Cold wasn't supposed to paralyse him. He knew that. Vaguely. He should be able to handle cold. Cold was merely a matter of ... what? He half-heartedly tried to remember, but even to think was difficult. His mind felt buried in mud and as if each thought had to fight to the death just to to reach him. There was considerable pain too, but the pain didn't bother him as much as the cold. The pain was ... old? Currently not as persistent, anyway. Where the cold bit the hardest, the pain was less. The areas that ached the most were the comparatively warm areas, but each time his sluggish thoughts began to wander off in that direction, they encountered a blank wall. He was distantly aware that such a thing normally would rouse his interest: it would make him look even more insistently. He was good at digging up truths, that he knew, but something about the way the mind block ... tasted - strange word, but it was the only one that felt roughly right - told him that it was he himself who had erected the barrier. He must have thought it best for him not to think too closely of why the warmth enveloped the pain in his ... in his ... hands? Why would his hands be-- Don't go there!

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The news hit Dorian as a fire in the Louvre would have. He felt as if in free fall. At any moment he would land brutally - breaking every bone in his body. He had already fretted terribly for over two weeks, ever since Major von dem Eberbach had been reported MIA. Terrible, terrible thoughts had haunted him, day after day. The entire European underworld - at his beck and call through the Rogues' Gallery - had been on high alert, looking for any trace of what might have happened during his poor darling's fateful mission in the high north of Finland. And now the news. First of all, Major von dem Eberbach had been - blessed world! - found!

That, however, was not what had rocked Dorian to his core. Oh, he had felt a brief moment of intense relief, yes, of course. Major von dem Eberbach was alive and for a few moments that was all that mattered. Until he heard the other news ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Sudden loudness, startling him - hurting him terribly. Light - blinding him. Hurts! He tried to growl at them: tried to tell them to get the hell away from him, but the thought wouldn't take shape on his tongue. Being grabbed. Hurts! He tried to fight, but that made the hurt all that much more intense. His hands were pulled out of - Don't go there, don't go there! Loud noises searing him. Go away! Where's my, my ... The thought was lost in despair as everything turned blessedly black and silent.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"B-brain damaged?"

Unimaginable. Impossible. Unthinkable.

"Too early to tell, Milord. He's at a hospital up in Inari. They be doing their best, but they don't know yet. Perhaps he be drugged, perhaps--"

"Yes! Of course the major's drugged! He'll get better!"

"Milord, don't--"

"Get transportation there at once! Quickest speed possible! I need to get there now! Steal me a jet plane!"

"Yes, Milord."

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The cold lessened - only to be replaced by horrible heat. He tried to crawl away, but was cruelly bound - unable to do anything but wriggle, toss and turn. Could only keen his anger and frustration in a low voice - too weak even to growl. He was being ... Word, word, word? ... tortured. What did they want? Who were they? He would say nothing, though, he had made sure of that.

Loud noises cut into his ears. The heat engulfed him, the fire pressing like acid against his eyeballs - and like a wave against his eyelids, when he finally was able to shut them. Rolling up and down his aching body. Red ... red ... There was something about red he should remember. Red could be both good and very bad. This was bad red. Hurting him.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

On the plane to Helsinki, Dorian cried. Once in a while he did enjoy a good bout of tears - when reading a nice, angsty book a good cry could be surprisingly freeing. And on the rare occasion when a friend of his was hurt or even died - luckily, the latter had only happened very rarely - he cried too. No matter if the tears messed up his eyes: he had never been afraid to let them see how much he cared for them. He liked to think that showing his emotions made him a stronger person.

This, however, was not a graceful cry. He lay with his head in Bonham's lap, being rhythmically patted on the shoulder. The rest of his gang hovered close by. James sat at his feet, holding on to them in that strangely possessive way of his, as if Dorian was a gold coin that otherwise might be stolen from the little miser. Dorian pulled strength from them all, but he kept crying.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Assault upon assault; bombardments of pain and unpleasantness. Drowning him in sweet syrup. Forcing rough stones down his throat. Keeping him awake for days with the sharp light and the cutting noise and the foul scents. The Russians had learned new tricks. Was it the Ruskies? His jumbled mind wouldn't let him remember and nothing shouted around him made any sort of sense; was just so much garbled noises - much too loud, hurting him so much ...

"We have ways," he remembered a bear cub saying, but that was a long time ago, wasn't it? A bear cub? Why would a bear cub speak to him? Had he already lost his mind? Good - that way he couldn't babble secrets, could he? Not that he was able to speak. At least he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to, but there might be ways, yes, there might be ways ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Finland. Land of the Thousand Lakes. Dorian had visited the country before, if rarely. Last time had been for an exhibition of sculptures at the Ateneum Art Museum (he had left with a lovely little souvenir in the form of a delightful drawing by Albert Edelfelt). Volovolonte had a cousin somewhere thereabout, Don of the Finnish mob. He had been the one to alert Bonham that Klaus had been found. And about the state he was in ...

Dorian didn't even have the strength to work up a smile for the admittedly pretty young blond who expertly helped them through customs and onto the connecting flight, the one to Ivalo. One of Don Makkonen's men, he assumed, but he didn't bother to make sure. Bonham would know and Bonham would never jeopardise their safety. Later, Dorian would think of rewards; right then he could think of nothing beyond what they might find on reaching Ivalo Hospital.

Then into the passenger seat of a Lamborghini Countach, with John Paul at the wheel. Normally Dorian would have wanted to handle the powerful machine himself, but his hands shook too hard. He trusted John Paul, though - trusted all of his men. They would get him to where he needed to be.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

On rare occasions he would find himself in less brightness and almost quiet, as if they had left him alone. As if the torment might have an end. Never completely at ease, though, of course not. The heat remained, flushing him, followed by smaller, sharp waves of pain, centred to his, his ... sometimes he remembered the word, at other times not. His hands - Don't go there! - didn't hurt much at all, they were even comparatively cool. That was ... good? Why would that be -- Don't go there! He couldn't move them, though, without being hampered by whatever rough material bound him. Since he couldn't see he had tried to creep down to reach the bonds with his teeth. Before he more than lowered his head, he had been violently ill. Whatever they had forced into him tasted so foul going up again he lost consciousness.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

As the 'ghini slid to a stop at the parking lot of the Finnish hospital, Dorian forced himself to sit up straight and breathe deeply while gathering his thoughts. He needed to be alert now, needed desperately to be at the top of his strength and wit. After having exited the car he stretched, rolling his shoulders, and then arranged his face to look sharp and cool. His gang took up positions around him. Together they marched towards the hospital entrance.

On informing a confused nurse about whom he was there to see, he was directed to a stark white waiting room with the most dreadful canvases of "modern art". Dorian could have drawn better than that himself at the tender age of two. A more welcome sight was six morose-looking Alphabets huddling there already. A, B, G, T, U and W. Startled, Dorian remembered that six Alphabets had accompanied Klaus when he went missing. Bonham hadn't mentioned them being recovered.

"Lord Gloria," A greeted him, sounding very tired.

"How is he?"

A shook his head. "They've patched him up and have him on infusions, even got some food into him, but he's ... he's not responding. They ... let us in, me and B, to see if he reacted to familiar voices, but ..."

"It was horrible," B said quietly. The stocky agent shuddered. He had yet to lift his head.

"He didn't react to us either," A continued. "He's just ... He growls and moans and moves around as if in pain, but they find nothing wrong with him."

Dorian shuddered as well. "Where's the doctor? I need more information. And I need to see him right away."

"Doctor Kiviaho promised they will bring us any updates. They're not letting in any visitors, just made an exception for the two of us, to see if he'd recognize us in any way."

"John Paul - fetch this doctor. A - where's his room? That way? Room number?"

"1215. They'll keep him here, see what they can do, but when he's more stable they'll send him to a NATO-- Lord Gloria! You can't just go in there!"

Of course Dorian could! He bloody well could do whatever he wanted!

He marched down the white corridor. 1209, 1211, 1213 ... Ah. 1215. He barely took time to glance at the name badge by the door, handwritten - Klaus van dem Eberbasch - and wonder why the Alphabets hadn't had the sense to inform the doctors of the correct spelling - Klaus will have their hides if they don't correct that. - before, filled with foreboding, he opened the door. Inside it was almost completely dark. A few red panels shone or blinked slowly. In the ambivalent light from the corridor he spotted a switch to the door's right. So he used it.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Never total silence. Always noises, hurting him. Bop bop bop - couldn't it just stop? It had to be some form of Chinese water torture, but he felt no drops, just the half-deafening bop bop bop. Screeching noises. Murmurings that were almost, but not quite words. With an actual word thrown in occasionally, just to confuse him. Bastards.

Hellishly sharp noises that made him want to scream, but if he started screaming he feared he would never be able to stop. At least the overwhelming red - bad red, not good red - had dimmed, making the headache lessen a tiny bit, making it just a little easier to think, even if he had nothing to think about. A steady thunder approaching - boom-boom, boom-boom ... A searing, metallic squeal! And then a full-force assault of red!

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"Nnnnn! Nnnnnnnnn ... Nnnnnnnnnnn ..."

The whines chilled Dorian's blood and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Nnnnnnnnnn ..."

Small noises, not quite begging - just continuous, hopeless little complaints.

"Nnnnnn ..."

Stiffly, with his heart threatening to bounce up his throat, Dorian jerked his body around to face the room. Finally he saw the bed - and what occupied it. Then A pushed him aside and got his hand on the switch, flipping it off. The whining stopped.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Red, red, red, he hated the red! The bad red, hurting him all over! Mercifully, this time it only lasted a short time. Not that it was completely gone - it remained in the background, merely scratching at him, not tearing. Bearable. More noises though - loud growls, like a a huge machine revving up. A truck? Or a ... big, metal, beautiful, what was it called ...? Again, he tried to move his ... his ... hands - Don't go there! - to cover his ears, but they were held with ... with ... it felt like barbed wire around his wrists. Damn all this! How was he going to escape the red if he couldn't move? Had to escape. That was imperative. At least he could tell them nothing ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"It's the light," A explained in a whisper. "It hurts him."

Yes, Dorian had understood that. "Why is he bound?"

"He tried to hurt everyone who got close enough. He's weak as a kitten, but ... well ... he's well trained. They couldn't risk it. Not at a civilian hospital."

"And the blindfold? The light?"

"It gets even worse without it."

Dorian hissed in annoyance. "So they leave Iron Klaus blind and bound and figure he will just lie there and take it?"

"They try to keep him sedated, but it's not healthy for him to be under for long periods of time."

"I have to ..." Dorian leaned out into the corridor, never doubting that the man he sought would be patiently waiting for him. "Bonham? Night goggles."

"Here, Milord." Perhaps his trusted SIC had already anticipated the request, possibly forewarned by Don Makkonen, for a pair was immediately produced. Dorian swiftly put them on. He disliked wearing them - they were, of course, hell on his hair. "Now get out. I have to close the door."

"No!" Surprisingly enough, the vehement protest came from B. It invoked another moan from the bed. "We're, ah ... We're not leaving you alone with him!"

"Not when he's like this," A filled in, also sounding determined.

Then, as one, both agents stepped in front of Dorian, arms folded. Dorian blinked in surprise. Then, he frowned. "You - you think I would ... that I would ... do ... something to him when he's like this? A? B? You can't be serious! I've never heard anything so preposterous!"

"Nnnnn ...."

B had the good grace to blush. "He's defenceless, Lord Gloria. We ... We're not taking any chances." He didn't move.

Despite their utter idiocy Dorian still felt a measure of respect for what they tried to do. "Very well then. Bonham - another pair of night goggles for Herr A. Then close the bloody door!"

"Nnnnn!" came from behind the agents. They both jumped, even if the sound in itself wasn't very intelligent. Another pair of night goggles appeared, A took them and then the door, finally, shut. Dorian switched his pair on.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Most of the remaining bad red also retreated. There were still noises though - annoying noises that made it so difficult for him to concentrate ... Bapp bapp! Bapp bapp! Bapp bapp! Bapp bapp! Couldn't they just stop?! Why didn't he have his - his ... his ... the thing? That he could use! To make things silent! Where was his ... his ... ? The word just escaped him - it was there, on the tip of his tongue, but it evaded him, over and over. Not good ... The bapping noises increased in strength and then followed a sealike rumble that churned his belly and made him want to vomit.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Dorian had to take another strengthening breath before facing the bed again. As always the glow of the night goggles made him feel slightly disoriented. The small areas of light almost vibrated and the shades looked eerily ghost-like. As did the man on the bed. The short hair made Dorian hope, for one brilliant second, that it wasn't Klaus at all. It had all been just a terrible misunderstanding. Klaus was in a second bed, perhaps, sleeping soundly. He would wake up at any second now and start yelling at them all. Alas, no. Of course not. There was no mistaking the firm jaw that jutted out over the cover, or the proud nose, even if the blind fold covered part of it. Or the still so very kissable mouth, opened as if a lover's tongue could slip right in. The lips weren't just kissable, though, they were chafed and partly swollen - the cheek on that side sported a greenish blue bruise. Hands rested limply on the cover. They were both bandaged - but also bound to the bed's edge. Part of the cover had been pulled to the side, revealing a long leg in a thick plaster cast, also tied up, perhaps to avoid thrashing. The head moved - very, very slowly, but constantly. Occasionally a hand twitched.

"Oh Major ... " Dorian whispered, horrified by the sight.

"Nnnnn ..."

Dorian drew in his breath sharply. Had Klaus heard? Had he recognized his voice? Had he understood?

"Major?" He stepped closer, heart strumming with hope. "Major? Can you hear me?"

"Lord Gloria--" A began, but Dorian fiercely waved him off.

"Major von dem Eberbach?"

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

A call, from so far, far away. Yes ... A call. For ... him? No, it couldn't be. No. Too painful. Too far away. Just a noise. A kind of nice noise. From ... the good kind of red. Yes ... The right kind of red. Maybe ... Just maybe he could—

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"Major, can you--"

The door suddenly opened, flooding the night goggles. Dorian hissed sharply at the influx, but his reaction - and the loud, male voice saying, "Mitä pirua täälä oikein--" were both drowned out by a loud wail from the bed.

"Nnnnnnnn!"

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Nonononono, noisenoisenoise! Make it go away! Not for him - of course the nice call hadn't been for him! Alone, all alone, not for him. Painpainpain. Go away! Go away! Aaaaaaahhhh ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Dorian attacked. Viciously. If his beloved major had been in possession of his full faculties he would no doubt have been impressed - if curious where the man he so often chided for being useless in fights had learned rugby. Dorian's shoulder caught poor Doctor Kiviaho mid-chest and a moment later the man was on the corridor floor.

"B! Keep him out!" Dorian ordered sharply - yet keeping his voice low. Then he dove back into the room, closing the door quickly behind him - but not so quickly that he didn't catch the heavy wood before it banged against the frame. Then he blinked several times, finding it hard to believe what he had just done. Normally he never got that physical, except for rare occasions in bed. Not that it mattered in the least. All that mattered was that the horrible wailing slowly tapered off. Ignoring the obviously baffled A, Dorian returned to the bed - careful not to let his heels clatter against the hard floor.

"Major?" he whispered. "'s all right now. All peace and quiet. I'll make sure you're not disturbed again."

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The right kind of red again. Nice. Far away, but soothing. The horror that had assaulted him was gone, replaced by a lull in the torture, letting him catch his breath. The bear cub would do that. Yes. Why would a bear cub do anything? Still lots of annoyances, making him want to crawl away - if only the enemy hadn't bound him so tight ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"Nnnn ..."

Dorian hated that sound with a passion. At least it didn't seem as filled with mindless pain as just before. He knelt by the hospital bed, wondering what on Earth he was to do - and how long he had before the doctor fought his way back in. Something moved on the other side of the bed and he glanced over to see A kneeling in a mirroring position.

"Nnnn ..."

The bound figure tugged at the wrist bands and then moaned again, as if hurt. Dorian couldn't stop himself from reaching out. Instinctively knowing that any use of force would be met with more wailing, he - as gently as he was ever capable of - brushed the pad of his index finger against the nearest, sturdy wrist, on a small patch of pale skin that blinked between the hospital gown and the ropes. The figure before him shuddered violently.

"Nnnnnn!"

"Shhhh ... Don't wanna hurt you ..." he whispered, barely audible. "Shhhh ... It'll be fine ... Calm down ... Shhh ...."

"Nnnnn ..."

Feeling utterly hopeless, Dorian looked up at A again. The agent shook his head softly.

"Well, what then?" Dorian mouthed. He knew A to be fluent at lip reading.

"I don't know," A mouthed back.

"That doctor. Idiot."

"Nnnnn ...."

A nodded firmly.

"What happened?"

"Mission gone bad. The others ... didn't make it. They don't know what's going on with him."

"Trauma? Was he ra-- No, forget about that, doesn't matter."

"Raped? As far as they have told us of his injuries, no."

"As I said, it wouldn't matter. He won't be staying here, will he? Hush, Major, hush ... There, there ..."

"Nnnnn ..."

"NATO hospital. When he can be moved."

"Better?"

A paused in a way that was not encouraging. Finally, though, he answered, "It won't be worse."

"Nnnnn ...."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "You'll be with him?" Under his patient hand the twitching had finally stopped.

"Some of us. Always."

Dorian nodded. Better than nothing. "Keep me fully updated."

Again A nodded, very firmly. "Yes, Lord Gloria."

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The right kind of red had gone away again. With him so briefly, just teasing him, then going away. Leaving him to the torturers. Why? It didn't like him. Not for him, that was why. Things changed - intense cold again and he waited for his hands to - nonono -Don'tgotheredon'tgotheredon'tgothere - and he was bound so tight, tight, so hard - couldn't breathe why was this happening? Then the heat again, suffocating him and the noisenoisenoise - sounds deafening him and hurting so very much and the various horrors, wrecking him, hurting him, vomiting, hurthurthurt ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Dorian sat in front of his fireplace. He felt little of the usually so comforting warmth and barely heard the crackles of the jumping flames. Beside him, on a 16th century foot rest, stood his black Cobra phone and it was a toss up if he was waiting for a call or geared up his nerves to make one himself. He was not alone. They rarely left him alone these days. James sat at the main table of the room, working as diligently as always with his number-filled books and his beloved Casio. Jones lay on the sofa, with his feet up on the armrest, reading a Western paperback novel. Bonham's steady hands worked on some kind of mechanic device. His occasional use of a very small hammer was the loudest noise in the room - followed closely by James's steady clickety clickety click and the before mentioned fireplace. Lastly came the soft swishes Jones made when turning pages.

Dorian stared into the fire. He followed the movements within almost as if hypnotised - marvelling at the abundance of colours as the heat shifted. His mind was divided - call or wait, call or wait? He had waited so long already, unable to do anything but sit there- hardly able to even eat as he waited. He knew, in a vague kind of way, that was why the men hung around. They worried for him, bless them.

Well, didn't he have things to worry about, then? His poor, poor Major. Still in unchanged condition after his ordeal. Well, exactly what had happened during the captivity no one knew. There had been signs of a beating and a deep cut to his right leg, but that could conceivably have happened during the escape and the aftermath. One of the Alphabets hadn't been as lucky, A had said, but hadn't mentioned who. They had all been dead in the forest clearing they had been found in - and one of them had borne evidence of a rather systematic torture. Possibly they had started in on one of Klaus's subordinates to get them all to talk. Dorian could only imagine how that must have torn at Klaus, to be forced to witness something like that. And then, the escape - lightly dressed in the raw cold of the Inari forest. Huddling together for warmth, no doubt, by the evidence unable to get a fire started ...

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Crash!

Bang!

"Yes?" Dorian answered, as his eyes darted across to room to make sure the crash and the bang hadn't come from anything potentially dangerous. Alas, no - Bonham had merely dropped his thingamagog and James his Casio. Jones read on, possibly completely engrossed in the adventures of whatever cowboys he adored.

"It's me, C."

C. Yes. Short, reddish blond and Austrian, rather than German. One of Klaus's older agents and strangely one of his favourites, despite his deficiency in choosing a proper land of birth. Very reliable in any situation, but tended to fade into the background, possibly as a defence mechanism to avoid the full impact of Klaus's expectations.

"How is he?"

"Unchanged. A told me to call you today." They had set up a schedule of someone calling Dorian daily – more often, if something changed. "He's still with him. We're rotating. We're not leaving him alone again."

"Again?" Dorian asked, wondering why this seemed so important - and why C sounded so angry.

"He's ... They ... They're useless, incompetent, lazy arses!" C exploded, actually making a half-way decent imitation of his immediate superior.

"What happened? C, what did they do?"

"They ... Lord Gloria, I ... To hell with them! They're making it worse! I said he's unchanged, and he's ... He's not different than he was - is, most of the time. They moved him to the psychiatric ward. They've dealt with all his injuries and they're fine or on the mend. It's just ... He's still unreachable and they've begun to ... experiment."

"Was?!" Then Dorian blinked. "I mean - what? What are you talking about, C?"

"Trying to get him to react to different things. It isn't working. He's withdrawing, deeper and deeper. He comes back to ... well, you know how he was, but it takes longer and longer. And they're ... Some of them ... Not all, I'm not saying all of them, but some of them--"

"C! What! Are! They! Doing?"

"Poking and prodding, trying different things, heat and cold, medication, trying to get him to react. I just can't bear to listen to him when they're-- We've tried to make them see that it isn't doing him any good - we can all tell, but they just won't listen. And when A and B were on guard and B went to eat and A had to use the loo, they ... It took over two hours before he was back to, well ... normal ..."

Dorian realised with a start that he was no longer sitting by the fire, but standing with the phone cord in a tight loop around his wrist, squeezing the receiver hard as if it were the neck of whatever idiot had dared to hurt his major ... There and then, not even thinking things over, he made his decision. "C? Tell A to make ready to evacuate."

"Ja, Lord Gloria," said C, sounding grateful. "I will."

When the phone disconnected Dorian sat down again. As he thought things through more carefully he was aware of nothing else, not even the still playful fire.

"M'lord?" he heard vaguely. Bonham.

Good old Bonham. Bonham was good at what he did. Excellent at what he did, actually. Normally, Bonham could have done whatever Dorian deemed necessary.

"Milord? What are you planning?"

Jones. Also very reliable. The thing was - they would be expected. The NATO hospital had all their pictures. And the Alphabet, while no doubt on his side by the sound of things, well ... They were men of the law. He couldn't allow them to take too big risks, not even for Klaus's sake. Not if it could be avoided. Not when they could be out of jobs and hunted like petty criminals. He'd take them in, of course, but ... no. Klaus would never forgive him. So ... He would need help. Outside help. Luckily ...

"Oh, Milord, this is going to get expensive, isn't it?"

Yes, dear James, Dorian thought, too busy planning his coup to actually open his mouth and put his thoughts to words. This will get expensive.

For it happened to be that Dorian knew a man who quite possibly might be the world's leading expert in springing patients from mental wards. If you need help. And if no one else can help you. Maybe you can hire ...

He lifted the phone again, frowning faintly as he worked hard to remember what number to dial, taking into account the year, the day of the week and the land he called from ... Then he swiftly dialed the eleven digits, urging the disc on with a finger on the way back to speed on the progress.

"Sticking out like a sore thumb," he said regally. Spy games ...

"Green." Amusing, in a way.

"On a stove in the house near Worcester." Ironic that I have to play them to help my very own spymaster.

"No, Worcester. Oh, for Heaven's sake, man - Wor-ces-ter, then." Was it really that difficult? Normally even Americans could pronounce the word correctly. The man must be from elsewhere.

"Take me to the airport. I intend to never return." I do wonder what Klaus would think, if he knew.

Then, finally, he got to speak to a sensible person. One of his favourite persons in existence, truth be told. Even if he happened to be American. "Hello, Cousin Tem," he said.

The voice on the other end of the line answered him in turn. They weren't really cousins, but had decided that they wanted to be. Brothers would be too close - Dorian couldn't have continued to flirt as shamelessly as he did, had they been brothers - so cousins it was.

"You busy? I find myself in a bit of a bind here and could do with a spot of help. Quite. No, Germany."

Where they had, finally, flown the major, thinking him more likely to respond when addressed by the doctors in his native tongue. Much good it had done them.

"Of course I'll pay for the trip, dear Tem," he hastened to assure him, ignoring James's moan. "Capital. Now, actually. Yesterday. A week ago. Two months ago. But if you could be a dear and make it tomorrow afternoon I will be waiting, arms unfurled, just for you. All my love, Templeton. Ta."

With a plan forming and help on the way, he felt a little better already.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Increasingly long periods of peace - but always, always interrupted. First storms of nagging noises and the horrible smells and the other means of torture. Annoying, hurting and half-overwhelming, but barely manageable. Then, suddenly, the enemy pushed again, trying to break him, doing something so horrible, insidious and terrible he almost couldn't credit it. Though where were the questions? Not that he would answer - no, no, he had seen to that. Not answer - never answer. But there should be questions. He vaguely suspected something to be wrong. No questions. Perhaps it didn't matter. Soon he would dive into the peace which would envelop him entirely. He wanted to stay there, where things were cool and blue and shady. Soon, he felt/knew/remembered. Soon he would be able to stay there. Stay there - forever ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

G and H had Eberbach-Wache around noon two days later. D, who had been on morning duty together with B, had pulled G to the side and told him that something would happen. What was as of yet unknown, but they should expect something ... glorious ... Last word said meaningfully, if with a hint of sweat on D's forehead. G had prepared himself for anything. Both he and H had brought travel bags along, as had D and B earlier, ready to leave at a moment's notice. The twenty remaining members of the Alphabet had discussed matters at length. All were in agreement. The hospital was bad for their superior. Ergo, they had to get him out of there. They themselves could do little, but there was one who could - and who would. It just remained to see just exactly what he planned - and what roles they themselves would be assigned to play.

G sat by the window, studying the cars and people moving past. The psychiatric ward was on the second floor. Had Klaus been merely injured they could have gone out through the window, but with Major von dem Eberbach next to unconscious and in a wounded, vulnerable state that would be difficult. Occasionally G could hear the man moan softly. As always, the noise gave him the shivers. He loved Major von dem Eberbach, if mostly in a puppy kind of hero-worshipping way. He was perfectly aware that nothing ever could or would come of his little crush. That didn't matter in the least. He was happy with swooning at a distance, admiring and - whenever possible - being of use. A smile would last him-- well, actually, a smile would probably kill him, but a non-hostile look from Major von dem Eberbach would last him for days, and even the most backhanded type of compliment would make him warm and happy deep down to his very soul. The horror they currently lived through was driving him insane. And he couldn't bear to think how awful it must be for their proud, self-sufficient major, if he was aware of his surroundings on any but the most primal level.

The door opened. There had been no heralding knock. Good. That meant that whoever entered was no idiot, but had actually paid attention to the A4 with "BITTE NICHT ANKLOPFEN!" [Do not knock!] in huge letters which A had finally glued to the door. Too many doctors and nurses really were idiots. In the short time he and H had been there H had been forced to escort two nurses back into the hallway, where he could explain to them in no uncertain words the meaning of the note. Meanwhile, G had hovered over their restlessly tossing superior, who had begun to convulse at the noises made by the careless "ladies".

On turning G saw a handsome man, with dark hair, sharp eyes and a white doctor's outfit. He smiled sunnily at them before approaching the bed. G immediately followed suit, to keep an eagle eye on what the man would be doing. Some idiot doctors thought they had carte blanche just because the major happened to be unconscious. Luckily, Dr Handsome did nothing but study the major's face intently. Then he looked up at G and his smile turned decidedly appreciative. G could feel his insides fairly melt. What a gorgeous man! A true gentleman, that was instantly clear.

"Hello," said the doctor in barely a whisper. "I'm Dr Peck, but a beautiful woman such as yourself must call me Templeton." He had a clear, American accent.

G felt himself blushing. "Call me G," he said, all but giggling. His real name was ... was ... Well, it did have a G in it.

"G," Doctor Peck confirmed, eyes warm and full of charm. "G for Gloria, no doubt. You do look glorious."

G's blush deepened. Then he realised what had actually been said and glanced over to H, waving him closer. When his fellow agent joined them, he turned to Dr Peck again. "We're ready. What do you want us to do?"

The man's smile never wavered. "Leave it all to me. I know exactly what I'm doing."

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Suddenly he could move again. Not much, no, everything hurt far too intensely for that, but he could raise his hands - Nonono, don't go there!- , just a little bit. Still not enough to reach his aching face, but the fact that they were no longer trapped in - No! Don't think about it! - had to mean some kind of progress, mustn't it? But then the enemy attacked again - this time moving him, tossing him back and forth and up and down and up and down - was it some kind of bloody roller coaster? His stomach turned and heaved and his mouth flooded. He was drowning! He couldn't breathe! It burned! No, no, no - go away! Where was the cool blue? He needed the blue.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Dorian had stood in the window for close to an hour, when he finally spotted the rapidly approaching van. He had wanted to accompany them, but he knew that his own face must be plastered all over the hospital, warning everyone that he might try to reach the major. For a brief moment he felt a burning, all-encompassing hatred - as if he would hurt his dear, dear major while the man was totally helpless? To hell with them all! Then he made a conscious effort to suppress his angry thoughts. They would do neither him nor the major any good. He had to be calm and efficient. Klaus needed him.

Abandoning his sentry post he padded downstairs. Bonham followed like a sentient shadow. Dorian felt grateful for the silent support - and for the hand that rested, warm and secure, on his shoulder, as the back of the van opened up. H and Jones clambered out, each carrying one half of a stretcher which they carefully manoeuvred out. Then a huge, dark-skinned man emerged with the other end - he looked strong enough to carry the entire thing by himself. Finally G and Templeton. Dorian hurried down, anxiously looking at the stretcher's passenger.

The major was out cold, head lolling slackly to the side.

"He was screaming," Tem said and put his arms around Dorian from behind. Since Dorian was taller than him, this was slightly awkward, but Dorian appreciated the gesture. "I thought it best to sedate him."

Dorian didn't like that - didn't like that at all, but he merely nodded. Done was done and he was sure it had been the best option, considering the circumstances. "Thank you, Cus'," he said and reached back to pat Tem's side.

Meanwhile the three had carried the stretcher very carefully up the stairs. Bonham walked first, to show them the way to the room so lovingly prepared.

"Always happy to help you," Tem answered, sounding completely sincere. "So, this is the guy, right? The one you've been mooning after?"

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Blue, blue, blue, blue. Blessed, cool, nice blue. Without the tastes and smells and feelings and all the other things that pained him so. Just cool and rest. So nice ... He could float in the blue, occasionally catching glimpses of far-away movement, but nothing that alerted him; nothing to made him wary of danger. Just peace and quiet. Rarely he would experience a kind of gentle wave through the world, too slow to even make him nauseous. It felt proper. An ocean such as this should have waves - gentle, huge waves, to rock him to sleep. Nice, cold, blessed blue ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"Yes," Dorian answered his pretend cousin's teasing query absentmindedly. "He's the one."

"Well, I can't tell much about him, when he's out like this. I thought you said he had, what was it, 'hair like raven's wings, shimmering like moon's darkness, lovely tresses that--'"

"They ... cut it!" Dorian spat the hated word, then had to stop and lean into his cousin's well-meaning hug.

"The torturers?" Templeton asked softly and patted his back.

"No!" Dorian had to draw a steadying breaths before continuing. "Those damned doctors! Curse them all! G and B were out of the room just for a few minutes, and they-- Oh, Tem!"

"It'll grow out again," Templeton mumbled soothingly and continued to pat him. "Well, I was just going to say that when you get your man on his feet again, I expect an invitation, so I can come over and make sure he takes proper care of you - and have BA kick his hiney if he doesn't."

At that image, Dorian had to smile, if only faintly. "Thank you, Tem," he said seriously. Then he hurried after the stretcher to make sure his beloved was settled properly.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

No! The blue slowly faded, replaced by all the horror of The Other Place. He hung upside down and was tossed back and forth - yet strangely not, but that was what it felt like, how all the blood pumped through his head, hurting so much. The rush of his own life was almost deafening - and all the other noises: enormous booms, like that of giants dancing with wooden clogs. His skin burned and he tried to chase the blue that quickly pulled away, only to suddenly run into a black wall of pain. Smell wasn't involved for the moment, though - at least some relief. He did smell something - but it was familiar and mostly harmless. Strange, that. Still, the others didn't give him more than the briefest of moments to contemplate that change. Hurtshurtshurts ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

"Nnnnnn ... Nnnnn ..."

Major von dem Eberbach had started moving almost as soon as they had settled him on the bed. Dorian at once squatted nearby. He gently caught one of the slowly moving wrists - not restraining it, merely rubbing a fingertip to the pale skin in tiny, tiny circles, hoping to somehow break through to reassure.

"Nnnn ... Nnnnn ..."

"We've got you, major," he whispered as softly as he was ever capable of. "We've got you. Husssh, now ... Husssh. Calm down. They won't hurt you any more. You're safe here, I swear it. You're safe." To look at the still all but shaven head put a huge lump in his throat. Major Klaus von dem Eberbach, NATO's finest, wasn't supposed to look like that, damn it! My poor hedgehog ...

And after a long, long time, the weak mewling finally subsided and the long body came to a precarious rest.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The red! It had returned to him. The right kind of red. It was close, just beside him, and somehow everything else muted out. The huge gagumping noises remained, but not as overwhelming as before. He didn't feel quite as dizzy either and his skin didn't burn so much, especially not his wrists, where he felt a kind of lingering coolness - one of the first pleasant sensations he had felt in ... ever? Had he been in this pain forever? It felt as if he had. He greedily concentrated on the cool red, hoping it would stay with him from now on.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

Dorian sat with his major for several hours, looking at the man he loved so dearly. He had only rarely glimpsed the major asleep before. As always he felt his heart expand at the very sight. It was at such moments he felt his love the most; how it permeated his entire body; how he would like to spend his future with this man. Sickness and health. Good and bad. For rich and for poor. The whole nine yards. Until they were too old and grey to remember a time they hadn't been together - though hopefully never too old to enjoy each other's company.

Dorian always got what he wanted. That was the law. Granted, at rare times he would have to work hard to achieve his goal, but he always got there in the end. He would get his major; his happy ending; his happily ever after. There was no other option. After years of merry chasing he wouldn't let a trifling detail like the major being ill stand in their way. Oh - he would never take advantage of the - for once in a blue moon - helpless figure. He would never, not in a million years, do something that sordid. Had the man been at least awake things might have been different. Then Dorian would have teased him and maybe - just maybe, mind you! - helped himself to just a tiny, itsy bitsy, quick little kiss. Nothing further. He would never do anything that might risk his long-term goal - a committed relationship. Which couldn't happen with one party apparently locked in some kind of private hell, if judged by the moaning and tossing. Something must be done.

"We'll get you well again," he promised, keeping his voice to a barely audible whisper. "I promise you this. Come hell or high water, you will get well again. You're Major von dem Eberbach, are you not? NATO's Iron Klaus? You would never let a little thing like this keep you down."

Still holding Klaus's wrist gently, he closed his eyes and started to plot, all the while wishing for just one affectionate curse word from betwixt those beloved lips.

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The red remained with him for some time, before it abandoned him again. Black swallowed him, removing all input, then spat him out in a horror where something stuck in his throat; then he was tossed about and it hurthurthurt. He was vaguely aware that the pain could be far worse - that he had lived through far worse, in fact. This was nothing, really. The knowledge didn't help. Then came the horrible sounds, like rock concerts being held pressed against his eardrums ... Over and over again ... Perhaps the blue after all?

Only one hesitation held him back from disappearing into the soft, cool blue forever. In the blue there would never be any red, ever again ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

They didn't know for sure exactly what had happened to Klaus, only that he had been found half frozen to death, with his hands stuck up Z's stomach cavity. The latter had been done after the young agent's death, likely as a last ditch effort to keep Klaus's precious hands from getting frostbitten.

Was his near catatonic state mental due to a trauma endured or physical due to some injury or even a poison holding him firmly in its grip? Nobody knew. The NATO doctors had begun to research, even if their bumbling seemed to have only aggravated matters. Dorian had left instructions for them to continue - that if they found some potential cure he would return Klaus to them. Still, he would rather turn to an honest life than rely on them solving the problem. They were all incompetent bunglers - he had heard Klaus mutter about them often enough and even if he knew that Klaus tended to see things in an unfavourable light, in this particular case Dorian happened to agree. The NATO doctors were, after all, bound by certain laws, had limited funds as well as other priorities.

The first thing Dorian did after leaving the room, was to make a few phone calls.

"I need help," he said. "Come."

And so they came.

Evil doctors and assorted geniuses took pause in their manic attempts to take over the world. They came from Europe; they came from America, they came from Africa; they came from Australia and they came from Asia. A plane from Shanghai carried no less than four evil doctors - during the flight three passengers died from rare diseases, a dying man was cured from everything that ailed him and a woman gave birth to twins - the latter also something of a miracle, as she hadn't been pregnant on bordering the plane. Dorian met them all at the door, embraced them like brothers (albeit brothers that he had to wear plastic gloves to touch) and then put them to work. They were allowed to see Klaus briefly, then were given small measures of blood, hair and other substances. Various scans were performed. They worked and they talked and two of them died from natural causes - if natural causes both of them had been immune to - but no one could come up with what ailed the still tormented major.

Treatments were proposed, but none Dorian felt sounded reliable enough. Perhaps a bit of this, to stimulate the brain? Perhaps a tad of that, to soothe the nerves? Perhaps a dose of - well, yes, it would kill him afterwards, but he almost surely would come to first! So he listened to the suggestions and agonized over whether one of them would really be able to help his poor Klaus. Dr. West's re-agent serum sounded harmless enough and the man's reassurance that Klaus would come back after having been given it also sounded sincere, but there was just something about the look in the good doctor's eyes that made Dorian hesitate. He just couldn't be sure and no offered solution sounded right. He allowed the harmless suggestions, but no sign of progress ever came. Klaus no longer seemed to withdraw fully, but neither did his constant unease seem to lessen - except for the rare occasions when Dorian sat alone with him for long periods of time, never talking, barely touching his wrists.

Dorian hired the best nurses available. Predominantly female - and males only if Dorian himself had failed in his best attempt to seduce them. Why he would allow heterosexual females and not homosexual men might be considered hypocritical, but he relied on his instincts of what he thought Klaus would have preferred, had the man been awake.

Weeks passed and Klaus's face - never wide - looked worryingly gaunt. He received the best care money could buy, but getting enough nutrition in him was still difficult - and attempts to give him therapeutic massages or even just move him around to stimulate his muscles were met with so obviously pain filled reactions that the nurses were soon discouraged, unable in the long run to see their attempts as anything but further torture.

When Volovolonte came to visit, Dorian hadn't slept in well over 50 hours. He knew he looked positively dreadful, but didn't care enough to do something about it. Gian Maria was an old friend - if Dorian's appearance shocked him he gave no indication. After a half-hearted initial attempt to jolly Dorian out of his depression the big man came to the cause of his visit.

"I have a lead."

In his dishevelled state it took Dorian a couple of seconds to decipher the statement. "Oh, you do? I would be ever so grateful!"

"You know I love you, Dorian, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. So I put out an alert in the entire Cosa Nostra. Anything that could help your man."

At this, Dorian perked up. He had connections in the Rogue's Gallery - of course he did. All the gentlemen thieves on the planet knew of him. The thugs, though, he had less contact with, and only with very select parts of the Italian organized crime organisation.

"I love you too - like the best brother a man could have." He was aware of that Gian Maria's feelings for him sometimes wavered past the purely platonic, but he had no desire for the rotund Italian, even if he valued their odd friendship. Klaus was all he wanted and, regardless, Volovolonte was not the type of man Dorian would have gone for. "What did you hear?" He had to put an effort in asking gently, rather than grabbing the man by the shirt and shaking the answer out of him.

"Nothing in specific, but a friend of mine, Don Luchiano, knows of a man who has ... knowledge of things. He is ... very special in many ways. Don Luchiano said that he would bet his life that this person will be able to help you."

Dorian took all of a second to make up his mind. If his old friend was convinced, he would go. He would have to see this man in person, and talk to him. And if Don Luchiano was wrong, he would really have bet his life on the matter. With the way Dorian currently felt about things, he was just about ready to kill someone ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The right kind of red abandoned him again. It had done that, off and on, but it had always returned. The presence of the red made things easier to endure. He vaguely remembered when it had gone away for very, very long. Things had been awful. He was prepared for things to go that way again, clinging to the hope that the red would do as it had done that time and return before the blue swallowed him forever. He liked the blue, he really did, but for some reason he didn't want to lose the tenacious connection he had to the red - and he knew that red couldn't exist in the blue. If red went into the blue, it wouldn't be red any more, it would be ... it would be ... To think was so very, very difficult ...

** D/K ** D/K ** D/K **

The trip to America took about 14 hours, all in all. Dorian checked in at the finest hotel in town, slept the rest of the night away, then rose bright and early - much too early for his regular taste, but he had important things to accomplish and a growing need to return to where he ought to be. He arrived at Don Luchiano's house on the dot of nine. The man was .. interesting. A good person to all appearances, yet decidedly ... odd. Odd in a way Dorian didn't quite approve of, even if he - for Klaus's sake - held his tongue. But there was really something strange about the way he doted on his toy poodles.

At 11:30 he stepped into a small Chinatown pet shop. The kimono-dressed Chinese who greeted him was among the prettiest men Dorian had ever seen, with porcelain skin and black hair. His eyes had two separate colours - one purple and one golden.

"Welcome to Count D's pet store," the man said.

"Thank you," Dorian answered smoothly. "I am Lord Red-Gloria. I'm an Earl myself." He wasn't sure what a Count would be doing with a pet store, but perhaps the family had fallen on leaner times. Lord knew there were plenty of nobility around without a penny to their name.

"Charmed to meet you, Lord Red-Gloria. What kind of pet are you looking for? Hmm ... Do let me guess. Something exotic ... Perhaps a lion?"

Owning lions was legal in America? Well, it might be, for all that Dorian knew. "Ah, no. Well, I'm more of a cat person than a dog person, but--"

"Oh, I can see that, your Lordship." For whatever reason the Asian beauty giggled. A pleasant sound, but Dorian began to wonder if drugs were involved. "Not a lion, though. That would be too ... narcissistic. Maybe ... Hmm ... Something a bit wilder?"

Wilder than a lion? "I'm not here to get a pet," Dorian stated quickly. "I was told you might like this?" He held out a large packet, carefully wrapped in gold and red.

Count D - at least Dorian assumed this was the man himself- formed his mouth to a surprised o. His eyes widened. "For me?"

"Don Luchiano suggested they were your favourites."

The packet was quickly taken. Nails so long they made Dorian want to shudder - that was one affectation he had never really gone for - cut up the wrapping with screeching noises. "Oh my!" Count D then exclaimed and held up the huge box of chocolates. His strange eyes shone and he fairly vibrated in place. "Red Diamond Chocolate! Why, thank you, Lord Red-Gloria. They really are my favourites."

The box was opened and Dorian watched in amazement as at least ten of the little blood-red sweets were devoured with blissful single-mindedness. Meanwhile, a young boy in half-open vest, loose trousers and ... ram-horns? entered the room. He stared at Dorian in anger, then hissed to the Count, "Another one! Just like the detective! This one isn't as mangy though. What are you doing, Count D? Getting yourself a harem?"

The Asian had his mouth full. Dorian, somewhat confused, answered for him. "Young man - I assure you that I have no intention whatsoever of being part of anyone else's harem." A sudden image of Klaus and himself as well as selected members from both his own team and the Alphabet, flashed through his mind. He did his best to repress it or he would never be able to look A in the eye again.

Count D started to cough and the vicious boy stared at Dorian, looking surprised. "You ... You can see me?" he asked.

Dorian felt his eyebrows go up. Drugs. Definitely drugs. Before he had time to answer, Count D apparently had his little problem under control. "T-Chan, return to your room. I need to talk to Lord Red-Gloria here alone."

With one last, angry glare, the youngster left. Puzzled, Dorian watched him go before turning his attention once more to his host. Who looked back at him with interest. His mismatched eyes - coloured lenses? - made him look strangely otherworldly.

"Lord Red-Gloria. Tell me ... everything."

And for some reason, Dorian did.

continue in part 2.