Umm…welcome to my first attempt at an Eroica fanfic. Hope you don't run away screaming after reading this. It was written in only one sitting and I hardly even thought about the flow of things.
One more thing, it might seem a cliché but the idea won't leave my head and I have to write it down to make it go away. So…here it is and hope you enjoy.
FORGOTTEN
Monday
When Dorian first opened his eyes, he was greeted by the overjoyed shrieks of James. Soon enough, his men—his family—had filled the entire room and he felt various aches and pains making themselves known all over his body.
There had been a job that had gone horribly wrong. A priceless work of art owned by an unsavory man. Neo-Nazi, his mind had whispered. The Earl remembered how unlucky he was that he had decided to conduct the heist on the day of some important meeting. Security had changed overnight and Dorian was unaware of that fact. They had been caught and had barely managed to escape.
When he arrived to check up on the Earl, the doctor told Dorian he was lucky he had gotten off with only a slight concussion. Not finding anything else wrong, he said Dorian could leave the hospital later that day.
Tuesday
Dorian spent his day at home, not really feeling like doing anything particularly exciting at the moment. He stayed at his residence at the North Downs, spending most of his time in the gardens. There were butterflies there during that time of the year and he watched one particular specimen with interest.
It was green. A pretty green that reminded him of a Mosel wine bottle. He extended his arm and was delighted when the delicate insect landed on it. Eventually, of course, it flew off again and Dorian wondered why he felt so alone when it did.
Wednesday
A nightmare woke him up; the feeling of running away from danger, bullets whizzing by, missing him by centimeters. Breathing labored as he tried to keep up with someone in front of him. Then everything exploded into pain and the world was black.
A stinging pain in Dorian's left hand woke him up. When he opened his hand, there was a name scratched into his flesh. The penmanship was crooked and it seemed as if a sharp object—a knife?—had been used. It was an unfamiliar name, slightly obscured by blood.
Klaus.
Thursday
There was a phone call for him that morning. Bonham had been the one to answer it and he seemed agitated as he spoke. He quickly put down the receiver after a few sharp words then stammered some excuse when Dorian had asked him who it was.
When pressed for answers, Bonham said that it was NATO. Apparently, Dorian was a contractor of theirs. The Earl absorbed this information. After his discharge from the hospital, he had been warned that there might be some slight memory loss, which would be remedied over time. Dorian absently ran his fingers over the gauze covering his palm.
He was glad that he had not forgotten anything really important.
Friday
After lunch, there had been a disturbance at the front door. A young man, German by his looks, was demanding to be let inside to talk to the Earl. Bonham and James were both trying to make him leave while the rest of Dorian's men were watching the spectacle. Based on the noises coming from outside, the German was not alone.
Dorian was not feeling particularly well that day so he simply told his men not to let any visitors inside unless it was important. He watched—slightly amused—from a few feet away and Bonham told the German that his Lordship would not entertain any visitors.
Dorian caught a glimpse of the German and admired his blond hair and blue eyes. There were around twenty-six people outside and the tall beauty was shouting that they be let in, that he had something important to give Dorian that was for his eyes only.
A name someone shouted caught Dorian's attention.
Klaus.
The Earl told Bonham to accept the letter that the German was brandishing before sending them away. A sudden bout of dizziness attacked him and he promptly forgot about the letter in lieu of sleep.
Saturday
A large box arrived outside his door the next day, covered with "Fragile" and "Handle with care" stickers all over it. Based on the address it came from Germany. From somewhere called Schloss Eberbach.
Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach.
Dorian remembered the letter from yesterday and opened it after telling his men to move the crate into his room. Neat, bold handwriting on a simple white piece of paper.
Take care of Tyrian.
Tyrian? Dorian went over to the crate and opened it. After digging through the layers of tissue paper and all kinds of padding meant to keep precious things safe, he pulled out a large painting.
The Man In Purple.
And everything came rushing back at him. The failed mission. Klaus and him running away from Neo-Nazis. Klaus pushing him out of the way only to get hit by a bullet that had been meant for Dorian. Cradling Klaus in his arms. Being hit by someone who had sneaked up behind him. Losing consciousness, shouts of the Alphabets and his men in the background, aware only of the body lying limp in his arms and the growing pool of red.
Sunday
Dorian lay down on his bed, staring at the painting propped up beside him. His vision growing bleary, he felt tears slipping down his cheeks as the proud face in the painting looked back at him.
He could almost hear Klaus shouting, calling him an idiot. A fop. Degenerate. Pervert. Of all those things, he was an idiot, first and foremost.
After all, wasn't he an idiot for forgetting about the only man he ever loved? And now Klaus wasn't there anymore and he would never be able to come back…
He felt tired, his entire body slowly shutting down. The poison was taking too long, he thought distractedly as he waited. If he was going to die, might as well die while looking at his beloved.
As sapphire eyes closed, he saw a bright green butterfly perched on the edge of the painting.