Zachem Ya

by TwiGo

AU Brothers do everything for each other. When Ludwig sacrifices the greatest thing he has, his freedom, Gilbert swears to get him back. There is one obstacle: a Russian general, whose interest in Ludwig goes far beyond that of a captor. But Gilbert doesn't know that in Siberia, lies and deceit are everyday occurrences, and it's the ones that hurt you that love you the most. RusGer

26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

His dreams had been strange.

Lost voices. Old buildings. Tunnels and hallways. Doors, shut and locked.

Places that weren't real anymore.

The headaches never stopped. The voices were constant.

Something he couldn't put his finger on had shut off. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, nothing and no one seemed to matter to him anymore.

Ivan was all there was in the world.

The rest had vanished, as if it had sank down into the sand. The outside. Everything outside the borders of this land. Life that went on beyond the realm of Siberia. It could burn, as far as he was concerned.

Ludwig didn't know when or where the shift had occurred. It had been recent, it had been loud, and it had been red.

Heat in his hand. Gunpowder and iron.

He had just woken up a few days later and realized that he felt connected to Ivan more than he ever had. Things seemed to make more sense. The first foothold that he had found after so long being lost in the fog.

The first peek above the cloud.

Ivan looked at him differently, too. With more intensity, it seemed. Maybe more focus. As if, somehow, Ivan could see him more clearly than he had been able to before. As if they were standing on a level platform, rather than Ivan having to peer down at him from above.

Or it could have easily been all in his head, and he just found himself all the more enamored with Ivan.

Every day that passed, life without Ivan seemed less and less livable.

Woulda died, if Ivan ever vanished.

He could stand there now and say, without shame, that he couldn't go on without Ivan.

Just couldn't.

Waking up after that shift and seeing Ivan was like seeing the other side of the reflection; the same things, but flipped. Inverted. Ivan, and somehow himself. Everything he had wanted, everything he had looked for his entire life. Everything he had sought out from others. Everything he had dreamt of for himself.

Everything he would do from now on would be to preserve that feeling.

That solid ground.

Ivan loved him.

Each touch, each interaction, each motion between Ivan and himself seemed so much more intimate, suddenly, and Ludwig could really only attribute it to that new sense of understanding.

One morning, not long after, he found himself standing over Ivan, who sat idle in a chair, shirtless and leaning backwards, and was more than happy to be running his hands up and down Ivan's face. The task was simple; just a shave. Somehow, though, it felt more like Ivan was tasking him with running an entire country, and Ludwig felt his eyes narrow with focus and his hands keep steady as he coated Ivan's cheeks in lather.

Maybe Ivan trusted him more now. Maybe Ivan just wanted to be close to him every instance.

Whatever the reason, Ludwig took that trust, however insignificant it may have seemed, extremely seriously.

Every opportunity to impress Ivan hardly seemed unimportant.

Ivan seemed content enough though, under the warmth of Ludwig's hands and the lather.

Ludwig had barely even brought the razor up before Ivan was distracting him.

"How did it feel?" Ivan suddenly asked, reaching up with those quick hands to grab Ludwig by the face, forcing his complete and absolute attention. "When you shot them. How did it feel?"

Those pale eyes were boring into his own so fervently that Ludwig wondered if he even needed to speak; felt like Ivan could suddenly see everything he was thinking.

Thumbs, running over the line of his jaw.

Ludwig stared down at Ivan, so still there on the chair, and tried to gather up his muddled thoughts.

"It was... I don't know. It was like I was somewhere else. Felt like I was floatin' around or something. Like I wasn't really there. Does that make sense?"

Ivan nodded his head, shut his eyes, and went quiet. He lowered his hands, then, and Ludwig brought up the razor and set to work.

Suddenly, though, as randomly as Ivan had interrupted, Ludwig found his focus rather broken.

Couldn't help but wonder.

Ludwig stayed silent for a moment, as the razor scraped across Ivan's chin, and then he found his nerve.

"Is that what you felt?" he asked, glad that Ivan's piercing eyes were closed.

"When?"

"When your father killed your mother. Was it like that?"

A long silence.

When Ivan spoke, he didn't seem angry at the question; what a relief.

"Who told you that? Irina?"

Ludwig nodded, despite Ivan's closed eyes.

Somehow, Ivan knew the answer all the same.

A scoff.

"What's she know, anyway? She wasn't there. She believes anything anyone tells her. She's dumb, you know? Ah, that's not the right word. What am I thinking of?"

Immediately, Ludwig offered, "Naïve?"

Ivan didn't know the word, but seemed to agree all the same, because he appeared to believe that he and Ludwig were of one mind enough now that Ludwig knew right off what he had wanted to say.

Unbearable silence, as Ludwig squirmed restlessly as he waited for Ivan to continue.

Ivan just sat there, though, comfortable and lethargic, and was content to leave it there.

Ludwig pressed, because his death would probably be from curiosity.

"So... That isn't what happened?"

Pressing his luck, maybe, but nosiness forced him along.

Ivan smiled, and raised a lofty brow.

"Well. She got part of it right. He did shoot me. But he didn't shoot her."

The razor had long since fallen still. Couldn't focus on two things at once, and he was so absorbed in Ivan's words that he'd probably cut him if he kept trying. Probably not a good idea.

And when Ivan spoke again, Ludwig was glad that he had stopped, because he might have felt his hands twitch.

"He didn't shoot her. I did."

Silence.

Ludwig just stood there, staring down at Ivan, who had finally opened his eyes.

The look he sent Ludwig was enough to make him feel a little dizzy. Just that endless, constant adoration. Couldn't stand it sometimes. Ivan made him crazy without really trying.

Couldn't think of anything to say, then, but Ivan started talking again, still calm and lazy.

"You remember the first time I gave you a gun? That was my first time. He showed me how to use it." Ivan's voice was as easygoing as anything, as if he were reliving a casual childhood memory, rather than the murder of his mother. "He took me downstairs, and told me to shoot her. She was asleep, she was, so she wasn't scared. She didn't feel anything. I didn't miss. First time I ever shot, and didn't miss."

Of course not.

Ivan was perfect.

A flash in his mind, of a calm, pale-haired child, as easygoing then as he was now, pointing a gun for the first time and somehow aiming it straight.

Red.

"I thought he wanted me to shoot him, too, but he didn't. He took it away from me. I don't know why. Guess he wanted to do it himself."

Ludwig didn't need to know the rest. Already did; a quick glance down was all he needed to see the scar on Ivan's chest.

Ivan looked up at him suddenly, reached up to grab his face yet again within warm hands, and said, pointedly, "Anyone can shoot anyone, you know. Just because someone is family doesn't mean you can't shoot them."

Family.

A nose pressed into his own, as thumbs ran over his cheeks.

Warm breath.

"My mother loved me, and my father loved her, but he still made me kill her. Afterwards, I don't even think I noticed she was gone. Family doesn't matter. All I care about is you. Me and you. I'd shoot anyone for you."

Entranced by Ivan, by everything about him, by everything he was, Ludwig could only stare at him, through lidded eyes, and smile.

"I love you," Ivan suddenly whispered, canines poking out in a charming smile, and it didn't take too long before Ludwig had leaned down to kiss him.

Anyone could be shot.

He had started figuring that out on his own, but Ivan's nudging was always appreciated.

Another whisper.

"I'd shoot Irina for you, if you wanted me to. Anyone for you."

And whether or not that was true, whether or not Ivan would have really extended his love for Ludwig quite that far, it almost didn't matter. What mattered were the words, the sentiment, the devotion.

For someone to say, 'I'd shoot my own sibling for you.'

For someone to love him that much.

Didn't matter if it was a lie.

Somehow, he found himself with his own hands on Ivan's face, and this time it was he who whispered.

"Me too."

Anyone, anything, for Ivan.

---

Agitation.

He called and called. Nobody picked up.

Roderich's office. His house. Ludwig's—Alfred's house.

Nobody picked up.

Gilbert stood there in the street for what felt like years, hair damp in a light spring rain, and he called and called until his fingers were sore from dropping in change.

Roderich had always picked up before. Never missed a call, hanging over the phone as he always was, hoping to get the word that he had wanted, that Ludwig was coming home.

Roderich wouldn't pick up.

Not that Gilbert really had anything to say to any of them, not to Alfred and not to Erzsébet and not to Roderich, but he felt isolated. Alone. Apart from the world. Lost, somewhere else.

When Roderich didn't pick up, he felt as if the world sank under.

Roderich had told him to keep calling, so why didn't he pick up?

Nobody picked up.

Things just seemed to get worse, the farther they trekked.

Gilbert always looked around, but Ludwig wasn't there. Hadn't been, for a few days.

He didn't even know where he was, let alone where Ludwig was. Couldn't even keep track of himself.

Roderich wouldn't pick up.

Eduard was still asleep when he slunk back inside the hotel room, and Gilbert stood there in front of the door and watched him for a while, as the window shook from the wind.

Felt so damn tired, but couldn't sleep. Felt more like he was about to drop over dead, but hadn't, not yet.

He didn't really know how much more of this he could take. Ludwig was still so far away, so far, and no matter how close they got, it still felt like they were across an ocean.

Eduard stirred a while later, while Gilbert stood there, and reached out to pat around for his glasses. When he looked over at Gilbert, he smiled. Gilbert woulda smiled back if he'd been able to.

"Good morning to you, too," Eduard grumbled, huskily, pulling the blankets back up to his chin in one last moment of enjoying comfort.

Gilbert went over to his bed and sat down, legs dangling off, and realized that he was glad Eduard was there. Someone to be there by his side the whole while. Even when Ludwig disappeared, Eduard was always there when he woke up.

Months.

Hell, he'd almost started thinking of this man as a friend.

Lately, Eduard seemed to be the only one that gave a damn about him.

Roderich didn't pick up.

Lonely and morose, he kept on staring at Eduard, because Ludwig wasn't there. Eduard felt his staring, perhaps, and peeked open an eye.

"What's the matter?"

He wanted to say, 'Nobody is answering,' but Eduard would bitch at him if he knew he'd been calling anyone, so Gilbert just muttered, "Head hurts. Can't sleep."

Eduard called, though, called that terrifying woman every time they stopped, and she always picked up.

Not fair.

Eduard sat up, lethargically, and grumbled, "Yeah, well, sorry I can't afford more comfortable lodgings."

For a second, Gilbert had almost smiled, and said, "I guess I expected better from you. Thought you'd treat me a little better."

Hardly bothered, Eduard just looked at the clock, seemed to be preparing himself for another long day, and sighed.

"Well. Let's get going, then."

Gilbert just stood up, and went along.

Wasn't long before they were driving again.

Every time they passed a payphone, Gilbert couldn't help but eyeball it. Antsy and anxious to get a hold of Roderich.

They stopped, a few days later, in a little motel in the middle of nowhere, and when Eduard had fallen asleep with a bottle of vodka, Gilbert slunk out and tried to call again.

Hours.

No fuckin' answer.

This time, when he admitted defeat, he banged the phone a couple of times out of frustration, and when the plastic cracked, he cried a little, before hauling himself back inside.

Didn't get it. Couldn't understand.

Eduard slept like a baby, snoring away and hair sticking out all over the place, and for a horrible, desperate moment, Gilbert had wanted to crawl into Eduard's bed and cry himself to sleep. Just to be next to someone, after so long. To feel another live human being beside of him.

Alone.

Felt so lonely.

He stood there for long time, but in the end, he slunk morosely over to his own bed and tossed himself down.

Choked.

Took a long time to sleep. Too cold here, even in spring. The moon outside was too bright. The bed creaked. Misery on all sides. So he laid on his stomach, staring over at Eduard with longing until finally, somehow, he drifted off.

Not for too long, though.

Couldn't have been too long after midnight, not too long after they had started dreaming, not too long after Gilbert could finally get a reprieve from this shitty world, when something woke them up.

A horrible, screeching.

Shrill.

Terrifying.

Gilbert started upright, hair wild and breathing through his mouth, and looked around in a panic for the source of that shrill cry. Oh god, he thought he was having a heart-attack, the way his fuckin' chest seized up and his lungs hurt and everything around him was spinning. Nearly fell out of the bed then, if a hand to the end-table hadn't stopped him short.

Across from him, Eduard had flopped over, groping around for his glasses with shaking hands.

A second of panic. Inability to think.

And then Gilbert turned his head, heard a clatter of plastic, and realized the phone was ringing. Eduard, still half-drunk and half-asleep, had gripped it, pulling it up to his ear, and rasped, highly and in terror, "Allo?"

Gilbert couldn't hear the words.

Never had he hoped it was Roderich more. Oh, god, let it be Roderich. Impossible. Roderich hadn't picked up—didn't know where Gilbert was.

Wanted it to be Roderich.

But then the look on Eduard's face was pretty goddamn terrifying, and hardly a second had passed before the phone was slammed down again, and Eduard leapt to his feet so fast that he hit his knee on the end-table.

"Get up!" he shrieked, sending Gilbert's stunned brain into another panic. "Get up, get up! We gotta get the hell out of here, get up!"

The situation was apparently dire, but still, Gilbert sat there in bed, and looked around for Ludwig. Took him a while to remember that Ludwig was gone, stunned and sleep-shocked as he was.

A hand on his arm, a yank so hard that his shoulder almost came out of its socket, and Eduard was already dragging him to the window.

The window?

Eduard's hands were shaking so badly that he almost couldn't force the glass up, and when he finally got it open enough to crawl through, he grabbed Gilbert by the back of the shirt and tried very hard to throw him out.

Dazed. Confused.

He hit the ground, and sat there, hands in the dirt and looking around in a bleary whirl, chest still clenched up and barely able to breathe. A thud beside of him, as Eduard rolled out.

Fear, creeping in through the shock.

Eduard's hand again, pulling him upright and dragging him onward.

He felt himself being shoved inside the car, heard the keys jingling as Eduard's trembling hands fumbled them over and over again, heard the engine sputtering, heard the squealing of the tires as Eduard sped out so quickly that he almost crashed. Heard Eduard's heavy, panicked breathing. Heard the hammering of his own heart.

The lights of the motel disappeared behind them.

The road sped by.

How long had it been when Gilbert finally snapped out of it and could breathe again?

Couldn't say.

When he opened his mouth to speak, all he managed to say was, "What happened?"

Eduard, jaw clenched, just shook his head, maybe too scared to speak.

The panic was steadily turning into anger.

His head hurt so fuckin' bad.

Barely keeping himself together and clenching his fists so tightly that it hurt, he asked, again, "What happened? Tell me what happened."

No answer.

Frustration overrode everything else. Couldn't take it.

"Goddammit!" he cried, as he struck out and punched the dashboard with his fist, "Why won't you fuckin' talk, huh? Tell me what the hell's goin' on, because I feel like I'm goin' crazy right now! Christ!"

Pain in his wrist.

Eduard was quiet for a while, and then caved in to Gilbert.

"They're on to us," Eduard said. "They found us. We gotta keep moving now. We're not gonna be able to stay in the same place twice. They fuckin' found us, and I don't know how."

A short silence, and then Eduard inhaled a shaky breath, and tried to laugh. He turned to Gilbert, face lit up blue in the interior lights of the car, and the smile on his face was somehow breathless.

"I think I should have just dropped you off where I was supposed to and then gone about my business."

That anger faded as quickly as it came, and Gilbert felt his shoulders slumping.

Exhaustion.

As an afterthought, Eduard added, "No offense my friend, but if we get out of this alive, I never want to see you again."

Gilbert turned foul eyes to the dashboard and grunted, "Likewise."

Everything got a little quiet then, and Gilbert turned his head to the window so that Eduard wouldn't see the passing of misery on his face.

Pitiful.

Nowhere was safe. Couldn't even sleep anymore without worrying if he was going to wake up.

As he sat there, head pressing into the window and sniveling to himself, Eduard finally spoke up again.

"Who were you calling? All this time?"

Head too heavy to lift, Gilbert just sat still, glanced over, and muttered, "Friends. Ludwig's friends, I should say. They're the ones who sent me—well, I mean, they didn't force me, I came too because I wanted Ludwig back, but... They want him more, I think. When I was the one that came back, they... They wanted him. Not me."

A soft, "Oh."

The car's tires whirred as the heat blasted.

Eduard's look seemed a bit odd. Disheartened, in a way.

Finally, Eduard turned to him, and said, strangely, "Don't call any of them again."

A squirm of guilt.

"Is that how they found us?"

Had his constant need to speak to the outside world done them in?

Eduard didn't answer, and instead just repeated, "Don't call them again."

"Why?"

Eduard's brow scrunched in irritation, as if he wanted Gilbert to just drop it.

Not that. He wouldn't let that go, and stared at Eduard until he got an answer.

In the end, Eduard just lowered his voice, and said, "Don't call. They won't pick up."

"What do you mean?"

Eduard was squirming.

A horrible shadow on his face.

"There... Ah! No one's there anymore, so don't call."

It took a long, long time for him to get it. To understand.

No one there.

No one had picked up, no one had answered, because no one was there.

Hit him like a fuckin' rock.

His head went from pounding to spinning. Chest hurt.

Why he felt himself bursting into tears then, he couldn't really have ever expressed.

Alfred. Hadn't really known Alfred, not really, but he musta been a good kid, for Ludwig to take to him so. Ludwig didn't trust many people, didn't talk much, so Alfred must have been something special.

Erzsébet. The only person that had taken pity on him. The only person aside from Ludwig that ever hugged him. The only person that might have thought he wasn't really a bad guy. She had never put him out, no matter how much strife he caused.

But fuckin' Roderich—

Oh, Roderich.

Hated Roderich. Always had, and Christ, Roderich was dead.

Gilbert had wished sometimes, high and drunk, that Roderich woulda just died so that he could take his place in the world and have a family instead. Have everything Roderich had.

To be Roderich.

The feeling wasn't what he had expected.

He felt like he'd been stabbed, because, when he really stopped and thought about it...

Gilbert had laid claim to Ludwig, but it was really Roderich, Roderich and Erzsébet, that had created Ludwig the way he was. It was Roderich that had made Ludwig a good human being. It was Roderich that had truly raised Ludwig, in the sense that only a guardian and a responsible adult could. It was Roderich, in the end, that had truly loved Ludwig, loved everything about him, loved all the things that Gilbert hadn't.

It was Roderich who had allowed Gilbert, through all of the bullshit and the chaos he caused, to see Ludwig, to continue keeping Ludwig, to call Ludwig his own even though Roderich had more of a claim to him. Even though Roderich could have cut him off anytime he had felt so inclined. Even though Roderich hated Gilbert, but had had enough thought to let him keep comin' around because it was what Ludwig wanted.

It was Roderich who had brought Ludwig home.

Gilbert had never once given him credit.

Hadn't ever expressed gratitude.

Gilbert had called Roderich selfish. Roderich had paid the bills when Gilbert had been strung out in the streets.

Gilbert had called Roderich egotistical. Roderich had sat there and clenched his mouth shut when Gilbert called him horrible things, because Ludwig, small and calm, sat beside him.

Gilbert had called Roderich pompous. Roderich had been the one to stop and take a scraggly orphan off of the street, something that Gilbert would have never done if it had come down to it.

Gilbert had called Roderich arrogant. Roderich had looked terrified when he had knelt down before tiny Ludwig and asked him if he wanted to come stay in Vienna with them for a while, just for a while, and had breathed a sigh of relief when Ludwig had quickly and happily confirmed.

Gilbert had called Roderich foolish. Roderich had kept countries calm when tensions were high.

Gilbert had called Roderich proud.

He had been right about that one; Roderich had so much to be proud of, and when Ludwig had turned eighteen and became, to them, a man, Roderich had lifted his chin and puffed his chest more than anyone. When someone stopped on the street and called Erzsébet beautiful, Roderich's smile was wider than hers.

When someone complimented Roderich, he had always accepted it and nodded his head politely, and Gilbert had hated him for it, because no one had ever said nice things to him.

He hadn't earned it.

Roderich had built himself up, had crafted everything around him the way he wanted it to be. Roderich got everything, because he had worked for it. Roderich was powerful, because he had striven his entire life to be.

Gilbert had wanted everything while giving nothing.

The only thing he had ever given Roderich was hate.

'—but you can't, because he's my son—'

'He's not your son. You're not his fuckin' father. You never will be. He loves me more.'

Roderich's crinkled brow of hurt.

Spent so long hatin' him that Gilbert had never taken the time to say, 'Thank you.'

'Thank you for finding him.'

'Thank you for letting me have him.'

'Thank you for letting me stay.'

Too late.

And Roderich hadn't had everything, not everything, not the thing he wanted the most. A son. Gilbert had taken it from him. Roderich had always been the better man. The better father.

The better brother.

Better.

He didn't cry now for Alfred or Erzsébet.

He cried for Roderich.

Beyond 'thank you', what he really wanted to say to Roderich was, 'I'm sorry.'

Sorry.

Roderich was everything he had ever wanted to be.

---

Missed them again.

How did this keep fuckin' happening?

Always so close, so close, and then they slipped away, right when Toris' hand was getting warm. Escaped. Fuckin' found them, and just as quickly lost them.

Toris clenched his hair in his hands every time the news came back bad, and looked over his shoulder to make sure that Ivan wasn't standing nearby.

Ivan didn't ask how it was going. Didn't need to, really—he knew that it had to be going well, because otherwise Toris was a dead man.

Funny how their own life in danger really drove a person to put more effort into their work.

Ludwig was ever oblivious.

No clue that his brother was clawing through Siberia.

Actually, Ludwig seemed increasingly oblivious to anything that wasn't Ivan.

Still humored Raivis and liked the attention, but didn't ever seek him out. Still did whatever Irina said, but her power over him was only that; Ludwig seemed to have no more personal interest in her. Toris barely even got words anymore, and when he did, Ludwig usually just tossed them out rather curtly and irritably.

Every day, it felt as though Ludwig was getting all the more bored of Toris.

Toris hunted Gilbert with a ferocity he didn't really knew he had, because Ludwig was really the only thing keeping him alive now, and when Ludwig's interest in him finally dissipated for good, then Toris was left completely to Ivan's good graces.

...and that wasn't a good thing anymore.

Harder and harder to engage Ludwig now. Harder to get him alone. Harder to get his wandering eyes still. Harder to see him. Harder to recognize him. Harder to feel him.

Ludwig drifted farther away.

Couldn't even get Ludwig to speak to him first now, and if he wanted a word from Ludwig, then it was up to Toris to try and get his attention, and after that, it was actually somehow harder to get Ludwig to stop sneering at him long enough to grace him with a word.

He slunk up and said, 'Hi, Ludwig.'

Ludwig just stared at him, and then lifted his chin with a curl of his lip.

Bust.

He sidestepped Ludwig in the hall, and said, 'Morning, Ludwig.'

A noncommittal grunt.

No go.

He reached out, in a moment of braveness, and placed his hand on Ludwig's shoulder.

Ludwig lifted his brow, hooded his eyes, and glanced down at Toris' hand with nothing less than disdain.

The only thing that Toris could cling to, he supposed, was that Ludwig still didn't lash out at him, verbally or physically. Somewhere in there, perhaps, there was still a part of Ludwig that might have cared for Toris.

For how much longer?

Ludwig's patience was ever waning, and Toris wasn't able to compete with Ivan for his attention.

Every day, Ludwig was farther across the river.

Days after Toris had picked up that phone and sent Ivan's men over the wall, all he ever did was listen to the radio, and wait. Waiting for the news to come back.

It came, finally, and Toris had every intention of trying to let Ludwig in on it, Ivan be damned. Anything to try and wake him up, to try and bring him back a little from the edge of that black hole.

The paper in town had it on the front page that morning, and Toris knew it would be on the radio too.

He slunk into the office, as Ludwig amused Raivis in the hall, and sat down at the desk.

Toris tuned the radio in and out, and finally heard what he wanted to.

"...news out of Austria. Yesterday, ambassador Roderich Edelstein and his wife, Er—"

He sat up straight, and looked around.

Ivan wasn't in sight.

Quickly, he poked his head around the corner of the office door and called, gently, "Ludwig."

Ludwig lifted his head, serenely, and gave Toris a bit of his time.

"What?"

"Come here."

Ludwig obeyed, because he felt like it, and drifted silently into the room, sitting in the seat that Toris offered him. The newspaper sat on the desk, folded rather strategically and facing Ludwig's direction.

The radio was still going on in the corner.

"What do you want, Toris?"

The way Ludwig was sitting, leaning an arm back above the top of the chair, one leg crossed over the other, would have offended him any other time, perhaps just because the stance of it was so goddamn superior, but it seemed hardly a concern this time.

"Nothing," he said. "Just thought we could listen to the radio. Talk. Been a long time since we talked."

A brief curl of Ludwig's lip, and then a rather droll smile.

"Sure. Why not?"

As if Ludwig were doing Toris a favor by sparing him his attention.

His own smile was stiff when he sat, too, and he stayed quiet enough.

The hard part now was getting aloof, dreamy Ludwig to focus enough to notice these things going on around him.

The radio was still going on about it. Well. Just about the ambassador, though. That kid, Ludwig's little friend, didn't get noticed. Kids like that, in school and still nobodies, the papers never cared about them. Not even a mention.

That wasn't news to a hectic world.

Toris edged himself across the desk, closer and closer to Ludwig, nudging the paper with his arm in the hopes that the movement would draw Ludwig's eye. Didn't, but, after a second, Ludwig lifted his head, ever so slightly, and tilted his ear towards the radio, as if perhaps catching a whisper of something.

Just the faintest of interest.

Toris held his breath.

It was beyond disappointing when that sudden flash of attention vanished, and Ludwig turned his head back to Toris, saying, drolly, "You're not talking."

Oh.

"Guess I'm not."

He tried again, keeping quiet even though Ludwig was catching on to him.

Fuckin' Christ, just listen to the damn radio. That was all he wanted. Just for Ludwig to listen to the words coming out of the radio. He didn't even have to speak Russian. All he had to fuckin' do was pay enough attention to hear Edelstein's name. Why was that proving so hard? They kept saying it over and over again.

It became obvious that he was the losing the battle, with the radio and with Ludwig's short attention span. Ludwig's foot started tapping soon after, and Toris knew that he was starting to slip away. Before long, Ludwig would get up to seek out Ivan.

So, he gathered up his nerve, and tried to initiate a little.

"Ludwig."

Ludwig paused, and waited patiently still, staring at him without even blinking.

Couldn't match that gaze anymore.

"Why don't you stay with me today, Ludwig? Stay here."

"Why?"

Hell. He couldn't say, 'Because you should be mourning.'

So, instead, he tried, tentatively, "Stay with me. Rest a little. Don't you feel tired? Some...some good people died, the other day. Aren't you tired?"

The closest he could get to implying to Ludwig that something awful had befallen those he had once loved without actually saying it aloud. Hadn't Ludwig felt anything? When Edelstein and his wife took their wedding vows until 'death do us part'. When his stupid American friend stopped talking for good. Hadn't he felt something?

Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest, hair glinting in the sunlight through the window, and when he smiled, Toris was sure he shuddered a little.

"Tired?" Ludwig finally uttered. "I feel fine. Ivan's alive, isn't he?"

That smile.

Toris just sat there, dumb and silent, and wished he could have found the courage to admit it. To say, 'I just killed everyone that ever cared about you. Aren't you angry?'

Wanted Ludwig to be angry with him. Someone should have been angry with him. Someone should have cared.

Not that anyone would have had to, if Toris had just controlled his temper and had refused Ivan's order. Too late, now, and Ludwig seemed hardly bothered. If he had said it, would Ludwig have reacted at all? Like he had said, Ivan was alive and well, and maybe that was all Ludwig cared about anymore.

Fine.

For a second, Toris felt a little stupid for even thinking it. Because Ludwig hadn't felt a damn thing. Ludwig had already killed; people dying didn't strike that same nerve it had before. Even if he had said it, Ludwig would have just stared at him, lifted a shoulder, and said, 'So what?'

Ludwig didn't care.

No going back. The event horizon had been breached.

And Toris didn't know how long Ivan had been standing there in the doorframe.

Hadn't seen him come in. Hadn't heard him. Hadn't felt him.

But he was there all the same.

The radio was still going strong.

A movement caught Toris' eye, and before he even realized that anyone was there at all, Ivan had barged into the room and barked, in that terrifying, booming voice he used to intimidate, "Ludwig!"

They both jumped.

Ivan was towering over them, arms straight at his sides and shoulders squared, feet splayed wide and stance quite ready for war, and even though he had screamed Ludwig's name, it was Toris on whom his eyes had settled. Staring at him so hard that Toris was pretty sure he was starting to burn a little.

Toris hadn't ever heard Ivan say Ludwig's name like that, not like that, and the first time it happened, it was Toris' fault. Ha—that figured. It usually was. Ivan's old mantra; when in doubt, blame Toris.

Ludwig whirled around so fast that he nearly slipped right out of the chair, and it stung Toris a little, his appearance, as he scrambled to his feet.

Seein' Ludwig like that.

Pale and wide-eyed, mouth open but completely voiceless, heart beating so hard and fast that Toris could see his pulse going to town in his neck, standing up and yet standing down at the same time. Shoulders and head low in submission. Only a short, quick glance at Ivan, and then Ludwig's eyes went straight to the floor and didn't come back up again. Chest heaving in fear and adrenaline.

Toris could see, then, that Ludwig wasn't truly fearless. Not really. When it came down to it, when everything was said and done, Ludwig had one great, very real fear.

The only thing Ludwig feared was Ivan.

When Ludwig finally found the courage to speak, all he said, in a terrible whisper, was, "I'm sorry."

Ivan hadn't even asked for an apology or an explanation. Ivan wasn't even at looking at Ludwig, still staring Toris down so fervently that Ivan might have forgotten Ludwig was there at all.

Toris might have foundered under Ivan's stare if he weren't so astounded by Ludwig.

By that confident Ludwig that looked at Toris as if he were dust. By the way that Ludwig had completely fallen apart at one scream from Ivan. Alarming, almost, how quickly that Ludwig could just turn into Toris when Ivan made him do so.

Maybe Ludwig wasn't so far ahead of him after all.

Hard to think anything too grand of Ludwig then, the way he was cowering. His voice shook. Low and weak. Not the way confident Ludwig usually spoke nowadays. Hardly a beseeching, passive wisp. For a moment, Toris had almost been reminded of the real Ludwig. That dumb, awkward kid that had disappeared. Could he really have still been there, somewhere?

Hard to say.

If he was, then he was so deep and buried that only the deathly fear of Ivan would ever bring him out.

Ha. 'I'm sorry.' Sorry. For what? Ludwig hadn't done anything wrong. Ivan wasn't even angry. Couldn't Ludwig tell? Not angry. When Ivan was angry, it was obvious, in the way he stood and the way he looked. Not angry now; agitated, certainly, but not truly angry. At least, not with Ludwig. Ivan had just heard something he disliked and jolted Ludwig into a panic before he could start thinking too much.

All those wires, crossed here and there.

Ivan could hit the brakes whenever he wanted.

Ludwig's hands were shaking when Ivan finally said, sternly, "Ludwig. Out."

Toris didn't have time to panic.

Ludwig left, as quickly as he could, and Ivan whirled on Toris before Toris could even start trying to get away.

A hand snatched his collar, and nearly lifted him off the ground.

Ivan shook him, and hissed, in a furious tone, "Do you want me to shoot you, huh? Is that you want? You want me to fuckin' shoot you? Because you're doing a goddamn good job of makin' me think that that's what you want! What's the matter with you? Huh?" A look down, and Ivan snatched the newspaper off of the table and crumpled it in his hand, giving Toris another good shake in the process. "Hurry up and find him, kill him, and I'll fuckin' shoot you and get it over with, if that's what you want so bad! Stop fuckin' around and put your attention where it should be. You're already on borrowed time, Toris."

Well.

Not much of an incentive to speed things along, was it? Not if the reward was a bullet.

Find Gilbert, get shot. Don't find Gilbert, get shot.

Couldn't win.

Ivan let him go, threw the newspaper in his face, and stomped out. Toris had almost thought he was off the hook for once in his pitiful life, mostly anyway, until Ivan stopped in the threshold, turned back around, and said, "Come on."

Aw, shit.

Toris wanted to stay right where he was, thank you very much, but his feet were already moving. Following Ivan, and when he was in the hall, Toris could see that Ivan already had Ludwig's arm in a vice-grip. And when Ivan started dragging a complacent Ludwig up the stairs, Toris' feet felt so fuckin' heavy that he couldn't really walk anymore. He knew exactly where Ivan was going. He could see it already, in his head.

That door.

That terrifying door.

Too scared to go and yet too scared to stay.

Somehow, he got up those stairs, and felt as though he were miles away the whole time.

Dread.

Hadn't been in there in so long, so long, and seeing that fuckin' door again was almost enough to have him slumping against the wall and start crying.

Ludwig just looked dazed. Like he didn't know how the hell he had even gotten there.

That door.

Ivan reached out, and Toris flinched and fell back, feeling alarmingly as if he were going to burst into tears at any second. Hadn't been in there for years—he'd tried goddamn hard to never be in there again. Anything and everything, to avoid that room.

His pathetic attempt at evasion was in vain. Fuckin' Ivan didn't even grab him; he stretched out his hand, and grabbed Ludwig by the arm.

And Toris could only watch with something close to horror as Ivan hung Ludwig in the threshold of that door by his collar. Ludwig's hands had gone to Ivan's wrists, but he didn't struggle, and didn't protest. Still looked so lost. Confused.

Ludwig might not have been able to say how any of this had even come about.

A miserable, burning pang of guilt.

Toris had been the one to turn on the radio. Hadn't been Ludwig's fault. Ludwig hadn't even been paying attention.

His fault.

Maybe Ivan thought the only way to be sure that Ludwig didn't remember a goddamn thing was to lock him in that room and make him forget everything. To make sure that, if by chance, Ludwig had heard Edelstein's name, then it wouldn't matter once that door shut.

By Ivan's standards, this was the old two birds, one stone. Erase Ludwig's memory and remind Toris of the thin ice he was on.

How did Ivan know that it somehow hurt him worse to see Ludwig locked up in there just because he had been emboldened to the point of stupidity when Ivan was still around?

Ludwig just stood there, Ivan's hands in his collar, and they stared at each other.

Toris could hear Ivan whisper, rather easily, "Say, why don't you show Toris how long you can last? Show him how brave you are."

Ludwig, dazed as he was, somehow still tried to smile, and managed a slow nod.

Brave?

Bravery had nothing to do with that room, and nothing to do with this situation. Not a goddamn thing. But then, Ivan couldn't exactly say, 'I'm throwing you in here so that you'll forget I made Toris kill the man that raised you.'

Instead, maybe it was easier to try and give Ludwig some kind of reason, even if it was one that made no sense whatsoever.

A long time, that Ivan stood there, staring at Ludwig's and running hands up and down his neck, as if letting Ludwig go for any amount of time was going to be just as much torture for him. Hardly, but Ludwig seemed suddenly determined all the same, and nodded again.

Maybe Ludwig saw an opportunity to impress Ivan and was leaping upon it. See how long he could last, and impress Ivan and show up Toris.

Ludwig was crazy, too.

Toris wanted to say, 'Put me in there instead,' but, like Ivan said, he was a coward.

Couldn't.

Couldn't stand that room. Couldn't be in there, ever, not even to save Ludwig, even though it was really his fault. He was a coward, but sometimes that was the only way to survive.

Eventually, Ivan managed to take his hands off of Ludwig, kissed him on the forehead, and backed up.

Toris could only stare at Ludwig, feeling more like it was the last time. Anything that went on behind that door seemed like eternity. Like this would be the last time he'd see Ludwig's face.

Ivan was smiling at Ludwig, as he said, "I can last as long as you can. Make me proud."

Ridiculously, Ludwig's chest puffed a little, and he said, in a stronger voice, "I will."

A final stare, a final transmission between them.

And the door shut.

Then, Toris wanted to say, 'His gun, you didn't take his fuckin' gun, he's gonna shoot himself, go take his gun,' but, as before, he couldn't really find his voice.

Ivan stood there before it for a long time, and Toris thought that maybe his hands were shaking a little when he raised the key to lock it. Jittery, perhaps, that he would have to be without Ludwig for a while.

When Ivan finally turned around, the stare he sent Toris was enough to make Toris feel like he was the one behind the door after all. The last time Ivan had looked at him like that, Eduard had gone missing and Ivan was ripping Siberia apart.

Ivan didn't touch him, though, not that time, and it was probably only because Ivan knew that Ludwig's torment was enough torture for Toris. Still, when Ivan walked past him, he stopped long enough to whisper, "I can't wait until Raivis is older so that I can give him your uniform and put you out of your misery."

With that, Ivan was gone.

Toris stood there for hours, staring at the door, and wishing that he had just left Ludwig alone.

His days were numbered, it seemed.

He had no doubt Ivan was telling the truth; Raivis had wanted his uniform from day one, and as soon as the damn brat was old enough, Ivan would let him take over Toris' duties, and take Toris out back and shoot him. Raivis would do anything Ivan wanted, anything at all, without hesitation. Without second thoughts. Raivis would probably excel where Toris fell short. Would probably act more ruthlessly than even Ivan had meant him to. Raivis would fit right in with Ludwig and Ivan, since he admired them so and wanted nothing more than to do everything they did.

Raivis just wanted to be like them.

Ha. He'd been overshadowed first by Eduard. Then by Ludwig. Now his damn job was being usurped by a fuckin' fourteen-year-old.

Couldn't catch a break.

Ludwig had ruined everything.

Funny, how Toris loved Ludwig so much and yet it was Ludwig that had brought about his end.

It took him a long time to finally walk away from the door and back into the office. The only thing he could do, to take his mind from Ludwig, was to hunt down Gilbert.

Hard to focus, though, as the days dragged.

His mind wandered everywhere, to everything.

In a couple of years, it would be Raivis sitting at this desk, wearing this uniform. Ah, hell, probably not this uniform; Raivis would probably be wearing Ludwig's uniform, and Ludwig would be no longer colonel but maybe major general. Lieutenant general, if Ivan were feeling generous enough.

Toris would be buried in the backyard somewhere.

Oh, Ludwig. Stupid kid. All he had had to do was just let Gilbert go and be done with it.

Days.

Ludwig beat his own record.

Thirteen days.

The longest two weeks of Toris' life.

Thirteen impossible days lost in oblivion, and, as Ivan burst into Toris' bedroom in the dead of night on that last day and ripped him up from his bed and dragged him down the halls and up the stairs, Toris actually wondered who had broken first.

Maybe Ludwig could have lasted longer.

Maybe it was Ivan that had lasted thirteen days before cracking without Ludwig at his side.

Didn't matter.

They reached that terrible door, and when Toris saw the way Ivan was fumbling through the keys, he was actually pretty goddamn sure that it was Ivan who had called it quits. A first. Couldn't stand to be without Ludwig, without someone worshipping the ground he walked on. Couldn't stand not having someone feeding his ego. Couldn't stand not having Ludwig loving him.

Finally, Ivan managed to stab the key into the lock, and opened the door.

Toris just stood there like a fool, stiff and numb and waiting to see the damage done.

All for a fuckin' radio.

Ivan flipped the light on.

White.

Nothing in sight at first. Ivan stepped inside, and Toris hung back, reluctant to get any closer to that door. Just in case.

No sounds from within.

And then, suddenly, the gentle murmur of Ivan's crooning.

No response for a while.

Toris wondered, dumbly, if maybe Ludwig had fallen over and died. If he had taken his gun out of his belt.

Not this time; a shuffle from within, a movement and a whisper, and then suddenly Ivan was back in the frame, a wobbling Ludwig beside of him. Not really standing on his own so much as Ivan was holding him upright, but still very much alive.

Toris almost didn't recognize him, the way he looked.

Covered in blood. Cut all over. Clothes disheveled and torn. Barefoot. A shaking hand was held over his eyes, trying to keep the light out as his sight had to readjust from days of darkness. Gasping breaths that barely seemed to make it in all the way. Strange, muffled whimpering, almost lost to the air. Paler than white. Yellow, almost. His hair was darker from dried blood.

The gun was very much untouched.

Death.

Oh. All Toris had done was turn on the fuckin' radio. That was all.

Just a radio.

Still, someway, Ludwig was able to stay upright when Ivan let him go, although he had to rest against the doorframe. Still standing. Wouldn't ever understand how. Seemed like nothing could ever take Ludwig down.

Ivan's hands flew up to Ludwig's bloody face, thumbs running over cheekbones, and Toris shuddered a bit at the slow, creeping smile that spread over Ludwig's face, even as his hands continued to shield his eyes. So happy to be with Ivan again that none of his injuries seemed worth dwelling on.

Those two.

What would happen if they ever found themselves without the other?

Toris couldn't imagine.

Ivan started whispering, then, spouting praise as he always did when Ludwig was concerned, and Toris could see the steady slouching of Ludwig's stance. About to go down, and hard. Whatever was keeping him upright was starting to fade.

Still, Ivan cast Toris a glance, and said to Ludwig, "Come on, you're so close. Show Toris how to do it. Go to the bedroom. You can walk. Come on."

If Toris had any expression on his face then, it was probably horror.

Horror when Ludwig, barely-conscious Ludwig, somehow took a step forward, and then another. Eyes still squinted shut and barely able to breathe, he leaned up against the wall and started dragging himself along, slow as could be, but walking all the same.

Horror.

Toris was caught still, under Ivan's eyes, and could understand what that look was saying.

'See? He'll do anything for me.'

Ludwig would have done anything at all for Ivan, no matter how far out of bounds it may have seemed to other people. Ivan hadn't taken Ludwig's gun away before locking him in there, because Ivan hadn't given Ludwig orders to shoot anything, and he knew Ludwig wouldn't act with command.

Those two. Had to be those two.

Ludwig started the descent down the stairs, but Ivan didn't follow him, apparently quite content to terrify Toris by staring at him. Fuckin' Ivan was just showing off his trophy.

Not for too much longer, though.

A horrible, sickening thud.

Ludwig had collapsed halfway down the stairs.

Toris, jolted out of the immobility of Ivan's gaze, turned around and jumped down the winding stairs, although he couldn't say why. He wouldn't have dared to touch Ludwig now, not even to help him upright.

Too dangerous, even more so in this state. Like tryin' to corral a wounded lion.

No thanks.

Ivan's heavy steps followed him, but with much less intent. Ivan wasn't rushing. Didn't really need to, he supposed. Ivan had so much confidence in Ludwig now that even falling down a staircase didn't seem like too much of a problem. Ivan was content that Ludwig could pull through anything.

Maybe he could.

Because Ludwig had fallen, alright (the blood on the stairs made that painfully obvious), and yet somehow he had managed to drag himself over to the wall and sit himself up. He had leaned up against it before falling unconscious, and now he just sat there, head hanging down and looking for all the world as though he were minutes away from just falling over and dying.

Ivan went to him, brushing past Toris as he stood there at the bottom of the staircase, still as a statue.

It wasn't fear then that kept Toris frozen so much as guilt.

Oh.

That hurt. Seeing Ludwig like that and knowing it was his fault.

Ivan knelt down before the unconscious Ludwig and reached out, touching his cheek and murmuring, "Hey! Come on, wake up."

Wake up? Like Ludwig had just decided to take a fuckin' nap.

No stir. This time, Ivan slapped Ludwig's cheek, very gently, and tried to bring him as easily as possible out of that state of shock. A deep inhale, but no visible rousing. Ivan was hardly deterred. Another soft slap, another whisper, and Ludwig started slowly out of his sleep. Toris couldn't say for sure whether it was Ivan's hand or voice that had drawn Ludwig back from the dark, but, hell. There he was. Awake and still alive, Ludwig was finally able to open his eyes, in the dim light of the hall, and turned a bleary gaze up to Ivan.

There was that smile again.

Ivan was practically beaming, and said, "Wake up. You gotta get up."

Ludwig didn't seem to understand anything Ivan was saying, and just kept looking at him as if seeing him for the first time.

When Ludwig finally found some shred of consciousness, it was used to open his mouth and breathe, dazedly, "Hey."

Ivan smiled, and looked somehow amused.

Adoration, maybe.

"Hey," Ivan responded, and pulled his hand back, resting his elbow on his knee as he leered down at Ludwig. After a moment of staring, he murmured, "Come on, get up. You're almost there. Don't sleep now. Just a little more! You can do it. Get up."

Get up?

Ludwig was one bad motion away from being dead. How in god's name did Ivan expect Ludwig to stand up? He was barely even breathing. Barely awake. Clinging to life by a thread. How could he have ever been expected to stand?

That man didn't even know where or who he was in that instant.

And so maybe it was one of the most terrifying moments of Toris' life, despite it all, when Ludwig braced his hands on the floor, squinted his eyes in pain, and then somehow, somehow, drew his legs up beneath him and pushed himself up off the floor.

God, how?

Ludwig stood up.

That effort could have damn well killed him, and yet somehow Ludwig had done it all the same, because Ivan had told him to. He tottered for a moment, and Toris thought he was going down again, but a hand against the wall stopped him short. Leaning against the stone to regain his balance, he stood inert for a minute, and then he lifted his foot. And it must have hurt, everything must have hurt, but he took a wobbly step forward all the same, and carried on.

Ivan's look of triumph was apparent, and he shot one final glance of knowing at Toris before he went off at Ludwig's side.

Toris could never have said then, could never have explained how Ludwig had managed that feat, how he had stood up, how he had taken that step.

Ludwig and Ivan carried on, and Toris stood back, frozen in the hall.

And it was then that Toris at last let it go.

In that moment, in that instant that Ludwig had stood up, Toris finally let it go.

Ludwig.

Seeing him haul himself up, seeing him defy death for Ivan, seeing that man, if he could be called that, seeing that look of intent even as his body was giving out, seeing him give literally everything to please Ivan, Toris could finally say it.

Ludwig was gone. He could say it now. Hadn't ever been able to truly admit it, because he had kept on hoping that something would click and his Ludwig would come back.

Couldn't be.

So Toris finally let him go, and accepted that there was no point in keeping the lighthouse on for Ludwig.

He didn't exist anymore.

He let Ludwig go, and washed his hands of him.

---

The white had turned to blue.

The blue faded to a grey.

Couldn't say how long it had been since he'd been laying in the bed, days maybe, and no matter how many times he looked over, Ivan was at his side. Always smiling at him. Hands all over him, all the time.

Whispering, constantly.

"I missed you so much."

Gone.

He'd been gone for years it seemed, but Ivan looked as if he hadn't missed a beat, and Ludwig just enjoyed the never-ending attention Ivan showered him with as the soreness slowly started receding.

Couldn't remember much, but that didn't seem to matter.

Not when Ivan was hovering over him constantly. Nice, to be fussed over by that man.

It never ceased to astound Ludwig how gentle Ivan's great hands could be, when he made them that way. When he focused on it and took interest in what he was doing. Just light, barely-there brushes over his skin, and Ivan patched up all of his wounds with so much care that sometimes he poked his tongue out as he concentrated.

So Ludwig, absolutely enamored, always looked up at him, and said, "I love you."

Ivan lit up, every time, and Ludwig felt like the sun had come out.

After that darkness.

That place.

The darkness that time had been strange. Couldn't remember too much of the first instance, but he felt as though it had passed differently.

The first time had been spent losing his mind and himself.

This time had been spent losing his mind and missing Ivan.

Hadn't ever missed anyone, anything, the way he had missed Ivan. To not be able to see that face. To hear that voice. Nothing in that room scared him anymore, nothing frightened him now, but to not be able to have Ivan was absolutely tortuous.

Nothing else had mattered.

No unwelcome visitors had stopped by. No arguing with phantoms. Just himself. Spent years up there holding conversations with himself, and waiting for Ivan.

Staring at the door for days on end without moving a muscle.

Waiting.

Ivan had come back, as he always did.

Couldn't really remember getting out or getting here, couldn't remember when Ivan had opened the door, but he didn't spend too much time thinking about it. It was done and over, and Ivan had come back.

For the next few days, Ivan didn't leave his side.

Worth it all, worth everything, worth all that pain, just to have Ivan paying him so much attention. Ivan was the only person that had ever made him feel like he was the only important thing around.

Days melded into each other.

As his strength started returning, being in bed was getting more stifling. Ivan wouldn't let him up, not until Ivan was satisfied that he could stand without harming himself.

He grew increasingly restless. Ready to get up and about.

More days, and then she called.

Night.

Couldn't sleep much anymore. Too much pent up energy. Too much thinking.

Suddenly, sometime long after midnight, the phone rang from down the hall.

Ludwig looked over, but Ivan was asleep. Didn't stir.

It was only his restlessness, sick of being in the bed, that made him finally haul himself to his feet and try to get to the phone. Didn't know why, really. He hadn't ever picked up the phone. Hadn't ever been in a position to. He was now, with everyone else asleep, and maybe it was his newfound understanding of Ivan that gave him the gall to even try it.

This was his house, too.

Somehow, he pulled himself up out of the bed, after a great wobble that nearly had him falling flat on his face, rested his palm against the wall, and pulled himself along.

Still had enough sense, somewhere in his muddled mind, to grab his gun off the dresser and put it in his belt.

A force of habit now.

The phone kept on ringing. The sound of it echoed in the hall.

Getting down the stairs was harder than he had thought it would be. Maybe Ivan had been right to keep him still. He wasn't quite back up to speed yet.

Made it all the same, and the ringing grew louder as he approached.

He had no fear of answering the phone, not now, although no doubt it was nothing he would understand, and when he trudged into the office, there was no concern following him. No fear. Ivan wouldn't care if he answered.

He reached out a shaking hand, picked the phone up, put it against his ear, but didn't say a word.

Let them speak first.

Nothing right off, aside from static and silence. Felt like hours. Maybe because he was so damn dizzy.

A great effort, just to stay standing.

Then, suddenly, from within that pulsing silence, a croon.

"Allo!"

He stood there for a still moment, staring at the phone with a furrowed brow.

Unexpected. Unpleasant. Hadn't missed that voice, certainly, but absolutely recognized it. He couldn't have ever forgotten the sound of her voice. Something that made even Ivan shudder.

Crazy Natalia.

Who did she think she was, calling his house? Calling his Ivan.

Ivan was his.

A moment of static over the line, and then she chirped again.

"Allo!"

Feeling his territory being tread upon from a rival, feeling threatened and invaded, he dropped his head, brought the phone up to his mouth and rumbled, gruffly, "Hello, Natalia."

The static crackled.

A whisper so ghostly he could scarcely dissect it from the white noise.

The line was cracking. Communication garbled.

He waited in silence.

And then there was a giggle.

Soft, high-pitched, saccharine and feminine, insane, and the giggle evolved into something like a cackle, and then into full-blown, roaring laughter, and he stood there, clenching the speaker in his hand and staring at the wall with a low brow. Hated the sound of her voice, even after so long away from her, and that goddamn laugh was somehow making him feel crazier than that room did.

After a minute or two her laughter dissolved back down into giggles, and when she finally spoke, her voice was breathless and eager as she gasped, "I know you!"

He curled his lips into a grimace, and even though she was hours away, it felt as though she were sitting up on his chest again, clenching her fingers in his hair.

He reached up, irritably, and scratched his head.

"You haven't come to visit me," she whispered, silkily, and he scoffed, and held the phone all the tighter.

"Sorry," he drawled, "Been busy."

"No doubt. I hear you've been fitting right in."

Her fuckin' voice. Couldn't stand it.

The way she looked at Ivan.

"And how's that?"

"Oh... I have friends. Say, what was your name again? Don't think I ever caught it."

"Ludwig."

The moon glowed in through the curtains.

He leaned against the wall, feeling faint and weak. She still riled him up enough to keep him standing, though.

"Ah. Ludwig. Such a handsome name. I'm sure it sounds sweet coming from Ivan, doesn't it? For now, anyway, until he gets tired of you and finds something new. He always does. Why don't you just go home? Let me help you. I'll get you out of there. Isn't that what you wanted? Go home before he gets bored with you."

Ludwig stayed silent, and let her say what she would.

For all the good it would do her. In the end, for all her words, he was the one that warmed Ivan's bed. No one else. That wouldn't ever change. Leaving was no longer an option. She had had her chance, so long ago, to help him get out, when that had been what he had wanted.

Too late.

This was his house now.

"Or! Better yet, why don't you just go ahead and shoot yourself? It would be easier for the both of us. Just kill yourself. Ivan doesn't really love you, you know. You have a gun don't you? Go on. Why not? Everyone else is dead."

Static.

Everyone else, whoever they may have been, didn't matter.

He smiled, pushed the wall a bit to steady himself, and when he spoke, his voice was beyond fervent. "Unnecessary. Can't say I care much about everyone else. Maybe you should take your own advice."

She giggled again, hardly bothered.

"You're cute, you know. I can see why he likes you. But he won't forever. So. Come on. Why don't you get out of there?"

Ludwig snorted, and would have rolled his eyes if he weren't so exhausted.

A creeping agitation.

What was this? Why was she calling? What could she possibly have wanted? He didn't understand, but he knew he was actually beyond agitated. If she had called to speak to him, that was one thing, but the thought of her calling Ivan, trying to talk to him, was somehow infuriating. The thought of anyone trying to undermine him and get into Ivan's affections.

Couldn't stand it.

All he muttered then, was a tired, rough, "Don't ever call here again or I'll come out there and shoot you."

A silence.

He was almost certain that he could hear her mind whirring away.

A smooth change of voice then, perhaps a softening, and she tried a different tactic.

As if, somehow, she was trying to coax him.

"Say, don't you want to go home?"

He was already home.

"I have someone who's looking for you. You've had some fun. Time to get out of there now. Come on, you remember how to get here, don't you? Come to me, and I'll get you home. You don't belong there. You need to go back to Berlin where you belong."

That word.

A rush of anger, so strong that it completely overrode the twinge of panic he felt at the mention of that word. Didn't even think twice about her comment of someone looking for him. Who would be? Nobody there on the outside.

His fingers contracted on the phone as his pulse hammered.

How dare she!

Beyond the rage, a sense of indignation. Offense. This was his house. His land. He belonged here as much as any one of them.

Ivan was his. Always would be.

He could barely hear his own voice when he rumbled, feeling absolutely enraged, "I won't ever go back there. But I'll come down to see you, alright, if you want me to. I'll come down there and we'll have a talk, if that's what you want. Call here again and I'll come down."

Her voice changed as much as his did, then, and that gentle tone of coercion turned into a sharp hiss. No doubt she hated him just as much as he hated her, and no longer deemed him worthy of the effort it took to pretend to be concerned.

"So! You think he's yours now, huh? I won't ever give him up. I won't ever stop. Ivan is mine. He always will be. As long as I live."

Fury.

He was so angry then that the only thing he could think of to do was to hiss, "Then don't expect to be alive for long," and pull his gun out of his belt.

Couldn't shoot her right then, because she wasn't there, but something had to suffer his wrath, and it was the hapless phone that wound up getting it.

Ivan was his.

Aiming the gun at the phone, having no care that it was the middle of the night and that everyone was asleep, he pulled the trigger, and the silence was shattered by an explosion. The bullet tore a hole through the phone's center, smoke and sparks shot up, a final crackle of static, and then everything fell still.

Her voice was gone.

For good.

So fuckin' angry.

Long after her voice was gone, he could still feel the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, and hear that laugh echoing in his ears.

He stood there, immobile and feeling somehow triumphant, as the phone smoked in its final moments and the gunpowder filled the stale air. He looked around a bit, waiting for all of them to come rushing into the room in fright and ask him what had happened, but nothing stirred from above.

Everyone slept still.

The benefits of a big, stone house whose inhabitants drank too much for their own good.

Placing the gun back in his belt, he retreated, leaving the broken phone to fizz out alone, and set a course for the bedroom.

Irritation.

If she had intended to push his buttons, then she had succeeded. Anger and frustration. This couldn't come to pass again, of that he was certain. Her calling once was enough. Too much. One way or another, Ludwig decided then, she had to go. If he had to take the car himself and drive down, then so be it.

She had to go.

Scaling the stairs without a sound, he crept up and slipped inside the bedroom, where Ivan still slept away.

Ivan.

That man belonged to him.

Crawling over into the bed, he braced his hands in the mattress and fell forward, resting his weight on Ivan's chest and dropping his head down until his lips were against Ivan's ear.

"I love you."

A stir beneath him, as his words and weight penetrated the haze of Ivan's deep sleep.

Hands on his waist.

A whisper of his name.

Ivan's eyes opened before long, with a deep inhale, and then there was a smile. Fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt, and he could feel Ivan's breath on his neck as he whispered, huskily, "You alright?"

More than alright, as long as Ivan was in the bed.

Ludwig could only nod.

Slow, lurching movements and uneven breathing as Ivan roused steadily from sleep.

"What's the matter?" Hands up his back and sides, as if searching. "Stitch come undone?"

Hardly.

Something had come undone, but not any of his stitches, and when he grabbed Ivan's face and kissed him as hard as he had strength left for, it finally seemed to get through Ivan's thick skull that nothing was wrong at all.

The hands fell still still, and Ivan seemed surprised, more than anything, at Ludwig's sudden boldness.

The possessiveness he felt then might not have been normal, but they weren't, either, so when Ivan's hands became a little rougher, Ludwig was quick to lean down and start whispering in Ivan's ear. It felt absolutely necessary that he let Ivan know that this was his bed, and that Ivan was very much his as much as vice versa.

It wouldn't have ever happened, but it felt necessary to let Ivan know that his being replaced was not an option.

He'd shoot Ivan, before he ever let himself be replaced.

By the time positions had shifted and he found himself beneath Ivan, Ludwig was feeling increasingly secure.

His.

Whoever was looking for him, assuming that someone actually was, could keep on all they wanted. Natalia could keep trying all she wanted.

He had found his stable ground, and wasn't going anywhere.

Hours, it felt like, that he kept whispering into Ivan's ear, that Ivan's hands couldn't stop running over every part of him, and by the time Ivan fell above him and pressed him down with his full weight, Ludwig had long since been content that his territory was still very much intact.

The borders were secure.

Natalia's words evaporated like smoke.

Ivan was his.

And that was that.

---

Finally, a day came when Toris found himself not looking around corners and sneaking about.

For once, he could walk proudly down the hall.

Found 'em.

As a matter of fact, it was five days after Ludwig had picked himself up off the floor that Toris had finally received the call he had been waiting for. Only, the call had come from the phone in the foyer, the private number, because the phone in the office had apparently done something to piss Ludwig off.

Toris had only asked him, when Ivan had finally let him out of the bedroom, 'What happened to the phone?'

Ludwig looked over at him through heavy eyes, chin resting on a balled fist as he sat at the kitchen table, and drawled, 'What phone?'

Okay, then.

Toris took Ludwig's hint, and left it well enough alone.

That man terrified him.

Anyway, a busted phone couldn't dampen his mood, not then, and neither could a frightening Ludwig.

A phone was easily replaced, and Toris couldn't worry about it.

Not when he had finally found Gilbert and Eduard, holed up in a hotel and being absolute sitting ducks without even being aware of it, not when he had them cornered and trapped. Not when they didn't even know he had crept up behind them. Not when he could finally go up to Ivan, and proclaim victory, although it was still a little early to do so.

Couldn't help it, almost; he was so fuckin' desperate for Ivan to praise him that he was ready to tell Ivan that he had found them, even if they weren't dead yet.

So desperate for Ivan to be proud of him, for once.

So he went into the office, where Ivan was crouched on the floor, hooking up a new phone, and stood there in the frame until Ivan glanced up at him through pale lashes. A crinkle of his nose, a narrowing of his eyes, and Ivan carried on with the cables without so much as a word. Toris wasn't worth the effort it took to open his mouth.

Then, yeah, but that was because Toris hadn't told him yet.

Excitement.

Maybe he was shuffling a little, maybe the air around him was as excited as he was, or maybe Ivan could see the way he was suppressing a smile. Maybe the constant moving of his hands had caught Ivan's attention.

Whatever it was, Ivan finally looked up at him again, and asked, rather casually, "What?"

Ivan was in a good mood. That was even better.

Maybe Ludwig blowing the phone to hell had been hilarious to him.

Well. Time to say it, then.

Toris took a deep breath, let himself smile a little, and stood up straight and at attention. "I found them," he said, shoulders high and chest puffed, and maybe some part of him was waiting for Ivan to smile and say, 'Good job!'

He felt proud.

Accomplished.

Found 'em, after so long, and Ivan had to be proud of him. Had to be. This was still his fuckin' job, no matter how crazy Ludwig was or how hard Raivis stared at his back.

Toris waited for praise.

A long stare, maybe a heightening of Ivan's brow and a loosening of his face, but there was no jump upright, no shout of victory, and no kind words for Toris.

Instead, Ivan just said, with a scoff, "So kill 'em. Why are you tellin' me? Just kill them."

Disappointment.

His excitement deflated, and so did his smile. His shoulders slumped before he was even aware it, and his hands had fallen still. Before he knew it, Toris' brow had lowered, and he almost felt like sighing.

Shouldn't have stung as much as it did.

'Good job.'

Was that so hard to say? Nothing he ever did was good enough. Not like Ludwig, who could do no wrong. Couldn't ever seem to show up Ludwig, no matter how hard he tried.

Feeling as disheartened as he no doubt looked, Toris just said, "Alright," and went back for the door.

As he retreated, Ivan called, "Wait."

Toris stopped still, and was certain he was holding his breath in anticipation. Heart hammering. A twinge of exhilaration up the back of his neck.

Oh, please acknowledge him! Say something. Anything.

'Good job, Toris.'

Tell him that he had done something right for once.

Ivan stood up, rested his palm on the desk, gave a half-smile, and then said, "Wait. Let's let him make the official order, shall we? Wouldn't that be poetic?"

Toris felt himself slump again, although he tried hard not to.

Him.

Figured.

Tired and lethargic, Toris just nodded.

Ivan didn't even let him go fetch Ludwig, and was quick to dart by Toris and into the hall. Toris lingered there, alone and irritated, and glowered at the desk, running a hand absently through his hair.

Felt so agitated suddenly.

Fuckin' Ludwig. Yeah, sure! Why not? Why not let Ludwig make the official order to kill his own fuckin' brother. Sure. Poetic, alright. He'd done everything else. Why not? Why the hell not? Let Ludwig kill Gilbert, then.

But tell him.

If Ivan were really brave, he'd tell Ludwig damn well who he was killing. He'd tell him.

When Ivan came back, a wobbly Ludwig in tow, Toris looked up and saw nothing there that he recognized. Just two crazy men with no sense of the world outside.

Ivan led Ludwig over to that great map in the wall, twisted him around so that Ludwig's back was up against his chest, and when he rested his chin on Ludwig's shoulder and wrapped arms around him, Ludwig smiled.

Crazy.

Ludwig probably didn't even notice Toris was there, not when Ivan directed Ludwig's attention to the map. The map. For what? Toris hadn't even told Ivan where the hell Gilbert was, and Ivan didn't seem to care enough to ask.

Maybe just seeing it was enough to make Ludwig focus.

A quiet, fond whisper.

"Ready to get back to work?"

Ludwig nodded, eagerly, despite the wan shade of his skin and the shadows under his eyes. He seemed quite happy to be staring at that map again, at that world in his head that he owned, and Toris had no doubt that he was very proud that Ivan had let him come 'back to work'.

The last time Ivan had led Ludwig over that map, Toris had seen the outcome.

This time, maybe it would be worse, although no towns would burn. Worse, because Ludwig would be sending a death-sentence to someone he knew very well, to someone he had loved once, without even knowing it.

Wished Ivan woulda told him, and see how eager Ludwig looked then.

"So, Ludwig—"

Lyuuudovik!

Toris shuddered.

"—tell me. You remember last time? How you put everything together? Let's do it again. There's another little group, a lot smaller, just a few of them. How do you want to do it? We can get them while they sleep, or we can wait for them on the road and chase them down. What do you think? Which would be more exciting for you?"

A flash in Toris' mind of Gilbert, sleeping in a creaking hotel bed, Eduard sitting up and drinking, those two, not even knowing, thinking about how they were going to go on in the morning. Eduard laughing at something Gilbert had said.

Gilbert, in some other place, clenching a younger Ludwig to his chest as they slept on the floor after a long day of roughhousing. Gilbert's pale fingers brushing over Ludwig's face with nothing less than absolute adoration.

Ludwig smiling.

Oh.

Tell him.

'So, Ludwig, how to do want to kill your brother? You know, the guy that you did all of this for. The man you woulda died for once. Remember him? Do you want to terrorize him first in daylight and scare the hell out of him before you shoot him, or just kill him in his sleep?'

Ludwig looked at that map like he'd been in the army his entire life. Like he owned everything he saw. Like that world was his for the taking. Like he could have gone out to any one of those cities and set it ablaze if he wanted to. Then he smiled, leaning back wearily in Ivan's great arms, and reached out to run cool fingers over the map.

A gentle snort, and then Ludwig spoke.

"Why wait? If they want to get anything done then they shouldn't be sleeping in the first place."

Ludwig didn't sleep anymore.

Toris felt more agitated than surprised, but was at least relieved that the more merciful option had been chosen. Not that it mattered. Ludwig's order was a formality only; in the end, it was Toris' call, and Toris had always intended to move in at night.

Wished, still, that Ivan had told Ludwig the truth. Test that loyalty a little.

At Ludwig's words, Ivan's wolfish grin had widened, and he looked over at Toris from behind Ludwig's head, pale eyes on fire and hands still clenching Ludwig rather possessively. What he whispered, in Russian, made Toris shudder all the more.

"You see? You see how he is? He's my own mind. You see how easy it was for him? Didn't even have to think about it. He doesn't play by that world anymore. He won't ever leave here. He'll kill anyone I ask him to. He'd give the order to raze all of Germany to the ground if I asked it of him. He was meant to be here. Can you see it now, Toris? Ludwig is mine. Now go kill him. Go. I want you to go. I want you to be there. I want you to stand over his body and make goddamn sure that he's dead, because I won't ever let Ludwig go. I told you already. I'll shoot us all. Go. Now."

Toris could only stand there, frozen, and stare at Ivan.

Lyudovik, Lyudovik, Lyudovik, Lyudovik, LyudovikLyudovikLyudovikLyudovik—

The sound of that name, from Ivan's lips. Hated it.

Ivan would never let Ludwig go.

Ludwig just smiled away, maybe enjoying the different pitch of Ivan's voice since he didn't understand the words.

Ludwig had made the order. Time to go, but...

No, no, that wasn't fair, though. None of that was fair. Ivan hadn't told Ludwig the truth. Hadn't told him who it was. Hadn't told him who he was killing. Ludwig had done it so easily because Ludwig didn't know. That wasn't fair.

Not fair.

Ludwig turned his head and lifted his eyes to Ivan then, and asked, dreamily, "Are we going out again?"

A short silence, and then Ivan broke into a smile and reached around to grab Ludwig's chin.

"Not this time. Next time. We'll go together next time."

Next time.

If Ivan were really brave, if he really wanted to play roulette, then why not let Ludwig go with Toris? Why not let him stand before Gilbert and see if all of Ivan's talk held up in the real world? Why not see if Ludwig was all machine yet?

Ivan spoke about bravery all the time, but when it came to Ludwig, when it came to risking that thing he had in his hand, Ivan wasn't brave. Wouldn't take any chance at all of having Ludwig slip away.

If Ludwig's only fear was Ivan, then perhaps Ivan's only fear was of losing Ludwig.

Ivan and Ludwig should never have encountered each other.

Together, they were a whirlwind; a hectic, frenzied hurricane. A perfect storm. Ivan, providing leadership that lost Ludwig needed, offering support and oceans of confidence and fearlessness to a man who had been desperate to know who and what he was. The boost that self-conscious Ludwig had needed. And Ludwig provided just the right foil for Ivan, who had needed someone to bolster him and further extend his own boldness and audacity. Ivan had needed someone to see him as god in order to start acting like one. Ludwig was just as smart as Ivan, but in a different way. Ivan was intelligent when it came to manipulation and using people; Ludwig was book-smart and logical. Putting those two minds together was like mixing chemicals and hoping they didn't blow up.

They fueled each other.

Eerily similar and yet very different.

For the most part, Ludwig was calm and cunning, able to foresee outcomes and repercussions that brash Ivan might not have. Unwaveringly loyal to anyone he finally gave his affection to. Ivan was intrepid and relentless, able to come up with plans and ideas that aloof Ludwig would never have thought of on his own. Obsessively focused on someone who loved him.

Ivan needed to be dominant to thrive. Ludwig was content to be dominated. Ivan needed to be in complete control. Ludwig was willing to surrender. Ivan needed to manipulate and to be obeyed. Ludwig was willing to be manipulated, and obeyed without thought. Ivan was sadistic. Ludwig was masochistic.

But both of them were dangerous, and both of them were insane. Both of them had little qualms about hurting anyone that wasn't the other, and both of them enjoyed being on top of the world. Both of them felt as if they were above the rest of humanity. Both of them loved having other people's lives under their boots.

Both of them were killers now.

And who knew? Maybe one day they really would own the world, as they had always wanted to.

Unstoppable.

Maybe the end of the earth would be born of their minds coming together. Lovebirds of destruction; together they caused nothing but havoc, but parted they would die in a supernova of annihilation, like stars. Had to be together; couldn't be one without the other anymore.

Together, always, or else.

Toris couldn't help but wonder then if Ludwig would have even cared if Ivan had told him the truth. If Ludwig had known, maybe he still would have had the same answer.

Ludwig loved someone else now, had given himself to someone else, and there was no more room for Gilbert.

Lovebirds.

Ivan had said 'go', so Toris went, because, in all honesty, he felt stifled and terrified in that house, with Ludwig there. Couldn't stay in that room anymore. Couldn't be around them when they were together.

With those two together.

Ludwig scared him.

He left that night, under Ivan's orders.

Didn't say goodbye to anyone. Didn't look over his shoulder and try to catch a glimpse of Ludwig. Didn't see Irina or Raivis. He didn't pack anything; as always, it never occurred to him to just high-tail it out of there for good. It was just another routine. Get his boots on, get his gun, gloss his uniform, and go wherever Ivan told him to go.

That was all.

He might have had other dreams for himself long ago, but he couldn't remember those. The only dream he had now was to stand before Ivan and to have Ivan reach forward and clap him on the shoulder.

To hear him say, 'I'm proud of you, Toris.'

'Good work, Toris.'

Ludwig may have owned Ivan's love and attention, but one day, Toris would force Ivan's eyes up, if only for a second.

One day, he'd impress Ivan.

---

So far, so good.

They had driven for weeks before they had finally stopped. Before Eduard felt safe enough to stay in another hotel instead of sleeping in the car. Before their thin nerves were repaired enough to take a chance.

They looked like hell, they knew that much.

Sleeping in a car for two fuckin' weeks was close to torture.

So was thinking.

Gilbert couldn't even stand to think, couldn't stand to wake up, couldn't stand to remember.

The only way he was surviving now was complete and absolute suppression of the past few weeks. None of it had ever happened. That was all. No one picked up the phone because they were all busy. Too busy to answer, was all. They were busy. Occupied. Alfred was in school, even now, and Roderich and Erzsébet were just off on vacation somewhere together.

They didn't pick up, but they were alright, somewhere.

Couldn't stand it otherwise. Had to pretend, or he'd just fall over and huddle up and be out of commission.

When Eduard picked up the phone to call that women, Gilbert turned his eyes away, and had to fight off the urge to think about it, because if he did he would start bawling.

They were just busy.

Roderich was mad at him for something and was ignoring his call.

Anything, anything at all, not to think about it.

To make it all worse, it had been weeks, but Ludwig hadn't come back. Somehow, Gilbert had resigned himself to the fact that he was gone for good. Could feel it in a way, that Ludwig had vanished and abandoned him.

Had to focus now on the real one.

Had to focus on Eduard.

Had to focus on the invisible men behind them.

It was both a relief and a terror to walk inside that hotel, for the first time in so long. Eduard was looking over his shoulder every second, scanning the streets and the other buildings, looking pale and petrified.

Gilbert was sure they looked alike.

Still, Gilbert wouldn't lie and say that it hadn't been gratifying to plop down on that bed and bury his face into a pillow.

Comfort, for once.

Eduard left the room a while later, after forcing Gilbert to stay put, and it was fuckin' terrifying, terrifying, to sit there on the bed with wide eyes and stare at the door, waiting for Eduard to come back. Couldn't remember the last time he'd been so scared. Waiting like that, not knowing if Eduard would return.

Couldn't stand to be alone.

Missed Eduard like crazy, even for that short time.

Wondering, wondering, wondering, wondering when Eduard would come back.

If.

But he did, not too long after, with a paper bag in his hand, and Gilbert was so relieved and so suddenly ecstatic that he leapt off the bed, stalked forward, and snatched Eduard to his chest, hard as he could.

Wanted to cry.

Eduard humored him, and said, as he patted Gilbert's back gently with one hand, "Jeez, I didn't know you missed me that much! You shoulda said something! I would have hurried."

Eduard's teasing didn't really get through.

Everything was building up.

Felt overwhelmed. Trapped. Alone. Couldn't call. Couldn't talk. Couldn't say, 'I'm sorry.'

Felt like he was drowning.

Oh, god, he missed Ludwig so much, so fuckin' much, hadn't seen him in so long, and Roderich didn't fuckin' pick up.

So, when he felt his wall finally fall, he pressed his face into Eduard's shoulder, sucked in a great breath, and burst into tears.

His fingers clenched into Eduard's shirt.

For the first time in so long, he cried in front of someone without trying to hide it, and felt like a little kid. A long, stiff silence, as awkward Eduard might have been thinking of something to say. In the end, guess he couldn't come up with anything good, and he just wrapped his arms around Gilbert and let him bawl.

Felt like hours that he stood there, clenching Eduard and crying his eyes out.

The whole time, Eduard didn't move, and didn't say a word.

Gilbert was grateful for that, more than anything, because he was already embarrassed. Hated crying, hated for anyone to see him in a vulnerable position, but, for once, he wasn't too bent up about it. Actually, when he thought about it, he felt better. Not his proudest moment, sniveling into Eduard's shirt and soaking him with tears, but he felt better for it.

When he was finally managed to breathe again, when he couldn't really cry anymore even if he had tried, when his eyes were sore and red, Gilbert slowly pulled himself back, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and grumbled, gruffly, "Sorry."

Eduard just said, "Don't worry about it. How you feeling?"

A slow, honest, "Better."

Despite his sore eyes and sore chest and sore head, he felt better. Some pressure had come off. A removal of stress that had been building for months.

Eduard smiled, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Good! 'Cause I got something for ya. Come on."

Eduard dragged him into the bathroom, and Gilbert went with him, still wiping at his nose and yet feeling lighter.

Feet didn't seem so heavy now.

Eduard sat him down in the tiny shower, pulled his shirt off, and grabbed the paper bag. Gilbert let Eduard do whatever he pleased, and when Eduard pulled a glass bottle full of liquid out of the bag, Gilbert asked, curiously, "What's that?"

"Ink."

"For what?"

To answer that, Eduard just said, "Cover your eyes."

Gilbert did, and shivered a little when cold fluid hit his head.

"Told you we were gonna dye that hair of yours. I probably should have done it earlier."

Oh. Made sense, he guessed, now that they had been caught.

Gilbert sat there, shirtless and still sniffling, and could hear that Eduard was trying very hard not to laugh.

A strange feeling crept up, but not an unpleasant one for once. Almost felt a little hope, or something close to it. More than a little odd, to sit there in that dingy hotel bathroom, fingers tangled in his hair and hearing someone laughing.

Hadn't heard laughter in a long time.

Eduard's hands scrubbed the ink deep into his hair, and Gilbert reached up to wipe at his eyes whenever he felt it trickling down.

"Why are you laughing?" he finally asked, over Eduard's giggles. "Huh? What? Do I look stupid?"

"Oh, yeah," was Eduard's immediate chirp. "You look like a Beatle!"

Gilbert snorted at that, despite himself, and almost laughed.

Almost.

Minutes of something that was comforting, as Eduard scrubbed away, and then he said, "Lean your head back."

He did, eyes squinted shut, and when Eduard ran fingers carefully over his eyebrows, Gilbert was sure he was actually smiling.

Easy to pretend that it was Ludwig.

Missed those hands.

When the water started running, when those fingers started rinsing excess ink out of his hair, when a towel was placed over his head, Gilbert finally opened his eyes, and was surprised.

It wasn't Ludwig. He knew that already; that didn't surprise him. What surprised him was that he very much saw Eduard, and was content with that. That he could look at Eduard and feel like he'd made a friend.

Hadn't ever really had any friends.

There had only been Ludwig.

Eduard had been with him for months now, and, beyond anything, Gilbert realized that he was grateful, and said as much.

As Eduard toweled his hair dry, he heard himself whisper, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Eduard said, quite cheerily. "No offense, but you look pretty terrible. Dark hair does not go with your skin."

"I didn't mean that," Gilbert said, as he squirmed around to look Eduard in the eyes. "Thank you. For taking me. For coming with me. For helping me. I don't... Well, if you hadn't helped me, I woulda never got this far. So. Thank you."

Grateful that Eduard had given him the time of day. Grateful that Eduard had bothered to help him, when he hadn't deserved it.

Those words were always so hard for him to say, thank you, and yet somehow he had managed it.

Eduard stared at him for a while, still crouched on his knees, and then tried to smile. "No problem," was all he said, although it looked as though he had wanted to say something else.

Probably had wanted to say, 'Don't thank me yet for that, either, because we probably won't make it.'

Didn't want to say it aloud, though, and Gilbert was grateful for that, too.

A rather rough tussle of his hair, and Eduard's smile was back up when he said, "Well! Go look at the damage. Just don't punch me."

Another laugh.

Gilbert hauled himself up, walked to the mirror, and the good feel of Eduard's laughter died when he finally looked at his reflection.

He didn't see himself.

For a second there, with that dark brown hair, he only saw Roderich.

A pang.

The threat of crying came up again, but Eduard saw it this time, and reached out to punch his arm, gently, drawling, "Hey, don't cry about it! You look bad, man, but not that bad. If you want, I'll just shave it off."

Gilbert gave a coarse, shaking laugh, and shook it off.

Just pretend. Carry on.

When they went back into the room, Eduard sat down on his bed, and this time, Gilbert found the courage to sit down beside of him.

Didn't want to be alone.

Eduard didn't seem too bothered by his presence, and, as usual, it didn't take too long for Eduard to start drinking. Gilbert found himself scooting ever closer, until their knees bumped together, because he was miserable and lonely and if he didn't have someone to touch then he was going to go fuckin' crazy.

Eduard glanced over at him, seemed to understand, and smiled as he suddenly repositioned himself so that he was laying correctly on the bed, kicking up his legs to shove them over Gilbert's as if he were a footrest. Without any hesitation, Gilbert reached down, grabbed handfuls of Eduard's pants, and was more than content to stay that way.

Hadn't ever had friends, and this normal human interaction was a little alien to him. Felt good, though, even just to be used as a glorified pillow.

Gilbert wondered, out of the blue, if Ludwig and Alfred had ever sat like this.

Oh. Hurt.

To distract himself, Gilbert asked, suddenly, "Where are we?"

Eduard smiled as he poured himself a glass, rested up against the headboard, and replied, "Krasnoyarsk. We're close now. Just a day more."

"Until what?"

Eduard pushed his glasses up his nose, hesitated a bit, and then said, carefully, "She's waiting for us in Lesosibirsk. We'll meet her there, and she'll make sure we make it out to Mirny without dyin'. Best as she can, anyway. Can't say I trust her much, once we actually have to be with her, but looks like we'll have to take a risk."

That woman.

Meeting her seemed suddenly as terrifying as meeting him.

Scared.

"Why's she so important, anyway?" Gilbert finally asked, having thought it now for months, so that he wouldn't start panicking.

Eduard glanced up at him, put back his glass, and then said, simply, "Because she's exactly like him. She thinks like him. She knows what he'll do. I sure as hell don't."

Gilbert shuddered.

He'd have gladly spent the rest of his life trying to avoid people like that, yet he found himself on the trail of one.

Eduard saw his fear, and reached up a leg to nudge his shoulder with a foot.

"Ah, it'll be alright! Say, before long, we'll all be going back to Berlin. Hell, I think I might go, too, this time. In a couple of years, we'll be sittin' in bars, telling everyone about our ride through Siberia and how we beat the man."

Bullshit.

That was the most bullshit Eduard had ever tried to sell him, that anyone had ever tried to sell him, and it was the sheer absurdity of it, the sheer ridiculousness, that made Gilbert start laughing.

Couldn't stop, it seemed, and he laughed so hard and so long that he started crying again, but not quite out of misery that time.

Eduard just smiled at him, blue eyes calm behind his glasses, and poured another glass.

After that laugh, after that first intake of breath where Gilbert didn't feel like he was being suffocated, he found himself smiling, and realized that he felt good.

Good.

A foreign feeling after so long.

Hope.

For the first time, he felt almost positive, as if some part of him really thought that maybe they could pull this off. That maybe this crazy, stupid plan would actually work, that maybe he really could get Ludwig, and get home, and the three of them could sit in some shitty bar and have stories for years.

Stupidity.

Some part of him bought it.

Confidence that had been lost long ago in the snow came back up.

Eduard seemed content enough to see him laughing, and that might have been the first time that Gilbert had seen a real smile spread over Eduard's face. A crinkle of his eyes and a showing of his teeth, and he nudged Gilbert with his foot again, just because he could.

Oh, he felt good.

They sat there well into the night, long after they normally slept, and just talked.

Hadn't talked to anybody in so long.

Eduard told him stories about life before all of this mess, about exciting things he had done before he had gotten mixed up in Siberia, and in return, Gilbert told Eduard stories that he hadn't ever told anyone. Told him everything. Told him about the times that he had gotten Ludwig into trouble despite Ludwig's best efforts to be the 'good' one. He told Eduard about the times he had been in jail. About his ventures in clubs. All of his trouble-making.

He told Eduard about the time that Ludwig had been so mad at him that he had locked Gilbert out of his own house and forced Gilbert to climb up a fuckin' tree just to reach the window above and crawl inside, and when Ludwig saw that he had still gotten in, he had dragged Gilbert back to window and tried to toss him right through it.

Eduard listened to everything he said, and most of the time he laughed so hard that he nearly snorted vodka out of his nose.

Felt good.

Gilbert realized then how much he missed the world.

Not just Ludwig, but everything.

The first time in so many years that he was clear-headed. Not high. Not drunk.

It felt good.

It was just a disgrace that it had taken this, all of this, to get him to figure it out. Well! Better late than never, and Christ, when he got Ludwig, he was gonna make it up, all of it, everything.

Hoped Eduard would really hang around, too, because he was the only person that had ever bothered to get to know him.

Now that Roderich...

Nah.

Couldn't finish that thought.

Gilbert glanced at the clock, a while later, and saw that it was already three in the morning. Wasn't sleepy, and Eduard was still going strong, quite sober still, and laughing so much that his voice was almost gone.

Not once, in all those hours of talking, had Gilbert's hands let go of Eduard's legs.

He found himself clinging to Eduard now as much as he had to Ludwig.

Couldn't stand to be alone.

It had started drizzling outside.

Looking over, Gilbert met Eduard's eyes, and asked, "So, when we're done, are you really gonna go to Berlin?"

Eduard leaned back, lazily, and leered, "I might! I've been thinking about it a lot. I think this has worn me out. Helping you makes me wanna go into retirement. So, yeah. Maybe."

Gilbert smiled.

Eduard teased him, again, adding, "I mean, if you're gonna miss me so much that you're gonna start crying again—"

Gilbert was quick to grab a pillow and throw it into Eduard's face.

In the middle of that comfort, in the middle of Eduard's laughter, in the middle of the first time that Gilbert had come close to feeling something even a little like happiness in so many years, there was a knock at the door.

A fuckin' knock.

Out in the middle of this godawful hotel in the center of godawful nowhere.

A knock. Just a short, quick rap.

Nothing more.

Silence.

Hadn't ever known such silence.

Beneath his hands, every single muscle in Eduard had seemed to clench and freeze. A wide-eyed look of terror. Nothing short of horror.

Silence.

A quick, testing jingle of the doorknob.

It was locked.

The sound of the doorknob was what jolted Eduard, and he sat up so fast that he fell straight off the bed, and flew to the window. Eduard yanked the pane up so hard that Gilbert was surprised it didn't shatter, and then a hand was on his shoulder.

Eduard pushed him forward, and then hands were suddenly in his belt.

He looked down, dumbly, to see Eduard stuffing a gun and a map into his pockets.

Everything felt so slow.

So distant.

A meeting of eyes.

Eduard tried to smile, and breathed, "Lesosibirsk, remember that. Lesosibirsk."

Wanted to say, 'I don't have to remember that, that's what you're here for.'

Couldn't.

Gilbert couldn't even think, let alone move, and didn't twitch again until Eduard was shoving him out the window as he had once before.

Eduard let him go first.

Always let him go first.

He gripped the pane, tried to lower himself down, and when he had one leg out, there a was a bang, as someone or something rammed into the door.

A surge of fright, and Gilbert's other leg was pushed out furiously by Eduard, who hissed, "Go! Get out, go! Go on, I'll be right behind you, don't wait! Go—"

Fear.

Trying to drop out of that window was terrifying, but he did it, somehow, clinging to the edge and glancing down. Seemed so much higher than the second story when he dangling above the ground like that.

Tried to steady himself for the fall, and was rudely interrupted.

A bang, a fuckin' gunshot, so close by, scared him so badly that he cried out and lost his grip.

A dull thud, a shooting pain up his arm as he landed on his elbow, and he laid there on the ground for a long second, the wind knocked out of him and eyes wide as he stared up above.

Another loud, ear-shattering bang.

Screaming.

Something moved beside of him then; a flash of mud, kicked up by something.

A bullet.

Right next to his fuckin' head.

No one in the window above him. Musta come from another building. Air came back from the sheer panic, Gilbert hauled himself up and started running, as fast as he fuckin' could, and kept waiting for the sound of Eduard hitting the ground.

Oh, Eduard, jump already—

The streets were dark. Slick. Didn't know where the hell he was going but ran anyway, because staying still wasn't an option when someone was fucking shooting at you. He ducked into an alley a few blocks down, chest aching and lungs stinging, and waited, too petrified to really go much farther.

Another shot.

It echoed in the night.

The rain fell.

Freezing.

Gilbert waited there in the slush of melting snow and rain, crouched down in the alley and holding his arm, head poked around the corner as his heart pounded in his chest with dread.

He waited.

Waited.

His hair was soaked with rain. The old ache in his hand flared up. His legs were numb.

Chest hurt.

Then voices, loud from the buildings, shadows moving, and Gilbert knew then that he couldn't fuckin' wait anymore.

Couldn't wait.

If Eduard had jumped without him seeing, then he wasn't going to be standing still, and Gilbert couldn't risk immobility, either. Couldn't sit there like a fuckin' duck and wait for those men to come looking for him. He'd come so far, so far, too far to just sit there and let them hunt him down like that, not when he was so close.

All the same, it was frighteningly difficult to push off of that dirty alley wall, and step back into the street alone. It was beyond dismal, trying to get his legs to move when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. To walk, when all he wanted to do was wait for Eduard.

Eduard.

Somehow, he got moving.

He walked for hours, always looking over his shoulder and praying, praying, that Eduard would round the corner.

But Eduard never came.

By the time the horizon turned pale pink with the rising sun, the despair swimming through his veins was overwhelming, and Gilbert found himself stumbling along more than walking, dazed and numb.

That stupid feeling of hope had long since been shattered.

Lost.

Didn't know where to go. Didn't know where he was. Too stunned and hurt to even try to look at the map. Just wanted Eduard to show up, grab his hand, and lead him on, as he always had before.

Eduard never came.

He was alone now.

Oh.

Why hadn't Eduard jumped? Why had Eduard let him go first?

He limped off through the quiet streets of the town, with only his damn gun as a companion, and sometime later, when he had left behind buildings and found himself on a road along a forest, he sat down under a tree, buried his face in his arms, and burst into tears.

Alone.

Everyone that tried to help him only ended up paying the price for his stupidity.

He brought nothing but misery.

Eduard never came.