of water you've been fucking?/

Schuldig kept his posture casual-body language sucks indeed-and started to scan the club while he surreptitiously reached for his cell phone. He was strong enough to contact Crawford telepathically, but since he clearly still wasn't at 100%, he thought it best to focus his talent on shielding. /He's not really into the club scene. How about you? Here tonight all by your lonesome?/
`
/Don't bother looking, Schu. You won't find me tonight. My range has improved considerably since Rosenkreuz. And don't spoil our chance for conversation by opening that cell phone./ Schuldig couldn't help but crane his neck around to look behind him-it was clear the other telepath was watching him. Xavier's rich laugh filled his head. /Really, you won't see me. Even on a weeknight, there are enough people here whose surface thoughts are filled with a rather striking redheaded gaijin that I can keep tabs on you without being on site. There are a lot of clubs on this block, lots of people out. I'll be gone before boss man Brad ever gets here./ Schuldig snorted. /So,/ Xavier continued, /you can sit and finish your beer, talk to me, and report back to Mr. Crawford if you want to when we're finished, or I can leave right now and you can go home empty-handed./

Schuldig thought about it while the Crawford's bitch voice debated with itself, scrabbling vicious little circles in the back of his mind. Fuck it. Sometimes you had to scrap mission plans in the face of new developments. Besides, he couldn't deny at this point that he was interested in what Xavier had to say. If Crawford couldn't or wouldn't answer Schuldig's questions about their mission, then maybe he could get a few answers from Xavier. /What do we have to talk about, Xave? You still wanting to rehash old times?/

Xavier's mental voice was serious, no trace of the teasing smugness or flirtation he'd displayed earlier. /You never answered my question today. Are you hunting us?/

Schuldig waited a beat. /You're right, I never did answer that./

Xavier was quiet, waiting until it was obvious Schuldig wasn't going to elaborate. His mental chuckle danced along Schuldig's auditory nerves. /Fair enough. Want to tell me about Mr. tall, dark, and clairvoyant?/ A trace of the edge was coming back to his tone. /I imagine that office romance has some perks./

Schuldig didn't let the barb get to him. /Why don't you tell me about him instead? Seems like you're awfully well-informed for someone on the outs with the organization./

/Christ, you really are going to be a good little lapdog and sniff out something useful to take back to your master, aren't you?/ Xavier sighed. /Alright Schu, I'll tell you something about Mr. Bradley Crawford. Did you know he's one of the organization's golden boys? They're grooming him for something big. Guess you picked the right cock to hop on. You can ride it right to the top./

He shouldn't have let it ruffle him-that was exactly Xavier's intention-but Schuldig couldn't help but go on the defensive. /Just a warm body to help pass the time. And if I can get something else out of it, well, all the better. I'm sure you remember how to play that game, right Xave?/ Might as well try to score a point of his own while he was at it. /And I still want to know where someone on the hit list gets inside information./

Xavier changed tone seamlessly, hostile bitterness to gloating accommodation at the speed of synaptic transmission. /Let's just say recent developments have rendered my codename somewhat ironic, considering the company I keep. We managed to do a little digging on your team after I saw you here the other night./ His inflection changed again, back to serious sincerity. Schuldig was pretty sure he preferred Xavier's other voices better. It was work to keep up, but at least with them he knew what he was getting. /Seriously Schu...are you really happy like this? I saw that asshole's file-he's the poster boy for a Rosenkreuz education. You're the one who taught me how to swim with the current and not get carried away by it. I never thought you'd go under like this./

Schuldig bristled. /Haven't you gotten idealistic?/

/No. Someone simply helped me realize that you don't have to swim at all. It's possible to just get out of the water./

Schuldig looked around again, wanting to see Xavier's face. He caught a pimply boy at the end of the bar glancing quickly away and a rather good-looking woman in her late twenties brave enough to maintain eye contact-damn, it was too easy for Xavier to see him without being seen. He snorted, disgusted. /Only problem is, you're like a fish. You can't leave and expect to stay breathing for long./ The words felt flat.

/We will./ The voice was certain, unshakable. Schuldig took a pull on the neck of his forgotten beer, feeling suddenly hot. Xavier was certainly a master at bluffing, but Esset must have put the hit out on his partner for a reason. Schuldig swallowed awkwardly, heart pounding in his ears. /Look Schuldig, what I learned from you kept my head above water all this time. I don't believe you want to spend your life treading water any more than I do. There's a way out./

/Bullshit,/ he thought, but possibilities whispered through Schuldig's mind, making him want to jitter in his seat. He fought the urge to bring the beer up to his forehead to cool off. /Why the fuck should I trust you?/

/I don't suppose you should,/ Xavier replied carefully. /I could say I owe you for the swimming lessons, but we both know debt isn't a concept you take very seriously./ He paused. /But why should you trust him either? Think about it, Schu. You're not meant to be a slave to those bastards, trailing along after their lackey./ He paused again, almost as if he were reining himself in. /You can take your info home to Brad tonight, give him a good little report, but just think on what I'm offering. We'll talk more later. Goodnight, Schuldig./

Schuldig spun off his barstool, eyes darting throughout the club. He searched out Xavier's mind, but the tentative connection necessary for their chat was severed, not that he could track the man's location with it anyway. There's a way out. Feeling a little unreal, he cut through the too empty dance floor, the garish colors of its disco lights jarring against the few couples moving on it. Think about it, Schu. He made his way outside, the cold night air slapping against his skin and driving him to take his phone from his pocket. His fingers dialed the number automatically. You're not meant to be a slave to those bastards.

"It's me, Brad. The target made contact with me...I'm not able to tail him...I think they hacked into our Esset files...yes...yes...no." The words flowed easily from numb lips. There's a way out. The conversation went on, Schuldig trying to center himself in Crawford's commanding voice, but another voice looped through his head, a tape on continuous repeat.

There's a way out.