FicWad

Crawford trudged up to the front door of the small house Schwarz was currently calling its own. That in itself was unusual. Brad Crawford did not /trudge/. He walked, stalked, and sometimes prowled. But trudge he did, shoulders slumping for a split-second in exhaustion before he straightened again and readied himself for another night of tedious paperwork in his silent office.

Nagi's face was the first thing he saw, the youth looking as though he'd sob in relief. "Crawford...he's driving me nuts. For hours just...over and over and-"

A noise sounded from down the hall, the sound of something rolling across the floor followed by a thud. And a cackle.

Mental sigh. "I'll take care of it." Down the hall, office door opening, and a blur of black and red rushed by and straight towards a wall.

thud

"Schuldig..."

A blob of orange-red hair was followed by mischievous eyes, peering over the back of his desk chair. "Brad."

"You ruin all of my dull, monotonous evening plans," Crawford sighed, aloud for once. Because he wasn't amused. Not at all.

The chair spun around, letting the oracle see the rest of his telepath. Including the grin. "Think outside the cubicle a little, Crawford. You'll find sexier things."

Crawford raised an eyebrow.

The grin widened. "Office sex? I can play the trampy secretary," Schuldig offered. Rather generously, he thought.

The older man crossed his arms. "This is why no work ever gets down around here."

"No, that's general laziness."

"Schuldig." The tone was warning now.

The telepath raised his hands. "Ja, ja. I'm going. Gott, Brad you're so-"

"After dinner."

Schuldig blinked. "Alright...can we use the cha-"

"No, Schuldig, we are not using my expensive leather chair that you were so skillfully using as a goatcar." Grabbing said chair, the black-haired man pushed it back to its proper spot behind the desk. "Which you won't do again. Ever."

The telepath sulked. Crawford had learned to ignore it long ago, unless the German had a gun in his hand and a glint in his eyes. That's when Crawford pointed Schuldig in the direction of their newest target. "You should learn how to share. I thought they taught you that stuff in kindergarten. I'd share with /you/, you bastard."

Crawford resisted the urge to laugh. "Schuldig, you're one of the most selfish people on the face of this earth. If you had a grandmother, you'd sell her to Russians for a bottle of Vodka."

"Yeah, well, I never went to kindergarten."

"And I'm sure teachers around Germany rejoiced. Now, get out. Some of us have to work," Crawford said, pointing towards the door. Sometimes the telepath needed visuals. "And no using my chair as a goatcar." And reminding.

"Fine fine. No goatcar." Schuldig sulked some more before wandering off. Once the door closed behind him, it faded away to a smirk.

*

"Farfarello is all strapped in for the night now," Nagi commented as he sat down on the couch. Across from him, Crawford was reading his newspaper almost religiously. "But Schuldig's been quiet for too long. I don't trust him."

"Maybe he's sleeping." The oracle didn't even look up.

"But he was in your office..." The oracle was half way down the hall before Nagi could even register that he had gotten up. Only three things could make Crawford move like that: money, a bullet, and one annoying telepath.

Crawford had a sense of déjà vu that had nothing to do with visions as he opened the door. And paused. The lampshade of his desklight was tilted so that is focused on his chair.

Which slowly turned around. "We've been expecting you, Mr. Crawford." Schuldig smirked behind his steepled fingers.

"You're voice is too nasal. You'd make a terrible Bond villain." Crawford closed the door behind him and prowled towards the desk, only slightly annoyed. "And you lack the cat."

"I had one, but then Farfie got bored and left." Schuldig looked rather pleased. Not many people could make the American prowl without being killed shortly after. Then again...

Crawford stopped when he was next to the chair and looked down at the telepath, a thoughtful look on his handsome features. "This wasn't about the chair, was it?"

"Give the man a prize." the telepath drawled.

"Or the sex?"

Schuldig leaned back in the chair. His smirk widened. "With me, it's always about the sex." Then he was face-up on the desk with one Bradley J. Crawford attached to his face.

/You could have just said you wanted some attention/, Crawford sent his way.

Schuldig mentally snorted. You had to learn to share. Otherwise you'd throw me through a wall everytime I bothered you. 'sides, I like to be difficult.

And easy.

A joke? Schuldig half expected to see Satan walk by with mittens on. Still, progress was progress.

Schuldig felt he had every right to be smug about it.