A/N : !WARNING!: Some of you may recall in the original warning section that I had listed 'non-con'. I removed it later, however, so that new readers wouldn't assume that this was just another RusGer rapefest. Yeah, that 'non-con' was for this chapter.
Chapter 24
The end of May.
In the afternoons, water dripped from melting icicles.
Spring.
It didn't bring anything bright or beautiful this year; instead, it brought home something Toris had never wanted, and Ivan's long-awaited opportunity to tap into Ludwig's absolute darkness finally came, but never how Ivan had imagined it would.
And, god in heaven, Toris regretted that he had ever lived to see it.
A mild, unassuming day. Peaceful.
Irina came home crying.
She had been out all day. Unusual, yeah, but Toris had been so distracted by the dread of trying to track down Gilbert that he honestly hadn't taken notice until the door clicked shut and she had stumbled right by him. She bolted straight for the bathroom, and Toris really only stopped her because it sounded like she was crying, and Irina didn't cry too much.
He reached out and grabbed her by the arm to hold her still, and he only meant to ask, 'What's wrong?'
Maybe she had been having an 'Ivan moment', remembering the past and thinking strange things as she did.
They shared that as well as their hair.
Didn't get the chance to speak; her appearance immediately startled him into silence.
It took him a minute to see, and another to comprehend.
The first thing he noticed, if only for the contrast, were the bruises on her face. She was so pale, as pale as Ludwig was, that it was easy to see. The next thing he saw was her ripped blouse, half-hidden beneath her coat. Her skirt was dirty, muddy. Dried blood in the corner of her mouth.
He was stunned at first, more than anything.
Who out here would ever have the nerve to lay hands on Irina, knowing who she was and where she lived? He knew the answer before his shaking mind even asked the question, but even so the audacity just seemed outrageous.
What had they been thinking? Who did they think they were? Did they think that all of the talk about Ivan was smoke? That the rumors were just that? Did they think their superiors would protect them? That Ivan would just turn aside, helplessly?
Madness.
"What happened?" Toris finally asked, although his voice was so low that she might not have heard him at all.
Distracted as he was by the trickle of blood making its way down her ankle and onto the floor.
Barefoot. Why was she barefoot?
She didn't answer him. Just kept trying to break away from him and escape into the bathroom.
Stupid. Why had he even asked? He knew, just as he knew who had done it. Didn't know what to say, though. What to do. What could he say to her? Nothing would have sounded right.
What could a man ever really say to woman after somethin' like that?
He was terrified of calling for Ivan, terrified of his reaction and his wrath, but fuckin' Christ, he just didn't know what else to do.
The way she'd been done over.
So he opened his mouth, Irina's wrists still gripped in hands, and cried, "Ivan! Ivan!" He never screamed for Ivan, not like that, not here, so he knew it wouldn't be long before Ivan came running.
If only to see what Toris had fucked up so badly.
Irina kept trying to break free of his grip, wrenching and twisting. Looked more angry than distraught now, as if Toris had agitated her somehow by forcing her still. He tightened his grip, because if she could get a hand free he had no doubt that she was gonna clock him right in the nose.
Her crying had long since stopped, if she had really been crying in the first place.
A low, frightening utter.
"Let go of me."
The look she sent him then nearly froze him up, as piercing and intent as it was. As furious as she was hurt.
Hate.
As if she coulda set the world on fire as easily as Ivan did.
...hell, she kinda looked like Ivan when she was mad, too. That same expression on her face that so often graced Ivan's. The same crinkle of her nose. The same darkness in her eyes. She wrenched again, harder than ever, and as she did she let loose something close to a snarl. He almost let her go, then, out of fear, but too late; heavy boots clunking down the stairs, dull thuds down the hall, and Ivan came skidding around the corner more than marching.
Only when Toris looked up, it wasn't Ivan.
Ludwig.
Ludwig was there first.
Were they so alike now that Ludwig heard someone screaming Ivan's name and assumed they were calling him?
Those horrible little details. Small things.
Ludwig wasn't real anymore.
He stood there, staring at Toris, and Toris stared back at him with hardly any recognition.
Didn't feel Irina in his hands anymore.
Ludwig terrified him.
That might have been the first time, though, that he could have said Ludwig terrified him more than Ivan did.
Toris knew Ivan, well enough at least. He could sense the changing pressure in Ivan's moods. He could see irritation and annoyance in Ivan. He could tell when Ivan was moody or feeling dangerous. He could see when Ivan was content.
Couldn't get anything from Ludwig.
Not a fuckin' thing.
It was as if a phantom had appeared in front of him, and Toris could see him plain as day and yet somehow could only look right through him. A magnetic field; he was there, all the compasses said he was, but you couldn't see him or feel him.
Toris opened his mouth, and faltered under Ludwig's eyes. As much as Ludwig had asked him lately, 'Who am I?', Toris felt the need then to ask, 'Who are you?'
A stranger.
Ivan wasn't far behind, though, appearing beside Ludwig and towering over him with a somewhat frazzled appearance. Ivan and Ludwig were almost the same height, but it usually felt as though Ivan towered over everyone all the same.
Neither of them spoke as they stood there, staring at Toris with wide eyes; not looks of fright, nor alarm, but something more like surprise, as if they couldn't believe that Toris' had had the gall to raise his voice and cry Ivan's name.
Toris, who was really just dirt to them.
He never got the chance to speak, and was grateful, because he wouldn't have known what to say.
Couldn't say it, not to Ivan.
Ivan's eyes fell upon Irina, and Toris saw the first stirring of a very real alarm as his brow scrunched.
Hard to illicit, from a man like Ivan.
Ludwig still seemed thoroughly calm, even as Ivan bolted forward and shoved Toris aside to grab Irina. Probably bruising her more, the way he clenched her upper arms within his great hands.
Toris glanced back, to where Ludwig was still standing rather casually. Unfazed and perhaps a bit perplexed. Just a light lift of his brow and a tilt of his head, as he tried to process this information and figure out what had happened. No panic or anger like Ivan. Curiosity. Took Ludwig a lot longer to get it than Toris had expected, but maybe that was the lingering part of Ludwig that had been naive and certain the world wasn't a terrible place.
Ivan was getting frantic. He had her wrists now, and shook her, voice high-pitched as he cried, "I told you! I told you! Didn't I tell you not to go out alone? Didn't I? Why don't you listen? I told you!"
That wasn't fair—Irina couldn't live cooped up inside a house her entire life.
Not her fault.
Ivan's, for putting her into an unavoidable situation. For knowing those men were trouble and not putting them into place long before.
It wasn't her fault.
She didn't utter a word as he shook her. Just stared up at him, giving him that same terrifying look she had shot Toris.
Ivan didn't scare her. Never had.
Sometimes, Toris was reminded that the same crazy man had created the both of them. Everything that was in Ivan was in Irina too, somewhere. If she had had the power that Ivan did, maybe she would have tried to rule the world, too.
When she looked like that...
Ivan's wrath didn't last long, though, and it was honestly the most emotion Toris had ever seen Ivan express, aside from anger, when he shook his head, lost his voice, and pressed his forehead down into her collar.
As if, in a way, it had been him that had been hurt.
Toris couldn't really say if Ivan felt things like normal people did, but there was no doubt he was feeling something right now. Irina had raised Ivan, as best she could. She was the only person on earth that Ivan really owed anything to. In return, he had tried to protect her from the world and things he found unsatisfactory.
Ha!
Both of them had failed so miserably. Ivan was a train-wreck and Irina was just as vulnerable to the world as anyone.
Toris happened to glance back at Ludwig, then, and saw something interesting.
Understanding.
It was then, when Ivan seemed in distress, that it finally seemed to click in Ludwig's head. Toris observed quietly as Ludwig looked at the bruises on Irina's face, then down at the blood on her leg, and back up. It was clear then that Ludwig finally understood. It had clicked.
And, oh, Toris regretted he had ever seen that, either.
Somehow, someway, even as Ivan clutched Irina and as Irina stared up above his shoulder rather blankly, it was Ludwig far in the back that kept Toris' eye.
The way Ludwig looked.
It hit Toris then, so suddenly, so harshly, that he could see it. That abstract, intangible thing Ivan had spoken so breathlessly about.
He could see it.
It had always been underneath the surface, but now it was there in the open. It was there. It was out.
Darkness.
Ludwig's darkness.
It was silent, but Toris could see it.
Ludwig stood still at first, completely immobile and frozen in place, that curiosity replaced with astonishment, his eyes wide and horrified and stance loose and weak. Barely breathing.
Then, the dark water stirred.
It was subtle, at first. A clench of his fists at his sides. The furrowing of his brow. Quickening of breath and the tensing of his shoulders. Clamping of the jaw.
A ripple.
Then it was obvious. The bursting of a storm in his eyes; dark. His clenched fists twitched. A tint of red on his face. Narrowed eyes. Dilated pupils. Pulse racing in his neck.
A wave.
Toris could only stand there at the ledge and watch the shore below. Nothing would shut those gates now that they were open. No point in even trying.
The worst part of it all was somehow being forced to wonder if Ludwig actually cared a little about Irina, or if Ludwig was so angry now because some part of Ivan had been touched. If Ludwig's nerves were grated by Irina's ordeal or because Irina in distress made it possible that Ivan was only human, too.
To Ludwig, Ivan was untouchable.
God.
Irina was held up on that same pedestal, because she was Ivan's sister. Blood. A vulnerability in Irina could mean one in Ivan. If Irina could be hurt, then so could Ivan, and that probably didn't make a goddamn bit of sense to Ludwig.
When Ludwig's wrath finally broke, when his teeth ground and his fingernails dug into his palms, when he turned and kicked open the door so hard that it nearly broke, when he stalked off on foot, somehow Toris knew.
That look on his face.
Ludwig was out to avenge Ivan, not Irina.
Ivan had been done wrong. Ludwig set out now to make it right. In Ludwig's head, maybe he couldn't be a god, but he could service one.
The door swung on the hinges.
Wind blowing from outside.
Ludwig was gone.
Toris gaped at it for far longer than he would have liked to admit, reluctant to follow. Didn't really want to see what Ludwig's wrath looked like. Didn't really want to leave him alone, either, though.
Ludwig was bold, always had been, and it had gotten him into trouble so many times before.
He finally found the nerve to lift his foot, but was a step too late; Ivan had already bolted the door and was running down the drive.
Ivan didn't run very often, though he was fast.
Would have been comical, perhaps, if it had been in any other circumstance, to see stocky Ivan bolting like that. Not funny now; seeing his hair whipping behind him and his coat billowing spurred Toris into a sprint behind him, because Ludwig had gone off on his own with a clouded head and no experience.
The town was quiet beyond the road.
The trees swayed.
Here and there, patches of snow and ice that refused to melt.
An explosion.
Shots, in the distance. Echoes in the silent town.
Birds flocked out of the trees in droves, squawking and screeching.
Toris was sure his fuckin' heart was gonna give out from the panic.
Another shot.
Toris didn't remember exactly when he started running like he was, but he clearly remembered that he had outpaced Ivan's for once, leaving him behind, sprinting so quickly that he skidded in patches of ice and still managed to keep running. Adrenaline spurred him on, even though he really didn't want to know what lay ahead.
Another corner, another street, another skid, and suddenly Toris was in front of the office, just a block away, with wide eyes and a red face. His chest heaved from the effort; an ache in his side.
Couldn't hear anything beyond his own breathing and the blood pounding in his ears, but it might not have mattered.
Silence. Utter, unbreakable silence.
Oh, Ludwig. What had he gotten himself into? Why couldn't he have waited?
Blood.
The first thing he noticed, on the open door.
Ivan came trotting up behind then, panting and wheezing, and he fell back far behind Toris. Toris looked back at him, hoping for some kind of guidance, some kind of action, but was shocked to see Ivan an emotional mess for the second time in one day.
A look of helplessness.
His hands were shaking.
Toris wanted to call to Ivan, to spur him on and get him going, because he didn't want to be the first one in, but he didn't even try. Ivan just stood there in the street, breathing through his mouth and drops of sweat running down his face, frozen in place, and it struck Toris the look in his eyes.
Fear.
He hadn't ever seen that from Ivan.
Stuck there in place as he was, staring at the office helplessly and clearly unable to move, Toris realized that he would be forced to initiate and be the one to go inside.
Ivan was out of commission.
The door to the office hung wide open, swaying to and fro in the breeze. Dots of red against the white paint.
Everything was silent.
No noise from within.
Toris crept closer, hand upon his gun the whole while as he tried to keep from shaking. Had the town ever felt as desolate and frightening as it did then, with no one around and a lone door creaking back and forth?
The birds had all gone.
Another step, and another horror.
From the wide open door, there on the ground, jutting out from the threshold and onto the sidewalk, there was a pale, unmoving hand, flecked with crimson.
He glanced up.
A spatter of red on the frosted window.
Toris turned his eyes back down to that pale, unmoving hand, an unspeakable fear within his chest, and could only pray that it wasn't Ludwig's. Oh, god, let it be anyone but Ludwig. Ludwig, bold and fearless, who had marched into a KGB office and had maybe gotten more than he bargained for.
Like he had once before.
Ivan was staring at that hand, too, from where he stood, and it was obvious that he was thinking the same thing, whether he would admit to himself or not. He lifted his foot in the air to take a step forward, and froze up.
Steadily, Ivan fell still again.
Toris hadn't ever seen him look so damn uncertain and anxious.
The hand did not move.
If anything had happened to Ludwig... Christ, Toris couldn't even fathom the consequences. Ivan would destroy the world from the inside out.
The door hinges squeaked as the wind rocked it all the harder, and suddenly there was a footstep from within the building. Toris jumped up straight, jolted with adrenaline, and lifted his gun. Another step, and another, and with every one, the sound was getting closer to the door.
Toris shot a quick glance back at Ivan, but he seemed to be deaf and dumb, and still stared at that hand, brow low and shoulders low and barely breathing. Useless now.
The footsteps were approaching.
Taking charge in light of Ivan's immobility, Toris squared his shoulders and started creeping towards the open door. Would he be the one that would have to try and avenge Ludwig if he had been the one to fall there in the door?
Couldn't stomach the thought.
Another hand suddenly reached out from within, the first sign of life since they had left the house, and grabbed the door-frame.
Toris stopped in his tracks, and prepared to shoot.
A boot slid slowly onto the sidewalk.
A click, as Toris cocked his pistol.
Oh, Ludwig, what the hell had the stupid little son of a bitch been thinkin'? Ludwig was so goddamn stubborn, so fuckin' easy to rile up, so fearless—
Gold, as the white sun lit up a tuft of hair.
Ivan made no sound. Didn't move, and Toris didn't either.
Funny; he spent most of his time trembling and sputtering around Ivan, but when it came down to it, when the gun was in his hand, when he had no choice but to focus, he was always steady as a rock. Never wavered. Why couldn't he be like that all the time?
A second boot joined the first, and then the man was outside in the light.
Toris' gun dropped down like lead, and so did his stomach.
It was Ludwig.
Ludwig.
Ludwig was alive.
The relief came upon him so strongly that he thought for a moment that Ivan had ran up and punched him in the back of the head.
Ludwig was alive.
Toris stumbled in his tracks as he tried to move forward, lightheaded and dizzy at the sense of elation. Relief. Relief not so much for Ludwig, but for them. Relief that Ludwig hadn't met an ill-end and in doing so cause theirs. Relief that Ivan wouldn't fly into a rage and shoot them all dead. Relief that Ludwig being alive met they would continue to be alive as well.
Relief.
He came out fully into the street, lifting his head slowly as if he didn't remember where he was, and when he turned his eyes towards Toris, Toris could not help but shudder at the sight of him.
Ludwig, his platinum hair lit up white in daylight, his pale skin was spattered with blood, stood there for a bit, looking here and there without recognition. Drops of red stained his collar and ran down his neck, flecked his cheek and forehead, tiny specks of blood in his hair, and even his boots were spotted.
Covered in blood.
Ludwig took a heavy step towards no one, and when he turned his eyes towards Ivan's direction, his whole body slumped as though he had not slept in years.
Toris waited for Ivan to react, because he was too cautious to go near this dazed and dangerous Ludwig, but Ivan still just stood there, staring at Ludwig with an expression that was indescribable.
Awe.
Ivan had been presented with the possibility of losing Ludwig. To have him back, standing here before him, was no doubt overwhelming.
Ludwig wandered back towards the sidewalk, looking so lost, and eventually, through his mindless turning and twisting, his eyes met Ivan's. A quick, lopsided smile, and the contact was broken as soon as it had been made, when Ludwig turned again and started walking towards the buildings.
Ludwig's brain was trying to wake up, but couldn't seem to.
A footstep behind him. Toris thought Ivan had come out of his stupor at last, but one step was all he managed. The look on his face, though, had certainly woken up, and it occurred to Toris, somewhat reluctantly, that a Ludwig covered in blood was probably, to Ivan, the most beautiful thing imaginable.
Silence.
Ludwig was as white as a ghost, and his eyes were distant. Despondent.
He stood there, unmoving and unblinking, and Ivan stared at him the whole while. A terrible moment of immobility, and then Ludwig suddenly fell back, leaning against the brick wall of the office, sighing. He found Ivan's eyes again, and it was with a frightening, breathless smile that he said, simply, "I took care of it for you."
Was that Ludwig's voice?
Barely audible over the wind.
Ludwig slid down to the ground then, back up against the wall, and buried his face in his hands.
Toris, too alarmed to move and too disheartened to speak, watched as Ludwig sat there on the cold sidewalk, murmuring incoherently to himself against his palms, and Toris could see the uncontrollable shaking of his shoulders.
He was crying, perhaps.
Finally, mercifully, Ivan regained control of his muscles, and came forward, falling to one knee before Ludwig and leaning in, whispering, "Are you alright?"
No answer.
Ludwig continued to mutter to himself.
Toris, feeling suddenly restless, un-cocked his gun and replaced it in its holster. There was no more danger here. He didn't need to look inside the office to know that.
He could smell the fuckin' blood, all the way out here.
Ivan reached down and took hold of Ludwig's collar, forcing him to look up. And Toris realized that Ludwig wasn't crying at all.
He was laughing.
Ludwig was laughing.
Still huddled there on the sidewalk, Ludwig threw his head back against the building, fucking laughing, Ivan's hands in his shirt, and Toris was quick to correct himself. It wasn't laughter so much as it was cackling.
Giggling.
Toris knew, then.
The Ivan-Ludwig had come out, and he probably wouldn't go away again. Ivan had spoken so long of bringing out the dark side of Ludwig, and here now he sat.
It took a while for Ludwig to look at them and really see them, even as Ivan knelt there before him, and when he finally did, it was Toris to whom he turned his eyes. A shaking hand was thrown up, carelessly, and Ludwig said, through dying laughter, "They didn't even look at me." Another round of giggling. "Didn't even see me."
Ivan plopped a heavy hand suddenly down onto shaking Ludwig's bloody head, and their gazes met for the first time with comprehension. Toris could see, in the way they watched each other without uttering a word, that even now they were communicating.
Toris heard Ludwig mutter again, "I took care of it."
Ivan's hand fell, smearing the drops of blood on Ludwig's cheek, and Toris left them there to walk over and peer into the office.
Wished he hadn't.
Found there exactly what he had expected.
One of the officers was below the desk, the first to fall apparently, and the other had tried to make for either the door or Ludwig's gun but hadn't gotten far, falling there in the frame.
An unpleasant sight.
Messy.
All the same, Toris tread inside, just enough to poke around the desk for the office key, stepping over puddles of blood and bits of matter. Didn't take him long to find the key, something he would always be grateful for, and retreated, kicking the officer's hand out of the way as he went.
He could hear Ivan and Ludwig crooning to each other out in the street.
Toris tested the key quickly to make sure he had the right one, tucked it into his pocket, turned the lock, and shut the door behind him.
Ivan was already well off in the distance, dragging stupefied Ludwig along. Toris trotted behind, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that there was no one trying to be curious.
The blood-spattered window should have been enough of a deterrent for even the nosiest Mirny residents.
The walk to the house hadn't ever seemed as long as it did then, and when they finally got to the door, Ivan just shoved it open and quickly deposited Ludwig down on the floor. Toris waited for something, anything, but Ivan just stood there, and Ludwig just sat there.
How strange, to see them both so motionless.
In the end, Ivan drifted off to wherever Irina was, and Ludwig just stared at the floor, breathing so shallowly that he didn't appear to be breathing at all.
What to do?
Ludwig scared him.
And yet, as Ivan had vanished, it was Toris who was forced to face his fear and kneel down to grab despondent Ludwig by the arm and pull him to his feet.
Ludwig didn't acknowledge him, not for the rest of the night, not when Toris stripped him of his bloody clothes and doused him with water, not when Toris carefully and cautiously grabbed soap and scrubbed the blood off, not when Toris rubbed his hair dry with the towel, not when Toris removed the bullets from his gun, and not when Toris led him to the couch and sat him down.
In a trance, it seemed.
Later on, when Irina was presumably asleep and Ludwig was too, Ivan appeared, grabbed his coat and went to the door, and Toris followed him, knowing what came now.
Cleaning up the damn mess.
The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the town in pink and orange. Ever-green pines tall around on all sides.
Pretty, if Toris hadn't known what was in store for him.
No walking this time; Ivan went straight to the car, and tossed the keys in Toris' face.
"Thanks," he griped, without thinking, but Ivan was too far out in space to even hear him.
He had gone off to grab empty gas canisters and toss them in the back.
Plopping himself down in the passenger side, Ivan crossed his arms over his chest like a bratty kid, scowling out the window and not uttering a word. Not that he needed to. Toris knew well enough the procedure by now, and drove right by the KGB office to go to the gas station instead.
It might have been suspicious to be filling up numerous cans of gas, but, Toris supposed, that was one of the great things about Siberia; everyone minded their own fuckin' business and liked it that way.
It was better not to know sometimes.
The car stank of petrol so strongly that Toris' head starting pounding, but Ivan didn't seem bothered.
When they pulled up in front of the office, Toris swept the street with a careful glance, and, seeing the coast was clear, he stepped out, and unlocked the door.
Ivan sat there still, pouting and looking foul.
Woulda rolled his eyes, if Ivan weren't so irritable.
What? Did he think Toris would just do it all by himself? Hardly, and he turned around and stared at Ivan until Ivan finally hauled himself out of the vehicle, kicking the car as he went, and stomped inside.
A look around, and Ivan hunkered down and started working.
Toris popped open the trunk, looked around again, and let Ivan's brute strength do the heavy lifting.
Well...not lifting.
Ivan just grabbed up boots and hauled the men out like one hauled out a leaking pile of garbage. When he chucked them into the car, there was no care given whatsoever. Couldn't really fault him too much for that—when it came down to it, Toris had always just done the same. Anything to touch them as little as possible.
Toris just stayed silent and listened to Ivan curse to himself as he slammed the trunk top down over and over again, shifted the men around some more, slammed the trunk again, unsuccessfully, and then he got mad, like he always did, and slammed the trunk so fervently that something broke, on either side, to give way.
All the same, it clicked shut.
Ivan stood there afterwards, seemingly torn about what to do next, and Toris knew that it was because he was reluctant to go back inside and scrub blood off of the walls and floor.
Dirty work and Ivan didn't mix.
Someone came walking down the street later, and when they glanced over unsuspectingly, Ivan stomped his foot and shrieked, in a shrill, terrifying voice, "What the fuck are ya lookin' at?"
The poor soul literally ran off, as fast as they could. Out here, everybody lived by the 'I didn't see a thing' rule.
Survival.
Ivan glowered at the sidewalk for a long while, finally heaved a sigh through his nose, curled his lip, and turned to barge huffily back into the office. Toris followed dutifully, as he always did, and kept a fair distance from Ivan the whole while.
Agitated as he was.
Ivan stared at the spattered ceiling, brow crinkled, and Toris rummaged for anything he could use to start scrubbing.
Small hand-towels. Soap. That was all there was.
Ivan took up his towel testily and snappishly. His 'cleaning' movements were just as jerky; irritable, smudging circles on the wall, smearing blood more than he cleaned it.
Toris didn't say a word.
Thinking of Ludwig, as he was. That thing that sat at home. Shouldn't call it Ludwig anymore. But what, then, was there left to call him?
Ludwig already answered to Ivan's name.
That thought made him scoff aloud, despite himself. Ivan didn't seem to notice, having finally resigned himself to the fact that he would really have to do some dirty work for once in his life.
The smell of it was overwhelming.
Toris glanced upward, and felt a rare turn of his stomach. Took a lot to phase him, much as he had seen and done, but brains sure did get to him sometimes. He had always been quite grateful that Ivan was a clean shot. Ludwig should have taken that lesson to heart.
How were they gonna clean the fuckin' ceiling?
Stand on the desk, no doubt, and move it along. He would have to do it. Ivan wouldn't get up there and have bits of matter falling down on his head. Not Ivan, not when there was someone else to do it for him.
Even though Ivan's creation had made the mess.
They carried on.
The sun went down.
Stars came out.
Ivan just muttered and cursed under his breath the entire time, sometimes pausing to run a hand over his forehead, squint his eyes, and hiss air through his teeth. Not nauseous, certainly, but maybe feeling sick in his own way.
Not because of the blood so much as Irina, no doubt.
Or it could have been something else.
Overwhelmed, perhaps, by the strength of Ludwig's capabilities and how quickly he had brought them out. Dismayed that it hadn't been him alone that had made Ludwig snap. Having to share the victory with these dead men.
It took a good few hours to clean the office up.
Toris was tempted to say, 'Let's just burn the goddamn thing down', but he already knew what Ivan would say :
'People are cheap; buildings aren't.'
True enough; Ivan would have had more paperwork to fill out at the destruction of a KGB office than he would with the mysterious disappearance of two officers. Men were easily replaceable. Buildings took time to rebuild.
When it was finally as good as it was going to get, Ivan threw his towel on the floor, stood up straight, and said, "Come back and bleach it all tomorrow before someone stops by to be nosy."
Exhausted, Toris just nodded his head.
Toris gathered the towels and any other blood-soaked articles and tossed them in the backseat of the car, and Ivan was more than happy to crank the car up and get the hell out of the street.
Toris looked over his shoulder as they left the town.
They drove out into the middle of the long, desolate, muddy road, found a gap in the trees, and backed the car up. It was dark and isolated. Uninhabited. Another thing that was great about Siberia when your lifestyle sometimes led to extra 'baggage'.
They popped the trunk, Ivan pulled the officers out rather unceremoniously, dragged them down into the trees, and tossed them into the first clearing he saw.
The forest was soaking wet from melting snow, so no worry about starting a wildfire.
Toris took his time walking down into the forest, the cans of petrol heavy in his hands.
Getting rid of bodies was the worst, especially like this. Probably shoulda just chucked 'em down into the sulfuric diamond mine pool down below. Too late now; Ivan had snatched a can and was already splashing the gas.
Toris pulled out his lighter and clicked it, absently, and waited for Ivan to back off before he lit it up.
Ivan looked down at them for a good while, no doubt wishing he could kill them all over again, and finally stepped off.
Toris lit up one of the towels, and tossed it forward.
The dark, blue night was lit up orange and red.
It went up in flames, like it always did, but that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was keeping it stoked for an entire damn night, because that's how long it usually took to even get it to the point where it didn't look human anymore. To get it to just ashes, another day was needed.
Cremation was a lot harder than it sounded.
An hour passed.
The flames weren't so high now, and Toris had wandered off a bit to sit on a log and keep well out of the wind.
Couldn't stand the smell.
Ivan stood watch, at least for a while.
When it must have been midnight or so, Ivan got bored, like always, and couldn't hang around long enough to where the rest of the cans of gas would be needed. Not a fun experience for him, so one he didn't need to suffer.
Instead, he started digging around for the car keys, and Toris knew right off he would be left to this task.
The smoke billowed up above the trees.
Wildlife had fled.
"Keep an eye on it," was all Ivan said then, as he started walking to the car.
Irritation.
Going home to coddle Ludwig, no doubt, having no qualms about leaving Toris in the middle of the fuckin' forest and forcing him to walk all the way back into town at dawn.
This was Ludwig's damn mess, and therefore it was Ivan's, because Ivan had created this Ludwig as he was now.
Not his job.
Ivan should have stayed.
Toris glanced over his shoulder, at Ivan stabbing the key into the lock, and he called, a bit sharply, "You can at least come pick me up in the morning."
Toris realized then that he was getting mouthier, and the only explanation he had was that he wanted Ivan to snap at him and punch him in the face. Anything to get a reaction out of him. To not be ignored. He was practically inviting punishment, writhing around in pathetic misery as he was, and still, no matter what he said, Ivan just wouldn't.
No go.
Ivan muttered something under his breath, got into the car, slammed the door, and was gone in a minute.
Toris rested his chin in his palm, back to the fire, and stared off into the trees.
He could already see them in his head.
Ivan grabbing Ludwig and carrying him upstairs, whispering to him how wonderful he was, how brave, how fuckin' whatever—he was sick of it.
Sick of Ludwig always being better without trying.
Ludwig had killed; Ivan went to him now, because Ivan had at home exactly what he had always wanted. A Ludwig with no restraints. A partner, as it was. An equal. If Ivan walked up to a mirror right now and put his palm upon, it would have been Ludwig's bloodstained hand that touched his from the other side as they smiled at each other.
Toris turned his eyes back to the flames, and wondered how much longer it would be before Ivan was burning all of them.
Ivan didn't need them anymore.
Ludwig, spattered with blood.
It washed off well.
Maybe it couldn't be scrubbed out of Ludwig's mind, but the stain of blood eventually came out of his clothes.
Toris watched as Ludwig sat there on the bottom stair, and gazed blankly ahead at the front door.
Didn't move much.
Every so often, Toris walked by and leaned down close enough to see if the pulse in Ludwig's neck was still kicking. It was, of course, and Toris lingered only long enough to notice the scent of soap in Ludwig's hair. Too scared of him to hang around much longer.
Ludwig didn't speak. Staring, for hours on end.
He had been that way since Toris had trudged in through the door in the early morning.
Had he been there all night?
Toris stripped down, showered to remove the smell of smoke and sweat and stress, and when he returned, Ludwig had still been there.
No time for rest; now it was time to go back to the office and bleach it. And then, again, back to the woods to check on the state of the cremation.
He wouldn't sleep for another day, that much was certain.
One of the longest, most exhausting days of his life.
But not the worst.
Another noon and sunset had come, and stars were appearing again when Toris finally came home for good, stinking worse than he had the first time. Everything was finally taken care of. The office was pristine and stank of bleach. The pile of ashes in the woods was unrecognizable as anything that had even once been alive.
And fuckin' Ludwig was still sittin' there.
Everyone else was out of sight.
Ivan had cooped Irina upstairs in a room, disappearing along with her as he had been since it had happened, and Toris would rather not know what they were doing. Fighting, no doubt; every so often, he could hear a shrill shriek from either one of them, and it was probably Irina's way of trying to regain a little control as she screamed at her brother. She was trying to go about life as normal, but he was her obstacle now.
Ivan couldn't seem to really get over it.
As far as Irina was concerned, it was over and done with. She had been over it the moment that Ludwig had come home covered in blood. Her anger and frustration were now aimed at Ivan, who wouldn't stop.
Ivan had to be right about everything, had to have everything the way he wanted it. Irina had inadvertently disrupted his routine, and he couldn't seem to let it go.
If he didn't stop soon, Irina would be the one to pull a gun on him.
At this rate.
Toris did as best he could to make sure Ludwig's head stayed above the water in the meantime. Had to force him to eat. To sleep. To move. Otherwise, he just sat there, staring.
Raivis came to him in the afternoon the next day and asked, "What's wrong with Irina?"
Toris just stared down at him.
What could he say?
"Don't worry about it," he finally said. "It's nothing."
"Is Ivan okay?"
"Ivan's always okay."
"What about Ludwig? Is he okay?"
Stupid brat couldn't even communicate with Ludwig.
"He's fine. Just leave him alone for a while, wont' ya?"
Raivis did the opposite, as Toris could have expected.
Toris saw them once, Ludwig perched there on that bottom step and Raivis before him, kneeling down and staring at Ludwig quite intently. Ludwig stared right back at him, through loose bangs, and the shiver that overtook Toris then had no name.
The way they just stared at each other. Didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared.
Raivis looked at Ludwig the way Ludwig looked at Ivan.
Horror.
He didn't know how long they stared at each other like that; a few minutes and he had already turned tail and fled.
Things seemed to keep going downhill.
He felt so terrified by everyone here, after thinking he had finally settled down years ago. Thinking he had finally found steady ground out here. Thinking he had started to fit in.
Ludwig seemed to have brought out the dormant current.
Desperate to escape them, if only for a while, he trudged outside through the back door, afraid to pass Ludwig, and started scrubbing the blood out of the car and the trunk. Getting rid of the smell of gas.
Anything to avoid them.
All of them.
He reached up to tug at his collar frequently, always feeling now as if there was a noose around his neck.
Survival didn't seem too likely lately.
The way they were going.
It was another day before Ivan started letting Irina move about. Toris watched her when she appeared, and was surprised at how normal her movements were. As if nothing had happened at all. Only the fading bruises made it apparent that there had ever been an incident. She spoke normally. She smiled, as she always had. Her voice held the same tone.
She was fine. Just fine.
The men were dead. Ivan was set back. Ludwig was gone.
But Irina was fine.
Maybe she hadn't ever really been that damaged in the first place. Toris wondered, sometimes, if maybe women were stronger than men, because the whole incident seemed to have fucked Ivan and Ludwig over more than Irina. Well, not women, exactly. Irina wasn't normal in any sense. Not a normal woman.
As dangerous as the rest of them, in the right conditions.
Irina was Ivan, as much as Ivan was.
There was one curious thing that had arisen out of the whole thing, however.
The way Irina behaved around Ludwig.
Often, now, when Toris saw them, Irina had started treating Ludwig as she treated Ivan. Couldn't blame her—they were essentially the same person now. Instead of coddling him every second as she had before, Irina treated Ludwig like a brother, and was quick to berate him if the need for it arose. She stared him down. She hassled him when she had to. When he didn't eat, she didn't try to sweet-talk him; she threatened him.
She got her way with him.
No more fussing over broken noses.
She had never berated Ludwig before, and when she did now, the response she got was just like it was with Ivan. Ludwig ducked his chin, pursed his lips, and stared at the floor. Still did what she said, though.
Irina had power of the both of them, one way or another. Looking back on it, maybe Irina was the craziest one.
At any rate, with Irina no longer needing attention, Ivan had focused his attention on someone else.
Ivan had abandoned Irina's side to be forever at Ludwig's, and every time Toris saw them, they were sitting together somewhere, Ludwig looking lost and gone and confused. It took Ivan's hand upon his face to even get his eyes moving, and it had been a long while since he had spoken.
When his eyes finally met Ivan's, though, Ludwig would always smile. Ivan just stroked Ludwig's cheek, staring at him as though he were the only thing left in the world.
They seemed to be the only ones in their universe.
Ivan never left Ludwig alone, and Ludwig seemed grateful.
If Ludwig were gone, Ivan wouldn't know what to do.
Gilbert would ruin everything.
And, still, despite the urgency and looming doom, Toris found himself standing there, watching them, and thinking, 'So what!'
Ludwig had shot two men. So what? He'd killed so many people for Ivan. Ruined so many lives. Done so many things.
All these years...
Hadn't even gotten a damn 'thank you'.
Daylight grew longer.
So did the shadows.
Siberia came to life in spring, and Toris felt himself withering away in the corner. He had little time to bask in sunlight when Gilbert's damn darkness was ever approaching. The stars seemed dull.
Hadn't felt this despondent since he's arrived here that very first day.
Couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't think.
Couldn't breathe sometimes.
Probably what Ludwig felt.
A week passed, Ludwig slowly started to come out of his stupor, and started walking confidently again. Raivis trailed behind him like a dog, that stupid look of awe on his face the whole while.
Toris watched them go by, watched their lives tick on, all the while feeling as if he was counting down his own.
The disruption of Ludwig's darkness had ever slowed his pursuit of Gilbert, and now they seemed farther away than ever. Everywhere he looked led to dust. Shadows that slipped out his grasp before he could pin them down.
It was steadily dawning on him that he couldn't do it on his own.
Didn't want to admit it, because admitting it meant that he would have to admit it to Ivan, and Ivan would fuckin' shoot him right where he stood.
Two weeks after the 'incident', someone finally bothered to call.
Toris was so spaced he couldn't even give real effort, and when he picked up the phone all he managed was a short, "What?"
But it wasn't his guys. Rather, a man looking for his guys.
"Is Braginsky there?"
"If he were here," Toris snapped, "He'd'a picked up the damn phone, wouldn't he?"
Not smart, to reflect upon Ivan in such a manager, but Gilbert had gotten under his skin.
After a short pause, the man asked, "Will you inform him to call us back when he can? We're curious about two missing KGB officers. Don't suppose you have any information, do you?"
He nearly scoffed, and instead griped, "It's Siberia. People go missing all the time. Maybe they got drunk and wandered off into the woods. Go look for 'em yourself."
"We'll be sending out an officer to investigate—"
"So send him!" he barked, and slammed the phone down, without bothering to get so much as a name or a number.
Ivan would hardly be more interested to speak with them, anyway.
Gripping a hapless piece of paper in his hands and crumpling it, Toris glowered at the phone and huffed away.
The dead officers were the last thing he cared about, not when he was gonna be joining them if he couldn't get it together. Let them send whoever they wanted; they wouldn't find anyone willing to talk, and Ivan would have it all washed away, sooner or later.
If, by chance, they found the clearing, then so what? All of the ashes had been scattered by now by wind and animals.
...what if they ran into Ludwig, though? Would he be able to keep calm and sure and unbreakable when put on the spot? Honest and naive as he was.
Ah.
No point in worrying about it. Ivan was immune to such things.
Toris waited a few more days, but no one else called. No word of Gilbert. No sign of Eduard.
Nothing.
He couldn't hack it.
Couldn't wrangle them.
And so he found himself, late one afternoon, sitting alone on the couch, staring at the floor and feeling chilly even as the sun shone in through the glass. Maybe it wasn't even Gilbert and Eduard; maybe it was all these years, maybe it was so many disappointments, maybe it was Ludwig, hell, maybe it was just self-pity that made him suddenly hang his head down between his arms and almost start crying.
Stress. Fear.
Stinging in his eyes. Thickness in his throat as he breathed through his mouth. The closest he'd come to sobbing since he'd lost himself back there. Couldn't hold it together anymore.
Frustration.
Time to say it. It was time to tell Ivan.
He would have been able to take care of it himself, if it had just been Gilbert. Eduard made it harder. He needed help. Ivan was ruthless enough to resort to things Toris wouldn't have thought of otherwise. Ivan had tricks up his sleeve that Toris didn't. Knew more people. Ivan didn't tell Toris everything. Almost, but not everything.
He needed Ivan's help.
Assuming that Ivan didn't kill him.
It was hard to get Ivan alone, as plastered as Ludwig was to his hip, but for once, Raivis' annoying admiration of Ludwig proved enough of a distraction to get by him and find Ivan alone in the office.
Toris glanced back just long enough to see Raivis grabbing Ludwig's hand with his own and looking over the lines on his palm with apparent fascination. Those hands had killed now; was that what interested Raivis so?
A shudder.
Quickly, he whirled back around, grabbed the doorknob, and braced himself for the inevitable.
Ivan would kill him.
He had stood there before Ivan all those years ago, helpless and terrified, and yet somehow it felt more horrifying now, to push open that door. To step inside. To tell Ivan.
Ivan was sitting at the desk, pen in hand but not writing, staring at papers without reading them.
In his own world.
Toris shut the door behind him, gently, and Ivan glanced up from the desk with a surprisingly weary expression.
Wonderful. What a great mood to do this in.
Toris was sure he was shaking, but couldn't really feel it. Sure did feel sick, though. In a normal household, seeing someone looking so scared might have been cause for a worried, 'What's wrong?'
Not here.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth and asked instead, sternly, "What did you do?"
Oh, god, Ivan was gonna shoot him.
It took a long time for him to open his mouth, and when he did, his voice was scarcely more than a scratchy whisper.
"I—I need help."
Ivan's equally low voice was not amused.
"Help. What did you do?"
It was the hardest thing he had ever done, to utter then, "He's coming."
A long, unbearable silence.
No elaboration was needed. It was obvious that Ivan understood immediately who 'he' was, from the way his fingers clenched his pen and the way his narrowed eyes darkened. The way he suddenly seemed to plunge the room into night.
Toris found himself edging up against the wall in a subconscious attempt to create distance between Ivan and himself.
For all the good it did when Ivan stood up, swept the contents of the desk onto the floor with a furious hand, and lunged across the room to grab Toris by the collar.
It was easy to forget how fuckin' fast Ivan was until he was pouncing on you.
A merciless slam cracked his head into the wall, causing a temporary scenery of darkness and stars, and when Toris' vision cleared, Ivan was staring down at him, hands so tight that he could barely breathe.
So close he could smell Ivan's shaving cream.
"He! He! How's he fuckin' comin' Toris, huh? How's he coming? Huh? Weren't you supposed to be watching? Isn't that what I told you to do? Isn't it?"
Ivan's voice had gone high, as it did when he was furious.
Terror.
Toris didn't know what he could say that would save his life, but he tried to sputter some bullshit anyway, if only to make a go of it.
"I didn't know! I didn't know he had left, I didn't— I didn't know until—"
Didn't get to finish. Ivan had already wrenched his fist back, and Toris finally got what he had been seeking all these months; a punch. A sharp pain in his nose, a trickle of blood, and he didn't get a chance to speak before Ivan slammed him into the wall again and screeched, "You didn't KNOW? How could you not have KNOWN? You were supposed to be WATCHING HIM! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on EVERYTHING that was going on! You were supposed to make sure that he didn't ever come back across that FUCKING BORDER! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING HIM! I had everything in place there for you, all you had to do was CHECK IN!"
He hadn't ever heard Ivan scream like that.
The most terrifying thing he'd ever heard in his life.
Ivan's fingers clenched ever tighter in his collar, he slammed Toris into the wall one final time, and leaned in.
A low, dangerous hiss.
"You're so fuckin' stupid, you know? You're so stupid! Christ, Toris, oh, Christ, I oughta shoot you right here you stupid son of a bitch, how the fuck could you have missed this? You had one job! One job! One goddamn job, and you couldn't do it! That stupid, moronic little cretin, dumb as he is, so fuckin' stupid, and somehow he outsmarted you, Toris, he fuckin' outsmarted you! If I—"
He did it, then, and he didn't know why.
He opened his mouth in his defense, and interrupted Ivan. Nobody interrupted Ivan when he spoke.
Nobody.
"It's not just him," he said, as loudly as he dared. "He's gettin' help! I know he can't make it on his own, but he's not alone. Fuckin' Eduard is helpin' him! Eduard's doing everything. That was why I couldn't find them for so long. Eduard!"
Not the whole truth, but pretty close.
It had taken him too long to notice Gilbert's absence, sure, but Eduard's stealth was prolonging the discovery of their whereabouts.
Easier to let Eduard take some of the blame.
Ivan's wrath fell silent for a second, he opened his mouth, lost his voice, and inhaled a sharp breath. No doubt he had assumed he'd never hear Eduard's name again.
After this long.
It was the shock of being backstabbed by Eduard that kept Ivan from punching Toris in the nose again for being petulant.
Toris had said it, no doubt, so that Ivan would hit him again. At least if Ivan was hitting him he was too busy to shoot him.
Speak of the devil!
Ivan didn't hit him, not this time, but he might have gotten it worse; the short shock of Eduard wore off too quickly, and Ivan went dark again. A hand fumbled, something clicked, and before Toris really knew it, Ivan's fuckin' gun was pressing into his stomach.
Ivan's nose nearly touched his own.
That horrible shrieking, that frightful anger, died down into a somehow more terrifying whisper.
"He's mine. No one's gonna take him, no one, and I'll raze this entire miserable country to the ground to keep him, you hear me?"
In the midst of it all, one stupid thought—fuckin' Christ, not in the stomach. If Ivan was gonna shoot him then he was gonna shoot him, but let it be in the chest like Ivan shot everyone, not in the fuckin' stomach. Didn't wanna go out like that.
Heard that was the worst way to die, a bullet in the gut.
Dumb. Did it really matter, in the end? Dead was dead.
The muzzle was pressing so hard into him that he practically taste the metal, and Ivan's iron fist in his collar, constricting his airway, wasn't helping much.
"What good are you, huh? What fuckin' good are you, Toris? Huh? Outdone by the same man twice, huh? You never fuckin' learn anything, do you? What good are you?"
A shake, violent and angry, and Toris could feel in Ivan's contracting hands that he was about to be shot.
Ivan said as much.
"You just killed yourself, you stupid son of a bitch."
Emptiness.
When it came down to it, when he stood upon the brink, Toris realized that he wasn't scared. His shaking stopped cold, his breath stopped, every muscle in his body seemed to go limp, and he could only stare into Ivan's eyes.
As it was when he was put into a position that required his full focus, he didn't tremble. Whether he was holding the gun or the gun was held on him, it seemed to be the only time he could even feel somethin' close to brave.
No fear. Just numb and void, as if he had caught the hypothermia that had once nearly killed Ludwig.
Space. Silence.
Static.
Ludwig!
Fuckin' Ludwig, he had set everything into motion by crossing that wall.
Should have left Gilbert to die.
The pressure on his stomach intensified.
Ivan's finger started pulling.
And then, somewhere through the void of space, Toris could have sworn that he had heard Ludwig's voice, faint and deep, far beneath the atmosphere. Had thinking of Ludwig brought his voice in Toris' head?
Or had Ivan shot him already?
"Ivan."
A gentle, tranquil whisper.
Ivan seemed to freeze that time, and Toris realized he wasn't hearing things; he somehow tore his eyes from Ivan long enough to see Ludwig standing behind Ivan, calm and straight and very much unfazed.
Disbelief.
Ludwig had come.
The shock was broken quite brutally, and the fear that had been stunned away surged forth in full force. His trembling came back tenfold as Ivan looked back, and Ludwig reached out to place a gentle hand upon his arm. Toris could see the tensing of Ivan's shoulders, and it didn't seem at first as though he even realized Ludwig was there.
Quiet. Unbearably quiet.
Ludwig.
Ludwig's hand raised from Ivan's arm up to his shoulder, and Toris was too dumb and stunned to hear what Ludwig whispered.
Focused as he was on that gun.
Ivan seemed as oblivious to Ludwig's words, quickly shrugging Ludwig off and wrenching himself back towards Toris. Ludwig tried again, this time grabbing Ivan's shirt and physically attempting (still gently) to pull Ivan backwards.
Not a good idea at the moment.
Ivan was so furious, so intent on hurting, that he whirled around like a snake and struck Ludwig across the face with the back of his hand. The sharp sound of it had more of an effect on Ivan than Ludwig's initial words had, and Ludwig, shrugging off the blow as easily as a fly and reached out to grab Ivan's face in that instant that Ivan was frozen.
Toris' cloudy mind couldn't even take comfort in the fact that Ivan had finally hit Ludwig out of anger.
Ha; yeah, kind of. It was Toris that Ivan was angry with.
Ludwig just got in the way.
A brief struggle as Ludwig tried to keep Ivan still and calm, popping upwards on his toes to put his lips up to Ivan's ear.
Whispering.
Toris was glad he couldn't hear. Probably wouldn't have understood anyway. They didn't make sense to him anymore.
Whatever was said, whatever strange things came to mind, Ludwig's words were steadily breaking through the oblivion; Ivan's shoulders suddenly slumped, and the gun was loose at his side. A lightening of his eyes and a lift of his brow. And, then, quite suddenly, Ivan looked exhausted again.
The tiger had been tamed quite skillfully by Ludwig.
Ludwig's hands stayed firm on Ivan's face when he pulled back, and the smile Ludwig sent Ivan was scarier somehow than Ivan's rage had been.
The darkness was gone.
Shadows lingered.
Oh, still furious, no doubt about it, but Ludwig had managed to cut the blue wire before Ivan had pulled the trigger.
When Ivan pried himself out of Ludwig's hands and whipped around again to grab Toris by the throat, this time the gun stayed put and made no contact with him.
Didn't feel much better, if he were honest. Ivan's hiss in his ear was more frightening than the gun.
"By god, Toris, I'll shoot every last one of us if he gets here. I'll kill us all before I ever give him up. He's mine. Find him. Find him. Kill him. I swear to you, I'll kill us all. Find him!"
Toris wished he was brave enough to retort, 'What's the big deal if Gilbert shows up? I thought you had Ludwig trained?'
Maybe not fully. Ivan was afraid of a wave coming in to break that still water. Another disruption. If Ludwig cracked and recognized Gilbert, if Ludwig woke up and tried to flee, Ivan would implode. Hell unleashed on the world. Everyone would pay for it.
Gunshots in the middle of the night.
"I'll fix it," Toris managed, weakly, and Ivan released his collar.
He said nothing more, and when he left, Toris fell against the wall, wide-eyed and breathless, his heart racing so fiercely that he was certain Ludwig could hear it.
Ludwig.
Ludwig had saved his life.
He thought that Ludwig would stop there, and ask for an explanation, as he would have before. He thought Ludwig would reach out, and put a hand on Toris' shoulder. Ask him if he was alright. Offer comfort.
Brother.
Instead, Toris could only lean there and watch as Ludwig walked slowly by, casting him only a short, uninterested glance as he passed. High brow. Barely crinkled leer. Chin lowered and shoulders loose.
Toris' short elation of being alive died at the expression on Ludwig's face. The unintentionally condescending and arrogant look of a man who knew he was superior.
The way Ivan looked at him.
Ludwig had never looked at him like that. Not like that.
Hurt, more than it frightened him. He had become a novelty to Ludwig.
Toris immediately understood that look :
'I saved you because I felt like it.'
Not because he meant anything to Ludwig. Ludwig had intervened because doing so had been interesting to him. Ludwig had saved him from Ivan with about as much sincerity as a cat letting a mouse go after teasing it because it realized it wasn't even hungry. It had been a fun experiment for Ludwig, to see if he could bring Ivan down from the cloud in the midst of rage. To try and control the wild beast.
He had.
Ludwig might have transcended Ivan in the power struggle.
Maybe Ludwig had starting calling the shots, having Ivan as helplessly enamored as he did. Ludwig had realized, perhaps, that although Ivan was always in charge, it wasn't so hard to get him to do what Ludwig wanted. Ivan had hit Ludwig for the first time, sure, but had caved in to him all the same afterwards, and Ludwig hadn't even flinched.
With a god under his belt, a man was nothing.
Toris was nothing.
Ludwig was nothing, because this wasn't Ludwig.
They weren't brothers anymore.
A short snort of air through his nose, a hooding of his eyes, a prim lift of his head, and Ludwig walked through the threshold.
The cat had gotten bored.
The door clicked shut, Ludwig's soft steps vanished, and Toris sank to the floor and held his head in his hands.
Oh.
He just wanted to go to sleep.
He sat there until the sun went down, and finally, somehow, he dragged himself up long enough to reach the desk and collapse into the chair. He laid his head down, buried it under his arms, and drifted away.
Pressure on his abdomen.
Echoes of a gun.
His fitful sleep didn't last long.
When Ivan calmed down, in the dark and when the hour crept closer to the early morning, he came into the office, and shut the door behind him.
Toris jumped up in fright and swallowed, head pounding and heart racing. Ivan didn't utter a word as he strode forward, and somehow Toris managed to feel even shittier than he had before. He knew he was still pale as a sheet, nauseous as he was, and yet he felt even sicker when Ivan sat down in front of him and stared him down. He ducked his head, quickly, hoping immediate submission would placate a little of Ivan's wrath.
It didn't, not really.
Terror.
Ludwig was asleep; no more water to douse that fire if it started up again, assuming Ludwig could even be bothered to save him a second time.
Unlikely.
Ivan sat there for what felt like hours, and when he finally spoke, it wasn't much better.
"I was going to shoot you," he finally said, in a rather serene whisper, and Toris had no doubt that he was telling the truth. "But," he continued quickly, one hand drumming the desk, "I've decided instead to help you fix this mess, because frankly, Toris, I don't really want to be bothered with it. When it's fixed, and depending on how it's fixed, I'll decide what to do with you."
Toris kept his eyes on the desk, and waited until it was time for him to speak.
"It should go without saying that I won't be leaving you in charge of anything again. All these years, and you somehow managed to fuck up the simplest task I've ever given you. After this is done, you'll be relieved of most of your duties."
Why did that sting so much?
He'd done so much for Ivan.
Ah, hell. Shouldn't'a said anything at all. Ivan was gonna end up shootin' him, when everything was said and done. Ivan hated paperwork, sure he did, hated meetings and conversations, hated work, but he'd shoot Toris all the same if he felt so inclined. If Toris' annoying tendencies outweighed his usefulness.
After all, in the end, he was only Toris. He was replaceable to Ivan. Not like Ludwig.
Ivan leaned forward then, pale eyes catching light in the lamp, and he asked, firmly, "Where is he, Toris? Where exactly is he?"
Toris was too scared to say, 'I don't know', so he said instead, "Leaving Moscow."
A barely noticeable crinkle of Ivan's nose.
The distant rumble of a brewing storm.
"Who helped him get that far?"
"Edelstein got him into Kiev, looks like. Eduard's done everything after. Buncha wire transfers from Edelstein's bank account—"
"Which one is he?"
"Edelstein. Austrian ambassador. Took care of Ludwig. We had the papers on him, too, remember?"
Ivan grunted, as if annoyed that Toris expected him to remember such asinine details now that he didn't need to threaten Ludwig with them anymore.
Again, maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
Nobody crossed Ivan.
"Why's he stickin' his nose in?"
Toris understood what Ivan meant.
'Why's he doing all this for a man who doesn't even know his own real name?'
"I don't know."
A long, unpleasant hesitation. Toris could see the wheels turning away in Ivan's head, and just waited, as always.
Those fingers kept tapping the desk.
"Who else have you been watching? When you were actually doing your job, that is."
"His wife. That American kid, too. But they haven't moved around any."
They didn't have anything to do with this, apart from knowing the wrong person at the wrong time.
Toris had done a lot of shitty things in his life, so many terrible things, and yet somehow he wasn't really ready for what Ivan said then.
"So kill them."
Toris hesitated.
"Why?"
They hadn't done anything wrong.
"Because I said to."
"But Edelstein's—"
"I said kill them. They should have let it go and minded their own business. I was fair. I gave them one. They should have left it alone. Ha! Important people die all the time, don't they? I was fair."
Ivan had been wronged, in his mind.
He had been fair.
Sure he had. He had let Gilbert go, and had taken Ludwig instead. And hell, in some twisted sense, perhaps Ivan was right. He had been fair. Not kind or merciful or right, but fair. He could have taken both; instead, he had traded. They should have known that they couldn't have both, either.
He wanted to say, 'But that kid and that woman haven't done anything.'
Didn't matter. Ivan wouldn't be moved. Too late for excuses. Ivan wanted Gilbert dead. Didn't matter why or how. And Ivan was right about something else, too :
Important did die, all the time. Happened every damn day.
Oh. When had it ever come to all this?
It had all come about so quickly. So quickly. The snapping of Ludwig's mind had emboldened Ivan to a point of madness, even for him. Before Ludwig, even fearless Ivan woulda sat there and thought twice about takin' out someone as high-profile as Edelstein. Not now. Ivan ordered death onto gods now as easily as he always had men.
Funny, when Toris thought about it.
Ivan's fury.
Funny because Ivan was threatened by Gilbert, by that stupid man, as he had put it.
Maybe Ivan wasn't perfectly confident that Ludwig wouldn't turn at the sight of Gilbert and remember that there was actually a world outside this place. Maybe Ivan thought that Gilbert would somehow jam the machine and bring Ludwig back from the dark. Maybe he thought that, somewhere in there, Ludwig still loved Gilbert.
Or maybe Ivan just wanted Gilbert dead because Gilbert had had the audacity to leave Berlin and the gall to attempt to trek through Siberia with the intention of taking something that belonged to Ivan. The principle of the matter.
Who cared, anymore?
Gilbert had signed his death warrant the second he had crossed that wall, and he took others with him. If Gilbert turned around right now and went back to Berlin, he wouldn't find anyone left waiting by the time he got there. Edelstein and his wife. Ludwig's dumb friend. Good people.
Annoyances to Ivan.
To Ivan, they were the 'bad guys', trying to take something that Ivan was convinced he had rightfully earned and taken fairly.
A scribble on a paper, and Ivan was shoving something in his hand.
Toris looked down to see a number.
Not one of his guys. Must have been one of Ivan's secret associates.
Ivan stood up then, the chair scraping on the floor, and as he left, he glanced back at Toris and said, in more of a contemptuous hiss, "You can do this, can't you? Should I even bother letting you try? Don't mess up again, Toris. For your sake."
Voiceless, Toris nodded.
He could do it. He'd prove he could.
A rise of bitterness.
He could do anything Ludwig could.
Better.
Later on in the night, having paced a hole in the floor, Toris finally sat down at the desk, picked up the phone, looked at the number Ivan had given him, and set to work. Like in everything else, he knew every move he made was wrong.
He still did it.
Because maybe, just maybe, in the back of his mind he was angry that Eduard had returned to this land with Gilbert. That Eduard was coming to Ludwig's rescue, when Eduard had had no reservations about leaving him here, so long ago. That Eduard extended his hand for a man he didn't know, but had not done so for a brother.
Anger.
He had been betrayed once. Eduard would get it back double.
Eduard had left behind only bitterness and hate, and stoked it now by helping someone who meant nothing to him, nothing at all. Well. So what? Let him do as he wished. At any rate, Eduard had made a mistake this time in coming back. Gilbert was beyond help, and so was Ludwig. Gilbert was just leading Eduard to death. And Toris couldn't really say that he was too upset about that.
He was angry at Eduard. He was angry at Gilbert. He was angry at Ludwig. So he took it out on everyone Ivan told him to. But it was really Gilbert's fault; not his. Gilbert, who had caused everything in the first place, by being foolish. Eduard's fault, too, for abandoning him and sharpening him.
Ludwig's fault, for being Ivan's favorite.
The phone felt too heavy in his hand.
Was it Gilbert or was it Ludwig that brought misfortune to others? The Ivan-Ludwig had as little thought for others as Gilbert did. Gilbert. Ludwig. Eduard. One death for each of them. Which one would take the blame for these three accidents? All of them were responsible, in their own ways. Each of them could carry the guilt.
All any of them had ever had to do was stay put. Just sit still.
They were all responsible.
The plastic in his hand had gotten warm.
Wind battered the window. Above the trees, stars, steadily being swallowed by encroaching clouds.
A sharp pain in his temples. Hell—the Ivan-Ludwig. Ha, yeah. Hypocrite. When he picked up that phone, he was just letting the Ivan-Toris out a little.
He was crazy, too.
The only blame was his own. He did it because he wanted to. Because he wanted to hurt someone. Because he wanted to show up Ludwig.
Because he wanted to impress Ivan.
Long ago, somewhere along the line, he had been a good person.
He dialed.
Good people died, too.
He had.