Ficlet: Night Life, Crawford/Sanzo
Nov. 11th, 2005 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
louiseluxFiclet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daegaer, who asked for: Crawford/Sanzo, big guns.
Night Life,
He'd looked sane enough in the bar, tempting, even; a minor challenge in scruffy low cut jeans and a wall of bad attitude that began at least three feet from his body. He'd smiled, low and mean-looking. Crawford hadn't smiled back, but then he hadn't needed to. Three minutes later they were in the alley, pressed into a dark corner, and the promise held in that sullen mouth blasted all other thoughts away.
Crawford didn't know his name, but that wasn't a problem. The problem was the gun that was jabbing against his stomach, its silver mouth biting into his skin through his shirt. He pulled his hands away and held them up, showing them to be empty and harmless. Something was deeply wrong. His palms washed cold with sweat: the future was blank, closed off. The door had slammed shut for the first time he could ever remember.
'You're making a mistake,' he said, voice calm because his training wouldn't let it be anything else.
He just couldn't see and the shock of being abandoned into this single moment almost sent him reeling. He'd learned to compensate for the distraction of foresight, like a man battling against a high wind, but all he could see now was dirty gold hair and violet eyes in a too-pretty face, pale as a china doll. Skinny but strong, he judged. Crawford wondered if he was quick enough to reach his own gun before he got shot.
'No, I don't think I am. You have to die. I know that,' he nodded, as if to himself, then he turned his empty eyes up to Crawford's.
'How do you know?' Crawford asked, skin crawling now. He wondered if stalling was going to save him or deliver him a messy gut wound.
Sometimes it paid to ask the stupid questions. Besides, he had a professional interest in this kind of thing. He could imagine how much Schuldig would laugh at that. He wished Schuldig could appear right now, but unfortunately his talents had never stretched in that direction.
'I've always known,' the other said, as if Crawford should've know that too. 'This is getting tedious. Let's get it over. It'll be quick.'
'No,' he said. He couldn't just die. Not like this, without knowing.
The safety clicked off, the man was backing off, bracing his arm and Crawford saw he could kick up, just enough to get his aim off, when there were frantic footsteps, a lot of yelling and they were both barrelled over, hard.
Crawford leapt up. A young man with long brown hair was wrestling the other down, pinning his waist with his knees and grabbing both wrists to keep his arms still. He did it easily and the gun clattered onto the concrete. 'No, no, no,' he said, almost chanting. 'You can't do this. Please, not again.'
'Get off me. I have to.'
'Please,' the young man, sounding like he was close to crying. 'You go away,' he said to Crawford, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. 'Now.'
The compulsion to leave was strong and not all his own. As he backed away he realised he could go now, turn left out of the alley and there would be a taxi free. At home the others were waiting. He wasn't going to die. Schuldig would be impatient but wouldn't ask any awkward questions about his evening out.
He looked back and saw them crouched together, blond head bowed and hidden and a pair of gold eyes staring after him. There was a mystery there, one that didn't suit him. He left.
daegaer, who asked for: Crawford/Sanzo, big guns. Night Life,
He'd looked sane enough in the bar, tempting, even; a minor challenge in scruffy low cut jeans and a wall of bad attitude that began at least three feet from his body. He'd smiled, low and mean-looking. Crawford hadn't smiled back, but then he hadn't needed to. Three minutes later they were in the alley, pressed into a dark corner, and the promise held in that sullen mouth blasted all other thoughts away.
Crawford didn't know his name, but that wasn't a problem. The problem was the gun that was jabbing against his stomach, its silver mouth biting into his skin through his shirt. He pulled his hands away and held them up, showing them to be empty and harmless. Something was deeply wrong. His palms washed cold with sweat: the future was blank, closed off. The door had slammed shut for the first time he could ever remember.
'You're making a mistake,' he said, voice calm because his training wouldn't let it be anything else.
He just couldn't see and the shock of being abandoned into this single moment almost sent him reeling. He'd learned to compensate for the distraction of foresight, like a man battling against a high wind, but all he could see now was dirty gold hair and violet eyes in a too-pretty face, pale as a china doll. Skinny but strong, he judged. Crawford wondered if he was quick enough to reach his own gun before he got shot.
'No, I don't think I am. You have to die. I know that,' he nodded, as if to himself, then he turned his empty eyes up to Crawford's.
'How do you know?' Crawford asked, skin crawling now. He wondered if stalling was going to save him or deliver him a messy gut wound.
Sometimes it paid to ask the stupid questions. Besides, he had a professional interest in this kind of thing. He could imagine how much Schuldig would laugh at that. He wished Schuldig could appear right now, but unfortunately his talents had never stretched in that direction.
'I've always known,' the other said, as if Crawford should've know that too. 'This is getting tedious. Let's get it over. It'll be quick.'
'No,' he said. He couldn't just die. Not like this, without knowing.
The safety clicked off, the man was backing off, bracing his arm and Crawford saw he could kick up, just enough to get his aim off, when there were frantic footsteps, a lot of yelling and they were both barrelled over, hard.
Crawford leapt up. A young man with long brown hair was wrestling the other down, pinning his waist with his knees and grabbing both wrists to keep his arms still. He did it easily and the gun clattered onto the concrete. 'No, no, no,' he said, almost chanting. 'You can't do this. Please, not again.'
'Get off me. I have to.'
'Please,' the young man, sounding like he was close to crying. 'You go away,' he said to Crawford, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. 'Now.'
The compulsion to leave was strong and not all his own. As he backed away he realised he could go now, turn left out of the alley and there would be a taxi free. At home the others were waiting. He wasn't going to die. Schuldig would be impatient but wouldn't ask any awkward questions about his evening out.
He looked back and saw them crouched together, blond head bowed and hidden and a pair of gold eyes staring after him. There was a mystery there, one that didn't suit him. He left.
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Date: 2005-11-13 12:14 am (UTC)I think the only thing explicitly said about Crawford's precognition is when he and Farfarello fight Aya in the scene when Aya thinks he's ambushed Takatori. Crawford says he knew the ambush would take place, and so Mr Takatori is not present - Aya then thinks a bit (the wheels turn almost visibly!) and says something like "Visions of the future!" at which Crawford gets his well, duh smile and says something like "Only little bits of the future - but you could call it that." So I suppose he could continually be seeing flashes from the future, or it might be more sporadic. It has to be reliable enough to allow him to fight the way he does, and shows him the future at least far enough ahead to allow him to do things like change Takatori's schedule to avoid ambush (that particular scene seems to me to need precognition of at least twenty minutes), and also in minute detail for very close-future events, such as the scene where he punches away Yohji's wire.