The Chemicals Between Us

Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldich.

I want you to remember
A love so full it could send us all ways
I want you to surrender
All my feelings rose today
And I want you to remain
The power of children can amaze
I'll try not to complain
I know that's a pisser baby

Chapter 1: Owning an Addiction

I've always been a man who wants power and control, Schuldig. So when I got to Rosenkreuz, I didn't waste time making mistakes; I began, immediately, to carve my path through the future. Being a precog has its advantages; I knew many years before Estet formally told me how much of an asset I would be to both organizations. But our story begins at Rosenkreuz, where I worked my way past the other precognitives and clairvoyants until I reached the top of my class -- earning a room to myself and a place as a teacher's aid, with the side job of focusing my visions on the tracking and capture of other talents.

Which is where you come in, I suppose. I had just turned 17, you must have been twelve, when I got my first vision of you -- tricking on the streets for money for drugs that presumably made the voices inside your head quite hazy. You may think, Schuldig, that I ignore you, but the truth is that I've always seen you clearly. Too clearly. The vision of you was perhaps my longest ever; lasting at least thirty minutes and leaving me with a splitting migraine for the rest of the week. You want the details? I saw you pick up your customer; I saw him fuck you; I saw you climb out of bed, take your money, and head further down the street to exchange it for drugs. I saw you light up the marijuana and stick your arm with a needle of questionable origin, I saw your face melt into relief.

I was sent to Berlin to pick you up about a month later, in a crowded club. I don't think you trusted me, and you were right. I came to get you to Rosenkreuz. I came to send you to hell.

That's what Rosenkreuz is, you know, even for me, and I escaped most of the brutality. But you were always open, always rebellious. I had visions of them punishing you, beating you, raping you once you came to the school. But I digress.

A crowded club, and a loud one, it was, too. You were twelve. Of course you used your powers to get in to find drugs, alcohol, or a quick fuck for fun or pay -- you were always a bit of the manipulative bastard. But you didn't trust me, and I spent a long time trying to figure out why. I wouldn't have trusted me either. It occured to me some time ago that you've never felt able to get past my shields; but it's like staring at the door you want to get past without realizing you're already in the room, looking outside through a window and so caught up in the view that you wonder why you're not inside, when you are. Paradoxically, you've never felt able to get through them, because you've always, always, already been inside of them.

Anyway. You didn't trust me. But I was a well dressed, handsome chap in a suit, and you were a prostitute who needed drugs to stay sane. Not exactly a match made in heaven, but eventually, I just promised you enough money to get you to come out to my car. Of course, I took advantage of our little illusion -- myself as your paying customer -- to keep your trust I just had to screw you. I convinced myself that you would think it weird to have a customer who only wanted idle chat; a twelve year old child who never was a child but only an adult.

It was very foolish of me to indulge back then, very, very foolish.

Afterwards, when I put my clothes back on and started to clean up you kept staring at me with the most curious expression, and when I asked you what the problem was, you said I'd brought the silence.

I only realized what you meant when they took you off the drugs at Rosenkreuz, and had visions of your screams in the laboratory when your already fragile shielding collapsed completely. You scattered everywhere when they finally shattered; and I pulled you into my head to let yourself begin to build back the pieces. An unfair advantage, to be sure, I gave to you, the day I let you do that. Not that it was all that pleasant for either of us. You hated me because I brought you to a place where they gave you no drugs, where sex was never pleasant. And at that time, I can presume that the only pleasant sex you ever had was with me and I refused to indulge you more. You see, for a man trying to become powerful, weaknesses are a dangerous thing indeed. And you have always been a weakness.

I graduated from Rosenkreuz at 18 and left you there for a good five years to fend for yourself, deciding to work my way up through the ranks of Estet. Even without being there, I could watch you develop in my visions, although I tried so hard not to -- to bend my will in another direction. I watched you build your shields and strengthen your telepathy, I watched you manipulate, I watched you build your power and wield it maliciously against those around you. Even though you tried so hard to hate me, I know it made you miserable when I left -- anyone who found a spark of happiness at Rosenkreuz was promptly manipulated by you, fucked by you, and left by you; and I saw visions of all of it. Do you know how distracting it is to be attempting to work and then have to sit through a vision of you having sex? Do you have any idea? Of course you don't.

I watched you grow up from a distance even though you never really were a child, watched your body change, watched you become, if anything, more attractive. I meant for those five years to be time away from you; time to seal off the weakness, time to stop indulging myself with thoughts of you and the first time we had sex in the back of the car when I retrieved you for Rosenkreuz.

But when I was given the job of building Schwartz; when you turned 18, five years of work went down the drain: I was to build the assassin team that could make all of Estet's dreams come true, and you were Rosenkreuz's most promising telepath. I remember walking back to that hellhole, stepping inside your room, and waiting for you to return from classes. You came back from a shower after a fighting class, and considering you were neither marred nor limping, I took it that you won. Your hair was wet, your shirt was off, a towel draped over your shoulders, pants hanging low on loose and slender hips. You had enough bravado to saunter up to me, press a kiss to my lips, and lean your irresistable body against mine. You would've won that battle, you know, I would have screwed you right then and there, except for what you said.

"Miss me, Braddy?"

Braddy.

So I told you and coldly, at that, that my name was Crawford; and you grinned.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night, Braddy."

And at that point I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kill you or screw you senseless. You didn't back off. You refused to relent. You put new wrinkles in my fresh suit.

You'd gotten better with your telepathy, I'll give you that. You knew I was planning on taking you somewhere, because you asked where we were going. I told you, and you grinned again.

"Mmm... what makes you think I'll go with you?" You drawled lazily. "I've gotten along fine without you, Braddy. And it's not like you can make me, Liebe."

I think that's when I lost it; shoved you against the wall and smashed our lips together. You took off my glasses and tossed them towards the floor; taking the moment of impulsive action as a victory. I won the battle though, refusing to screw you until you begged, and finally slamming in unprepared. Cruel to be kind, I suppose.

"Who owns you, Schuldig?"

You wouldn't answer, trying to grind yourself against me, so I pulled out, turning your face towards mine. Your eyes narrowed in rebellion, torn between hating me and loving me, I know.

"Fuck!" You had cursed, and we brawled a bit, rolling on the floor. But I was older, and pinned you down, grinding my hips against yours, rewarded with a loud moan.

"Who owns you, Schuldig?"

You glared at me for a moment, still trying to rebel. "You do."

And we screwed on the floor and when it was over I stood up, cleaned off, and gave you an hour to pack your things.

"Fucking bastard."

You muttered to my back on my way out. But when I closed the door I could have sworn I heard you cry. By the time I had reached the hallway I had convinced myself that the entire thing was an impulsive mistake -- that I was not attracted to you, or could not be attracted to you; that allowing you to get to me was a weakness I couldn't afford.

But I'm sure you know all too well how hard it is to truly kick an addiction.

Leave me some love, folks, for now I'm out like a light. -glaube.