A/N : Quarantine in the Republic of Georgia suddenly reminded me that I had left this unfinished. Sorry. I literally don't know what else to say because it's been so long. I am ashamed, but grateful to all of you who have read this all these years, and have encouraged me. You guys have always supported me, and I hope you know how much it really meant to me. Thank you. The last chapter will be up soon.


Chapter 28

Driving again.

Summer was high, and Toris was driving again. All he ever did nowadays was drive. Every waking minute seemed to be spent behind the wheel of some vehicle. In whatever shape or form. Cars, trucks, planes, boats, didn't matter. Always driving, and always at the behest of someone else. Couldn't ever find a destination on his own.

And, always, someone was beside of him.

Pale hair, glinting silver in the sunlight above dark brunet. Gilbert's hair was ever growing longer, and the days were growing longer, too.

Summer.

Weeks now with Gilbert. Felt more like months. The longest of his life, too. Couldn't say they were exactly boring though, not with everything he had put himself through for this stupid man beside of him. Had done so much, had traveled so far, had seen everything there was to see in the world in a way, and yet that was really the first time that Toris could say he felt like he was on an actual adventure.

Adventure! Yeah, sure. Why not? A long, endless journey, danger and death lurking around every corner, sabotage and mystery and diamonds, had everything any movie could have ever wanted. Toris just wished that the ending wouldn't be a tragedy, although he of course knew that that was the only possible outcome.

Gilbert was oblivious, and summer was high.

Siberia was the most ruthless thing on the planet in winter, but in spring it burst into life, colorful and bright, and when summer came everything was green and beautiful. Blue skies above. Warm air. Humid and windy. High grass, swaying in the breeze. Butterflies in daylight and fireflies in night. The endless forests all around. Nothing new, not to Toris.

July.

This summer, Toris was just taking a little road-trip, was all.

And not alone.

No matter how many times Toris looked over, it was always to see Gilbert staring at him. Not in terror anymore. The fear had faded not too long after they had left that house. The way Gilbert stared at him now was different, and Toris couldn't really put his finger on it at first. Didn't think too much about it, really, with so many other pressing issues.

The main obstacle to them those days was just the route. Toris had sat there over his map and ran every possible ending through his head, and knew that Ivan was sitting there in his office doing the same. Toris tried to think like Ivan, as Ivan tried to think like Toris. Ivan was brilliant, but so was Toris, and Ivan, for all of him, was shaken up. Toris wasn't. So, really, Toris was trying to think like Ivan thinking like Toris.

Toris had the upper hand, Ivan knew it, and for that Ivan wasn't going to be operating at his best. Ivan was terrified of losing Ludwig, would be anxious and stressed, and for that would miss so much, just as he had been blinded by Eduard and had missed the endgame. So Toris, quite boldly, just called up some of his guys and sent them out.

There were only two ways to get to Mirny : the main highway which led to country roads, and the logging roads that cut all through the forests. By crossing the river in Lesosibirsk, Toris had left the main highway behind and had gone on the small country roads. From there, the only way would have been the logging roads.

Ivan knew that.

Ivan would also know that Toris couldn't take the highway, because of course he couldn't! It was the only road, the only one, and Toris wouldn't be stupid enough to use the one single road to come straight back home with Gilbert. Toris would use the logging roads, because there was no other choice.

And so Toris drove around a little as his guys checked the river to make sure it wasn't blocked off, as Gilbert sat ever clueless, and then he went right back the way he came, drove over the river, and went back down to the main highway. Ha, of course Toris would take the highway, because Ivan was so certain he wouldn't, because doing so was so stupid and obviously suicidal. Ivan thought Toris a coward, and would never think that Toris could have the balls to use the only road possible.

Toris drove, quite easily and confidently, using the highway as Ivan no doubt sent his men up and down those thousands of logging roads.

Bastard.

Toris, despite his confidence, also knew that Ivan might consider that possibility, if only fleetingly, and it was likely that Ivan would try to cover both roads. That was why Toris sent his men out to the main highway as lookouts, had them always going up and down and sideways, and every time they stopped, Toris went straight to a payphone and waited for the all-clear.

Slow going, though, at this rate, so slow. Impossible to test Ivan for more than a few hours a day, and Toris kept switching between the highway and the country roads, but never once touched the logging roads, and so the route was very out of the way.

Had to go so far out, damn near to Mongolia, and then go up and around.

Would take two months at this rate, to get there, and Toris' only concern then was that they would make it to the house too close to the end of September, too close to winter, and the route back would be so much harder as they got caught in the snow and ice.

...route back. Yeah, had to survive that long first.

Better just to focus on the present, and not their inevitable demise.

The entire perimeter of Mirny, though, would be carefully watched, and Toris stared up at night, arms behind his head, and plotted ways to get around Ivan and to the house with Gilbert. Gilbert was the main problem, really. Toris could have pulled this feat off on his own, he was sure, but Gilbert slowed him down, Gilbert was too dumb, too slow, too stubborn. Toris was forced to plan his entire movement around Gilbert, around what Gilbert could do, because otherwise the poor son of a bitch was dead.

Made it even harder, planning around Gilbert like that.

For now, though, summer was pretty and Toris was driving.

The ache in his chest was constant, that awful longing, because he missed Ivan.

Gilbert always sat quietly in the car, and stared at him.

To take his mind off of the fact that it was Gilbert and not Ivan, Toris usually just kept a bottle of vodka on hand in the car, and sometimes, when thinking and longing just got to be too much, Toris would grab it and put back a chug. He hadn't ever drank so much at home, because it had always been important to him to remain quite alert when Ivan was around. Hadn't drank as much after Eduard had left. Hadn't drank as much when Ludwig was around. But now it was just him and Gilbert, and Gilbert couldn't hurt him, so why the hell not? Didn't need to be constantly on his toes right now. He was always a few steps ahead of Ivan.

Gilbert, however, didn't quite seem to share his sentiments. Gilbert seemed quite alarmed, somehow, and would always look over at Toris when he was drinking as if something frightening were happening.

The weather was warm, and Toris had been driving while drinking that day. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, he hadn't shaved that morning, his hair was just tied up in an uncombed mess. Must have looked a wreck. Had nightmares the night before, and Ivan was too much in his mind. So he just put back swig after swig, and Gilbert just watched him with wide eyes and a low brow.

Finally, Gilbert muttered, carefully, "Are you sure you should be drinking...now?"

Toris barked a laugh at that.

Gilbert was a troublemaker, alright, always had been, but when everything was said and done, Gilbert was still a German, and it must have alarmed his (extremely) deep-seated sense of order, Russia. The way things were done out here must have been confusing to him on some level. Gilbert had spent a fair amount of time in jail, but for offenses that were considered just a part of everyday life out here. Never would have been put in jail for most of that stuff had he lived here. Gilbert was far out of his element, down the rabbit hole, and it was obvious. Gilbert did wrong and had always expected to be punished. To see people do wrong with no consequence was instinctively disconcerting to him.

Not to say that there weren't laws here, because obviously there were, and the police here loved shooting people, but no one fuckin' cared. About anything. Too much misery, too many people starving to death. No one cared about a drunk man driving.

Gilbert, by all rights, should have felt right at home.

Drunk driving was nothing out here. Everyone did it. Even women. Fighting was nothing. Being drunk in the middle of the street was nothing. Tripping on acid and falling into gutters was nothing. Bribery was nothing. So many things were nothing. Gilbert would have fit right in here had this been his place of birth, but it wasn't, and Gilbert looked alarmed.

So Toris finally took another swig, eyelids heavy and probably sneering, and said, so drolly, "Just keep an eye out for pedestrians and we'll be fine."

Gilbert's wide eyes and look of panic might have made Toris laugh any other time, but as it was he just felt sick.

Oh—missed Ivan so much, that miserable asshole, missed his mug. Missed his uniform, tucked away in the back. Had to wear regular clothes now, to avoid standing out, and that killed him. Felt too much like a normal man.

Just felt miserable, and that was a shame, too, because that would have been the first time in forever that something had made Toris laugh, Gilbert's look of utter horror. In some other life, in some other time, Toris might have enjoyed fucking with Gilbert, because the faces he could make were some of the best Toris had ever seen, even better than his little brother's.

Instead, Toris just scoffed, and kept his bleary eyes on the road.

Missed Ivan.

Toris held the bottle out to Gilbert, and said, "You should drink. It'll loosen you up."

Gilbert must have been going through some damn bad withdrawal, surely, because he hadn't drank anything in the weeks Toris had been with him. Hadn't been able to get his hands on any acid or pills. Must have been unpleasant for him, to be so sober.

Toris was actually shocked when Gilbert turned his head away, and just said, after a hesitation, "No, thanks."

Couldn't help but look over at Gilbert then, but Gilbert had turned his eyes to the window, staring away and very clearly trying not to look at the bottle. Toris understood then that Gilbert was trying damn hard not to drink. Had he kicked his habit? Well—would have been a little hard not to, he supposed, during his journey. Toris might have felt a little bad, just a little, and was quick to put the bottle on the floorboard and out of sight.

No sense in tormenting him. Maybe having him clearheaded was better.

They drove and drove, and then they drove some more, and by the time Toris felt safe enough to make the next stop, Gilbert had been fidgeting for hours on end, with what was either an extreme need for a bathroom or an attempt to stave off a massive cramp. Toris didn't care much about Gilbert's discomfort, and pulled the car into the drive of a nameless little hotel. Just like with the highway, Ivan thought Toris was too smart to use hotels; Toris was just smart enough to know that Ivan wouldn't expect him to.

Safe, Toris assumed, for now.

He was confident these days, bolstered by Gilbert's anxiety and uncertainty of his companion. Gilbert was afraid of Toris and yet followed him blindly, and that made Toris feel pretty damn good about himself. Had complete control over Gilbert, over life and death, and so even though he was cast out of Ivan's world, Toris could cling to some kind of power.

Loved power, always had, and for that Toris enjoyed Gilbert.

As soon as the car stopped, Gilbert leapt upright and starting kicking his leg out. Cramp, after all. Toris watched him shaking his leg, and thought he smiled a little. Gilbert was amusing to him, somehow, no matter what he did, and maybe that was because Toris was drinking more lately. Gilbert felt more like a dog to him than a man, and Toris found him humorous.

Probably shouldn't have smiled at him.

Gilbert kept on staring at him, kept on looking at him, and when Toris passed him by, Gilbert had opened his mouth as if to speak, and yet nothing came out. Toris, ignoring Gilbert as easily as Ivan had ignored him, began the walk up to the rickety door.

And that was when something exceedingly strange happened, and entirely at random.

Toris heard a shuffle to the side, there was a blur, and he realized that Gilbert had trotted ahead of him to reach the hotel door first. His automatic assumption was that tired Gilbert was ready to hit the hay, so it startled him a bit when Gilbert yanked open the door and then stood there, staring at Toris rather intently.

The fuck? The hell was he doing? Had his brain just suddenly stopped working mid-event?

Toris fell still for a second, confused, and said, rather sharply, "What's wrong?"

Gilbert shifted his weight, pushed out his lips, and turned his eyes to the open door. A long, almost pathetic stare, and Toris wished to god he hadn't thought it, but damn if Gilbert hadn't looked like a lost, miserable little puppy then, waiting for someone to come save him. As if Gilbert was trying to do something helpful and was instead finding himself looking a fool.

"Nothing," Gilbert finally grumbled. "I was just openin' it for ya, was all."

Oh.

Wait, what? Opening the door for him? No one had opened a door for him in ten years. He had always been the one grabbing handles and holding doors for other people. Always. Hadn't ever had someone stop and do that for him outside of a car, except for maybe once or twice with Feliks.

Surreal.

A short shuffle of Gilbert's feet, a look of what could have been embarrassment, and Toris did the only thing he could do, as Gilbert started twitching in anxiety; he stepped forward, and walked through the door. What else could he do?

Gilbert looked like he woulda keeled over dead from humiliation if Toris hadn't. As if this were the first time in his miserable life he had ever bothered to open a door for anyone, and would have been absolutely mortified if he had looked stupid doing it. Honestly, Toris would gladly have let him keel over dead, but this entire venture would be pointless if he did so. So he walked through the door instead, and heard Gilbert's shaky exhale.

Felt a little strange, crossing that threshold. Not exactly unpleasant. That old sense of power.

Still, though, when they were inside, Toris turned back to Gilbert and said, very sternly, "Don't ever open a door for me unless I'm in uniform. Ever."

People talked out here. They weren't in Berlin anymore. Gilbert needed to get that through his thick skull. Didn't matter if he was just trying to be polite, 'cause the last thing they needed was to be forced to keep driving because they got kicked out of a hotel before they could even check in.

Immediately, Gilbert squeaked, in fear, "Okay."

Looking back on it, maybe Toris should have just stood there until Gilbert had had no choice but to dart through the door first and pretend that that was what he had intended to do all along.

Toris left Gilbert behind, tipsy and feeling extremely agitated suddenly, and when he flopped stomach-first down on his bed, he heard Gilbert's clunky footsteps behind him. Didn't bother looking up at him, didn't know what to say to him, and so Toris just closed his eyes and wondered what Ivan was up to.

Pitiful.

Gilbert sat down on his own bed shortly after, cross-legged and arms folded, and he stared at Toris. Every time Toris turned his head for the rest of the day, it seemed that Gilbert was always staring at him. Honest to god, it was starting to get on Toris' damn nerves. The hell was he looking at? Gilbert had stared at him since the first day they had set out, and every single day it irritated Toris just a little bit more. His patience, already so thin, was ever waning.

The whole damn day, Gilbert just rested his chin in his palm, sitting there on his bed, and stared at him.

Eventually, agitated Toris sent him a glare, and finally asked, "What is it?"

Gilbert glanced away, quickly, although hardly abashed, and shrugged a shoulder.

"Then knock it off. Look at something else."

A crinkle of Gilbert's brow, and eventually he lowered his eyes. But he didn't move, and kept in that same stance, body facing Toris, and Toris couldn't really even imagine what was going on in Gilbert's head then. The poor bastard had gone crazy a long time ago, and probably wasn't really even lucid anymore.

Before long, though, Gilbert's eyes raised back up, and he resumed his staring.

Annoyed, Toris finally sat up on the bed, shirt wrinkled and still looking like hell, and he swung his legs over the edge as he forced Gilbert's gaze and asked, harshly, "You got some kinda problem?"

Didn't even know why it bothered him so much or why he was shouting at Gilbert. A last-ditch effort, perhaps, to keep that little bit of control he had.

Toris sent Gilbert his best glare, his most dangerous look, but Gilbert didn't really seem too bothered, and somehow, Toris found that a little hurtful; the first taste of life without Ivan, he realized. No one was going to be scared of him anymore, not really, because he was a nobody again. Damn. Felt alarmingly vulnerable, suddenly. So used to being in charge of other nobodies. Used to being someone. Missed the feeling.

Wanted Gilbert to be terrified of him, and yet that time Gilbert didn't look away. His fault, probably, for first not shooting the son of a bitch and then for smiling at him and then for walking through that damn door like an idiot.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gilbert said, "Thank you. For everything."

Ah—shit.

A long stare, and then Toris exhaled and turned his head away. Goddamn, hated this feeling, he really did, was so sick of pitying Gilbert. Wished he would have just shot him like he was supposed to, because then he wouldn't be sitting here now realizing that he felt so sorry for him. Hated caring about other people, and Gilbert was steadily worming his way in, just like Eduard and Ludwig had. The worst feeling imaginable, because he knew that Gilbert was an absolute goner and didn't want to get attached to him. Nothing good would come of it, nothing, and Toris knew it.

Just couldn't ever seem to help it.

They sat there in silence, Toris went to fetch Gilbert food, and when he came back, Toris was painfully aware that Gilbert sat up straight and breathed through his mouth and clenched the blanket. Relieved, as he was every single day, that Toris had really come back. Every time Toris left Gilbert alone, he came back to that same reaction, and it made his fuckin' chest hurt. That look.

If Toris had just up and left, Gilbert would have sat there on that bed and waited and waited, not moving a muscle at all until he finally fell over and died. Gilbert's shot sanity and mind seemed to force him utterly still when someone wasn't around. So terrified to be alone in this land that it was as if Gilbert's body literally seized up when he was left alone.

Gilbert relaxed the moment Toris threw the food down on his lap, staring away at him as he always did, and this time Toris couldn't really bring himself to bitch at him.

Seemed that his best efforts to put Gilbert in line were completely overridden by the fact that, at the end of the day, Toris was still taking Gilbert to Ludwig. As long as that was Toris' purpose for staying around, Gilbert would never truly fear him.

Sad.

Toris looked everywhere but at Gilbert until the sun started setting, and yet it was only inevitable that Toris eventually caught his eyes. That time, Gilbert seemed to be a little more alert, a little aware, a little more alive than he usually was these days, leaning forward just a bit as he stared over at Toris.

Toris opened his mouth, but was cut off.

Gilbert suddenly said, gruffly, "You know, you got real pretty eyes. I just noticed."

A rush of adrenaline. Ivan's voice in his head, as he had crooned to Eduard.

'You have pretty eyes, did you know?'

Had always wanted to be spoken to like that.

Just not by a nobody like Gilbert. Had wanted Ivan to say things like that. Not Gilbert, and so Toris scoffed, turned his head, and went right back to drinking. Didn't say another word to Gilbert for the rest of the night, and wished the bastard would never have said anything at all, because after that he could only think of Ivan. Again.

Being complimented at long last, by someone he didn't care at all about. Guessed it was better than nothing, but only by a hair.

Tried so hard not to get comfortable around Gilbert, not to care about him, not to let his guard down. In that, he was steadily failing, as he failed in everything.

The days passed. Weeks passed. Toris stopped drinking altogether, not only because of Gilbert's discomfort but also for his own, because with Gilbert suddenly acting like that Toris wanted to make sure that he was the clearheaded one.

For all the good it did.

Gilbert kept staring at him, and sometimes, when Toris was out in space, he realized that he was staring right back at Gilbert. Hard not to, being stuck with him and having to see him every second.

Seemed that every time Toris looked up, he noticed something new about Gilbert. Saw something he hadn't seen before, some new little detail. Gilbert was instantly eye-catching, of course, for his lack of pigment, but Toris noticed other things here and there. Little sunspots across his neck and cheek. Gilbert's large hands. Scars here and there over his arms, some very old and some newer, and one down his forehead over his eyebrow.

The most fascinating thing that Toris noticed were Gilbert's eyes. Rather, that Gilbert's red eyes were actually blue. Noticed it one day, and now he couldn't stop staring. Absolutely hypnotized him, and Toris had even turned it into a bit of a game, because god knew he didn't have anything else to do except wallow in self-pity. Watching them constantly to see them shift color in the light. Seeing what color light caused which shade.

Hadn't realized that Gilbert's eyes were a pale, pale blue, and they only shone out red in the light because the lack of pigment in Gilbert made the blood behind the irises more prominent than the irises themselves. That was what turned Gilbert's eyes red in the light. Hadn't noticed until Toris had just glanced at him one night, in nothing but low moonlight, as Gilbert had been ever staring at him. Lo and behold, the bastard suddenly had blue eyes, silvery in the moon.

Had Toris still been a kid, he would have just said, 'Cool.'

Gilbert was truly unique, no denying that. How many people could really say that they knew an albino?

It seemed that more and more, with every day that passed, Toris found Gilbert a little less unappealing. It helped, of course, that Gilbert was being generally well taken care of now. Was eating well, wasn't crying himself senseless every day, wasn't alone and half-dead and hopeless.

Actually, with Gilbert having put on so much weight this past month and a half, with his pale skin losing that yellow hue, with that dye steadily fading out of his hair day by day, Gilbert looked a bit handsome. Go figure. Guess there was something there after all. Had looked so god-awful when Toris first crossed paths with him that seeing him healthy was a bit remarkable.

He wasn't a bad-looking guy. Not the worst Toris had ever seen. Certainly could never compete with his little brother, not by any means, and yet Gilbert had his own charm about him. Hadn't noticed it before, really, the sharp angle of Gilbert's jaw or the straight bridge of his nose. The shape of his eyes and how his cheeks were rounder now that he wasn't gaunt. Always interesting to Toris, anyway, to see non-Slavic features. Had been out here so long.

Maybe Gilbert thought the same about Toris.

Maybe Gilbert was thinking that Toris, having spilled his soul and shed his uniform, wasn't as frightening and unapproachable and unpleasant.

Must have been, really, because one morning, Toris neglected to tie back his hair, and went the entire day with it down, for once. Gilbert had stared at him as he always did, and sometime during the drive, Gilbert had looked over and said, 'You look so different with your hair down.'

Toris had just gave an uninterested, 'Hm!'

Became a little more interested when Gilbert added, in a lower voice, 'You look nice like that.'

Unease.

Felt like Gilbert was trying to squirm closer and closer to him, and Toris was a little scared of that because, aside from not wanting to get attached to Gilbert, he was fairly certain that Gilbert had lost his marbles and was just looking at Toris and seeing Ludwig.

Wondered if Gilbert really even knew who Toris was and where they were.

Toris, for his part, was happier not knowing, and so he didn't pry, didn't ask questions, and didn't try to reciprocate any of that attention Gilbert was trying so desperately to give and receive. Lonely bastard just wanted someone, anyone, and Toris understood that, he did, but Toris had been burned too many times by caring. Was stubbornly clinging to his determination, and wouldn't give Gilbert the time of day, just wouldn't.

No matter how hard Gilbert tried.

More days passed.

July was close to ending.

So far so good, on the road at least, but Toris' head was a different story. Now that he had let out his entire history to the air, Toris found his dreams to be far more unpleasant. Buried memories, rushing up to the surface. So many things he had let himself forget.

Hated, more than anything, seeing Feliks' face.

Those awful dreams he had.

Standing there on one side of a river, Feliks on the other, that water rushing white between them, wanting so, so badly to cross and yet having no means to do so. Just staring at each other across the way, and when Toris looked down, he was always holding a gun, pointing it at Feliks' chest. No matter how hard he tried to put it down, he couldn't, and Feliks just stared at him, looking so sad and defeated. That awful look on his face that day, the last expression Toris had ever seen.

A gunshot.

He jumped upright, cold-sweating, and was in utter panic because he could still feel the gun in his hand and something had touched him. Fuckin' Feliks, probably, come to haunt his sorry ass like he deserved, for striking him down when Feliks had only done exactly what Toris would have done had the situation been reversed.

A movement at his side, and when he looked over, it wasn't Feliks' green eyes he saw.

Rather, Gilbert was there, under the blanket and beside of him, and Toris stared at him like an imbecile, breathing through his mouth and trying to calm down. Gilbert just stared away at him, on his side and curled up, and it took Toris a long time to gather himself up enough to bark, harshly, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Gilbert just stared at him, and whispered, gruffly, "I couldn't sleep."

So what?

"Get out," Toris commanded, immediately, but Gilbert just lied there, and Toris reached up to shove his shoulder, harder than he meant to. Gilbert was pushed back, but made no effort to move on his own.

Gilbert's face crumpled for an awful second, looking hurt and somehow far too close to crying, and he just whispered, as Toris stared him angrily down, "Can I just stay? I won't bother you."

Hell no, no fuckin' way, and maybe Toris was so angry then because he had dreamt of Feliks, maybe he was so angry because he so frequently thought of Ivan, maybe he was angry because Eduard was dead, maybe he was angry because Ludwig was gonna fuckin' shoot Gilbert, or maybe, maybe...

Maybe he was so angry then because, god, he was so lonely, so lonely, and he was starting to care about Gilbert. Trying so hard, and every day it worked less and less, and for that Toris was furious. Maybe he was angry because the part of him that he had lost long ago wanted to grab Gilbert and cry into his hair. He was afraid, so scared, and that made him angry.

Instead of just getting up and going to the other bed like he could have, Toris lashed out, because that was what he had always done, that was what he was used to, and he pulled himself up at the waist, raised his foot, and kicked Gilbert in the chest and out of his bed, with far more force than he ever really needed to use. Would be surprised if he hadn't broken a rib in there.

When Gilbert fell out of the bed with a painful thud, he just scooted himself back to the other bed and sat there, sitting upright, one knee up and the other leg splayed, palms on the floor, and when Gilbert hung his head and sucked in air, Toris felt like the shittiest man on the planet.

Goddammit.

Eventually, Gilbert uttered, thickly, "Sorry. I'm just— I'm scared. I'm so scared, 'cause I feel sometimes like I'm never gonna get him back. I feel like you're just taking me out there to die. That I'll never see him again, and I— I don't wanna be alone. I don't wanna die alone."

Gilbert pulled his other leg up, crossed his arms over his knees, buried his head, and said nothing more.

Toris sat there, tangled in the blanket, breathing yet through his mouth, brow crinkled and hands clenched, and didn't know why he felt so bad then. Didn't know why he felt so horrible, so terrible, didn't know why he was letting Gilbert shake him up like this when nothing else could. Why he felt so upset all of a sudden. Why he couldn't breathe, why his chest was so tight.

Why he cared at all about this man.

Why he didn't want Gilbert to die.

Why he felt far too close to crying. Why his breath was hitching, why he was swallowing, why he had to blink so fast.

Just sat there and stared at Gilbert for what felt like eternity.

Gilbert sat in that same spot for the rest of the night, and so did Toris. Didn't sleep. Couldn't, even if he had tried to, because he felt so miserably guilty. The worst feeling. Had liked it so much better when he hadn't been using his conscience. Gilbert brought up too many old feelings.

When dawn broke through the window, Toris had realized that he had almost mimicked Gilbert's posture, as he sat up in bed and wrapped his arms around his knees, chin rested and staring away at the wall. Didn't move, didn't speak, because he didn't want to wake Gilbert up. Didn't want to see him or talk to him, because he felt so damn bad.

He couldn't figure out who more pitiful suddenly.

The sun rose higher, and when Gilbert didn't move, Toris had no choice but to get up and carry on. Couldn't stop looking down at him, though, couldn't stop thinking about what he could have done instead, rather than kick Gilbert down to the floor.

Had forgotten how to interact with people without violence.

Gilbert stirred later, when Toris came back with food, and Gilbert turned his head, resting it on his arms and staring up at the window. That time, he didn't stare at Toris, didn't look at him at all. And even though that was what Toris had wanted, what he really needed to carry on with a clear head, somehow Toris couldn't stand it. Couldn't fuckin' stand it, couldn't, and it was as if he had gone back to that awful realm of mist suddenly, because his feet were moving of their own accord and he didn't feel entirely in control of his actions.

He knelt down on one knee before Gilbert, and reached out to rest his hand on Gilbert's shoulder.

A long, awful silence.

Took a while before Gilbert finally turned his head and looked at Toris, and the expression on his face broke whatever heart Toris had left.

Had seen Gilbert at his absolute worst, nearly dead and so demoralized, had seen him look worse than any other man ever had, and yet somehow Toris could say that he was looking at Gilbert at his lowest moment then. Physically, Gilbert was at a prime. But not in his head, not then.

Just that look on his face.

As if Gilbert had realized suddenly and out of nowhere that he wasn't coming back with Ludwig. As if everything had shut down within him for it, because the notion of not having Ludwig was just too much for his heart and mind to handle. As if Gilbert's spirit had gotten kicked right out of him the moment he had hit the floor.

Had never seen anyone look so lost.

Gilbert stared at Toris, eyes bleary and brow scrunched, eyes flitting over Toris' face as they ever filled with water, and then Gilbert said, in a breaking whisper, "I think I'm ready."

Caught in Gilbert's eyes, Toris could only settle down onto his other knee and ask, weakly, "For what?"

Gilbert didn't have to the strength, it seemed, to lift his head at all, still resting it there on his arms, and he just replied, so listlessly, "To die. I'm ready. I just want to see him once, before I do. Just once. I just wanna see him one more time before I die. Can you make that happen?"

Oh—

Couldn't breathe suddenly, because his chest had locked and his jaw had clamped up.

Had never heard or seen anything more utterly pitiful. Gilbert had accepted it, had accepted his fate, and somehow, even though that was the way it needed to be, Toris realized he couldn't stand seeing it. Gilbert would die, and he knew it and so did Toris, but somehow seeing it there at last on his face was just too hard to stomach.

Couldn't carry on like that, not that way. Wouldn't have been able to get up in the morning and start the car with Gilbert looking like that. Shit; knew then, in that moment, that he fuckin' failed again, again, because he cared about Gilbert. Cared about him, didn't want him to die, didn't want him to give up, and Toris hated himself for letting that happen.

Happened all the same, and there wasn't anything Toris could really do about it.

That was when Toris started outright lying to Gilbert.

Toris was an absolute realist by nature. Had been shaped that way. Looked at everything with as much detachment as possible, because hope and optimism hadn't gotten him anywhere the past eleven years of his life. In this instance, especially, optimism was completely useless.

Yeah, he knew it was stupid, but he still started lying to Gilbert anyway, because seeing Gilbert looking like that made Toris' throat clutch up. Couldn't stand it, that feeling of always being on the verge of tears, that awful sting in his eyes.

When Gilbert came out of the bathroom, shirtless and damp-haired, Toris could see the ugly bruise there on his ribcage from where Toris had kicked him, and he couldn't stand that, either.

Hated it, and so Toris pulled Gilbert up to his feet every morning, and lied straight to his face.

He yanked Gilbert out of bed, stood up him straight, grabbed his arms, shook him to rouse him, and when Gilbert finally lifted his heavy head to meet Toris' gaze, Toris would ask, "Ready to go get Ludwig?"

Changed 'Ready to go?' to 'Ready to go get Ludwig?'

Made Gilbert wake up a little more, just a little, and Gilbert would stare at Toris for a long while, miserably, and then would nod his head. Toris just clapped his shoulder, and tried to spur him on. Spent the whole day, every day, lying through his teeth to that stupid son of a bitch.

When they got in the car, Toris would say, 'Great weather, huh? You and Ludwig can catch the last bit of fall together.'

When they ate, Toris would say, 'When you get Ludwig, we can all go out to eat somewhere and I can show you some real Russian food.'

Before they slept, Toris would say, 'Rest up. You're gonna need your energy to show Ludwig around the sights.'

And Toris began almost every single conversation with, 'When we're back in Berlin...'

Took a week or so, but steadily, at Toris' stupid, obvious lies, Gilbert started to perk up a little, came back from that precipice, and Toris was damn glad for it. Gilbert had to know that Toris was just pulling his string, was just saying anything at all, and he yet he didn't seem to care.

Hell, Gilbert probably wanted to be lied to.

In the meanwhile, as Gilbert came around, Toris tried his damn best to plan everything out. Trying to figure out what the hell happened once they got back to Mirny. How they would put everyone up and away long enough to get to Ludwig. Toris knew that Ludwig wouldn't be hauled away, but if they could get him alone, then maybe it could finally be beaten through Gilbert's thick head that Ludwig was gone and wasn't coming back, and maybe they could turn and run and escape unscathed. If Ludwig didn't try to shoot them, anyway.

Lying to Gilbert with his voice, and picking apart the truth in his head.

Didn't want Gilbert to die, but he wanted himself to die even less, and spent every free minute trying to think of ways to make that happen. It wasn't so easy. Dying, although it was always the possibility that his rational mind came back to, was kept very low on Toris' list of things to do. Trying very hard to plan all of this in a way that left room for survival, and it was one of the hardest puzzles that Toris had ever tried to piece together.

Above all else, Toris didn't tell Gilbert that their plan at no point actually involved ever having Ludwig with them, that Toris had never once planned anything more than getting Gilbert to realize the truth without dying and then turning tail.

Toris' plan had consisted of getting Gilbert to Ludwig and then getting Gilbert the hell away from Ludwig before Ludwig could shoot him, and he didn't tell Gilbert that. As far as dumb Gilbert knew, Toris really was going to steal Ludwig away for him. Gilbert didn't need to hear Toris' concerns, because he wouldn't have listened to them. Until Gilbert came face to face with Ludwig, until Gilbert could see with his own eyes, he wouldn't listen. It was the only way, and Toris hated Gilbert for it.

Anyway...

Gilbert, in the back of his mind, knew the truth. That break in him weeks prior had proved it. Deep down, Gilbert knew, and so Toris wasn't going to say it.

Just pretend.

The next morning, Toris grabbed Gilbert to pull him up and give him that good little Ludwig peptalk, but this time Gilbert's head wasn't hanging and he met Toris' gaze easily. Still, dutifully, Toris asked, "Ready to go get Ludwig?"

Gilbert just gave a strange smile, a half-smile really, and didn't say a word. Just stared away at Toris as he had before Toris had kicked him, and Toris was damn glad for that. Gilbert had stepped away from that ledge, it seemed, and Toris' guilt abated at last.

About time.

He clapped Gilbert's shoulder as he often did nowadays, but that time, Gilbert's hand quickly flew up and covered his own. Toris didn't really know why he didn't pull away, why he just stood there and stared at Gilbert as Gilbert gripped his hand.

He was falling apart, it seemed. Undone.

They were driving again, soon, and Toris kept on glancing over at Gilbert, glancing and glancing, and hell, he didn't know why he did that either, because, as always, Gilbert was just staring at him.

An hour down the road, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Gilbert said, "Pull over."

It startled Toris so much that he actually obeyed, hitting the brakes and pulling onto the side of the country road, and he only stopped because Gilbert had never once asked him to. Thought that something must have been wrong, thought that maybe Gilbert was hurt, or maybe he just needed to go to the bathroom, whatever, but Toris stopped all the same.

He stared over at Gilbert, expectantly, but Gilbert didn't move. Made no motion at all to open the car door, instead choosing to stare at Toris.

A twinge of irritation, annoyance, and Toris finally griped, "Well? What do you want, huh?"

Damn, was Gilbert ever staring at him in that moment, quite pryingly. Couldn't say that he had ever seen Gilbert stare at him quite that hard. Made him almost nervous, go figure. Could see a little, in that stare, how Gilbert had been able to dominate Ludwig and boss him around, when he looked like that.

Toris, agitated, pressed, sternly, "What's the matter with you? How much time do you think we can waste, you—"

His sentence found itself completely unfinished, when Gilbert grabbed the seat of the car in one hand, swung himself forward, and kissed him very abruptly.

Ah. Well. Hadn't expected that.

So stunned and taken aback was Toris that all he could really do was sit there like an idiot and let Gilbert kiss him. Flabbergasted, absolutely, so shocked and dazed that he was pretty sure his heart had actually stopped there for a second. Pitiful—hadn't been kissed in ten damn years.

Gilbert pulled back as abruptly as he had pushed forward, leaned his arm up on the windowsill, staring away at Toris as Toris gaped open-mouthed at him, and then Gilbert lifted up his chin and waved his hand.

"What are you stopping for, huh? What's the matter with you? How much time do you think we can waste?"

That son of a—

Absolutely the worst sort of man, the worst, Ludwig shoulda drowned the bastard a long time ago, and somehow still Toris thought he might have been smiling. Goddammit. He opened his mouth, realized there was nothing he could say that wouldn't make him feel foolish, so Toris just scoffed and started driving again.

Anxious and restless, suddenly, and Toris hated himself for being so damn excited when they finally stopped for the day. Not because he cared that much about Gilbert, of course not, but because it felt pretty damn good to think about something other than how Ivan was going to kill him. Nice to have a distraction to loosen the feel of Ivan's noose. When Gilbert stared at him, suddenly, Toris thought just a little bit less about the feel of Ivan's gun pressing into his stomach.

For his part, when they stopped Gilbert leapt right out of the car, looking around and seeming alert and wide-awake and somehow calm, and it was oddly Gilbert then who started leading the way. As if so bolstered that he didn't mind taking charge for a while. Toris, dumbly, just followed him, glaring half-heartedly at his back.

...hard to stay mad at him, honestly.

Not when Gilbert was paying Toris so much attention, at any rate. Toris was extremely self-centered, extremely egotistical, thought he was better than everyone else, had never denied that, and so Gilbert giving him affection was satisfying.

He knew that Gilbert was trying to keep his mind on anything, anything at all, other than the inevitable horror waiting out in the middle of Siberia. Hard to be excited by the attention. Gilbert was lonely. Had gone insane. Gilbert wanted Ludwig; that was all. As it had been with Ivan, so it was with Gilbert. Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig. All day and all night.

And hell, in some twisted, awful way, Toris wanted Ivan. He had wanted to hear those words, get that attention from Ivan, and Gilbert wanted it to be Ludwig sitting there beside of him. Had wanted Ivan to be the one to look at him like that, but it was Gilbert, and there was nothing Toris could do about it.

Toris wondered, briefly, if Gilbert was even really attracted to men at all. Certainly wasn't like Ivan. But then, Toris was fairly certain that Ludwig hadn't been attracted to men either, not really, but had been seduced all the same by insanity and power. Power had that effect on some people, and insanity did others in, and Gilbert was pretty crazy. Isolated from the world and completely alone. Toris was the only one nearby to get love from, and that was what it all came down to in the end.

It was what it was.

Stepping into that room then, though, was a bit awkward, at least on Toris' part. Gilbert went straight to the bed and flopped down on it, and seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Huh.

Toris watched Gilbert out of the corner of his eye, suspiciously, and Gilbert seemed to be quite aware of that. Wondered if Gilbert was choking, or if Gilbert was hoping that Toris would come to him. Hoped to god Gilbert knew better than that, because even if Toris had been absolutely suffering he would never have lifted his hand. Woulda keeled over dead first. Had too much pride for that, far too much.

As expected, and as it should have been, Gilbert cracked first.

Night.

Toris was settled down in bed, arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling as he always did, still plotting his movements, and there was a creak from the other bed, and then a step on the floor. Toris didn't move a muscle, didn't look over, didn't bother, because somehow he already knew. Sure enough, a movement beside of him, the mattress sank a little, the blanket was pulled up, and, as he had once before, Gilbert squirmed under his blanket and curled up beside of him.

This time, instead of kicking him, Toris didn't move at all, arms still behind his head and feeling hardly bothered. Gilbert, on the other hand, seemed to be the nervous one, as he lied there on his side, staring at Toris and not moving much. Toris couldn't really blame him; probably worried that Toris' foot was gonna connect with his face this time.

But Gilbert crept closer and closer, and Toris didn't move. Could feel Gilbert's warmth, so close, and didn't move. Gilbert, a little bolstered by Toris' stillness, was finally right next to him, head underneath Toris' elbow and staring away.

How long had it been since he'd had someone in his bed that wanted to be there? Those parties didn't count, those times he had taken out his anger on soldiers underneath him. Hardly counted.

Gilbert's left hand raised up, suddenly, carefully, and just barely rested there atop Toris' chest.

Had some nerve, Gilbert, would give him that.

Toris finally moved then, only to lower his eyes to Gilbert's hand and study it. Oh yeah—

"I'm surprised you didn't lose that damn thing," he suddenly whispered, without thought, as Gilbert's fingers brushed over him.

A somewhat bland response.

"Almost did."

"Can you move it?"

Hadn't even really paid attention up until then. Had almost forgotten all about it, honestly, because he'd seen Ivan do so much worse than grinding someone's broken bone right into their muscle and tendons.

Gilbert tried to make a fist, and couldn't, not with that hand. Couldn't seem to get his fingers closed all the way, and that wasn't at all surprising.

Toris said nothing more, turning his eyes back upward.

Gilbert let his hand fall more heavily atop Toris' chest, now that Toris hadn't snapped his bone all over again, and then he asked, a bit apprehensively, "Say, where's your gun?"

Ha; what Gilbert meant to say was, 'You're not gonna shoot me, are ya?'

No. He wasn't going to shoot Gilbert, because if he had wanted to it would have been done already.

Didn't really want to give up any control, either, so Toris settled the matter somewhat with a firm, "I don't need a gun to kill you. So don't worry about it."

A slow, dumb, "Oh," which was obviously in reality more of a silent, 'Holy shit'.

It was true. Could have snapped Gilbert's neck as easily as Ivan had snapped his hand. Coulda killed Gilbert in a hundred ways that didn't involve a gun at all. Gilbert was a little bigger than Toris in his frame, but wouldn't have stood a chance.

A long silence, that hand still there, and Gilbert didn't move for a little while. Toris wondered if maybe he had scared him. Hated to say that he might have regretted it if Gilbert suddenly backed off, pathetic as that was. But maybe Gilbert was a little braver than Toris actually gave him credit for, because suddenly that hand on his chest crept up to his neck, as Gilbert crawled over, and the next thing Toris really knew Gilbert was halfway on top of him, head resting on Toris' chest above his heart and clinging to him.

Damn.

Toris just lied there yet, arms still behind his head, because to be quite frank he didn't really know what to do. Gilbert's head was still quite the mystery to him. Felt kinda sorry for him, if he were honest, though, and maybe that was why Toris finally exhaled through his nose and brought his arm down to throw it around Gilbert's shoulders. Poor bastard. Had probably been dying to cling to somebody for years, since he had lost Ludwig long ago.

And even though Toris knew, deep down, that they were both just using each other for their own purposes, it didn't really matter much anymore when Gilbert suddenly pushed himself up, hung over Toris, and kissed him again. He still pressed up and took hold of Gilbert's neck all the same. Didn't care anymore, at that point, because they were both miserable jerks and only wound up hurting everyone they cared about, so maybe they were sort of meant for each other in a sad way.

A hand on his face.

Just as before, Toris got caught up in that stupid whirlwind, let himself fall to Gilbert's eyes as easily as he had fallen for Feliks'.

When Gilbert realized that he wasn't going to be killed in any sort of way, gun or no, he seemed bolstered, confident, seemed to find a little bit of that arrogance and assurance he had once had, because he had grabbed Toris and yanked him upright to pull his shirt off before Toris could really figure out what was happening.

Ah, shit, was he really gonna do this? Worried that this would make him even more attached to Gilbert than he already was, worried that it would cloud his judgment when the time came, worried that he would end up setting himself back.

Despite his mind giving him many reasons why he should once more kick Gilbert out of his bed, Toris' body had other ideas, and after a good while of struggling with each others' clothes and then rolling each other over, it was somehow Gilbert who wound up pinning Toris down.

But only because Toris had let him, in the end. Let Gilbert have that little bit of control, because Toris felt like it, and maybe because he was just trying to relive a little bit of what life had been like back when he had actually been with someone that had cared about him.

That long forgotten feel of someone running fingers through his hair.

Fell to Gilbert then, because he had spent the last ten years hoping to fall to Ivan and never succeeding.

Felt so strange, being underneath someone like that, felt so odd submitting to Gilbert and letting him fall between his legs, felt very foreign in some way to put his hands on Gilbert's back and take hold. So strange because, really, Toris was used to fucking people over, to dominating and hurting and being in absolute control, and maybe for that to he let Gilbert take charge.

A little comforting, even, to let someone else take over.

Ten years with no rest at all, endless misery and anger, and suddenly Gilbert's face was pressed into his neck and his nails were digging into Gilbert's shoulder blades.

Had forgotten what it was like to let his guard down.

But he did that night with Gilbert, of all people, let Gilbert pant in his ear and let himself grab a handful of Gilbert's hair. Let himself get tangled in Gilbert for hours that night, because he was so tired of being ignored and alone. Let Gilbert collapse on top of him and kiss him, sweating and trembling with exertion, and let himself run a hand over Gilbert's cheek.

He may have been crazy, but Gilbert was, too, and for that Toris felt oddly comfortable with him. Still, though...

As Gilbert's chin dug into his collar, still between his legs and breathing heavily, Toris stared at the ceiling, and he wanted to say, 'Don't you dare get attached to me.'

He didn't.

He didn't want Gilbert to get attached to him, but above that, he was too scared that Gilbert would scoff and say, 'Don't worry about that. Who could get attached to you?' So long, having Ivan dismiss him over and over. Didn't want to be dismissed by Gilbert, not someone like Gilbert, because that really might have killed the last of his pride.

So he stayed quiet, as Gilbert drifted into sleep there above him, and listened to the somewhat soothing sound of Gilbert's breathing. The comfort of a weight above him. That feeling.

Power was great, it really was, and diamonds were even better. Owning the world. Owning people. Being able to do anything he wanted and get away with it. Knowing that he had control over life and death for so many people, countless people. Being in charge of scores of men. That was all great.

Somehow, though...

It just couldn't really compete with the feel of another person. Touching someone. Having someone under his palms. Having someone look at him and see him. Reaching out and sensing the warmth of a human being. The rather mesmerizing sensation of a heartbeat against his own. The scent of someone different.

Love ran the world as much as diamonds did, and even Ivan fell to it. That was why all of this had ever happened, after all, because a man like Ivan had fallen in love. No one was immune to that feeling, and everybody tried to cling to it. Ivan crushed the entire world beneath his boot and felt absolutely nothing, not a thing, but when Ivan had turned his head and looked at Eduard, he had been unable to see anything else. Ivan shackled and set fire to the entire USSR with no second thought and no remorse, but when Ivan saw Ludwig walk by, it was Ivan who was suddenly helpless and immobile.

Human nature.

When Gilbert inhaled and woke up later and squirmed off of him, he was very quick to throw his arm over Toris' chest and pull him in. And Toris, god help him, leaned his head to the side and pressed it into Gilbert's.

Couldn't escape that feeling.

Before long, both he and Gilbert were very likely to be lying next to Eduard instead of each other, so maybe Gilbert was right, for once.

Why spend those last precious moments alive alone?

They weren't good people.


Ivan had been acting strange lately.

Saying and doing strange things. Odd looks. Ludwig couldn't pinpoint the reason. Ivan wasn't himself, and it was rather disconcerting in a way, because sometimes Ludwig looked at Ivan and thought that maybe Ivan was nervous. Anxious.

Impossible.

Ivan was nothing less than confident, and yet all the same, as impossible as it was, Ludwig could see Ivan sitting there in a chair, elbows on his knees and face covered by his palms, eyes peering out above his fingertips as he stared ahead with a furrowed brow. His foot was always tapping. Pulse racing. Ivan was nervous, and seemed to be waiting for something.

Toris.

Had to be Toris, had to be something Toris had done, and Ludwig walked by Ivan, saw him staring anxiously out of the window, and rolled his eyes. Toris hardly seemed worth the effort it took to feel anything, and the fact that Ivan was thinking so furiously about Toris irritated the hell out of Ludwig. Why bother? Toris was gone. If he knew what was good for him he wasn't coming back, so what was Ivan waiting for?

Ludwig couldn't say for sure what Toris had done to set him off, but it was more than a little interesting, to see normally confident Ivan in such a state. Would admit that. Annoying, yes, but fascinating. Ivan seemed to be slowly unraveling. Had stopped shaving for days on end, had stopped combing his hair in the morning. His shirts were always wrinkled and halfway unbuttoned. The summer air was warm, and instead of going outside to enjoy good weather Ivan had all but barricaded them inside the house.

Ivan was god, and he wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything.

But Ivan sometimes looked over at Ludwig from his constant vigil of the window, and Ludwig was so sure that he saw fear on Ivan's face.

When the fear vanished, though, it left wrath in its wake, and Ludwig enjoyed Ivan much more in those moments. Didn't like seeing him feeling under, and so when Ivan was holding a rather angry shouting-match on the phone with someone one afternoon in the office, Ludwig just sat on the edge of the desk, inspecting his nails in boredom as he waited for Ivan to stop shrieking. He glanced from time to time at ruffled Ivan, chest hair poking out from the collar of his sloppy shirt, forehead covered in sweat and cheeks gleaming with pale stubble, sleeves rolled up and muscles on display, and would admit that this unraveled Ivan was rather dashing.

Ivan did, eventually, stop shrieking and stood up, throwing his arms in the air with a curse, and started stomping around the room. When Ivan started punching the wall shortly after, Ludwig just glanced at the phone and wished he had studied his Russian a little more. Wished he knew why, exactly, Ivan was so angry and so nervous and so scared.

Didn't ask, because Ivan wouldn't tell him.

When Ivan's fist started leaving blood streaks on the stone wall, Ludwig finally slid off the desk and came forward, reaching out to grab Ivan by the waist. From the way Ivan squirmed around in his arms and lifted his shoulders and his fist flew up into the air, Ludwig thought for a second that he was going to be punched in the face along with that wall.

He just stared up at Ivan, rather drolly, and Ivan eventually lowered his arm, staring at Ludwig in turn and looking rather alarmed. Blood dripped from his knuckles down to the floor, and Ludwig couldn't tell what exactly was running through Ivan's mind then.

Knew one thing, though; Toris was going to be absolutely torn apart if Ivan could get his hands on him. Oh, Toris. Wasn't going to stand a chance once Ivan got a hold of him. Would be utterly annihilated. Ha. Sure hoped he was there to see it.

Ivan was very still there in Ludwig's arms, uncombed hair falling onto his damp forehead and sticking there, a few beads of sweat rolling down his neck, and for once, it seemed to be Ivan that was pinned under Ludwig's gaze, and for a while there he looked a little dazed and confused.

Big oaf.

"You know," Ludwig finally said, as Ivan malfunctioned, "I find you far more handsome when you're angry."

Trying to get him to snap out of it, and it worked, after a short silence. Ivan's face suddenly relaxed, he gave a hiss of air through his teeth, that look of alarm faded, and then he gave a laugh. Ludwig smiled at him, and Ivan gave a great sigh, fell up against him, and seemed to come down a little. He buried his face in Ludwig's shoulder, as Ludwig eyed the blood streaking the wall.

Familiar. Ah, Toris.

Hands clenched in his hair. Ivan's lips were pressing into his neck, a hand up his back, and when Ivan finally pulled back, his confidence seemed to have returned.

Ludwig was pleased with his ability to drag Ivan out of a rage. Was getting better and better at it every time it happened. Ludwig had gotten quite confident with himself, very much so, and his ego rose each time he successfully wrangled that thundercloud.

Ludwig's next project, although one still being put together in his head, a bit intangible still, was on how successfully he could send Ivan into one of those rages. Had always done it before by accident, and now was trying to piece together how he could set it off purposefully. Wanted to push Ivan into a rage and then try to get him back. See what made him tick, so to speak. Why not? Had nothing else to do, not right at the moment, and now that Ivan was constantly preoccupied Ludwig found his mind wandering.

More days passed.

No sight or sound of Toris, as far as he knew. Ivan seemed to be hovering over the phone, and, to be quite frank, it was starting to get on Ludwig's last goddamn nerve. Hated that Ivan's full attention wasn't on him. Couldn't stand it.

Didn't know that Toris could still piss him off so badly when he wasn't even in the house. Skilled, certainly. Toris had a knack for driving Ludwig up the wall, even when he was gone.

One day, after hours of sitting there at the desk with his face buried in his palms, Ivan finally looked up at Ludwig, ever perched on the edge of the desk with crossed legs and bored eyes. A long, prying stare, and then Ivan sat up straight in his chair, eyes wide and brow low, jaw clenched, shoulders braced, and he looked quite intent on something suddenly.

Ludwig turned halfway towards him, resting his hands upon his knee a bit primly, and waited for Ivan's great revelation.

Not so great, as it turned out.

An inhale, hands flying to the desk, and Ivan suddenly said, "Hey. Do you remember when I told you that I'd take you wherever you wanted to go? I think we should go somewhere. Would you like that? I never got around to letting you pick somewhere."

A crinkle of Ludwig's brow, a twitch of his nose. Was hardly able to keep from sighing then, because that wasn't exactly what he had expected. Hell yes, he wanted to get out of this house and go somewhere and wreak havoc, but that wasn't what Ivan was saying. He wasn't saying 'Let's get back to work.' Seemed to be saying more like, 'Let's go on vacation.'

Ludwig didn't want to go on vacation; wanted to get back on the field.

Missed the tanks, suddenly.

Ludwig looked at Ivan, and felt that twinge of irritation. Looked so hassled, suddenly. Ivan looked anxious again, as he often did these days, and that was just so unlike Ivan that Ludwig found he didn't want to move a muscle until Ivan was back to normal. Hated seeing Ivan like that, because it messed up his own routine and abilities. Needed Ivan in his normal state, in order to continue conducting his own experiments. When Ivan wasn't himself, Ludwig couldn't perform an unbiased study.

Ivan wanted to go somewhere. Surely—

Not possible. Stupid thought, stupid, but Ludwig couldn't help but wonder, a little, if Ivan was attempting to flee from Toris. Ha! Oh, that thought! Impossible, so impossible, not from Toris. Toris was nothing. Not a thing. Toris was dirt, and Ivan would never run from pitiful Toris. Toris could get one over on anyone else alive, but not Ivan.

Surely.

...so why was he suddenly asking?

Sure enough, at Ludwig's silence, Ivan pressed, "Remember, I said I'd like to go to Argentina? Ha, maybe we can go. Would you go with me, if I went?"

Without hesitation, Ludwig said, "Of course."

Didn't want to, but would have followed Ivan anywhere, anywhere at all.

Ivan's hands fell off the desk and he crossed his arms across his chest, turning his eyes up to the great map on the wall. In the end, Ivan still called the shots, and all Ludwig could do was wait.

More restless days passed, but Ivan never made good on his words of travel, and Ludwig was glad. Maybe Ivan had realized that up and leaving would take a little more effort than he was comfortable giving in that particular time.

Since Ivan didn't move, Ludwig did notice that he was doing something else :

Erasing Toris from this household.

Ludwig was extremely pleased by that, because, well, he had been the one to push Ivan to it, and that had only been another little experiment.

Ivan had been ever by the window, eyes scanning the grounds endlessly, and Ludwig, so bored by Ivan's wandering mind, had said, from the couch, "If he's gone for good, why don't you just throw all of his stuff out? One more spare room."

Ivan had turned his head, looking at Ludwig over his shoulder, opened his mouth, a strange look on his face, and then he turned his eyes back to the window without a word.

Ludwig stifled his sigh, glowering at Ivan's back and throwing himself backwards on the couch. Was gonna die any minute now, he knew it, from absolute boredom. Was so restless. Ivan had riled him up for all of these months, had been training him and prepping him, and yet they hadn't set foot out of this house since the day Toris had left, and Ludwig was going crazy. Had far too much pent up energy, far too much pent up frustration and anger and everything else, and Ivan wasn't even letting him get out some aggression by taking him out into the world.

Just stood and stared out of the window.

Ludwig had thought at first that his words had truly fallen on deaf ears, but that wasn't so.

Ludwig woke up the next morning to a ruckus, and was surprised when he realized that Ivan had gotten up before him. For once. A quick tromp downstairs, and Ludwig saw that Ivan was ransacking Toris' bedroom, ripping it apart and throwing all of Toris' belongings out into the hall.

Ludwig came to a halt before the pile of junk, and smirked.

Ah...

Well, well, well. Ivan had taken his suggestion after all. Had taken a long while, yeah, but had done it all the same. Ludwig felt satisfied, content, confident, and just leaned against the wall with crossed arms and a leer as he watched red-faced, sweaty Ivan throwing every single thing in Toris' bedroom out the door.

Ludwig didn't help him. Ivan did the heavy lifting here, not him.

Ivan looked livid, muttering to himself the whole while under his breath, kicking things frequently, and it was Irina, surprisingly, that actually seemed quite upset. She was standing over Ivan as he hauled out furniture, looking for all the world as if she wanted nothing more than to punch Ivan in the nose. She was screaming at him before long, really screaming at him, and Ludwig just stood there and watched eagerly.

Ivan dropped a piece of the bed he had been hauling out, stood up to his full height, sweating and face flushed and shirt unbuttoned, looking wild and dangerous and damn handsome, and Irina stood there before him, and they just screamed at each other. Irina reached out to shove her hand in Ivan's face, pushing him back, Ivan wrenched her wrist aside and threw her off, Irina shoved him, Ivan shoved her back, she hit the wall for the force, and their shrieks echoed down the hall.

Raivis came bolting in from outside, to see the cause of the chaos.

Ludwig had never once seen Ivan touch Irina, not once, and it was very interesting to him. Far from intervening as he may have once before, Ludwig raised a hand up to his chin, ever leaning casually against the wall and was fully aware that he was smiling inappropriately.

But he wasn't the only one : Raivis seemed ecstatic.

The second Raivis realized what was happening, the very second he realized that Ivan was throwing out Toris' possessions, he broke into a wide beam, trotted forward, and immediately started grabbing things out of the hall and helping Ivan cart them out into the yard.

Irina screamed so hard and so furiously, this time at the both of them, that she had started losing her voice. She couldn't stop them, not Ivan and not even Raivis, not as intent as they were, and suddenly all of Toris' belongings were in a pile in the yard. Ivan hated Toris so much in that moment that he had literally taken apart perfectly good pieces of furniture, simply because Toris had been using them.

Ludwig walked outside, behind them, observing a bit from a distance, and Ivan had started trudging up with a can of petrol.

Irina started screaming again, barging forward and trying to yank the can from Ivan's hand. Impossible; Ivan was brutally strong on a normal day, and trying to take something from him when he was angry was entirely inconceivable.

Raivis, still smiling, just darted over and tried to drag Irina back.

The most interesting thing of the entire day happened then—actually, the most interesting thing of his entire life happened then :

As Raivis yanked Irina back, Ivan started splashing the gas on Toris' things, and Irina suddenly whirled around and slapped Raivis across the face so hard that he staggered. That didn't shock Ludwig so much. What absolutely shocked Ludwig, stunned him, was when Ivan dropped the gas can, lunged forward, and slapped Irina.

Ivan had never hit Irina, never, and she looked just as stunned as Ludwig did, hand flying immediately up to her cheek and eyes wider than he had ever seen them. Ivan grabbed her arm, gave her a brutal shake, hissing at her the whole while, and then shoved her back.

Ivan went back to what he was doing, and Raivis tossed him a pack of matches.

Ludwig felt breathless, smile wide across his face.

Another splash, and the smell of gasoline. The strike of a match.

Ivan tossed it down with a curse in Russian, and Toris went up in flames.

With that, with that fire, Ivan wiped the slate clean. Cast Toris out of their world forever. As far as Ivan was concerned, Toris was already dead. When he spit upon the ground in front of the bonfire, it was essentially upon Toris' grave.

The flames shot up, embers floating, dancing, and Ivan stared into the fire and muttered to himself. Irina stared at Ivan through the fire, arms crossed, and looked more furious than Ludwig had ever seen her. That look she sent Ivan through the crackling flames was one Ludwig had never seen.

Didn't like it, though.

The next day, Ivan slept almost until nightfall, no doubt exhausted from exertion and anger, poor thing, and Ludwig just watched Raivis pacing around Toris' empty bedroom with what could have very well been a look of triumph. Ha. Raivis. Wished he could talk to him, because Raivis seemed to grow on him a little more every day. Really should be studying Russian. He was getting complacent. A bit lazy. Turning into Ivan, as it was.

From that moment, though, Raivis was lifted up above Irina, and was more important than she was. Hadn't been that way before, and Ludwig had hardly paid attention to Raivis.

Ivan had slapped Irina because she had slapped Raivis, and Ivan clearly saw something in Raivis that he liked enough for that. Maybe to Ivan, Raivis was a little bit like a son, and Ludwig found himself suddenly wandering around behind Raivis, looking him up and down and observing him.

In his head then, Ludwig claimed Raivis as his.

Theirs.

Could be a little family unit, even, if he and Ivan raised Raivis and turned him into them.

Ludwig observed suddenly, for the first time, that Raivis' cheeks were dark from the hair he had been shaving. Hadn't noticed that, until then. Raivis wasn't a little kid anymore, fifteen, and Ludwig took note of that.

In the late evening, Ivan finally came trudging down the stairs, and Ludwig watched as Ivan went straight over to Raivis, waved a hand in the air, and suddenly Ivan was leading Raivis down the hall. Ludwig followed, because anything Ivan did automatically involved him without it having to be said.

Irina was missing.

Irina, still so angry, was huffing away somewhere, and didn't seem to want to be around Ivan. Maybe Irina missed Toris. Had to have been a shock for her, after having him around for so long. Toris had been a part of her family. Well. Irina would get over it, wouldn't she? No choice.

Toris was replaceable.

Actually, he already had been; suddenly, Ivan had taken up a uniform into his hand, gave a deep, irritable sigh, and handed it reluctantly to Raivis. Raivis stared at it for a long while, eyes wide and barely breathing, before he was finally able to reach out and take it. Looked like he'd been given the world entire. Ludwig watched him with a smile as Raivis lit up like the moon and was ripping on the uniform so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. Had wanted one for so long, according to Toris, so it must have been overwhelming for him to finally get it.

As Raivis hectically pulled on the clothes, Ivan watched him from behind, that crinkle still there in his brow, the lines on his forehead obvious, and it was clear how upset he was by this.

Ludwig came up to his side, and Ivan shifted a little, before finally muttering, "I wanted to wait until he was older. He's not old enough."

Ludwig, observing again the shadow on Raivis' cheeks and chin as he admired himself in the mirror, disagreed. Looked good enough in the uniform for Ludwig, sure as hell didn't look like a mid-teenage boy then, less so from behind.

All the same, because he hated that look on Ivan's face, Ludwig was quick to say, "Well, it's good for him to learn, right? Just let him play around for now. When he's old enough, he'll already know what to do, won't he?"

A pursing of Ivan's lips, before he exhaled through his nose and his brow lifted a little. Ludwig was content when Ivan suddenly smiled, if only halfway, and then looked over at him. A sudden, heavy arm over his shoulders, and a nose in his cheek. A whisper in his ear.

"You always know how to make me feel better, you know?"

Ludwig just smirked.

Yeah, that was something he was certainly honing and sharpening.

Ludwig suddenly asked, "What did you make him? Lieutenant?"

A steady nod of Ivan's head. Ludwig snorted. Raivis had gotten Toris' rank right off—kinda wished he could have seen the look on Toris' face. Bet he woulda had a coronary.

The next day, when Raivis came into the kitchen, he was dressed in his uniform. Come to think, he never took it off after that. Looked on top of the world, so confident, and he didn't really look like a kid after that day. Maybe Ludwig had just never paid complete attention to Raivis, and so it was a little interesting to see him at long last, and in uniform.

Was tall, as tall as Irina, and he wasn't as lanky as he had been when Ludwig had arrived. Along with that stubble, Raivis had gotten taller and broader, stronger, and seemed to get a little more so each day. In that uniform, Raivis really didn't look as young as he was. Just looked like any other young Red soldier, and he knew it too because he was always puffed out so proudly. Raivis' boldness and pride made him look older, too, and sometimes when Raivis rounded a corner, Ludwig had to do a double-take because he had caught a glimpse of brunet and had thought it was Toris. Raivis was a little older every day, a little more fearless, and he suddenly wasn't so hyper. Didn't blabber away to Irina anymore, didn't run down the halls. Raivis, as far as he was concerned, was a soldier at long last and seemed very intent on acting the part. When Ludwig looked at Raivis then, he didn't see a kid. He saw a Red soldier of lower rank, but one whose utter fearlessness ensured him quick rising. He saw something he could create. Saw something he and Ivan could claim as something they made together.

Ludwig would catch Raivis' eye in the hall in passing, and they would stop and stare at each other, and Raivis would stand at perfect attention, smiling at Ludwig, and Raivis looked at Ludwig then as if he were looking at Ivan himself. Ludwig would just lift his chin and smile, and Raivis carried on.

Ludwig's ego was well stoked with Raivis.

Not so much, lately, with Irina.

Irina looked so angry, and so strange, and wasn't speaking to any of them, even Raivis. Irina looked so strange all of a sudden, and Ludwig couldn't put his finger to it. Suddenly, Ludwig noticed that Irina was looking out of the door and windows as much as Ivan, but she didn't seem to be waiting for something. Almost looked like she searching for an escape.

Huh—now she was the one who wanted to run. Funny.

Ludwig watched Irina very pointedly, very intently, with every move she made, and he didn't know why he suddenly felt so oddly angry at her. What? She wanted to get out of here or something? Why was she acting like that? Ludwig stood there and watched her, watched her every step, her every move, her every breath, and she knew it.

She looked so jittery around him, so antsy, and maybe so nervous, because every time Ludwig came into the room Irina suddenly fell still, turned her eyes away, and then quickly left.

Something about Irina, then...

Ludwig couldn't say what it was, but with her abruptly strange and evasive motions and after having seen Ivan slap her, Irina suddenly didn't seem as important as she once had. Ivan had hit her, for the first time, and that meant that Irina had, somehow or another, lost her power over Ivan. She had lost her position, her stance of invincibility, and she probably knew it and that was why she wanted to leave. Without Toris here to watch out for her, maybe Irina realized that she was as vulnerable to Ivan as anyone else.

Ludwig watched her watch windows and doors, and couldn't help but be a little content, actually, because Irina losing that last little shred of control over Ivan meant that, really, the only person now on this planet that controlled Ivan was him.

So long Ivan had told Ludwig he owned the world, and that was the first time he knew he really did.

Ludwig released Irina from his gaze that day, as she fidgeted there on the couch, arms crossed and trying so hard to avoid looking at him, and he turned towards the hall to go find Ivan. Had been missing all day, had been absent since Ludwig had woken up, and wanted to see him then with this new sense of power.

Ludwig finally found Ivan in one of the empty rooms, sitting alone on a roll of carpet, back to the door and hunched over. The window was open, warm air blowing in, Ivan's white wifebeater was as wrinkled as everything else, and his hair was sticking up to high heaven. Ivan's sudden sloppiness, although visually appealing, was starting to annoy Ludwig as much as the rest. Would have to start grooming him soon, apparently, since he seemed incapable nowadays.

When Ludwig came forward to start fussing, though, he could see that Ivan's face was buried in his hands, he was rocking a little bit back and forth, and, god, it almost sounded like he was crying.

Couldn't be.

Ludwig came over, knelt down before Ivan, and reached up to grab his wrists.

Ivan's fingers parted, and pale eyes stared out at him. Bleary and red, dark circles beneath, eyelids lidded low and puffy, and Ludwig knew, suddenly, that Ivan had been crying.

He fell fully onto his knees, forced Ivan's hands down, and the pitiful way Ivan looked at him made Ludwig feel an alarmingly potent sense of adoration. Oh, this man. Loved him so much, loved everything about him, and he couldn't held but reach his hand up and run it over Ivan's stubbled cheek.

Ivan's face crumpled, for an awful second, about to start crying again, and he hung his head. Must have been the stress of whatever situation was forcing Ivan to constantly stare out of the window for hours on end. The stress of Toris, as it was.

Heavy breathing.

Ivan pressed his face into Ludwig's palm, resting the full weight of his head there, and Ludwig held him steady. Ivan's hands raised up, then, one gripping Ludwig's wrist and the other resting on his shoulder, and Ivan seemed so oddly vulnerable to him in that moment. Felt like Ivan was just that lost little kid then, long forgotten.

A muffled mutter.

"Irina's so mad at me. She wants to go back to Moscow."

Ludwig was silent, because he didn't really know what to say. Just felt an odd rush of irritation, aggression, and felt so annoyed more than anything.

Before he could think of anything, Ivan said, in almost a moan, "I don't wanna go back to Moscow, I hate it there so much. I want to stay here, with you."

Ludwig reached up his other hand, ran it over Ivan's uncombed hair, smoothing it back, and said, with a hint of amusement, "You don't have to go back to Moscow. You know? You don't have to go, just because she does."

For a while there, it almost seemed like Ivan didn't hear him at all, as he continued to burrow away in Ludwig's palm.

Ivan squinted his eyes shut, and whispered, shakily, "I love you so much. You can't ever leave. You can't. I wouldn't— I love you. Please don't ever leave. Please. I'd do anything to keep you. I'll do anything you want, if you stay. Please don't leave. Please, don't ever go away."

Ludwig's brow came down in confusion, as Ivan continued nuzzling into his palm.

Leave? Never. He couldn't even fathom waking up now without Ivan being beside of him. Didn't know what was going on suddenly, why Ivan was acting so strangely, speaking so strangely, why his motions and words were unfamiliar and so uncharacteristically helpless. Wished he knew what was happening. Before he could ask, at long last, Ivan suddenly fell deathly still. The hand on Ludwig's shoulder contracted so tightly that Ludwig couldn't help but give a hiss, and the one clenching his wrist damn near snapped the bone.

Pain.

A sharp inhale.

Ivan suddenly opened his eyes then, wet as they were, and looked up at Ludwig. Intensity. As they always had before, Ivan's eyes froze Ludwig in place, so intent were they, and the expression on his face would have terrified him once. Ivan's voice had stopped shaking, and seemed suddenly brusque and sure when he spoke again. Sharp and very low.

"If you ever leave me, I'll shoot you. I'd shoot us both before I ever let you go. You can't leave me. Ever."

Well, then. No more 'please'.

Not afraid. Not alarmed. Ivan's oath didn't frighten him, didn't shake him up, didn't make him panic. Ludwig was damn glad to hear it, actually. What he felt was something more like exhilaration. Elation. Not only pride in himself, but he was glad to see Ivan snap out of it, because he couldn't stand seeing Ivan being such a wreck.

So Ludwig just sighed, stood up, pulled Ivan to his feet, and took his face within his hands. Looking Ivan up and down, as Ivan's fingers continued to bruise him, Ludwig just chided, gently, "What's the matter with you? I told you I'd never leave. I meant it."

Ivan's piercing, deadly stare, boring right into Ludwig's brain and judging his sincerity. Of that, there was plenty, because he absolutely meant it, and Ivan seemed satisfied. The painful grip loosened up, Ivan's shoulders slumped, and dammit all, that misery came back. What the hell was wrong with him?

Ludwig shook his head to himself, and all he could think of to do then was to drag Ivan out of that empty room, take him down the hall to the bedroom, and shove him down into the chair before the desk. Wanted to give him a good whack, to wake him up, but also didn't want a broken leg, so, instead, he took Ivan's face again and straddled him in the chair.

Ivan looked so pitiful, and he held Ludwig's waist and stared blearily up at him.

Ludwig kissed him, quickly, and said, once more, just in case, "I won't leave you. And hey—if you ever told me to leave, I'd shoot you."

And honestly?

He meant that as much as he meant anything else.

Ivan's mouth fell open, breathlessly, he looked quite incredulous, and when Ludwig smiled down at him, Ivan finally smiled, too.

Good.

At last Ludwig said, before Ivan could get his brain working, "I'm bored. I want to go outside. Can't we just go walking around? Something? I'm so bored. I want to go walking in town."

Ivan's brow crinkled, he looked alarmed, as he had that one day, and his grip on Ludwig's waist was tight. A long study of his face, Ivan's eyes flitting away, and then there was a sharp inhale.

"You won't leave me, ever, right?"

Again?

Successfully able to suppress what would otherwise have been his hundredth eye roll that week, Ludwig just affirmed, "I won't leave you."

A swallow, a nod, and then Ivan's husky voice, whispering, "Alright. Okay. Alright. We'll go on walks, every now and then. Is that okay? I'll take you a walk tonight, if that's what you want."

Ivan had said, earlier, that he would do anything Ludwig wanted, after all, as long as Ludwig stayed.

Every day, Ludwig stepped up just a little bit more above the fog. Seemed, sometimes, that maybe he was a little more above it than Ivan was. Sometimes, Ludwig felt like he was so close, so damn close, to harnessing Ivan. Ivan would do anything for him, and that meant that he was the only one that had power over Ivan, and for that, really, it was Ludwig who truly owned the world.

So Ludwig kissed Ivan again, pulled off his shirt, unclasped his belt, and Ivan, as always, fell to him and started ripping his clothes off, because, really, Ivan did just do whatever Ludwig wanted. In some way, since the very beginning, he always had.

Fingers digging into his waist, as Ivan used his brute strength, as always, to move him along. And Ludwig just clung to Ivan's neck and held on for the ride, as always, and couldn't wipe that sneer off of his face, even as Ivan tried to hurt him.

Ivan did everything he said, even if it wasn't immediately.

Power.

The whole time, Ivan clenched him, and every time he moved upwards Ivan muttered, "I love you."

Ludwig just kissed his neck, and smiled. Big dummy. If Ivan thought he would ever try to leave, then that was one thing perfect Ivan had gotten wrong. How could he ever have even thought it? Never. Wasn't going anywhere, not anywhere. Anyone who ever tried to come between them would have to go through him first. Whatever was going on outside that window, it wouldn't be enough to part them.

Love.

They'd always be together.

That window, though, seemed to be drawing everyone's attention lately, and Ludwig was suddenly less irritated with Ivan's waiting than he was with Irina's planning.

Moscow—that was some nerve.

Ludwig held on to Ivan's neck, staring above him and at the wall as Ivan moved him up and down, and it suddenly occurred to Ludwig that if Irina wanted to leave so badly, then she could just go.

In one way or another.


Affection.

A strange, rather forgotten feeling.

Certainly wasn't love, Toris knew that, never had any question at all about that. Love in his experience had been reserved entirely for Ivan, and no matter how hard Gilbert tried, that couldn't ever be replicated. Toris couldn't ever have said that he was even sure what love felt like. He had been too young with Feliks and maybe what he felt for Ivan was closer to obsession.

But what he felt for Gilbert wasn't anything like what he felt for Ivan, so Toris knew that it wasn't love. Affection, certainly, but that was the extent of his emotional attachment to Gilbert. That was a two-way street, of course, and Toris knew that whatever Gilbert felt for him was absolutely nothing compared to what he felt for Ludwig.

They just leaned on each other for support, to not be alone in what was very likely to be their last days.

Toris wouldn't lie, though, and say that Gilbert wasn't growing on more and more every day, because he was. It hadn't been immediate and instant, hadn't been love at first sight like with Feliks, but damn if Toris wasn't getting a little invested in Gilbert.

Just a little.

Watched him so much these days, as much as Gilbert had watched him before. Liked to observe him, because Gilbert was so different now than when Toris had picked the mutt up. Gilbert was taller than he was, by a few centimeters, shorter than Ludwig yet. Gilbert was bigger in the chest and shoulders than Toris was, though, and Toris didn't know why but he liked to watch Gilbert walk. Now that he was actually walking, that was, and not just floating around like a ghost. Liked the way Gilbert swung his arms when he walked, the way he held his shoulders back and chest up, the way he almost swaggered at times.

Having someone paying him attention was what seemed to wake Gilbert up and make him confident and strong. The moment Toris had conceded to Gilbert, it seemed, he had just woken up the next morning and was suddenly strutting around as if he hadn't been accepting death not long before. Gilbert was one of those men that sucked their confidence right out from other people because they couldn't make it by themselves. Gilbert thrived off of someone thriving off of him, and maybe that was why he needed Ludwig so badly, why he was doing this to begin with.

Toris found Gilbert insufferable, and somehow loved him for it, because Toris loved men that were assholes, in the end. Always had, as much as Ivan had loved brave men.

One morning, Gilbert came out of the bathroom, and his hair was shorn. Cut like Ludwig's, short in the back and longer in the front, just a bit. Not quite long enough to slick back like Ludwig did, but enough for it to stick up at the top. The dye was all but gone, and Gilbert was silver-haired once more now that the tips were cut.

Well, well. Gilbert was so stoked, had perked up so much, that he was actually starting to take care of his appearance. That was a good sign, at least. Had to mean that Gilbert wasn't quite so ready to die after all, if only a little.

Gilbert saw him staring, lifted his chin with a snort, ran a hand over his cut hair, and said, quite coolly, "Like it?"

Like going back in time, and seeing Gilbert as Ludwig had seen him. Seeing him so stuck on himself, so proud and self-satisfied, and actually, Gilbert was more handsome in that moment than Toris had ever thought it was possible for him to be.

Liked Gilbert's undeserved ego, despite himself, and so Toris had just said, a bit condescendingly, "Sure. Looks good short. You're just a little less goddamn hideous like that."

Maybe he wanted to make Gilbert laugh, and for a moment there, he almost had, was so sure of it, but eventually Gilbert just scoffed and waved his hand dismissively in the air.

"Eh—you got no taste."

Toris couldn't help but smile.

Nope. Never had. That was why he liked Gilbert so much.

They teased other for the rest of the night, and for just a while there, Toris felt a little like he was sitting there on Feliks' floor once more, young and dumb and naïve and back in the real world. Felt a little bit of happiness, a little hope, a little alive. Pretending and lying to each other made it all so much easier.

And then, two days later, when Toris thought that he really had everything pretty well figured out, Gilbert surprised him again, shook him up again, made him doubt himself again, and without even meaning to, as always.

Just came out of the bathroom after a shower, and stood there in the door.

His look had been so strange, so odd, as he had stared at Toris as he had been combing his hair.

"Hey," Gilbert suddenly murmured, as he lingered there in the threshold, "Listen."

Toris paused, brush falling still, and looked over his shoulder. Only did so then because of the tone of Gilbert's voice. So low and rough and deep. Had never heard that tone, not really, and hadn't actually known that Gilbert's voice could get quite that low.

Gilbert stood there, shirtless and red-faced, shifting his weight back and forth as though suddenly apprehensive, and, in one of those rare moments, his dull eyes were very alert and bright. Looked perfectly lucid and conscious, well aware of where he was and with whom.

Sane.

He caught Toris' gaze, and continued, "Listen. When I get Ludwig back, will you... I mean, that is, when I go back to Berlin, do you wanna...come with us?" After a short silence, he added, voice so low that Toris could barely hear, "That is, will you stay there? With me. Will you go back with me?"

Stunned and dumbfounded, Toris just asked, "Why?"

Shocked. No one had ever wanted to take him anywhere.

Beyond it all, Toris wondered if Gilbert really believed, for one, that he would actually ever make it back to Berlin, and two, if he just didn't realize that he couldn't stay in Berlin even if by some miracle they made it across the iron curtain. Didn't Gilbert know that he couldn't just stay there? Staying in Berlin would have been as much a death-sentence as staying in Siberia. Gilbert couldn't stay in Berlin if he escaped, would always have to keep moving, for the rest of his life, and Toris wasn't sure if Gilbert understood that at all.

Maybe he was trying not to think that far ahead. For the best, actually.

Gilbert seemed to be caught a bit breathlessly under Toris' gaze, and suddenly he took a step forward, one hand flying up to the back of his neck in anxiety, and he seemed to be gathering up his courage to speak again.

Toris didn't make anything easy for Gilbert, really didn't, and he was aware of that and sometimes he regretted it but that was just his nature. Couldn't help it.

At last, Gilbert managed to say, ever lower, "It's just—! I fucked up so bad, so when I get Ludwig, I won't be allowed to keep him, you know? I've gotta let him go, I gotta give him away, anyway, so I... I want something I can keep."

Without thinking, Toris said, "Who's there to give him to? Everyone's dead."

Gilbert slumped as his face came dangerously close to crumpling.

Toris regretted that, too.

"I know," came the slow, dumb answer. "I just... He wouldn't stay with me, anyway. I make him so mad."

Another silence, and Gilbert's face had steadied again.

He asked, again, "Will you go back with me?"

And again, Toris asked, "Why?"

Wanted a straight answer for that, maybe if only to actually hear someone say it aloud. No one ever had.

Another shuffle, another hesitation, as Gilbert seemed to be struggling to put his emotions into words, and then, finally, he uttered, a bit gruffly, "Well. I've...kinda gotten attached to ya."

Perhaps the closest he would ever come to hearing it, and Toris found that it was good enough. More than sufficient.

Hell. Stupid, the stupidest notion he had ever entertained, because of course it wasn't going to happen, Gilbert was a goner and Toris probably was, too. They would never be side by side in Berlin, never, not once, and it was absolute folly to even entertain the thought.

And yet...

Even though he couldn't find his voice, couldn't think, couldn't focus, couldn't ever understand what Gilbert really wanted, Toris felt himself nod, as if through a mist. Gilbert looked almost relieved.

An awkward stillness.

A ghost of a smile across Gilbert's pale face, and then he said, softly, "I'm glad."

The brush had slipped from Toris' hand and right to the floor as the force of shock hit him like the damn cold in winter did.

By god!

That simple sentence affected him more than the question itself. Toris had never felt so utterly and completely astounded. Glad? For Christ's sake, why? Didn't Gilbert understand who he was? Didn't he understand that it wasn't safe for him to be around Toris? That if they did go off together, that it was extremely likely brash Gilbert would do something to irritate Toris so much that maybe a gun would be pulled? Didn't Gilbert understand that the Ivan-Toris was impatient and impulsive? Angry? Moody? Twitchy, with a hair-line trigger? Toris had gotten accustomed to shooting first and asking questions later, and, to be quite frank, he had killed so many people so much more innocent than Gilbert had ever been. Not safe. Toris going to Berlin with Gilbert would eventually be Gilbert's end, because sooner or later Toris would do something to hurt him.

Didn't Gilbert know how many people Toris had really killed? Didn't Gilbert understand that Toris was the very last person anyone should have ever wanted beside of them?

Just couldn't understand, and Toris eventually turned away, staring away and feeling rather blank and dumbfounded. Gilbert collapsed on the bed beside of him, twisted around, and wrapped his arms around Toris' neck, pressing his face into Toris' loose hair.

Toris didn't move. Couldn't. Stunned into immobility.

Oh...

Suddenly, Toris just wanted to turn around.

Didn't want Gilbert to die.


August.

The closer they got, the more terrifying his dreams became.

Thinking of the outcomes.

Toris could only lie there sometimes, staring at the ceiling, and he could see Ivan and Ludwig up in his head. Together, as they always were, hand in hand and staring at each other as though they were the only thing in each other's sights. Ivan pressing the gun to Ludwig's head as they played around. Ivan slipping diamonds into Ludwig's hands as the Soviet Union burned and starved. Dark closets. Ludwig twitching his hand in the air and Ivan crushing the world for him.

Horrible flashes in his mind of them, interacting with each other in ways that were perfectly normal to them, but terrifying to other people.

Toris was glad, more than anything, that Gilbert couldn't see what he saw.

Ideas came to him here and there in the dead of night. Wisps of plans and possibilities. Toris' mind was ever whirring, and finally, after a long while, he thought maybe he had come up with something. Toris finally pieced together something that might just have allowed Gilbert to see Ludwig, although it was so risky, so risky, because too much of it relied on Gilbert's own strength and endurance. Sometimes, although Gilbert looked very strong now, Toris truly doubted his abilities.

Just couldn't think of anything else, for the life of him, and so he finally sat down in front of Gilbert on the bed one day, and knew it was time to talk about it a little. Gilbert reached out instantly to grab Toris and pull him over, but Toris' hands snatching Gilbert's wrists stopped him short.

Gilbert must have seen the look on his face, because he fell still and silent, brow crinkled, and waited for Toris to speak.

Toris asked, a bit randomly perhaps, "How fast can you run? You ever sprinted?"

Gilbert sat there, wrists still held in Toris' hands, and for just a second there, Gilbert snorted. His brow raised up, his chin lifted, his eyes lidded, and for a second Toris could see there the arrogant bastard he had once been.

"Not to brag or nothin'," Gilbert began, that smug look still on his face and captivating Toris for its sheer audacity in the situation, "But I'd say I'm pretty damn fast. Have you ever ran straight across a border and through razor wire with guards chasing and shooting at you? I ran right through 'em. You ever done that?"

Toris narrowed his eyes and sent Gilbert a look of exasperation because he could hardly believe the bastard was actually trying to show him up. Him! Gilbert, of all people, trying to brag to Toris about something.

And yet, for it all, Toris really could say that Gilbert had done something he never had and never would, because Toris had certainly never ran right through a barbed-wire minefield of a border crossing. Not because he wasn't brave enough, of course, but because Toris wasn't dumb enough. Toris of course had never done that, because Toris was smart enough to walk right through the border in plain sight.

Well. Gilbert hadn't had a choice, perhaps, and Toris was actually kind of glad to hear that, and he was also glad to see that look on Gilbert's face. Any time that he could see the old Gilbert was a good day.

So Toris just replied, very dryly, "No, can't say I've done that."

Gilbert smirked then, actually smirked. Toris had never seen it, not once, and somehow found himself a little entranced by it, so much so that he almost didn't want to talk anymore at all because he didn't want to see that look go away. Didn't want to see Gilbert look lost and terrified again.

Dammit—no choice, really, because he couldn't put it off forever.

So Toris just got his fill of that self-satisfied smirk, took a deep breath, steeled his will, and then spoke on.

"Good. Well, then. I'm gonna need you to run, and really damn fast, got it? When I tell you to, you run."

As Toris had known, Gilbert's little smirk started to steadily fall. Could see him swallow, and Toris hated it.

"Ludwig will be inside the house, and he won't be alone. So. We got three people to get rid of before you can get to Ludwig, so you gotta be fast. Ivan—" Gilbert shuddered at the name "—will be impossible to get by in the house. I think— What I got in my head right now, I think we're gonna haveta leave the car outside of town and come in through the forest. He can't see us coming as well for the trees. At night. It will have to be at night. Ivan will be waiting for me, he'll be watching everywhere for me. So, I'm gonna get his attention, and get him to come after me."

Gilbert's pulse started racing, his brow came down over wide eyes, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but Toris cut him off. Didn't wanna hear it, didn't, because his courage was already far too thin.

"Ivan won't let Ludwig out of the house. He'll come after me alone. When I run, Ivan will follow. I'll lead him out, as far I can, but the second you can't see him anymore you run, alright? Run as fast as you can, down to the house, don't stop for anything, anything, and you get inside. Ludwig won't be alone, so you'll have to get through Irina and Raivis."

Toris was playing it over and over in his head, so many outcomes, so many possibilities, and so many minds he couldn't understand. Didn't think that Irina would actually try to stop Gilbert, but honest to god Toris wasn't sure because Irina was crazy, too, and maybe she was also painfully aware that Ludwig's absence would end up being her own demise.

Toris' greatest fear, for Gilbert, was Raivis.

The second Toris had cut his bond with Ivan, Raivis had no doubt taken his place. Probably had finally been given a uniform, if only to bolster his confidence, because Ivan knew he needed all possible eyes while Toris was still MIA. Raivis would protect that house and everyone inside of it, and if Ivan had given Raivis a gun then Gilbert was going to be in trouble.

Pfft—

For all it mattered. It would be Ludwig that shot Gilbert, so Raivis seemed hardly more or less of an obstacle, in the end.

Toris finally said, lowly, "Look. I don't know if they'll try to stop you or not, I don't, so if you have to shoot them, just do it, got it? Don't think too much about it."

They all deserved to be shot, anyway, but Gilbert looked so scared suddenly. That little inhale, the dilation of his pupils. Toris knew that it was because Gilbert, when it was all set down before them, wasn't a killer. He wasn't like Toris. Gilbert was a shitty man with a shitty attitude and not right up in the head, violent and angry, but he wasn't a murderer. Had killed Natalia entirely by accident, and that had really screwed him up. Gilbert wasn't a killer, and Toris wished he were because it made things so much harder. If Gilbert pulled the gun on Raivis and then choked, he was dead. Raivis wouldn't hesitate.

Neither would Ludwig.

Ludwig, always armed these days.

Gilbert was still for a moment, and then asked, in a soft whisper, "And then what? What about you? How am I gonna get him out and then find you?"

Toris held Gilbert's gaze, and when Toris didn't say a word, not a word, Gilbert lowered his eyes back down, and was quiet.

Didn't need to answer, because the answer was already obvious, even to Gilbert : 'You won't.'

Every day, they got a little bit closer, and Toris was on borrowed time so maybe it was prudent to go ahead and talk a little, try to come to an understanding with Gilbert, maybe even to a compromise.

Toris shook Gilbert's wrists to force his gaze back up, and he asked, "Are you still ready to die?"

Gilbert swallowed, and then he braced his shoulders up and nodded. Gilbert had accepted it back there on the road, Toris knew that, but wondered...

"Do you want to die?"

That time, Gilbert was still.

A crinkle of Gilbert's brow, a twitch of his eyes, a familiar old crumple of his face, and then Gilbert hissed in air sharply, gave a strangled little laugh that sounded somewhat like a sob. He tried to smile, it fell halfway, and he answered, finally, "No."

Well, then. A good answer.

"I wanted to," Gilbert added, before Toris could speak, "I did. I'm still ready, and I— I'm scared, but I won't run away. I'm ready. I wanted to die, for a while, but now I don't. If you'll really come back with me, really, then I don't wanna die. Eduard died to save me, and I don't wanna make it for nothing if I can still get something out of here. If you'll really go with me, then I don't wanna die."

Oh. That bastard. Making it so hard for him, so hard, couldn't keep it up at this rate, he couldn't, not if Gilbert kept talking like that. Didn't Gilbert know that Toris didn't wanna die, either? That Toris wasn't even half as brave as Gilbert thought he was? Had Gilbert said so, right then, Toris would gladly have turned around.

Took Toris a while to settle down and find his voice, and he said, deeply, "You said you just wanted to see him one more time before you die. Is that still going to be enough for you? If I take you there, and you get inside, and you see him, will that be enough? Will you be able to leave without him and go back, if you see him?"

Gilbert squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, and Toris could see how much that hurt him, how much Ludwig meant to him, how the thought alone of not being able to really follow through with the fantasy and take Ludwig back home was actually killing him. That look. All the same, Gilbert gathered his strength, will, resolve, started breathing through his mouth, and when he finally opened his eyes, they were full of tears and yet he was smiling a little. A deep, breaking whisper.

"Yeah. That will be enough."

Stupid, so stupid, so pointless, so useless, so ridiculous, so utterly worthless, all of that just for a look, but damn if Toris didn't smile then.

Crazy son of a bitch.

Toris loved it.

He let go of Gilbert's wrists, Gilbert's arms fell down, and Toris said, very sternly and with no room for argument, "You listen to me then. You get in, you shoot the other two if you have to, and when you find Ludwig, look at him. Look him right in the eye, and remember him. You look at him, get your fill of him, but hold your gun right there on him, too. Look at him all you want, but don't you touch him. Understand? If you really don't wanna die, if you really want us to go back, then you gotta look at Ludwig but you can't touch him."

Ludwig had spent so much time in that room, and Toris knew damn well that Gilbert haunting him was probably how the majority of those days had been spent. Ludwig seeing Gilbert suddenly before him in the house would not be instant death in the very slim chance that Ludwig was alone. If Gilbert and Ludwig somehow, someway, came face to face alone in a room, then Gilbert would be able to stand there before him and look at him all he wanted, because Ludwig would honest to god think he was just seeing things again.

Had happened to Toris all the time after that room. Took years and years for those hallucinations to fade and be forgotten, and Ludwig was far too fresh out of the dark.

If Gilbert could miraculously get Ludwig alone, then Ludwig wouldn't shoot him right off because Ludwig would just think Gilbert was all up in his head. Maybe they could even say a few words to each other, but if Gilbert reached forward and touched Ludwig and Ludwig could feel him—

Disaster.

Gilbert may not have understood Toris, not really, but he stared at him for a damn long time and then nodded his head all the same.

"Okay. Alright, and—you'll find me, after?"

Well, then, if that were really the case then maybe they could actually find some sliver of survival. Might have been able to make it out, if Gilbert could really truly be satisfied with a mere glance. Their chances of success suddenly rested entirely on impulsive Gilbert's ability to control himself, and so Toris didn't get his hopes up in the slightest.

Still, Toris said, "I'll find you. Don't worry. We'll get that all settled when we get there."

A thoughtful silence, Gilbert's eyes turned into a paler pink color as the sun faded and light lowered, and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Gilbert lifted up his head and took a deep breath. That smirk had come back, incredibly.

His voice was deep again, too, when he said, "I knew it. You just can't stay away from me."

Astounded by Gilbert's gall, by that damn smirk, Toris just stared at him and scoffed. His face may have looked quite unimpressed then, but inside he was pretty sure he was feeling damn content. Happy, even. Had almost forgotten what that was like.

Happiness. What a strange word.

Toris held Gilbert's gaze, and his voice wasn't as sharp as he had wanted it to be when he uttered, "Careful, or you might have an accident before you get there."

Gilbert's smirk turned into a crooked smile, and before Toris could keep on thinking about himself getting shot, Gilbert had reached out and grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Somehow, it was more comfortable in Gilbert's arms when he was confident that like, when he was feeling bold, and even though he was still rather ill with the thought of using himself as live bait for an enraged Ivan, Toris wrapped his arms around Gilbert's neck and kissed him.

Better not to think so much about it. Made him jittery.

Doing so much, traveling so far, risking anything and everything, just for one look, one glance, one glimpse. Toris didn't know why he was doing it, really. Was it all worth it in the end, their deaths, just so Gilbert could stand before Ludwig and look at him?

In Gilbert's head, it was.

So, Toris carried on, because that was the only way, and maybe, just maybe, Toris wanted to see Ivan once more as well, just once more. Wanted Ivan to know that Toris had come back to taunt him, that Toris was the one Ivan should have feared all along. That Toris was the best Ivan would have ever had.

If Gilbert wanted to see Ludwig, then tenfold Toris wanted to see Ivan.

Gilbert said a look was enough, but Toris was also bracing himself for the very real possibility that when Gilbert was actually there in front of Ludwig, he would crack, and that glimpse just wouldn't be enough after all. Seeing Ludwig at long last, Gilbert would probably crack, and instead of obeying Toris and turning tail, Gilbert would try to reach out and touch Ludwig, would try to take him, and Ludwig would come out of that trance and shoot him.

One touch was all it would take, and Ludwig would shoot Gilbert.

Toris had very little faith in Gilbert's ability to control himself.

What could he do about it? Just sit back and wait, really, like every other time, and just keep moving.

Hoping.

And then, suddenly, one chilly day, it was almost time.

The third week of September.

One more day of driving, and then Mirny was before them.

Panic crept up. Stifling. Toris found that it was hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to focus. The world seemed grey and misty, even though the fall leaves were so colorful outside. Felt like he had fallen into the ocean.

Terror.

He didn't want to go, didn't want to go back there, didn't want to see that town. Just wanted Gilbert to turn around. Wanted to go to West, with someone. But Gilbert wouldn't budge, and Toris knew better than to even bother asking, so when they settled into their room for the night, Toris tread quietly past Gilbert, went to the sink, and began to wash his uniform, as best he could.

Didn't know why.

Even now, he still wanted Ivan to be proud of him. Wanted Ivan to hold him in high esteem. Wanted to feel as he always had, wanted to look as he had always looked. A Red soldier. Lieutenant. He may not have become a soldier through the traditional means, but he was a soldier all the same, and he would present himself to the General now in impeccable state.

Gilbert watched him the whole time he scrubbed gently at the uniform, and maybe Gilbert didn't speak then because he could see the amount of care, the amount of love, the amount of adoration that Toris was putting into the act. Loved that uniform. Always had. Had loved that uniform from the very first day Ivan had put him in it.

Ivan.

He hung the uniform up above the heater, brushing it down with a comb to keep the threads perfectly smooth, and Gilbert was still quiet. Just watched him, as if fascinated. A few hours later, when the uniform had dried, Toris took it down and knew it was time.

He stood in front of the mirror, and pulled on his uniform for the first time in months.

Gilbert looked up at him from behind, caught his gaze in the reflection, and seemed to understand.

"We're there, aren't we?"

Toris averted his gaze back down to the embroidery on his shoulder, smoothing strands here and there, and just said, "Yes. Tomorrow. We'll be there tomorrow." He looked back up, briefly, and tried to smile at Gilbert. "Are you ready?"

Honestly, Gilbert shook his head.

It was left at that, and Toris returned his attention to himself. Glossing, as he always had. Everything had to be perfect. Gilbert seemed yet fascinated, watching very curiously, but had enough sense for once not to ask Toris why he was even bothering. Toris couldn't really have explained it if Gilbert had asked.

When Gilbert did finally open his mouth again, however, Toris found his words damn near infuriating.

"How come you don't have any medals?"

A simple question.

Pissed Toris the hell off all the same.

When Toris whirled around, Gilbert was sitting there cross-legged upon the bed, watching Toris with nothing less than affection, but when he saw the way Toris was suddenly looking at him, he ducked his head a bit and seemed abashed, almost nervous, as he tried to add, clumsily, "It's just... You know. On TV, and all, you always see soldiers with a buncha medals on their uniforms. I was just wondering why... You know. ...never mind."

Damn right 'never mind'.

Feeling angry and very offended in a way, Toris stared Gilbert down into a squirming pile of nerves, and then turned back to the mirror, and was almost startled.

Didn't recognize himself right off.

He could see, then, why Gilbert had suddenly looked so scared.

In that moment, Toris had looked at Gilbert the exact way that Ivan used to look at him when he had done something stupid. That same expression. Hadn't even known he was doing it. Honestly, had never even known that he could pull it off. Had he been doing that for years? Was that how he had really looked, when he had stared down Eduard and Ludwig? Good god—he looked just like Ivan.

Sometimes, it was hard to ignore the fact that, despite everything, Toris really was Ivan. The Ivan-Toris. Always there, beneath the surface. Would never get rid of it, for the rest of his life. Would always be there, because it always had been, in some way, even before he had ever met Ivan.

...maybe it would be better to go off on his own. Might not have been quite so safe for Gilbert, to be with him.

No one was ever safe with him.

Gilbert didn't say a word or move a muscle as Toris stood there and preened. As Toris took the uniform off later, he took his hair down, raised the scissors up and began to trim the tips of his hair, because even split-ends would be imperfect. Didn't want one single little detail to be wrong. Wanted to die flawlessly.

He looked over, a while later.

An awful pang of hurt.

Gilbert was sitting there, legs folded beneath him, staring at absolutely nothing, and yet Toris could see from the smile on his face that he was pretending that Ludwig was right in front of him. His hands gestured from time to time, and his lips were moving, even though Toris couldn't really hear anything he said. Practicing what he would say when Ludwig was in front of him, now that time was up.

Oh. That hurt.

Just wished it would have turned out the way Gilbert wanted. Wished that Gilbert wasn't putting everything into this. Wished he could have stayed detached, could have been more objective. Wished that Gilbert could have gone on without Ludwig.

For Gilbert, it was all or nothing. Didn't even consider that Ludwig didn't adore him anymore. Never crossed his mind at all, and hell, why would it? Even though Gilbert knew Toris' life story now, Gilbert would never once consider that Ludwig might just be another Toris, waiting there at the end of the line. Gilbert just didn't once think of that, and Toris, as always, didn't have the heart to tell him. Without Ludwig, Gilbert just wouldn't be able to carry on anymore.

Gilbert had agreed to Toris' command to not touch Ludwig, but would never have been able to understand why, because it was beyond Gilbert's breadth of comprehension to think that Ludwig would ever try to hurt him.

Gilbert said that a look would be enough, but Toris knew then, seeing him like that, that it wouldn't be. Knew in his heart that when Gilbert was in front of Ludwig, he wouldn't leave without trying to take Ludwig with him.

Knew it, and really, he had known it all along. It was likely that Gilbert had, too.

As always, Toris wasn't enough. Never had been, for anyone.

Dawn broke, far too soon.

In the morning, Toris pulled on his uniform, tied his hair back and up, shaved more neatly than he ever had in his life, stood up straight, and perched his cap upon his head. He brushed down his sideburns, he washed his face, he shined his cufflinks. Straightened and polished every button, pressed down every strand, brushed down every bit, shined his boots into mirrors, and maybe he kept himself so busy, maybe he was picking so much, maybe he was being so thorough because every time he stopped his hands started shaking.

Perfect. Had to be perfect. Ivan had demanded nothing less than perfection all these years, and Toris was going to give it to him.

If this was his last day on earth, then by god! He was going to look the part, he was going to act the part, was going to make himself proud, was going to stand there in that town and know, for once, that he had gotten Ivan over. He'd be the only man on the planet that had ever gotten one over on that son of a bitch, now that Eduard was dead. And even Eduard couldn't claim this kind of victory, because Ivan had already forgotten Eduard—Toris would be immortal.

He'd be the one that Ivan would always remember.

Love.

Ivan would never forget him after this. It would be impossible. Until the day Ivan died, he would never forget Toris. That was enough for Toris, as much as seeing Ludwig would be for Gilbert. Being in Ivan's memories.

Honestly, the only person that Toris could say that he had ever truly loved in his entire life was Ivan.

He was going to make Ivan look at him.